PTSD Flashbacks On Date Night
LESSONS FROM MY DOG: Overcoming
July 28, 2019
"Hershey came to us from a little town called Hyndman. A family there had outside dogs. One had a litter of pups. It was cold and they tried to heat the dog box with a light bulb. The box caught fire and all but Hershey perished in the fire."
The news broke my heart. I can't imagine being in that position, helpless and unable to break away the walls as the world snatched the breath from everything I know. To hear them cry and then go silent. Animals experiencing that traumatic situation tend to be shy, or wary of flames and smoke.
I scooped Hershey up to hug him, but he wanted none of it. Instead, he furiously wagged his tail and licked the tears from my face. Hershey Kisses are the best kisses.
It's been a long while since that nod to Hershey's indomitable Hershey-ness. I certainly wasn't giving it any thought as I plowed through the afternoon today.
There were only a few "must do before dinner" boxes to check, and we were making good time.
Alas, the beard, my beautifully rugged beard, is gone. It's not mine, as in "on my face". It was on Jeff's face and he had grown it out considerably just so we could shape it into a manly beard of manliness. I researched this shit. I found all the best how-to stuff out there. Some won my total trust. But beard gone, move on.
Dinner was all Jeff's. There were two hiccups. I don't know what the first one was, but it resolved itself, I guess. The second was Zoie running up the stairs with a raw potato roughly the size of her own brain.
Never chase a dog; they only chew faster. I grabbed one of her Nyla bones and pretended it was the best thing ever. OM NOM NOM! Problem solved. (I can't remember where I put the potato. Holy shit. Did I eat it?!)
Jeff was already filling the kitchen with smoke as I came down the stairs. He has this heavy griddle that saddles two burners. He swears by it.
Meanwhile, my mother is doing her nebulizer treatment as the dining room slowly fills with smoke. I barked at him to open the door to clear some of it out. Yes, it was 17 °F out there. The nebulizer is drawing beef-slab air from the room and directly into her lungs. I don't think the remaining healthy tissue would appreciate it. The cancer might.
Finally, all is done. We settle in for our Friday Night Date Night thang. God, that steak was delicious!
I noticed Hershey was acting weirdly under the table. I thought he was putting himself between his brother and the demon dog. I quickly came to realize that his brother was putting himself between the two others. Angus was protecting Hershey.
I peered under the table and Hershey tipped his head up. His almond eyes were open wide, pupils as dilated as can be. He had pressed himself into my shins and trembled. It all clicked at once.
We've had bonfires and Hershey didn't lose his shit. We've cooked steaks before, and the smoke was thick. But PTSD is what it is and, when every element is met, it can cripple people and animals.
"Hershey came to us from a little town called Hyndman. A family there had outside dogs. One had a litter of pups. It was cold and they tried to heat the dog box with a light bulb. The box caught fire and all but Hershey perished in the fire."
Bitterly cold outside. Smoke. Burning flesh.
I slid off my chair and settled onto the floor with Hershey. I've never seen a dog tremble so hard. The shivering went nose-to-tail, and the latter was tucked tight under his rump. He was whining at a pitch I could not hear, but I could feel the vibrations. I pet his head, trying to help the muscles relax. I kissed him and nibbled his ear. I reached up and told Jeff to put a piece of steak into my hand. I sucked the seasoning off and offered it to my hound. He began to relax.
The other dogs surprised me. Sure, Gus and Zoie got excited at the prospect of getting steak, but they returned to prowl between Hershey and the demon dog. The hound usually protects them from Dante. Here was the Min Pin, in all her glory, staring down my mother's dog. He moved slightly, her lips curled. Silent. Fuck you. He's my brother.
But all that was just peripheral fuzz; Let them sort it out. Hershey needed us more.
In time, he realized that he was safe. It was okay. His Daddy was there to protect him, and his Mamma was there to comfort him. His siblings realized that he was at his weakest, and they lent him their support.
Hershey and I are keeping each other company on another blistering cold night. He's taken over the lounge chair in my office. I'm fine with sitting on the floor and propping my back against the thing. I blog; he snores. But today was different for us both.
I lift my arm and find his face inches from me. I tip my head back and try to pull him into a hug, but he wants none of it. Instead, he lazily wags his tail and licks the tears from my face.
Hershey Kisses are still the best kisses.