"It’s" NOT Just a Dog     ~Blog by Chris McLaughlin

Growing up my family always had cats. I can still remember the day I awoke to find our cat had given birth to kittens in the deep recesses of our hallway closet and I couldn’t wait to climb in there to see them. In the darkness of that closet the tiny little fur balls were nursing and for weeks we respected their privacy coming to name two of them "pussghetti" and "pussmato." Why those names I don’t know but I think it may have had something to do with my little sister.

It wasn’t until my early 30’s that a dog came into my life and try as I might to insist they were "too dependent" or "too needy" my then partner got her way and a black Cocker Spaniel we named Whitney came home with us. I’ll never forget how Whitney shook when we carried her to the car, scared, vulnerable, reluctantly trusting, a little pink bow fastened to her head. A few weeks later I cried when my ex clipped one of Whitney’s nails too short and her yelp and the subsequent bleeding brought out the homicidal maniac in me. I never let Sally touch Whitney’s nails again.

Within a few months a darling little Sheltie we named Shelby followed. Constant diarrhea and an overall sickly demeanor raised our concerns and frequent trips to the vet revealed a nasty bout with intestinal worms. On the way home from one of these visits she defecated all over the back seat of my brand new Honda Prelude. I recall pulling to the side of the road, feeling the ire increase as I sought to find something, anything to clean the mess up. Little Shelby sensed I was mad. I knew so little then about the things in life that really mattered. Fifteen months later she was gone. The worms were treatable, but fetal kidneys due to irresponsible breeding from an "FDA-Approved" facility in Omaha, Nebraska, the beginnings of my education about puppy mills, led to her untimely death. I remember taking her outside one night and holding her in my arms as I looked to the stars. Praying that we would get a miracle and Shelby would not leave me. I wanted so hard to believe that my love for her could save her.

Four years later, having ended that relationship and suffering the loss of my dearest Shelby, my ex and I decided Whitney and our newest addition Shaney, would stay behind with her. Leaving the relationship was tough but leaving the dogs was tougher. 5 months later, seeking to fill the holes left in my life, another little Sheltie came into my life, my little Macy.

These were the days before I knew anything of kill shelters or pet overpopulation. I still believed, naïve as it was, that all cats were loved and had sweet little litters in hall closets, and the kittens were adopted to the neighbors. Macy came to me from a breeder in central Massachusetts and I thought nothing of it when I was greeted at the door by 5 barking Shelties, a few of them breeding dogs. Macy was the one in the back trying desperately to get my attention by jumping on the backs of the other more assertive dogs, and when I was finally able to sit down at the kitchen table she jumped right into my lap. The rest, as they say, was history.

I didn’t have it bad growing up. I know a lot of people who had it much, much worse. I had two parents who didn’t really communicate much and my dad drank every day. By the age of 12 I was drinking and smoking cigarettes, and pot and drugs were soon to follow. I was a tomboy who was routinely made fun of by the neighborhoods kids and at the age of 5 I found myself in the hands of a child molester. And it was all of these things that diminished my capacity to form meaningful and sustaining relationships. I didn’t really trust people. And then there was Macy. I don’t know the exact moment she cracked open my heart, but it was most likely on the ride home that day. Once again she jumped into my lap and she stayed there the entire way. Macy made it known from the start that I was hers and that was that.

For the next year and a half it was just the two of us. She was the one riding shotgun in the car and when I got lonely it was her I talked to. Daily walks exploring the neighborhoods of Cambridge and long visits to the bookstores of Harvard Sq. were our routine and on longer walks, when I sensed her little legs getting tired from all the exercise, I would pick her up and carry her home. Her in my arms was heaven and haven and in her company I experienced such peace.

A year and a half later I heard of another Sheltie at Macy’s breeder who had "failed" at being a show dog and needed a special home. And on a cold and snowy November night I went and picked up Demi. When I got her home the two of them ran in the fresh falling snow, in the tiny postage stamp-sized backyard of my loft in Cambridge, and I knew then my decision to get us another dog had been a good one. And for the next 12 years Macy and Demi were my "Team Sheltie."

It could have been the honesty and vulnerability I saw in their eyes. It could have been the way they jumped into the car without thinking twice – just knowing wherever I was taking them was going to be a safe and good place. Maybe it was the way they would get so excited at the thought of dinnertime and the knowledge I acquired, gradually and over time that they depended on ME… On me. That each and every day was a brand new beginning for them. That every time I walked in the door it was as if they hadn’t seen me in years. We were my first pack and we spent our days understanding each other in the silences between us and knowing exactly the unspoken language of a perfect love. That even when I tripped on being human and got mad at them for silly things like barking too much or eating the money I left for the housecleaner, that even then all was forgiven, all was ok, I was human so what.

When Macy began to fail my breath caught in my chest and lodged there for weeks. Like swallowing the pit of a peach I carried a lump in my heart that I knew would kill me if she died. As I watched her steps slow and her eyes begin to fade I dared to believe again that my love for her could save her.

The day the end came my vet came to the house. It was a late March early eve and the darkness and cold were still holding on in Boston. My little Macy laid on the king sized bed with me by her side. Her breathing labored I touched her soft fur, looked into her dimming eyes and spoke the last words I would ever say to her.

Three months later my Demi left me as well. And I knew it was only because I was not the only one of us who loved Macy.

Since that time in the year 2008 I have learned to live with the loss of my "Team Sheltie." Their pictures adorn my walls and their spirit and love guide my life. The woman I was when my first dog came into my life in 1992 barely resembles the woman I am today. I still struggle with humans from time to time but I know a lot about this little something called "unconditional love" and I will never spend a day of my life without a four-legged being by my side. I don’t want to live a day of my life not knowing what it means to be needed and forgiven.

Today it’s my "Buddy", a rescued Sheltie from Long Island, who walks my side. Not a day goes by he doesn’t make me laugh and when his little legs tire I carry him the rest of the way home. The illusion that companion animals in our country are all safe in good homes and know a soft landing and safe hands was successfully shattered during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina and I am blessed to start each day committing to making this world a better place for them. I am committed to being their voice and their friend, their partner and their student. It’s the very least I can do for them, the very ones who taught me all I know about being a better human.

Chris McLaughlin, Founder of Animal Rescue Front
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Animal Rescue Front
PO Box 704
Groton, Ma. 01450