Cheddar, a beautiful Shetland sheep dog once belonging to my sister, quickly became part of our life. Through the years memories built. Beautiful memories, funny memories, tender memories.
A knock at my door. "Your dog bit Lisa yesterday and Ralph had to call the police." My stomach flooded with hot acid. Our dog bit a child? But how could that be? We never let him out of the house. Oh yes, a first-time babysitter...an over-exuberant child. I hated Lisa for what she provoked in the dog. I hated the dog for what he did to Lisa, for making trouble like this. We all worried for fourteen days, then slipped back into remembering only the beautiful memories. We did, however, make rules regarding the dog and followed them. Months passed.
A phone call summoned me from a meeting. It was again a new babysitter to say the dog had bitten the child we were watching for the weekend. The rules had not been followed by our children. I was angry at the children, the babysitter, the dog, and myself.
If you are saying to yourself, "I would have gotten rid of that dog right then and there!" then I have not given you enough of the reasons why we loved him, why he was very important to us. The children would not, could not, even bear the thought of giving him up. He had taught them in such a gentle way to appreciate animals, and instilled within them a sense of responsibility, for he was totally dependent on us for his life. To each of us, at one time or another, he was our `only friend in the whole world'.
Returning home from shopping, I found Jimmy's friend, washing his hand, "Vincent was holding the dog's mouth shut and..." What about the rules! "Damn it, damn it, damn it!" The children banded together in defense of Cheddar. I guess they sensed us beginning to weigh his worth. Wanting not to react to the moment, we avoided an instant decision. In the cooling off time, I guess we forgot everything but beautiful memories and fun moments. But the fear of it happening again was always there now. Within us, I think, we had to justify his existence in our home.
He did bring us a sense of security. And he was a companion for the children. And, most of all, he did instill within the children a sense of responsibility—shared at first, but then accepted individually as each of them asked for a pet of his own.
The fourth bite, again on the hand of a child playing with the dog against our request, was less traumatic for us...but not for the child. That it was little more than a scratch made it easier to explain to the parents who were so understanding one could have almost dismissed it totally...except this was the fourth time. It was like a recurring nightmare. I felt caught in a love/hate reaction. Cheddar was bringing us so much joy, so much companionship, so much appreciation of nature, and so much anguish. We were becoming reluctant to have children visit our home. I relented in the case of Patrick and consented to watch him for a weekend while his parents went away. Patrick was an adorable five-year old.
We thought all the rules were being followed that night...had no idea one had been broken...until we heard him scream. All life stood still for an instant, then broke into chaos. My husband began shouting "the dog bit Patrick, the dog bit Patrick" and then flung Cheddar across the basement in an act of utter frustration. I ran down the stairs, heart pounding, and saw Patrick's little face covered in blood. He was crying repeatedly "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry"...for what, I am sure even he didn't know. I was ashamed and embarrassed and afraid to call his parents.
Their second concern was for me - that I not blame myself, and that I feel their continued confidence in my handling of the situation. Since it was impossible for them to return that night, they put their son into my hands and said we trust you.
On the wall to my right hangs a banner which reads "no love, no friendship can cross our path without affecting us in some way forever." Hanging on that same nail are the collar and tags from one very beautiful dog named Cheddar, who we required to give up his life in payment for our shortcomings. He was all he could be as a dog. We were not all we could be as people.
I still cry. Crying even now as I write this, but the tears taste sweet and pure and feel holy. A beautiful offering back to God from someone who is grateful she was given the courage to do the right thing.