Hank
After my accident in 2018, I had some struggles. Some I knew were from the concussion because unfortunately I have experience in that area, but some were a mystery. I didn't know anything about mental health because it had never been a problem for me (I thought), so I started wondering what was wrong with me, why was I suddenly terrified of spiders, why was I so ever-loving emotional for crying out loud, why could I not add a column of numbers, what on earth with the panic attacks, ... all kinds of little (and big) things that added up to make me feel like I was losing my grip on life. Now I know all these things are explainable when you understand the effects of trauma, but all I knew then was that I wanted it fixed. Go away, stop being like this. Kill all the spiders, let me drive all the time, and don't make me do math. I was sick of feeling helpless. I needed to DO something.
So naturally I bought a puppy.
I wrote the long, very sweet story of how God provided for this particular dog on my blog-that-was, and maybe someday I'll try to re-create it, but for now, just know that Ben likes to remind me his cows sell for $1.10 a pound (if we're lucky) at the sale barn, but my animal was $500 a pound.
But look how cuuuuuuute he was!
Since we had lost Pete a few years prior, we needed a farm dog anyway, so this made perfect sense in my traumatized mind. I named him Hank. On his AKC papers it says "Fear Not Farm's Hanky Panky," but I call him Hank the Cowdog. If you loved the children's books starring that character you'll note that my Hank is nothing like the original Hank, but remember I was suffering from PTSD. Many things didn't make sense. All I wanted was a little, soft, cuddly lap dog to minister to me in my agitated state.
In the 3 years we've had Hank, I've said a lot of times that I should have gotten his brother. When I was talking to the breeder about which of the two puppies I wanted, she told me Baby Z (now Hank) was spunky, curious, loved the camera, and loved to play, and Baby P (his brother) was more timid and laid back. The fact that I knew what I wanted and chose the exact opposite is the unexplainable mystery of the decade. I blame this decision on my lack of executive function skills due to trauma. (This is a real thing, btw.)
I've had dog "experts" tell me there is no such thing as an alpha dog, but they don't know Hank. He is anything but a lap dog, unless you are trying to nap, in which case he naps on top of you. If you try to pet him while he is atop you, he jumps up and moves out of reach. He will not be controlled. If dogs had enneagram numbers, Hank would be a solid 8 with a 7 wing. He has a will to dominate all situations and people. He does not snuggle on my lap; he sits at attention, the king of his castle. He stands on the side table between two living room chairs with his little 8-pound chest puffed out and watches out the window for anything worth barking at, which in his opinion is a lot.
Hank is a social eater. So social, in fact, that he refuses to eat unless someone is standing next to his bowl providing company. It's not enough to be sitting in the chair 8 feet away. You must stand and pay attention. If Hank is hungry and no one is in the room, he barks. And barks and barks, until someone comes to tell him to shut up, and then he puts his head down and starts eating, satisfied that the peasants have finally capitulated to his demand. He should have been a cat.
I've done my best to train some semblance of obedience into Hank, but some days are better than others. In the house he will come if I say, "Come. Come here. Come come come. Come here right now!" It's impressive. Outside he won't come at all. He is a free spirit and there are squirrels to chase. He will heel on a leash, but only after he's satisfied that the neighborhood has been sufficiently sniffed. If I'm walking and he's heeling and he catches a whiff of something unsniffed, he plants his feet and stares me down. I should have known I was in trouble when he gave me this look at a mere 12 weeks:
He still gives it.
Can you see the condescension in his eyes? Why do I think I'm the boss?
He knows sit, down, roll over, spin, and paw, but only if you have food in your hand. As soon as he sees a treat, he runs through all the tricks he knows in quick succession without you saying a word, then barks if you laugh at him. If you have no food or treat, he just looks at you like the pathetic beggar you are.
Hank is rarely the cuddly therapy dog I wanted. But he's made up for it by keeping us laughing and that's worth a lot.
"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine ..."
(See? Even as a 5-pound puppy, he was on top of me.)