Saving Curtis

This story has a happy ending. It just takes a little while to get there.

Last Monday, I made a borderline evil decision. It was born out of frustration, fear and exhaustion, but it was also somewhat necessary and not made lightly. I ran my options by a number of people and most concluded that this was the best possible choice.

But the fact remains. Last Monday, I sentenced my dog to die. 

I'm not looking for absolution here. That decision will haunt me forever, and I deserve to have it haunt me forever. But in the moment, there were sound reasons. Today, that moment makes me want to puke.

Curtis has never been an easy pet. He is a coon hound, after all. And on top of his stubborn, persistent, hound dog tendencies, he has had major allergy issues most of his life. Despite near constant treatment, I don't think he has every been fully comfortable in his own skin. Literally.

He is trained. He knows commands, and once upon a time, he listened to them. But sometime when he was around two years old,  he remembered that he was a hound dog and pretty much decided to do what he wanted, when he wanted. He starting running away the second he was off a leash. He started stealing any morsel of food that fell within his expansive reach. It was like his life's mission was to do things he wasn't supposed to do.

But, he's mostly a big lovable goofball, so we managed. He loves the kids, and they love him. So even when he started getting aggressive at unpredictable times, we managed.

And then last Saturday, he bit Patterson in the face. I do not blame Curtis for this incident. Curtis was sleeping on a bench, and he was a little under the weather. Patterson hit him with a book and Curtis, startled, woke and lashed out in the only way a dog can lash out. Patterson is three years old and Curtis weighs 80-something pounds, and they were pretty much face-to-face when it happened. Patterson is perfectly fine, but it was a terrifying few minutes. I heard the bark, ran downstairs to find Airika cradling a screaming Patterson. She had blood on her face, and he had a LOT of blood on his face. I like to think that Curtis, mid-bite, realized who it was and pulled his punch. He really could have killed the boy if he wanted to. Patterson had teethmarks on his EYELID.

I truly believe that any dog will bite in the wrong circumstances, and that an incident like this is not necessarily (if ever) a sign that a dog is a bad dog. I just think that sometimes, dogs bite. End of story.

This is where I disclose that Patterson is the fifth person Curtis has bitten, and that this is not the scariest incident.

I realize how fucking dumb I sound typing out that we have a family dog who has badly bit multiple people. Well, I realize this NOW.

Like I said earlier, Curtis is a good pet. Yes, he is always up to something and yes, we are ALWAYS telling him to stop doing something. But he loves the kids. He loves people. Gus wrestles with him on a nightly basis, and even though Curtis is a “biter,” I do not fear him being around the boys. He is surprisingly gentle with Patterson, and always has been. He bodies Gus like a best friend should. When he is conscious of his surroundings, there is no problem.

But a couple of years ago, he had gotten the lid off of the trash and was happily going to town. I walked up behind him and barked “What are you doing!” and he whipped around and came at me like that video of the cougar chasing that hiker. He didn't bite me, but he would have. It was a 5-second incident, but it was fucking terrifying. He's a big boy!

At the time, I chalked it up to me kind of intentionally scaring the shit out of him, combined with Curtis being aware that he was doing something wrong. Just a bad mix of things, and it wouldn't be repeated.

But then one day he was barking at the FedEx guy so intensely that I feared he'd break the window, so I grabbed his collar. And he whipped around and came at me again, teeth first. This time, he backed me up against a wall and got my forearm in his mouth. Not a good time! I got a little shredded, but no stitches or doctor's visit. And the second he realized who he was attacking, he backed off and seemed deeply remorseful. I am told that dogs don't feel remorse, but I'm not sure I believe it.

It was right about here when I started thinking we should find a new home for him. We had a 1-year-old and Gus was still barely out of toddling. But, he's Curtis! He would never hurt anyone intentionally.

Then he got Airika in a similar incident. Nipped her in the belly. It was time for him to go. But finding a home for a stubborn coonhound with a biting problem, let alone a running-away problem and a severe skin allergy, wasn't going to be easy. And, he's Gus's dog. How do you take your kid's dog away from him? I casually looked for options, and let it slide away when nothing popped.

He was trying to eat something out of the sink. Gus came galloping into the kitchen to get some milk. Curtis attacked him. Another belly bite. I am so goddamn stupid for not getting rid of him here.

Airika's dad caught him with his head in the dog food container. Curtis bit him in the hand. This was probably the worst incident and could have been a trip to the ER. That was a few months ago. But still. He looks at you with those big brown eyes and knocks something over with his flapping tail, and it all eases away.

And finally, Patterson last week. It took five bites and a handful of other warning signs for me to do what needed to be done. Curtis could no longer be in this house.

But like I said a little while ago, finding a new home for a dog like Curtis is almost impossible. I spent all last weekend working the phones, calling shelters. Most wouldn't even consider taking a biting dog. It’s not a cool thing to be told by the fucking HUMANE SOCIETY that euthanasia is the best option. But I kept trying.

But even if I could get him into a shelter, how long would an expensive dog with a biting history sit there in that cold, lonely kennel? Forever, if I somehow placed him in a no-kill? But my issues were deeper than that. What if he got adopted? Or if I found a perfect no-kids, fenced-yard situation, got him placed...and then he bit someone badly anyway? Could I live with that? More importantly, WOULD he?

I've been telling myself that Curtis's behaviors are manageable, that if it was just adults in the house, we could manage to avoid these “hot zones” and keep him and everyone else safe. I wanted to believe it, because except for this handful of incidents, he is not a mean dog. He is not a biter. He just happens to bite sometimes. But I guess no dog is a biter except when he's biting. And walking on eggshells around a big dog is not fun for anyone. Factor in little kids, and you really don't realize that you're always afraid until the scary thing happens.

Anyway. I did not want to put another person in the situation that we were in. More important, I did not want to put Curtis somewhere where someone might not treat him as well as we have after these incidents. I don't want someone to drag him out and shoot him because he reacted poorly to being startled. Of course, I also didn't want some kid somewhere getting hurt because I couldn't do what needed to be done.

So after a long, sobbing call with our amazingly patient veterinarian, I made the decision to have Curtis euthanized. At least he would go out with me hugging his big, silly, stinky hound dog ass. I am sickened to report that at the time I made the appointment, a palatable sense of relief washed over me. The indecision was over. The fear of a Bad Incident was over. And part of me really thought that Curtis would finally be relieved of being itchy his entire damn life.

But just a couple hours later, I realized I couldn't do it. This dog does not deserve to die because I couldn't manage him. Because I didn't know what I was getting into four years ago when I brought a goddamn coonhound into our lives, he had to die?

Even though I was now near-constantly throwing up over the decision, I didn't cancel the appointment. I just didn't have any better options. But after I told this rotten story to a friend, she sent me a link to Home For Life, an animal sanctuary on the Wisconsin side of Stillwater. It...looks like heaven for a dog like Curtis. Fenced-pastures to run and play. A full-time staff, including an on-site vet and groomer who could manage his allergies better than we ever could. Couches to sleep on. And no kennels at all!

I spent a few days begging the director to take him, even though I think they are at full capacity. Home For Life isn't a rescue shelter; they don't adopt these animals out. This is a permanent home for animals with nowhere else to go. The director seems to realize the potential in Curtis, and agreed to take him on. I truly, deep in the bowels of my heart, feel like this is the best possible place for him. Home For Life is nestled in a wooded, hilly nook in the Wisconsin countryside, and it looks like a nice place for him to live out his days. He will be happier here than he ever was with us.

Gus and I dropped Curtis off a few hours ago. Even though we can visit him whenever we want (after a settling-in period), walking away from that dog crushed my heart in ways I don't fully comprehend yet. Gus’s howling wail as we pulled away squeezed  out any remaining pulp left in the pump. Even knowing it was absolutely the right thing to do, I'll always feel like we gave up on him.

But seeing 30 other dogs happily and freely run down that hill toward us as we pulled up made me picture Curtis doing the same thing, something that he has never done in his life. Be free. So maybe we should have “given up” a long time ago.

Goodbye, Curtis. You were a pain in my ass from day one. I would have lived with that pain forever if I could have.