It was a Saturday. I woke up, got dressed and rushed to grab my dogs to head out into the neighboring field. We did this every Saturday. There were three of them. Two Irish Setters and a Springer Spaniel. My brother and I took them everywhere we went. We spent days, just hanging out with our only friends.(We lived out in the country. There wasn’t anyone our age for miles. Those dogs were all we had.)

But that Saturday my mother stopped me at the door.

The tears welled in her eyes as she told me “Jesse” and “Lady” were gone.

I remember questioning it, while trying to understand what she meant. She said they looked like they had been poisoned and had died.

See, my dogs had a bad habit of breaking their chains and raiding the neighbors garbage cans.

I tried to stop them. Many times. To no avail. The Only reason “Mindy” hadn’t been killed too was because she couldn’t break free from hers. (Which, makes sense. Mindy was the strongest of the three. I had to really spend time on hers to make sure it was right. But Lady was old and Jesse was just a pup. I still don’t know how they managed to break their chains)

I wanted to see them. My Ma didn’t want me to. But that was a fight I wasn’t keen on letting her win.

They had loaded them into our van. I remember seeing them lay there when she opened the door. I was sad sure, but when my Ma began to show me where she found them, the thrashing of the gravel where they laid writhing in pain from the poison. I got really angry. 

Now, I was about 10 when this happened, so I wasn’t really capable of doing much. But had something like this have happened now, I’d probably be serving a jail sentence. ‘Cause I wanted blood. But because blood wasn’t an option, I internalized it. Angry…bitter…pissed off at the world: at 10 years old.

We buried them out behind our house. I remember it was raining but the ground still felt hard to dig. Remember being told we had to get them deep, so animals wouldn’t dig them up. My mind was racing. With each strike of that shovel in the earth, I cursed whoever was responsible and I swore I’d never love another dog like I did them.

…and I didn’t.

Years passed. Life happened. I had gotten married and had kids of my own. Anytime the conversation of a getting a dog came up I simply made excuses why I didn’t want one. “They destroy property”, “They stink!”, “They get their hair everywhere”, “They’re so much work”, “wHaT aBoUt mY aLLeRgiEs?”, etc. None of that mattered though. My wife had a mind of her own and when she was set on something, well, that’s what we were going to do. So she got a dog. For the kids, of course. (Which is funny, ’cause the kids, was why I didn’t want one. Just didn’t want them going through what I did).

But I refused to have anything to do with it. Didn’t pet it, feed it, or even acknowledge it. Ever. Two more dogs came and went and I gave them no interest. Not once. I stayed true to my oath.

Until “Sucre”…

Even after I had gotten divorced, when my ex told me they were getting this damn dog I just rolled my eyes. Not my house, not my problem, whatever, I thought. But then as luck would have it, I found myself in need of getting a place and my son was too. So, we decided to rent a place together. Him, me, and the dog: Sucre. 

The Rules were simple: He stays out of my face, he’s not allowed in my room, if he tears something up David’s gotta fix it. He simply leaves me alone. Period.

Sucre broke every rule. Every. Single. Damn. One.

That damn dog just kept chipping away and chipping away. I’d say, “GET!” and point my finger, so he’d go away. But he figured out I was full of shit. So he’d just stand there and look at me. Eventually, I’d say it and he’d come up and rub his head on my leg. Clearly the dumbest animal on the planet. I tell him to “get” and he comes?!

Three years passed since we first moved in together.

It’s taken a bit, I’ll admit…but that dog has healed me. I can’t really explain it. I wasn’t looking for it. It just came and I just recognized it. So I had to write about it.

Every morning I cook bacon and I pour the bacon grease on his dog food. I have to remind him that its hot, so he doesn’t burn his mouth trying to eat it. Anytime I eat anything, I share it with him. Cause ya don’t eat in front of your friends without at least offering. Not doing that would be rude. I blast my music and he’ll come up to me to dance. So we dance. Then dancing turns into chasing and chasing turns into boxing and then he tears into his toys with a fervor that lets me know he really wants to kick my ass but isn’t going to.

He gets anxiety. He doesn’t like being alone. So when David isn’t home, I let him sleep in my room. Not on my bed, but in my room. The neighborhood loves him. Which is weird cause he patrols and barks at everything. There could be an old lady walking by and Sucre will throw out a string of barks the moment he sees us. He howls at the train when it goes by, just like a wolf. He’s actually damn smart. Sometimes I’ll blow on his ear and when he turns I’ll blow on the other one. Until he gets wise to it and turns so fast he licks my mouth and I’m spitting dog slobber.

I didn’t expect it. It didn’t come in the package I wanted. But he has been just what my heart needed.

Going through a trauma event is tough. You didn’t ask for it. It’s not something you chose. You just found yourself there. Stuck in the shit of other peoples bullshit. And ya, it hardens you. It’s not your fault. But sometimes, what has happened in the past, doesn’t need to affect the present. Sometimes, you just got to allow yourself to heal. I didn’t recognize what was happening at the time. I rejected Sucre at first. So caught up in my trauma event that I simply couldn’t see the good. The good that was always there. I just needed to recognize it for what it was: a Recompense. An amends, and let it happen.

To change the past? No. To change my future. I am so thankful for that.

Copyright©2021 Jacob C. Larson All Rights Reserved

***”Mindy” died a few months later from an “enlarged heart”. According to the vet anyway. But I knew better. She could never live without Jesse and Lady. 

****Now understand, Sucre IS a total spoiled shit and he’s my sons dog. He tears up the yard, leaves his toys everywhere, pisses on my plants, tracks muddy paw prints everywhere all over the house, etc. He’s all dog. Nothing I said above changes that. However, anything happen to this dog…and I will find you, I will gut you, I will burn your house down…in front of your entire family if need be. As it turns out my allergies weren’t so bad after all. 🙂 

*****Update: Sucre developed a tumor that was beyond our means to give effective treatment. So we provided him with medication, treats, and as much love as possible in his last days. We put him to sleep in the most loving and humane way possible on October 21st, 2025. Sucre was a part of our family for over 13 years. He was truly loved and will be missed.