- The Cloud Creek dog pack isn't what it
was.
-
- Two days ago, Tiger the Desperate, daughter
of the Big Red Chow Dude and Emmy the Pit Mom, died in the vet's office
while Gwen the Beautiful and I hugged her.
-
- Tiger's life was short - only two and
a half years - but full. She was greatly loved, and very loving in return.
She was also full of frustration and, although it sounds strange to say
it about a dog, envy. And out of those feelings came the fury that led
to her destruction.
-
- Physically, Tiger was daunting. Half
pit bull and half chow, she was 75 pounds of muscle in a compact, tiger-striped
body. Her face was striped too, and because of that when you looked at
Tiger straight on all signs of a muzzle disappeared in the black and red
curves, giving her the face of an earnest and puzzled human being.
-
- And earnest and puzzled are what she
was.
-
- From the very beginning, Tiger was the
omega dog in the 12-puppy litter.
-
- She nipped when she was supposed to lick,
and her mother and littermates reacted just as you'd expect: They pushed
her away.
-
- By the time the puppies were 6 weeks
old, Gwen the Beautiful, Youngest Daughter Amber, and I knew which ones
we were keeping. Decker, the firstborn male, a big black-and-red brindle
who seemed always to smile, and Belle, the caramel-colored female, who
was simultaneously the most mature of the pups and the most adventurous.
-
- When we gathered up the rest of the litter
for a Saturday "Getcher Free Puppy" trip to the Wal-Mart parking
lot, however, the one we called Tiger wouldn't go. She looked at us pathetically
and seemed to say, "Please . let me stay . I'll be just what you want
. let me stay. ."
-
- The look got to us. So did the fact that
she was so plain inept at getting along. Amber and I were afraid no one
else would put up with Tiger the way she was. Finally Gwen agreed.
-
- For two years Tiger was a terrific pet,
doing anything to please us and radiating joy at the smallest sign of our
affection.
-
- And, for two years, the three puppies
ate together at the same bowl, slept together in the big dog yard, played
together, reacted to everything in the world together, and got along so
well that for all practical purposes they were one big, three-headed Decker-Belle-Tiger
dog.
-
- Six months ago that changed. Tiger started
going after the dog directly ahead of her in the pecking order - Belle
- snarling at her when they ate. She began escaping from the dog yard at
night, going under, over, or sometimes even through the gate.
-
- Then she started attacking Belle outright,
ripping into her whenever she saw Gwen's hand or mine on Belle's collar
and thought she had an edge. These fights grew brutal and horrifying, occurring
more and more frequently, although we did all we could to keep the sisters
apart. The irony was that after every attack, Tiger was the one who'd lost.
There was a reason she was the omega dog.
-
- Gwen and I talked to every dog expert
we could find, in person, by telephone, and online. Every one of them said
the same thing: "It's genetic. You're not responsible. It'll get worse.
You've got to put Tiger down before one of those dogs is killed. And a
human in the middle ends up hurt."
-
- We resisted. No way could we do that.
-
- But last weekend Tiger attacked Belle
again, and there was a human in the middle. Gwen.
-
- I got her out of there safely, as fast
as I could, and managed to separate the dogs. It was the usual fight with
the usual result: Horror. Tiger covered in blood.
-
- Heartbreaking as it was, we brought Tiger
in for a lethal injection the next day. She was the best-behaved she'd
ever been. We held her and petted her. Four breaths after the needle pulled
out of her leg she was gone.
-
- When I think of Tiger, I think of a creature
with a burning need to achieve regardless of what it cost her or others.
I think of people I know whose lives have been shattered by their own ambition,
including myself when I was younger and more foolish.
-
- Like so many of us, Tiger just wanted
to get ahead.
-
- Like us, Tiger was wrong.
-
- And, also like us, she paid the price.
-
-
- **********
-
- Author Larry Brody's weekly column, LIVE!
FROM PARADISE! appears on his website, www.larrybrody.com. He has written
thousands of hours of network television, and is the author of "Television
Writing from the Inside Out" and "Turning Points in Television."
Brody is Creative Director of The Cloud Creek Institute for the Arts, the
world's first in-residence media colony. More about his activities can
be seen on www.tvwriter.com and www.cloudcreek.org. He welcomes your
comments and feedback at LarryBrody@cloudcreek.org. Brody, his wife and
their dogs, cats, horses and chickens live in Marion County, Arkansas.
The other residents of the mythical town of Paradise reside in his imagination.
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