prisoner number 1

my dog has an attitude problem. and underlying attachment issues, generalized anxiety, definite reactivity, and maybe some trauma that stems from neglect and abandonment. but, like most second-hand items, he was cheap, on sale, and pretty reliable. it wasn't until i took him home and he immediately peed gatorade-colored piss on my balcony that i thought maybe a factory-produced puppy could've been a more favorable choice. i wish i could get him a therapist, or a friend, but it's not like i can peer directly into his tiny mind and decipher exactly what it is that causes him to burst into wakefulness at the early hours of morning and try to burrow his way out of his steel enforced, animal cage of a crate. he looks like a zoo on wheels. a monkey on display. a rat under observation.

i know it must be some sort of animal abuse, but i take a grim sort of satisfaction in watching him inside his prison. he goes through all stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then finally, blissful acceptance. whenever a maintenance man pops over to our house, i announce PRISON, and watch the fear creep into his eyes. usually, it takes me about 30 seconds to get to the door; 20 seconds consists of wrangling ollie into his cell, another 10 for screaming and gesturing at my other (deaf) dog, 5 seconds to lock the crates, then finally 5 seconds to get to the door. the plumber has approximately 2 seconds to school their expression into a somber, professional mask, because i'm sure they can hear me screaming from inside.

prison blues on ollie look like this: standing upright, eyes glaring through the bars, face locked directly upon mine. this is denial, and possibly resentment. the regal, upright posture of dog indicates barely contained rage and rising anxiety towards the situation. after a mere two minutes of aghast silence, he will then catapult into outright anger. scathing fury equals furious digging, as the man will try to dig his way out of the bottom of the crate. at some point, some minuscule part of his brain will decide that this is an inadequate escape plan, and will therefore enact phase 2 of anger: breakout. he will paw at the locks holding him hostage, and realize he cannot access them, sending him spiraling into bargaining.

as an elegant and proud siberian husky mutt, ollie will sometimes regale us with the ancient songs of his people. but more often than not, he will communicate to me in a series of deep sighs and muted whines. he is not one for open communication, of which i am an avid fan. this is why we sometimes do not get along.

depression is admittedly my favorite stage. either he will take a good(!) sit on the edge of his crate, back turned, or he will lie down, nose through the bars, breath whistling through his wet nostrils. depression bleeds into acceptance, which i define as any point he is lying down. sometimes he will cycle through the stages, sometimes he will spring back to anger just as i think he's going to settle into acceptance. i don't take pleasure in his wrongful imprisonment, but he just looks so damn cute half the time.

but for the ollie fans, no need to despair. the moral of the story is that ollie holds grudges. my dog will never let me forget these transgressions against him, the personal vendetta he stacks against me. he pleads with me to remember this history every time he breaks out of the backyard, or bolts out the front door to chase the neighbor's cat, or kicks off his rain booties outside only to lose them forever, or steals our 15 year old dog's food. ollie is the smartest dog i've ever had (even if it's not much of an achievement considering the other one is deaf, blind, and losing her mind), and the cutest. i love the content, squinted gaze he gets on his face when receiving good boy pats. i cherish the perpetually lost look in his eyes, only made worse by slight cross-eye. i fall asleep knowing that his body forms a perfect crescent roll, tail tucked under his chin to support his head.

despite all of his flaws and knack for disobedience, i love ollie. and i know he's crazy for me too. love never looks perfect, unless it's through the eyes of a dog.