Earlier this month, after working with Bentley on his fear (he’s been hiding under the bed anytime he suspects an ear treatment or something similar is up my sleeve), I had to take him back to the vet for the second booster shot of the canine flu vaccine. I decided to fly solo on this mission bc Bubs was out of town and in anticipation of a bad experience, I figured it would be better to associate this with just one owner rather than both. He entered the lobby and exam room just fine. It was a different vet team that day and having gotten the memo, they asked me to put on a basket muzzle, which he let me do. But then he started getting worked up again. They couldn’t give him the shot bc he kept thrashing around. Ultimately, two other techs came in and had to pin him down. It was an overwhelmingly emotional sense of helplessness and despair. Why is he doing this? The panting, the thrashing, the barking… immediately afterwards, they let me remove the muzzle and he willingly took treats from their hands. But I was… I dunno how to describe exactly… but a little afraid but mostly just out of ideas on what was happening and how this was going to be a resolvable issue. I started crying and the staff tried to comfort me by saying that he wasn’t trying to harm anyone: he was just scared. Yeah, but why is he so scared? It just didn’t make sense. Is he crazy? They said he wasn’t trying to bite them; he was more bark than anything. It was like they were trying to console and convince me that he didn’t have bad intentions.

It was a bizarre experience. Afterwards, my thighs were all scratched and bruised. I had been wearing a dress and boots. I didn’t even feel the marks he had left in the moments of going ballistic. But I thought to myself: this must be what it feels like to have a special needs child– one where you don’t understand and you can’t communicate. But just in a matter of seconds he goes from calm and fine to 100% unrecognizable. I thought of our nephew C and how as he got older, the mounting frustrations of not being able to communicate, manifested as violent and sometimes destructive outbursts and behaviors. I thought about how scary it must have been for his parents. And I kept thinking to myself: what am I gonna do with this?

The staff gave me pamphlets and brochures on fear aggression and training and desensitization. I had read up on that previously. I mean, was the answer to keep taking him to the vet for treats? Build a relationship with one vet and one team? It all seemed so unreliable. Is he not supposed to get regular checkups and treatment? I mean, shepherds are notorious for health issues… he will NEED to get medical treatment throughout his lifetime. I went home exhausted and defeated.

Later that day, I spoke with my friend N, the vet. She said you know, there are meds you can give him to take the edge off. I dunno what I was thinking, but that option hadn’t even entered my brain. Well, duh. Yes, I will need to take that route. Is it a shortcut? Probably but you know what? I don’t know that I’m that convinced on building a relationship with a singular vet. I mean, that seems like a major time sink with not enough flexibility. What if she leaves the practice or isn’t on call the day we go? The reminder of a drug option gave me some comfort.

Oddly enough, later that same day, his previous owner texted me. How are things going, etc. I texted that he went ballistic again at the vets. Any insights? No. He never liked the vet or shots, but he never displayed fear aggression. Hmm. Then, lots of back and forth: she sent me his baby pics. Then, a picture of him wearing a cone collar.

That’s weird. What was that for? I’ve only seen those used for post-surgery. Oh when Bentley was living with my ex, he went missing for a few days and was found with a broken leg. It required surgery, he has a pin in his leg, and he was in confinement at the vet for more than two weeks. Ummm, yeah. That MIGHT just constitute a traumatic event, don’t you think?

I mean, I’m a gullible person, so I never think that people are concealing information from me. But Bubs adds that since we got him, it’s just been one extra tidbit after another that doesn’t quite jive. For example, he was listed as 2 y/o on the website. Turns out he’s 4.5 y/o. Then they gave us a bag of dry food. He wasn’t eating it at all. Turns out Mom made homecooked food for him. Then, no aggression issues/trauma and he actually broke his leg! I mean, dunno. Shit happens. There are a lot of details to relay to the new owners. And maybe for some people, these would have been dealbreaker issues that would have prohibited him from getting into a good home. I don’t honestly know. They aren’t dealbreakers for us, but certainly, we’re both engineers: we like to be thorough and comprehensive with our information, you know?

I still think she was a good owner who loved him very much. She tried her best to give him a safe and stable home. And I’m sure the surgery cost A TON, which is not easy for most families. J feels like they have lost credibility. I still choose to like them and honor them. After all, they gave us Bentley. And even with his issues, Bentley is a good boy and we feel lucky to have him.