I count nine separate points of entry. Nine places the teeth punctured my skin.
I was getting ready to go out, and if you've ever lived with me you know this often includes a fair bit of walking around in my underwear. I was in and out of the bathroom - drinking water, eating a birthday cookie I had just baked for J, complaining that I had no cute clothes. About half an hour earlier there had been a mini-meltdown over what to wear on the birthday/St. Patrick's day bar crawl celebration; my line of work has considerably dulled my wardrobe, and I didn't want to be the "old" lady at the pub.
Masala was roaming around getting into trouble, as he is prone to do. I coralled him into the bathroom with me while I dried my hair to give J a little respite from saying "No!" This was my first bad move. While in the bathroom, Masala discovered the trash can. Remember when this happened a couple of months ago? Yeah. I was trying to prevent that.
I had just finished my makeup and was about to begin putting on actual clothes when J announces, "Nik, he's got something!" We all know what that "something" was.
He runs from me as I yell at him to drop it. He takes cover under the table.
I know it is coming. This is his M.O. He maneuvers so that I can't get above him, and he has the better ground. But I have started this, and so I tell myself that I must finish it. Mistake number two.
He growls and snarls when I try to take it from his mouth. I yell, "NO! NO!" which normally causes him to acquiesce.
Not this time. He knows he has me beat. There are a million chairs, and there's no way I am going to get it from him. I don't want him to "win" this way, though, because it will only encourage the behavior. I endure, not wanting to let go until he has calmed down. The final mistake.
I'm not sure if he got more aggressive, if my position changed, or if maybe even I was hurting him. Whatever happened, my left thumb was caught in the crossfire. I didn't know what it would look like when I ran to the sink to rinse it off. Would it be attached? Did I lose part of it?
Thank God J was there. Once I realized my hand was mostly ok and that all digits were accounted for, the tears came harder, the sobbing nearly uncontrollable. I said we had to go to the hospital. J, being ever practical, brought me a shirt at once. I had completely forgotten my state of undress.
"What am I going to do with him? What am I going to do? I can't keep him." I repeated over and over in my head and more than once out loud.
J told me to sit down while he rushed to the pharmacy for hydrogen peroxide and bandages. I tried. I couldn't sit still. I walked around. I googled "dog bite first aid." I took deep breaths. More and more tears. I tried sitting on the floor. When J returned I was sitting on an ottoman in the bedroom pressed against the wall, silently crying.
My hand will be fine. We fixed it up with Band-Aids and Neosporin and determined a trip to the emergency room was probably unnecessary (a trip to the bar, however, was totally required after I composed myself and re-applied makeup). Today it is swollen and bruised, but it appears that full function will eventually return.
My psyche, on the other hand, is profoundly fucked up by this turn of events. I don't like being afraid, yet I am. In the past when he has growled at me I try to regain control as soon as possible afterward by taking something away, just to let myself (and him) know it's ok. Normally, it is. A hundred times a day I take stuff away from him - sticks, plastic, paper, you name it. He only goes postal when it's an animal product - a stray bone on the sidewalk, a butter wrapper, or yeah, a tampon. It makes sense...but why? I've never heard of anyone else having this problem. What am I doing wrong? What did I do to make him this way? How do I fix it? What if I can't? A million and seventeen questions.
And my heart is broken. That sounds ridiculous. He is my best friend in a town where I relate to almost no one; we cuddle on the couch almost every night. But he hurt me. I know he is an animal, and I have anthropomorphized him, so again, this is my fault. He acted like on animal survival instinct, and if I feel betrayed then that is my problem. But I still don't like being afraid of him. It's weird. It's very, very weird how I feel about him now.
He has been nearly perfect since it happened. Sitting immediately upon being told. Sleeping the entire drive back. Performing unerringly on our walks. Yet, I am hesitant. I don't know where to go from here. Surely because he won he will try it again. He will sense my fear, and I'm terrified this is going to become a common struggle.
I am at a loss. I don't know what to do or how to move forward. That's why I wrote this post. I needed to sort some of this out, and it seemed too important not to talk about. But I can't deal with it fully yet, so that's why I've closed the comments. I'm not strong enough to take advice and criticism or weigh all the options. I need rest and recovery and then I'll assess how to respond. For now, I'm just trying to take it moment-to-moment without another confrontation, to let my heart heal as much as I am letting my hand heal. So thanks for reading, if you made it this far in my melodrama. : )
