Posted on December 5, 2016
Empathy: [ˈempəTHē.] The Oxford Dictionary’s definition of empathy is the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. A Wikipedia glance further defines empathy as: the capacity to understand or feel what another person is experiencing from within the other being’s frame of reference, i.e., the capacity to place oneself in another’s position. Empathy is seeing with the eyes of another, listening with the ears of another and feelings with the heart of another.
Lately, I’m feeling that empathy is disappearing as an element of emotional intelligence. Perhaps I’m exaggerating this feeling (I’ve been accused of being overly sensitive for years. Guilty as charged!). Still, in my little world, what seems like a growing lack of empathy is troubling indeed.
So just a few days before Thanksgiving The Poodle got into a nano-second altercation with a German Shepherd. I didn’t see the split second event as The Poodle had bolted for the front yard ahead of me in eager anticipation of finding Rocket-man among the trees, assessing what we’d need for outdoor Christmas lights. I was just on the last step inside the garage when I heard “cujo” snarls, barks and growls followed by a dog’s wounded cry. I dashed out of the garage straight away and in that moment I can see a woman walking her two large dogs (one a German Shepherd and the other a yellow Lab). She was on the sidewalk in front of our house just at the bottom of our driveway.
Wrong place. Wrong time. Wrong dog.
Believe me when I state unequivocally that my poodle love is as gentle a boy as can be. Truly. He is quite a social butterfly. He loves everyone…EVERYONE. Okay…well…almost everyone. For some inexplicable reason the only dog he has ever gone nuts over is a German Shepherd. In all of his eight years he has never growled at another dog…except for this one German Shepherd.
So yes. Apparently my sweet boy charged at the German Shepherd and was met with a swift response from the dog. A natural response, of course!
The Poodle came crying and limping back to me while the woman and her dogs kept going. Rocket-man came running in too. Cradling The Poodle in my arms, I made a quick assessment of my boy as we sat together on the garage floor. He was clearly shaken but within a minute or two he seemed himself again. He responded well to getting a treat and he was off and running in the back yard without a care.
It wasn’t until the next day, late in the afternoon, that I noticed dried blood on the right side of his torso. Upon closer inspection I could see a wound and I was mortified.
How did I miss this? I wailed to Rocket-man.
He’s got so much fur it was easy,” he said as he checked the area. But it looks like it may be already starting to heal so lets wash up the dried blood and put some Neosporin on it just to be safe. We did this for two days. Still, the wound did not look like it was healing as quickly as I’d hoped so I scheduled a vet appointment the day after Thanksgiving.
The vet was mighty sympathetic that The Poodle was involved in an altercation. “It happens a lot; I see this all the time,” he said.
He loves my boys’ sweet nature and comments at every visit how great he is. Our vet isn’t the most communicative of vets that I’ve been involved with throughout the past several decades, but I’ve always felt his words to be sincere.
The doc asked if he could shave the area to get a better look and naturally I agreed. Quickly it’s apparent that the wound was deeper than we thought. I was beside myself.
“I should have brought him in the very day it happened,” I said fighting back tears. “But he seemed fine.
“No, no. Don’t beat yourself up,” replied the vet in a soothing voice as he washed the area. “Look, he’s got lots of curly hair making it difficult to see lumps, bumps, tics and such.”
So he’ll need stitches, right? I asked.
“Well, because more than twelve hours has passed since the incident we’re not going to be able to stitch the wound. We only had a twelve-hour window and you wouldn’t have made that anyway since you didn’t notice the wound until some 24 hours later. What we can do is prescribe a special salve which will help close the gap and speed healing. You just need to apply it once a day. It’s sticky and gooey but very effective. And, even though he doesn’t have a fever, let’s be on the safe side and put him on antibiotics for a week.”
So, the Poodle is healing. He doesn’t handle “The Hat of Healing” very well; he literally stands as still as a statue…won’t move a muscle…and he whimpers. He did that for a full hour! I suppose I would too if I had to wear such a thing! So, I gave up on using it. I’ve stuck close to home and I’ve had him in my lap a lot since it’s the best way I can insure he doesn’t lick his wound. Let’s just say I’ve almost had my fill of Hallmark movies.
So…I saw the owner of the German Shepherd a couple of days ago as I was driving down the hill from my house. She was walking her dogs. I stopped in the middle of the street and rolled down the window.
“Hi…I’m the lady with the poodle,” I began.
“Yeah, I know who you are,” came her sharp reply. Oh dear.
Perhaps I should have stopped there but I felt she needed to know.
“Um. Okay. Well I am sorry that my boy came at your dog. He was at the bottom of our driveway at the wrong time I guess. Really, he loves all dogs but for some reason has a problem with German Shepherds; he barks like crazy at them. I think something must have happened at doggie daycare. Look, I’m not asking for anything but I just thought you should know that he took a chunk out of my poodle.”
“Not my problem,” she yelled back.
So there you have it. I’ll confessed that I was stunned. My stomach was in knots as I drove away. Hands gripping the wheel in anger I called Rocket-man to vent. He attempted to calm me but I wasn’t in the mood to allow it at the time. I also call Miss Cookie. “Well, consider that at least her dog didn’t go for the throat.” I agree to feel lucky.
It occurred to me that there was indeed one thing I had wanted. Only one thing. And in that moment it was quite clear I was never going to get it.
I can assure you my response would have been measurably different had the shoe been on the other foot.
Much needed rain pounds the pavement on this dreary December morning. But my boy is on the mend. The tree lights are twinkling and Christmas music makes me sing out loud as I type.
This is my bliss for the day.