The Dogs Were Rescued (And So Was I) (15 page)

He looked up at me but did not move.

Daphne came running back into the garage to see what was taking so long. She raced over to Percival, ran around him howling, and headed back to the house. Percival followed her.

Okay, that will do
.

I followed them both out of the garage and saw Daphne’s rear end slip through the doggie door into the house. Percival paused only briefly and then followed her through.
Brave
boy!

Once inside, though, he froze up again. He stood, just inside the house, staring straight ahead at the laundry room wall.
Whoa…different scene. How’d that happen?

Daphne sniffed him and then headed into the family room, and again Percival followed. Both dogs joined me on the couch for a bit of cuddling, but soon they were tearing around the house chasing each other. And when Percival discovered the canvas box of squeaky toys, well, it hardly mattered if I was around. He pulled out each toy, delicately at first and then frantically, as if they’d disappear if he didn’t touch them all. He carried them one by one to the dining room and piled them up under the table.

The spring day was still bright and warm outside, so Daphne periodically went to the front courtyard for sunbathing. Eventually, Percival followed her, carrying a purple monkey squeak toy in his mouth. He hesitated only slightly before pushing his head through the doggie door flap, and after three or four successful journeys in and out, he eventually lost the look of “
I
walk
through
walls!
” excitement. But he remained ecstatic to be able to run outside anytime he wanted, and he did it often, as if to check that the fresh air and sunshine were still available. I was equally happy that he’d easily adapted to the doggie door, since I hoped the next thing Daphne would teach him was to head out to the plants and trees to do his business.

Vanessa had told us Percival was trained to go on a pee pad but didn’t necessarily know to go outside all the time. She didn’t have a doggie door. This meant I’d be back to sleeping on the couch with a beagle, making sure he went outside if he got up in the middle of the night. That was okay with me, though. He was such a cute little guy, and I knew Chris and Daphne would be fine in our bed. Daphne would get a little time alone with her “dad,” and that would make her happy too. It would also make Chris happy. Chris adored Daphne, but we’d both noticed that Daphne seemed to prefer me. She loved Chris, but she went nuts when I came home each night and would insist on fierce cuddling for a good ten minutes. I rubbed her belly, petted her head, and held her close while she leaned into me and licked my face. It usually only stopped when she grabbed my arm with her front paws and earnestly humped away, something she did only to me. And she looked lovingly into my eyes every time. (Yes, I stopped her, but only after I stopped laughing. You have no idea how serious she was about this.)

I prepared dinner for both dogs and put Daphne’s bowl out in the courtyard and Percival’s in the kitchen. Daphne, I knew, would finish her dinner in less than two minutes, but I wasn’t sure about Percival, so I closed the laundry room door, preventing Daphne from coming back in the house until Percival had finished eating. I did not need to risk a food aggression fight on our first night. Daphne stared through the French doors forlornly while Percival sniffed at his dinner. Then he walked away, back to the dining room and his stash of toys.

I picked up a bit of the food—the fish and sweet potato kibble Vanessa had given me, mixed with The Honest Kitchen mix I was giving Daphne—and handed it to Percival. He sniffed, then licked gently. His eyes lit up and he gobbled up the rest of what I had in my hand and easily followed me into the kitchen. But when I pointed to the bowl he just looked at me. He wagged his tail, staring at my hand as though more should appear. And so it did. I picked up another messy handful and he ate it. Then I did it again, but tried to lower my hand to the bowl as he ate. As soon as my hand was near the bowl, Percival stopped eating. What the heck? Was he afraid of a stainless steel bowl? Maybe it reminded him of his cage? Equipment at the lab? I finished feeding him by hand. Whatever the problem was, it wasn’t his appetite.

When Chris came home, Percival stood unmoving again in the dining room. Chris bent down and called to him, and though he had yet to come when I called him, Percival went bounding over to Chris. Chris picked him up and Percival immediately leaned into him.

“Huh. He hasn’t been that relaxed with me,” I said.

“He remembers me, I think.”

Daphne danced anxiously at Chris’s feet, barking up at Percival, so I called her over to me on the couch. She snuggled in next to me, and though we’d been home a couple of hours at that point, she once again demanded her belly rubs and then made her amorous moves, seeming even more forceful with her “attention.”

When it was time for bed, Chris got Daphne to follow him upstairs. Percival hopped up onto the couch with me immediately. He was thrilled with the sleeping arrangements. I tried to adjust so he could curl up at my feet, but he preferred standing on me. I turned sideways and tried to maneuver him into a dog-human version of spooning, but he was having none of it. That was not enough human contact. I knew Vanessa had him in her life for four months and clearly loved him. Still, it was astounding to see (and feel) how much human companionship this dog wanted. One would think he’d be terrified of humans. But then again, it was humans, and mostly female humans, who’d given him his freedom—this new life.

I turned over to sleep on my back and Percival climbed onto my stomach, his face over mine. He stared down at me, wagging his tail. Eventually he lay down stretched out on me. This was his own version of spooning—one where the spoons were stacked on top of each other. Good thing one of the spoons only weighed twenty pounds. We settled into sleep.

In the early morning hours, Percival yelped and jerked awake. The yelp was strained, hoarse—the horrid result of the debarking. He was shaking. I sat up and held him. I stroked his soft fur and talked to him.

“It’s okay, baby. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

He searched the room and then me with his gaze, figuring out where he was and if he was safe. I could only imagine how frightening this was for him. After all he’d been through at the laboratory—his life spent in a cage, his contact with other beings only resulting in pain—then finally, he’s safely in a home for the first time, enjoying a soft bed, toys, human love, and suddenly he’s moved again. What would this new place be like? What would he experience now? It had to be terrifying for him.

I held him and talked to him. It was twenty minutes before he relaxed. Then he hopped off the couch and went to the laundry room for a long drink of water. He slipped out the doggie door into our courtyard and just stood in the moonlight, as if reassuring himself he was still free. I suspected we’d be reassuring him of that for some time to come.

In the morning the sun streamed through the French doors from the courtyard. Percival did not wake. He was sleeping soundly, though silently, much more quietly than Daphne Doodlebutt and her thunderous snores. I unwrapped myself from the semiproper spooning position we’d maneuvered into during the night and made my way to the kitchen to make coffee. Hearing me, Daphne made her way downstairs. I saw her happy face and then her doodlebutt tail wag as she passed through the short hallway and into the family room, on her way, I assumed, to the laundry room doggie door and outside to the courtyard and her morning business. Had I already had my coffee, had I been thinking, I would have anticipated how the rest of the business agenda would go.

I heard Percival yelp, just as he’d done in the middle of the night. More quickly than I could react, both dogs had gone into fight mode. As I rounded the corner, I could see that Daphne was now on the couch too, in a tangle of tricolored fur and teeth. The cacophony of snarls, growls, deep barks (Daphne), yelps (Percival), and strange hissing (likely Percival) woke Chris and sent him flying down the stairs in just gym shorts (he’d learned from Seamus one did not arrive naked to a dogfight). I’d managed to grab each dog by the collar and separate them, but the snarling had not stopped and my arms did not seem long enough to create a safe zone.

“What the hell happened?” Chris said, taking hold of Daphne’s collar and pulling her farther away.

“I think she woke him.” I moved my body between the dogs and tried to soothe Percival, while Chris did the same with Daphne. They poked their heads around us and hurled doggie epithets at each other but eventually calmed down. Percival seemed confused and terrified, as he had in the middle of the night, while Daphne seemed likewise confused, but also concerned: “
What’s up, little guy? Why do you act like that?!
” They both seemed to be on the defensive.

Eventually we let go of them both and they circled each other, hackles up and sniffing, while we watched and occasionally gave a stern “No” when either snarled or lifted a lip. After a few moments they either tired of the animosity or worked out whatever needed working out. Just as it was hard to know what or who started the fight, it was hard to know what conclusion they’d reached. Daphne went outside while Percival circled on Chris’s lap on the couch.

I made my coffee while explaining the night’s events to Chris.

“So he has night terrors?” Chris said.

“Yeah. I guess that’s what it is. He has a nightmare and wakes up not knowing where he is and he’s terrified. I think he’s probably having flashbacks to his time in the lab.”

“Poor guy. That’s so sad.”

“I know. I’m guessing he had the problem at Vanessa’s house too, originally.”

Vanessa confirmed our experience but encouragingly told me the night terrors had all but gone away by the time she’d handed him over to me, so she hadn’t remembered to mention it.

The next day I took Percival with me to work. The traumatized little boy drooled buckets as soon as he saw my car. I put down a blanket and a towel and did my best to explain it would only be a short six-mile drive. But Percival was not speaking English or calculating distance. He’d gone into a fearful place and was panicking. My heart was going to break daily for this dog, I could see that now. But he deserved a happy life as a carefree dog, and we’d get him there eventually, I promised him.

He threw up at mile three.

I parked in the closest available parking space at my office complex and opened the back door to get Percival out. He was standing, his back right leg bracing him against the back of the seat. He didn’t move as I clipped his leash on, nor did he turn to look at me. There was no telling where he’d gone in his mind. I picked him up and held him against my chest. He didn’t resist, but he didn’t lean in either. He was just there. Compliant. Confused. Frightened.

“It’s okay, baby. We’re here. It’s safe.” I put my cheek against the dome of his head and held him closer. “You’re safe, sweetie.”

Maybe I shouldn’t have moved him to another place yet. Maybe he needed time to adjust to our house first. But leaving him home alone didn’t seem like a good option, and leaving him and Daphne home alone together seemed risky, given the morning’s events. Maybe I should have taken another day off work, but with Daphne’s surgery coming up, there was no way I could afford that.

After a few minutes, he pressed against me, and I felt his tail wagging, bumping up against my rib cage.

“Good boy, Percival. Good boy.” I set him down on the ground and grabbed my purse. I closed the car door, locked it, and, holding Percival’s leash, turned to head to my office. Percival straightened all four legs and jettisoned himself backward.
Errrrrrr. Not so fast, lady. Just because I’m out of that torture chamber on wheels does not mean I’m willingly going wherever you have in mind next. Instead let’s visit with these bushes right over here. Yeah, that’s it. Bushes. I need bushes! Bushes! Bushes! Bushes!
He tugged me toward the shrubs lining my office building and flung himself into their midst.

This behavior I was familiar with. He’d done this all afternoon at the final rose ceremony. I found it reassuring that he’d returned to his normal, if obstinate, behavior. Note to self: add fifteen minutes to the time it takes to get into the office on mornings when Percival comes with me. I let him sniff around for a bit, but I already knew that with his love of flowers and bushes, he’d stay out there all day. And who could blame him? But these squeak toys, premium foods, and vet bills weren’t going to be paid for in flowers and grass. We needed to get to the office. Also, I had vomit to clean out of my car.

I picked up Percival—an unfair but necessary advantage I had—and took him into my office.

Seamus’s bed and toys were still there. Daphne had been in a few times and certainly didn’t seem to mind the smell of another dog. We had yet to see her play with toys, but I already knew Percival loved toys—the bigger the better. I brought a couple of his favorite toys from Vanessa with us and tossed them into the bed in the corner of my office, in front of my desk. After the
coos
and
oohs
from my paralegal and assistant, Percival settled down in the dog bed, his head resting on Seamus’s green and purple squeaky frog, and promptly fell asleep. He didn’t wake when I left to clean my car or when I came back in. All his time at work with Vanessa was paying off.

He slept deeply and soundly (though soundlessly) for most of the day. So much so that I worried. I’d never seen a beagle so still.
Should
I
wake
him? Take him outside to potty? Was he okay?
I let him sleep but checked on him regularly, watching to see that he was breathing.

Just when I was beginning to feel the effects of my night on the couch, yawning and nodding off at my desk, Percival woke. His tail wagged enthusiastically, and he grabbed the squeaky frog. He took it out of my office into the main reception area, where he walked around exploring, never dropping the toy. I followed him out and tried to get him to play fetch, but he did not want to release frog. Instead, I petted him and he wagged his tail. Emboldened, I tugged on his toy and he immediately bowed down to play tug-of-war.

Okay, so no night terrors when he woke, and there was nothing wrong with him. He’s just a deep sleeper. Perhaps I needed to be careful not to read too much into his every move.

When it was time to go home, Percival backed into a corner the moment I’d grabbed his leash, just as he’d done when I had taken him out to the grassy area of my office complex for an afternoon break. And once again when he realized we were headed toward the car, he threw himself into reverse. In a repeat performance, I had to use my unfair size advantage to pick him up and get him home. He maintained his three-legged stance with the fourth leg braced against the back of the seat for the whole drive home, but he did not get sick. Again, though, it took a few moments for him to come out of his trance and get out of the car once we reached the safety of our garage. When he finally hopped out the back door, he was unsteady and slow.

“Shake it off, buddy, we’re home now.”

He looked at me but didn’t move. I bent down and petted him until eventually he brought his two front paws up onto my knee, and his face to mine.

“Okay now? Okay, baby? Let’s get dinner.”

I noticed how slowly he ate—much more slowly than either Daphne or Seamus, or any beagle I’d had before them. Still, he seemed to enjoy it, and he did not need me to hand-feed him. I went upstairs, changed clothes, and came back downstairs. Percival had not followed me as Seamus had always done and Daphne was beginning to do. Percival had instead gone out the doggie door and was sniffing around in the courtyard. Fresh air was a good idea for him. I could see why he’d prefer that. I made myself a salad and sat down on the couch in front of the television. Percival slipped back into the house and sat at my feet. He didn’t beg. He didn’t try to steal food out of my bowl, yet I still guarded my food—years of being trained by Seamus. Percival just sat by me, happy to be near, uninterested in the food.

I finished dinner, put my salad bowl in the sink, picked up Percival, and sat back down on the couch. He leaned in next to me. And I again cooed at him, told him what a cutie he was, and reassured him he was home and he was safe. We were still sitting together like that when I heard the garage door open. The sound meant nothing yet to Percival. He didn’t move. Moments later, Daphne came happily bouncing through the doggie door ahead of Chris. One look in our direction and her face fell:
He’s still here?

She came around to my other side, but her hackles were up and she barked at Percival. He bared his teeth and that was all it took. They went at it across my lap. Chris came through the door to a tangle of fur and my screams. This time he pulled Percival back and I grabbed Daphne.

“What the hell happened?” Chris said.

“They are not Trista and Ryan,” I said in reference to the only happy
Bachelorette
couple I knew.

“No, they are not. They’re freakin’ Jake and Vienna.” I was impressed that he could come up with the nastiest breakup in
Bachelor
franchise history just like that, but I also had a snarling dog to control.

It was hard to say which dog was angrier, just as it was hard to say which dog lunged first. I wasn’t sure it mattered. I just needed it to stop. The honeymoon was over and it hadn’t even started.

And that was not the only honeymoon ending.