I've been putting off giving away my dog for a year and a half, almost since we bought him. I love this dog, and this dog loves me. The problem is he viewed my husband as public enemy number one. He was a rescue from a family who physically abused him. The woman who rescued him actually broke a window to pull what she thought was a dead cat from a hot car but which turned out to be an overheated puppy, getting baked in the car.
This vet tech, who rescued the puppy, carefully chose us from among several others (including one offering $1000, probably with the intent to turn him into a breeder) to be the family to take on this pomchi, Twixie. I strove to live up to the responsibility. Except Twixie associated my husband almost from the beginning with his previous owner, the abuser. My husband simply picking him up turned the phrase "scared the crap out of him" into a literal reality. Twixie would go nuts barking whenever my husband walked through the door, when Twixie expected my husband to walk through the door, or when my husband so much as twitched, changed positions, or stood up to walk around.
And we truly tried everything to soften Twixie up. My husband would give him lots of treats and love. We tried pheromone emitters plugged into the wall, calming treats, and a tube of pheromones to be rubbed onto his nose. We tried a Thunder shirt, a vest that is supposed to make a dog feel more relaxed. We fixed him, thereby devaluing him with the hopes he could stay forever. None of it changed his violent reaction in the slightest. I seriously have sunk a small fortune into that little boy, hoping to smooth things over. No dice.
I loved my little Twixie with his big, beautiful smile, his faithful way of following me everywhere, and his glorious, flowing pom tail and rear fur. But he had started to exhibit behaviors that showed stress, Chihuahua impishness, and feeling overcrowded. He knew the rules but sneaked away to steal flavors from the litter box, scattered garbage everywhere, pottied in every corner after sitting around outside, doing nothing, and just generally made himself difficult. All of this was something we could work with. But what it came down to was my depressive husband couldn't take getting told he wasn't welcome in his own home. He bore with it for a year and a half and totally left it up to me. But I finally decided it was time.
I just hate loss. I hate having to say goodbye or, worse, not getting to say goodbye because of all I've been through with child loss. This was one of my furbabies. And every loss hammers on that tender part of my heart that still aches with separation. It's not that giving away a dog is comparable to child loss but that every loss compounds the one that came before and brings many of the same emotions to the surface. We actually prayed about rehoming my little Twixie. Both my husband and I felt good about the family we found, a waitress with little money who had had lost her Pomeranian babies stolen a couple of years before. She paid us about the same for him as we had paid for him in the first place, about enough for gas. At first, Twixie found the separation hard, but the next day, we heard back that he'd taken both the waitress and the uncle she lived with into his heart. He was doing very well and was not barking at anyone. He was happy.
And, meanwhile, we rescued a little girl pom from a backyard breeder. The little whitish creamish thing smelled of urine and clearly has lived in a cage much of her life. She doesn't know how to dog. But she loves everyone and has latched right onto me. I still sometimes miss my Twixie, but I love my little Snow and know this change was for the best, that we were guided. Everyone is happier now, including Twixie. No, it's not loss like child loss, like I said, but it is hard to make a change like this. I am thankful I did for all of our sakes.
