Alrighty, I’m finally ready to talk about why I took my latest break: My dog bit me.

Now, let’s add a little context to this. I adopted a 80+ pound, abused animal three years back. I have worked him through his fear of walking in the rain and getting in cars. I have sat with him through panic attacks and taught him basic manners. I watched as my puppy pulled food out of his mouth, my kitten groomed him, and my kids stuck their hands down his throat.

So when Sammy stole a ham off the counter and attacked to keep it, it was like a kick to the head. That wasn’t my dog. I couldn’t process it. Because I knew it meant rehoming him.

And it does mean that. For now.

Two different dog trainers and several rescue organizations concur; Sammy isn’t a hopeless case, but we might not be the right house for him either. He needs special training that we might not be best suited to give him. Not to mention I am now afraid of him and that’s not good for training. Sam is very reactive and me being afraid makes him jumpy. Which makes me more afraid… and you can see the bad cycle.

However, no rescue organization has room for him at moment. In addition to living in a rural area with limited resources, Sammy is now over 90 lbs. Most places have limited room for dogs of that size. I am terrified to send him to the county animal shelter and I certainly don’t have the money to do background checks on folks who want might want to buy him.

In the end, my family and I made a deal. As long as Sam is responding well to his training, he stays with us until a slot at a rescue opens. If I feel safe before that happens, we can keep Sam. But we’re six weeks in, and I’m still afraid of him. However, if Sammy has another bad incident, he has to go to the county shelter. We will also inform all the rescue places we’ve already contacted, and they will monitor his situation.

Despite everything, we won’t stop working with him. It’s not Sam’s fault he was abused and not properly trained as a puppy before being dumped in the woods. He’s remarkably good for a dog from those circumstances, and despite my fear of him, I still love the big guy. I know he’s trying his best and he still loves me more than anyone. It’s often stressful because he looks to me for comfort, and sometimes, I’m just not able to give it to him. Hell, the night he bit me, he kept trying to come to me because I was crying.

Anyway, I took the time I needed and dealt with my issues. Adopting an animal means doing the best for them. That doesn’t always end up being what you want.

Chelsea stories are coming. Thanks for sticking with me.