Our dog, Haley, runs with a joy I find impossible to describe. She comes back from every vet visit with a sparkling bill of health. The Grinch’s heart would swell another three sizes if he stared at Haley’s beautiful face too long.
Come December, my wife and I may have to put her down. We’re expecting our first child in the new year, and Haley’s fear-aggressive tendencies have become a problem too big to ignore.
It’s the first big sacrifice we’ll have to make for our future son, and I fear it is one of the hardest we’ll have to swallow.
Where to begin? Let’s start on the day I adopted Haley from a rescue service in Northern Virginia four years ago. Her Web profile sounded promising, the right size, the right age and a boxer mix to boot. Perfect. But Haley’s picture sealed the deal. I didn’t know dogs could sign up for “glamour shots.”
The Haley I met at the PetSmart where she was being shown to prospective “parents” barely resembled that photo. She was frail and couldn’t stop shaking. Common sense fled me in one quick wave. How could I turn this dog away?
We drove back to our home in silence. Haley wouldn’t so much as bark for the next few weeks. We thought she was the strong, silent type, but looking back, she likely was shell-shocked by the change in her surroundings.
Those first few weeks were … interesting. This little girl had a major dominance streak in her, and the first time I left her alone with my wife they had a duel for home supremacy. My wife won the battle, a physical tussle that might have gone differently had Haley been a year older.
Haley seemed like your average 1-year-old pup. She chewed everything in sight with a speed that shocked us both. Indestructible toys would last all of 10 minutes. We lost countless items to her constant gnawing — a comforter one day, a pair of shoes the next.
But what galled me was how unfriendly Haley was with strangers. She wasn’t demonstrative with us to begin with, but she wouldn’t let strangers anywhere near her. I wanted to show my dog off to the world, but Haley refused to let the world in.
Time passed, and slowly Haley’s shyness took a turn. She started growling at random strangers. This little dog could sound awful mean when she wanted.
We called in a dog behaviorist to deal with the shyness, pushing aside the feeling that we were climbing the first rung on the yuppie ladder. The expert suggested drug therapy, and said Haley could be dangerous if untreated. My wife and I wrote the drug information down and clucked our tongues at the warning.
The drugs didn’t work. Neither did our enhanced training sessions. We exhausted every doggie training tip the Web could offer. In fact, she was growing more remote with strangers — and lunging at them on occasion.
She struck one of our friends recently, a glancing blow that only broke the woman’s skin. It was the wake-up call we needed.
Desperate for help, we tried some final methods to contain her aggression. We bought a muzzle and a bark collar. No help. We put her on a different type of drug our vet said could ease her fear-aggressive state. No luck.
She recently cut my hand when she tried to lunge at one of our friends during a casual get-together. I had her on her leash, but she’s strong when her aggression mode kicks in. We’re always there to stop her should the aggression flare up, but that won’t be the case once our baby arrives.
So here we are, scrambling to find a shelter that accepts aggressive dogs, but knowing the odds are stacked precipitously high against us. And Haley.
I tell myself we have no choice, that we did all we could. But I keep thinking back to an incident two years ago. I was pitching for my softball team, and my wife and Haley were in the crowd to show their support.
A screaming line drive came back at me and struck me flush on the temple. Down I went, and I stayed down, motionless. Haley, who hates strangers on her best day, raced through the crowd forming around me, my wife trying to keep up. Our dog squeezed through my teammates to my prone body, and then started licking my face.
She never does that.
She tried her best to help me that day, and I’m afraid I’ll be unable to do the same when she needs me most.
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