Next week will be one year since my family and I had to put our beloved English Bull Terrier, Oscar, to sleep. I’ve discussed this before, no need to trod out that sadness again. But in the wake of Oscar’s surprising departure at age nine, my family and I were left adrift. Oscar was a special dog, and the silence left in his absence was unbearable. I knew I would eventually have a new dog, but I was so close with Oscar that I couldn’t see getting one any time soon after. The new year came, then the pandemic. As my family and I began the search for dogs, I became increasingly nervous about going out to adopt one. I was a hold-out in that respect. I resisted, and in so doing, I prolonged my family’s suffering – the house was dismally quiet, and that could’ve been ameliorated sooner had I got it together faster.
But, once things eased up a bit in New Jersey pandemic-wise, the dog search became much more proactive. Finally, after looking for everything from Greyhounds to Bulldogs, we found a little fellow named Kanga. Kanga’s picture was delightful. He was a cute black puppy with huge ears, and he looked quite large in photographs. The preliminary information we got about Kanga was that he was part Great Dane and part Border Collie. None of that turned out to be true, but I’ll address that a little later. Most importantly, he was adorable, we went to meet him, and we left with him that day.
First things first, the name had to go. He was only six weeks old, so his name barely mattered to him. To keep it simple and maintain the sound of his name so as not to confuse him, we changed his name to Jango. No dog of mine is going to be named Kanga – a nonsense name.
Jango was a mixed breed puppy, and an adorable one at that. But the weeks went by and Jango never grew to anywhere near the size of a Great Dane, and so my sister purchased us a DNA testing kit for Jango as a gift. The results came in and it turned out that Jango is 25% Chihuahua, and equal parts Vizsla, Australian Shepherd, and Boston Terrier. He’s remained pretty small, and I love that. Oscar was a tank and acted as such, but Jango is such a spry little bastard.
I never had a puppy before. I should amend that. I had a puppy, but the dog was adopted weeks after I was born, so that doesn’t count. Regardless, adopting dogs always felt better. We rescued Dalmatians and Oscar the Bull Terrier. Jango was a rescue from a kill shelter in Texas. But as I said, I never had a puppy. I immediately fell in love with him. Here was a dog with no real sense of the world. Everything was new to him, and I got to see him experience many things for the first time. The knowing way he looked in my eyes, the way he’d paw at my face if I stared at him to long – I couldn’t and can’t get enough.
But all that was before the sexual assault.
Jango, who isn’t fixed and so still has possession of his testes, is sex crazed. He rapes, he really does, and mostly me. He bites onto my belt loop, latches on, and humps feverishly. He tends to wake up horny and get horny after dinner. It’s terrible. When after dinner I’m putting on a record and settling down with a drink or so, Jango will appear with wild eyes and ready to fuck. I have to fend him off with a spray bottle if he doesn’t take the rejection well. I didn’t think I’d have to deal with a mad rapist puppy, but I do. He’s lucky he’s cute and loveable, because the rape is a little much. Sometimes I even tell him, “Jango, no rapes,” which was downgraded to, “Jango, less rapes,” when I realized my commands were meaningless.
But despite the sexual assault, Jango has made my pandemic immeasurably better. He’s brought such pure joy into my life. When Oscar was alive, I was constantly worried about his health in his last year, and so I fear I didn’t enjoy him as much as I should have. But with Jango, I have that joy. I miss Oscar dearly, and he can’t be replaced, but Jango is here and he’s brought light to my life – even if he is a rapist.