When There Are No More Tomorrows

 Last January I blogged about our recently adopted dog, Dirk, and that we had brought him into the household as an emotional bulwark against the impending loss of my other dog, Scout. Now it finally happened. Scout has left us. I won't share stories about him because we all have similar memories about the departure of our beloved pets. However, I will admit that I miss Scout more than I miss most people.

I'll use this opportunity as a springboard into a discussion on grief, not in how to deal with it, but in how grief affects, or doesn't affect, our story narratives. Considering the common theme here on Type M for Murder is writing about criminal homicide, and homicide is the death of a human being, what we don't dwell much on is the grief caused by that death. Understandable since our protagonists are often the ones responsible for solving the murder and they can't afford to dilute their focus in sifting through clues by bringing grief into their process. Cops, especially, deal with grief and tragedy using gallows humor. Trauma surgeons and nurses have to distance themselves from the heartbreak if they are to remain functional. 

In World War Two, a phenomenon in the US Army was the indifference shown to replacement troops, particularly in the infantry who suffered the most casualties. The veteran soldiers figured out that those new to the outfit wouldn't last more than a few days, and the grief in dealing with those fresh losses was too painful and demoralizing to bear. "Just tell me your last name. That's all I need to know about you for now."  It wasn't until a new soldier survived for a month before the old timers closed ranks around him. 

An author friend wrote of a similar situation among spouses of soldiers who were deployed overseas during the Global War on Terror. The strain of waiting for the horrible news about the death of a loved one was too much of a burden to harbor day in and day out. So the wives shut down, numbing themselves, smothering their emotions: both happiness and sorrow. When the husbands returned home midway during their tour, randy and ready to party, to their surprise, the wives remained closed tight. It was too difficult of an emotional transition to let their defenses down, only to bring them back up in a few short days.

One police show that leans on grief as a story trope is Monk. Already since childhood, the detective Adrian Monk was burdened with phobias, and the murder of his wife Trudy drags him deep into an existence defined by obsessive-compulsive disorders and sorrow. His quest to find Trudy's killer is driven equally by the search for justice and as a means to deal with his grief.

 

My New Dog - Seven Years in a Cage

 My dog Scout, a fourteen-year-old Shiba Inu, seemed as though he was getting close to the end. Severe bronchitis, treated with steroids that caused digestive issues while stoking his appetite, made him gain a lot of weight, which aggravated his arthritic hips. Poor guy could barely walk in between his coughing fits. The impending grief of losing such a dear companion prompted my girlfriend to look for a second dog. She wanted another Shiba Inu, which she found through a dog rescue agency. Shibas are amazing dogs and it made me wonder who would get such a creature and then put it up for adoption? Or to any dog, actually.

 

So we found our new pooch, a cream Shiba Inu with the very un-dog name of Dirk. Though fully grown and physically healthy looking, he's got significant developmental issues. Easily frightened, any loud noise or sudden movement will make him shy away. Being outside really spooks him. Going for walks, which dogs should love, is a challenge.

He's the product of a puppy mill and the neglect he suffered makes me tear up thinking about it. He was kept caged for seven years, and once separated from his mother, never had a chance to play with others, in effect, learn how to be a dog. What he wanted was affection and no one gave it to him. 

We've had Dirk now for almost a month. In his youth, Scout was fiercely territorial, and he's mellowed some, enough for him and Dirk to get along. They haven't yet bonded but do pal around a bit, and we think that's why Scout's health has improved. Though he still can't jump, letting Dirk claim the sofa. 

What does this dog story have to do with Type M for Murder?

To show how childhood can indelibly affect your life.

I recently finished Truman Capote's masterpiece of crime nonfiction, In Cold Blood. He leads us through the details of a horrific mass-murder, which at the time, shocked the country. Sadly, since then, the body count of that slaughter has been eclipsed several times. The book laid out that what drove these perpetrators, like others who've committed similar heinous acts, didn't suddenly happen. The two killers were products of much childhood abuse, which they internalized and then expressed in acts of rising threats and violence until they were able to frame the murders as justified given their objective: getting rid of witnesses to cover up a robbery.

But such reactions to childhood trauma are not universal. I know people who reacted to abuse and domestic violence by going the other way, striving to be wholesome, sane, and kind. 

Not all crime stories need be dense examinations of human psychology but understanding human nature helps write more compelling villains...and heroes.

 

Scout and Dirk.