Charlie Brown broke a rule between humans and dogs. One day a few weeks ago he pushed out of the laundry room, ran over to the woman who helps clean our house, and attacked her. I witnessed the event. As someone who loved and trained the dog for two years I think I know something of what was going on in his mind. He was afraid, he was trying to protect me, and he lost control. Alessandra had one deep puncture wound on her forearm and spent several hours waiting to be seen at a local ER. A prescription for antibiotics and perhaps an increase in her fear of dogs were added to her take-home that day. She has recovered.
Charlie spent his first year in an East Bay backyard, neglected and poorly socialized. He learned that the world was a dangerous place and people were not to be trusted. Dumped at a shelter, he languished in a cage, demoralized into a tight ball of fur that did not stir when I knelt by the wire. When I brought him into my family's world I was sure that our love would save Charlie, that training would channel his anxiety into a dog sport like agility where he would thrive. We didn't know then about fear aggression, how it cannot be "undone" with love or training.
For two years Charlie lived with us. He was dearly loved, and he loved each one of us as only a rescued dog can. Clever and funny, he was a good buddy. To watch his lean form race through our backyard, chasing his favorite ball or simply running to run, was to witness beauty in motion. Sailing over the 44" dog gates in our house (barriers to allow the cats some Charlie-free territory) the dog was both annoying and awesome.
By the time we realized that Charlie could not be trusted with other dogs, our cats, or anyone outside our immediate family it was too late. Our world had become a small island where few were allowed passport. We did not host playdates for our children, were reluctant to have friends over or even to hire babysitters so we could go out. Daily activities were orchestrated around Charlie. We began to realize that we weren't the perfect home for Charlie and worried that unless we found a trainer-type to adopt Charlie he might become even more unmanageable.
But the day Charlie crossed the line and bit Alessandra we knew there was no going back. Our efforts to find that mythical "perfect rehome" for him ceased. He was no longer a dog who might bite. He was a dog who bit. He was dangerous.
There is no need to go into the details of those last few days with our funny, beautiful Australian Cattledog. Difficult discussions were had with our young children to prepare and help them understand why those two years were a gift to us, and a gift to Charlie, but he could no longer be trusted to control himself. Tears, laughter, much heartbreaking grief surrounded us the week that Charlie lost his struggle with fear.
The right thing is rarely the easy thing.
