When I was 10 weeks pregnant, our four-year-old spaniel, Penny, bit my partner on the face. The bite pierced his bottom lip and splattered blood, resembling a scene from a horror movie, across the hallway mirror. The aftermath of a dog bite involves more than expected. Initially, there’s the immediate response of cleaning up the blood, tending to the wound, and deciding against getting stitches. Then, amidst wiping away tears and putting the kettle on, thoughts circle around checking on the dog who is now cowering upstairs, because despite the incident, love for her remains.
It becomes evident that the incident cannot be kept a secret. Messages are drafted for the family WhatsApp group, the dog walker, and the boss. There’s a call to the vet seeking advice. Google searches for “tetanus jabs” and “how long do scars take to heal?” are conducted, and even “rehoming centers near me” is explored with hesitation.
If Penny sensed any change after that night, she didn’t exhibit it. In many ways, this made it even more challenging. We continued walking, feeding, and cuddling her. Even though she was an affectionate dog, she would nestle into our arms while we wept. Because something had undeniably changed.
Rather than rehoming Penny immediately, we sought the help of a dog behaviorist who visited our home. The behaviorist diagnosed her with extreme stress stemming from my pregnancy, recent relocation, and the presence of our active second dog. Together, we developed a plan and became knowledgeable about the Ladder of Aggression, a series of warning signs exhibited by a dog experiencing stress and perceiving threats. As I tried to absorb this information, my hand instinctively rested on my growing belly. My baby, the size of a prune at that point, seemed abstract compared to Penny, a tangible being who sat with her head softly and warmly on my lap. However, in that moment, I realized I would prioritize my unborn child over the dog who had previously been my baby.
The decision to rehome Penny came two months after my son was born. Although heartbreaking, it was ultimately an easy decision. There was no specific incident; instead, it was a gradual realization that keeping Penny was not in anyone’s best interest.
For eight weeks, we kept the baby and dog separated, but we noticed Penny’s stress indicators: whining during the baby’s crying, clinging to me when I held him, and pacing restlessly. Additionally, such segregation was not sustainable. In what felt like a blink of an eye, the baby would become an energetic toddler. It simply wasn’t fair.
The RSPCA assisted us in finding Penny a new home. A caring couple fostered her, fully aware of her history. A year and a half has passed, and they have decided to keep her. They live nearby, and although we have not seen her since we bid farewell – it remains too difficult – they have left the door open for potential future reunions.
I am certain we made the right choice. My partner expressed it perfectly as we lay in bed on the day we realized it was time to find Penny a new home. He stated that the price of the joy a pet brings is the inevitable day when you must make a decision for them that will cause you pain. Our decision did bring heartache. However, the joy she brought us during the years we had her… we will always cherish and remember.
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