In It Together

Over the years our house has seen many animals come and go. Some were fostered before moving on to their forever homes, some stayed until they crossed the rainbow bridge. All had one thing in common, they were rescued from bad situations. Some neglected, some abused, some homeless. We took in any animal in need, including, but not limited to, a fawn, rabbits, birds, cats, dogs, a pig, and even a few humans. I even trap mice live and take them far enough away to not come back. I always take them in the morning, hoping to give them the best chance to find adequate housing by nightfall.

I was living in a tiny unincorporated town in farm country when Bandit entered my life. Some people rented the house just up the block from me. I had to drive by their house when coming or going, or face the more than 30 abused dogs on the other corner. I spent almost 20 years unsuccessfully trying to stop that abuse. It made me cry every time I left the house or returned, so I usually went the other way.

The new neighbors had two dogs, but the landlords would not allow any pets inside, so they were chained in the yard. One was a large German Shepard, who circled constantly and cried desperately, way too often. The other was a little rat terrier that always looked so small and overwhelmed by the big, scary world. The fear was made worse by the chain that wouldn't allow him to run or hide in emergencies.

It was starting to get cold out and the poor little rat terrier would sit there shivering and crying, the raging cold wind cutting him to the bone. I almost went to jail over it, but nothing was going to stop me from helping him. Long story short, I was able to buy him from the neighbors and bring him in out of the cold after much ado. (Don't worry I got the Shepard, too, but that took longer and that's another story).

I kept his name to minimize his confusion and give him a sense of familiarity. He is one of the few small dogs I ever owned; not because I don't like little dogs. I love all dogs. The little ones just get rescued more quickly and easily, so I always ended up with harder-to-place big dogs. The needs of dogs, large or small, are the same, so taking the necessary steps was second nature by the time he came to me.

Bandit's poor little hairless belly was purple from the cold, and the jagged edges of his ears showed the obvious signs of frostbite. He was covered in fleas, and he was terrified. He was so happy to be inside that he didn't want to do anything to jeopardize that safety, but he was so scared of all the new people and other pets, that he was a little aggressive, with the occasional warning growl. He got a warm bath and a soft bed, his own blanket, fresh water, and food

I wanted to hold him, comfort him, and tuck him into my bed, but getting rid of fleas is a several-day process, so he had to be sequestered for treatment. That part was no different to him, he was used to being alone day and night. I gave him all the attention I possibly could, and he did his best to decompress and settle in. He slept a lot, but never really relaxed in the beginning. I was building trust a little at a time, though, with soft words, gentle touches, and treats — many, many, treats!

When he was finally flea-free, our relationship really picked up speed. At every turn, he seemed surprised but happy to engage in cuddles on the couch, the daily tricks for treats routine, and being tucked under the covers safe and warm every night. We were becoming good friends and learning about each other. I intended to find him a forever home, but pets aren't thought of quite the same by most farm people, as they are by many others. The nature of their lifestyles requires that they steel themselves to the realities of life. It is often how hairless dogs end up chained outside in the cold.

Any animal that hasn't found a permanent place within three or four months, ends up as a member of my family. By then, we are both too attached to each other to let go. This was the case with Bandit. He stayed too long, and I couldn't let him go. I felt like he needed me, and depended on the safe, comfortable routines of his new life. To give him away at that point seemed like a betrayal. And so he became family.

We were close and loved each other, but the bond was more of a habit that was growing a little at a time. We went on walks, and car rides. We watched TV, and did a lot of cuddling. He got comfortable and a little happier every day, but old traumas held on. Some things still scared him, like thunder, and when I would swat flys. I would always put my hand on him and talk reassuringly before smacking one with the swatter, but it startled and scared him every time.

It had been about six months or so since Bandit came to live with us and we were on my bed watching TV together. One window didn't have a screen so that the cats could come and go at will. The flies were appearing as the weather outside warmed up. I had the swatter at the ready but I was, as always, nervous about scaring Bandit. He was sleeping soundly and I didn't want to terrorize him with a loud unexpected whacking noise. I gently woke him up and tried to explain that the flies were bothering us and I needed to swat them. He was listening, but not quite understanding anything except that I was trying to communicate something to him.

A fly landed on the bed a couple of feet from Bandit and he perked up, watching it. He hated the things, from the hours and hours of their relentless torture when he used to be chained and couldn't get away. I told him that I was going to swat it and not to be afraid, then swung and connected, killing it instantly. He looked at the dead fly then up at me, and I swear, I saw the light go on. He understood, at that moment, what the fly swatter was for, and why I whopped things with it.

He was so excited, he could not contain himself. As icky as this sounds, he snatched up the dead fly and ate it, apparently delighted by the thought of finally, finally getting revenge on the horrible, bothersome thing. It was then that our bond solidified, and we became more than just friends. We became partners and cohorts, we became a team. That day I slayed a dozen "sky raisins", and he dutifully disposed of every one.

From that moment on, when I pick up the fly swatter, Bandit gets excited and starts wiggling with anticipation of the battle to come. Over the years, together we have successfully slain, and disposed of, thousands of sky raisins. We have traveled the countryside, fighting them at every stopping point, doing battle in the daylight, and snuggling as we sleep at night.

We have both gotten older now, and our eyes aren't as bright as they once were. Our steps have slowed and we are no longer as fast as when we started our journey. I carry Bandit up and down the stairs now as his balance decreases. Mostly, we spend our time these days relaxing, wrapped in the comfort of a well-developed companionship. But when night falls and we tuck into bed, we fall asleep and dream of long walks, car rides, and of course, slaying and disposing of sky raisins together.