Éomer's Life Story
Written By Margaret Éowyn
Introduction
Éomer Éadig Clementine-Newton was born on (approximately) March 29th, 2014. He was presumed to be born in Indianapolis, Indiana, where he was rescued from a dog-fighting ring when he was around 2 years old. A mix of primarily American Staffordshire Terrier & Shar-Pei, Éomer was bred for dog fighting because of his breed mix, which left him with a lifelong negative reaction to small animals such as squirrels, raccoons, possums, and cats. We believe he may have been used as a bait dog as well, because when he was rescued, he was in very poor condition according to his intake work from his initial rescue.
When he was taken in by Indianapolis Animal Care Services, he was given the name Max and adopted out two separate times. Both times he was returned, as the families stated that he had too much energy for them and that he did not get along with their cats. Éomer spent three long stretches in I.A.C.S. and was reaching the point of no return, as there was little to no interest in a beat-up young dog who was not cat friendly and assumed to be not dog friendly as well, and he was close to being euthanized due to I.A.C.S. being at capacity.
2017
In February of 2017, I (Margaret Éowyn) went to I.A.C.S. to look for a dog. At the time, I was in a deep depression and the quality of my life and state of mind were at an all-time low. I had been planning on ending my life but thought that I would try to find something to live for. I had never owned my own dog, only helped care for family dogs growing up, and I thought that perhaps owning a pet might give me a reason to continue on.
Originally I went to I.A.C.S. to look at a black lab puppy named Dallas (I still remember him, even all these years later, because going to look for him led me to the dog that would be my son) but when I met him I didn't think I had the time or means to properly take care of such a young dog. I wandered through the kennels for an hour or so, taking out other dogs to meet and play with, but I just didn't feel a connection with any of them. In a final attempt to find a dog, I took one last lap through the kennels. On my way out, having given up, a dog popped up at the gate of a nearby kennel with a smile on his face and a caught my attention with a bark and a twinkle in his eye that showed the depth of his spirit, betraying the look of his emaciated and worn-out body. He weighed only 27 pounds that day, though when he finally got healthy in the following months, he would get close to 60 pounds.
His name was Max, a thoroughly stupid name for such a majestic young boy and utterly unbefitting someone of his nobility and handsomeness. Despite his completely wrong name, he immediately struck me as a sweet and joyous dog, and I asked to take him outside to meet him. I could tell that the staff were already annoyed with me, but they indulged me a final time. I went outside with him and played with him for nearly twenty minutes before a staff member told me that they would need to put him back up in his kennel soon. I told them that didn't need to happen, and I went to the front to adopt him.
I paid $65.00 to adopt him but realized I hadn't bought all the things I needed to care for him yet. I asked the staff if, having paid for him already, they could hold him for one hour so I could go to a nearby pet store and get everything I needed. They humored me and agreed and I rushed off. I over-drafted my bank account by nearly $300.00 buying toys, leashes and collars, harness, a bed, and a crate, as well as a myriad of treats, food, and random dog stuff.
During that time, I considered what to rename him, as there was no way in hell, I was going to call my new son Max. He needed a name befitting a noble and brave dog, a name that resounded with who he was. He had been bred for fighting. He had been bred to be aggressive, to hurt and harm, and yet despite that, he was sweet and kind (I would learn in later years that despite his upbringing, he held no aggression towards humans or dogs and was one of the friendliest dogs I would ever know). He had faced abuse, faced attacks, faced homelessness, faced abandonment, faced long months alone in a kennel with no one to call his own. He had faced darkness and come out the other side strong & resilient, hardened yet not cruel, and become all the better for the trials and tribulations he faced.
I thought of characters I loved from books and movies I read and watched through the years. My mind raced through the names of characters from Tolkien's works (as he is my favorite author and Peter Jackson's movies are some of my favorite films as well) and one name stuck out to me. The name of a character who was brave, steadfast, a firm friend, someone who had faced battle after battle and never backed down from it, only grown into a better and stronger version of himself.
That name? Éomer...
And that was it. I returned to I.A.C.S., picked up my new son, started calling him Éomer, and we were off on the way home to my apartment in Irvington, Indianapolis. As soon as he was in the car and we pulled away, he was all smiles. He jumped back and forth between the front seats to the rear of the car, sticking his head out of every cracked window, trying to climb into my lap (which of course I let him do at stop lights), and whipping his head around on a swivel taking in all the sights.
Day One: Freedom Ride
When we got home, I took his leash and hooked it to the leg of my couch, so I could keep him inside while I grabbed his crate and the rest of his things from the car. When I came back in two minutes later, he had chewed right through the leash and was sitting on the other couch, where he had been looking out the window into the parking lot watching me. He was all smiles when I came back in, even though I was (mildly) irritated that his new leash was destroyed. Thank goodness I had bought a backup!
We spent that entire first day playing. We took multiple long walks through our neighborhood, played fetch by throwing a ball from the front door at a diagonal into my bedroom, wrestled on the couches and my bed, chased each other through the apartment, snuggled and napped in the sunshine, and began to create a bond that would define both of our lives. That first day was something special, more special than I realized all those years ago. It wasn't long before I introduced him to my family. Within those first few days he met my little brother, my parents and their dogs (Lainey, the sweet French Brittany, and Rosie Cotton, the big goofy GSD), my grandparents, even my cousins and their parents who lived right behind my grandparents' house.
He was wild back then. So full of life and energy. We used to have to walk on average 6 miles a day, plus wrestle, plus play fetch, plus tug of war, just to burn his energy out. Some days I didn't have the energy, because I was working as a cook and chef, working long days on my feet that exhausted me mentally and physically. But when I came home, I could see him in the window, watching the parking lot waiting for me. When I opened the door to that little apartment and saw him bounding across the floor, jumping over the couch, to tumble into me and wait to be picked up, everything washed away. All the hurt, all the stress, all the pain. When I held him in my arms, my precious baby boy, and kissed his face, it felt like everything was okay.
Those early days weren't always perfect. I certainly wasn't. There were growing pains as a new parent, as someone in their 20's, as someone struggling with addiction, someone deeply closeted and filled with self-loathing. I wasn't always the best parent back then, I know that. There were days I came home and he had pooped in the living room, or thrown up on my bed, and I cried and yelled. I sometimes failed to walk him as much as he needed. There were times he would drop a toy at my feet, and I just had to tell him, not right now buddy. I can't do it. I wasn't the person I am now, back then. I was struggling. That isn't to say I don't still struggle, but many of the hardest battles of my life were being fought when I adopted Éomer.
The thing is though, it was the funny, or strange, or perhaps planned quirk of life that brought us together. I would not have made it through those years without him. Holding him in my arms at night, waking up to him sleeping curled behind my legs, kissing his smooshy face awake in the morning, those 5am walks before a prep shift, coming back on my lunch breaks to wrestle and play tag, those silent late-night walks down Audubon Road passing houses we admired but knew we could never afford to live in. It was those moments that kept me going. It was those quiet moments, alone at 1am walking the streets. It was those loud moments, tumbling through the apartment, body slamming each other into couches and the bed. It was the peaceful moments, with him sitting on my chest, staring into his little eyes. It was the bad moments, cleaning up pee or poop, wondering why I ever adopted that little stinker. It was every moment. Only now, looking back with a decade of perspective, do I see just how much he saved me.
When I think back to that first day together, I think of how differently things could have been. People often say, usually jokingly, that their dog saved their life. But in Éomer's case, he truly did. And in turn, I saved his. Without him, I know I wouldn't be here. He gave me a reason to go on. The love he gave me, the purpose he instilled, made me fight through every downward trend, every mental and physical battle, every bad time, so I could continue to be there for him. And without me, Éomer wouldn't be here either. He would have been put down, because they needed to make space for other dogs who people might actually want to adopt.
I don't know if I believe in a higher power. Fate, destiny, god or gods, karma, magic, whatever you want to call it. I'm not sure I believe in anything of the sort. But what I do believe, what I know, is that Éomer and I were meant to find each other. We were meant to be in each other's lives. We were meant to spend the almost decade we've had, together. People often say you have a "soul dog", a dog you adopt in your 20's or 30's who leaves an imprint on every fiber of your being. And I believe that, at least in my case. I know that that is who Éomer is for me. I never viewed him as a pet, or a piece of property. He was family. He was my boy. He was my son. He was everything good in this world, the center of every blessing, the core of what was good in me, the cause of every good thing I have tried to do and achieve in the last decade. He was my world. He was the reason to keep going, even when I had nothing else to keep going for. He wasn't perfect, but he was perfect because of that. He was everything to me. He was my son.
That first year Éomer and I spent 322 of 365 days together. I wish we could have had the full year, but that's just life is sometimes. But 2017? What a year...that first day of adopting him; his first birthday with me (which was his 3rd birthday); my first birthday with him (I turned 23); our first hike at Fort Ben; his first furry friends (his aunts Lainey & Rosie); our first Fourth of July, where we found out he couldn't give a shit about fireworks; our first walks along the little creeks of Southeastway Park, near where I grew up; our first Christmas; our first naps; our first everything. Things would only get better as time went on, but that first year. What I would give to go back to it, just for a moment, knowing what I know now. To hold him as the baby boy I first fell in love with at the kennels of I.A.C.S., to watch him discover a world which wouldn't hurt him, to see him fall in love with friends, family, and learn that life could be kind. Life could be sweet. Life could be better together, in a way that neither of us had ever experienced before.
2018
2018 was a year of changes, for both of us. For me, I began to step out and explore my identity, who I was inside but had kept hidden due to societal and family expectations. I was serving, instead of cooking, due to a roommate moving unexpectedly and needing to make more money. With that came more time with Éomer, with the exception of big convention weekends. On those days, he would spend the day at his Grandma & Grandpas house with his dog aunt Rosie, or his Uncle Gabe would come to babysit him at my apartment. That brought about a big change in him too. The more time he spent with other people, the more time he spent with other dogs, the brighter and happier he became.
I remember one night taking him to watch a movie at my parents house, where my dad didn't particularly love the dogs being on the couches or chairs. But lo and behold, just a little while into watching the movie, Éomer somehow mysteriously migrated from the floor into my dad's lap, sitting on top of his chest and being held while they watched the movie together. That was the kind of effect he had on everyone. You couldn't help but love him. You couldn't help but bend or break the rules just for him.
Oh, you aren't a dog person? Well that wiggly booty would disagree. Friends who never enjoyed being around dogs before enjoyed being around Éomer, because he would cuddle and snuggle and give as much love as he got. People who didn't let their own dogs up on their furniture? Well, Éomer got to break that rule and sit in their laps, shedding his golden hair all over their nice, clean furniture. Random neighbors we would pass on our daily walks in Irvington, who at first would cross the street or walk away when they saw a pittie coming, eventually would stop to say hi and come to know him. They would cautiously approach, then their guard would lower as they realized that all Éomer was was a pure ball of love and youthful energy. Folks who had preconceived notions of who he was and what he was about would have those expectations shattered, and come to know the love and sweetness behind those brown eyes.
We spent so much of that year outside. Constant walks, free days spent hiking alone or with our family. For my 24th birthday my family traveled together to the Daniel Boone National Forest & Red River Gorge Geographical Area, which is perhaps my favorite place in the entire world. It certainly cemented it's place after that trip. My parents had rented a cabin for us and we traveled down together and spent a wonderful few days hiking, cooking out, relaxing under the stars, and spending time with Éomer and their dog Rosie Cotton (Éomer's dog aunt). It was one of the best memories of my life, even now when life has changed so much and I don't have the same relationships that I did before.
But the very best memory of that trip came from Éomer. We hiked a lot that trip and made jokes about Éomer escaping off into the woods somehow (back in those days he was a bit of an escape artist) and imagining how we would come back a year later and see him high atop a hilltop or cliff leading a pack of wild dogs or coyotes, which still makes me laugh to this day. But there was one day we went on a particularly grueling hike. I can't remember if it was 6 or 8 or 10 miles, but I do remember it was a constant up and down of climbing hills and valleys that exhausted me to the point of being wobbly legged (I was definitely the least in shape at that time of my family of four).
We powered through and returned back to the cabin, where all four humans immediately set about relaxing, rubbing our sore legs, stretching out and readying ourselves to settle in for the evening. Sweet Miss Rosie Cotton threw herself down on the cool wooden floor and sat there breathing deeply and heavily, getting up occasionally to drink and cool down, but otherwise deciding she was done moving for the day. And where was Éomer during all this tiredness? Well he was standing right by the front door, ready to get back out there. He looked at all of us with an expression that clearly read, "I'm ready to go hiking again. Get off your lazy asses and take me for another hike, or you're gonna have to scratch my booty for the rest of the night." I think it goes without saying that my tired, sore, out of shape ass decided to spend the evening giving him booty scritches rather than risking my already weak legs on a nighttime hike.
We spent the rest of 2018 still living in Irvington, until the very end of the year when our lease ended and we got a house in Fountain Square with our roommate Cedric and his boy Rambo who had been living with us for a few months. The house was old, beat up (though certainly not the worst house in Fountain Square at that time), but it had a lot of charm to it. For me, I was excited about having a dishwasher AND a washer and dryer, but Éomer was more excited about having a yard for the first time. It was big enough and long enough that we could get a full throw of a ball for him, and watching him tear off through the patchy grass to bring it back still brings me joy when I think about it.
2018 was a good year. There were changes, some uncomfortable times (especially for me), but through it all I had Éomer. There was never a day where I wasn't thankful to have him. And in those days we were so active, always on the move, always doing something, ready for any adventure that popped up on the horizon. We didn't have much (truthfully we never really have) but we had each other. At the end of the day, that's all that mattered to me. I think, or rather I know, that of everything I have ever experienced, every challenge, every struggle, I could have made it through as long as I had him. His love kept me grounded, his life kept me focused, and being his mother kept me sane through even the darkest times.
2019
2019 was the true start of Éomer's heyday of physical activity. He was in the prime of his youth, about four and a half when we moved in the previous fall, and now that he had a yard he was constantly on the move. We would spend hours on the back porch together, sometimes throwing the ball until my arm gave out, sometimes chasing each other up and down the steps and around the yard, and sometimes just reading and taking in a cool breeze. The house itself was nothing to write home about, but the yard alone made it worth it. Watching him sprint back and forth, his tail whipping around, with a shit-eating grin on his face was priceless (just see the top left picture on this page for reference).
I'm beyond thankful that for this time in his life we had a yard, as later in his life we would return to living in apartments and condos. But for four years we got to enjoy the benefit of a yard to run, play, wrestle, and explore in. From the age of four and a half to eight and a half, during his most active years, he never had to go far to get some exercise. Though, I will admit, due to roommates and one time his uncle Gabe, he did escape the yard more than once and go on lengthy adventures through Fountain Square for hours on end. He was always a runner and a bit of an escape artist, especially in his younger days. Not because he wanted to not be where he was, but because he genuinely loved to explore. Every time he ran off, he always came back on his own. He just wanted to see what was out there was all! He wanted to meet new people, kill a small animal or two if he could get them, shit and piss in yards that looked and smelled different, and once he had done all that he would be right back home.