The Trip Home - Interlude

The Interlude: I heart My Dog

After our return flight to NYC all I wanted to do was get HOME. I actually thought about just getting into my car and driving home that night. The kids would be tired and would sleep. Traffic would be minimal. And I could sleep in my own bed that night. But by the time we got back to my parent's apartment, I was a walking zombie. I knew I would never make it without rest. So I made a date with my sister for the following morning - I needed help getting both kids and all of our stuff to the parking garage.

The next morning, confused by the previous day of travel and the time change, both boys were awake and ready for the day to begin by 2:30. AM. A large percentage of New Yorkers were probably not even HOME yet from their Saturday night escapades, and my kids decide it's a good time to eat cheerios and scream.

I am not sure exactly how it happened, but around 6:30... one minute I'm scolding Nick for emptying the contents of my wallet onto the coffee table and telling him to come back with my house keys, and the next minute the dog snarls, snaps at him, and Nick is on the floor, his hand clutching his face, screaming.

My parents have a 10 year old dalmation named Cleo. She is a wonderful dog, but is not very sociable. To other dogs, or to people. Especially not children. She has been known to bite, and people are warned to give her her space and not touch her ears. Besides being very nervy, Cleo has allergies to wool, cats, and humans, and she breaks out in a rash frequently and has to be givin steroids. She also has - I think - a tumor or something on her pituary glad, which causes her to be even MORE jumpy, and also to drink a lot of water and pee an average of once every 30 minutes. Don't get me wrong, I love this dog. She's even come up here to run around in our yard and she plays with Gunther... But she's not an EASY dog.

I immediately jumped over to my baby and made sure he was OK. I was picturing an emergency room, stiches, and future scarring... but he's fine. He was very lucky. The bite just missed his eye, and the wound didn't bleed all that much - more of a scrape, really. He was more frightened than anything else. So was I. I called my mother and told her I could not have the dog in the house with my kids, that it wasn't safe, etc.

And that is that. At this point, there is really no one else who would take her. She's on expensive medication and she's a biter. So she's going to be put down. Which is tragic. I feel guilty because I know I might have prevented it if I had been more awake, or had even noticed her sitting there in her chair. At the same time, Nick is my baby, and it could have been worse...