It has been one of those weeks. You know the kind. Everything seems off kilter and I just went a little crazy. I finally had to talk to my friend Dr. Joe who suggested I up the meds. I was sobbing by the time we met last Friday.
It's not like I didn't know this was coming. Prick's release date is next week. The detective from my township and probation, waited as close to the end of his release for the probation violation, to file the criminal charges for stalking and harassment. They did this purposely to add on more possible jail time than take a chance of time already served. This will be a felony charge and if we proceed, it is mandatory I come to court and take the stand. The detective called me early Wednesday morning. I was already up from an all-night crying fest, when he called asking me if it was too early? That was when I cried silently and unable to speak. When I finally composed myself, I realized that my reaction was my brain screaming,"it is always too early for anything Prick related!" I have no idea where the past 10 months have gone. His sentenced seemed long at the time. Now, I was sitting in my car at the farm trying to not pass out because the wind was sucked right out of me.
I started after Christmas to wean myself off all meds. I was completely off the Prozac by last month and was feeling great. I have been riding more, socializing outside more with friends and finally felt that my life was starting to move forward.
It seems funny now, to read my Soccerball post. Up until last week he was my weekend dog. Two weekends ago the insanity of everything came crashing down and at the same time I decided to bring home a different dog.
It was madness to try and bring a dog to the point-to-point races at Plantation Farm, two months ago. One of the volunteers decided that we should take an Australian Cattle Dog to the races since horse people love this breed and it is a dog who needs to be constantly worked. Let's just say, it didn't go too well. The dog escaped her grasp because it freaks out by too many people and it is terrified of men. Every time the announcer called over the loud speaker, The Aussie cowered in fear. After the dog was safely recovered after it broke free, I spent a few minutes cleaning it up. He had wet himself in the van from fear. I did some TTouch and massage on him until he stopped shaking. I gave him a Xanax and he fell asleep in my lap until we got home. I knew Dru would have a tough time placing a dog like this. Aussie's tend to only bond with one or two people and are in constant need of exercise and work to not go crazy inside a kennel or house. My ex, Shoe-Man, owned an Australian Shepherd so I was already familiar through him with the quirks of these types of herding dogs.
An uncommon dog was recently brought to the rescue. A Presa Canario. The only reason I even knew of this breed was because of the dog mauling incident in San Fransisco. A woman named Diane Whipple was fatally mauled by a pair of these dogs at her own front door with the owner standing there and not calling for 911. It turned out that the couple who owned the dogs were working with the Aryan Brotherhood in raising and training this breed of dog to specifically kill, including the two that killed Whipple. The dog at the rescue is a young female. Probably only for breeding purposes, but Dru made the decision to not adopt her out. She will probably become a permanent La Mancha dog because she doesn't want the chance that the dog will end up with the wrong people.
It was morbid curiosity that sent me up to the kennel to see up close this peculiar breed. Other than on the news, I have never seen one in person. She is quite pretty. She looks like a cross between a Staffordshire and a Mastiff. She quietly came up to the front of her kennel and licked my hand. I watched her lie down in a submissive way and she wagged her tail. I sat back and watched her for a minute and then over the other 20-something dogs barking in the kennel I heard it. It was the distinct bark of an Australian Cattle Dog. They don't bark often but when they do, it is a very distinct high pitched yelp.
I walked over and there he was. It was the same dog from two months ago and ad mist the chaos of the two lab mixes that were bouncing around him he sat perfectly square in front of his cage door and was intently staring at me with his ears pricked up. I slowly opened the door and let him out while trying to keep the Labs that acted like they were on Red Bull, inside. I turned around and the little red Aussie was sitting behind me, waiting. I clipped a leash on him and took him out for a walk. Before I knew it, he was in my car and I was bringing him home thinking he would be a perfect dog for Shoe Man. He has a farm and still does calf roping. I would foster him until Monday when he was due to come to trim Romeo and Sydney's feet.
Well, that was over a week ago. Somehow this neurotic little guy adopted me.I ended up naming him Desmond after a character on my favorite TV show,Lost. We have spent a week of figuring out what does and doesn't work.It had been 16 years since I owned a dog of my own. A lot has changed since then, mainly the crate issue. My weekend dogs were older and more mellow dogs who knew my home as well as their own. Deep down I knew if I took a crate home it would be permanent. Amongst the tears and coming to Jesus meetings with Dr. Joe about meds and Dru about crates things started to shift. Desmond was calming down and I was as well. By Friday night my fog began to lift and I could stop shaking in terror. By yesterday, I knew it was working out. He stayed all day in his crate with no accidents while I was at work and then we went to a very loud raucous party at LaMancha to watch the Kentucky Derby. Men were there, but as long as I was next to him, Des stayed calm. I had taken him out to run a bit but he heels by my side even off his leash. If I stop, he sits down and waits. I wonder who spent so much time training this dog only to give him up? His fear of men makes me think someone beat a little of the training in to him. I am so glad for the years with Shoe Man's Australian Shepherd and the years of Dru's Karelian Bear Dogs. We understood each others needs and the job is done. Like the character on Lost, we are each other's constant.
It sounds like a small thing but watching Desmond last night being so brave in this huge party made me see myself in him. We both slept soundly last night. He has obviously taken over Soccerball's role of protecting me from scary things under the bed.
I now play the waiting game. The papers for criminal charges were served to Prick on Wednesday. It can be anytime in the next two weeks that I will be subpoenaed to court. The good news is he cannot be released until the hearing and if we go to trial. If found guilty he could serve up to three years. I am so sad about this. I was willing to walk away three years ago and continue on with life. He continues to try and prevent that. After three years of stalking I have to face my life will never go back to how it was. I just know if he gets out he will only be meaner and more determined.
As I type Desmond is sleeping in his crate next to me. I watch as his paws twitch in an dreamworld of chasing cattle instead of his daily life of inner demons from his past, chasing him.
Maybe it is the Prozac. Maybe Dr. Joe really is right that sometimes we need a little extra help. Looking down at Desmond in his peaceful slumber gives me hope that I can get through the next couple weeks without totally losing my mind or inner peace. That we both can live in a safe place in our head where men don't beat the crap out of you.