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Kujo

The Beagle

By Heather StantonPublished 2 years ago 19 min read
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Kujo, the beagle. The first time I saw him, I knew he was the one I wanted. He needed me just as badly as I needed him. It was in his eyes; they were sad and angry. I understood that. When I put out my hand to pet him, he came over tentatively, somewhat hopefully, layered with attitude. All those things pulled me to him. How did such a handsome beagle with soulful brown eyes, and a beautiful brown-black thick white coat, end up at the pound? What was his story? I knew I had to take him home with me no matter what those answers were.

The two of us ended up in a house where we were unwanted and a little angry, looking for love. We found that in each other eventually, but what a road to discovery that was. I’m still not sure which one of us was the least trusting he would eyeball me as I would eyeball him. He would snap and snarl if you touched him while he was watching you. He would bite and snarl if you touched him while he was sleeping. His tail didn’t work right. The first time I ever saw him wag it, which took some work, he didn’t know what he was doing. It would wag up and down, then side to side, then it would circle around. It was very sweet and funny and took a lot of work in the begging for him to wag that sad sweet, funny tail, so if he did you got to know that he loved you, or at least was happy to see you.

Our first week together was a nightmare, but I set my mind to getting this angry sweet dog to like me. Having no clue where to start or what I was doing, I went with instinct and wanting. This dog was going to love me, just like I wanted to love him back. More, I needed to love him, and I needed him to love me. I had a vast hole that I needed something or someone to fill. Not to take the place of my previous love, but to help keep me going day after day. Give me a purpose. I had it, and I did the very best I could. Was I the best? I’m sure I was not, but I tried. By using food, love, and patience.

It took a lot of time, forever; it seemed back then. He was afraid of humans, so it was a slow process. If we raised our voices around him, he would piddle on the floor, then run and hide. If I moved my arms or hands too quickly and startle him, he would cower and piddle. Then hide in the corner and try to make himself as small as possible.

The picture of his history became clear to me. Someone or ones had treated this poor soul badly. I cried inside and out. How someone could injury an innocent sweet dog, hit him, and yell at him, was beyond me. What reason could they give that would justify the abuse and trauma they put him through? There is not one in the world that would explain their actions.

His bathroom habits made me scratch my head. He would go outside looking for food, sniffing all over the backyard but never go potty. He could be out there for hours. After he finished his investigation, he would come into the house heading straight to the basement to use the floor. When he got scolded and lead back outside, he became confused, even scared.

I did not believe in yelling or scolding, but was not always there to run interference. His behavior baffled me. My best guess was, at one time in his life, someone trained him to go potty in the basement and he had to be retrained to go outside. That was the easiest obstacle to overcome with him.

How do you teach love and trust? Those are the most difficult things in the world to learn once someone has taken them away from you. I went with my gut. As a young woman, someone abused and mistreated me. After that happened, how did I want to be treated? With patience, understanding, and love. That is all I ever asked for, not slaps and yelling.

Having gone through abuse helped me to picture and deal with what someone did to him, even though I never knew the full details of his history before he came to me. His future was going to be wonderful, and eventually, I hoped he would forget his past.

We went slow; I taught him he could trust me. Love follows trust. He would cry or howl, and I would sit on the floor with open arms, petting him slowly and carefully. He would snarl, growl, and snap at me. Instead of yelling or walking away, I would pet him and talk softly. Treating him gently and lovingly the way I always wanted someone to treat me. This went on every day. Any time he yelped or cried, I would hold out my arms and pet him. In the beginning, he would snarl and snap, then walk away to hide in the corner or under a chair, staring.

The looks he gave me made me try harder. I could hear him saying. “Keep trying to trick me, and when I come over there, you are going to kick, hit, or yell at me. But I really want to be loved.”

He was a combination of love, yearning, and mistrust. The first time he crawled into my lap, it took all of my willpower not to squeeze him too hard. I had to pinch my arm and wrap them loosely around him to stop myself from shouting out in triumph. I had done it; I had broken through his wall. It was a small step, but was huge for us. For me, I had never felt better. I could do this. I could get him to love and trust again.

By helping him, maybe I could learn to trust. More important, I could learn to love again, fill the black hole that was left behind after I lost the love of my life. My child, Princess. I am not trying to replace her. There is no replacement, but there can be a purpose, and maybe this sad beagle needs this sad girl.

There was no maybe on my side. I needed and wanted his love at that point more than I had ever wanted anything. I dug in and made it work. Every time he needed anything, a pet, hug, or cookie, I was there. Was I overbearing? Yes, I was. Did it work for us? I felt like it did. He really liked cookies and the extra attention.

All this was going on as our home life was falling apart, brick by brick. It came crashing down. I had to leave. He asked me to go; we were getting a divorce, and I had to leave Kujo, my sweet beagle, behind. For only a short time, but I felt for sure that he wouldn’t understand that. He would think that I was another bad human walking away from him, leaving him with someone who didn’t like him and always yelled.

It was the longest month of my life while I scrambled and tried to figure out where we would go; I had to find a new place to live for the two of us. He was my first and only thought, so we needed a safe yard. There was very little money. I was too proud and wouldn’t take anything extra from the ex as I thought of him from the moment he made me leave the home I made. The one that still had my new baby.

Swallowing my pride, I begged him not to get rid of Kujo and to be as kind as he could be to him. I had to walk away and figure out our future by myself. I was alone again, but determined that I wouldn’t stay that way. There had to be a place for me and him to live. I wasn’t thinking about all the little things that I didn’t have. The ones that I had taken advantage of by living in a home for the past seven years. I was thinking about getting free and putting our lives back together. Kujo and I would start fresh somewhere learning, growing, and trusting together.

Luck was on my side, a good friend, had friends with the perfect place for us to rent. It was affordable, with plenty of space, even a half basement with a washer and dryer. The real bonus was we had a small backyard for him to play and investigate. It was the perfect little place for us.

The day I went back to get him was the best and worst. I was getting him back and was beyond thrilled to see him. The last month I spent my days stressing and missing him. Immediately I could tell by leaving him behind we had lost ground. When we settled into our new home, I was going to have to work hard to build up his trust once more.

I was also leaving behind my old life and starting my new one. It took a lot to take a deep breath and dive in. There was no other choice. It had to be done; it wasn’t my decision to make, was never something I would have done on my own, but it was reality. He didn’t want to be married anymore to me and I had to leave forever.

We had somewhere to go that was not as empty as I feared it was going to be. There was little I took with me from my old life, just books, clothes, and my baby. I left with what I came with, plus a Kujo. Between begging, borrowing and people donating, we had furniture along with pots, plates, and glasses when we moved in. It was more than enough for me.

Moving in was sad and chaotic. The first thing Kujo did was piddle on the floor in the extra room that was going to be my library. He was making himself at home or showing me how mad he was. Either way, I was alright with it and just happy to be with him. Proud of myself for finding us somewhere to live, where he could be safe and find peace along with a fenced-in yard.

Or the mostly fenced-in yard. It wasn’t as closed off or as safe as I thought. This one had gaps in the fence. Our first couple of weeks were an adventure. I would let him out and he would disappear. He would make a game out of it. I would run around the block, franticly calling for him in tears. Then give up in despair only to come home and he would sit at the doorstep wagging that tail. Back and forth, up and down, in a circle.

Looking at me asking, “Where you been mom? I’m hecking thirsty, and hungry. It’s time to get inside.”

Throwing my arms around him, I would laugh and let him in, shaking my head. After a month, my panic lessened when I realized he was an escape artist, but he always came back home. He was the only dog I have ever had the pleasure of knowing that could open a locked screen door. He was so smart he would watch me processing everything I did when I opened it.

A light would go on and I could hear him say. “I can do that!”

Off he went and opened it for himself whenever he wanted to. I had to keep the big door shut, or pay attention to him every second. That is all it took for him to dis spear. His most amusing behavior in our half of a house was every time he did something naughty; he would hide under the dining room table and turn his back to me.

He had the mentality of, if I can’t see you, you can’t see me. The only thing about our dining room table was that it had a glass top, so it was completely see-through. I would laugh and coax him out. He would come out reluctantly and I would love him unconditionally. For his many quirks and especially for making me laugh, no matter what kind of day I was having.

His naughty behavior ranged from going potty in the house, always in a place I was going to step in. The best, in his opinion, was when I was barefoot, and this happened. The garbage was his worst habit. No matter how much, or what I feed him, the garbage can was his greatest love. I could never find one that he couldn’t get in to forage and eat from. One day he showed up with a piece of pizza even though I never had pizza at the house. To this day, I still don’t know where he found it. I tried to take it from him, but you could never come between Kujo and his food. He could eat anything and loved everything he put into his mouth.

Laughter and getting to know one another helped us learn to love and trust again. Even though I was working long hours and not home for half of the day, we were getting by. As much as I always wanted to be home, there was no choice. I had to work a lot.

Then came the sad day I was dreading. It was time to go to court and make the divorce official. Even though in my heart and head it was over, it was still hard. I felt like a quitter and I had never been one. What could I do? We had no choice but to move on and try. So that is what we did.

The two of us were happy, living, laughing, and growing. I would come home, we would go for a walk, and he would make me laugh. I gave him love and the freedom to just be himself. Then one day, a miracle happened. At least it was a miracle to me, and eventually for Kujo as well.

We meet our future, my future husband, and the human love of my life. It was a slow process, which was fun for all involved, especially me. I believe Dan came into my life to teach me how to love and trust humans again. For the first time, I learned what it felt like to have someone love you. Up to that point, I had never felt unconditional love from a human. I have given but not received it from another person. Until my new husband came into the picture. He was love and life.

The first time he came over, Kujo meet him at the screen door, snarling and snapping. A new male person was invading his territory. Dan stopped and froze at the entrance. The two of them stared at each other, neither one blinking. For a moment, I could read the thought flowing from one to the other.

Dan said, “It’s alright, I’m safe, I mean no harm.”

While Kujo said. “This is my home and Mom.”

It was mesmerizing; I had to shake myself and gently move Kujo out of the way. Then opened the screen door to my future, not sure what to expect. Fear and anxiety covered his face. Somehow that made me more sure of my next move.

With the door open, I smiled. “Please, come in.”

He hesitantly smiled. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

I laughed over Kujo’s barking. Some part of me knew I was starting the next chapter of my of our life. My smile grew as I stepped back. “Of course it is. No one who lives here will hurt you.”

Kujo snarled, sniffed, and wagged his goofy tail all at the same time. After a while, he grew to trust the male who came to his house. And so our new life began. We took things slowly and had fun doing so; he had gotten a divorce and had a child, and I had a Kujo. I knew it was right from the beginning.

He was kind and cautious with both Kujo and me, and that, more than anything, is what the two of us needed. From kindness grew trust, then love. I noticed a change in both Kujo and myself. There was a loosening up that started on the inside. We were freer, happier. I laughed and smiled more.

Kujo trusted someone other than me. He stopped growling and snarling as much. Although it took years to break him of the indoor potty problems and trust issues, we started working on them together. We were part of a team that I wanted to be part of, and it felt good. It felt right.

There were big hiccups along the way. How could there not be? No story can be complete without them. For one, his child was incredibly special and terrified of dogs. My dog was incredibly special and was afraid of and didn’t like children. So, what could we do?

Well, of course, we would get engaged and move in together because we loved each other and each other’s children. We had to keep them separated for the first year, and a hard year it was especially for me. I was used to having my Kujo with me every day; I was home, every minute, and sleeping with me. Now our time together had to be limited, we missed the closeness we shared those years living in our half a house. I had a wonderful man next to me after years of courting and building trust, but I was missing my baby.

Then one day, this wonderful man performed another miracle in our life. It was a little thing to many people, but to me, it was everything. An act of moving mountains. He got his special child and my special dog to interact together. What happened was pure magic. They fell in love in their own way. They really liked each other. I could only sit on the stairs and goggle at the two of them. The dog who growled at almost everyone wagged his goofy tail at a child who had run screaming from him a year before. In the middle was my future husband, smiling over at me. How could I not love him? And not want to make a life with a man that brokered peace between our two children?

Life goes on as it does. We married, lived, and loved. Our small family got along and loved one another. Our Kujo, which is what he became, howled often. We loved to get him going. He would get up to greet his brother, would look for him, and seek him out for attention. He eventually stopped piddling on the floor. The sad, angry dog from the pound who at one point had no family now had a dad, mom, and brother. He felt safe and loved. We both did.

Then one day, I noticed he wasn’t my dog anymore. He was my husband’s. Kujo, who didn’t trust or love, had taken to the man that I pledged my life to. A large part of me was super jealous, and a bigger part understood because he was so trustworthy. Kujo recognized that, maybe even before I did myself. So, I still loved and cared for him, but he no longer belonged to me. He was Dans, and I realized that was alright. He still loved me, but he choose Dan, and I choose Kujo. Sometimes you can’t pick who you love more.

Our family went along happily, very much enjoying life. Some people say they are, even pretend they are, but we really were. I know the difference because I had pretended for most of mine. Which made me somewhat of an expert knowing the difference between fake life and a real one.

Years went by, happy ones. Then the inevitable happened. Kujo got old. It happened overnight. I always saw the sweet and handsome angry young dog I got from the pound with the goofy tail and the bad potty traits. It felt like overnight he lost his color, the browns and blacks washed away, turning gray and white. His fur began falling out in clumps, then he started limping one day.

That was the beginning of the end. I just didn’t know it. He started hiding under his dad’s legs. I knew he not only loved his dad more, but that was where he felt safe. Our life with him sped away, going from wonderful to tragic.

He rolled over one day, and we saw a lump the size of a grapefruit. We took him to the Vet, but that was more for us than for him. He started having episodes where he would pass out after he went potty outside. He would scream and fall to the ground. Every time that happened, and it was only a couple, a dagger was lancing my heart. One time was too many.

Then came the day that he started coughing up blood. That was it. We couldn’t let him suffer. I loved him too much to let him suffer anymore. We loved him too much; we sat up with him the night before and listened to his labored breathing. Every breath he took physically hurt me because he was hurting and suffering so much.

That night, he taught me one more thing. Something wonderful, healing, and sad. It’s alright to love and let go. It is okay to want to end the suffering. It’s also okay to forgive yourself for doing something you never wanted to do, if it’s in the best interest of the one you love. The one you are doing it for. I let him go; we let him go. On a beautiful sunny afternoon. He was lying on his blanket in a deep sleep, snoring for the first time in weeks. It was a wonderful sound. I kissed him one last time, knowing that we would see each other again someday.

Dan stayed with him until the very end. We miss and love him still. We always will. Kujo healed and got healed at the same time. He was an extremely sweet beagle mix who was also a little mean, ornery, and very adventurous. Above all, he loved and is loved by every human he met in his life. To know him was to want him to love you, and if he did, you felt like a special human.

In the months that followed his passing, I had many dreams involving Kujo. I was his Mom, and he loved me. But he loved his dad more. I believe my family has a touch of the extra senses, so when he came to me, it did not surprise me. He is doing well; is happy, and is waiting for his dad. Kujo told me now both Dan and I have a dog waiting for them under the rainbow bridge. I woke up with tears on my cheeks but feeling happy because I know he is happy. At peace and is waiting for us. We will meet again.

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Heather Stanton

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