Ch 6: Shattered
Shattered copyright 2011 comidacomida
Even though people learn new things every day, there are some things that we learn slower than others. Some things we learn through trial and error; some things we learn by reading or watching; some things we learn by seeing some dumb shit really screw things up and we say to ourself "Damn... I'm glad that wasn't me". Out of all the ways we have to learn things, the direct approach is the one that usually helps us learn it the best-- unfortunately, it's also the one that usually ends up hurting like a mother-fucker.
What I'm getting at is that people learn life's lessons at different speeds. Take me for instance: five years to finish four years of high school and another five years to finish two years of college. Just because I learn slow doesn't mean that I don't learn though... and the most important lessons are ones I picked up real fast. Thing is, I learned all three of em during a single trip to Texas.
It was the first time that the Burb Dogs in Texas decided to stage a public event-- some kind of protest about a new law or regulation or some shit. Don't look at me like that; Jason's the one who knows all that stuff-- I just go along for the ride. Anyway, Jason thought it'd be a good idea to cover the event-- you know... show some support and get the word out. The execs gave the thumbs up and off we went. The ride went pretty smooth and all and I enjoyed spending time right next to my Jason relaxing in business class. I've flew coach once--- it didn't go so hot. Walter Media was sanctioned for it and we've flown business class ever since. Anyway, things started getting unpleasant after we touched down.
The looks my collar got when we were waiting for our luggage were enough to make any sane Dog think twice about continuing on with business as usual, but, if you know anything about me then you'll know that I have a little bit of crazy in me. That, and I'm thick headed... and stubborn... and I don't give a fuck about what they think... and I like my collar. Besides, I was with Jason Campbell and we were there for a purpose. Things had been going well, and I figured they'd keep going that way. This brings us to lesson number one: no matter how good things are going they can get fucked up pretty damn quick.
Once we were out of there we continued on to our rooms near the staging area for the rally. The hotel was fine, if you ignore the fact that there was a good sized group of folks outside holding all sorts of nuts-o poster boards talking about "Burb Dogs are the devil's own tool" or some shit, and "Human + Dog = Hell" and other things like that. Heh... I remember this one that made me laugh, "God made Adam and Eve, not Adam and Sparky"... I mean, what the fuck?... REALLY?!? Are you fucking yanking my tail? Adam and SPARKY? Yeesh... some people...
Anyway, it wasn't exactly the nicest reception we ever had but thankfully the hotel made it a point to take care of their guests-- some police were already making a path for us to the door. Still, the look we got from some of the cops kinda left me thinking that they'd have been part of the mob if they weren't in uniform. Once me and Jason got to our room we left all that behind us though... it was a long flight, there wasn't a hot tub in the bathroom, and I wanted to relax a little. He didn't seem to mind what I had in mind either. We woke up the morning with plenty of time before the rally, but no matter how much time we had there's no way that I would have been able to prepare for that day.
The first part of rally went off pretty well I guess, all things considered. A HUGE police line was set up around the Burb Dogs, Leashers, and their supporters to separate them from the religious zealots, anti-Dog nut-jobs, hate-mongers, racists, and... well... the rest of "those kinds of people". I promised Jason I'd always say "those kinds of people" whenever I had less kind thoughts ready to come out of my muzzle so I'll leave it there and let you figure out the rest. Anyway, that worked well enough and, as far as I was concerned, things were good... the folks organizing it even recognized Jason and asked him to come up on stage and say a few words. He's not exactly the shy sort when Burb Dogs are the topic so, yea... he did.
Imagine maybe five or six thousand sets of eyes and ears focused on a single speaker, hanging off of his every word. I don't wanna brag about my human or anything, but he is a fucking brilliant speech giver. He can hold the attention of crowds like nobody else I know. He has the right words for every situation. He knows what to say and when to say it. I'd say that he puts his tongue to use best on the podium, but, to be honest, there's one thing he does better with it... but that's getting off topic.
Anyway, this kinda rapture caught everyone up in it as he began to talk about things in such beautiful ways I'm not even gonna try to put em in my own words. They were all nodding, occasionally cheering him on. I could sit and stare at him and listen to him, in fact, I remembered wanting to... but, being the Guard Dog I am, I couldn't help but keep looking back at the crowd. I guess it was a good thing I did. Excuse me if this seems a little silly to say considering we were in Texas, but someone brought a gun. I don't think he planned on using it, but, like I said, it was Texas.
The cops were all over it, of course, but I think that's how the real problem started. See... if you know anything about me then you know that I don't have a problem with guns-- fuck, I was shooting a gun out back behind a buddy's house when I was ten... it was against the law to do in the city limits, but the cops were more worried about the people who were shooting at people and not soda bottles. Anyway, I don't have a problem with jack asses carrying guns around to feel like tough guys... it's the ones that have knives that worry me.
I know I guess to some people that sounds a little backwards... but think about it. There's something personal about a knife... something that says that they really hate someone or something if they're actually planning on using it. If someone's going after someone else with a knife that means that they want to get in close... they want to actively hurt someone in a direct and tangible way. You fire a gun at a target... but you stab a person. That kind of up-close-and-personal attack means that there's something very serious about someone's actions... and that's the kinda guy that weaved his way through the crowd and got up on stage. He was a human... a little on the pudgy side... maybe early 40s... just starting to go bald. He was wearing an orange windbreaker... which was odd since it wasn't windy and it was probably in the low 80s.
An Australian Shepherd standing at the top of the stairs moved to intercept the guy, probably to tell him to get back off the stage. The human backhanded him across the muzzle, sending the Dog tumbling off the stage and into the crowd. He said something down to the fallen Dog but I wasn't close enough to hear it... the look of contempt on his face said enough though, and by that time I was already out of my seat moving toward him. The whole gathering got suddenly quiet when he drew a knife. To this day I'm not sure if everybody just suddenly shut up or if I was so focused on him that everything else just stopped mattering. Either way, the moment he broke into a sprint for my Jason, knife in hand, I acted.
Some people say that things become a blur when you're riding high on adrenaline, but for me it was all really clear. The closest thing I can compare it to was the time I was in a car wreck... only I was drunk in the car accident-- when I faced the guy with a knife I was stone cold sober. Too bad for him, I guess. "Don't even think abo--" I started, but he wasn't interested in talking. He came at me like a crazy-assed lunatic... which I guess he musta been. His knife looked like one of those ones from a Crocodile Dundee movie-- fortunately he didn't really know much about swinging it. Unfortunately, he swung it often enough that it made it hard to avoid.
I was backpedaling, keeping my body away from his swipes until I saw a chance, and I went for it My heart was beating so fast and I was so focused on protecting Jason that I didn't notice that he scored a hit... I think it was when I grabbed at his wrist that the knife slid along my right forearm. I remembered growling something like "You're goin down, asshole." and I stomped my foot down against his shin. I was taller than he was which gave me better leverage for a take-down. Keeping hold of his wrist so he couldn't hurt anyone, I locked my knee against his thigh and pushed, spinning him to the ground. He grabbed my arm at the last moment and took me with him. I figured I'd just keep him pinned until the cops got up on stage, but about that point I realized something was wrong.
Thus we now come to the second of three lessons: no matter how willing you are to die for someone, killing for them is something else entirely. See... when he tried to pull me down with him it changed the angle of his arm. Between him falling and me falling on top of him, that put his own knife right into his chest. The warm, wet feel of blood on my paw was my first clue that things were not what I expected. As I pulled his limp body up, I finally saw just what I had done, and I froze up... physically... mentally... everything.
From my fingers to nearly my elbow my fur was covered in the man's blood. Without thinking, my grip on him released and his lifeless body slumped right back down to the ground... where he landed when I.... when I killed him. I can say it a thousand times... but every time I do it still makes the fur on the back of my neck stand up... I... killed someone.
The gathering closed up pretty quick after that, as you might guess. The cops put me in cuffs and I was brought to the station. I can't really tell you much about what happened... they asked me some questions, I guess... and they had a fuck-ton of witnesses who could point out that I hadn't really done anything... well... anything except kill a guy. But it was in self defense or, really, to defend my Jason... but that didn't change the fact that I killed someone.
You know... it's kinda funny when you think about it: movies and video games glamorize the whole violence thing. They have characters who randomly choke people to death, or crush their head with a baseball bat, or run them over with a car... but believe me when I say that movies and games aren't real life. There's reasons why soldiers have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and why some of em never recover. That guy was gonna attack Jason and I stopped it from happening. He died on that stage and Jason is still alive. I'm not gonna go do the whole cliche "and part of me died that day too", but I mean, that guy is dead because of me. That's a lot to carry.
I was in jail for two days before they released me. The DA decided not to pursue a case and all charges were dropped. Even so, it was made pretty clear that we probably should clear out, and that's exactly what we did. We got on the next plane and went straight back to New York. Jason kept hold of my paw the entire flight, but we didn't make eye contact; there was no way I was able to look anyone in the face, and I think he knew it and just sat there quietly and offered silent support... god, I love him.
If you were counting, you'll realize I only ever got to two of the really important lessons... which means I still have one more to go. We touched down at JFK and went straight to the studio; we got a call while we were waiting for our bags and they wanted us in ASAP. A meeting was called with a combination of producers, executives, staff... hell... even the owner flew in. I figured they wanted to make sure that Jason was going to be able to keep things moving after his close-shave with an attacker; I was more surprised when the meeting was focused on me.
Jason and I were all over the news... mostly me. The whole meeting was about it... they were calling me a hero, and saying that I showed the haters that they can't push people around... and that... well... all different things that I really didn't feel at that moment... so I let them know. Between flipping the conference table and liberal use of four letter words, the meeting came to an immediate recess. Phil (one of the producers), sat down with Jason and me out of the meeting room and we had a quieter chat.
"JD... I understand you have a lot to process and you need some time-" he began, but I interrupted
"You don't understand shit." not the best way to talk to one of your bosses, I realize, but I wasn't thinking about it at the time.
"And..." he added, "I can appreciate that it is hard for you..." I went to interrupt again, but Jason's hand softly rested on the back of my paw and I kept my muzzle shut, "which is why..." he continued, "I want you to take this card." he pulled one out of his coat pocket and slid it across the table to me, "It's the name and number for a very good therapist who--"
"No therapists." Jason quickly spoke up, "No psychologists... no psychiatrists..."
"Jason..." Phil turned to my human, "I can appreciate your concern for public opinion, but what JD's going through is--"
"FUCK public opinion!" Jason stood up, raising his voice... he doesn't do that very often, you know.
"Jason..." Phil stood, "JD needs--"
"JD just needs some time to slow down. Ever since things happened he's been moved here or pushed there. He had to talk to dozens of people and answer hundreds of questions." my human lowered his voice, sitting down again, "I want a week sababtical... JD too." he noted with finality.
Phil looked like he had more to say but, and I can tell you from experience, once Jason makes up his mind it takes even more than ME to make him change it. The meeting didn't continue and we were given leave to return home. The station gave us eight days to recover. Jason didn't need the time but he didn't let anyone else know... I knew... but that's what made it all the more meaningful.
That night I had my first shower in almost a week. It was the first amount of quiet time I'd had since the morning of the demonstration in Texas. As I was getting undressed the events started repeating in my head. The drive to the demonstration... Jason's speech... that human coming up on stage... the feel of my paw gripping his wrist... of him landing on my arm... of me landing on his back... it was all too much-- I threw up in the sink.
Shaking all over, I climbed into the shower and turned it on as high as it would go. No amount of scalding water would burn the memory from my mind... no amount of washing would be able to clean the stain of what I did... what I HAD TO do. I slid to the floor of the shower and cried. The memories kept flooding back as I re witnessed the position I had been forced to take. I felt his body go rigid... I heard his last breath escape him... I killed him. It felt just then that nothing in the world was worth having to cope with that... and, at that very moment, the shower door slid open and I looked up into the concerned, compassionate face of my Jason-- I realized that HE was that reason.
He stepped into the shower and sat down next to me ignoring the fact that his clothes were getting soaked. I looked away, unable to meet his gaze as I lowered my head, but he didn't stop there. Without a single word, Jason reached an arm around me and pulled me close, hugging me as I continued to cry. My tail curled between my legs and I rested my head against his shoulder even as he cradled me. I'm HIS Guard Dog... but sometimes even the Guard Dog needs saving.
See... that's the third lessons. Even if you're top dog you can't go it alone. The other people in your life support you and make it possible. That's what Jason and I have going. Sometimes it might seem like he's "head and shoulders above the rest", but that's only because I'm there hoisting him up. At times it looks like I'm ahead of the pack, but that's only because Jason is right there behind me pushing me forward.
He was right there at my side while I went through my week of reflection. And, as things finally started to look up and return to somewhere close to normal, the one emotion I remember being left with more than any other was gratitude... gratitude, and a degree of confidence in knowing that I never wanted to be separated from my human. He made me better in all ways, and he could do for me things I would never manage without him.
He helped remind me why it was I had to do what I did and, even though I still shudder every time I think about that day, I realize that if I had to do it again I would... without hesitation... because even if my world were shattered a thousand times I have the best human in the world helping me piece it together again. He was my human-- I was his Guard Dog... but, I realized that we were more than that... and I had to start thinking of a way to fully show it. Fortunately, one of his first assignments once we got back gave me just that chance.