Making A Difference And Doing The Right Thing

I haven't written in some time. It's been super busy, super full with so many cool things and successes but, this is not about powerlifting, nor is it about strength sports or coaching. This is a message/blog that I am compelled to write. Something that I hope hits home with all of you. Noone loves strength, the training and competing more than me. It’s what gives me purpose and makes me feel alive. That said, I have a huge soft spot for the animals of the world, especially dogs, I mean especially dogs. The past week, mine and Missy’s, and well our four girls, lives were turned upside down. So, allow me to tell you about our boy, for a week, Watson.

As per usual, I am going to Tarantino it a little bit and rewind. Our schedules are well documented, It’s brutal, sometimes painful and just plain crazy but, here we are, living the dream. Cory Jean and Missy competed that Saturday. Missy and I left work a bit early Friday, loaded up and drove to Oak Ridge. They competed, we even managed to pick up some Atlas Stones for the gym and made the trek back. I was finished early with programming and looking forward to a real Sunday off and with the holiday being an off day for my day job Monday, I have a full list of chores that I could get done.

Man makes plans and God laughs…

This seemingly couldn’t be more true. Sunday morning, I’m shopping on the internet looking at potential things for the gym and perhaps my bourbon collection and such, looking at videos and what not. Melissa wants to go to breakfast which is something we do regularly on Sunday if we’re home. She suggested a couple of places close to home but, given the time of the morning, I knew they’d be super crowded so, we headed to Hermitage the back way from our house instead of going to Mt. Juliet. We get a few miles from home and in the middle of the street is a young full blooded Blue Heeler. AN Australian Cattle Dog. I love the breed and knew what it was immediately. I stopped saying, that is someone’s dog. Pure breds like this are not strays. This clearly belongs to someone. I thought a lead had been broken given the size of the lead coming from his collar. I literally stopped in the middle of the road to put on flashers when Missy opened the door to call him, he was jumping in the car and was so happy to see us. I figured, no big deal. We will look at his tags and call the owner and be on our way and be a hero for the day for saving someone’s dogs…and man, was I really, really, really wrong. You see, it wasn’t a lead at all, nor was it broken. It was an over sized collar. SO what to do? We go home and I’m not going to bore you with all the stuff we did, hoops we jumped through and bullshit to find the owner. The answer is, yes, we did all the things and this is where the story takes on a different definition.

This dog was a male, young or young ish and likely 18 months old, maybe less. His owners were found. We tried to return him and no one would answer the door and we noticed a bird on the front porch and the weather is really cold, freezing. I know then, we can’t return him. He has to find a home.  I have experience fostering dogs. I have done it many times. I have had as many as 10 dogs in my home knowing they’d all find homes, etc. I have paid for surgeries and seen pups through with a therapeutic time in a loving home before they went to a forever home. I never had an issue with it as I knew what the outcome was and what was expected. While I loved them as if they were going to be with me always, I loved them knowing they’d be moving on and I never worried with it nor did it bother me. It was the right thing to do, a good thing.   That is until Abbi came into my life. Abbi is my dog. She’s a German Shepherd mix with God only knows what. She was found by the police roughly 13 years ago. Likely thrown from a car and found yelping in a hedge row. She was so new born that not only were her eyes closed, her ears were still laid down. I don’t want to take away from the story but, Abbi was bottle fed, raised to an adoptable age, adopted by one of my greatest friends and it didn’t work out with her other dogs and she had to be brought back. Abbi was going to leave after a break up and after some discussion, it was agreed Abbi should stay with me. She has been the best pal, the best comfort and simply the most loving animal I have ever had the privilege of knowing. I need to write about her some day as now, she is 13 and aging rather quickly…like me.  The reason I share this is Abbi is the first real rescue and foster that I fell for and it changed me for forever. In that time, I’ve only fostered one other dog and simply can’t do it anymore.  This makes Watson’s story that much more difficult to have lived and to write.

When you introduce basically a juvenile male dog, that is a working breed and super smart, to a home of 4 girls who are at least older and even geriatric, it’s a recipe for a pile of shit to occur and this was what we faced.  Cierra has pulled a few Tupperware type dishes from the counter and “killed” them. I have the video to prove her guilt. Abbi has counter surfed a few times in her life and eaten a few lbs of steak to say the least but, I have never had a dog that was capable of jumping from the ground to the counter and fishing for something to snack on or jump up on my kitchen table that’s a high bar table so he could lay down. I think I’m illustrating well what we were dealing with.

Within hours, Missy has “named” the pup, Watson. I’m going to assume that it’s because of her love for the Nashville Predators and Watson is one of her fav players. I never asked for sure but, I’m betting I’m close and just as well because the name stuck, with everyone. Meaning all that come to our gym. Watson stayed in the gym during the day because he’d eat everything in sight and terrorize the girls who didn’t know what to do with him and he seemed just fine with that. We have people that visit through out the day and it wasn’t long before you saw videos and Instagram stories of whoever was training and Watson being part of said stories.

Each night, Missy and I would get the girls together, coral them to the bedroom and Watson and I would go to the living room. The first night he was very restless It was a new place and he clearly had never slept indoors. We had pulled old ticks off him, Missy bathed him because he smelled so bad and he was not at ease at all. He settled after a few hours and slept a bit. That was Sunday night. Each night, he was quicker to simmer down. Each night, he’d jump on me lay on me for may a minute, 2 minutes tops and then snuggle a little bit and jump to the other couch, Missy’s couch and go to sleep. Each night got easier for him. He would be a bundle of energy when Missy and the girls got up and even learned to use the dog door. He was at “home” even if it was going to be brief.

I’m going to tie all this up now. He had his foster Mom come pick him up today. The gym had fallen in love with him. There were many pictures taken of different folks holding him or him doing something cute, etc. I knew he couldn’t stay. We have a hard enough time taking care of our girls. But it was the right thing to do. You see, the eyes never lie. I would scruff him and pet him each day before I left for work I would take my thumb and rub the bridge of his nose and forehead and you could see the comfort and how much he loved it and when I stopped I could see his eyes meet mine and know he needed a place to be safe and to be loved. He wanted to be loved so much. I could share so many other things but quite honestly, it’s too hard and that’s going to have to be for Watson and I and maybe when I tell stories on down the road about the dog Missy and I rescued. What I will share is he loved everyone. And it’s a cliched and passing note to all of us that love can be so simple and easy. That love can help heal and can provide comfort and a place to be while you find your way home.

Missy sent me a message showing me the board in the leg area where people had petitioned to bring Watson back. Jenn had been instrumental in helping us find a foster and took a pic when he was leaving. Missy and I had a moment when she left for work. I knew she wanted to keep him and was attached and he was attached to her as well. When I got ready to leave today, knowing he was leaving, I spent about 5 minutes loving on him and scruff him and rubbing the bridge of his nose and forehead. I’d like to think Watson knew he was cared for and loved and that we want him to have the greatest forever home. I’d like to think Missy and I, as well as, the gym folks, made a difference. Watson is a good boy but needed our help and love and support.

Watson you touched my heart. I will miss you and I hope the foster works out and you find your forever home. Should it not work out, of course we’re here for you. You are such a good and loving boy and clearly a light. Always be a good boy.