Bandit Spike

He belonged to someone else and I took him proudly. It was a warm household with their own set of tribulations but when the head of the house was no longer present; chaos ensued in areas I could not completely help in. I would receive calls and try to do what I could do to help; but my efforts appeared meaningless or useless. There was heartache in that household that could not controlled or removed. Each visit I would leave with pieces of my heart tearing up.

The household had children where that would call me at times for food and assistance was not as available as it should have been. My heart sank when I saw the youngest pluck a roach from their cereal they were eating from; a dark and twisted first world problem huh? However, there were animals in this home that contributed to the apartment’s environment. There were clothes piled high and placed anywhere. It was not the home I was used to visiting before.

During each visit this small mixed dog would run to me. Often his cries sounded like he knew he was not in the best place and needed a friend. I attempted to explain to the children to take care of the animal and if they needed anything to let me know. I was young and barely any money so financial support was not my strongest asset, but I did live with my boyfriend at the time, and he had a dog. Sometimes my boyfriend at the time would come with me (after begging him to come with me please) because it was important to me to help as much as I could; but when you live in the land of free and cannot afford to be free what use are you to anyone else?

Each visit became harder and harder to watch. There was a cat that lived in the house, but they had not approached me and often was hard to find. My experience with cats is that they will often take care of themselves if necessary; and that includes leaving a dangerous place. I could not offer much to help but I was trying to do so. There was a constant malevolent cloud hovering over the lives of those in that apartment. The head of the household was the balance and without the head; the body will fall.

There were others trying to assist the chaos in that situation, but it was not an easy task. Each visit this small dog would constantly greet me. I would take it for a walk and the animal seemed to feel free or happy outside with me. I had hoped the children would see what they would have to do to protect a small creature; and try. They said they were listening, but I was young and they were just kids. Perhaps I put too much hope that it would be taken care of.

Upon another heartbreaking visit the little dog was having trouble walking towards me. I noted his white fur was blackened with dirt while he struggled to walk. He is supposed to walk on 4 legs but instead appeared that he was walking incorrectly on his hind legs. In the midst of my visit I finally have a minute to walk over to the dog and then I realized why they could not walk correctly. It seems the poor dog was not taken outside for his walk nor cleaned, but this time the poop that fell from his body was sticking to his fur. There was an immense amount of poop collecting in his fur and stacking on top of each other. It covered his complete bottom and was weighing his hind legs down. He could not sit properly and this time his cries sounded heavier on the soul. I tried to explain he’s covered in poop why hadn’t anyone tried to clean it! The response was baffling “He won’t let us pull it off” the mother head of the household said; this is what you’re teaching the children. The dog’s fur was matted with poop and he was covered in dirt.

Stating I was furious is a sure mild way of stating how I felt. I said I was going to clean him, but I never brought the dog back. When he arrived at my boyfriend house, we carefully cut around the pooped matted fur so he would be able to use the bathroom finally. We were limited on what we could do because it would hurt him; and we were not professionals. We got him a barber and explained the situation to them; they treated him like a King! When he was cut, cleaned, healthy and smiling; I did not even recognize him until he ran to me. His fur was white and most importantly he looked happy. I thought very carefully about my childhood and my attachment to my pets, and I thought about if I kept the dog how it could hurt the kids; but I also couldn’t watch this animal suffer like that again. The mother of household used my name as a way to state if I truly cared about them, I would have returned the dog, but no; they do not get to decide to mistreat animals. I never did get to the cat; nor could I grab them either.

The head of the household whose absence caused the crashing of the body had reached out to me and said “Keep em’ they don’t need that dog in the house, and I’m glad he’s with you!”; they had brought the dog into the house. I accepted their acceptance and never brought the dog back. I had one struggle with the dog and that was calling them by their given name. I would attempt it but I would call them and they refused to answer. I began to yell out random names to get a response and because the stylist put a red bandana around his neck; I yelled “Bandit!” and he looked up. He had a new look, smile on his face and judging from his lack of response to his actual name; I deemed he decided he had started a new life.

Bandit followed me everywhere. It took me a lot of patience in trying to understand how to train him and take care of him. My boyfriend and I did not work due to a bevy of dark reasons, but I always did appreciate him helping with Bandit; except that one time he kicked him to prove a point to me and since the dog represented me in that house, I took it personally. Bandit trusted him until that exact moment. Bandit would find my clothes in the hamper and slide up my sweaters and put them on. I never forgot the day I came in to find him dragging my sweater around on the floor and trying to jump up and down to welcome me.

I was with him the first time he learned to walk down the stairs because he was never taught regardless of his age. I started to bring him sweaters and t-shirts. I taught him to wait for me patiently to come home. I taught him to bark when he was in trouble. He ran to me all the time when he was scared. In fact, one of the times I laughed so hard at him was because we were walking pass a broken VHS tape and the tape part was on the floor, when the wind blew he freaked out and ran behind me for protection. He knew I would always protect him. He loved his clothes and knew PetCo shopping days were the days I’d sacrifice any food I could have had to get him his food, bed or clothes.

He became vain about his dressings and hated walking in puddles. He did not like to walk in wet grass and hated walking out in the cold without his parka and sweater. He was okay with his shoes but it depended on how the style was for him. I would open my book bag and he would hop in; that was adventure time for us. If we were outside and he was cold, I did not care how dirty he was from walking I would wrap him up in my coat; and he loved it there and would hang his head out of my coat. Sometimes he would surprise people and pop his head out of my bag on the train.

He was trying to help me when I fell down the stairs, but he was too small to ever do anything. He would size up any guy interested in me. He was friendly but easily scared often. He would play with my best friend’s daughter unless she pulled his tail; then I would correct her how to treat animals. I took him to an audition where the co-star had to scream at me for a couple’s fight; he was in my bag silently until he heard me upset and a male screaming at me. I was in a heated argument in front of him with an ex-boyfriend and I had asked him to leave, he decided he was not going to leave and I stood my ground. Bandit felt my anger and started to cower in a corner. My Ex-boyfriend said “Look at you! He’s scared and it’s your fault!” and I told him “then leave!”; he finally left and Bandit came out running to me because it was safe. He has picked the people I trusted. He even faked a leg injury and had me fooled until my best friend blew up his lie; but I guess I would have faked it too if I was getting massages 4 times a day, snacks and combing too. He was one hell of dog. He never answered to any other name except to someone who jokingly wanted to rename him as “SPIKE!” He wanted to name him Spike because he had wild hair like me and said we looked alike. He adored him and adored being called Spike.

The years with him felt like dog years to me and then one day old age was upon him; he died in my arms. I held him the whole night and watched him take his final breathe. It was during the holiday times and I had an office party to attend; I put on as good of a smile that I could, but I was broken inside. My best friend collected his body for me because I was too heartbroken to do it. I carry many memories that are all wonderful of my Bandit…Spike. Oddly enough I rescued an abandoned cat with a scar named Puja who carries that crazy energy of appreciation as well; and Puja loves the same person who renamed my dog. Nowadays my rescue days revolve Puja and selling One Hope Wine to give to the charity Much Love Animal Rescue (https://www.onehopewine.com/event/7a404c26-bd5a-4b17-bd71-39055bc1b361); hopefully I get to do more.