How to Love the Dog that Hates You
an unending quest
“Tally ho!”
The huntmaster’s voice rang out across the open field.
A gas powered engine revved, threading a white, plastic bag attached to a string through a winding course of pulleys. Greyhounds, whippets and other sighthounds strained against their leashes, their eyes wide and laser focused on the “rabbit” zigzagging across the dewy grass. Howls of frustration by the impatient dogs filled the air. Spectators and owners cheered the arrival of the newest competitor.
Kenny released his hound! And Leela ran the other way.
She sprinted from the noise of people shouting, dogs barking, and the high-pitched whine of the lure zipping along the track to a paddock filled with prey driven greyhounds. Cheers turned to laughter as Kenny retrieved his tiny Afghan Hound crouched shivering and crying among the long, graceful legs of the former racers.
“Better luck, next time,” people clapped Kenny on the back as he led Leela back to the safety of the car.
There would be no “next time”. Leela was terrified of many things and sounds. Balls, wheels, strollers and children reduced her to a shaking, growling mess. We don’t know anything about her past but I suspect children were not a good part of her early life experience.
Leela was found alone in the middle of a field outside of Athens, Georgia. Animal control captured her and contacted the closest Afghan Hound rescue group based in Atlanta. A few months prior, we adopted a large, red male from Tara Afghan Hound Rescue and mentioned that we wanted a companion for our Indrew. Linda S., the then president of the organization called us soon after Leela’s arrival.
Afghan Hounds are not considered an intelligent breed because they aren’t inclined to do stupid tricks like fetching, sitting, coming when called or any activity they deem pointless. But Leela was no dope. The moment she laid eyes on Kenny she knew that he was hers. Leela climbed into his lap, laid her head against his shoulder and cried like she had spent eternity looking for him. My husband clutched her tight and said to me, “please don’t take this baby away from me.”
We loaded the fluffy, thirty-five pound copper haired girl with a stomach full of distress, a heart full of worms and a mountain of attitude into my car. She became a darling daughter to my husband Kenny and our dog Indrew but this was a club with restricted membership. We’ve lived in three different houses with her and each time Leela claimed a dark corner to hide in until she felt social, which was not often.
Woe unto the person who stepped uninvited to her territory. I forgot she claimed the guest bathroom in a house we were renting until it was too late. The look of utter offense when I turned the light on and started to walk into the room stopped me in my tracks. The feeling of disrespect of her privacy was overwhelming. I apologized, turned off the light and backed away.
From the start, Leela decided she only wanted Kenny in her world and I was a necessary evil that provided treats and toys. The first five years, Leela would only eat if Kenny fed her. We were concerned about her not eating if he went out of town so we took a weekend and agreed that I would be the sole food provider. After two days of her refusing to eat, we caved in. Kenny picked up a bowl full of untouched kibble, shook it and set it down before a ravenous Leela.
She felt the same way about affection. My husband could carry her in his arms but if I tried to get near her, she would stand up and walk away. This emotional rejection was more painful than any bite I’ve sustained in all my years of rescuing dogs. A few of our friends have been accepted into Leela’s world and she loves them with a fierce loyalty. But most people do not meet her impossibly high standards. Those who try to win her over are dealt an arctic blast of a cold shoulder and piercing side eye. She especially disdains “dog people” who act mortally wounded by her refusal of affection.
Yet she’s such a cute, funny, strange little dog, I can’t help but remain fascinated by The Leela. I have so many fond memories of her. I’ll never forget her low, lusty voice howling at speeding fire engines or tripping down the stairs and flinging her long hair out of her face as if to say, “I meant to do that.” And it didn’t matter if she was half the size of every male dog that came to live with us, she’d still try to kick the ass of each new arrival. You gotta admire that kind of tenacity.
As I write this, we have had Leela for eleven years. She has grown from a wild yearling to an old lady with cloudy eyes and a stilted gait. She spends her days curled up on a little bed in a dark corner of the basement while my husband fixes pinball machines. She sleeps through the noisy bells of the machines and commercials on his radio. Theirs is a simple, unobtrusive companionship.
I won’t see Leela during the day unless she wants to go out or have a treat or if her back hurts. She is tortured by degenerative disc disease that makes her cry and tremble with excruciating pain. She climbs into my lap and I hold her until the pain pills take affect. As soon as she feels better, she creeps back to the safety of the cold, dark basement with Kenny. Leela is an enigma known only to herself. I have never understood my little goth dog but I will greatly miss her when the pain becomes untreatable by pills and unconditional love.
