About 8 years ago, I started dating a funny, sexy, smart man who had a beautiful 4 year old golden retriever. The guy's name (for the sake of this blog) was Mike, and Mike dressed well, was a good dancer, drove a new Eddie Bauer Explorer, had a stable job in management, and lived less than 10 minutes away from me...and did I mention that he was SEXY?

You know how you feel fireworks with some guys and none with others? Let me just say that I have never felt fireworks like the ones I felt with him...looking back, I should have taken that as the universe preparing me for an explosive experience.

Mike and I started spending every free moment we could with one another. We were drawn to each other, physically, emotionally and spiritually, and I felt the flush of new love almost immediately...definitely within the first few weeks.

Maybe it was all of the alcohol we were consuming...or the fact that both of us had just gotten out of long-term relationships, but our relationship became VERY intimate, very fast! I'm not talking about sex either...we actually waited 5 months for that. I'm talking about closeness.

We talked about E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G. No topic was off limits. Our conversations lasted for hours and hours.

And there was his puppy Charley, always at our side during these discussions that carried into the wee hours of the morning. Mike LOVED this dog. He played with him, taught him tricks, slept with him, took tons of pics with him and called him his best friend. I felt like a 3rd wheel a lot of the time.

So once, after a fabulous night on the town, we returned to his apartment. As we walked in the door, I noticed some socks and shoes in the living room and thought nothing of it.

Mike, on the other hand, went ballistic! His face contorted and he started SCREAMING "WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU...." at his dog, Charley. Within seconds, he was BEATING THE DOG. Punching him! Yelling! He even picked Charley up and threw him, right in front of me. This poor puppy was shrieking and scared and trying to run away. I stood there in awe. Mike's face was blood red, he was breathing hard, and it looked like smoke would pour from his ears.

After the beating, which probably lasted for a minute, but felt like an hour, I went NUTS. "How could you do that to him! Over socks?! Really Mike! WTF? You hurt him!" I was beside myself.

"I told him not to chew on my socks! He went in the drawer and..." Mike said.

I tuned him out. I still had my purse on my shoulder and even though I had planned to stay the night over there, and my blood alcohol level was high, I didn't care. I needed to leave! Mike chased me. I didn't look back.

I waited to cry until I got in my car, but then I let the tears fall all the way home. That poor puppy!

We made up. Mike was quite charismatic and always seemed to get back in my good graces (*cycle of abuse). And I also witnessed another episode of him hurting the dog --- not as bad as the first time...but who knows what happened when I wasn't around.

PAUSING THE STORY FOR A MOMENT...

1. How many of you would have called the humane society and reported this?
2. Was Mike in the wrong? Should the dog have been taken away?

BACK TO THE STORY...

Well, a couple of years later, after Mike and I decided that we were just too explosive together and were better off as friends, he found out that Charley had cancer. The dog was already born with heart problems and was smaller than most goldens, but I don't think anyone could have predicted what happened when this dog turned 6.

The cancer was on his side, like near the stomach area. It grew from the size of a ping pong ball to the size of a basketball. You can't even imagine what I'm talking about here...but there was a giant bleeding mass on the right side of this normally energetic puppy.

Mike wouldn't leave Charley for a moment. He took the dog to countless doctor's appointments, changed the gauze on the wound regularly, kissed and hugged the dog, and generally tried to nurse him to health.

At one point, the mass started bleeding out and it shrunk. Mike was THRILLED! But his celebration was premature. The tumor swelled again.

Mike took a night job to be with his dog during the day (his mom came by and dogsat at night). Mike started attending AA meetings and praying (!)...he gave his life to God.

And one night, out of nowhere, I got a frantic call... Mike was calling all of his friends over to say goodbye to Charley.

Charley didn't die that night. He died the next morning. I had ran out to GNC to get him some vitamins, and while I was gone, Charley went to his usual spot, right behind Mike's computer chair and took his last breath while Mike pet him.

It was heart-breaking...when I returned from the store, Mike was a basket case. His mother came over and they called the vet. I looked at Charley and everything felt surreal. He was gone.

Mike STILL to this day, talks and writes about and remembers Charley. He has since gotten two other golden retrievers, and he loves them, but Charley is his baby.

GETTING BACK TO THE QUESTIONS I ASKED EARLIER
1. Should I have reported this abuse to someone?
2. Knowing how Mike behaved when it mattered, should Charley have been in someone else's care?

The reason that I'm asking this, and putting it here on ST is because of some issues going on in my relationship with SO. It's all kid and BM related issues, and I'm not trying to compare a child with a dog, but I naturally draw connections in my mind.

What if it's NOT best to take kids away from their mother...even if she's mildly (or majorly!) abusive. I suffered physical and emotional abuse as a child. I'm talking being beat with extension cords and living in constant fear of getting "popped"... but what if some authorities had taken me away from my mother? Would I still be the same person? Would the new home have been any better? What if the new "mom" was also abusive, but just in another way?

And on a career level... Would I have been empathetic towards all of my non-traditional students and foster kids who are the products of bad homes and bad parents? Would I care so much about justice, had I not been raised in an unjust environment? Would I have spent so much of my career caring for, teaching and relating to inner-city youth had my life been all peaches and cream?

I'm not sure. But I can say that even though my childhood sucked, I'm glad no one took me away from my mother. I only regret that no one TOLD ME that my mom was sorta evil...she was successful, so I thought that something was wrong with me, rather than her, for such a long time.

Well, that's all I wanted to write today. It's been on me for a few months and I really needed to get it out.