A sick dog in a big city

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Last summer, we had a dog, old-Prestara. The faithful Doberman Martyn is fifteen years old - a long -liver by Doberman standards. Martyn was a wonderful dog, honestly guarding us for many years of perestroika mess, total banditry of the years of primary accumulation of capital, the current collapse of freedoms, when it became unsafe again.

We were behind him, like a crowd of bodyguards: he adored his own, he identified people instantly and drove away uncompromisingly, and bite - did not bite anyone. In the eyes of Martyn, we cursed, not always beautifully put up, converged, parted ...

But he still loved us desperately, to fainting, it was like that. Martyn did not serve us only the last forty -five minutes of his life - when he lay down and fell into oblivion. Then we served him: we held our hands under his heart while it stopped fighting.

Semi -annual torment came - life without a dog turned out to be like life without a permanent capsule of love sewn under the skin. <...>

And now the children found a wonderful offer on the Internet. On the one hand, it is not like Martyn - for us it was fundamental. On the other hand, not long -haired, it is also important, we are used to it. With the third - friendly, throughout the collected information. Bladhaund-shred. Who knows: this is a basket on high paws, forever sad eyes and long ears.

We go to the breeder. She does not get tired of repeating: “Just a miracle jacket. The best in the litter. " The “best” pissing without ceasing - as he looks at us, he pisses. But - a sea of ​​affection, flirts: take me, please. It decided everything: he painfully asked.

- Four months. He also has the right to write, - the breeder burst without ceasing.

At home they called Van Gogh instead of a stupid Hagard, which the breeder stuck to him. And we healed. It turned out very quickly that Van Gogh is not just “pissing all the time”, he is a urination machine. And a strange thing, as this happens: he will only see a man - here you have a puddle. Well, we stopped calling men in the house (except for our own), believing that it would be about to pass. Well, about increasing the voice by half a ton-no, no, not to the scream, God forbid, but a little, slightly-there was no question, immediately the river. But as he makes a puddle, immediately in horror begins to rush, hide and, even worse, lick her, if only they would not notice. Walk? The street, as it turned out, Van Gogh hated - everything was disgusting to him there, the most joyful moment of the walk - this is when back in the porch, elevator, apartment. The tail was affably shot up, only we returned home. Our house clearly became his fortress, which he would prefer not to leave.

In the veterinary clinic, we were primarily told that no this was four, but all five months for sure, and they offered to think about why the breeder was undermined by his age.

- Why?

- So you take it. They don’t want to take adults-someone has already taught adults to something, and there is no guarantee that is good.

And it turned out to be true. The veterinarians also found sand in the vange bladder. The search for sand cost more than twelve thousand rubles. Plus antibiotics for two more. Because there was an inflammatory process with might and main. The doctor announced that at such a young age (sand and stones-the destiny of very mature both people and animals) is the result of brutal saving on feed, which many breeders-commers are engaged in today. It is when it is necessary to feed the growing puppies well, they set them down with anything, violate the metabolism, but the main thing is to sell the puppy, clouding the brains of the future owners, and hello large. They depict love, the doctor insisted, but in fact - enemies of rocks, spoil dogs forever ...

On-all-yes ... it was a number one hint. Meanwhile, it became clear that Van Gogh is directly clutching us like a straw. He was more and more afraid of everyone who entered the house. And the horror of strangers grew with him - he was more larger, and the desire to hide for us, his own, became manic. Imagine the picture: someone comes up, walks along the street, and he is behind my back. Large dog with powerful paws. He doesn’t bark, does not howl - he just looks at the wrong with such horror that horror takes you.

We realized: he is afraid that he will be taken away. And the men took him. And they became enemies. Forever. Again.

So, the picture is more and more clear: we got a dog with serious mental problems. Could there be something worse? Not us a defender, but we are defenders to him? ..

I call the breeder: What is the past? I’m not calling for claims - I want to know to help both the dog and myself. And the breeder gives up: the dog to us is twice with a refusal, and what was there, where they took him and quickly refused, she is not responsible for this. But they beat there. And men beat. Scared more. And then they thrown out.

It is clear: we must look for zoopsychologists and trainers who work not with groups of dogs, but individually. Zoopsychologists were in the market worth $ 50 for a visit - and these were the cheapest zoopsychologists. For $ 50, it was possible to get the advice of the following quality: on vacation, on nature, relax, change the apartment, the situation, the city, the country ... They did not give out all the tips at one time. Each advice is 50 each.

Uf! The mission was financially unsuccessful. Absolutely.

They rushed to personal trainers. Katya worth 500 rubles per hour from the company either a “smart dog” or a “good friend” reported that she only works with the “elite dogs” (not with elite dogs, but with dogs of rich people), she was painted all day. Still, it was found. It was seven in the morning, Katya arrived, but almost slept, she put her hands in her trousers and began to command me: go there - do it. And nothing elite is exactly the same as it is written in the most primitive books at a general training rate ...

15 minutes before the end of Katya’s lesson, despite her anti -globalist appearance - a black fufaika, the off -season shit on her legs, the bandana - quite globalist demanded to give her 500 rubles, contemptuously pouting her lips to the remark that it would not be a chilo for another 15 minutes to work with the dog: show methods, methods, etc. We have not met anymore. For what?

The second and third personal trainers were completely identical to the first - in terms of quality of classes, although the dachshund turned out to be higher: 700 and 900 rubles for the same truncated hour.

It was impossible to let money down more, especially since the Wangogs of the bladder continued to demand a thousand rubles. And life swam, as before. Van Gogh was panicky afraid of everything - I protected him from everything. From men, unfamiliar objects, gnashing of garages-racches in the yard, brakes of cars and again from men walking by ...

As the problems grow up, it was added. In order to get to the dog platform in our area, you need to cross the street with intense movement on the transition without a traffic light. That is, dive under cars that do not have the habit of dropping speed before the "zebras". On the near approaches to the transition of Van Gogh, I fell from fear on all four paws, and I either carried it, or dragged it like sledges - 40-50 resting live weights between cars. One such walk is back and forth in the transition-and the pressure of the pressure was provided. But a dog with improper exchange, sand, socialization problems - she simply must walk in a society of her own kind!

It ended in the fact that I began to load Van Gogh into my “ten” and transport across the road. On the site, he fearfully runs among other dogs, not playing too much with them, but still sometimes. Still moves, sniffs, gets used to it. However, his main concern there is to stand at the fence and longing to look at our “ten”. And only I open her doors, Van Gogh vividly jumps into the back seat. He loves to drive and even just sit in the car. A small closed space - where the whole world is separated from him and there is only he and his mistress - the most comfortable Vaggogova territory in the world. He immediately calms down, he is happy to examine the world from the windows, his gaze pacifies, he puts his ears closer to the rear glass and can fall asleep - all the fears behind. He jumps out of the car-and right at the door of the entrance, running to the elevator, rather, more likely in the apartment and ... That's perfectly: my house is my fortress.

My pressure is still normal. But what to do next?

Veterinarians are already expressed without hints: lull. Friends-comrades too: why such torment? After all, the dog is not a person ... Give it somewhere ... But this is only an intelligent figure of a speech about the same thing-“sleep”. Who else will bother with him, except for those who have already attached with all their souls to this eared creature with sad eyes, not guilty of anything ...

Nobody. The destiny of sick dogs in a big city is to be strewn if the owners do not have very large funds for treatment and maintenance. The world, which has become cruel to something deprived of people (disabled, orphans, sick), has become just as cruel to animals. Naturally, there could be no other. To what extent we are raising from the smell of big money, you understand very well when you have a sick dog on a leash. I am not a crazy dog ​​girl, whose clan is as great as crazy anti -beads. Crazy dog ​​men distinguishes one fundamental property from other people: they love dogs more than people. Be that as it may, I love more people than dogs.

But quitting is not taught. Especially that living creature that will not survive another refusal - will die, if not me. It is completely in my power, to the last hair on a long silky ear. As in the power of anyone, to whom the will of fate fell. Such a large and more growing caste of abandoned dogs - Van Gogh brothers - also gave rise to the world of the rich. They acquire Van Gogov only as toys - played, did not like it, kicked, and thank you that they were not outside, but to those who were bought. There is neither the value of money, nor the value of a living soul, open to you to the Donets.

I understand what you can fend out: not everyone is so bad, who is with money, not all veterinarians are rods. Naturally. But why do we have flocks of thoroughbred abandoned dogs snooping around the gateway?

... again evening. I turn the key in the door - and ... Van Gogh flies to meet me from everywhere and always. No matter how sick the stomach is, no matter how tightly sleeping, whatever ate ... the source of a love perpetuum mobile. Everyone will throw it, everyone pouts at you - the dog will not stop loving.

And I take it, and lead him to the car, and transfer it across the road, and jump next to him to jump with other dogs on the site, and show how to play with them, and climb with him on a strip of obstacles in order to overcome fear, and bring to strangers, take their hand, stroke the vague ears and conjure that they are not terrible ...