Ugh.

We had a wonderful little break in the Dominican republic last week, courtesy of our local classic rock station, Q107, who were giving away daily trips last November if you could somehow manage the time-space continuum and be the 107th caller for the song of the day, which changed daily. Thank you, again, Pete Townshend and the Who, for "Baba O'Reilly" and to my fingers for some kind of karmic connection.

Arriving back, however, I found out that my dog Whiskey had been brought back to our house the day before our flight by my sister, following an ugly incident with one of her dogs. Luckily, we have amazing and kind neighbours who agreed to walk him for two days before we arrived. Even more luckily, her dog was not harmed physically beyond what are likely some bruises under the neck where Whiskey decided to inflict his damage. Psychologically,the other pooch, who is an older rescue beagle, has been a bit of a basket case because of what happened, and I am gutted for him that he had to endure such misery at the hands of my animal. I make no excuses for Whiskey, and am quite saddened that the incident means the dogs can no longer play together. This is especially sad for Whiskey and their other dog, Scarlett, who were adopted within days of each other, both rescues, and both lifelong friends until this happened. She was apparently a bit of an encouraging bystander when the aggression began, and I suspect the theory of "three is a crowd" is part of the story here. The beagle was adopted after the pair, and Whiskey has been all too comfortable in their home(s) to the point where there have been signs of jealousy and dominance issues between the two males since his arrival. Whiskey has also shown some food aggression in the past, towards our cats, although strangely enough he allows our 16+ male cat to eat from his bowl without complaint; perhaps he senses the hyperthyroid emergency element to our senior boy, who is the true alpha of the house, and defers to him as a result.

Sadly, not so with poor Jethro, who has been upset since Saturday and who rightly should never be placed in such a position again, least of all in his own house. His home should be a refuge, and not somewhere he should ever face fear. I am in full agreement with that, and yet feel such a sadness that the trio will never really interact again. Whiskey has had a few run-ins with dogs at the park in the last few months, and I am now wondering if something in his nature has changed that I need to look at more closely, or whether his behaviour is the result of being spoiled by having me all to himself during the day in a way he never did when I was working full-time. He was also acting quite strangely just two days before we left, and I had initially thought he had had a seizure of some sort because he could not move to the right and had a strange appearance. The vet visit was inconclusive, but he did suspect that he had had the canine version of a mild concussion, likely from hitting his face somewhere during play at the dog park, and told us to keep watch over him for signs of deterioration. I did relay all that to my sister, as we left the next morning, but it seemed to her (and to us, during the last day here) that he improved and appeared to act fairly normally. All I know for now is that the dog park is off-limits until I can observe him more, and discuss my case with the dog behaviourist at the shelter where I volunteer. Whiskey doesn't seem to pleased not to have returned to the off-leash area, but I can't trust him right now around other dogs and so this is where we stand. My sense is that he knew he had screwed something up when we came home late Sunday night, because he wouldn't make eye contact and had that "I peed on the furniture" expression on his face. Beyond that, I am quite confused as to what has happened to the fairly calm, even tempered pet I used to have.

So just a bit ugh all around right now, and a real sense of loss for what can't be anymore.