by Gina
Tracey Elizabeth was probably whelped in the crowded filthy cage of a puppy mill and then shipped out to be sold with a sibling.
In any case, when we saw her lying there in the glass front cage in a neighboring pet store, we knew we had to meet her.
She was a beige and white Cocker Spaniel with a sprinkle of slightly darker freckles over her nose and large brown cow eyes, complete with long feathered lashes.
Her head was larger than her tiny, slender body and her hip bones stuck out reminding me, again, of a bovine.
In retrospect, I should have left her there. Protected, in a detached way from the life we lived. But, I was in denial. Ignorant. And my 5 year old son was captured by her gentle approach and tender spirit.
Bringing that pup into such a turbulent atmosphere as the one at home helped to perpetuate her shyness.
Finally, the thick veil of denial lifted a year later. And I took my son and fled for a shelter leaving Tracey behind, as there were no places there for a dog. And she had her "sister" a sheltie there with her.
After the restraining order was filed, divorce granted,and we were settled into an apartment, my estranged husband dropped off the sheltie.. but not Tracey.
I learned,from my then 6 year old son, that "daddy was holding Tracey up over his head with her choker collar and then tossing her across the room." My son was tramatized by what he witnessed. I agonized about what he saw and what our little beloved Tracey was enduring.
I found a good home for the sheltie, as the apartment complex would not allow 2 dogs, no matter what the circumstances.
The next few years were spent listening to the same tales of abuse by my ex towards Tracey Elizabeth. Even my son's school personnel heard my son's anguish over these repeated incidents- but all were powerless to do anything.
Finally, we moved into our own home. And when yet another incident surfaced, I sat down and had a long talk with my little boy.
Part of the power of abuse, be it towards people or animals, is secrecy. And I had to confront his father.
His terror of the consequences and his being able to open up to me and no other person, including therapist, meant that I had to tread lightly. But, I told him that I had to do something.
And so, I called my ex and advised him that I knew about the incidents and that unless he handed over Tracey, I was going to go to the ASPCA or anyone else I could think of to expose his behavior for what it was. My little boy, brave and determined, told his father that he wanted Tracey with us. His father reluctantly agreed.
And so, when he offered to bring Tracey over, I instead went to pick her up- fearing he would change his mind.
Tracey arrived and when we went into our home, trotted around, curious, nervous, anxious.. until she smelled my son's room. Her tail wagged and she looked at me. She recognized me!
For the next 6 years, we lived in peace here. Tracey had never quite grasped the concept of housebreaking, so she was confined to the tiled kitchen. It adjoins the livingroom, so we were always within sight and touch.
She seemed to blossom those 6 years.
And interestingly, when my ex came to the front door, initially, she would haunch down and crawl obediently to him when he called.
As time went on, first, she refused to approach him and then, eventually went to him, jumped on him to say "hello" and then scampered back behind me, tail wagging and "dancing."
I don't know if she was doing this because she believed it would appease me or because she had realized that she was not going back with him and that she had made some sort of peace with her past and perhaps in small scale with him.
In any case, Tracey Elizabeth first showed signs of sickness in December. The vet thought it might have been irritated bowel syndrome- or cancer.
She was 12 year old. Her once athletic frame had dwindled to skin and bones from February to April. Her appetite decreased. Her hips showing stiffness.And she seemed sad and withdrawn.
We had just put down 11 year old Cinnamon, the cat, after a battery of tests and denial that she was terminally ill. And now, Tracey some 6 months later, showed signs of illness.
I was in that kind of denial that tells you that you are looking for things. That she was just getting older. That she wasn't terminal.
But, after several lengthly discussions with my now 16 year old son and the reality that Trace had no real control over her bowels anymore, we took her to the vet and put her down.
We went in with her. My son's beloved friend and my faithful companion. One who endured what I did and could not express those horrific experiences through words.. but, I looked in those bovine eyes many times over the years and knew she knew. We were kindred spirits. She was the validation of what we all went through at a monster's hands and words.
Tracey stood stiffly with the vet tech cradling her against her as the shot was administered. And she emitted a silent but evident sigh as she slipped into unconsciousness. And I couldn't help but to believe, through tears, that she was exhaling all the anxiety that plagued her. All the hell she endured that no counseler would ever hear from her viewpoint.
Somehow, the world isn't the same without her. The silent strength she grew into after she was liberated from what was pure torture.
My earnest heartfelt prayer is that no pet be left behind when one flees a violent relationship. That consideration is taken for them, just as with any other loved one at that time. Get them out of there and into a peaceful atmosphere. Don't leave them behind naively believing that you are the only target of the abuse. It is like a ripple in the water. Begins in one place and encompasses everyone within it's perimeter. Everyone in the family. From you, to the children.. to the dog and cat. Protect them. Get them out so that they do not become the target of the rath.
I share responsibility in the denial of what my beloved dog would endure when I left. And I wonder what she would have been like had she left when we did.
Tracey is now in a beautifully decorated urn with her name engraved in gold where the family photographs are displayed in the livingroom. Beside the urn is a picture of her lounging on the sofa, staring at the camera, with her paw up alittle. Her fur is sleek and shiny and her beige ears are endless curls.
We have decided not to get another dog- now or in the future.
At first, the decision was made from grief. Now, we know it's the best way for us.
Anyway, one day we will reunite on Rainbow Bridge. Somehow, I can see her romping around up there amongst all her friends. She was the kind of dog who got along with other dogs... but thought she was a cat. : )
Gina