Flawed dog

I call him this with nothing but love in my heart. You see, we have had this odd, particular dog in our lives for three years now and it has grown more and more apparent that he is not like most other dogs. We've noticed he struggles with communicating. He often gives mixed signals, growling while wagging his tail. We also noticed, and the woman at the dog rescue mentioned, that he didn't like his head to be touched. In fact, it became obvious that he preferred not to be touched at all. And don't even think about touching his feet. That contact will always be answered with growling and snarls. During the rainy season, we had to dry his feet off with a towel every time he came inside. He never got used to it. 

Late that first summer we had him, we signed up for dog training. The most research we did about the trainer was to read reviews from others who had gone to his classes. It didn't take long for me to realize that this was not the kind of obedience training either of us supported. For the first part of the first class, we learned how to 'pop a leash'. That's right, if Albie did something wrong while walking, we were shown how to jerk his leash sharply enough to 'pop' it. This was supposed to startle the dog more than hurt him. My hackles went up. Then the trainer told the students they were to purchase what he called 'throw chains'. These somewhat light-weight links (4 or 5 in length) were to be thrown at the dog when they did something in the house they weren't supposed to do. "Not at their head," he assured us. "Never throw it at their head. Aim for anywhere behind the shoulders." A low growl began at the back of my throat. Really?!? I should throw things at a dog who all ready has issues and whose trust I'm desperately trying to win?!? I still didn't say anything. Next, we learned to walk with our dogs. 'Don't forget to give that leash a pop when you see them doing something wrong!' As I walked with Albie next to the commandant 'trainer', Albie did what he so often did as a puppy, reached down to pick up a leaf to carry while he walked. It didn't have to be a leaf. A stick or pine cone worked just as well. He just wanted something he could carry with pride. The trainer told me I should have popped his leash for that behavior. Okay, that was just about all I could take. Why would I correct my dog for doing something that I found to be adorable? When Kevin and I got home, we both agreed we weren't comfortable with the things we learned or the objects we were supposed to use to curb Albie's bad behavior. I haven't mentioned the throw can, have I? If we found the chain wasn't getting the point across, we were told to use a can with 10 or so coins taped inside. If there was any doubt, it was eliminated the next day. Despite my reservations, I took Albie for a walk to practice as I was asked to do. After several 'pops', Albie grew very agitated. I reached down toward him and he bit at me. It wasn't hard, but it was obvious he was stressed out and did it as a reaction to said stress. I walked into the apartment, crying, and Kevin immediately knew we couldn't continue with this form of training. 
I began researching and found out it is called averse dog training. I also found several blogs written by people who had dogs similar in temperament as Albie who had come to the same realization, averse training does not work well with dogs who are borderline aggressive. I hated to admit it, but that was what he was. Having no real knowledge of what his early life was like, I began reading every book I could find on dog behavior. And I found quite a few really good ones. I learned that most studies say that taking a puppy from the litter should not happen before 12 weeks. Puppies learn a lot from both their mother and the litter about how to behave in certain circumstances. And they continue to do so well after eight weeks old. Studies also recommend waiting to spay or neuter your dog until they are closer to a year old. Dogs, depending upon the breed, aren't fully mature until atleast one year old and waiting can help with attitude. 
These studies actually helped me see a little better into what was going on in Albie's mind. As I said in an earlier post, he was found abandoned at a laundromat when he was no more than 6 weeks old. We have no idea how long he was there or what his life was like wherever he came from. What was obvious to us was that he wanted to trust us, but some fear lingered inside him that made it difficult; thereby, making his behavior erratic and sometimes unpredictable.
Probably one of the most fascinating things I learned was how dogs became domesticated. New research has shown that, though dogs did come from wolves, present-day wolves are very far removed from domesticated dogs. Scientists believe that a particular inclination had to be present within certain wolves 10,000 years ago for them to seek out humans for food, protection, and companionship. Most wolves at that time did not do this. This particular wolf bloodline then evolved into domesticated beings. 
I'd like to say that, after three long years, we have no problems; alas, I cannot. Albie still doesn't like his feet being touched or towels in general being used on him. Though he has learned to allow us to pet him, he sometimes still growls. The one thing that has changed for the better is I no longer think that my dog hates me. I don't blame myself or him for what is happening. I have worked really hard at earning his trust, as has my boyfriend, and we can honestly say Albie has come a long way toward being the good boy we know he wants to be.

If you are interested in reading about dog behavior, I strongly recommend the following books:
Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know by Alexandra Horowitz 
Dog Sense by John Bradshaw  
Through a Dog's Eyes by Jennifer Arnold 

He's a travelin' pup

Now that the question of his name was answered, it was on to the next concern. Would Albie be comfortable with leaving a home he has known for literally one night and travel across the state with two virtual strangers? With all his worldly possessions in tow (mind you, that only included a couple toys, a chewy and his crate), we were off on our first journey together. It was amazing. He absolutely loved being in the truck. We built a platform in the area behind the seats in the truck so he could look out of the back, but he decided the armrest between us was a perfect puppy perch. And that is where he spent most of the ride. We arrived at the house after dark and quickly got settled into our room. We set up the crate, wondering how he would do sleeping, not only in a strange room, but in a crate he'd only slept in once before. Albie was wonderful. We had no reason to worry at all. It was soon very obvious that he loves traveling. In fact, we have found that he is at his happiest when we are on the road. He loves being in a car. 

For four lovely days, we spent every moment together, enjoying the beautiful Sierra foothills. Albie did really well with all the people he met. He did great walking on a leash. We did find out he had kennel cough, which he must have got at the rescue. We fretted some over his persistent hacking, but he seemed quite healthy otherwise. Little did we know, this was just the beginning of many journeys to be made together. I would tell you more about that weekend, but I think pictures tell the story just as well.

Waiting to head out.

He was such a little thing.

Albie's first time in snow.

He's full of piss and vinegar, ok maybe just vinegar.

Waiting with his daddy. Yes, I'm mommy.

 

Canis Albicaulis Maculata

"Huh?" That's what Kevin decided should be his name. I know that we had to change it. No offense to the musician, but Kenny G just did not fit. He just didn't look like a saxophone player. Ok, what does that mean? Kevin said it was Latin for white, spotted dog. Kevin is a self-taught botanist whose memory is amazing when it comes to scientific names of numerous California native plants. I understood why he chose the name, but it's really not something that rolls off the tongue. I couldn't see either of us recalling him with that huge moniker. Still, I was fine with the name as long as we could find something we could call him in mixed company. Mac was one choice, but I pushed for Albie. I thought it fit his personality and there were nowhere near as many dogs with that name as there were with the name Mac. From that point on, he was known as Albie. One problem solved. 

Albie seemed to settle in pretty quickly to our home, but as soon as he felt comfortable we were packing up and hitting the road. It was important to have a nice, quiet evening the night before all the chaos began. We decided to relax and watch a movie, figuring he would sleep through it. Alas, little did we know our choice that evening would cause quite a bit of excitement for him. We settled in and started watching 'Up'. I won't go into movie review mode, suffice it to say the dogs near the end of the movie really got Albie worked up. With all the growling, snarling and barking, he was captivated and a little upset. We felt horrible. What awful parents we were! It hadn't been more than 48 hours and we were all ready traumatizing our little boy. Though he did make it to the end of the film, we have noticed he is easily attracted to things on the television, often rushing the screen in 'attack' mode. Great. It's never too early to scar a formidable mind.

 

"I think I've found the one"

Kevin pointed at his laptop. He'd been searching for a while. I wasn't even aware of how seriously he had been looking. It's not that I didn't have any input into this very important decision, but I knew that this had to be something Kevin initiated. And not because this dog would be his and not mine. The fact is this dog would be spending most of it's time with him, going to work with him nearly every day. And let's be honest, I was pretty easy to please. I just wanted a dog. Kevin showed me the picture from the website. There sat a small, white dog with a big, brown spot over one eye. He had that typical puppy pose with one front leg slightly bent as if he were dying to hand you his paw. (Nearly three years later my heart still melts when he busts that pose). "But he has a tail," I pointed out. Kevin was willing to overlook this tiny flaw. He said there was something in the look that puppy gave the camera. One thing was certain, he was a cute, fuzzy little thing. 
Kevin contacted the rescue where he was living and arranged to meet him. The day came and we made the hour drive, both of us anxious to see what this dog was like. I didn't want to set my expectations too high. This was the first dog Kevin had even called about. I found it difficult to think that the first one would be the one. 
The rescue was in a home in a quiet neighborhood. The woman who ran it specialized almost exclusively in cattle dogs. She introduced us to Kenny G, as he was known then. She explained how he had found his way to her. He had been found abandoned at a laundromat in Monument Valley, Utah, by a family from the Bay area. They were on vacation and decided to take him to a veterinarian to have him checked out. The vet told them that he was about six weeks old and seemed to be in good health. They decided to take him with them and his life on the road began. For two weeks, he rode around with them while they took in the sights. When they got home, they made the difficult decision to give him up. We don't know why they did, but we will be forever grateful for it. They found out about the cattle dog rescue and brought him to her. While she told us the story, Kenny G ran around on the deck and chewed on a bully stick. He was now 3 months old. She let us take him for a walk around the block to see how he was with us without her around. He walked well on a leash, though he seemed a little nervous. I remember he was startled by a fire hydrant that we walked past. It seemed that it was just something new he hadn't seen before, but he was brave enough and trusting in us all ready to get past that crazy thing. By the time we were ready to go, Kevin was writing a check as a deposit. The meeting happened on a Tuesday. By Thursday, she would be bringing him to our home to become a part of our family. But there were still a few questions. We were leaving Friday for a trip to the Sierra foothills. We were concerned about how he would do, after only being with us one day before heading out on the road for a four-day weekend. Would he be able to adjust to this upheaval with people he just met? And would we be able to handle this precocious pup? We were going to be staying with nearly a dozen people. How would he behave around that many strangers? And the biggest question of all....

what were we going to name him?

All kinds of changes going on

It took me only a few months to get settled in San Jose, but I immediately recognized a huge void. Dogs are welcome practically everywhere in this area, even the store I worked at. It was so difficult to see happy, wagging tails walking in the aisles and know that none of them were following me; however, I knew, just as I had known in Florida, that my lifestyle was just not conducive to the demands of a canine companion. For one thing, my roommate didn't like dogs, an opinion I have never understood. She claimed, and I've heard this from others, that they are stupid animals. Oh just you wait. I will easily disprove that belief in later entries. And I still spent too much time away from home, working nearly 40 hours a week.

Life went on and so did I. The years passed and I moved out on my own, but I still didn't think it was fair to ask such a devoted creature to wait for me to have the time for them. I knew that things would have to change in my life before that decision could be broached. Ironically, the one change I had not seen probable would be the one that made everything possible. I hadn't been in a relationship for a long time and had become comfortable and quite happy with being alone. I was secure in the belief that it was just me and would only be just me. Then Kevin came along and turned everything upside down. And I will be forever grateful for that. Our love is based on many things, one of the strongest being our mutual love of nature and the beasts that inhabit it. When we moved in together, he shared an open door relationship with a fuzzy, grey cat whose name was somewhat of a mystery. What we most often called him was Meowzebob, or more easily just Bob. Bob would come and go through a kitty door, often coming in at night when it was cold out. We would be watching tv and hear the welcoming flap as he walked through, voicing a pleasant feline answer to our hellos. Unfortunately, the life of a quasi-wild cat is a tough one and Bob had lived quite a long time before I came into his life. Not too long after Kevin welcomed me into his home, that wonderful flapping sound came to an end.

Kevin had a love for dogs as well, but was still getting over the loss of his best friend and companion, Springy. It wasn't too long before he started mentioning the idea of adding to our family. I was elated. Finally! There were certain criteria that Kevin had and I graciously deferred to his judgement. I wasn't too particular, finding nearly every dog one that I would love to love. We both agreed we wanted a rescue dog. Springy was a cattle dog mix and Kevin really loved his temperament and level of intelligence. That's right, naysayers, some dogs are quite smart and herding breeds are reputably some of the smartest dogs around. One more slightly odd (or so I thought) requirement for Kevin was a lack of tail. Springy didn't have one and Kevin grew to like the lack of accidents often caused by that appendage. Again, I didn't care. I just wanted a dog.

 After an extensive search of several different rescues, he came across a picture that just tugged at his heart. "I think I've found the one."

Move West, Young Woman

After Gizmo’s death, things grew increasingly colder in my relationship. I hate to think he and Tiki were the only things holding us together, but when she passed away a little while after, I knew it was true. Looking back with completely open eyes, I know our time together would not have lasted as long if we didn’t have those two, sweet souls living with us. I know Gizmo’s death hit him hard. I had to convince him that it was time to let go when we did. I loved that sweet, old pooch so much, but I couldn’t bear to see him waste away anymore and I finally put my foot down and demanded that we help him leave this life with dignity. Euthanasia is never an easy choice; however, watching your devoted pet, who will try to last as long as they can only for you, lose their abilities and slowly become a shell of the noble and wonderful being they once were is selfish, in my opinion. My boyfriend didn’t believe in ending a pet’s life and I had to convince him that he was only thinking of himself and not of what was best for Gizmo. I think he resented me for doing that, yet I also think he knew I was right. At eighteen, Gizmo would never regain the energy or vitality he once had. It was time to let go. And it was time for me to move on.

Not knowing what I would do next, I made a difficult decision and moved back to Michigan and in with my mother. And again, my life was surrounded by furry friends. My mother had two American Eskimos, Puffin & Kita. Fluffy, white balls of bark, they may have looked alike, but they had two very distinct personalities. Puffin, though smaller than Kita, was top dog. That’s not to say Kita was a pushover by any means, but when it came down to it she would defer to what Puffin wished. It was always fun to watch those two race around the house and out into the back yard.

After nearly a year and a half, my wanderlust kicked in and I felt I needed to do the one thing I had dreamed of doing for over three decades, move to California. I packed everything I could into my two-door Honda Civic and drove cross-country, keeping myself entertained and awake by singing songs from Hair and Jesus Christ Superstar at the top of my lungs. It wasn’t completely smooth sailing. At one point, as I drove across the vast wasteland (aka The Big Basin) of Northern Nevada, I began to cry and couldn’t stop for miles. It could have been the long stretch of endless highway in front of me, but I like to think it’s because I didn’t have the comfort of the canine variety sitting in the seat next to me. For that pleasure was still several years away.

 

My life goes lacking

When I was twenty, I left everything I knew and moved to Florida. With only a few suitcases in hand, I struck out on my own, finding a home, a job, and a car within a month. My life became a struggle, often working long hours just to make ends meet. I always knew I wanted to get another dog, but I also knew the life I lived wasn't one that would be good for one so devoted to my every move. Instead, I found a wonderful cat to help fill my wanting heart. Cats, though needy, thrive well for hours on their own. And Dingo was quite a character. She didn't welcome me with a wagging tail, but she did seem very glad when I was at home.

For ten years, my life lacked that special love only given by a dog. Then everything suddenly changed. I had been seeing a man whose father had two dogs, Gizmo, a black miniature Poodle, and Tiki, a white "teacup" Poodle. (I use quotes because the poor little thing couldn't fit into the largest latte mug you could find.) I never really liked Gizmo because he was the canine version of a crotchety old man, always growling if I tried to pet him. Tiki, on the other hand, was the typical loving pooch. Tragically, my boyfriend's father died suddenly in his sleep. We went there to help the authorities enter the house and had to carry both dogs out to the car. They both had been barking hysterically inside, so I sat with them in my car while my boyfriend spoke with the police and EMTs. While we waited for the coroner to come, Tiki slowly calmed down and sat in my lap; however, Gizmo was inconsolable. He continued to bark and pace around the car. We had no choice but to take the dogs. As I said, I wasn't a big fan of Gizmo, yet I did everything I could to make both of them feel at home. It was obvious they had been traumatized by that night. 

Tiki was eight years old and Gizmo was ten when they moved in. It was obvious that he was losing his sight and I think that may have been one of the reasons why he tended to growl. He was reacting to things he couldn't see clearly. Almost immediately, he became completely attached to me and I quickly fell head over heels for him as well. If I was sitting on the couch, I had to take care when putting my feet on the floor, making sure I didn't step on him. If I went into the kitchen, even if I tried to sneak past him, he would quickly realize I had moved and find me. And he always went to bed when I did, crawling under the covers and falling asleep by my feet. He would slowly work his way up, placing his head next to mine on the pillow. Though he had stopped growling at me, if I tried to pet him when he was laying in bed with me, that familiar low, rumble would come out again. Don't bother that old man when he was trying to sleep. My boyfriend told me that when I took my annual trip home to visit family, Gizmo would never sleep in the bed. He said he wouldn't even sleep through the night, getting up frequently to look for me. 

Gizmo lived for almost eight years, passing away at the ripe old age of 18. By that time, he was completely blind and had lost all his hearing. He still had some sense of smell and was very aware if I got up and left him by the couch, though it did take a little longer for him to realize it and for him to find me. In the end, his body gave out, suffering from grand mal seizures. I was with him, alongside my boyfriend, as we sad goodbye. For all his moodiness, he was ma bookie, Huttese for 'my boy' (Yes, I am a Star Wars geek) and he will always have a huge part of my heart. He was my first 'difficult' dog. Little did I know he was a breeze.

My first love(s)

I have loved dogs all my life. My childhood was filled with several different four-legged friends. The first was an all-American mutt named Jiff. I don't remember much about him except that he had a second home he would run to every time he got loose. As soon as we noticed he was gone, we would call the nice old woman who lived there and warn her to keep an eye out for him. When he inevitably showed up, she would let us know. Our next dog was Maggie, a Golden Retriever bought for my oldest sister. She became one of my closest friends. I remember working with her on her obedience 'homework' and playing for hours in the snow. She had free rein to roam around our property and once she brought my sisters and I a gift, a tiny newborn rabbit, so young it didn't have any fur. She had tried to be gentle, but you could see in her eyes that she knew it was hurt. Those eyes pleaded with us to help; however, there was nothing we could do. She had an odd appetite that included barbie dolls, fiberglass insulation, and tulip bulbs. One Easter Sunday, she devoured the contents of both my sister's baskets, including the fake grass. She was a devoted and loving dog.

The next was Catie, a Scottie Terrier mix who was slightly aloof, but always loads of fun to chase around the yard. 

Then there was Kiska, the first dog officially known as my dog. The only dog we owned who had papers, her full name was Kamchatka's Princess Kiska. She was a beautiful silver color with one brown eye and one blue. She was the closest friend I had, lending a never-ending ear, listening to all my teenage angst and worries while we took long walks through the woods. When I started college, my mother moved from the country home where I grew up to a house in the city. Because I wasn't going to be around much and because my mother felt it wouldn't be fair to take her from a large yard to the small lot houses in town sit on, we made the difficult decision to find her a new family. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I know in my heart it was the best decision for her and I think we found a good home for her. 
A few years later, I moved over 1200 miles away to Florida and my life was void of the devotion only a dog can give. It would be ten years before that empty spot would be filled and it would be the first time my stereotypical view of dogs would be challenged.