The Situation: When I Was Called Jack

I was gifted to a couple of humans who wanted a doggy. Why? I have no idea. I was with Bob and Lynn for almost two long, unhappy years. I can say that now, with no particular negativity towards them. But those humans were not equipped to handle life, much less a dog like me. I am a West Highland Terrier, and I like to walk and explore and sniff. I am confident and not a teacup dog to be carried around like a baby. I also will not stand for mistreatment of a woman.

When I was first taken home, I was nervous. Bob was a big, loud human and had poison breath. He drank from the bottle that made him say and do bad things. Lynn was mostly timid and cried often. The only way Lynn and I survived is because Bob was gone so much that we had a measure of peace while he was out of the house.

The house was not big and noises were loud. Yelling, music, televisions, and then Bob brought home a big ugly (well sort of) dog that he named Ace. I realized that Ace was not really mean, but could be. He got most of the food from the bowl (which was dried up kibble and tasted like wood chips) and Bob took him for walks while I was cooped up in the house. The backyard was a bunch of rocks, and it was a small walled in space that was dirty (from the poop of two dogs).

I knew that Lynn was the target of Bob’s outbursts. I tried to protect her. Ace, on the other hand, seemed oblivious to what was happening. Or maybe it was just his way of coping with the fights. One time Bob hit Lynn, and I ran and bit him on the ankle. Hard. I got kicked real good and flew off to the side of the room, and Lynn screamed. I am not sorry that I bit Bob. I thought it was one of my finest moments.

That’s when my situation really took a turn for the worse. Bob knew that I was onto his boorish ways, and he started hating on me. He would yell at Lynn and I would hear my name slurred out of his mouth. If he came near me I would growl and bark, making things mostly worse (for me). I think at that point Ace was becoming chronically upset, because he kept licking his paws until they were practically raw. I tried to get Ace to stop, but he just kept gnawing away at himself.

On several occasions, men or women came to the house. They were called the police. Probably neighbors asked them to break up the fights. I think the woman next door, named Martha, who was very pleasant, would listen to the ruckus going on and then she would call for help. When the police came, Bob would shut up and sulk away like a big bully of a monster that he was. Lynn might cry and say, “no problem” to the police, but I would bark and growl at Bob. Nothing really ever got resolved.

Some people get dogs because they think they will solve their emotional problems. We won’t. Some folks get dogs and then think we are disposal. We aren’t. Others get dogs because we are cute. We are. And then there are too many humans that get dogs and never really want to care for them. We die. Slow, miserable existences which lead to shortened lives and desperate measures. Sadly, we dogs are called “man’s best friends.” Sometimes not true.

It didn’t start out this way for me. Here is how it all began.