Usually when I ask my dog if he wants to go on a walk, he shakes with glee before I even touch the leash. But last week, something was off. When I asked Max if he wanted to go outside, he said, “Actually, I think I need to be alone right now.” I was sort of puzzled at first, but I obeyed his wishes and gave him some space.
A few minutes later, I saw him making his way towards the door. “Max where are you going? Do you need to talk?” I asked.
“I’m fine. I think I’m gonna go out for a bit. I just need to clear my head,” he said, stuffing his paws into a pair of Timbs.
“Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything–” He didn’t hear me; he’d already put on his Airpods. Next thing I knew, he was out the door. I saw him sprinting laps around the yard.
I know dogs like to be alone sometimes but– something was just off that night. Why would he go for a run in Timbs? They have no arch. And it was hard to make out what he was listening to, but I think it might have been Earl Sweatshirt. You probably think I’m just overreacting, but something tells me I need to trust my gut on this one. He’s not just “fine.”
A few weeks ago, Max asked me for a lighter. I didn’t think much of it at the time. But over the weekend, I found a pile of cigarette butts in his cage. I know what you’re thinking– but there’s no way they could’ve been there before. We bought the cage new. In the moment, it was really hard for me to come to terms with it– I just never thought my dog was the type to smoke in the house, much less the type to hide things from me. But now, there are just too many signs to ignore.
Like a couple weeks ago, Max and I were on a walk when I stopped to check my phone. He snapped back at me, and through a flash of bared teeth, he said, “why don’t you f*cking pay attention!?” Then, he muttered something under his breath that I don’t think is appropriate to write here, but know that it was pejorative.
I apologized and put my phone back into my pocket. I guess, at the time, I didn’t think much of it, but in hindsight, I definitely should have said something while I had the chance. Now that temper is going unchecked.
Things really fell apart last night. I was giving Max a bath, like I always do, but I guess at some point, the water got a bit too hot. Max started to shout at me, asking me “how [I] could be so stupid.” I tried to calm him down, but it was no use. Before I knew it, Max was standing upright, flinging clumps of his poo at the walls. His eyes were pitch red.
I was hysterical, begging him to stop. “Max please! Please! No more poo,” I cried. But it was too late. Max’s sadness had turned to unchecked, violent rage. I packed some clothes into a small bag and hurried out to my car. I was shaking so badly, but I managed to drive myself into town for the night.
As I write this from my hotel room, I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what’s changed for Max. He’s always been such a good-natured dog– and never in an annoying way. But the bizarre events of these past weeks are really forcing me to reconsider that. If I can admit that he’s changed, maybe he can too. Max, if you’re reading this, can we talk? You’ve been acting pretty different these past few weeks and I just miss the old you.
Image via Lucinda Drake.