Oil: The Pet Shop Angel

By Andrew Nickerson

Living with anxiety is a curse. 

I should know, since I’ve got Attention Deficit Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, diagnosed at ages 10 and 19, respectively. All my life, maintaining my focus has been problematic, and if something makes me nervous or tense, I can’t let go—the ultimate Catch-22. It slightly affected me in grade school, and even subsided when I went to high school, when I turned my inner concerns toward exercise and made a miraculous comeback…or so I thought. 

When I went to UMASS Lowell in autumn of 2003, I was anticipating a hefty workload and the potential of law school…but then the ground dropped from underneath me during finals. My OCD took on explosive fluctuations, all based on religious elements of a demonic tendency,  so much so I was often paralyzed, trying to ease the torments endlessly pinballing inside. I’d lie on the couch or awake in bed for hours, unable to do more than pray that God would kill me before I caved to these unceasing temptations. Talking to my parish priest, family, and even counselors did nothing; the latter kept saying I was schizophrenic and needed hospitalization. They put me on medications, most of which just made me sleepy, and even briefly committed me when my thoughts turned violent. Honestly, I thought I was in hell, but then it slowly improved after the summer of 2004, the worst of my life. A counselor finally diagnosed OCD, put me on the right meds, and helped alleviate my anxiety to where life was manageable…but I was still a wreck inside. 

My mom suggested I go on drives to unwind, most of which ended up at a little pet store at the Simon Mall in Salem, NH. The reason was simple: I’ve always had a subliminal connection with animals, and playing with the pups there was more cathartic than walking around feeling sorry for myself. I could spend literally hours in there, smiling at the loveable antics of the latest residents, even enduring the endless teething nips they’d give me as all in good fun. It’s fair to say I drove the staff nuts, since I’d just show up for no reason and never speak to them—the pups were all I cared about.

However, around mid-October, I showed up like always, only to find a new resident there, a kind I’d never seen before. About the size of a Lab pup, he had a fawn coat, streaks and smudges of gray/black on his back, and a black face/muzzle—quite unique to me. I remember meeting his gaze, and we just sort of stared at each other for about 20 seconds before I blurted out, “You look like you just stuck your head in a can of oil and it spilled down your back.” FYI: I tend to talk to animals in a normal tone of voice because I feel they can understand us as is. Oddly enough, the corners of his mouth curled up, like he was smiling, something I’d definitely never seen, but nothing could’ve prepared me for what happened next: I picked him up, and he put one paw on one shoulder, the other on my other shoulder, and leaned into me! I felt touched inside, even smiled, but quickly discounted any chance of meeting him again due to the store’s high turnover rate. 

It turned out I was wrong, since every time I came back, week in and week out, there he was, the same smile and hugs waiting just for me. He even learned my scent after a while, and would wag like crazy every time we met. I was curious about why no one adopted him, and then I got my answer when I overheard a patron talking to the staff: he was a Bull Mastiff, a fairly large breed. Even more curiously, the staff called him “Terminator”, which made no sense. That didn’t fly in my mind, so I decided to call him something else; the first remark I’d made when we met came to mind—hence, he became “Oil”.

As months passed, I told my family about Oil, and they even met him a few times, but by that point he was getting big and, since we already had a dog, they didn’t want another. I kept hoping someone would adopt him as Christmas approached, praying the little angel, rejected for what he was (another thing I could relate to since I was bullied in grade school), could find a loving home. He always had that happy grin waiting, and his loving nature took so much pressure off my shoulders I was functioning better after every meet…but then the Christmas season arrived. I was so convinced he’d be adopted I gave him a heartfelt goodbye, thanking him for all he’d done for me and wishing him the best. Ultimately, it was not to be, since I came back after Christmas, and he was still there, which I admit I both loved and was upset by—how could anyone not want such a gift from God in their lives?

About mid-January of 2005, I came back to find his space unoccupied. I was sad at first, but consoled myself with the thought that God had finally give him what everyone truly needs: a home. Afterward, I couldn’t go back to the store, knowing he wouldn’t be there, but I used the strength he gave me to push through college and onward. My anxiety still has epic highs and lows, but there’ll always be one light to look back on from that dark time: the pup who loved to smile, give hugs, and make sure there was always hope, even when I didn’t think anything worth hoping for existed.