the problem with jack

Jack was a sale dog. He’d been at the SPCA for so long, they cut his adoption price from $50 to $25. Such a deal!

We’ve been hemorrhaging money on him ever since.

First, there was expensive training boot-camp. Then a behaviorist. Then we had to add an extra three feet to our property fence because he was jumping that and scaring the mailman. (That was more work than money but it was both and it looks crappy.)

We tried to find doggie day care for him so Tom would have options when I travel, but as soon as they hear “dog aggressive,” the discussion ends. We had to give up.

Our groomer, who did a great job on the big ol’ hairball, went out of business and now we have to find a new one. The last place we tried was owned and operated by a bunch of gayboys whose nervous energy put Jack all on edge. I left him there but by the time I got home, I had a voicemail asking me to come and get him. They suggested we tranquilize him for the grooming so we called our vet—who has never liked Jack—and he prescribed pills that had Jack nodding and stumbling like Sid Vicious on a Saturday night. Hm. Maybe half a pill next time. I wasn’t wild for the grooming, though. It was choppy and his tail went from a graceful sweep to a hairy stub. No thanks. The search for a groomer continues.

Now Jack has found a way out of the yard by crossing a creek into the neighbor’s yard and out the front. He doesn’t do much, but he likes to nap under a bush in front of the house and chase away the postman. The other problem is that when there’s water in the creek, as there is now, Jack gets muddy and filthy and, as some of you may recall, he won’t allow us to touch his back feet, which means muddy footprints in the house.

We’re getting so beaten down.

Yesterday I got an estimate on an invisible fence for the back property, which will be another $1,200. And we don’t have any choice.

I will say this—Jack has come MILES from his early surly self. I’ve been working on his dog aggression and we can walk past the archenemy dog across the street these days and he only goes a little crazy, not totally Cujo. It’s an improvement. If visitors listen to what we say (ignore him and don’t put a hand out to him), he’s perfectly lovely to be around. And I still enjoy the big galoot’s company.

But so many problems and expenses. And we thought ZsaZsa, with her myriad health issues, was a hassle. ... Believe it or not, we vaguely discussed the notion of giving Jack a night-night shot, but that’s really out of the question. Really. Still, we are so worn down by his quirks and costs, that every evening, when he slips out the back, Jack, to rile up the dogs in the alley behind our house, Tom and I only half-jokingly tell each other that with any luck, he won’t come back.

He always does though. And we’re sadhappy.