I’m not a dog lover. My wife and both daughters and youngest son are, but I’m not. I’m a dog tolerator for their sakes. But circumstances a little under two years ago led me to a newfound appreciation of them. Our quiet little town, which typically goes for years at a time without a single homicide, was suddenly struck by a freak quadruple murder. Four college students were stabbed to death in their sleep. Everyone had questions. The university allowed students to leave to travel back home if they were scared. More than a few really were as several of the victims had large circles of friends and the apartment they were murdered in sat in the middle of a neighborhood densely populated by other students. I did not personally know anyone involved, but the police did come by my office the next day scouring the town for security footage that might offer any clues about the killer.
A few weeks before this I began having seemingly inexplicable panic attacks in my sleep. I had never dealt with this before and they were truly terrifying and debilitating – far worse than any sickness or stress I had experienced before. I barely slept for several days. After some phone calls to back home I discovered that, though it was rarely discussed, the condition runs in my family. My father started to have very similar panic attacks in his mid forties. His father, (my grandfather), also had them in middle age. It may have gone back further than that. Now it was my turn. As intellectually comforting as this was, the fear of panic setting in when I tried to lay down was still a constant thorn in my side every night.
Right in the middle of that season, on top of the invisible personal struggle, was piled the possibility of a slasher psychopath lurking just down the street. Or at the very least, he really WAS lurking just down the street a few days prior. I don’t think that would have kept me up at night during normal circumstances, but in the depths of my shell-shocked psyche, it was not helping one bit. But then, to my surprise, something assuaged my fear: our two woofers.
The first was a huge walking carpet Great Pyranese named Fezzik after the giant from The Princess Bride. He was not a brave dog and had never hurt a fly, but he was big, well over a hundred pounds, and he had a deep bark that was genuinely adrenaline-inducing if you weren’t expecting it. The second was a German Shepherd named Coco. Even though he was the runt of the litter, he had the mind of a guard dog and keen ears, and he looked like a proper police dog. Without fail he would assert himself to all at the door, be it the mail woman, UPS man, or the piano teacher.
With these two sleeping by the door every night, it became clear that if the killer came anywhere near our house and encountered these two beasts, he’d promptly crap his pants and flee!
I speak about the two dogs in the past tense because they are both gone now. The big one had bad hips and had to be put down a few months ago. The German Shepherd had a stroke or some kind of spinal injury and had to be put down this morning. I’ve been around a lot of dying animals throughout the years, growing up in a family of farmers, veterinarians, and trappers, but it’s never gotten easy. I’m angry at the two dogs for dying since my family is so sad, especially my youngest daughter. I guess pets are good practice for losing a living human that is much more consequential in the future.
A few weeks after the incident, in the midst of a fury of internet speculation, the police announced they had caught the alleged killer. They promptly flew him back across the country and locked him up in the jail three blocks from my house (oh goody) where (I am told) he proceeded to complain about the lack of vegan food and do whatever he could to cause the wheels of justice to move as slowly as possible. His trial is finally scheduled to start late next year, almost three years after the crime. A few weeks ago they moved him to a jail in the largest city in our state. I guess now that he’s gone, I don’t need the scary guard dogs anymore. I’m sure the Fedex guy’s blood pressure is doing a little better lately. I wish they would have stuck around a little longer though.