We lived next door to a family who was into showing German Shepherds. In those days, breed was about all there was, at least as far as we knew.
The neighbors bought a nice bitch and bred her, producing a good litter of pups, one of which was a long coat.
My youngest daughter tried to bring this pup home in a shopping bag, so I bought, as an adult, my first pure bred dog for $50.
We named her Mary's Muffin and that she was.
She had huge feet so we realized she was going to be big. Really big. I knew a big dog who was out of control would not work, so I bought a book, the only one available in the Walden's book store.
I read it and wondered about trainers in particular and this one in specific. I was not about to do those things to my dog. However, there were a few things that made sense, one being consistency and the other the need to reward the dog where you wanted it to be.
So, stupid and inexperienced with training, I trained Muffin, who proved to me, once again, that dogs are more intelligent then humans. In 6 weeks she was good off lead. I could take her anywhere and she would stay with me.
And she grew to stand 6' tall on her back feet. Well over 24" at the withers.
Muffin had one hang up. Thunder and fire works.
In those days we didn't have air conditioning in our house so we build a 6' run for the dogs, with an insulated dog house. The dogs slept there on hot nights.
One night a storm moved in and we awoke to someone beating on our back door! It was Muffin. She had climbed the 6' fence and was trying to get in the back door by standing on her back feet and banging on the window with her paw. Or, perhaps, she was trying to wake us up!
Either way, the dogs stayed in at night after that.
During this time DH was working nights and often had to leave at 2 am. One winter morning I went back to bed after he left. Muffin was not allowed on the bed as she would lay against us and we would cook, even in the dead of winter.
That morning she managed to sneak up on the bed as I found out when she suddenly sprang into the window barking like a mad dog. I heard the sound of someone running.
When it became light, I went out and found foot prints under the bedroom window and tracks running away. She had sensed this person and ran them off.
This happened again the next summer, but this time she was outside and hit the fence. I have no doubt that the person trying to see into our bedroom was terrified.
We did report this and were told that the police were aware that someone was looking into windows. After this last occurrence, the person was never reported again....Wonder if Muffin had anything to do with that?
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Phase II
A few years after discovering that dogs are not the easily lead creatures that the photos indicate, I was on a school bus coming home from a visit to a museum. I was in the window seat and when the bus stopped at a light, saw a sight that left a mark embedded so deeply in my spirit that it would never leave.
Dogs. Lots of dogs. White with black and tan markings. Running. Playing. Standing on top of dog houses. Beautiful square build dogs with folded ears and short erect tails.
I caught my breath and my heart stood still. These were more then dogs. These creatures spoke to me on a level that was so different and deep that I could not think of anything else.
My mother tried to find a picture of the dogs I saw in books, but we couldn't locate one, so I was left loving a dream.
A dream that slowly faded into the background only to reappear many, many years later.
I moved in with my grandmother and Uncle and didn't have another dog until after my children were born.
This one was given to us as a wire fox terrier. It looked like a WFT, but had way too much black to be a pure bred, but in those days there were all kinds or "fox terriers" and not of them were pure bred.
Training was still unheard of in our area, so Lulu lived in a nice little house in the fenced yard. I, like my mother, had the good sense to know that animals should not run loose and that they needed vet care.
Lulu was a nice little dog.
By the time the next dog came into our lives, our attitude to back yard houses had changed.
I wanted the dog in the house with us. My DH did not. His mother's dog lived in the house, but, for some unknown reason, he was against it. Obviously he had not expected to hear that the dog was staying and he could go live in the back yard.
We really didn't need this dog, but my sister-in-law, who was special needs, wanted me to take one of the puppies from a litter born to a "fox terrier" that my mil had gotten from her mother. These dogs had the look of fox terriers, but were most likely rat terriers. They had their roots in dogs long used on the family farms to hunt rats and other vermin. I learned that some dogs were actually brought over from England and other countries by the farming people who emigrated to the US.
I told my sil that if she had a pup that was black, tan, and white, a female, and named Bowser, I would take one. She promptly produced a tiny black and tan fur ball with a tiny bit of white on her chest, with, even at the age of 8 weeks, with the nicest proportions and square build imaginable. I was stuck.
Bowser became one of the best dogs and a great teacher.
Bowser lived in the house and DH agreed that it was the best choice. She was too little to be in an outdoor situation and, I later learned, would have been insulted if asked to stay out more then a few house, unless it suited her purposes to do so.
Bowser was a terrier to the bone. Independent. Self-sufficient. Intelligent. Free thinking. A dog that needed a home where the people would accept her for what she was.
Bowser was, however, willing to work with you, on her terms. She liked adults and children equally and would walk at the end of a lead without pulling over much.
Bowser had one bad habit.
In those days spaying and neutering was not a common practice. So, one fine day she decided to reproduce. We had no clue as to what plans she had laid out to achieve this goal. She was about 4 or 5 years old and had never indicated any interest in any other dog, but there was a wiry terrier type somewhere in the neighborhood and he must have come to visit at some time because Bowser watched her chance and got out.
We hunted everywhere for her with no luck.
A few hours later she arrived back home and didn't leave again.
Sixty days later she produced 2 puppies. One was definitely of wire fox ancestry. The other looked more like Bowser.
We kept Mitzi, the wire type and I was talked into giving the other pup to some friends of our neighbors. A mistake. And, part of the reason I'll never make a good breeder.
I watched Bowser raise her pups. I was fascinated by the interaction between mother and baby. She taught them how to survive. How to hunt. How to play. How to defend themselves. And she met with frustration.
The little black pup would not fight back. This became a source of grave concern for Bowser and I watched her try many different methods in her attempt to get this little fur ball to react. Nothing worked. It was always belly up. One day as I watched, Bowser pinched the pup when it went over on it's back, then ran around the yard, stopping to sit on the hill, obviously totally frustrated, out of ideas and very worried. This gave me much to think about and chanced forever the way I looked at dogs and their intelligence.
We gave the black pup away on the condition that the dog be kept in a fenced yard when outside.
The people brought her back for a visit. I watched as they put her down in the grass of our yard. Bowser had not seen this pup for a month.
She jumped up from sunning herself, obviously recognizing the pup. The pup ran to her and promptly attacked! Bowser was so filled with joy that I could feel it. They ran around the yard and play fought for half and hour or more.
Bowser was satisfied. Her pup had learned to survive.
Dogs. Lots of dogs. White with black and tan markings. Running. Playing. Standing on top of dog houses. Beautiful square build dogs with folded ears and short erect tails.
I caught my breath and my heart stood still. These were more then dogs. These creatures spoke to me on a level that was so different and deep that I could not think of anything else.
My mother tried to find a picture of the dogs I saw in books, but we couldn't locate one, so I was left loving a dream.
A dream that slowly faded into the background only to reappear many, many years later.
I moved in with my grandmother and Uncle and didn't have another dog until after my children were born.
This one was given to us as a wire fox terrier. It looked like a WFT, but had way too much black to be a pure bred, but in those days there were all kinds or "fox terriers" and not of them were pure bred.
Training was still unheard of in our area, so Lulu lived in a nice little house in the fenced yard. I, like my mother, had the good sense to know that animals should not run loose and that they needed vet care.
Lulu was a nice little dog.
By the time the next dog came into our lives, our attitude to back yard houses had changed.
I wanted the dog in the house with us. My DH did not. His mother's dog lived in the house, but, for some unknown reason, he was against it. Obviously he had not expected to hear that the dog was staying and he could go live in the back yard.
We really didn't need this dog, but my sister-in-law, who was special needs, wanted me to take one of the puppies from a litter born to a "fox terrier" that my mil had gotten from her mother. These dogs had the look of fox terriers, but were most likely rat terriers. They had their roots in dogs long used on the family farms to hunt rats and other vermin. I learned that some dogs were actually brought over from England and other countries by the farming people who emigrated to the US.
I told my sil that if she had a pup that was black, tan, and white, a female, and named Bowser, I would take one. She promptly produced a tiny black and tan fur ball with a tiny bit of white on her chest, with, even at the age of 8 weeks, with the nicest proportions and square build imaginable. I was stuck.
Bowser became one of the best dogs and a great teacher.
Bowser lived in the house and DH agreed that it was the best choice. She was too little to be in an outdoor situation and, I later learned, would have been insulted if asked to stay out more then a few house, unless it suited her purposes to do so.
Bowser was a terrier to the bone. Independent. Self-sufficient. Intelligent. Free thinking. A dog that needed a home where the people would accept her for what she was.
Bowser was, however, willing to work with you, on her terms. She liked adults and children equally and would walk at the end of a lead without pulling over much.
Bowser had one bad habit.
In those days spaying and neutering was not a common practice. So, one fine day she decided to reproduce. We had no clue as to what plans she had laid out to achieve this goal. She was about 4 or 5 years old and had never indicated any interest in any other dog, but there was a wiry terrier type somewhere in the neighborhood and he must have come to visit at some time because Bowser watched her chance and got out.
We hunted everywhere for her with no luck.
A few hours later she arrived back home and didn't leave again.
Sixty days later she produced 2 puppies. One was definitely of wire fox ancestry. The other looked more like Bowser.
We kept Mitzi, the wire type and I was talked into giving the other pup to some friends of our neighbors. A mistake. And, part of the reason I'll never make a good breeder.
I watched Bowser raise her pups. I was fascinated by the interaction between mother and baby. She taught them how to survive. How to hunt. How to play. How to defend themselves. And she met with frustration.
The little black pup would not fight back. This became a source of grave concern for Bowser and I watched her try many different methods in her attempt to get this little fur ball to react. Nothing worked. It was always belly up. One day as I watched, Bowser pinched the pup when it went over on it's back, then ran around the yard, stopping to sit on the hill, obviously totally frustrated, out of ideas and very worried. This gave me much to think about and chanced forever the way I looked at dogs and their intelligence.
We gave the black pup away on the condition that the dog be kept in a fenced yard when outside.
The people brought her back for a visit. I watched as they put her down in the grass of our yard. Bowser had not seen this pup for a month.
She jumped up from sunning herself, obviously recognizing the pup. The pup ran to her and promptly attacked! Bowser was so filled with joy that I could feel it. They ran around the yard and play fought for half and hour or more.
Bowser was satisfied. Her pup had learned to survive.
In The Beginning....
It is debatable as to whether a dog lover is born or made. Personally, I think it goes far beyond either argument.
I don't remember not loving dogs. My first toy was a stuffed terrier-like dog. When the fur rubbed off, my mother and grandmother, neither having the first clue about the 2 year old they were dealing with, bought another one, took the original and put it in the trash. I started screaming and didn't stop until the new dog was gone and the old one rescued from the trash can. I still have that toy. Maybe not as stuffed, but I still have it in the attic.
The first live dog I had was named Duke. He was a collie mix and lived in a house in the back yard. He liked me and my mother and was reasonably well behaved, but food aggressive.
In those days there was little or no formal training of pet dogs in the area. Most were allowed to run loose, hence Duke's background. My mother did not think dogs or other animals should free run of the community so Duke was kept in our large fenced yard.
One day the neighbor boy was throwing stones at Duke. I was very upset and tried to make him leave. When he laughed and continued, I covered Duke with my body, being hit several times.
And Aunt who lived near by saw it and rather then stopping the boy accused me of holding Duke so the boy could throw stones at him. In an instant I learned that adults cannot be trusted to understand anything. That has stuck with me. They still don't.
Duke eventually was take away after a neighbor came in the yard and took his food. He promptly bit said neighbor. My mother would not chance another bite and the lack of trainers and animal behaviorists left only one avenue. I have not forgotten.
The next dog came several years later. Tinkerbell was to be a miniature dachshund. These were the days when the mini was in the process of being developed. She grew into a lovely red standard dachshund.
This dog's attitude and behavior was to shape things to come.
Trainers were still unheard of in our area, but I'd seen pictures of children walking their dogs happily
down a tree lined street, skipping along with the dog bouncing beside them on a loose lead.
We bought a lovely lead and collar for Tink and out the door we went. The dog promptly turned to me and said, "Ok, kid. The lead is mine and I'll take you where I want to go and you will like it or no walking." And so it went.
I don't remember not loving dogs. My first toy was a stuffed terrier-like dog. When the fur rubbed off, my mother and grandmother, neither having the first clue about the 2 year old they were dealing with, bought another one, took the original and put it in the trash. I started screaming and didn't stop until the new dog was gone and the old one rescued from the trash can. I still have that toy. Maybe not as stuffed, but I still have it in the attic.
The first live dog I had was named Duke. He was a collie mix and lived in a house in the back yard. He liked me and my mother and was reasonably well behaved, but food aggressive.
In those days there was little or no formal training of pet dogs in the area. Most were allowed to run loose, hence Duke's background. My mother did not think dogs or other animals should free run of the community so Duke was kept in our large fenced yard.
One day the neighbor boy was throwing stones at Duke. I was very upset and tried to make him leave. When he laughed and continued, I covered Duke with my body, being hit several times.
And Aunt who lived near by saw it and rather then stopping the boy accused me of holding Duke so the boy could throw stones at him. In an instant I learned that adults cannot be trusted to understand anything. That has stuck with me. They still don't.
Duke eventually was take away after a neighbor came in the yard and took his food. He promptly bit said neighbor. My mother would not chance another bite and the lack of trainers and animal behaviorists left only one avenue. I have not forgotten.
The next dog came several years later. Tinkerbell was to be a miniature dachshund. These were the days when the mini was in the process of being developed. She grew into a lovely red standard dachshund.
This dog's attitude and behavior was to shape things to come.
Trainers were still unheard of in our area, but I'd seen pictures of children walking their dogs happily
down a tree lined street, skipping along with the dog bouncing beside them on a loose lead.
We bought a lovely lead and collar for Tink and out the door we went. The dog promptly turned to me and said, "Ok, kid. The lead is mine and I'll take you where I want to go and you will like it or no walking." And so it went.
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