Responsibility
My dog Riley will eat anything.
I discovered this fact four years ago when I sat in a veterinary waiting room for an explanation as to why Riley became unable to defecate. The room had the unmistakable stench of animal fur and shampoo—like dirty laundry had been sterilized.
A veterinarian brought me an x-ray of Riley’s stomach. He spoke in the grave a way a doctor does when informing you the worst scenario is at hand.
“Whatever this is,” he pointed to an amorphous blob clouding the picture of her x-rayed stomach. “It’s got to be removed. Her intestines will become infected. This will kill her.”
I gave the veterinarian permission to put Riley under the knife.
We picked her up the next day. She was still groggy from anesthesia. She walked slowly, discovering the fresh pain of the incisions in her stomach.
“We found out what it was,” said the now triumphant veterinarian.
“What was it?”
“Pacifier,” he said. “Five of them in her stomach. A sixth was stuck in her esophagus.”
“Geez,” I said, reacting both to the pacifiers and the receipt he handed me.
“Do you want them?”
“The pacifiers?”
“Yes. I can give them to you.”
I looked at him for a moment to decipher whether to laugh at his offer.
He wasn’t laughing.
Was there a reason I might want the half-digested baby suckers? Was the vet mentioning it because the suckers, now dislodged, could be used as a reminder for Riley not to eat them again? Is canine surgery the sort of thing that demands memorabilia?—the way Medieval Times offers you a Styrofoam beer mug painted to look like cast iron to commemorate your trip backward in time? Or—the last thought I had—does the vet think I am so utterly utilitarian that I would stick the same pacifiers that sat in our dog’s intestines the day before in my newborn baby’s mouth?
Enough time had passed without any laughter between us to quell my speculations. “No thanks,” I said.
My wife and I, once Riley was safely home, wondered why she ate six suckers the way she did.
“After one, wouldn’t she learn a second, let alone a third or a sixth was a bad idea?”
“Maybe there was left over food on them.”
“Do you think this could have been a cry for attention?” My wife said. “Like, here comes this new baby, let me put him in his place sort of thing?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said, pausing to consider. “Isn’t it?”
“If you think about it, we haven’t given Riley any attention since he was born. It’s got to be hard for her. Maybe she’s enacting some sort of revenge.”
What we failed to realize then—what we know for certain now—is that Riley will eat anything.
Our latest reminder was the chicken scraps she devoured last week.
She swallowed bones and tendon whole. After three days, nothing passed through her system. Here we go again, I thought to myself. I didn’t dare mention the pacifier incident to my wife, in case the universe would jinx me with another four-figure surgery to split between credit cards.
Then the weekend came. Riley had explosive and uncontrollable diarrhea. All over the house. In our yard. Everywhere. I got so sick of cleaning it up that I threw a pair of sneakers that got crap on them away. While they were six years old and easy to part with, I pride myself on maintaining clothes and accessories to their bitter end—as long as those accessories haven’t sat in a stomach before.
As there hasn’t been blood, we haven’t taken her back into the veterinarian. But as she hasn’t passed any bones, we continue to get interrupted twice each night with her cries to go out. It’s a sort of incontinent impasse—a purgatory of feces. I spend my lunches driving home to let her out to avoid any more cleaning marathons or ruined clothing.
I fell victim to anger in the process, cursing to myself as I got out of bed in the middle of the night to let her out, giving her rice for dinner and quietly reveling in the denial of her Costco brand dog chow, watching her skittishly squat about the yard before letting loose a torrent of soupy, cow pattie dung, and saying, “let’s go,” or “hurry up.”
As with a lot of moments in my recovery and my experience of life sober, this recent adventure in the mundane has given me cause to reflect on the importance of responsibility.
My bottom in this scenario—doesn’t it suck when we realize how sucky we’ve been?—was when my visiting mother-in-law said with sympathy, “It’s not her fault, Mark.” I can’t remember what proceeded her comment but obviously I was shaming our dog in one way or another. I told my mother-in-law, “It’s her fault because she ate those bones.”
That back-and-forth played in my mind like the song from the radio you can’t stop singing to yourself. I blamed Riley for wasting my precious time, for trying my valuable patience, for disrupting my morning routine—the time before sunrise that I go to great lengths to preserve for my craft. Forgiveness gnawed at my angry resolve: if I can forgive my daughter for waking up early, why can’t I forgive my dog for her insatiable appetite?
Part of the reason I am splattering these unpleasant details over your screen is that I no longer have my sponsor’s advice to settle these petty cases. He’s very sick. Whenever I call him, I only think to tell him I love him and that I’m thinking of him. I tell him how I talk about him and share stories about him with our mutual friends. It’s all I can think to do.
But as I reflect, I can’t help but imagine that my sponsor would remind me of the joys of responsibility. The fact that I am free to take care of my dog and that I possess the maturity to do so is a gift, pure and simple. It’s the sort of grin and bear it attitude that I hate to think of when I’m angry. I loathe the advice. I approach such conversations like I am bearing the hard truth of my struggles, and leave them realizing that being responsible for others is not a burden but a blessing.
I was home for lunch on Tuesday, letting Riley out. There was no accident to clean up. Riley was on her bed, right where I left her. I saw the house from her perspective. While I am rushing out of the house to get the kids to preschool and myself to work, we leave behind a tornado of busyness: nighttime pull-ups discarded on the floor, oatmeal hardened on the table, coffee stains on the counter.
I had a bizarre desire when I was child. I longed to trade places with my dog. I thought how incredible it would be have nothing to do but lie on a bed all day and sleep. A childish fantasy.
The truth of adulthood—and of sobriety—is that taking responsibility is a strength, blaming others is a weakness.
And, while I continue to ride a roller coaster of the everyday with varying success, the best thing I can do is to just keep showing up for those who expect me to be there.
Like Riley.
And the children I’m teaching to care for her.
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Lovely piece Mark. It leaves me grateful that we live in a cat’s house and I wholeheartedly agree that clothes should be worn till they die.
A-men to that! Thanks man.
This post was especially difficult for me to read. I am 2 1/2 years into sobriety and have 2 small children (4 & 1). My wife and I both work demanding professional jobs and our life is really full. I love reading your blog because of all the parallels between your life and mine and the helpful way you put life and recovery into perspective for me.
Until recently we had 2 dogs. The first an annoying collie mix that 11 years ago came with my the woman who would eventually become my wife, and the second a perfectly dispositioned and well behaved black lab that was MY dog. A few months ago my black lab Moose (Mooseknuckle to us) started acting out, chewing up all kinds of stuff in the house, etc. I wasn’t sure what to do about the situation. For the first 4 years of this dog’s life he was able to come to work with me every day, we were inseparable. The fifth year, I took a new job and was forced to start leaving him at home. Everything seemed fine that year, but this year was different. He started chewing up all kinds of random stuff and spreading the garbage all over the house. Every time we came home we would find something else destroyed. I tried to exercise him a bit more, throwing the ball in the yard in the morning or at the end of the day, but it didn’t seem to make a difference. Admittedly I did not really try taking him on a long walk before work, because I already get up at 5am just to get the kids to daycare and get to work on time.
My father recently lost an old dog and had been talking about getting a new puppy. After a long discussion my wife and I floated the idea of my parents taking Moose instead of getting a puppy. They are retired and can dedicate the time that an energetic labrador needs. My dad agreed to do a month long trial. After the month, my dad had grown quite fond of Moose and agreed to keep him. It is a really good fit, Moose gets all the attention and exercise he needs and is rarely left alone and my dad appreciates Moose’s friendly disposition and how well-trained he is.
HOWEVER, damnit, the guilt! A man is not supposed to give up his dog. You get a dog, he is your best friend, and you abandon him as soon as things get tough! Who does that? I still get to see him every time I go to my dad’s house, but every time I go to leave, Moose is right there at the door thinking he’s coming with me only for me to walk out and leave him once again.
I vacillate between two internal monologues. The first is thinking I did the right thing for Moose by having an honest appraisal of my (lack of) willingness and ability to properly take care of him and finding an acceptable solution to meet his needs and keep him in the family. The second, and more prevalent, is that I am a failure as a dog owner; a flawed human being that was unwilling to embrace this blessing of responsibility…guilty of committing the ultimate betrayal of man’s best friend’s unconditional love, by abandoning him without even attempting to give more of myself to meet his needs.
I have not put my feelings on this situation on paper until just now and could probably go on much longer. I think further digging to see what part my ego is playing in this situation is in order.
Wow, Dan, can I relate to that internal monologue.
My sponsor is fond of telling me how serious I am about such things. He usually means it as a compliment, I think. I don’t take many things too lightly. I analyze my behavior–both a consequence of and a reward for sobriety–and I think hard about all the little things. I resonate closely with your voice here and your process for handling Moose.
As one who is on morning detail as well, I can’t tell you how hard it is to make time for Riley. There are so many pressing concerns that should come first in my mind. My kids, my work, etc. And, in reality, they should come first. Dogs are require less, and my time is always better spent with those who demand more. I don’t think you need to feel guilty about that fact. As a result, I think you should also cut yourself a break from the guilt you feel for transferring ownership. It sounds like your dad really could use a companion more than you currently could. So, you’re actually doing the right thing for both him and Moose.
That’s how I read it. But, I understand the guilt. There is such thing as feeling overly responsible for people, places, and things. Sometimes acceptance can go a long way. For you, in this situation, it would be acceptance that you have taken on too much. It sure sounds like it. Giving Moose to your father doesn’t sound like ducking responsibility, but just doing the right thing. And the right thing is really all we can hope to do for ourselves and the people around us.
It’s great to hear from you and I’m glad you found a place to share something that’s been on your mind like that. The only way out is through! -Mark
That is a smell that doesn’t leave the brain. I’m so sorry to hear of your most recent worry. I hope it all works its way out. We have a cat that gives us a run for our money, but he’s otherwise a delight and my daughters love him so. The things we do for our beloved pets, but no, it’s not easy and I’ve had my not so noble reactions.
I’m glad you could relate, Kristen. So far, I’m happy to report, it’s working. As in, no dollars spent at the vet and we had a somewhat hardened stool! Thanks for checking in. It’s always great to connect with my favorite PA voice on the internet.
Mark, I’m really sorry about your sponsor. What a great guy. I’m glad I was able to sit with him at your 10th year celebration.
I’m so glad you were there too. You caught him in his peak, I think. Really glad for as many people to know as possible. He’s such an inspiration to me.
I’m very grateful for you, HD. Someone I call on and meet with who fills that void that not having a sponsor leaves behind.
Back at you, brother?
Ah, the irritation of mundane responsibilities, indignant appraisal and self-justification and the awareness of the inaccuracy of the indignant irritation.
I am so identifying with the majority of the feelings behind this post.
I am also sorry to hear about your sponsor.
From my outsider view, you have a beautiful family, Mark, poopy dog and all – and I’m grateful that you allow me the opportunity to follow along in your journey.
Thanks for always giving me the opportunity to think and reexamine where I’m at.
That’s really kind, kristin. I’m happy to share and, in turn, share in your journey as well.
Side note, I continue to be tobacco free? How is your fight going on that front? The benefits I’m finding are great. It’s so much greater to be kicked of that than to get the anxious enjoyment I used to get from it.
Wishing you a good week, Mark
Mark,
I am very sorry about your sponsor.
I have to constantly work on being responsible at home, or for myself.
When I was teaching, I was OVER responsible.
But at home, I can get lazy.
Hugs!
xo
Wendy
There is that middle ground isn’t there? Between over control and under responsibility? There’s a lot more in that. Thanks Wendy.
Mark, I cry as I write because this touched me in many different ways. I too am so sorry about your sponsor and poor Riley (he has not had “the life of Riley) . Your writing is exceptional….as you tell BLG……nailed it!
Thanks so much for that kind word Julie! I appreciate especially coming from such a good dog owner that you are. Thanks for the note on the sponsor too.
Oops. …Riley is a she…..I knew that!!
I loathe the wisdom in this post, primarily because I need to hear it more than ever right now 🙂 Thanks for the reminder! Hope you and your pup are feeling better!
J
Thanks Jake. A strict rice diet has improved her stool but it comes only so often.
The wisdom of the past, always there to haunt and remind you where the light is.
Thinking about you man in your transition. Wishing you the best.
Great post, mark!
And FYI – Riley has a bestie in AZ – Max, the Rat Terrier, who enjoys such delicacies as house slippers, denim jackets, bras, running shoes, television remotes, and any chew toy guaranteed to last a lifetime! After two trips to the vet, no foreign objects have ever been found inside Max. He’s digesting it all… without a trace of diarrhea.
Some days I don’t like Max. That bra cost forty dollars! LMAO!
Oh, my, word. Shoes? Bestie indeed. Like kindred spirits that Riley and Max. How funny that a Terrier can fit all that into its stomach. I’m not surprised. After owning Riley for a while, nothing surprises me at all. Always great to hear from you, Felicia. Thank you for dropping a line.
Blaming others is a weakness. Such a simple statement. But ‘opened’ my eyes. I hope to use this as a mantra to help me in areas that I feel “righteous” in blaming.
I hope it helps as a mantra! It is the result of endless talks with my sponsor. It seems every time I have something to complain about, I actually have something I am secretly grateful for. Thanks for letting me know the piece moved you, Colleen.
You had me at the title. I love the depth of your conviction. If I am responsible, I am responsible for “every” area of my life. I don’t pick and choose. A most valuable lesson in recovery—life. ♥
Riley needs to be re-taught!
So just last month Ben, our 16 month old Standard Poodle and I visited the Vet, throwing up during the night, not eating. Just the age old failure to thrive diagnoses. It’s a Friday and I got him to the Vet for an exam. They kept him for the day, IV for dehydration, Xrays, Antibiotics and several phone calls during the day. Come in after six they say and you should be able to take him home.
FYI: Three days prior Ben and I were on a 250 acre farm and he was chasing flocks of geese and having a grand time. I did observe what looked like him nibbling on something on occasion. Goose Poop I suspected then and the Vet confirmed most likely.
Diagnoses after blood tests. Colitis, Pancreatitis, severe dehydration. All this due to Dietary Indiscretion was the Vets call. Seven days of Antibiotics, $1,000.00 lighter in the wallet and directions for an interim diet of baked sweet potatoes and venison mixed together we got to go home.
Man’s Best Friend, Foie gras be damned! I do love that dog, all 65 lbs. of him. No Poodle cut, looks like a black bear.
Poor Ben — never heard of such a luxurious bed rest.
I guess something’s got to lighten the wallet, right?
So, Riley has yet to pass any bones. Her rice diet has been providing plenty of solid stools though. So, I guess we’re out of the woods.
Foie gras be damned? Haha. Laughing at your hilarious story.
My parents’ cat, Tobermory…got hold of a full pound of suet and noshed down the whole thing!
He was loved–but a cat. In a few days his system got over the shock and righted itself. Although he’s gone to Cat Heaven—if there is one–he was always just a cat…we talked to.
Great story, though, and well worth the reading!
Thanks for providing some lightheartedness to the whole thing. I’m usually guilty of being too serious about things.
Just such a beautiful post! I absolutely adore the ending:
“And, while I continue to ride a roller coaster of the everyday with varying success, the best thing I can do is to just keep showing up for those who expect me to be there. Like Riley. And the children I’m teaching to care for her.”
I almost fell of my chair from laughing at the vet offering the pacifiers back to you. Why on Gods green earth would you want them back?
Personal responsibility and seeing your part in situations is a massive step for me. Also seeing the perceived drudgery and mundane cleaning up and caring and a gift. It’s a gift to be of service to my children and husband. I can sometimes manage to see it that way. It sure makes life a whole lot easier when I do:)
Doesn’t it? I would phrase it the same way. This is the world I “sometimes manage” to live in. It’s probably for the best that we don’t stay in that place of acceptance and hunky dory. If we did, what would be left to write about?
Great to hear from you Hurrah
bravo mark bravo!!! funny, touching, relatable. hope Riley is well. I sooooo hope your sponsor is recovering. strength and love to you brother
Thanks John! Unfortunately, he passed. It was inevitable. Thankful for the love and support.