This is the last depressing post ever, I promise...

I really haven't felt like myself the past few weeks and for the first time since my father passed away in '04, I've consistently been a little bummed out. Which, coincidentally is why I started blogging in the first place. I wouldn't say I'm depressed really, but I'm definitely not feeling like myself.

For some time we thought our dog had arthritis. When it got worse and not better with pills, we took her back in for more x-rays. It wasn't arthritis, but a tumor in her front leg. And I'm not an expert in this stuff, but it has apparently spread into her chest as well. Bottom line is that she is not going to make it more than a month or two.

I know, I'm a softie, it's just a dog. But you kind of have to understand, the hot wife and I got this dog as 19th birthday presents to each other when she was 9 weeks old. There are so many memories, I wouldn't know where to start. So many things would be so different with us, were it not for her.

And now, as if that wasn't bad enough, our other dog is limping and not eating well and we're worried he might be in the same situation. And I keep flashing these thoughts of having to put both of them down at the same time, which I'm not so sure I can go through.

While I haven't had to put "our" dog to sleep before, practically like a child to us, we've been here before. And the situation we're in kind of reminds me of an article I wrote a few years back for a dog magazine. And the payment for writing it was that the dog rescue I was involved in at the time got to run a free ad highlighting some of their dogs. So, it's kind of an ass kiss to rescue, but whatever.

I usually try to avoid depressing topics, but it kind of highlights the current mood, so I'm going to post it.
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"He’s a rescue dog, he’s had a rough life"

"It’s going to be two shots, right?" I asked, hoping I could leave before the final shot.
"Nope, just one." The vet replied as she put the rubber strap around his arm.
As I sat there on the floor holding my dog as tight as I could and trying to reassure him, I tried to keep from second guessing our decision.

"He’s a rescue dog, he’s had a rough life", I would tell people. I would look for any excuse I could find to justify his aggressive behavior.

"He may need eye surgery..." But that wasn’t it.

Arri was a rescue dog, and he did have a rough life. But there were no excuses for the constant aggressive behavior, for lunging at people, for many of the things he did.

"Now there may be a bowel movement, or he may gasp for air..." She said looking up at me.
"I don’t think I can watch that" I replied as reality began to set in.
"You don’t have to stay if you don’t want."
"What do other people do?"
"Some stay for the dog, and some don’t." she said, trying to make either option sound ok.
I paused. "I’ll stay"

I tried to keep myself together for Arri’s sake. The last thing I wanted was for him to be scared or confused. But it was too late for that. He looked to me for guidance. He was scared, confused. In my mind I kept thinking that I could leave now. I can train this out of him, he can be a good dog, I can just keep him away from people, I can place him in an experienced home.

It’s not his fault... "He’s a rescue dog, he’s had a rough life."

But it was too late for that. He was gone. I pulled his collar off, and put it in my pocket with his leash. I stared at Arri, and then at the floor, and then back at Arri. He was gone. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew the right decision had been made. But my heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest. I wanted nothing more than to drag his breeder in there to watch, to drag the jerk who kept him tied up outside in there to watch. As if somehow that would have made me feel better. If only they had cared. If only they had seen the good dog that we had seen. If only they had taken the time.

It took me months to come to that decision, to put one of my own dogs to sleep. We spent those months training him, socializing him, but he only seemed to get worse. He was like so many others. Dogs who never got enough socialization, who never got enough training, who never got enough love. Like so many other rescue dogs, he spent days outside, with little water, little food. He bounced from place to place before he finally settled in our home, to be the pet he was never allowed to be, but it was too late for that.

In the short time he was with us, he changed many minds. Some for the better, for people he liked. Some for the worse, for the people who were on the other end of his aggressive behavior. It was devastating to think that people would leave our house with not a positive view of Rottweilers, but just the opposite. People stopped coming over, or they asked to make sure our dogs were put away. We had tried so hard to show people how good Rottweilers could be, but really we were showing them how bad they could be.

When I got involved in Rottweiler rescue almost 5 years ago, I never dreamed I would have to go through that. I never dreamed that doing something that felt so good, would end up making me feel so horrible. I know that I’m not alone because almost everyone involved in rescue that I have talked to has had to go through this very same thing. Despite what their heart tells them, they know it is the right decision to make. They know they cannot afford to have dogs out there which create a negative image for Rottweilers. They know they cannot afford to have aggressive dogs out there in the public eye. Dogs that may someday end up biting someone. The problem is real, I know that now, and they deal with it every day.

Rottweiler rescue volunteers deal with the dogs that no one else wants to deal with. Dogs that are the victims of ill-planned moves, irresponsible college students and breeders in search of quick money. Many of them help behind the scenes, and sometimes we can forget they are even out there. Many are burnt out and broke, and yet they deal with it every day. They deserve our appreciation, our support. They deserve our "Thank You".
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Nick