Abused Dog
Life With Helen (Hellion) Begins

Why had Helen run away? Had she been an abused dog? I doubted that. I really thought she just missed her owner and was trying to go home.

Once we got Helen home safely, I tightened her collar and admitted to myself I was in trouble. I had instantly fallen in love with this dog who didn’t belong to me. I forced myself to set that aside and just start living our life together for however long we had.

After a few days, I realized we had some challenges. I mean real dog behavior issues.

Helen was not getting along with my Golden Retriever, Izzy so we kept them separated. Helen also did whatever she darn well pleased in the house. I thought things would settle down but days began feeling like years once I learned that eleven-month-old Helen had no training whatsoever.

She had also been an abused dog. Her original owner kicked and beat her. Apparently she was not game enough for him to keep. Not being able to 'toughen her up' he sold her for $1800.

Her second owner had her for three months. I learned she had spent her days in an outdoor kennel and her nights in her owner’s house, ransacking the place while he slept. Oh goodie.

Joey dismantled her outdoor kennel and brought it to our house so I could leave her safely outside while I was at work. Once it was up, my jaw dropped when I saw the condition of the kennel. The cyclone fencing was crumpled at the bottom and there were TEETH MARKS in the metal. Had she tried to chew her way out because she was bored, lonely or an abused dog.

Discarding the idea of leaving her outside, I got an indoor kennel for her to stay in when we were out, and watched her like a hawk while we were in. With a little work (okay, a LOT of work) things got better. I admit there were quite a few tears, lots of cursing, the loss of all my underwear, my favorite robe of all time, 2 nightgowns, sheets, blankets, comforters, six pair of my shoes and my only boots.

To to this day, the boot story leaves my husband Joey laughing heartily AT ME, whenever it’s mentioned by my eldest son, now 23. You see, a believer in positive reinforcement, I refused to hit the dog when she tore up my stuff, even though Joey and my sons thought I was wrong. Besides, if stuff happened when I wasn’t home, I didn’t believe Helen understood what she was being punished for, and I still don’t. I really believe dogs live in ‘the now’.

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Unfortunately for me, she ate my stuff when I wasn’t there, until the boots. I walked into the living room, where I caught Helen red-handed eating my beloved boot. I lost it. She was about to become an abused dog.

I ran at Helen screaming profanities at the top of my lungs. Helen ran in the kennel (with my boot) and hunkered at the back of the kennel. My son and husband watched while I continued using every cuss word I knew. I had finally cracked.

I crawled into the kennel after her and tried to hit her. There wasn’t enough room in the kennel for both of us so I grabbed her collar and tried pulling her out so I could beat her within an inch of her life.

Helen put the brakes on and the kennel slid around the living room. The laughter from my audience just made me madder and more determined.

While holding onto Helen’s collar, I sat my butt on the floor and braced my feet against the kennel to keep it from sliding while I dragged her out. I pulled and pulled and pulled, but my five foot, 120 pounds of anger was no match for a determined 70 pound Pit Bull.

Eventually I exhausted my anger and felt like an idiot. There was even some humor in my antics, but my poor dead boot lying in the corner of the kennel kept me from laughing. Little did I know one day it would make the family list of funny dog stories.

After that incident, things got better. I didn't want her to be an abused dog. I got better at closing the closet and keeping my stuff out of reach and Helen got better at chewing her bone and her Kong toy. It helped me appreciate the small stuff.

I'd smile hearing dog toenails sliding across the hardwood floor while my 7-year-old daughter was dragging Helen down the hall by her collar, saying “Come on Heli-boo, let’s go play in my room.”

Or Helen not passing the imaginary line I drew for her on the kitchen floor while I was cooking or we were eating. And a special feeling warmed my heart when I saw her excitement each day the school bus dropped the boys off in the afternoon.

Then, all of a sudden, it was time to give Helen back. She wasn’t perfect, but she had become part of the family, and she was no longer an abused dog.

I couldn't be there when her owner picked her up. I knew I'd cry and that wouldn't help anyone. Joey was the only one home on that auspicious day. Now I kind of wish I could have seen it. I was told when he came to the door to get her... she tried to eat him.

He was not happy with me. It came down to two options. We could pay the guy $1800 for Helen, or breed Helen to Bonz Capone and give him a puppy.

I didn't have $1800 and I'd never let any of my dogs breed, but feeling pushed and loving babies of all species, I agreed to exchange a Pit Bull Puppy for my abused dog, Helen.

By the way, that original owner? The one that bred her and I'm quite sure abused her? Well a couple years ago he came by the house. He and my husband were talking outside while Helen barked at the window. He asked to see Helen. My husband brought her out on a leash.

"Oh, come on and let her go. She'll be fine. I raised her. Besides, she's wagging her tail."

My husband told him it wasn't a good idea and that in Helen's case, the wagging tail was the wrong thing to look at. Her body stance and the position of her ears told an entirely different story.

The man insisted. He called Helen to him and she trotted right up, bit him in the leg and then went back in the house. Sometimes, what goes around, comes around.

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