You Never Know What You Have Until It’s Gone

Early on in our relationship Mike was keen to have children, being that I was only 20 and had just started my career I was leery to being having children so soon. So the next best thing? We agreed to get a dog.

Over the next 6 months, every Saturday morning we would get in the car and drive to the local shelter in hopes to find that perfect puppy that had been dropped off. Since they were few and far between we were beginning to get impatient. One sunny December day we arrived at the shelter as we had so many times, except it was December 27, just after Christmas and we figured that maybe someone had made the ill advised decision to buy a pet as a gift.

We were so lucky that some asshat did, because there was our girl. Our beloved brindle coloured pit bull Briggs.

I have a baby picture of her provided by the shelter when we got her, but my scanner is crapped out.

I remember sitting in the front seat of the Jeep, her in my lap, trying to think of a name. I loved the name Brindle (that’s what my aunts dog was named while I was growing up) but it was her name and I couldn’t use that.

Something different – not dogish, not human.

I kept coming back to Riggs. That was kinda dogish though.

Brindle; but as much as I loved it, Brindle was Brindle and I just couldn’t use it again.

Landed on Briggs and it stuck.

So my dog was kinda named by a fictional character played by Mel Gibson. OMG.

At eight weeks old she was already a handful. Having to potty trainer her in an apartment – on the 18th floor – was not something I would even wish on my worst enemy.

Okay, maybe I would because taking a puppy outside at 2am in the winter from an eighteenth floor apartment fuckin’ sucks and they would deserve it.

Looking back at it now, I would have taken a week off work so I could train her properly and be there during the day for her because for months we would come home to having to scrub piss and shit from the ceramic kitchen floor. Every weekend I would be on my hands and knees scrubbing the grout clean and getting each and every crevasse missed during the daily cleansing.

Months of scrubbing shit and piss, yet not one of those times did curse her or wish that we had never gotten her. Not one shredded box of kleenex, chewed book, destroyed mitten made me upset that we had taken on this responsibility of getting a dog.

As children have come along she’s moved down the chain of importance. Once our beloved child-like dog has now become The Dog. Attention is far less than it used to be, walks have become sparse; she has been relegated to just being a fixture of our every day lives.

Sunday evening she went missing.

Somewhere between getting the groceries and children out of the car and into the house she was forgotten outside. I bet she waited patiently at the door -  as she always does – until she realized that we weren’t coming back. I bet she saw a squirrel or another dog and wandered out towards the road to investigate. I bet she followed them and then got lost.

Between the time that we came home and we realized she was gone was nearly 5 hours. Five hours of cooking dinner and cleaning up, wrangling the kids for bed and then more cleaning. Only when Mike went to go to bed did we realize that the dog was not here because she’s usually a fixture of Mike’s bedtime routine: he goes upstairs and shoos the dog from his side of the bed since she sleeps there day and night.

No Briggs.

She wasn’t in the kids’ rooms, the basement, the living room, the backyard.

Then we began to trace out steps and realized that she was FORGOTTEN outside.

No collar on!

I quickly gathered her leash and collar, my car keys and headed out the door, not knowing how long, where or WHAT to do. I headed straight for the shelter and animal control.

No one there, no help until Monday morning.

But what if she wasn’t there? What if she was roaming, freezing cold and lost.

I drove the neighbourhood, calling her name, whistling, begging for her to come running. I drove until I could no longer see through the tears.

I came home and put a call out for twitter’s help as Mike took a shift driving around.

I called my dad for help.

I just wanted my girl home.

We drove around until close to midnight before I gave up and went home.

I couldn’t believe that I was never going to see her again. I couldn’t resign to the idea that maybe someone had taken her in, maybe would keep her since she had no identification. I knew she would be back.

Before going to bed, I put her dog bed and fleece blanket outside the front door and left the light on. Just in case.

I said a couple prayers to St. Anthony.

St. Anthony, St. Anthony
Please come down
Something is lost
And can’t be found

I think I prayed until I feel asleep.

The next morning I rallied the kids and we went to the shelter for opening. I took a deep breath and asked the attending lady if my Briggs was there.

With a smile she assured me that she was in fact there – safe and sound. She had been brought in by Animal Control at about 8pm.

We got our baby back! She came barreling out on her leash, pulling the lady behind her. Tail wagging, whining as she kissed Carter up and down.

Briggser! You’re home! He said as she attacked his face with kisses.

The tears started falling. I couldn’t stop crying as I saw the love my son had for our dog.

The love our dog had for our son.

She’s been incredibly timid and quite since getting home. I sense she’s been a little traumatized by the events. She’s sleeping a lot and been very reclusive so we’ve been giving her some space. She’ll come around when she’s ready. I hope.

But she’s here. She’s safe and we’ve been given the wake up call we desperately needed.

Briggs is not just a dog, she’s a member of this family.

Forever.

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Tagged as: Briggs, dogs, life, love animals, pit bull