The Tale of Mr. Twister

Leila V’s story is so damned funny, I am nearly in tears! She did the RIGHT thing.

BF and I have had conversations about shelter dogs, and he’s come up with a theory about them. BF’s theory on shelter dogs sates that they all suffer from at least one of three problems:

1. Too big
2. Too ugly
3. Just plain bad (the politically correct term is “poorly socialized”)

If you’re lucky, you’ll choose one whose only problem is ugly.

There but for the grace of God went our little monster! A pure white, miniature schnauzer I got from the shelter when he was 5 months old. The difference in my story is I was working for the animal shelter at the time!!! I discovered little Mr. Twister when I was taking a group of donors on a tour one evening! It was love at first sight. I swear it was like there was a golden light surrounding his kennel. I had to adopt him.

Then, things all started happening so fast, it was a blur. Next I knew, the little monster was living with BF, me and the cat in our messy little two-bedroom rental. Still, everything had a feeling of unreality to it. I bled $$’s on crates, food, baby gates, treats, toys, shots, micro-chip, collars, leashes, organic pet wipes and sundry other items.

He just got fixed before I took him home, and I guess the male hormones were still surging though the little guy’s system, because every waking minute I was around him, was a battle trying to get him to stop humping my leg, biting or crying. The separation anxiety was like nothing I ever experienced before. I would get in the shower upstairs and I’d hear Mr. Twister crying downstairs the WHOLE time.

The first morning I tried to take him for a walk was an experience I’ll never forget! He pulled and barked and went spastic the whole way out. I turned back in horror and shame and he then performed (a signature “Mr. Twister” move) “I bite your butt.” I dragged him the entire return walk hanging from the back of my jeans and jacket. Mr. Twister likes big butts. It was actually kind of embarrassing at times for BF to take him to dog-park without me. BF NOW tells me, that Mr. Twister always chose the prettiest, young things at the dog park! Perhaps it was a good thing I didn’t know this at the time. “Barbora’s boyfriend and dog ran off with some dog-park skank.” I would have been blameless.

At night, BF and I had to get in bed (NO radio) and lie perfectly still until Mr. Twister stopped crying and whining. If one of us so much as hiccupped, we were doomed to another 45 minutes of whimpering. Then one of us had to get up at 3am and take him on his night walk. At 3am his ear-piercing barks reverberated through the walls of the courtyard. Neighbors would open their windows and yell at us. After one week passed, I remember getting ready for bed, crating the dog and slipping between the sheets and sitting rigid. I began to cry. “What have I done!?!” We discussed stories about how the cat attacked him or how the cat was ailing since we brought Twister home…but No!…none of them rang true.

If I gave him back, my employers, all my coworkers, all the volunteers, donors and board of directors would know what a terrible human being I really was!

Then I got creative! “Oh! It was heartbreaking, how BF’s Mom who was undergoing radiation and chemo at the time bonded with him. It ‘BROKE OUR HEARTS’ to give him up, but he’s given her a new reason to live.” Yada, yada. Meanwhile, BF and I planned how we would take him and drop him off to a different shelter out of state.…

We celebrated Mr. Twister’s 1-Year anniversary with us in April.

We all went to obedience training, and had to enforce rules (admittedly, BF was better at this than I was). At first, every waking-minute, we had to be on high alert. It’s gotten better but we had a bit of trouble when we first arrived in the new house here in Pennsylvania and got lax about letting him sleep in the bed. He started to growl and snap, especially at BF. Bad idea. Rules need to stay consistent. Dogs don’t understand gray areas although they can be pretty darned good with hard and fast rules.

While I was writing this post, Mr. Twister managed to get into the trash can (a feat he’s recently mastered) and has been playing with a Red Zinger teabag. I LOVE this dog. I gotta’ go clean up the mess.