Shock Therapy

Much to my dismay, we had to find Daisy the Brain Tumor a new home.

After she killed the fence, Chris and I discussed our options. We had such hopes for her as she was sired by one of the best tracking dogs in the country, but to work with them takes a great deal of time, something we're very short on. I had hoped to work with her and have her find Jon Benet's killer and Brit Brit's common sense, but it was not to be.

We made a dozen phone calls each and finally agreed to give her to a guy with a farm and another dog. He was so eager to pick her up that he drove out that very evening. He met her and hugged her and enthusiastically told us how many years he'd wanted a bloodhound.

"I just never had the money," he explained.

I empathized. Daisy was Chris' wedding gift and she set me back over $700. We gave her away, only because finding her a good home was more important than the money.

At least that's what I told myself when he pried the AKC papers from my vice grip.

As corny as it seemed, I brought Dusty the Wonder Sausage out to "say" goodbye. They nuzzled each other and howled and then sat and solemnly made eye contact while the truck drove away with Daisy in the back.

"Oh, wow, Chris. They know what's happening."

"Oh, bullshit. They're dogs."

"Look at them. They know. And Dusty looks positively crushed."

"Ugh. I feel like I'm stuck in Old Yeller. I'm going in."

Since Dusty was alone and I felt like I had just forcibly separated Bert & Ernie, we decided to make him an indoor dog again and let Virginia be his human. She was eager to begin his training. Chris was not so enthusiastic.

"Crystal, just find another home for him."

"Absolutely not. He's a wonderful dog, Virginia loves him and for shit's sake, he's Dusty. He's the Wonder Sausage. I can't just give him away."

"Ok. But you have to promise me something. If he's not housebroken in 2 weeks, he's gone. If he so much as sneers at Harmony-"

"-I will find another home for him myself," I finished.

The first night was uneventful. Virginia did a fantastic job of taking him out on a regular basis and getting up with him when he needed attention. He slept in his kennel and seemed depressed, but not problematic.

The second night, he could not decide if he wanted to sleep inside, outside, in the bed, kennel, on Virginia's head, HOLY SHIT, THE CHOICES.

She was quite the trooper about it, but finally, at 3 a.m., she put her face directly in mine and whispered, "Mommy?"

I sat bolt upright and screamed.

"Gaaaaah! Women and children first! Johnny Depp goes down with me!"

"Mommy, Dusty has ... sinonmeah."

"Insomnia. Give him an ambien. But don't let him near the knives."

"Mommeeeeee."

"Ok, ok."

The next night, I was exhausted and asked Chris to get the electric fence out of the storage room. Our neighbors gave it to us before they moved and we just never had need for it. Chris puttered around outside while I did laundry and then he came in.

"I need Dusty."

Virginia distrustfully handed his leash over and took the doll socks off his paws. "What are you gonna do to him?"

"Teach him not to leave the yard so he can go outside by himself if he needs to."

I followed him outside. "This won't hurt him, will it?" I asked.

"Nope. The box says it's just mildly uncomfortable."

He put the collar on Dusty and took the leash off. Dusty immediately ran full-tilt-boogie across the yard and when he reached the perimeter, I literally saw a blue flash and the fat little shit did a complete back-flip. He righted himself and looked at me, twitching and shivering.

"Oh, my God. Mildly uncomfortable, my ass. Take that friggin' thing off of him, Dr. Frankenstein," I told Chris.

"What about-"

"I don't care. We'll teach him the hard way. I'm not going to torture him just to get a little more sleep."

"Crystal, it's not that bad, you just-"

"I'm sorry? Did you just see that miracle of physics go all Mary Lou Retton on us? That cannot be natural."

That night, the barking began. I don't know if you've ever heard a Bassett bark, but it's less like a bark and more like a BAROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO. It is impossible to ignore or sleep through.

The following morning, Chris dug the bark collar (also courtesy of our old neighbor) out of the storage room.

"Let me see," I asked him. I turned it on and jiggled the plastic sensor. There was a short beep and I received a shock not unlike sticking your tongue to a 9-volt battery. "Now, that is mild. We'll see how it works."

We placed the collar on him and he froze. After a minute, he tentatively took a step out of the kitchen and looked back at me, all, If this shocks me like that thing did last night, I'm shitting in your mouth while you're sleeping.

When he seemed to realize that this was not a collar that restricted his movement, he stuck his tail up in the air, held his head high and jauntily headed for the hallway. It was about this time that the tags on his collar made a jingling sound, the collar emitted it's beep and Dusty went ballistic.

Quiet was not an option.

As the family and I watched in horror, he did a Scooby Doo on the wood floors and ran in place, eyes bugging out of his head until he finally got traction. He rocketed down the hallway and slid into the far wall with a dull clunk. It was a vicious cycle. He would bark, the collar would shock, he would run into another wall and bark again. Rinse, lather, repeat.

As I chased him from corner to corner, he scrambled to get away from me.

"Chris! Help me before he gives himself brain damage!"

When we finally had him calmed down long enough to remove the offending collar, I held it in my hand and Chris and I watched him warily make his way to his kennel. En route, he stopped, sat up on his rump and fell over backwards, paws paddling the air. Completely aware, he stopped paddling, stood up, turned in three complete circles and then sneezed. After completing this bizarre ritual, he danced from paw to paw, shook his head and scampered into the cozy darkness, sideways.

I was stunned. "Well, that was interesting."

"I told you. We should have just found another home for the damned dog."

I glared at him and held the collar out. "Here, put this on and keep talking."