Disconnection Nervousness
James Pykonen
©
Copyright 2020 by James Pykonen
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In
March, 2014 my 10 year-old black Pug, Smokey Joe suffered an incurable
illness, euthanasia was quick and painless. After leaving the
veterinarian hospital home was where I did not want to be nothing but
echoes of silence to greet a heavy heart so I aimlessly walk through
late night crowds in
a nearby department store, distraction is what I desired. Arriving home
well after midnight there is no dog to greet me suddenly, I succumb to
grief as if I’d just lost a mother of father; Smokey Joe was ten years
of my life and now that time washes over me. Restless days pass my life
is out of balance home is too
quiet; this
chapter has come to a screeching end but I am afraid to let go, afraid
I will forget. The
door leading to the garage, in the house I lived at, had a cat door and
every day I returned home from work and pulled into the garage Smokey
Joe’s silhouette would appear, best part of the day. I miss stress
relieving walks, his constant shadowing, watching Joe submerge
face into food and water, after a bath Joe expressed his cleanliness by
racing about the house as if chasing a cat; I mean Pugs are naturally
low to the ground but once out of the tub Joe
became aerodynamic running from one end of the house to the other, I
chuckled at the entertainment. Time marches on
though and just as if I’d walked through an invisible
wall leaving the past 10 years to one side and step into what will be
the future that of obtaining another animal companion. I
forgo the breeder
route taken with Smokey Joe for I was in need of rescue and what better
way than to rescue a
rescuer. Living in Vancouver, Washington, at this time I drove past the
Southwest Washington Humane Society many times so here,
being in the fore-thought, is where I look in this time of sorrow, I
call to get the lowdown of pet adoption.
“Hello,
my name is Sherrie how can I help you.”
“Hi Sherrie, I would like to know what I
have to do to adopt a dog.”
“OK,
have you acquired a pet from us before?”
“No I haven’t.” Sherrie
continues with information gathering, “What brought you to think about
adoption through the human society?”
“A
few weeks ago I had to put down my Pug as he suffered from a type of
cancer detected too late. I’ve driven past your location numerous times
so you where the first thought to obtain a pet from and what better way
than to rescue a rescuer.” Chuckling,
Sherrie continues, “Rescue a rescuer, I like that,” then with
compassion and an uplifting attitude, “I am sorry to hear of your loss
we’re here to assist you. How old was your
Pug?”
Without missing a beat, “Thank you, he was
10.”
A
short pause then
Sherrie goes on, “OK so before you come down to the shelter go to our
website,” with confidence and empathy she reads off the site address,
“there you will see pets for adoption along with biographies, is there
a particular breed you’re looking for?”
“No.” Sherrie
continues, “No problem but before coming down search the files and find
the dog that matches your lifestyle then when you get here we’ll take
you to meet the dog you would like to adopt.”
Never
before adopting
a dog this method did not solidify confidence so I question, “What are
the chances the dog I choose has already been adopted?”
Sherrie must be asked this often for she is
ready, “I won’t worry much I have yet to see any problems.”
“Good
to know, thank you I will look over the website,” I rattled the site
off to confirm, “and I look forward to the visit,” Before I hang up
Sherrie recommends
filling out
the application through
the website and bring a copy when I come down. Still not 100 percent
convinced I decide to take a chance. Arriving
early I hand over the application, “Good morning, I talked with
Sherrie the other day about adopting a
dog is she in.” Shelter co-worker Melinda makes
eye contact, looks over the paperwork and with an upbeat voice informs,
“No, Sherrie is not in today but I can certainly assist you. Do you
know which dog you would like to adopt?” After
spending two hours looking through dog bio’s, to which the human
society’s website overflows with domesticated animals looking for a
stable environment, and filling out paperwork I answer, “I do, the
mixed retriever Fisher.”
Melinda
leads
me into the kenneled area where the chatter of Chihuahuas, German
Shepherds, Collies, and Dobermans is uplifting; noses sniff, some move
excitedly about as if in a fashion show.
We
stop in front of a
yellow/white furred dog Melinda informs,“This
is Fisher as you know a Mixed Retriever, 2 years old, and weighs in
at 73 pounds.”
“Hey
he’s a handsome guy the photograph online doesn’t do him
justice.”
Fisher
appears well mannered, eyes forward, attentive an inkling of
affection, Melinda goes
on,
“Fisher suffers from separation anxiety brought about from
being confined to a small area; one day upon returning home his
previous owner found that Fisher had torn through the door frame of
the small room he was locked in thus winning a trip back
here.”
“Wow,
you’re kidding,” I exclaim in disbelief, Smokey Joe
settled into his environment rather easily Fisher, on the other hand,
would be an investment in time in order to overcome his affliction
but there was no hesitation, “OK, so he still suffers from
anxiety?”
“Yes,” replies Melinda.
Nodding
my head, and in a calm assured voice, “OK,
alright so he would be adopted with the affliction?”
Reassuring
Melinda explains, “That is correct. It would be up to you, upon
adoption, to assist Fisher with his
separation anxiety.”
“Do
you have any information that I can use,” I query.
“Yes
there is, at our website under the ‘resources page’ you
will find in-depth information on treating anxiety,” Melinda
informs then cautions all the while maintaining a professional
attitude, “It
won’t be easy but with time and patience Fisher can come
around.”
We
head to the front office to finalize the adoption.
Shortly
after introducing Fisher to his new home I begin operation separation
anxiety relief with
basic sit,
stay,
and come
commands which
he picks up rather easily, maybe from the previous owner. In a
week’s time we move on to the crux of the matter, leaving
Fisher home, alone. Looking
over the behavioral
information found
on the
human society’s website they recommend leaving your dog alone
for a few seconds and gradually work
into minutes however, I decided to expedite the process and choose
five minutes time as a starting point doing so for a
week. With no upsets the time is
increased to 10 minutes and by the end of the second week with no
problems a bold leap forward I take leaving Fisher alone for 30
minutes.
Before
the defining moment Fisher and I go for a long energy burning walk
and upon return I remove his leash and harness, “Sit
Fisher.” I don’t remember where I read this but giving
your dog an assignment before
leaving is suppose to keep
the dog
calm,
kneeling before him I make eye contact and in a soothing voice, “You
be good now and make sure no one breaks in and I’ll be right
back.” Exiting the house and, through the gate in the chain
link fence in the backyard, I enter a city park.
Thirty
minutes later as I step into the backyard from the park a prolonged
mournful cry, Awoooooooooooo,
greets me.
Taken aback I listen but because it sounds as though drifting on the
wind I cannot pinpoint its origin so I ignore and head inside and am
immediately greeted, breast high, with the massive front paws of
Fisher moaning as if saying, where
the heck have you been, I missed you!
“Down
Fisher, sit. Good boy,” the palm of my hand flashes, “Stay,”
then a quick check for any damage, Fisher watches from his sitting
position. A walk
through the living room and upstairs reveals nothing upended but my
attention is quickly drawn to the kitchen counter were a yellow
coffee cup, a favorite, lay
smashed, porcelain shards splintered across it, except the portion
with the handle, this is intact.
Dumbfounded,
I look at Fisher, still in the sit command eyes on me, then to the
remains of the cup, “What the heck?”
I
try to make sense of the mess, “This is deliberate, yet no one
else was home, so how?” I ponder the conundrum while looking at
Fisher looking at me as if he is saying, yes
go on.
Astonishment,
I address Fisher still
at attention, “Holly canola, you grabbed the cup by the handle
with your mouth and smashed it on the counter in defiance,”
goosebumbs race down the spine. Then revelation, “The howling
you were in distress!” I kneel in front of Fisher and scratch
his ears.
Bingo,
right on.
Never
before with dogs I’ve had did such training have to occur, I
scale back on the time Fisher is unaccompanied for his sake and that
of the remaining coffee cups, his anxiety gradually lessens yet, at
times when I come home he leaps chest high but the command, “Down
Fisher,” then out for a long neighborhood walk. I wonder,
though, did he consciously use my cup or was it just handy to drive
home the point of being home alone?
My
name is Jim Pykonen I was born in 1958 and raised in St. Clair
Shores, Michigan (near Detroit). I am a baby boomer.
I
am also a late bloomer having stumbled around, sort of, aimlessly but
writing down bits and pieces of life events I guess to etch the event
in memory kind of like the student that rewrites notes in order to
better understand and recall. Not until at a friend's Christmas party
in 1994 did the wheels of writing truly began turning, I started
journaling with meaning and daily, took a few writing courses, and in
2013 started a blog in order to showcase my writings and in 2016
writings became more passionate.
I
love the process of writing from beginning to end, the frustration,
feeling defeated than snatching victory out of the jaws of that
defeat. Research invigorates.
Currently,
I live Eugene, Oregon working for a medical transit company and write
in my spare time.
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