My first dog: Teddy
I used to have a female shih-tzu companion named Pinky. She died in 2013 while I was away at law-school. Prior to that, she saved my life in the year 2000, but that's another story. She changed not only my life, but my family's, for the better. However, the first dog we had, wasn't quite the ideal story.
It was 1995 and I was in seventh grade when we got our first dog: a Jindo/German Shepherd puppy that we named Teddy. It was very cute, but we had never taken care of a dog before, so we weren't very nice to it. Thinking back on it, it breaks my heart. We used to keep him all alone in the garage in the dark, unless we were feeding him or taking him out for a walk. I remember how we would get bored of playing with him and to get him away from the door that we needed to close, we would throw a toy far into the garage for him to catch so that we could safely close the door behind him. I only remember him coming into the house one time, when my mother brought home groceries, one of which was probably a rotisserie-chicken. He could smell that and certainly was interested in eating it.
We got him when he was only a month old, and he was small and adorable, but he grew to be massive. He was more powerful than any one of us and would overpower us during walks. We didn't know any better, so we got a pinch-collar, and it kind of worked for a while, but eventually he got used to that as well and overpower us just the same. One time, a mother and a son was walking home from school when Teddy saw them. He darted for them and left my strong grip of the leash and reached them. He was never aggressive or mean; he just wanted to meet them and play. The little boy, however, was terrified and was crying. I felt bad, but also relieved that Teddy had not attacked, not that I was surprised that he didn't.
Teddy would try to play with me when he was younger, but his teeth were very sharp and they would hurt, and I would actually tear up from the pain. He wasn't trying to bite me, but you know how dogs are. They want to explore the world with their mouths and their teeths are in their mouths. If only I knew how to "bite" back with Cesar Millan's method of using my fingers in an effort to say "I don't like to be bitten."
Eventually, not even a year later, we gave him to a home that wanted him. Two people came to pick him up: an older father and a son that was probably in his twenties. That son really seemed to like Teddy, as he should; Teddy was a good dog. We just didn't know how to take care of him.
We never had a dog before, and for beginners, a big, powerful breed like a German Shepherd mixed with a Jindo was not a good fit. My parents' idea of taking care of a dog was what they knew from living in Korea: leaving it alone outside or in the garage. Looking back, I'm glad that at least we didn't keep him outside. They grew up in rural Korea, and dogs weren't considered children you kept in the house like in America; they were wild animals that they thought were fine by themselves. How little we knew.
Teddy must have passed away a long time ago. If he can somehow read this message, or sense its meaning, I would like to tell him how sorry we are for how we treated him. I would ask for his forgiveness. I would love nothing more than to go back in time, and take what I know now and give him the life he never had. I would also thank him for helping me to realize how wrong we were, and for helping us to grow. Rest in peace.
It was 1995 and I was in seventh grade when we got our first dog: a Jindo/German Shepherd puppy that we named Teddy. It was very cute, but we had never taken care of a dog before, so we weren't very nice to it. Thinking back on it, it breaks my heart. We used to keep him all alone in the garage in the dark, unless we were feeding him or taking him out for a walk. I remember how we would get bored of playing with him and to get him away from the door that we needed to close, we would throw a toy far into the garage for him to catch so that we could safely close the door behind him. I only remember him coming into the house one time, when my mother brought home groceries, one of which was probably a rotisserie-chicken. He could smell that and certainly was interested in eating it.
We got him when he was only a month old, and he was small and adorable, but he grew to be massive. He was more powerful than any one of us and would overpower us during walks. We didn't know any better, so we got a pinch-collar, and it kind of worked for a while, but eventually he got used to that as well and overpower us just the same. One time, a mother and a son was walking home from school when Teddy saw them. He darted for them and left my strong grip of the leash and reached them. He was never aggressive or mean; he just wanted to meet them and play. The little boy, however, was terrified and was crying. I felt bad, but also relieved that Teddy had not attacked, not that I was surprised that he didn't.
Teddy would try to play with me when he was younger, but his teeth were very sharp and they would hurt, and I would actually tear up from the pain. He wasn't trying to bite me, but you know how dogs are. They want to explore the world with their mouths and their teeths are in their mouths. If only I knew how to "bite" back with Cesar Millan's method of using my fingers in an effort to say "I don't like to be bitten."
Eventually, not even a year later, we gave him to a home that wanted him. Two people came to pick him up: an older father and a son that was probably in his twenties. That son really seemed to like Teddy, as he should; Teddy was a good dog. We just didn't know how to take care of him.
We never had a dog before, and for beginners, a big, powerful breed like a German Shepherd mixed with a Jindo was not a good fit. My parents' idea of taking care of a dog was what they knew from living in Korea: leaving it alone outside or in the garage. Looking back, I'm glad that at least we didn't keep him outside. They grew up in rural Korea, and dogs weren't considered children you kept in the house like in America; they were wild animals that they thought were fine by themselves. How little we knew.
Teddy must have passed away a long time ago. If he can somehow read this message, or sense its meaning, I would like to tell him how sorry we are for how we treated him. I would ask for his forgiveness. I would love nothing more than to go back in time, and take what I know now and give him the life he never had. I would also thank him for helping me to realize how wrong we were, and for helping us to grow. Rest in peace.
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