As Grady’s ears laid back and he launched, I knew it was already too late.  CJ had thrown the ball not thinking about the cable that we had attached to the harness on the German Shepherd.  The words slipped “you idiot,” as the slack very quickly disappeared with each eager bound, none of this could be reversed as the K-9 finally reached the end of the line and was abruptly jerked off his feet.

As the bewildered pooch collected himself, my choice of words continued to reverberate in my mind.  I had just pronounced a serious epithet against my son.  I’m doubtful he had weighed my use of that language as heavily as I did.  However, when I later apologized to him, he also admitted that he doesn’t always think things through.  My own impulse a few days earlier, upon seeing the picture of this handsome pup, had led to this moment and now I was wondering if we were truly ready for this kind of responsibility?

Disruptive Force

Despite my being warned about the breed by several friends, we decided to drive the four hours to meet Grady and basically planned to take him if there were no glaring issues to convince us otherwise.  I wanted a dog that would offer protection to my family when I was away from home and also could match the energy of an eleven-year-old boy.  I knew it would be disruptive.  I had long avoided pet ownership because I did not feel that I could ever provide enough attention.  But now this care and training obligation would be spread out to the three of us, right?

Grady was indeed very energetic and friendly too, or at least he was once we got past his initial trepidation.  But was also bigger than I had imagined.  His nose and eyes were level with the kitchen countertop.  And could do a lot of damage fast, as we soon learned after we had left him tied (rather than crated) and in a bout of separation anxiety he decided to lay waste to the cucumber plants.  That was a definitive moment, in his short time with us, that left a dilemma.  What do we do with him when we leave the house since he can’t be trusted not to go into tornado mode?

The Real Costs

Dogs are a time-consuming liability and we knew this going in.  For us, we had avoided the purchase price and yet still had to drive the four hours to pick Grady up and then stock up on items he would need.  Dog food isn’t cheap.  We needed a good crate, the cable, a water dish, a food dispenser, and a couple of toys as well.  But the real costs of having a large pet would be much greater.  He would need to be licensed.  And heaven forbid that they ever get sick or injured.  Someone has to pay for that beautiful veterinary clinic!

It is no wonder many Americans struggle to survive.  The family pet, while it does provide companionship and therapy to some, rivals boats and race cars as far as endless money pits go.  And, unlike fishing or hunting gear, is also a threat to your leather couch.  You’ll pay a premium for rent.  But the real problem is that every suggestion people gave us for correcting Grady’s undesirable habits would take more of our money.  Don’t want him in a crate?  Get a kennel.  Oh, obedience school is great for discipline issues and keep the dog sitter on speed dial!

I couldn’t afford the additional expense right now.  But the cost I really could not afford is the time it was taking from my family to give the dog attention.  Grady paced from one of us to the next, wanting to be played with and we would rather be left to our own devices.  I felt guilty about this neglect.  My son was already overwhelmed (to the point of tears) cleaning mounds of manure and Charlotte is ready to start working soon this won’t have time to spend with the dog either.  So what happens when we’re all at work or school during the day?  Is it fair to leave a large animal penned in a small cage?

Anxiety Embodied

I’m sure, over a period of weeks or months some kind of routine would emerge.  Grady would learn some rules and calm down as he became a little more comfortable in his surroundings.  However, there was still that undeniable reality that this creature, lovely as he is, was going to bring a level of disorder and chaos.  He was an embodiment of the anxiety that runs around in my brain, and a source of additional stress that outweighed the benefits.  We would need to plan the rest of our lives around him, worried about what he was doing at home, finding a caregiver if we wanted to travel, and my plate is already full enough.

All this had been anticipated.  And, after the flower pot incident, the honeymoon period was already over.  It’s just one thing to think about possibilities and another to wonder if it is wrong to leave a howling dog crated all night downstairs.  This only really added to my problems, he created more work for my wife and son, and every dollar I spent on him is another that isn’t available for those more pressing needs.  And his rescuer, who had stipulated he be indoors most of the time, had offered to take him back if need be.

Sunday morning brought the last straw that finally broke the camel’s back.  I had gotten out of bed early and took Grady out to the yard to give him an opportunity to relieve his bowels and bladder.  After he did, and I considered the light drizzle, I decided he should come in with me.  I was just thinking about how this would be in the wintertime, preparing some coffee, when a commotion erupted from the front room.  CJ announced, “Grady pooped on the carpet again!”  That was a third strike, the third time he took a dump inside the house in the four days with us, and I finally had enough.

“The Dog Days Are Over” 

There was a lot to love about Grady.  Those hilarious heavy sighs after he would give up on us and flop on the floor.  The way he laid his ears back and tugged us down the sidewalk out on walks.  I wish I could have seen him at the park with CJ when they both played together in the creek.  We all liked the oaf, all except the family cat which was banished to the front porch for her own safety, and it was sad to have to return him.

But, as if to confirm the decision, as we sat in the restaurant free of an obligation having cut our losses an hour prior, the song came on “the dog days are over.”

We weren’t ready, or at least not for a Grady, and at least I’m relieved to have the routine return to normal.  Once the vomit is cleaned off the back seat of my car life can go on as it did.  I knew the moment I used the words “you idiot,” my frontal lobe was too overwhelmed to restrain this bark, that I was probably in over my head.  My son is owed my care and focus, and my wife and I need our quality alone time as well, it just does not make sense to divide my attention in more directions.  

I suppose one is only an idiot if they can’t admit their mistakes and make necessary changes?