A Late Night Encounter

Ace and I have been working on some off-leash walks. They are generally short and entail walking to the end of the cul-de-sac and back. He stays within 5 or so feet of me, and we stop together if he needs to relieve himself. These little bursts last no longer than seven to ten minutes and have been an exciting way for Ace to experience our new life in Somerville. Before heading out our big red front door, I make Ace sit and wait, so that I can peek my head out and see if there are any cats, dogs, squirrels, or humans that he might be tempted to chase or that my leaving him off leash might upset.

Last night after completing my ritual of vigilance, I let Ace out. We walked near the park, around the sidewalk and after a quick stop, headed back the apartment. Everything seemed right as rain, so I decided to race him. He is so fast when he's free to run and I love to watch his behind as he leaves me in the dust. I started out ten yards ahead of him and just as he was about to pass me, he dashed off to the right. Oh no. I thought. I had seen the neighbor's cat earlier that night and tried desperately to befriend her, despite feeling that she hated me for owning that black behemoth of a dog. I called out to him, hoping he would pay attention. "Ace, come!" In the dark, I could make out his shape dashing right, then turning on a dime to run to the left. I thought he might by some miracle be coming back to me, but no. There were two black cats in the darkness. Not wanting to chase him, but not wanting him to destroy the neighbor's flower bed, I followed him up the driveway. I could no longer see him in the dark. "Ace," I called in that tone he knows to be annoyance, "come." I heard his tail swish and saw him in the neighbor's unfenced backyard, front paws on their fence. He turned, trotted back to me, and looked up at me, seeming to say, "Almost got the jerk." I grabbed his collar and led him back inside without a word. Once we were inside, I muttered only, "Bad dog," under my breath and ignored him. I felt his big, brown eyes search my face, trying to attract my gaze. Frustrated, I refused to look at him and told my roommate not to reinforce his bad behavior. Noting his slowly wagging tail and attempt at puppy dog eyes, I told him to lay down at my feet.

As his elbows hit the ground, I noticed blood on the floor. There wasn't much, but it was enough to melt my tough facade into a worried mother. "Buddy, where are you bleeding?" Of course, he didn't answer, but wagged his tail happily at my attention. I tried to roll him over to look at his underside. He resisted. I rubbed my hand under his front, right paw. My hand came out with blood. Desperate, I sat down on the ground and he flopped into my lap. I found another spot where he was bleeding, and another. I rubbed his other legs. Two more. I counted a total of five abrasions.

I filled the bathtub with about four inches of lukewarm water. Ace hates baths and usually struggles to get away. I lifted him and he acquiesced. I set him in the water and he tried to lift each of his paws out, one after the other. Removing the mud that hindered me from assessing the situation, I inspected his front paw. One of the pads was raw and bleeding lightly. The other paw was in the same condition. I let him jump out of the tub as I drained the water and gently dried and wrapped his wounds. his back legs had two dime size chunks of skin and hair missing. His ears hung low, his eyes turned down at the outer edges. "Ace, you can't do that. You can't chase cats without regard for how you might be hurting yourself." I don't know what it sounded like to him, but he let me touch his paws (something he disdains), and behaved so sweetly and gently that I couldn't even be mad.

After five minutes, his bandages started falling off and bothering him. I removed all of them, hoping he had stopped bleeding. As I examined the wounds, I saw a toenail on his back foot had been mangled all the way to the quick. I couldn't believe that in a minute and half he had so thoroughly hurt himself. Utterly disregarding all care for himself, he had bounded after a cat and in that pursuit had not just been scratched, but had inflicted real pain upon his own body.

Of course this encounter has given me pause. It isn't that Ace is still shook up. In fact, he seems to be back to normal. He limped for half a minute at one point today, but otherwise he's been excited and ready to explore. Disappointed when I didn't take him out on a run, he stared longingly at his leash while I brushed my teeth this morning.

I, on the other hand, have vacillated from self-loathing for being irresponsible to doubt that I will be able to give Ace the life and structure he needs to amusement at my own wild responses to this occurrence. The feeling that has stuck with me longest, though, is wondering if it is fair to expect my big dog to adjust to a confined life in the city. What should I do? I have promised him time and again that we are together in this. So what is the solution? Should I stop taking him outside? Stop letting him off leash? Then, I realized that someone else probably went through this same line of thinking when Ace was a pup. He probably showed some dominant tendencies or a desire to chase small things that run (hello? he's a dog...), and that scared the owners. I've surmised this much just from knowing Ace for the past few months. Someone didn't feel they could handle him and that's part of the reason he came to me.

Finally today when we went out for a longer morning walk, I realized that there will be mishaps throughout our relationship. There will be times when we are at odds, when what he wants and what I believe he needs are two different things. He will probably chase a cat or a squirrel again. What's important, though, is that I don't shut down, that I don't lock him up inside--and that I don't become afraid. Much like heartbreak, if I close myself (and Ace) off to new experiences because of one disappointment, I will limit our ability to be open and to live fully. We have to embrace our disappointments to know our triumphs. No one lives fully locked inside literal or figurative walls. So, we will continue to know adventure. We will continue to run. And, we will continue to take care of and love one another in this city. The limits of the city are only there if we let them be, and we've only just begun to see what our city has to offer.

In hope,

Sierra (for Ace)