Tag Archives: lovedogs

Dangerousness, trust and Callie

Leave a reply

I drove 35 minutes to the animal control center to get Callie.  Getting a dog at an animal control center was a first for me since I usually met returned dogs and their relinquishing owners in a parking lot or their homes.  ‘Returned dogs’ are dogs returned to the rescue for one reason or another after they’ve been adopted.  As it turned out, Callie’s whole situation was a first for me.

Catching dog icon.

She was just over a year old, not old enough to cause all the chaos of the last month or so.  All I knew going in was that her owner said she was dangerous and animal control had used a catch pole at the veterinarian’s office to take her ‘into custody.’  A catch pole is used to catch potentially dangerous animals, often feral animals.  It consists of a pole with a loop on the end, which goes over the dog’s head and tightens around their neck.  Callie was a house dog, used to a leash.  I couldn’t imagine why anyone would need a catch pole to take a house dog out of a vet’s office. I was shocked when I heard this and Lucky Lab Rescue’s coordinator, Cindy, was aghast.  It was pretty unheard of. 

Because of her advance billing as a dangerous, out-of-control dog, I asked my son to come with me, in case I needed two sets of hands.  We brought only a leash, some treats and a couple of poop bags.  I was hoping we’d be okay.

The woman who’d adopted Callie six months before was mom to four children.  Her 11-year-old daughter was the oldest and considered Callie her best friend.  Her other children included a crawling baby and two in the middle, one of whom had autism.  I’m sure there were lots of kids going in all directions and it’s sometimes hard to monitor the dog-child interactions.  I get that. 

What the mom first told the vet was that the baby crawled to Callie while she was eating her kibble and Callie growled then snapped.  She waited till the next day to bring Callie into the vet for her scheduled vaccinations and by then the story had changed to a report of a vicious dog who bit a small child.  The mom wanted to never see the dog again.

So the vet called animal control.  They brought a catch pole.  They considered euthanizing her, but Cindy’s pleading forestalled that. The dog who’d been cuddling and playing with an 11-year-old girl was dragged by the neck to a concrete cage and had had no human touch from then on.  Since no skin was broken during the alleged bite, she didn’t have to be quarantined. On the drive, I wondered what I would find.

Dangerous Dog Act 1991

After we arrived, the animal control officer (ACO) said Callie had been isolated for two days.  They shoved her food and water in her kennel but never interacted with her.  The sign on the door of her kennel read ‘Dangerous Dog.’  There was a Great Pyrenees dog, twice her size, in the next kennel with the same sign.  Great Pyrenees are wonderful dogs bred to guard.  The ACO told me that the dog’s family were told they were getting a Golden Retriever and when the Great Pyrenees guarded the family’s daughter from her playmate, they freaked out.  I wished I could take that dog home with me, too.

Callie was a 40-pound brown dog with floppy ears, probably a lab mix.  She was brown all over: nose, eyes, nails and fur.  She crouched in a corner and looked absolutely terrified and not dangerous at all.

I told the officer that I wanted to go in and put a leash on her so I could walk her to my car.  The officer said, “She’s dangerous.  She growls and she won’t let anyone near her.”  I thought, If I don’t offer her my trust, how can she give me hers?

My son told the ACO, “You don’t know my mom.”

I went in keeping my back to the wall, talking softly to her.  She stared at me, looked at the door, then came over, slinking low to the ground.  I waited to see what she’d do next.  She wedged herself between me and the wall with her eyes squeezed shut.

Callie when she first arrived

“What a good idea, Callie.  What a good girl,” I crooned to her.  I talked to her, sang to her and finally dropped the handle of the leash next to her. She nudged it with her nose. 

“Want to go for a ride?” I asked as I put the leash on her.

I told the officer that she was ready to leave with me.  “We can lend you a crate,” he offered.  “I don’t think she should be loose in the car.” 

“Thanks, but I think we’ll be okay.”  My son piped up, “If my mom says she’ll be okay, she will.”

We gathered her records and walked outside, where she promptly did her business.  She obviously knew what to do on a walk.  She jumped without hesitation into my car, ready to leave the animal control center in the rear-view mirror.  Her eyes were wide, she panted and only looked a mite less scared.  As I usually do with a new dog, I sang silly songs and talked to her.   It took most of the drive before she relaxed, just a little bit. My son turned around and offered her a treat several times.

When I got home, I made careful introductions to my own two dogs and another foster, but everyone was pretty nonchalant. The other dogs didn’t consider her even a little bit menacing and I trusted their judgement.  I watched them greet each other in the way dogs do as I read her records, looking for a clue as to how a happy young dog who’d belonged to a family ended up being considered dangerous.

People can look at a dog and make a snap judgement.  To the 11-year-old daughter, Callie was a loving best friend.  To the animal control officer, she was a dangerous dog.  Right now, I was seeing tail wags and getting kisses.  We’d see where we went from here.  It was a matter of trust.

Two dogs, two loves, one family

1 Reply

When Teddy walked off the rescue van and into my life, I thought that having just one dog was perfect.  He had been billed as a dog who was happy to be an only dog, happy to be someone’s one and only.  That suited me too.  His warm, intelligent brown eyes watched my every move with approval, he loved our walks together and just hanging out.  He would put his head in my lap when I sat down and lean against me when I stood.  He was the perfect combination of polite but devoted.

One dog, one person.  Exactly the right number.

Teddy leans into Chelsea. Guess who has his toy?

A few months later, I was back on Lucky Lab Rescue’s site.  It wouldn’t hurt to look, I reasoned, just to read about other dogs looking for homes.  Then I saw Chelsea, a beautiful golden girl with a pink nose.  I quickly shut my laptop closed and said no way. 

The next day I went back on the site and I did it again the day after that.  I clicked on the link and a few clicks later; I had agreed to adopt her.  What was my happy-to-be-an-only dog going to do now?

Chelsea was an impulse adoption. That’s pretty unusual for me.  I usually approach decisions by weighing the pros and cons and thinking, not feeling my way to a decision.  I was immediately torn.  On the one hand, this decision felt right, almost as if I was nudged toward it.  On the other hand, I worried this was a bad idea for Teddy.  In fact, I worried until the day we went to pick her up.

I was a fool to worry.

Chelsea walked off the rescue’s transport van – no, scratch that.  She pranced and sashayed off the van in a way that I would come to realize was all her.  When she met Teddy, her grin got wider.  I got a home with another dog in it, she seemed to say. 

She was certain that two dogs, one person was the perfect combination.

Something remarkable happened to Teddy.  He was immediately smitten.  His polite aloofness melted away.  Something I didn’t know was missing for him had appeared in his life. 

When we got home and Chelsea walked into our house, she acted like a happy, giggly princess surveying her realm.  She walked from room to room, noticing where the sofa was (so she could take a nap on it later), finding the dog water bowl and taking a few laps and last, nosing among Teddy’s dog toys and selecting one for herself.  Teddy followed her, eyes shining with pleasure. 

She sweetly, confidently and joyously took over.  She insisted on walking through doors first, she pushed in front of Teddy for treats and praise.  He didn’t mind one bit.  She took the warmest spot in the sun or the comfy one on the sofa.  He was pleased for her.  She pushed her head in my lap to be petted first, sometimes making him wait. He just grinned. 

Teddy and Chelsea – 2 dogs, 1 person

Remarkably, his anxiety also disappeared.  It wasn’t just that Chelsea was there when I went to work, he simply felt more secure as part of a mini-pack and trusted in her confidence as much as she did.

Research shows that dogs feel love. Along the way, I learned that love and family meant somewhat different things to Teddy and Chelsea.  Teddy wanted to love and be loved back.  Chelsea wanted to share her love with multitudes.  When we went for a walk or to a gathering, she surged to each new person grinning, touching and often giving kisses.  Teddy nurtured his love for “his” handful of people (Chelsea included!), making it deeper each day. Chelsea expanded her love each moment and when it reached its edge, helped it expand even more.

Teddy yearned for a one-to-one bond and made it clear that I was his “person.” Chelsea wanted to be part of a family.  She loved everyone in “her” family equally and with outsized exuberance.  Teddy loved routine and order.  Chelsea simply loved fun.

Dogs come to teach us, I think. Chelsea changed how I thought about love. She was emotion in a dog’s body – joy, exuberance, happiness, curiosity, hope, humor, pleasure, enthusiasm, eagerness and of course, love. She was bursting with it, even smiling when she was asleep. She looked for ways to give it away, share it with you and bask in it.

Was this why I decided to click that adoption link based on my feelings, not my thinking?

Super-friendliness, intention and Gwen

Leave a reply

After I’d fostered just a couple of dogs, my own dogs thought that I was fostering for their benefit and happiness. Every dog so far was interesting, showed how much she or he liked the two of them and fit themselves into their pack as fast as possible. When they heard my car pull into the driveway one July afternoon with Gwen in the back seat, Teddy and Josie immediately thought she would make life better.  They turned out to be right.

I followed a set of steps to make sure first introductions went well.  First, the new dog, in this case Gwen, walked on a leash around my front yard.  Then I brought her into my fenced back yard, letting go of the leash so it trailed behind her.  She explored the yard for a few minutes on her own, sniffing the ground and air.  Stretching her legs from the car ride. Listening to my own two dogs, Teddy and Josie, whine and yip in impatience to come out and meet her.

When I opened the back sliding door, they rushed out.  Gwen did something unexpected.  She half jumped in the air, then made a perfect play bow.  She had not one hesitating moment.  There was no slow-warming up period.  She greeted both of them as immediate friends.  I thought, ‘Her bio said she was dog friendly.  That’s sure an understatement!” 

Gwen had a kind of magical attitude.  She expected other dogs to like her and she expected to like them.  It worked like the charm – her charm – that it was. In her doggy way, Gwen set intentions.  Many dogs are friendly or enjoy what comes their way.  But they can be alert for little red flags. 

Not Gwen when it came to friendships with other dogs.  She’d approach with something more than confidence, more than openness.  She simply knew the other dog would like her and she was never wrong.  Not that first day, not at the dog park or meeting other dogs on walks.

She was simply terrible on a leash.  She never pulled but couldn’t seem to get the hang of walking in a straight line.  She’d weave to my left side then zoom to my right.  I’d coax her to my left side, giving her  a treat when she stayed in the dog-space.  She’d look at me and I’d be sure she was making progress.  Then something – often I would have no idea what – would interest her on my right and she’d sashay in that direction.  She never pulled hard.  She simply couldn’t get the hang of walking in a straight line.

When we’d walk by another dog on a walk, her meandering seemed to have a purpose.  Gwen would drift over in their direction, grinning her sweetest smile.  Most dogs would beam their smiles back.  For the occasional dog who had a tepid response, Gwen would turn up her friendliness wattage and win them over.  They’d grin back after a second or two.  Worked every time. 

It was Gwen’s world, the one where she loved other dogs and they loved her back. Her magic, her intentions, ruled without fail.

Boundless energy, routine and Maude

Leave a reply

Maude came off the transport and never stopped moving.  At least that’s what I heard.  Another foster parent picked her up and kept her for a few hours until I could retrieve her.  When I went to get her, there were four dogs in the yard, her own two and two more waiting to be fostered.  I looked them over carefully, trying to see who matched Maude’s online picture.  “Which one is she?” I asked.  Once I was told, “She’s the one in nonstop motion,” it was a no-brainer to pick her out of the melee, er, pack.

On the walk to my car, everything was exciting to Maude.  She yanked the leash toward a butterfly, froze to listen to a car engine nearby and zigzagged so much she covered three times the distance we would have if she’d walked in a straight line. She sniffed out every cranny in my car, even finding a dried up dog treat.  She bounded from window to window, never staying next to one for long.

Inside my house, Maude zoomed from one spot to the next.  She put shoes, pillows, throws, paper bags, the corner of the dog bed and toilet paper in her mouth.  When she was told “no,” she would let me take the item but immediately zoomed off to try out something else.  She found the dog toy box and emptied the toys all over the house, splashed the dog water around before drinking it and then play-barked at my dogs a few times.  Anything that came into her mind to do, she tried it out. 

I pulled out the description I had received of Maude.  Medium energy, uh no.  Loves other dogs, yes, when she stops long enough, she does.  Needs a little help to get to her forever home? Yep, Maude needed to slow down long enough to learn the basics.  It also said she was easy to love and that one was very, very true.

My own two dogs, Teddy and Josie, simply love routine and basic rules.  In the morning, breakfast always comes after a trip outdoors.  Dinner time is pretty close to 6 pm and there’s a dog biscuit just before bedtime.  They wait patiently while the kibble plinks into the bowl and sit quietly before their treats.  It’s okay to bark (a little) at the postal carrier but not the children walking by.  Dog toys can be tossed around and shredded but never shoes.

Maude was new to routine and rules but watched closely the first few days.  She was smart and wanted to master the routine, not be led along by it.  Within a week, she was the first to tell me it was dinner time or time to get ready for bed.  “You are such a smarty tail,” I would tell her.  She would beam and wag her tail happily.  She quickly learned to leave shoes, slippers and pillows alone.  She began to love hearing “good girl” and shoved in front of the other dogs to be sure I saw her sit for treats.

Most dogs understand – far better than people do – that life keeps happening even when we’d like it to slow down or stop for a while.  We have a few choices: we can try to control everything, accept what comes to us or move ourselves to a place where we are in the flow.  Maude chose none of these.  She plunged headlong into every new moment, bringing her boundless energy with her.  But she learned to find pleasure in the structure of a routine that shapes the day and that following rules can bring praise, ear scratching and treats.

Someone else fell in love with that online picture of Maude.  I brought her to the young couple’s house to meet them.  She zoomed around in her trademark fashion, but sat when asked and wagged happily at hearing “good girl.”  While I talked about her smarts and her good manners, Maude lay down and waited patiently.  “Balance is everything,” I thought to myself. “And Maude knows it.”