Mika Doesn't Know, but I Do

            This is happening. Mika is in the back seat. Sarah is sitting next to me in the passenger seat. There is a dog in the building waiting to meet us. My hands are clammy. My heart is racing. I grip the steering wheel and close my eyes. I take a deep breath and try to calm my nerves.

Why am I so worried? Mika was fine with Sammy. She really missed him when he passed.

Yes, but she has an issue with all other dogs. She’s too intense. It’s so much to deal with when that energy is in the form of a Pit Bull, how on earth is she ever going to get along with a new dog?

            She has to get along with this dog. I need her to. For both my sanity and hers, she needs a friend. This friend. I wish she would realize she’s her own worst enemy.

            I shake my head and concentrate on breathing. Worrying about what-ifs isn’t going to help. If I go in there nervous, both dogs will know it and it will be over before it starts.

            “Ready?” Sarah breaks the silence.

            “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I turn around and look at my chestnut dog. She cocks her head and smiles at me. “Will you just for once not go crazy when you get in there?”

            She continues to smile.

            I sigh and get out of the car. Sarah gets out too. We leave Mika in the car so we can meet the dog first. Gravel from the parking lot slips between my feet and flip-flops as we crunch our way to the Doggie Day Care building. A petite young woman greets us inside.

            “Ilana?” She asks, pushing her blond hair out of the way.

            I nod, “Hi. Are you Amber?”

            She smiles, “Yep. It’s great to finally meet you. Ready to meet Smokey?”

            We follow Amber to a large room, more like a huge garage. On one end there is a chain link gate. The floor is littered with dog toys and a couch stands in a corner. Smokey is playing with a toy in the middle of the room. He’s bigger than I thought. I guess he weighs about 60lbs, all of which is muscle. His ears are cropped so they stand up and what’s left of his fur is black, with white on his chest. For some reason, he’s missing the majority of his hair past his shoulders.

If I could change his name more drastically, I’d probably call him Bruce Wayne. Unfortunately, he’s already 11yrs old, so if I want to change his name, and I definitely  do, I need to change it to something that sounds similar to Smokey.

            The woman in the room with Smokey comes over to us and extends a hand, “I’m Cindy, we’re glad you’re here. This guy really deserves a home. He’s such a good boy.”

            We introduce ourselves and then Amber calls Smokey over. He lumbers up and sniffs us. The sniffing is loud and sounds more like he’s snorting at us. I pet his head since it’s the only place that has hair. “Do you know why he doesn’t have hair?” I ask.

            “No clue,” Amber says, “He doesn’t have a thyroid problem, that’s already been checked.”

            “It’s so weird,” Sarah says.

            “His old owners must have shaved him. It’s called ‘the ghetto flea treatment’. If there isn’t any hair, there must not be fleas, right?” Cindy is dripping sarcasm.

            “Do you think it will grow back?” I’d definitely prefer a dog with hair, although with the queen of brats in the car, I can’t afford to be so picky. If Smokey is everything else I need, then he’s coming home with or without hair.

            Cindy shrugs, “It’s hard to tell.”

            “Humm,” I frown. Then address the hairless wonder, “Well buddy, ready to meet your queen?” He looks up at me and wags his bald tail.

            Amber comes with us to the car. I open Mika’s door and put on her muzzle.

            “Just be good. Please like him. Please.” I tell her. I’m not sure she needs the muzzle, she isn’t actually aggressive. She’s just dominant and excited and it comes out as perceived aggression when she so much as sees another dog, usually. I think the muzzle is more for my nerves than to prevent any actual attack on Smokey.

            “What a pretty girl!” Amber says.

            “Thanks,” I say, trying to reign in my 50lb muscle dog. She’s smelled the other dogs and is straining at the leash to find them. I give the leash a jerk. “Quit it!” I tell Mika, “Relax,” that’s for both of us.

            We make it across the parking lot and inside the building in fits because I refuse to let myself be dragged. But when Mika sees Smokey, she makes a b-line for him. In a few moments she’s almost to him. I grab her collar and yank it back. “Enough!” I glare down at my dog and set my jaw. The way she’s acting, you’d never know she was loose leash trained. “Sit Down.”

            Mika does not sit. She stares at Smokey. Her hair is completely on end. I pinch her hips and she sits down. When I have a good hold on her, Cindy leads Smokey on his leash over to Mika so he can sniff her.

            Mika never takes her eyes off Smokey. ‘Grrrrrr’ rumbles from her throat. I yank her collar in a quick motion to snap her out of it. Smokey just sniffs her and wags his tail.

            When he’s made a full circle, Cindy has him sit so Mika can have her turn to sniff. I lead Mika over to Smokey. The fur on her back that was standing on end begins to fall as she sniffs. They seem to be doing fine together so at a signal from Cindy, I drop the leash. Cindy does the same.

            Free from human restraint, Smokey bounds into the center of the room and does a few laps around the perimeter. Mika joins him. I can tell she’s happy to have a canine friend again.

            “Do you think I should take her muzzle off?” I ask the ladies.

            “I think so, she doesn’t seem to have a problem with him,” Amber says.

            I call Mika over and relieve her of her muzzle. Her first reaction is to grab a toy and tease Smokey with it. I laugh at my ridiculous queen. Then a dog walks past the chain link gate.

            Mika drops the toy. My nerves come rushing back.

            Both Mika and Smokey run to the gate. Smokey barks, a deep, slow bark. Mika’s bark is not slow. Her barks are fast and loud. She pushes against the gate. Another dog walks by. Mika pushes harder at the metal, her bark growing in intensity. She looks at Smokey and for one awful moment my stomach drops. She’s going to redirect. She’s going to attack. I can’t even imagine what breaking up a serious Pit Bull fight would take.

            And then the moment passes. There is no fight, not even a growl directed towards Smokey. The intruding dogs are gone and forgotten.

            A wave of relief washes over me. This is going to work. I’m getting another dog, or rather, my dog is getting a dog. Just as soon as I change that ridiculous name of his.

                                                                       ***

Smokey, now Scottie, was 11yrs old when he was dumped in a kill shelter in Chicago, IL, and put on death row simply because of his age and breed. The amazing people at Chicago Land Bully Breed Rescue (CBBR) sprung him from “jail” and he hung out at a doggie daycare in Madison, WI until we met him and gave him his forever home. There are plenty of other incredible dogs waiting for their chance at a happily ever after. If you think your pack might have room for one more and for more information, visit CBBR’s website http://www.cbbr.org/

*The term Pit Bull is used loosely in this story. There is actually no Pit Bull dog breed. Pit Bull as a term is used to describe any dog with the bully breed characteristics of a muscular body, strong, set jaw, large head, etc.