Mommy Needs A Minute

We adopted Rocky in June of 2017. He was Hubby’s wedding gift to me, as we had three cats and Hubby was concerned that I had no one to look after me while he was working nights. His thinking was that we would go to the pound, what was then a kill-shelter in North Las Vegas, and come home with a large breed dog that he could train to protect me. Oh, how wrong he was.

We strolled down through kennel after kennel. Some dogs were fear-aggressive from the get-go, snapping and jumping at the kennel doors. Others didn’t really pay us any mind, until we reached the end of one aisle. There, a small, nine-month-old pup with long, horse-like legs and ears too big for his head scratched under the kennel door, eager to run to me. He whimpered and pouted and looked at me with these eyes, and my heart melted.

“Not this one!” Hubby lamented,” I wanted a big dog!” I scarcely heard him as I returned to the attendant and asked if we could spend some time with the pup in the dog run. Hades was the name the shelter gave him. A stray with no home and no owner, feeding off scraps and scavenging. He doesn’t look like a Hades to me. I thought. He’s tough, like Rocky Balboa. From the time we brought him into the dog run, he immediately attached himself to Hubby. Where Hubby very clearly was doubtful of my choice, I saw how much trust this dog was giving us. He wanted a family. And so, the choice was made. He was ours.

His first week in seclusion from his feline siblings got off to a rough start. Having just been neutered before the pound could release him to us, his incision site had become infected and inflamed, resulting in a very uncomfortable puppy who was equally unhappy about being made to restrict himself to his kennel and small room, where we attempted to ease separation anxiety through exposure by keeping his kennel out of our bedroom. This lasted only a few days, as Hubby, moved by Rocky’s sweet whines and whimpers, inevitably moved his sleeping bag into Rocky’s room and held him throughout the night until he was well. From then on, Rocky had Hubby’s heart too.

Our cats were less than thrilled. Our two queens: Isis, an anxious siamese cat, and Midnight, a sassy black domestic shorthair, were not at all pleased about having to share their space with yet another little brother. Our tom – an orange tabby kitten named Jacob – was thrilled to have a playmate, and within one month he and Rocky were rough-housing all around our home and causing me to jump at every crash and thud, knowing those two were always up to shenanigans. This inevitably became a welcome treat to Isis and Midnight, as for once the bright orange furball wasn’t tackling them to the floor or laying on top of them during their cat naps.

We discovered my pregnancy less than two months later. We had moved to Washington and were still in the process of moving into our new apartment. I was high-risk and bed-ridden for much of the time except for Rocky’s walks. I couldn’t go very far, or very fast because of the risk of slipping in the slick grass, but Rocky was always patient and would look back and wait for me to move before he continued walking further. It was in those moments we had peace and one-on-one time with each other.

He was my great comfort, and a perfect belly-warmer at the time of my son’s premature birth by caesarian section and Midnight’s eventual brain cancer diagnosis. He was the only one we brought with us as Hubby and I wept in the veterinary office, clutching him, Midnight, and each other close as we said our final goodbye to her. Hubby and I both held him a little bit tighter that night. It was the hardest month of our lives, with the loss of Midnight and our son in the NICU.

Bringing the baby home was also a big struggle, not just for Rocky, but all of our pets. Peanut’s wails were loud, and he was admittedly more needy than other newborns due to his extreme prematurity. Rocky would always greet him with a sniff in the morning, then be on his merry way, and he never cared to let Peanut touch his toys, of which he is very territorial and later became a boundary we had to set with Peanut in favor of Rocky. This continued until one evening when Hubby and I were in the kitchen and we heard the most alarmed bark come from our bedroom where Peanut was sleeping. Rocky’s bark was normally high-pitched, like a whine, but this bark was low, angry, and sent both Hubby and I racing. When we stepped into the room, Peanut was fine, but a later look at our window camera would show that a stranger had stepped into the bushes near our window when Rocky began barking. Just when we were starting to worry that he would never take to the baby, I gave him a cuddle, and whispered “thank you” that night.

Rocky’s protective instincts toward Peanut grew and grew as the years went by, from racing like a greyhound to launch himself like a rocket at a Boxer pup who was trying to nip at Peanut’s face at the park (I had pushed Peanut behind me and was keeping my body between them) to years later challenging our German Shepherd pup when she would play too rough with Peanut. Even now, when Peanut sits in timeout Rocky sits with him, and when Peanut is scolded Rocky puts himself between us and glares defiantly.

Today, Rocky is a little bit different. He no longer runs like a greyhound, or leaps like a racehorse. His chews are softer, he is more achy, and maybe a little more temperamental than before. But he still protects my Peanut, stands side by side with his brother Jacob, and is my best and most trusted friend, and I will always care for him to the best of my ability.

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