Saving Chief

We are all flawed, scarred and worn tired from life’s daily beating. But at the end of the day you want those you love beside you. You want to know that when the chips are down someone will come for you and fight a good fight. Read the true story below by Teresa McIntosh-Hall about fighting for those we love – even our four legged friends. Love is action. Love is not passive. Show someone some love today.

I admit it, I raise my dogs like I raise my kids, I pretty much wing it. I read a few Dobson books, tossed them aside and followed my motherly instinct. But sometimes when you are winging it, things go wrong. You come home to find your kid passed out drunk, your house trashed and dog shit on the floor. Then in hindsight you wished you had taken your dog to obedience school and sent your kids to private Catholic schools. You blame both your dog and kid problems on “bad genes.” The Jack Russell’s daddy was tied to a chain and had a bad temper. The kid’s daddy comes from a long line of alcoholics and hell raisers. I’m just here to clean up shit is what I often say.

Our ten-year old Jack Russell terrier, Chief, was a Mother’s Day gift given to me from my children. He’s the gift that keeps on giving. Within the past year Chief accomplished the following:

1. Chewed the bumper off of my best friend’s Cadillac Escalade causing $600.00 worth of damage.
2. Broke his hind leg when he ran underneath our car in the drive-way resulting in a $400.00 vet bill.
3. Got attacked by the neighbor’s two dogs resulting in over $600.00 in vet bills.
4. Killed approximately four squirrels, one baby raccoon and a boatload of bullfrogs
5. Bit a young child (but thank the Lord no stitches, sutures or scars)
6. Spent 54 days on doggie death row costing us approximately $1000.00 in fees and fines.

I know…I know… I can hear you now…” put that crazy dog down.”
No! HELL NO!

We don’t give up on those we love even when they displease us. We don’t walk away but instead, we stay and fight until we get it right.

I did my share of walking away in my youth. I left a marriage, jobs and a bloody trail of broken hearts but with age comes insight and change. I look in the rear-view mirror and cringe at my choices. Why didn’t I give two weeks’ notice? Why didn’t I just sit down with him and tell him the truth about my feelings? Why didn’t I let him keep the damn couch? Why did I hurt those I loved the most? Why did I sign my dog over to be put to sleep?

One morning a dog warden arrived at our home with Chief locked up in the back of her van. Chief left our property in the early morning hours and he bit a child. Based upon what we pieced together it was most likely over a piece of bacon being waved in front of his nose. You don’t taunt Chief with bacon. You just don’t.
I reached my hand into his cage located at the back of the dog warden’s van and I felt his body trembling with fear. I tried to comfort him as best as I could but I couldn’t stop crying and he clearly sensed my sadness. I watched the van pull away and POOF….Chief was gone from our lives for 54 days.

For 54 days the frogs rejoiced and croaked, the raccoons turned our trash cans into Old Country Buffet and my girlfriend parked her fancy car in my drive-way without saying “lock that fucking animal up before I kill him!”
Yet for 54 days I felt a void in my life that’s hard to put into words. It’s embarrassing to admit but at night I cried myself to sleep because I worried about Chief. I desperately wanted him back home. He was my four-legged child. We raised him right alongside of our two children. Every day, for ten years, he was there making chaos as Jack Russell dogs often do. Every day he was running, barking, eating and sleeping with us. He dug holes in the yard, chased small animals and kept watch over those he loved; after all he was the Chief of the house.

Chief was scheduled to die. The animal resource center saw no reason to keep him alive and I’m sure most people reading this see no reason either. After all, he chews car bumpers, kills frogs and bites small children. But that is the beautiful thing about true love…it enables you to see something in someone that others cannot. Who hasn’t loved a bad boy at least once in their lifetime? I married a “bad boy” and I raised a “bad dog” but ask me who I’ll die for. Ask me who I’ll fight for. Ask me who I’ll stick around for even when shit hits the floor.

For 54 days Chief stayed locked up and isolated. I was not allowed to see him, pet him, walk him or comfort him. Grief consumed me. I needed inspiration. I wanted to fight a good fight, so I popped the 1995 movie Braveheart into the DVD player and I watched it twice. I quoted William Wallace to my husband in my best Scottish accent;
“Aye, fight and you may lose. Run and you’ll live — at least a while. And, dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell that mother fucking animal resource center that they may take Chief’s life, but they’ll never take our freedom!?! Alba gu bra!”

Of course, my loving bad boy husband rolled his eyes and said: “you really need to get back to work because you have too much time on your hands.” Yes, I had time. I was recovering from ear surgery, my daughter left for Air Force boot camp and my son was busy with school and football. Time was all I had. Yes, just enough time to take those motherfucking bureaucrats to court to save Chief from being euthanized.

The Judge doubted my ability to represent myself and he instructed me to get a lawyer. I declined because I had just spent my last dime on school clothes, sports fees and boot camp appropriate underwear for my daughter (yes, she only owned thongs).

I watched a few episodes of Law and Order, looked over the Ohio Revised Code and decided to once again “wing it.” The trial lasted for two days. A friend of mine compared it to the OJ trial, with Chief being guilty as hell like OJ and me being loud and flamboyant like Johnny Cochran.

You must acquit even if the damn dog bit!

The only thing missing was the bloody glove. Instead, we got a bloody picture of the child’s face posted all over the evening news. Yet the fight wasn’t over Chief’s guilt (did he bite or not). The fight was over who Chief belonged to (his lifelong family or the animal resource center) and did the government overstep their bounds when they seized Chief from our care. A win would save his life and allow him to be returned to us. A loss would mean he would die alone, without his family of ten years there to comfort him, hold him and kiss him good-bye.

Judge Dankof spent two days yelling at me, insulting me and questioning my ability to represent myself. He was right… I was no fucking lawyer! Or was I? I had just enough knowledge of the Ohio Revised Code to raise a ruckus. I learned the power of an injunction. I learned that the county prosecutor either didn’t take the case seriously or secretly wanted me to win because at the end of those two days I walked out of that courtroom feeling like I kicked some bureaucratic ass.

I drove home with the windows down, my hair blowing in the wind and the Eagles blasting on the radio.

Aye, this is what William Wallace must have felt like when he saved Scotland from certain death!

And as fate would have it – I won! Chief was to be returned to us and the animal resource center lost their attempt to put him to sleep. The Judge did what I knew in my heart he would do – he gave us a fair trial in his courtroom.

The Judge wrote a six-page analysis of the case mentioning entertaining facts about the trial such as; “The Plaintiff was told that the child’s grandfather was extremely upset and wanted to barbecue Chief.” Somehow, I knew the Judge would mention this statement in his analysis because it was hard not to chuckle when the animal resource officer said “no one ever said that” but then the police officer later contradicted her and said, “yep, they wanted to barbecue Chief.” The truth was slowly and surely oozing out amid all the little relevant details resulting in a circus-like trial that saved a small dog’s life.

Tonight, Chief sleeps peacefully on our bed. He did some bad things today. He ate the cat’s food. He killed another frog. He dug another hole. But he did some good things too…. he barked when someone came to the door, he licked my son’s sweaty face clean, he came when I called him and he let the kitten paw at his face five times without so much as a bark or a snip.

Chief isn’t a perfect dog. I am not a perfect human. We are all flawed, scarred and worn tired from life’s daily beating. But at the end of the day you want those you love beside you. You want someone willing to guard your home and your heart. You want to know that when the chips are down someone will come for you and fight a good fight.

@copyright By Teresa McIntosh-Hall

Teresa McIntosh-Hall is a writer, blogger, social worker and political activist who loves dogs.

Chief was eventually laid to rest a few months after I wrote this. He again attempted to bite a child and we knew for his well-being, and our own, it was his time to cross the rainbow bridge. It was the most difficult decision we ever made together as a family. We held his paw and told him how much he was loved and how he was brave and strong and the very best dog we ever had the pleasure of loving. We buried him under a large sycamore tree by his favorite pond where he loved to catch bullfrogs. RIP Chief.