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Bothered By Bandit
Carol Roach
Tuffy was more than
just a dog to me she was my heart. I was at a very low
period in my life when Tuffy came into it. I had been
divorced for what appeared to be forever. My son was going
through all kinds of behaviour problems as a teenager and we
were poor and on welfare. I was extremely lonely. My son
and I did not see eye to eye. We hardly ever spoke to each
other and I without any male companionship. My son was also
seeing a girl at the time, and Cheryl the girl was
pregnant. I knew that Steven would be leaving anytime and
Tuffy was the only companion that I had. I remember saying
through grief that now that I lost Tuffy I have nothing
else.
Of course life went
on and I did have university to keep me occupied. My son
left home to live with the mother of his child and then came
back home again. But something was missing and that of
course was my dog. I decided that I was going to purchase a
dog come what may. I was having so much financial
difficulty I could not even pay my tuition fees. Though the
government gave me financial aid it was never enough to live
on and I was always falling short before the next instalment
came in.
I fortunately had a
good friend at the time, Alex, whom I met here in Montreal
in a single parent organization and he had gone back to
Smithers, British Columbia where he came from after the
break-up of his second marriage. Alex and I kept in
contact through the years and he was gracious enough to help
me out financially. I would never have been able to finish
my university if it had not been for his help. On one such
occasion I took a small portion of that money to buy myself
a dog from the pound.
I new exactly the
type of dog that I wanted; I wanted a small dog like a
Yorkie or Shitzu. My son came to the pound with me to help
me choose and he had in his mind that I should be getting a
dog that suited my character. Well that was fine and dandy
except that I saw a cute little white dog that I was ready
to purchase and somehow or other he was telling me that the
basset hound pup was the dog that fit my personality to a
tee. According to him, I was a bookworm. I did not do much
physically and the basset hound was lazy therefore, we would
be a good match for each other.
Steven asked to see
the dog outside of the kennel and I have to admit the dog
was happy for the attention. He was about 4 months old.
But the minute he was taken out of his kennel he squatted
down and urinated in front of us. The worker did not seem
bothered and said that happened just because he was over
excited. His owner was an elderly woman who was not
physically capable of taking care of him and he was very
lonely.
Well I bought the
story and I let Steven convince me to take this dog home
with us even though it was not the dog that I had wanted.
Since he was an English basset hound, I decided on the name
Bandit for him. I was thinking about the English highway
men that looted passers-by in medieval England.
Bandit was a problem
from the moment he came home. First of all he was not house
trained and I could not train him. I would walk him for
hours hoping he would get the message to do his business
outside but instead he waited until he got back home and
squatted down right in front of me. When I left the house I
would come back and I could not stand the smell as I
entered. There would be dog poop everywhere.
Besides that Bandit
stunk. He would trail his long ears into everything and I
mean everything whether it was his water bowl, his food
dish, or his own urine, whatever it was it was all over his
ears. We would give him a bath and five minutes later he
would smell just as bad as he did before he was bathed. One
time a friend of my son??™s came over and rested his jacket on
a chair and then left to go to a party. He said all night
long he smelled a strange odour all around him. He finally
realized it was his jacket. It smelled of Bandit.
The final straw for
Bandit was that he could not be left in the house alone at
all. If I left he would howl from the minute I left to the
minute I got back. His howl was so loud you could hear him
from three city blocks away. The city received several
complaints about the dog and naturally I had to get rid of
him. In a way I was relieved. I could not handle this dog
at all. Sweet though he was I honestly think that he was
retarded. We had to send him back to the pound where he
came from. After all I could not leave my city low rental
as I could hardly afford to live as it was. I had to get
handouts from Alex just to survive. And I could not blame
the neighbours for complaining. This dog was beyond
annoying.
I found out that
Bandit was adopted the next day by a couple who lived in the
country and said he would have ample room to run and enjoy
himself. They were certain that they could train him and
were very happy to get such a beautiful dog. It made my
heart feel good. I never in my entire life let a dog go
because he did not act the way I wanted him too and probably
I would not have gotten rid of Bandit either if the City of
Montreal, my landlord did not make that decision for me.
Carol Roach
winterose@videotron.ca
Carol Roach is a
published writer and newsletter editor. You can purchase
her book: Picking Up The Pieces: A Woman's Journey at
www.publishamerica.com, or
www.amazon.com. You can also go to your local bookstore
and order it there as well. If you are interested in other
stories feel free to join her newsletter: Storytime Tapestry
at:
storytime_tapestry-subscribe@yahoogroups.com, or email
her directly at
winterose@videtron.ca and she will be glad to accomodate
you. Carol enjoys email and responds to every inquiry.
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