Eddie was a small, feisty terrier mix I got at the pound. He was there for a little over a year, and was claimed by at least one family who returned him. His first weekend with me was rough, he was recovering from surgery on his eye from a fight, he had pneumonia, and wouldn’t eat. The vet told me he’d likely not make it. I finally got him to eat some grilled, marinated pork tenderloin. He lived off that for a few days and eventually made his way to normal food, but he was forever picky about his diet. Due to his time in the pound, he was jaded. I thought of him as a smaller kid who spent time in prison; he knew he wasn’t big enough to get in fights, so he avoided trouble, but if pushed, he’d go for broke. It was do or die. It didn’t matter the size of the other dog. They would think its playtime until a chunk of fur was removed from the shoulder and in Eddie’s mouth.
For a few years we lived in Hawaii on the 22nd floor. His only way out to pee was a walk, so I took him five times a day. We took him everywhere, everyone knew him and called him the Mayor of Honolulu. One night while at the movies I got a call from a friend who lived a few floors above. She stepped on the elevator and Eddie was inside, by himself. Turns out the wind blew our apartment door open and Eddie went into the hallway and got on the elevator. Luckily our friend got him before he wondered into the lobby and out onto the street. He knew the area well, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he showed up at the movie theater with popcorn and a soda. Just kidding, Eddie hated soda, too sweet.
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Every once in a while I worked with our Domestic Violence Unit. We would team up with local police and visit victims of domestic abuse, unannounced. If the abuser was there, he’d be violating the protective order, and automatically arrested. They were always there. Due to the high emotions involved in these cases, there was frequently a chase and a fight. It made for an exciting evening and I was happy to be involved. We’d meet up in a parking lot and brief our targets. On my way, I walked by one of the police cars with the back window down, and a steel screen in its place. Under the window it said, “BITE DOG – DO NOT APPROACH.” Guess what I did?
I had to get close to see inside, it was dark in there. Suddenly (not a strong enough word), I saw a flash of tongue, teeth, and slobber, with a bark straight from hell. I must have jumped a foot straight up. Once my heart got back into my chest, the handler walked toward me, gave me a look, and pointed to the warning. Yeah, I know, do not approach. I felt like a dope.
When we got to our first house, the victim was freshly beaten. Her face was swollen like a pumpkin the morning after Halloween; bruised, gushing, and broken. She was barley able to talk due to the blood flowing from nose to mouth, but she told us he was hiding in the back yard.
The yard was about 50 feet across, enclosed by a six foot wooden fence. We opened the gate on the east side of the house. That side was lined with tall shrubs, and there was nothing else in the yard. It was clear our guy was hiding there. Because we didn’t know if he was armed, we decided to call in the dog. Enter Cerberus. That’s right, the dog’s name was Cerberus. He didn’t have three heads like his namesake, but he didn’t need them. I think the head that remained ate the other two. He got out of the back of the car and it was like an explosion of fury. The 250 pound handler was struggling to control the monster. His chain collar was stretched and looked like it was going to snap at any second. On paper, I think this was a German Shepard, but it looked like a mix of Velociraptor and lion, with a mouth like an alligator. His snout didn’t seem to end, it was long, pointy, and spewing slobber. His tongue was everywhere, I figured it would have been cut off by the millions of teeth. His eyes were crossed, loaded with blind rage. I’ve heard of the term “blood lust,” but was now seeing it truly. We gave our abuser a warning to come out or we’d send the dog in. No response.
It was quiet for a second.
The abuser decided to make a run for it. For a reason I will never know, he ran across the yard to the other side. Cerberus was released. The abuser must have been an Olympic sprinter, because he made it to the fence on the opposite side, but it was too high to hurdle. He got half his body over, bent to the waist, with the upper half on freedom’s side and his legs dangling on our side; Cerberus’ side.
The monster jumped and got a hold of his lower leg and pulled him back into hell. The thrashing was brutal. It was like watching a shark in a feeding frenzy, with blood splattering everywhere. The dog was all over him, he was screaming for mercy, but was not heard over the snarls of the beast. I looked over at the handler to see if he was going to call off Cerberus. He shrugged at me and made what looked like a slow jog over to the massacre. He was a big man, but I know he could have moved a little faster. Urgency was lost. There was no rush to end Cerberus’ fun. When he got there, he said something in German and the demon suddenly became a puppy. His eyes were happy and playful and he danced around like Tigger. It was playtime. The handler broke out an old towel and used it as a chew toy to play tug of war with the pup. If it wasn’t for the dripping crimson beard and chunks of flesh in his teeth, you’d think it was a different dog.
As Cerberus frolicked back to the car with his dad, the rest of us assessed the damage. The abuser’s left calf muscle had been ripped off below the knee, but was still attached at the achilles tendon. The slab of meat was no longer at the back of his lower leg, it was now spiraled around the front of his shin. He was screaming in agony, but I failed to find any sympathy thinking of his victim inside the house.
I often think about Cerberus and how tough, dangerous and perfectly smart he was. Born a genetic masterpiece, trained and loved from birth. My boy Eddie was born a misfit and spent the first years of his life on concrete. While Eddie had every reason to hate the world, Cerberus had none. Yet, Cerberus was a manifestation of anger. To me, it a refection of life; it isn’t fair. Some get nothing, others get everything. That’s not news to anyone. Yet, no matter how you are born, or the cards you are dealt, life is what you make it. Some fortunate ones are still pissed off at the world, and ruin everything around them because they can’t see how good they have it. Others, like Edward, hold on to their misfortune, but don’t let it consume; they use it as a guide for a better life, and let others love them. I like to think I’m more like Eddie.
The Trouble With Omens 