Walk a Mile in Someone Else's Moccasins

There is an old saying, that you can't judge a person's actions until you've walked a mile in their moccasins. I believe in always trying to see other people's perspectives and trying not to judge. However, there's one thing I have always judged people harshly for, and that is getting rid of pets.

I've always had pets in my life. My grandfather was by biggest influence when it came to animals. He was an old farmer, and he had the highest respect for non-human animals, be they wildlife, livestock and pets. He taught me that when you bring a cat or a dog into your home they become family. Family isn't just dropped off at a shelter or abandoned on the side of a country road when they are no longer convenient.

Cats and dogs are family members. I'll admit that I can see rehoming certain pets: hamsters, fish, lizards... these critters don't care where they live as long as they are safe, clean, and well fed. Dogs and cats are far more sensitive and they are more than pets, they become family.  Family is forever. I only ever accepted a few reasons to find a new home for a pet. Developing severe life threatening allergies, dangerous or aggressive behavior that you truly tried to fix, homelessness, or not being able to afford a medical emergency no matter what you sacrifice. That's how limited the reasons I would accept someone giving up a pet were.

Had a baby and don't have as much time, moving and your new apartment is not pet friendly, pet has bad behaviors or is destroying stuff, the pet has become too expensive? Too bad. Figure it out. Hire a trainer, find a different place to live, sacrifice something to afford your pet. You have a responsibility to your pet, figure it out. I am eating all the terrible words I have said about people who get rid of pets, because I have now become one of them.

My sweet, sensitive bluetick coonhound Artemis has a new home now, and my heart is broken. She was family. I love her. This decision tears me up completely, but I truly had no other good choice but to let her go.

My life has become an unpredictable mess since my rainbow baby arrived and my abusive husband walked out but insists on maintaining strict control of my life and inflicting extreme fear. Because of threats against my children and random outbursts of anger I sometimes had to leave the house in fear last minute to stay in a safer place at a friend's home or the women's shelter. Because of this my dog stopped eating for a while, the stress was really getting to her. She already had issues with men from being raised around his violent temper and abuse. She was such a sensitive dog.

So I sent her to a foster home with the hope that maybe, just maybe, a little time was all that was needed to settle my life down and get into a safe space. But time made things worse. I am still facing an uncertain future, not knowing for sure where my children and I will be living from day to day and if the place will accept two dogs, one of them being a larger rambunctious young hound.

The old me would have scolded myself and demanded "Then you get another job, you work more hours and you figure it out,  dogs are family." The new me knows that I can't be away from my children any more than I already am. I'm already working full time with a few hours a week at a part time gig. I can't do any more, it's not worth the daycare costs or the pain of not seeing my kids as often, plus I'd have to actually hire a dog walker then, she doesn't deserve having to sit alone waiting for a dog walker.

"Then look at your budget and make some sacrifices so you can afford a place with the dog,  dogs are family" I would have said. But sacrifice what? I already go without a lot myself. I can't cut back on things like diapers. There really is nothing I could cut out. I spend my very limited money on necessities.

So the number of choices I feel I had was one: rehome my beloved dog. What was not a choice was dumping her somewhere, taking her to a shelter, or risk having to rehome her last minute. I contacted the rescue I had gotten her from and bawled as I explained my situation and how much I wanted to keep her but I felt that I had no choice. If they judged me they didn't show it.

I fear regret. I'm afraid that in a year or two I'll be able to put my life back together and I could have my beloved dog. Maybe I'll end up with the house, I have no clue. But it came down to the fact that I'd regret it more if things suddenly  and unexpectedly fell apart more and she ended up in a shelter. That sweet, sensitive dog would not thrive in a shelter environment.

So I have become the type of person I used to judge harshly. In becoming that person I learned a valuable lesson about not judging. I never in a million years would have guessed that I'd have to become a person who got rid of a dog, and my only comfort in having to become that person is that I at least made sure she was going to a good home.

Goodbye Artemis, my sweet blue puppy. This was far from an easy decision. I'm sorry I failed you, and you will forever be in my heart. I didn't want to do this, I truly had no choice.

Memories of Artemis

I remember when I adopted this skinny little half starved coonhound puppy. From the beginning she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that she had a rear end, poor clumsy dog. She was very sick and it took quite a while to find food she could tolerate. There were many times I had to scrub dried diarrhea off of her long, floppy ears while I was trying to find food that she could eat, not only would she get sick,  she'd sort of paint with it. Gross! But even though I grumbled about it I'd clean her up. One time she even busted free from her metal kennel to come upstairs and greet me in bed, covered in poop and tail wagging. Once, her first winter, I could tell her paws were cold and she got to get carried around outside like a princess. Big tough hunting dog and all, she is terrified of thunder,  fireworks, balloons, and raccoons. Yes, a coonhound who is afraid of raccoons. I let her out into the yard once and noticed a raccoon before she did. I was thinking "great, there goes my dog, Gonna have to chase her all over". Nope. Artemis, the hunting dog,  named after the goddess of the hunt, she saw that coon, turned around, booked it up the stairs and proceeded to pee on my porch in order to avoid that scary animal in our yard. Big, tough hunting dog, ha! She laid on the back of the sofa like a kitty, and when she's come out of her kennel in the morning she'd grab a favorite toy out of the doggie toy box and prance around the living room showing it off. She tried hard to be a good girl, really working to learn every command I tried to teach her, and if she wasn't sure what to do she'd run through all the tricks she already knew,  hoping one would please me. She is absolutely gorgeous. She was my dog, my friend, my family. I'll never forget my sweet Artemis. You left pawprints on my heart.