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Friday, March 7, 2014

During- Darcy's Journey


As summer wound down and trickled into Fall, my almost daily walks with Darcy were a constant and inviolable part of my life.  During those months, there were brief periods of time where Darcy disappeared only to reappear like clockwork within a day or two of being adopted (and inevitably returned).  Odd as it may seem, I was still largely unaware of the severe bite history this little terrier carried with him.  The shelter continued to be over-crowded and understaffed and in the very harsh reality of simply getting dogs walked, cleaning pens and washing and refilling water bowls, all in a terribly stressful “catch up” mentality, a dog’s history was simply not part of the lexicon of the conversation between volunteers and staff.

Clearly, too, without being truly aware of it, I was falling in love.  My conversation at home must have full of Darcy stories because one night, as I fretted and worried and vocalized to my long-suffering husband my worry about what was going on at the THS, he said bluntly “bring him home, if you want him, get him”.  Surprised, I went, really?? We already had four kids, 2 rescued GSDs (one from the THS which had precipitated my first volunteering way back when), 5 rescued cats (2 from the THS), a rescued rabbit and a guinea pig, 2 full time jobs, a monthly trip to Montreal to look after my elderly mother, 18+ hours a week at the THS plus my work with a GSD rescue.

That very week, I stopped Shas (a talented canine specialist with a magic touch with dogs – currently running the Canine department at the THS) and said hesitantly…. “I was thinking of fostering “Duke”.  My initial plan was to take him home for a weekend and see how the fit was with my crazy crew, but clearly, the “Duke” situation must have been pressing even in the deliriously forgiving, unrealistic and rarefied air of the THS at that time, he was becoming incredibly problematic.  Next to no staff would walk him as his bite history was fierce and almost 100% with anyone that got near him.  Each and every one of the several adoption attempts had resulted in severe bites and his hurried return.  This I found out later – but at that moment, Shas was like YES- of course you can take him!  Take him tonight if you like!  Take him for a week and give him a try! Shocked, but happy, I told Shas I needed to get a crate and warn everyone at home.

That night I purchased a new collar and leash and put the crate in the car.  The next evening, after my regular three hour dog walking, I went to Darcy’s pen… there, I changed his collar and attached the matching leash and with him tucked under my arm, headed to the front desk to get his paperwork.  As I waited, the inquisitive terrier tucked comfortably and contentedly under my arm, one of the front desk staff said in a shocked voice “wow! Look at Duke! I’ve never been this close to him!”.

And so Duke.. aka Darcy from that moment forward came home.

Darcy came home Thanksgiving of 2009.  He came into the house devoid of history other than the history I had with him. He came with no preconceived notions nor awareness of his triggers other than the fearfulness with which I was familiar.  I knew he was good with other dogs as I had often walked him with others (something we used to do frequently in an effort to get all the dogs walked).  My children and husband were seasoned veterans of difficult dogs.   Finn came in a neglected, highly anxious, mange-ridden existential mess.  She brought with her a young life on the streets, abuse and a world of chaos and horror.  Llyr was rescued from a life chained to a dog house in the backyard from the time he was 8 weeks old.  Embedded in him (he was 3.5 when I rescued him) was serious territorial aggression, no manners, and no housetraining.  We had many years behind us of acclimatizing feral cats, of learning dog handling skills, of mistakes and achievements, of stress and a fierce joy when we got it right.  The kids knew how to approach dogs, how to address them, how to keep calm, how to not push and how to be assertive without being dominant.

The first day Declan met him, Darcy flew up on his small spring-ridden terrier legs and tore a hole in his cheek.  The second day Maeve said hello to him he took a chunk out of her calf. The first week my girlfriend came over, he darted in incredibly quickly and somehow without tearing her jeans, punctured her shin so it needed stitches.

The thing with Darcy is you couldn’t read him. I knew – and had taught my children – the signals to watch in a dog.  The white at the corner of the eye, the stiffly wagging tail, the licking of the lips, the tenseness in the body…. And more, much more. But somehow, Darcy never displayed any of these normal warning signals. He would go from merrily grinning to an incredibly fast dart in and out and those needle sharp teeth were lethal.

Within two weeks, except behind a closed door in the bedroom with me, Darcy was tethered to either myself or Doug.  Even with this, he continued to bite, catching us unawares, seeing a tempting leg or a hand in reach.  My children, with the exception of my second child – were terrified of him.

Yet, in other respects he settled in remarkably quickly.  Other than teasing the cats with no malice, he got on famously with his new canine siblings. He and Finn would run and play for hours at a time in my large, fenced backyard and Llyr had no issue tolerating him.  Darcy adored cuddling with me and was delirious at the end of the day when I would come home, leaping up from the ground to lave my face with kisses. He slept, nestled between my knees every night.

Despite biting Doug three times over the period we had him, Doug loved him almost as much as me. There was something incredibly endearing about this little terrier, something in his desperate need, his energy, his frantic constant quest to survive that resonated with him.  And Darcy actually liked Doug, each of the bites being a situation of redirection rather than outright attacks.  Yet through this entire period of time, no matter what the fear, what the provocation, Darcy never ONCE bit me or even tried.  We were joined at the hip and the love I had for that dog was almost overwhelming.  

Anyone who has ever had an animal, anyone who has spent a lifetime loving them knows that in your life, an animal sometimes comes that is your soulmate.  Because their lives are all too brief, we love our animals and mourn their passing – but there is one or sometimes more that come into our lives and somehow finds a place in our hearts and in our souls that no animal has ever filled before.  My Lass, a GSD/retriever mix that brought our children up was one such dog. She was a gentle, sweet darling that brought with her such an overwhelming kindness of soul and heart that even now, more than 10 years later, I mourn her.  But she was the “good child” … the child that you cannot help love because of her sweetness, her devotion and her depth.

My Darcy was the “wild child” … the one who made you stay up all night fretting and worrying. He was the one who caused you endless hours of pain and suffering in your desperate attempt to put them on the right path. He was the one who drove you wild with anger and despair then in the glimpse of his gaze you saw the child that was – the innocent soul who life had torn and mangled and destroyed … yet underneath was the child of your heart.

We tried everything.  Sam Malatesta – the best trainer and dog person I’ve ever known eventually admitted defeat.  He spent many hours in the home helping us with behaviour modification, giving us advice and tips (which we followed religiously).  Sam had helped us to turn around our two crazy GSDs from incredibly dangerous, potentially lethal weapons into the wonderful dogs they now are but Darcy defeated him. We spent several weekends on courses with Sam – visited him in his training and breeding facility north of the City and other than biting Sam at least twice, Darcy retained his unpredictability and unstableness.

After almost a year of behavior modification, of rigid rules and a desperate, close attention to detail to rein in and modify his behavior things were no better.  I had lost track of the number of bites Darcy had inflicted. I lived in a fog of stress, waiting for TAS to knock on my door and take him as several of the bites had needed a doctor’s care and doctors are supposed to report dog bites to TAS.  By the end of the year, Declan had been bitten twice, Maeve three times, Kealin once and Doug twice. He had bitten the kids’ friends, my friends, and attempted to bite strangers. On his walks or outside the house, he wore a muzzle always. Inside the house, he was tethered to either Doug or I- no exceptions and yet still, a momentary lapse in attention, an instant of confusion and in he would dart and bite.

My kids were incredibly forgiving … I do and have been visiting Montreal monthly since my father died almost 12 years ago. I take my ma to appointments, do stuff around the house, deal with business.  As such, whether they wished to or not, the kids had to deal with Darcy.  During the day, we crated him when Doug or I were at work.  He got home fairly early but there were days he couldn’t make it home until later and if I were away, then the kids had to let Darcy out.

Picture this:  Kealin would don Doug’s old hockey equipment, gloves, shin pads and thick sweater… Rowan or Maeve would pull on the heavy duty rubber gloves I used when dealing with the bbq – they came up to their elbows.  Soccer shin pads (goalie) ones would go on.  The first kid would stand at the back door, almost hiding behind it – the second would open the cage, swinging the door around so it protected their legs .. and Darcy would go out.  To get him back, one would stand on top of the freezer with the back door open, throwing cut up hot dogs into this crate while the other cowered behind the crate door… as soon as he was in, they would slam it shut – and then spend 10 minutes trying to lock it with the unwieldy gloves protecting their fingers.

And they did this week after week.

I then, with the guidance of my wonderful vet, began a regime of drug therapy. Anti-anxiety medications, anti-psychotic pills, sedatives and anything else – we tried them all – to no avail.  Rae, my vet, felt there was organic damage in my little terrier, my little beloved fiend. 

As winter waned, and the Spring of 2011 began to bloom, I began to internalize the painful reality that others had grasped months before; nothing I could do was going to fix my dog.

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