I have a dog. His name is Mont. Well, actually it's Beaumont Byron Bordeaux. But we call him Mont, for short. He's a Dogue de Bordeaux. AKA: French Mastiff. He's turning 2 sometime this week, I think. I learned something from Mont this past week. I learned that I am a total and complete blubbering, slobbering, ridiculous and pathetic dog person. More specifically, a Mont person. I am so crazy in love with him and I have never, in my whole life, liked dogs all that much. I inherited it from my dear mother. She HATED (with a capital CAPITAL H) dogs and always talked about them as being dirty, gross, smelly, disgusting things and thought lots of people let their dogs have too much freedom in their houses and with their guests.
When we had kids, I knew I wanted them to have a dog because I always wanted a dog. But not really, because I had too much of my mother's feelings about dogs. But I didn't want to pass that on to my kids I guess is what I'm trying to say. But I didn't want a dog for myself. Problem is that you can't have a dog just for your kids. We all know who really ends up taking care of the dog. For the first year, he was raised by my mother-in-law because she took care of my kids while I taught school. Then he was sent to CO with my husband while I stayed in Tulsa to finish the school year. Then when we finally moved here, he was like an annoying slobbery thing that kept getting in the way. Trouble with that is that he was 100lbs of a thing getting in the way. So I wasn't really very nice to him. I had feelings of affection for him, but I was like a bi-polar mommy to him. He wasn't ever sure if I was in an ILOVEMONT kinda mood or an IHATEMONT kinda mood. With my crazy household of kids, having a big jumpy dog in the mix was sort of like having a spinning tornado in my mind. While I wanted to love him and make everyone happy, he was the least important. Not that I ascribe putting animals needs above those of humans, but he wasn't viewed as a part of our family by me and because of that, by my kids as well. He was a pet. Our dog. He barked a lot, pooped A LOT, ate a lot, slobbered his water from his water bowl everywhere, scratched our floors all to heck, pushed the couch and rug all over the living room and chased the kids up the stairs.
We, well...I decided to turn him over to the Humane Society so they could find a home for him where he wasn't put in the laundry room every time a visitor came over, walked regularly, and wouldn't be yelled at for being a dog. I was so frustrated with him that I just knew this was the best solution. Well, as I started gathering his things together, I started crying. I was bawling when I filled out the application, I sobbed all the way home and went through boxes of kleenex, or my sheet, at night and extremely early in the morning and random times in between for two days. I had no desire to do anything. I prayed to feel better about it. That feeling never came. Instead, all the kids cartoons talked about losing things you love, Scooby Doo decided to have a marathon, and every time I looked out the back door, my heart twisted up inside me. I smelled him in the utility room when I went to do the laundry. I swept up all the dog hair, leaving tear drops on the floor in their place. Jonah told me I was the worst mom. He said he will never feel better about it. He said I took his best bud. It was a secret, but they used to play together all the time and he was his best bud and I took him from him. I was a bad mommy. "And what if he were a baby and he was biting you and being mean to you? Would you give it away? No, you would not."
Forty-two hours later, I called the Humane Society, for the 4th time and begged to get him back. They all had fallen in love with him there and they said, "He has stolen the hearts of everyone in the office." Well, at least he was loved while he was away, but we all went to pick him up and bring him back. It was a very happy day. Our home felt complete again. I felt like God was pleased with me for doing the right thing. And that's always a good feeling. While life isn't going to change overnight with Mont, I did. Amazing, I know. But I learned that I needed to change more than Mont needed to change. It was a total mind shift. He's definately the messiest and strongest of my kids, but he is more than a pet to me. He occupies 1/6th of my heart. Without him, it was an empty, lonely sector. Few times in my life have I made a fundamental change, but they do happen. The night I brought him home, I layed in bed awake, not crying, but smiling. At 3 AM, I walked down to him sleeping on the rug in the living room, (no more utility room) and lay down next to him. He stood up, looked at me, turned around a few times and snuggled himself down closer to me and fell back asleep. I stayed there with my arm draped over his huge belly for an hour. Then quietly stood up, (I'm sorry it's not as dramatic as falling asleep next to him all night...my hip was killing me!) went to my bed and slept like a baby.
