Sometimes you walk the dog, sometimes the dog walks you.
I took the dog we found to the Franklin County Dog Shelter this morning. I'm the bad guy, but sometimes one has to do difficult things. I frequently tell people that in love and life, the right solution is usually the most difficult one. I'll explain why this decision was made.
The mood of the family is decidedly saddened. Dad's the bad guy, of course, but that is part of the deal you implicitly sign when you become a dad. Notice, I use the term "dad" and not father. Being a 'father' is biological simplicity. Being a "dad" takes a whole lot more. Dads get to squish the really big spider in the basement. Dads get to deal with the various bird entrails that the cat wants to bring in. Dads get to fix garage doors, garbage disposals, plunge clogged toilets, and usually be the one to lay down the final law on any given situation. Please -- do not assume that I am minimizing the herculean task that is motherhood. Being a "mom" requires every bit the effort and committment that being a "dad" entails. Its focus is slightly different, but is no less rigorous.
Our current situation (3 dogs: small, medium, large) is a delicate balance that has been crafted and nurtured with great care. Dogs are a lot like small children in that they are attention-seeking and brashly forward. Their emotions are influenced greatly by seemingly small things, and can change. At the same time, they offer an unconditional love that humans can't or won't match. They care not if you are fat, thin, tall, short, etc. They look directly into your soul and make their decision. Of course, their love of food, water, and shelter influences the decision, but that is merely a side-effect of soul anyway. I like to say that a society is ultimately judged by the way it treats the weak and defenseless (children, elderly, animals, et al).
That said, all three of our dogs are rescue dogs. Our large dog was rescued by the dog warden, and then by a well-meaning soul who nursed him back to health before we adopted him. Our middle dog was rescued by a local vet (while on vacation in the south). Our small dog was abandoned, and literaly came running up to us in our front yard.
The large dog is one of the most gentle, well-meaning souls I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. Our small dog has adopted my wife and occasionally gets defensive, but is also a very cool little guy. Our middle dog is the one with the most issues, by far. His issues are with other dogs. While he was abandoned, he almost certainly had to fight for his food and drink. Although he is very friendly and good with people, cats, and kids, and probably wants to be friendly toward other dogs, some deap-seated psychological trauma causes him to revert to the 'wild mode.' What is worse is that somehow other canines pick up on this fact and almost always want to pick a fight with him. When we walk him, we have to carefully avoid other dog walkers and most especially loose dogs. These other dogs will be just fine with big and small, but medium will want to fight, and they will want to fight medium...
So it is in this context that we have developed our delicate balance. Our three dogs accept each other quite well and, perhaps most importantly, accept me as 'pack leader.' Big and Medium enjoy running around our yard together. Although they occasionally tussle, it is the 'right' kind of playing (paws down, butt in air, tail wagging, etc). Little dog offers no threat to either dog's status, so they accept him.
When "Thurman" wandered into the equation, I knew that we had a chore on our hands. Finding the owner of a lost dog is a non-trivial effort (and frequently fruitless). Finding a home for a lost dog is downright herculean. But more than that, where and how does one keep a "temporary" dog? I don't have kennels or yard partitions. I ended up partitioning the house as best I could. I knew the issue would be middle dog. Big and Small would not be a long-term problem. They might bark and sniff a little bit. They might even do a little vocalizing and send some dog-language non-verbals to each other as they learn their limits, etc. Middle dog would be the problem.
While middle dog accepted small dog in a matter of minutes, 2.5 days later, middle dog and temporary dog were still growling and barking. Their non-verbals were NOT good, and most importantly were not getting better. Various attempts to introduce temporary dog to Big and Small (one at a time) had gone well. Middle dog was forming up to be the issue, as expected. To make matters worse, temporary dog was become more 'at home' and more confident. (I had specifically worked to avoid too much bonding, but that is always easier said than done).
Last night, temporary dog ("Thurman") pushed his way past the barricade and into the kitchen, following my wife. The result was a dog fight in my kitchen between middle and temporary. Big did not get involved and was quickly moved to the back yard. My wife scooped up little (who was right in the middle of the melee, barking like crazy). My YoungerDaughter(tm) tried to separate them (which is always a bad idea) while I was removing big. When I came back in and saw this I told her to "get outta there right away!"
The only saving grace in the end was the linoleum flooring. Neither temp nor middle could really get any footing. I was able to snatch temporary by the collar during a lull in the action and toss him out the front door. We checked middle for injuries (none) and checked temp for injuries (none), so there was apparently more bark than bite. Nevertheless, it became immediately obvious that this situation could not continue. Middle had told us, in no uncertain terms, that he was not planning on *ever* accepting temp. This lead to one final, fruitless canvas of the neighborhood asking literally everybody we saw, "do you recognize this dog? do you possibly know to whom he might belong?" Not too surprisingly, the answer came back negative every time. After several hours of this and a barricade reinforcement, we returned to the previous status quo, awaiting some phone calls from other lines of inquiry we had out there.
However, things were different. Temporary's behavior and mannerisms were different, and the entire "energy" was out of whack. (I'm using energy for lack of a better term. Call it a sixth sense, intuition, or whatever you like, but things were just not right anymore). Temp's behavior to us was still very friendly, but I noticed subtle changes in his actions toward Little. Correspondingly, Little's reactions were most distinctly different, almost like he no longer felt comfortable with temp. Instead of tail-wagging playfulness, Little retreated upstairs and became defensive whenever temp climbed to the top of the steps and sat at the barricade (previously, they would play and sniff each other under the gate). Any number of other subtle expressions were noted, both from temp and our dogs. Things were not right.
Several more calls and discussions took place, including a conversation with my ever-wise mother. She told me, "you need to call the shelter and take him in. It is the logical thing to do." I replied with, "yes, I know. But logic doesn't have a wagging tail and a panting tongue. Logic is pretty flowers that smell bad." (yes, in the midst of crisis, I manage to break off an epic and properly applied Star Trek quote.) After some additional soul searching and observation, I decided to sleep downstairs and take care of things in the morning.
It was at this point, in the wee hours of the night, that the little voice inside my head said, "Do it now. Take him in now..." One thing I've learned is to listen to this little voice. It has never steered me wrong (although I have, on occasion, chosen to ignore the voice because it rarely counsels taking the easy way out). So it was that in the wee hours of the morning, I ventured down to the local shelter and left temp with the folks there.
They referred to him as a Lab/Bull Terrier mix (yeah, lab + pit bull), with his head and mannerisms coming from the lab side, and his leg shape and colors coming from the bull terrier side. This bodes well for him, as pit bull mixes, especially if the dog's disposition is good and the pit bull side isn't predominant (which appears to be the case here). The person at the shelter told me that the decision to put a dog into the adoption cycle are based on disposition, age, health, and breed, and that the decisions are on a case-by-case basis. (Ironically, the commissioner who oversees the local dog shelters has a bull terrier mix...) Of these criteria, he has many things going for him. His disposition is good, his health his good, his age is good (younger dogs get adopted more easily). Things working against him are his size and the fact that he surely has some pit bull blood. He'll need to be fixed (snip snip!!) before any adoption can take place, of course. Of course, there is still the possibility that he might be reuinted with the owner. All things considered, I think he stands a fairly good chance.
(This is getting long, so I'll post a follow on separately)
The mood of the family is decidedly saddened. Dad's the bad guy, of course, but that is part of the deal you implicitly sign when you become a dad. Notice, I use the term "dad" and not father. Being a 'father' is biological simplicity. Being a "dad" takes a whole lot more. Dads get to squish the really big spider in the basement. Dads get to deal with the various bird entrails that the cat wants to bring in. Dads get to fix garage doors, garbage disposals, plunge clogged toilets, and usually be the one to lay down the final law on any given situation. Please -- do not assume that I am minimizing the herculean task that is motherhood. Being a "mom" requires every bit the effort and committment that being a "dad" entails. Its focus is slightly different, but is no less rigorous.
Our current situation (3 dogs: small, medium, large) is a delicate balance that has been crafted and nurtured with great care. Dogs are a lot like small children in that they are attention-seeking and brashly forward. Their emotions are influenced greatly by seemingly small things, and can change. At the same time, they offer an unconditional love that humans can't or won't match. They care not if you are fat, thin, tall, short, etc. They look directly into your soul and make their decision. Of course, their love of food, water, and shelter influences the decision, but that is merely a side-effect of soul anyway. I like to say that a society is ultimately judged by the way it treats the weak and defenseless (children, elderly, animals, et al).
That said, all three of our dogs are rescue dogs. Our large dog was rescued by the dog warden, and then by a well-meaning soul who nursed him back to health before we adopted him. Our middle dog was rescued by a local vet (while on vacation in the south). Our small dog was abandoned, and literaly came running up to us in our front yard.
The large dog is one of the most gentle, well-meaning souls I have ever had the pleasure to encounter. Our small dog has adopted my wife and occasionally gets defensive, but is also a very cool little guy. Our middle dog is the one with the most issues, by far. His issues are with other dogs. While he was abandoned, he almost certainly had to fight for his food and drink. Although he is very friendly and good with people, cats, and kids, and probably wants to be friendly toward other dogs, some deap-seated psychological trauma causes him to revert to the 'wild mode.' What is worse is that somehow other canines pick up on this fact and almost always want to pick a fight with him. When we walk him, we have to carefully avoid other dog walkers and most especially loose dogs. These other dogs will be just fine with big and small, but medium will want to fight, and they will want to fight medium...
So it is in this context that we have developed our delicate balance. Our three dogs accept each other quite well and, perhaps most importantly, accept me as 'pack leader.' Big and Medium enjoy running around our yard together. Although they occasionally tussle, it is the 'right' kind of playing (paws down, butt in air, tail wagging, etc). Little dog offers no threat to either dog's status, so they accept him.
When "Thurman" wandered into the equation, I knew that we had a chore on our hands. Finding the owner of a lost dog is a non-trivial effort (and frequently fruitless). Finding a home for a lost dog is downright herculean. But more than that, where and how does one keep a "temporary" dog? I don't have kennels or yard partitions. I ended up partitioning the house as best I could. I knew the issue would be middle dog. Big and Small would not be a long-term problem. They might bark and sniff a little bit. They might even do a little vocalizing and send some dog-language non-verbals to each other as they learn their limits, etc. Middle dog would be the problem.
While middle dog accepted small dog in a matter of minutes, 2.5 days later, middle dog and temporary dog were still growling and barking. Their non-verbals were NOT good, and most importantly were not getting better. Various attempts to introduce temporary dog to Big and Small (one at a time) had gone well. Middle dog was forming up to be the issue, as expected. To make matters worse, temporary dog was become more 'at home' and more confident. (I had specifically worked to avoid too much bonding, but that is always easier said than done).
Last night, temporary dog ("Thurman") pushed his way past the barricade and into the kitchen, following my wife. The result was a dog fight in my kitchen between middle and temporary. Big did not get involved and was quickly moved to the back yard. My wife scooped up little (who was right in the middle of the melee, barking like crazy). My YoungerDaughter(tm) tried to separate them (which is always a bad idea) while I was removing big. When I came back in and saw this I told her to "get outta there right away!"
The only saving grace in the end was the linoleum flooring. Neither temp nor middle could really get any footing. I was able to snatch temporary by the collar during a lull in the action and toss him out the front door. We checked middle for injuries (none) and checked temp for injuries (none), so there was apparently more bark than bite. Nevertheless, it became immediately obvious that this situation could not continue. Middle had told us, in no uncertain terms, that he was not planning on *ever* accepting temp. This lead to one final, fruitless canvas of the neighborhood asking literally everybody we saw, "do you recognize this dog? do you possibly know to whom he might belong?" Not too surprisingly, the answer came back negative every time. After several hours of this and a barricade reinforcement, we returned to the previous status quo, awaiting some phone calls from other lines of inquiry we had out there.
However, things were different. Temporary's behavior and mannerisms were different, and the entire "energy" was out of whack. (I'm using energy for lack of a better term. Call it a sixth sense, intuition, or whatever you like, but things were just not right anymore). Temp's behavior to us was still very friendly, but I noticed subtle changes in his actions toward Little. Correspondingly, Little's reactions were most distinctly different, almost like he no longer felt comfortable with temp. Instead of tail-wagging playfulness, Little retreated upstairs and became defensive whenever temp climbed to the top of the steps and sat at the barricade (previously, they would play and sniff each other under the gate). Any number of other subtle expressions were noted, both from temp and our dogs. Things were not right.
Several more calls and discussions took place, including a conversation with my ever-wise mother. She told me, "you need to call the shelter and take him in. It is the logical thing to do." I replied with, "yes, I know. But logic doesn't have a wagging tail and a panting tongue. Logic is pretty flowers that smell bad." (yes, in the midst of crisis, I manage to break off an epic and properly applied Star Trek quote.) After some additional soul searching and observation, I decided to sleep downstairs and take care of things in the morning.
It was at this point, in the wee hours of the night, that the little voice inside my head said, "Do it now. Take him in now..." One thing I've learned is to listen to this little voice. It has never steered me wrong (although I have, on occasion, chosen to ignore the voice because it rarely counsels taking the easy way out). So it was that in the wee hours of the morning, I ventured down to the local shelter and left temp with the folks there.
They referred to him as a Lab/Bull Terrier mix (yeah, lab + pit bull), with his head and mannerisms coming from the lab side, and his leg shape and colors coming from the bull terrier side. This bodes well for him, as pit bull mixes, especially if the dog's disposition is good and the pit bull side isn't predominant (which appears to be the case here). The person at the shelter told me that the decision to put a dog into the adoption cycle are based on disposition, age, health, and breed, and that the decisions are on a case-by-case basis. (Ironically, the commissioner who oversees the local dog shelters has a bull terrier mix...) Of these criteria, he has many things going for him. His disposition is good, his health his good, his age is good (younger dogs get adopted more easily). Things working against him are his size and the fact that he surely has some pit bull blood. He'll need to be fixed (snip snip!!) before any adoption can take place, of course. Of course, there is still the possibility that he might be reuinted with the owner. All things considered, I think he stands a fairly good chance.
(This is getting long, so I'll post a follow on separately)