I’ve had a co-pilot for the past 6 days, and his name is Rex. In my previous blog, Catching Flies, I wrote about my oldest sister who is… unpleasant to deal with. My mother had 2 dogs when she passed away, and my sister was the one who took them out and fed them while my mother was still alive. It’s not that my mother couldn’t. That was part of my sister’s contribution to the household since she couldn’t/wouldn’t work and had no income to help financially. The larger of the two dogs is part boxer and all love. A gentle giant that my sister fell in love with right away, as everyone who meets him does. The smaller one is Rex, an un-fixed male mutt who is mixed with a breed that can jump really high, like a Jack Russel or something.

Historically, the dogs would escape the yard once every couple of months or so. The back gate is rigged shut, and there are little places that can be pushed open by a determined dog or two. After an escape, they would re-fashion the rigging and be on higher alert when the dogs were in the backyard. Time would do what it does, and guards would be let down until another escape happened and the process would begin again. In the 2 months that my mother has been gone, Rex has “gotten out” multiple times. A couple of weeks ago, I got a phone call from animal control that they had Rex since 1am, the day before, and there would be a fine that needed to be paid. Of course, I paid it and made sure that Rex was registered and licensed with the town. He already was, but his tags were not on him, and I didn’t know where they were. I got new tags and gave them to my sister, believing that she would put them on him.

Since getting “The Knock”, I have been waking up at 5am and hitting the road as early as possible, even on weekends because there was a large dumpster in my mother’s driveway that stopped me from being able to park (and sleep) level. The dumpster has been removed, and this past Friday, I attempted to pull into the driveway for my first restful night in a few weeks. I was accosted (greeted would NOT be the word) by my sister, coming down the driveway, yelling curse words about how Rex got out again. I told her I couldn’t keep bailing him out, and she shouted, “Then put him down!” I hadn’t even pulled into the driveway all the way. I put her in reverse and pulled out, driving around the block as I talked to my friend who had been on the phone and heard the whole thing. I kept my eyes peeled for Rex on the roads, but I didn’t see him and and soon my sister called me. I picked up, and she said, “I got my dog back,” before hanging up abruptly. It was a rough start to the weekend, but I was able to plug into the outlet in the house, and Saturday was nice. Since I was plugged in, I took advantage of the electricity and put my outside-in-the-world chores on hold until Sunday. My plan was to wake up on Sunday, get to the gym for a shower, go to the laundromat, and then go food shopping. That did end up happening, but with a twist.

Around 4:45 am, I was woken up by my sister yelling in the driveway about Rex getting out again. It was pitch black out still, and I asked her why she let him out. She screamed at me that she had been “shitting” after she let him out. I looked up and down the street, but he was nowhere to be seen. I felt defeated and prayed that someone would find him and keep him, take care of him. My sister was obviously doing a piss poor job of it. I couldn’t go back to sleep at that point, so I decided to start my day early, making coffee and using my portable toilet. At 6am, I had decided that I didn’t want to spend any more time around my mother’s house and the negative energy I consistently get from my sister and prepared myself and van to leave. I opened the sliding side door and hopped out, ready to go. Who comes running up the driveway? Rex! Running right into my arms and he let me pick him up. My mother’s ferel-ish cat, Whiskers, walked up the driveway after him, as though he was the one bringing him home. (Thank you, Whiskers!!!)

I held Rex even though he had a leash on. It’s a slip lead that the animal control gave me, and it’s looped around his collar and left there permenently for the times that he gets out; it has been that often recently. I’m not sure if that’s when I noticed that his tags weren’t on, but things began to clear up for me a little bit. I started to think that my sister was purposely letting him out and had not put his tags on in hopes that animal control would pick him up and not bring him back. I actually sat outside holding him, on the front steps, thinking about what I should do. A woman was walking with her dog and saw us sitting on the steps. She called out, “Is that your dog?” I said no, but explained how he is my mother’s dog who had recently passed away and my sister is unable to take care of him. She told me that he had approached them but ran away, and she watched as he ran up to the front door of my mom’s house, scratching to get in. She had called the police, and they were just arriving on the block. The officer drove up and rolled down his window. I told him we had him, thanked him, and he went on his way. I exchanged numbers with the neighbor in hopes that she would know if anyone was interested in taking care of Rex. I sat back down on the steps, trying to think about the best course of action. I was hesitant to bring him back into my sister’s “care.”

I had to go into the house anyway to unplug the cord. I brought Rex in, holding onto his leash so he would stay at my side even inside the house. I heard my sister in the kitchen, unplugged my extension cord, and tossed it out the window. I took Rex with me into the kitchen, where my sister was making coffee. “Keep him the fuck away from me!” She was very angry and repeating herself, and though her words said she didn’t want him near her, she came towards me and tried to grab the leash out of my hands. I didn’t let go, and she started to pull, which was yanking Rex up by his neck. I was not going to allow her to abuse him in front of me!! Her thought in that moment was not for Rex but to get the leash out of my hands at any cost. I pried her fingers off it and pushed her away. There was yelling from us both and she began slamming things down on the kitchen table, screaming at me that she hated me and showing me where my fingernails cut her as I pried her fingers away from the leash. At that point, she pronounced, “I am Dead to You,” which is usually said the other way around. Now, I have said it to my close friends and family before, so I will tell you – I believe that my sister is possessed by a demon (I have heard her growling like an animal) and when she said that, I almost smiled. “No, the demon wants that to be true, but I love my sister still,” and she actually screamed, “NO! I am DEAD TO YOU!”

I felt badly for cutting her finger with my nail, but I needed to get the leash out of her hands so Rex wouldn’t be strangled. I knew that I couldn’t leave him in the house with her, but I wasn’t sure what I was going to do. I took him with me to the gym, where he waited in the van as I quickly showered. Then I brought him with me to the laundromat, where he only had to wait while I messed around with the clothes. I called my brother to sit with him in the car while I did some food shopping, and we hatched out a plan where I would keep him with me at night, and he would take Rex to his mechanic shop during the day. And that has been the way it’s been for almost a week now.

Rex understands that we are staying in the van, but I can’t say that he likes it. He doesn’t try to go into my mother’s house while I am parked in the driveway, and when I take him out to go potties, he will get right back into the van when he’s finished. But there is a “where are we going?” feeling from him every time. My brother pointed out his separation anxiety, how he will cry for me when he goes to work with my brother, and then will cry for my brother when he gets in the van with me. He needs a good, loving home. With people who will shower him with affection and never abandon him. My brother told me that the Sunday I decided not to return Rex, he heard my sister telling the other dog, “Don’t worry, I got rid of him,” which only solidifies my thoughts that she was actively trying to get rid of him, if not actually abusing him. I don’t have the perfect home for him here in my van, and I have an 8 + hour a day desk job in an office that is not dog friendly, but I can take better care of him than she would so that’s what’s happening at the moment.

I reached out to a few people who have begun spreading the word, and my brother has also asked some of his co-workers to spread the word out as well. I have another sister who was willing to take him, but she is the sister who owns the very large black mix breed who is also not fixed and attacked Rex a month ago. I’m not sure if I wrote a blog about that, honestly. It was traumatic, and I was in the ER taking care of my own wounds afterward. I was not about to allow him to go into a home where he might be mauled by a much larger dog when they weren’t looking. No. That is not even an option in my mind. For now, I have a co-pilot, even if he is unsure about his role. I have the next 4 days off from work and plan on bringing him to a self-serve pet washing station on Sunday. He needs a good bath, and now my blankets will need a good washing. Until I can find him a good home, this is what we are doing. Rex is a Good Boy, so I really don’t mind.