Doggy Depression
I think Oscar is depressed.
And I don't think it's debatable that dogs get depressed, maybe even suicidal. Back when I had one — we're going back a good seventeen-eighteen years here — one of her play pals was a big ol' sheep dog named Zach who spent much of his time locked up in a studio apartment eating the furniture. One day he dashed into traffic. Ended it all.
Everyone was shocked to hear of it and sorry for his master's loss. But immediately there were murmurs and whispers of "suicide".
And from knowing Zach I didn't find suicide an implausible explanation at all, although I suppose it could have been a squirrel on the other side of the street, too. But even if it was, the abandonment of all discipline to chase after it was an act of rebellion tantamount to suicide. Poor thing.
Dogs are special needs. Their emotional life is so like ours, but they have no intellectual life to speak of. That's precisely why we love them. But left in an apartment for hours at a stretch, they can't read, play Farm Town on Facebook, or watch kitty porn. They experience boredom, sometimes intensely. I believe they can even experience despair of a sort.
Suicide requires an agent aware of his actions in a way dogs probably aren't. But it's possible that despair may lead to behaviors that put them at risk. If you strip away the self-awareness and self-indulgence we humans are capable of, the emotional landscape of doggy depression is very familiar.
Oscar is not ready to end it all, but I can vouch for his heightened anxiety and bouts of depression. Remember when I said he was pulling his hair out? Since the move, he has all but stripped the last half of his formerly fluffy tail of its fur, drawing blood [WARNING: THIS PHOTO IS NOT FOR THE SQUEAMISH!]...
As far as I can tell, Jake is in denial. I had a friend over last night who happens to be a vet tech, who told him the dog probably needed one of those Elizabethan collars — at least for a couple days — while the wound was sterilized and given a chance to heal. Jake bristled. It was like: no dog of mine's gonna wear one of those big, gay collars.
I'm beginning to see that Jake's kind of like that. He seems to have a very narrow view of normalcy, and a hostility — always cheerily expressed through clenched teeth (and ass cheeks, I'm sure) — toward anything that falls outside of his experience. It's the cold soup syndrome. I don't really know the guy, but it's almost like the dog's part of that picture of normalcy he's got in his head, but the e-collar's not.
Now, If I had a dog, he'd be in an e-collar all the time, whether he needed it or not. That's a conversation-starter. If he was smart he'd run right out and grab two. You think dogs are chick magnets — a dog in an e-collar is like Magneto! You'd be up to your neck in Aaaawwwe, poor puppy! What happened? You'd have to install a revolving door.
I dunno. Sometimes I think the kid couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel. He joked with my friend that Oscar was "the most expensive toy" he'd ever owned. I hesitate to read too much into that, because I know it was meant as a joke, but really? When your pet's in obvious distress? And you're talking to a vet tech? Is that sorta off-color, somehow, or am I starting to sound like a crazy vegan?
He says Oscar gets walked a lot, and maybe it's a lot for Jake, but obviously not for Oscar. And that's the thing. I think we have a failure to communicate here. Oscar is trying to tell Jake that his emotional needs are not being met. And Jake just isn't hearing it.
Okay. Game over. This is one of the few things that trips my trigger.
Dogs are not toys. They can be hurt. Badly and permanently.
Jake is no longer an amusing rube.
Reply to this
I invite you to come over any time you like -- oh, and pick up a can of whoop-ass on your way!
Reply to this
Any chance you're allowed to take Oscar for walks? I take my partners dogs for walks. He wishes I would just turn them loose in the back yard, but I get to observe them closer on a walk. And I think both the dogs and I get something out of it. There's got to be an effective way of convincing Jake that fur pulling isn't normal and that Oscar deserves a solution. I'd best stop typing, this is starting to sound like preaching.
Reply to this
I have walked Oscar. Last weekend Jake was out all night, left at seven Friday and didn't get back until noon the next day. I don't want t sound prudish. Under any other circumstances I certainly would not expect my roommate to inform me if he was going to be out all night. But when you have a pet that has to be let out to do his business, you have a responsibility -- an ethical obligation -- to either be there for him or make arrangements for someone else to be.
Jake was out for a seventeen hour stretch. So of course I took the dog out. And enjoyed scampering around the Fens with him. But I was a little nonplussed by my roommate's behavior. I've begun to see that Jake is the type who rather than get it out on the table and lay down some ground rules will wait to see how much you'll do for him on your own, and then make it seem like he's doing you a favor by letting you. He's the baby of his family. It's an MO.
I actually spend a lot of time with Oscar at home, when I'm hanging out or working from here he's usually at my feet. And I don't object to taking him out when I have the time, but I don't want that to become my obligation by default. That's what's happened with taking out the rubbish. I did it first and now it's clear I own it. It's expected.
Even changing the TP roll is apparently mine -- I woke up yesterday to fnd an empty roll! Flashback to the orphanage! When I bought the stuff in bulk, I was sure to show him where it was, so it's not that he didn't know. I didn't specify that I was telling him so that when the roll ran out on his watch he could replace it, which is just common courtesy. I didn't really think I had to. Maybe I'm being too subtle?
You know, I don't want this issue to swallow up my blog -- but his utter lack of skills is just the kind of thing that fascinates and infuriates me. If he was nineteen or something I could understand it, but he's pushing thirty. I mean, come on.
Reply to this
Surely you realize that you are going to end up with this dog. I'm sure Jake can't believe his luck that he's found a responsible adult to adopt his expensive toy, since he's clearly on to more amusing things and the dog is way too emotionally needy for Jake. Here in the South End the young urban professional couples leave their dogs, of all sizes, shapes and temperaments home all day alone (locked in small cages, which they call "crate training" so they won't chew the furniture out of neurotic boredom) while they work at Fidelity or wherever they work. These dogs are lucky to get a quick spin around the block before dinner. It's funny, but sad, to see them literally drag these dogs around the "pee and poop" circuit in their rush to hurry the dog up so they can go out to dinner with their friends.
Reply to this
I hope you can arrange some sort of intervention -- this must be unbearable for you. You have my best wishes.
Reply to this
OK. So, I don't want to interrupt your narrative, because I think Jake is an interesting character, with his frightening neuroses and tics. Clearly that dog needs more attention and exercise... he also needs to go to the vet (no offense to your friend, but chatting with a dentist about a toothache at a cocktail party is nothing like actually sitting in his chair).
We all hate first-person stories in comments. But, here goes.
As a teen, I had a dog that developed the same sort of destructive tail-gnawing. The dog, awkwardly named BJ by his former owner, did not have a life of despair as far as I could see. Besides the name. My father even built a little perch for him on my bike so he could ride with me. He was living life to its fullest, as far as dogs can without thumbs and the ability to do crossword puzzles.
The dog just one day started eating himself. Like he had OCD.
My father, who wanted the greenest lawn in town, also hired at about the same time a company to spray the grass into beauty with all sorts of fertilizers. A cracker jack vet put the two together and discovered BJ had an allergy to the lawn fertilizers. So, with some pills that made him fat, and my father's dream of the perfect lawn gone, he recovered.
Similar thing happened to my current dog. He became allergic to his food. He did have to wear a... um... ruff for a while (sulkily, because he has a similarly narrow view of normalcy as Jake), but quickly recovered & now gets homemade meals.
The long-winded point is, that maybe, besides being neglected, Oscar may have a very real medical problem, or is allergic to something in his new digs if this is a new thing that appeared after the move. But, how would you know?
Hopefully Jake will have the good sense to get Oscar to a vet rather than just let him maim himself... whatever the cause. And hopefully you won't have to look at open wounds while living with such a rich source of great loathsome roommate stories.
Reply to this
Thanks for the story and advice. You are very right about the need to get the dog to a real vet for a real visit. Henry is right, too, that it's an awkward situation as to when and how to launch an intervention. Of course I could easily just kidnap the dog one afternoon and take him to the vet myself.
There are two issues here, though. One is Oscar, and doing my part to make sure that he's as well cared for as humanly possible. The other is getting Jake to live up to his responsibility. I don't really know how to effectively communicate with Jake at this point. I feel like I have to tread lightly so as not to cause outright conflict in my home in the day-to-day, while working on my evil scheme for the long haul.
Just so you know Oscar's not a Debbie Downer, here are a couple of pics from our afternoon outing earlier today:
Reply to this
Uhg. this is turning into one of those situations where you don't know when and how forceful to intervene, like watching parents abusing kids in public, etc. Any dog owner who is NOT concerned about the fact that his pooch is gnawing himself should not have one.
Are you ready to become the scary roomate (i.e mother, older brother, etc.) who forces him to take his responsibilities seriously? If you're lucky, one very loud barking may do it. How good are you at teenage temper tantrums? You may have to scare the shit out of him.
Reply to this
Please more pics of Oscar having fun! Has Oscar discovered the pleasure of cuddling up with you at night? You know on those days when your two legged friends aren't sleeping over.
Reply to this
I think Jake would be jealous if I started sleeping with Oscar, don't you?
I'm not sure I'm his type, anyway -- or he's mine. I love sleeping with super furry men. Not so sure about super furry animals, especially when they're molting.
Reply to this