Except for one, now that I think about it.
I am very good with animals, and especially with dogs. That’s pretty normal, the whole dog-human friendship thing. But I do seem to have an extra relaxing presence to dogs, and they seem to inherently trust me. My wife once said “I thought I was great around dogs until I met you.”
It’s been that way my whole life, where even “one-person” and “nervous” dogs give me a good welcoming sniff. I figure it’s something to do with my pheromones, or benign personality (for the record this is not some supernatural post. I do not in any way believe I have like wild magic shenanigans). I also grew up with family dogs so on that level I know how to read body language and all the works.
Anyway, because of this fortunate skill, my whole life I’ve had a side gig dog-sitting. As a teenager and in college, I sometimes survived off dog-sitting money. It’s a huge list of animals I’ve cared for, both at their houses and at mine (post-college). Chihuahuas, a golden retriever, several muttie boys, a pair of hunting dogs, a deaf and blind little spaniel, a giant pitbull, an obese husky, a ridgeback (very stressful, this was a prized showdog)… let’s see, and then friend’s dogs, that I don’t even count, like Titus the blue heeler, Odin the pit, Finnegan the aussie mix, my brother’s lab Princess, my wife’s parent’s dog Trigger, my mom’s new dog Jenny…
And even though their personalities, needs, sizes, energy-levels and everything in-between varied wildly… well, they all liked me. Got off on the right “paw” so to say. An instinctual first trust where I say “hello” and the dog wags their tail and the respective owner says “ok, my dog seems to like you, this will go okay.”
So, except for this one.
The reason I am thinking about him is because I totally blocked out the experience of sitting this dog after it happened, and never thought about it again until now. In fact when I was up for some hours during the night playing the events over in my head, I just kept thinking “wow, I totally forgot about that. What was that kid’s name?”
So first off, let me try and paint a picture of this dog. I am googling breed mixes right now to try to find one that looks similar. I want to say bloodhound with something, like a bloodhound-shepherd mix, but these pictures aren’t quite right. He was a tall, lean dog, the way racing breeds can be, with long legs and short wirey fur. He was all rusty-brown, with big yellow eyes, a long crooked snout and half-drooped ears. Actually I think they were docked, and that’s why I’m thinking bloodhound, because they would have been super droopy ears otherwise. Now I’m looking at Pharaoh Hounds, although they’re cited at one of the least common dog breeds in the U.S.
I took care of this pup when I was around 15. He was probably my third dog-sitting job ever. I was living with my dad at the time, so let me also paint a picture of my dad’s house and that whole situation.
My dad was quadriplegic, which for those that don’t know, means that he was paralyzed from the neck down (all four limbs paralyzed, i.e. quad, versus a paraplegic, who has two limbs paralyzed). He was in an accident shortly before I was born that put him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life - which is an entirely other story. He and my mom were divorced when I was too young to remember (in part because of this accident), but they didn’t move far apart. My mom’s house was a 10 minute bike ride from my dad’s, so as a teenager I’d go live with either one on a whim and just bike between. Actually what I mostly did was spend afternoons after school at my dad’s because he had old video game consoles, and then nights/mornings at my mom’s because she was the much better parent.
My dad had a full-time nurse, a woman named Tina, who would get him up and into his wheelchair in the morning, and put him down at night. She did all his medication, and somewhat helped raise us kids because she made meals and cleaned the house sometimes. Tina was a great nurse and good to my dad and us, but I never really liked her because she struck me as a narcissist. I didn’t have the word for it as a kid, but she was just an incredibly selfish person who had a like, “savior complex” about how much my dad needed her.
Tina was a young mom, who’s oldest daughter was a young mom - so we were raised around her grandkids somewhat. Tina’s sister also had kids our age, so every so often we formed a friend group of pseudo-cousins and were forced to hang out. I cannot stress how much I did not get along with this entire group; by the time I was 15, I was removing myself from these social situations and going somewhere to quietly read.
Tying my wonky childhood all back to the point, what I’m basically trying to say is that there was this large group of kids near my own age, that I wasn’t related to but knew well, that would come to my dad’s house. And one of these kids, I think either Tina’s oldest grandson, or her sister’s middle son, had a friend who joined up sometimes, and it is this friend who’s dog I sat.
Another reason this situation with my dad is relevant is the fact that he psychically had no part in taking care of this dog. He was in a wheelchair, occupied often by Tina and his medical needs. So it was 100% my responsibility (until the end, somehow).
Anyway, this kid I somewhat know but whose name I cannot goddamn remember was talking about how his dad got him this dog, but the mom disapproved, so his adult sister was going to take the dog, but she needed a few days to set up her apartment for it. Some convoluted thing where the dog just needed somewhere to be for three days. And someone, maybe even my own brother, said “Oh, why doesn’t the dog just stay here? <mr_meowsevelt> is really good with dogs.”
Fast forward to literally the next morning, and this kid drops off the dog. I don’t remember the dog’s name either, but I remember the drop-off was incredibly chaotic because neither the kid nor the parent driving got out of the car. The dog hopped out from the back seat, and the kid closed the door after him and handed me the leash through the car window while the dog pulled to go. Once I had him, the kid passed a bag of food and stuff also through the car door window. And then they took off and that was that. This was right about when most people had cellphones, although I personally didn’t have one, so it seemed crazy that he didn’t even give me a number to call or want my dad’s landline number.
Obviously the dog was upset as soon as the car started driving away, pulling and jumping against his leash and whining terribly. I tried to calm him down before pulling him inside, but he snarled away from my hand (something I’d never experienced before, even if I had seen dogs snarl at other people). Kind of shocked, my grip must have loosened on the leash because he burst away from me and behind some bushes in front of the house, and then jumped up the porch and went inside himself. In true high-energy, high-anxiety fashion, this dog sprinted through the house haphazardly, knocking some chairs away and jumping onto the couch and just getting into every room. Instead of trying to wrangle him, I closed and locked the front door, and opened the door to the backyard, which this dog promptly barreled through at full speed.
My dad’s backyard was a big open space, totally un-manicured and empty. A gardener type (or anyone who wasn’t either a child or disabled) could have made it into a great beautiful backyard, but at that point in time it was a big empty dirt area with a couple scraggly trees and a broken down shed. It was surrounded on all sides by a large wall that faced the alley, although when I went back there with that dog I did think “He might be able to jump that wall.”
Okay, now I’m looking at mixes that are getting a bit closer. I think he might’ve been a greyador (greyhound-lab mix) , with some mutt and pit thrown in. I mean either way he was definitely a strong mutt mix. And the family that dropped him off were textbook trashy. There’s no way they actually got some fancy pure or mixed breed, and actually pretty doubtful they went to the humane society. I wonder if the dad brought home some buddies’ dog and gave it to the son without any planning or explanation.
This dog, who we’ll call Buddy, ran and ran in the backyard, panting that dog stress pant, totally uninterested in me or my dad, who had his wheelchair parked by the window. I remember that I called out to Buddy, not with any commands, but just to establish my friendly voice, like “hey boy, run as much as you need! Don’t worry, you’re safe! We’ll get you some yummy food and water!” I ended up leaving him for a sec to go inside and fill a bowl with water. At the same time, I think I called my mom with the landline to tell her I wouldn’t be home for a few days because there was a dog at my dad’s house.
When I went back outside with the water, Buddy was standing stock still. I mean deadly still, in the middle of the yard, not moving a muscle. My dad said “he just stopped like that.” I put the water down on the ground, and backed off. I think I called out something small again, like “Here’s some water for you!” But the dog did not react at all.
The scene was interrupted by the sound of a car pulling into the driveway, which set Buddy off on another sprint around the yard complete with this terribly yowling sound. It was more like a, like a cat yowl than a sound I’ve heard a dog make before. I remember the sound well, because it was NOT excitement, like he definitely didn’t think it was his kid coming back to get him. The car ended up being my mom, who popped over to bring me some toiletries and a book I left over at her house. She and my dad had a cordial relationship like that. Thinking about that now, this must have taken place on a Thursday or Friday, if not during a brief spring break or long weekend. I definitely did not go to school while this dog was at the house.
Eventually, Buddy tired himself out and drank some water. He also happily ate his food a little later, coming back inside into the kitchen to do so. He wouldn’t let me close to pet him, but he seemed to be in perfect health. His teeth and fur and weight were all… I mean normal, if not perfect. He was a handsome dog, totally not matching the family that dropped him off. Tina came around to put my dad to bed, and as the house settled down, the dog did too. I went to my bedroom to try and suss out a bed situation for Buddy, and he followed me in there. I had the thought “he’s finally warming up to me!” He stood in the doorway while I pulled some pillows and blankets off my bed onto the floor, to make a makeshift dog bed. I evaluated a few of my stuffed animals, and like a monster decided on one to sacrifice to be a new dog toy. However, when I tried to give it to Buddy, he bared his teeth at me again and I pulled my arm back hard with the stuffed animal. I remember that moment very well - the somewhat relaxed state of the dog, hanging out watching me, and then the SNAP of his lip going up and his hair going up, eyes on the stuffed animal.
Writing it out like this, I’m almost laughing at myself. Buddy was clearly an abused dog. His behavior should have struck me as sad, not creepy. And yet, it was creepy. And the sounds that dog made. I’ve never experienced anything like it since then.
Buddy slept through the night, and spent the next two days following me everywhere. He wasn’t interested in toys or playing, and after that first afternoon sprinting around the backyard, he also had zero interest in going outside except to pee. He was only interested in me.
When I say that he followed me everywhere, I don’t mean in that happy shadow way of bonded dogs. The kind where they get underfoot and smile up at you. This dog refused to relax. Buddy slowly ambled after me through the house, with his teeth bared and fur tight, a little distance away, watching every little movement I made with big eyes. He positioned himself to trap me in rooms (actually, standing or sleeping in doorways is a normal dog thing, but this was…), and would stand in that perfectly stock still posture, watching me. I ended up talking to him nonstop as though he was acting like a normal dog. One moment that really stands out, is I was in the kitchen. And I could hear my dad’s wheelchair clicking from his bedroom, across the house. Buddy was blocking me into the kitchen, snarling, and I had the thought for the first time that he was going to bite me. Like really charge at and bite me. I was doing dishes, and my hands were soapy, and I was talking nervously nonstop, like “Oh hey Bud, you’re helping me with the dishes? It’s nice that you’re helping me, sometimes its good to be around even if you can’t help with much, that’s called moral support, are you being my moral support?” I remember feeling around in the soapy water for a fork left at the bottom and holding on to it.
But Buddy never charged, and when I went to leave the kitchen he back away slowly, eyes locked on me, just like he’d been doing. On the evening of the second night, my brother came home from a friend’s house, and was surprised to see Buddy. The dog ignored him entirely, and my brother didn’t try to interact. I remember being disappointed because I was curious to see how he would react to another petting hand. Anyway, my brother was in and out (He would’ve been 17 at the time, which makes sense if it was the weekend, he had a social life). But as he was leaving, my brother asked where the dog came from. I was startled, and tried to remind my brother about the friend of our friend who was over just a couple days before… he had no idea what I was talking about. I was more annoyed than anything else, especially since I do think he’s the one who volunteered me in the first place, but we didn’t have time to get into it.
After my brother left, Tina came around and put my dad down for the night. I went to bed feeling exhausted, and deeply deeply sad since it seemed like I wouldn’t be able to break through and be friends with Buddy. It was progress enough that he was sleeping in the same room as me, and did it really matter if he was eating food and drinking water?
Okay, now this is the part of this story that really gets me, and it’s the one that kept me up last night. I’ve been rolling it around in my head and trying to figure out where my memory is likely embellished. It’s not something I’ve thought about in years.
I woke up in the middle of the night to the full body weight of Buddy on top of me in bed. He was standing up, and I could feel his four paws digging into my legs and abdomen. I must’ve been sleeping on my back, because my view was straight up, into Buddy’s jaws. He was standing over me, perfectly still, with his mouth open right above my head. I did not make a noise, but I did make eye contact with the dog. Off-light ambience coming through the crack of my bedroom door was enough to reflect against his eyes and illuminate his teeth. It wasn’t like I caught him mid-lunge, or mid-yawn. He was like a statue.
When we made eye contact, the dog pulled his face away from mine slowly, like a very controlled, slow movement. We didn’t break eye contact, and he didn’t get off me. Instead, he slowly closed his mouth, until it was just his teeth bared in a sort of smile-snarl. And then, he laughed.
Again, I can’t come up with the right words to describe the sounds this dog made. When I say he laughed, I mean a deep, human-like chuckle, a “Huh huh huh,” a throatily, creepy, disturbing sound. I’ve spent all morning on youtube searching for “dog laughing,” and “dog sounds,” and there is nothing even remotely similar to that sound. It definitely was not play panting. The closest is if you google “dog grumble,” and go that video with the rottweiler. Imagine his happy “RrrRrrr” grumble if it was dialed up to 11, deeper, and longer, and sounded angry and happy at the same time. Like “RRRrrruuuuhhhRRR RRRrruuuhhhRRR RRRRrrruuuuhhRRR”
In that moment, what I remember is dread and fear. I knew my dad was stuck in bed in his room, so if Buddy hurt me at that moment there would be no one to help me. I wasn’t even thinking that deeply though, I was in full shocked panic mode, thinking “He’s on top of me and I’m alone.”
I must’ve shifted my body, because I felt one of his paws slip off my leg and onto the bed; with that momentum I rolled over and threw the dog’s body off my bed and onto the floor. There was a thud, and I was out of my room and slammed the door behind me. Buddy did not make a single noise from behind that door. I heard my dad call out “Hey <mr_meowsevelt,> what was that? Are you okay?” I called back telling him that Buddy woke me up but that everything was just fine. I’m sure my voice must have been shaking.
I ended up sleeping on the couch, and didn’t go back into my bedroom. But, and this is the extremely weird part to me, I also never saw Buddy again.
Apparently, I was asleep on the couch, and slept through the entire morning routine where Tina came and got my dad up, and them letting the dog out of my room, and feeding the dog breakfast, and then the kid and his dad coming to pick Buddy up. It is still the most baffling part of the memory to me. I remember Tina saying that she didn’t want to wake me up because I was sleeping so soundly. But up until that point, she had not helped with the dog even one tiny bit, so why in the world…?
Basically though, I woke up in the late morning/early afternoon, totally disoriented from sleeping in late. The house was really quiet, so I went to go check on Buddy in my room, and he wasn’t there. I found my dad in the backyard in his wheelchair, and he told me that the family had already come to get Buddy this morning. I was totally confused, because even though the kid had talked about “needing three days” before he could take the dog to his sister’s, there’d been zero communication during Buddy’s stay about when they’d come to get him. In retrospect… like if this happened now as an adult, and someone dropped a dog off like that, I would think “they’re not coming back, this is my dog now.” But apparently they came and got him, and I slept through it?
I asked my dad how the pick up went, and how Buddy behaved. He said it was difficult because they didn’t get out of the car, so Tina had to take Buddy’s leash and walk him out to the car. He specifically mentioned that Tina was scared because she’d seen the dog snarl at me, but it went great because Buddy walked very calmly with her to the car, no problem, and jumped right in. I didn’t believe it. My dad basically said “yeah he was doing the nervous dog panting, but he followed Tina and got right in.” And then, as though it was all completely normal, he asked me if I had the kid’s number because wasn’t I getting paid for this dog-sitting job?
I did end up seeing that kid again, but only once, and it was a really negative encounter. He was at the park near my dad’s house, where the whole group of kids had walked to. I can’t remember if he was already at the house, or if we met him at the park. Either way, he and I were standing apart from everyone near this big tree, and I asked him how Buddy was. He told me that the dog was doing terribly, and that ever since he was at my house, he had a big injury on his nose. Realizing I could have hurt the dog pushing him off me in the night, I asked what the injury looked like. The kid said that the nose injury was so bad, all of Buddy’s skin was peeling off on his entire face and it was probably dog cancer. I told him I hadn’t seen anything like that, but the kid demanded to know what I had done to his dog. I was very upset to be accused out of nowhere of abusing this dog (that I felt I had taken good care of despite being scared the whole time).
I saw that pseudo-cousin kid friend group less and less after that, just as a consequence of becoming teenagers and having our own lives, and then becoming adults. My dad actually died about five years ago, as side issues from his accident popped up as he got older. After his funeral, I also lost a lot of contact with Tina and had a falling out with my brother about responsibilities managing my dad’s estate. My brother and I are finally repairing our relationship now - but, in general, there’s not really anyone I can ask about this dog. I really doubt my brother would remember anything about it.
If anyone has ideas about the breed, or has heard anything remotely like the sounds I described, please let me know. This memory popped up out of nowhere and I’ve been thinking about that time in my childhood a lot.