Another brilliant piece from a GUNNAS WRITING MASTERCLASS WRITER
Rosie was a physical abuse victim. She was quick to fear and even quicker to anger, but after the anger came abject terror. It was hard-wired into her. She couldn’t change it if she tried. She couldn’t try because she didn’t understand. It was patently unfair that the coping mechanisms she had learned in order to survive a physical attack were also the behaviours that made her intolerable to others. Although I would stay with her forever, our house was a no-go zone for the many friends I used to have. For Rosie had learnt to intercept violence with violence, and then to pre-empt it, and almost anything could set her off. She was an embarrassment. But most of all she was unsafe. The irony that she was replaying what had been done to her, and hurting others in the process was not lost on me. But I still loved her. I could never let her go. I didn’t think she could survive without me. So as our house became her sanctuary, it became my prison, and one that didn’t allow visitors.
But people told me there was a way out. I could kill her.
You see Rosie was a dog; a veteran of both a puppy farm and an abusive household, although I could never be sure because all I really knew was that she was a stray. Maybe she was born an angry dog, but the fear in her eyes was real. And it was fear for her life. And I could not live in a world where an animal could be abused and as a consequence of the behaviours she learnt from that abuse, would be deemed a dangerous dog and killed.
“But she’s only a dog,” some people would say. But only people who have never had a dog would say that. She was part of my family, and unlike my family, she loved me unconditionally. And she never disagreed with me, other than about what was for dinner (she thought all human food was her food). She was always glad to see me, in fact she was often ecstatic. And sometimes all she wanted to do was cuddle. She was the best partner I ever had. And I had made a commitment to her. I don’t believe in marriage, but I do believe in adoption. She needed a home. I needed a family. We were perfect together.
But, still, I wondered if I was doing the right thing.
Last week she bit my friend. A bite that required three doctor’s visits and high-strength antibiotics, not to mention a week off work, and incredible pain. Again, people told me that I ought to kill her. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. What right do I have to take her life? We are long past the stage of anthropomorphising animals; I may not believe that animals have a soul (but then I don’t believe I have a soul either), but they have as much right to be on this earth as I do. And although I pay all Rosie’s veterinary bills, I do not own her. No one has a right to own another person or animal.