JANUARY 9
The day is terrifying, hopeful, and ultimately a good reason to press my temples between my palms.
Just a scratch, just a scratch. It's under his eye and there is another one on his lid.
Again I am swabbing Bandit's fur and dabbing at blood.
Hershey and I grab a leash and bundle up for another jog, another 20-degree day with sun. Back home. I take Lily on her own run. Home again and into the woods with Bandit and Hershey. Ozzy the pug anchors the couch.
I am back again and all of us are in the basement. Lily slips out the dog door and Bandit decides to pursue. Fight fight fight.
I have scruff in each fist. The last thing I remember seeing in that moment will never leave me: Bandit pulling back, wild eyes, the baggy rolls around his neck stretching like a shirt hanging on a nail where Lily holds him in a bite.
Jerry. Swearing and angry, he pulls Lily away and shouts at her, chasing her upstairs.
It wasn't her, it was Bandit, I am yelling.
Doesn't matter. She is ruining this house, I didn't want this dog. This dog has to go, that's it, he said. Jerry goes upstairs.
I need help, I need to call a trainer, I tell him.
Whatever you want. When do I get to have peace in my own house, he yells.
I wander from kitchen to dining room to bedroom. I fold things. I wash things. I pour a glass of water, then sit on the couch.
I can't do this without your help, I say. I can't do something if you are so completely opposed.
When do I get a say? What about what I want, Jerry asks.
With Bandit's injured little face in my fingers I kiss his wrinkly head and smudge tears into his fur. My poor dog.
These are our dogs for almost five years, you want to see them hurt? For her? She has to go, Jerry says.
Do I call my parents, the vet, a trainer? Oh Lily.
I should trade them all in for pet rocks.
I know logically that this is all my fault, but if I give up on Lily I will be resentful and angry. God, what did I do to our little household?
Later, Jerry hugs me. I don't want this between us, he said. He tells me we need to watch them more closely and pay attention and I agree and I am relieved so relieved.
By the way, we had less mess to pick up today and at last Lily is being difficult about taking her pills. Just like a normal dog.
She is such a good girl.
Tonight at 11 pm everyone is asleep. Lily on one braided rug and Bandit on another. Hershey and Ozzy push and shove over blankets on the couch. I muster up a ton of false hope as I peer at what looks safe and calm, but could blow up into an ugly and dangerous fight at any second.
As she sleeps her stomach growls, which reminds me that the vet called. If things do not improve, we'll try something else...
We separate the dogs in the house before Jerry and his daughter Erica and I go for a ride. When we get home we find something new about Lily. For the rest of the night she farts, and Ozzy cocks his head to stare at her behind. That means she's digesting, right? Iv'e been feeding her a bunch.
I have left out of my story all the millions of little worries fluttering through my head and making a mess of the place.
I will be apologizing for this forever. How much will a dog trainer cost? Will we eventually have the peaceful household Jerry wants back?
Patience.