Cold Blooded

I always had pets growing up. Some I liked, some I didn’t care for, and just a few that I felt were there just for me. When I turned twelve, I received two hamsters, one a golden brown and the other the softest grey. I was in love and I couldn’t wait to set up a maze of tubes for them to play in. The next morning, one of the pair had died and the other was eating it. Yeah, what the heck! I cried and the body was taken back to the pet store for a replacement. She was a big girl, a honey color with a white stripe around her middle. Three days after I set her up in a brand new enclosure, she gave birth. My excitement was overwhelming. I was going to have six more! Once again, I woke up and death was looking me in the face. Apparently, if the momma is lacking in calcium nature takes over. Bye-bye babies.

A few years later Shadow came into my life. A stray looking for a home. He was a black lab mix. Goofy, sweet, and so beautiful. By this time, I gave up on small critters and became a dog person. He wasn’t leash trained but I worked on that. He wasn’t housebroken but I did my best to teach him. He was always hyper but he was still a puppy, I couldn’t fault him for that. We had him less than a year when the accident happened. I call it an accident but my mother and her boyfriend called it an attack. I was confident Shadow was defending himself when he bit the hands of the boyfriend. Shadow tried to run away and I chased after him, crying because I knew what they wanted to do to him. That was the first real crack in my heart.

I was nineteen when I walked through a pet store and saw the cutest St. Benard. She had the biggest brown eyes and her paws already filled my hands at three months old. I named her Cleo. She grew so fast and ate like a pack of starving wolves. Shortly after adopting her, I fell in love with a human and we moved in together. He lived in the country and I thought that it was meant to be. She would have room to play and maybe we could add a few new members to her pack. Ultimately, what she found were porcupines. The first couple of chases resulted in quills to her nose and face. Quill removal is expensive and we were a young couple with little money. We tried putting her in an enclosure while we weren’t home but that didn’t stop her. We found her lying on the ground, quills inside her mouth, puncturing the membrane of her throat. Surgery was out of our price range and that didn’t guarantee that she would survive the removal. I had to make the heartbreaking decision to put her to sleep. 

Four years later, I picked out Daisy. Another black lab mix. She was about seven months old when she was hit by a car. It was then that I was sure that I was the problem. All these poor animals were dead because I loved them. Silly, right? Seven years after Daisy, we decided to get another dog. We had two little girls and they had been asking for a pet. We were doing well with goldfish, so I thought I would give it another try. We found a breeder and looked at Great Pyrenees puppies. Once again, I picked out the sweetest one. He was so calm and leaned up against your leg, staring up at you with his big brown eyes. We got him home and I bathed him and we set him up with his own house with a large play area for when we were gone. He was a good dog. A little jumpy with noises and would shake but the Vet said that he just smelled something that excited him, it was nothing to worry about.

We had him for two years and it was becoming more clear that there was something wrong with his brain. We had moved to an area where hunting was a common practice. It turned out to be his undoing. We had him in a large wire pen for dogs. He was so out of control that he tore up his face and feet to get out of the enclosure. I couldn’t bring him into the house, my children were still little and his size would be a problem if I couldn’t keep him calm. I did the only thing I could think of and clipped him to a leash inside of the enclosure to stop him from tearing himself up again. It was the worst decision ever, he died.

That was the final strike. I was done. I stopped loving animals. I stopped giving them attention, I wouldn’t look at them, or touch them. I was a killer, not by choice, but a killer nonetheless. Yes, I know what you are thinking. Such a silly reaction. Things happen and it’s not like I went around with a knife and ended all of these lives myself. But it felt like that and I have proof that my love for animals kills them.

Lacie and Sky were part of a litter that had been abandoned by the side of the road. We have no idea what they are made of, truly mutts to the bone. My husband found them and my girls each picked out a pup. I didn’t want them but I didn’t stop them from taking care of the puppies. I didn’t love them but I was kind. I took care of them when the family was out. I made sure they went to the doctor, got their shots, and stayed healthy. And when feelings tried to bud, I would tell them, “I am only being nice because you two are living creatures and deserve basic kindness” my way of fooling the universe. It worked, they lived with us for almost six years before we moved and found them a wonderful farm to live on. 

Fuzzy wonderful cuddly creatures couldn’t mend my heart. I got very good at burying any feelings for animals. Until Remmy, a fancy bearded dragon. This darn creature is worming his way into my heart and mending the cracks of each death that came before. I didn’t realize this was happening until last night. I had a very emotional dream. My family was young again, my girls the same age that they were when our Great Pyrenees passed. I was with my youngest when I found an abandoned bearded dragon. She was absolutely beautiful. Her color was of red clay and she was almost two feet long. I didn’t hesitate to pick her up. Her body was warm and she was a good weight. I placed her on my chest and the feeling was...whole. I finally felt complete. The weight was welcome, the heat that radiated from her body wasn’t technically accurate but it felt right. I held her there for days, on my chest, close to my heart. Until one day water started squirting from my shirt in an arch quickly followed by her head. Yes, it kind of reminded me of that scene in Alien but what can I say, it was a dream.

I turned her around and saw that I had somehow punctured her throat. It was horrible and I couldn’t close the wound. I held her close and cried but in a blink of an eye, she was healthy and whole and playing with Remmy. She was teaching him how to climb and showing him how to find the best food to eat. She was okay and so was Remmy. I woke up and was upset. Why did I have to dream something like that? I couldn’t just fall back to sleep. I had to analyze and pick apart what that dream meant. I lay there replaying the dream over and over. I finally relaxed when I realized that the red dragon was my heart. I had lost it years ago and finally found it again. Picking her up and placing her on my chest was putting my heart back where it belonged. When she got hurt, it was my heart, and I couldn’t fix her. But Remmy did. He made her whole again, he made me whole again.