My Idiot Dog - Out on Parole and on a Rampage

                                                                  Chapter II

rampage: v. to rush about in an angry, violent, or agitated fashion
                 n. angry or destructive behavior

 We left together, a man and a yellow dog.  Her mood improved greatly as the shelter doors closed behind us and like a prisoner on work release, she seemed to be happy just to be outside, away from her confines.  On this short walk, she looked like a normal, well-adjusted dog.  That's more like it girl.  It was hard to believe that only moments before she practically turned herself inside-out performing her patented "please don't beat me" maneuver. 

  I discovered that she possessed remarkable strength for a one year old, 40 lb dog.  As she darted about taking in the smells, I attempted a "heel" command - but I may as well have said "Dirka-Dirka".  She had only the most rudimentary of training, and I would have to remedy that. 

Getting her into the truck was easy.  Before the passenger door even stressed the hinges, she was in her seat following an effortless leap.  Wow, she can jump.  I closed the door behind her, and she quickly decided to cross over and take my seat.  How cute, she thinks she is going to drive.  

Idiot Dog in "play mode".  Looks normal, eh?

 I opened my door and informed her that she wasn't old enough to drive.  "Move over", I said.  She didn't move.  I attempted to gently nudge her back to the other side.  She didn't budge.  I pushed a little harder and she used Newton's third law to thwart my efforts.  She was determined to keep the driver's seat.  This would be the second time she demonstrated a unique talent.  Apparently, she has the ability to defy the laws of physics by tripling her own body weight, which allows her seemingly glue herself to any surface she chooses.

 I would have to crack this nut a different way, so I took her leash and with a quick "lets go", she happily dismounted the drivers seat and followed me around the truck, back to the passenger side.  Once again she bounded into her seat, but this time I secured the leash to the side-view mirror.  It worked, but when I got back around to my seat I discovered that she had the last laugh.  She had taken a leak, leaving me a nice warm, wet seat.  Nice work girl, you got me.  

 After an uneventful ride home, sitting on a towel, the family was waiting outside to meet our new addition.  She bounded out of the truck and headed straight for them.  When she got close, she lowered her body and belly crawled the final few yards.   She writhed around them slavishly, but in her over excited state, she did it very quickly.  The result was a hot mess of excitement, grovelling and urination.  Pathetic, was the only thought which came to mind.  I could tell that my wife and my other dog were thinking the same thing because they both looked up at me disappointingly and their expressions' said it all, of all the dogs you had to choose from...  On the bright side, a potential name popped into my head, we can call her Smeagol!  The resemblance in mannerisms was uncanny.  We will call her that for now, because truth be told, she is no idiot - she just behaves like one half the time.

Idiot Dog's bloodline.

  At that time we were living in navy housing, and I happened to be the Executive Officer of the base.  Part of my job was ensuring the 4,000 residents living on the base followed the rules, making it paramount that I set a good example.  While outside, dogs were to be on a leash, unless in the back yard or at the dog park.  Smeagol did not care for that rule, and escaped four times in two days.  She didn't even have the common courtesy to put on her leash.  

 With each escape came speculation as to how she did it, and we thought we had figured out each time.  As it turns out, I was correct about her jumping ability and at the current specs, there was no government back yard that could hold her.  She took every opportunity possible to explore the neighborhood.  We even tied her up, but she made quick work of the rope before clearing the fence and going about her business.  To make matters even more embarrassing, my own security force brought her back to me twice and I had to put myself on report! 

  Her ability to escape posed a problem the first time the entire family had to leave the house.  We couldn't leave her outside and we didn't know how she would react if we left her alone.  Bogey wanted nothing to do with her, because as far as he was concerned - she was a bad apple.  On the other hand, we would only be gone for an hour, so we thought she would be fine.  Not so much.

When we returned we were greeted by our two dogs.  As usual, Bogey greeted us with enthusiastic restraint, demonstrating his poise and well mannered temperament.  Smeagol on the other hand, cowered on the foyer tucking one of her front legs under her body while shaking uncontrollably.  

Bogey, world's best dog and Idiot Dog's nemesis

Guilty! was all I could think.  I gave the order, "Quick, check the rooms!"  We inspected them one by one:  Living room, no damage.  Dining room, good.  Kitchen, fine.  Jackson's room, messy, but nothing out of the ordinary.  Then I heard it.  "She killed my dolls!"  It was Katie, one of my twin 10 year old daughters and she was absolutely distraught.  "... and I don't think the American Girl Hospital will be able to fix them".  Then came the waterworks. 

I inspected the room.  Oh the humanity.  The carnage would have impressed Hannibal Lecter.  Smeagol had chewed through three $100 American Girl dolls, but she didn't just rip them up because the small pieces on the floor did not equal what was missing.  She actually minced and devoured the heads, limbs, clothes and accessories on each doll.  And by devoured, I mean that I would soon find the missing pieces in the back yard... once she finished digesting them.  My free $200 dog had increased her net worth by $300+ in one hour. 

They made the ultimate sacrifice.

 Smeagol cowered down the hall knowing full well what she had done.  I was mad, but I knew I had to restrain myself because she was so fragile.  I gave her a stern look and a deep growl to show my discontent and once again she pushed the limit by peeing all over the floor while doing her patented "whirling dervish". 



 The vote was 4 to 1 that she return to whence she came.  I however, suspended that sentence and decided to give her one more chance.  I always stick up for the underdog, and she was quite literally, THE underdog.  She wasn't going back to prison yet, but she was going into solitary confinement whenever we left the house.  I was off to Petsmart to buy a kennel.  Tack another $75 onto my free $500 dog. 

To be continued...

Next chapter:  Idiot Dog Gets a Name (and meets the neighbors.)

No dog is ever free.  Even if you get a dog for nothing, they require regular and unscheduled visits to the vet, which cost a bundle, and the food to feed them is always on the shopping list.  I go the extra mile though, and tack on the damage they do because I like to get the real cost of ownership.  However, chewed up toys and furniture are part of the whole "doggie ownership package".  Even well trained dogs cause damage, especially when they are young - but as long as you don't begrudge them this behavior, and take steps to correct it - they are worth every penny.  Heck, my $800 yellow lab, Liberty, chewed up a $1200 Persian rug making her my most expensive pet to date, but I'd give anything in the world to have her back.  (Another escape artist, she was hit and killed by a car during one of her outings.  Bogey is her half-brother.)     

I believe that our new dog had separation anxiety when we left the house.  That was when she would perform her daring escapes and do the most damage.  Perhaps she was uncertain if we would return and this put her on edge.  Additionally, our family and our home were all new and very different than what she was used to - and she does not do well with unfamiliar change.   

The dog kennel worked wonders, for her and for our own piece of mind, but we only needed it for a couple of months.  She finally got the idea, "they always come home and if I am good, I can roam around inside... and torment Bogey."   

Thank you very much for reading,  I would appreciate any constructive feedback or stories about your Idiot Dog.

Please feel free to share if you like the story thus far.  I hope to someday take Dave Barry's old job!

Grrr,

Robert "Mighty" Quinn






 

My Idiot Dog - The Aquisition

My only intent with this blog is to relate my opinion and my experience rescuing a dog who was "not kwite right", and to do it in such a manner as to evoke a laugh or two.  It is a compilation of true stories and lessons learned about the amazing feats of agility, stupidity, frustration, love, and the ongoing rehabilitation of "My Idiot Dog".  

I would like to blame (and thank) Sarah McLachlan for guilting me into adopting this one-of-a-kind dog.  I dedicate the "Idiot Dog" series to her.

                                                           Chapter I

Idiot (disambiguation) -  An idiot, dolt, or dullard is a mentally deficient person (or dog!), or someone (some dog!) who acts in a self-defeating or significantly counterproductive way.


There I was, lying on the couch not paying attention to the TV commercials when I heard it - the sound of a particularly beautiful female voice singing "In the Arms of an Angel".  The sad melody gently wafted through the living room with the promise to ensnare anyone in its path.  Oh No!  I realized what was happening and frantically searched for the remote, but it was too late... The images of neglected pets flashed across the screen and I became entranced as the pitiful propaganda worked it's black magic.  Resistance was futile.

When I awoke from the spell I found myself standing in a small, semi-sterile room.  I could make out numerous dogs barking from behind a door.  There was a short, portly man standing before me, asking a question.  I couldn't make what he was saying out so he repeated himself.  This time it was clear, he wanted me to give him $200.  "For what?"  I asked.  He began to answer, "well there were shots, we had her chipped and fixed..."  As he continued to give me a list what sounded like medical procedures, I looked down and noticed I was holding a leash.  At the end of this leash was a medium-sized, squirmy yellow dog, of a breed I could not make out, likely mixed.

Then it hit me.  A couple months prior our family had moved across the country.  Our black lab, Bogey, seemed to take it the hardest, missing his dog buddies back in Virginia who he played with on a regular basis.  There were few dogs he could play with at our new home so we talked about adopting him a "companion", perhaps a free dog from the shelter...  But that was just talk.  Then I remember the harpy's song earlier that day on TV and it all became clear.  I was "rescuing" a dog.
   
As I bent down to inspect my "free" $200 dog, she cowered on the floor, tucked one of her front legs completely under her body and began to chest-plow herself across the slick surface with pathetic short hops from her hind legs.  Grunting strange noises throughout this display and moving in no particular direction, she eventually reached some carpet, taking this to a whole new level that you have to picture in your head to fully appreciate.

Upon reaching the carpet, the increased drag of the material slowed her front end down, but gave her rear claws better traction, thus allowing them to almost catch up to her head.  With nowhere else to go, her backside was thrust high into the air as her legs continued their merciless propulsion.  To make matters worse, she still had one leg tucked under her body which caused severe lateral asymmetry.  This gave her a freakish ability to rotate about her own axis, and apparently she was unable or unwilling to stop.

I call it the "Whirling Dervish" and it can only described it as a self-propelled, perpetually rotating face plant.

I looked at the guy as she performed this maneuver for over a minute and informed him in a very matter-of-fact way, "This dog ain't fixed, she's broken".

She carries these around all day. 
We lose a lot of socks.

He assured me that she was sweet and just needed to get used to me, suggesting I try to pet her.  What the heck, I thought.  Besides, I had no choice but to stop her before she burned a hole in the carpet.   

As she was incapable of attaining any forward velocity in this absurd mode of travel, I was able to approach, kneel down and pet her.  She stopped moving, squinted her eyes and made a funny guttural sigh of relief.  After saying a few words to her in that high pitched voice we all use when talking to new dogs, she sat up, opened her eyes, and for a brief a moment, she looked like a semi-normal dog.  I guess her stupid pet trick worked because I felt sorry for her.  "I reckon she'll do", was all I said. 

As I wrote the man a check I could hear all my other choices barking in the other room and I had to ask myself, out of all those dogs, why the hell did I choose this one?  There must have been a reason.  I must have seen something in her...  I just had to figure out what that was.  Besides, if it didn't work out, the shelter had a liberal return policy.  For all intensive purposes, this meant that she was "out on parole."

To be continued...  

In the next chapter:  "My Idiot Dog - Out on Parole and Breaking All the Rules"

Observations & Lessons Learned:

Unlike this dog, mine can't write.

She actually did all those things and I honestly had my doubts.  However, she is not indicative of most dogs you can rescue from a shelter.  Most just need a loving home and $200 in bail money, I just happened to pick one that needs medication.

I have raised and trained a couple dogs in my time and they were all wonderfully behaved.  However, I got them when they were puppies, so they were integrated into the family and taught manners from an early age.  I have found that to be good at training a dog, it is best to understand pack mentality, positioning and behavior.  This is where many owners fail.  They think of their dogs as human, but the irony is that our dogs think of us as other dogs!  Why wouldn't they?  A family is a Pack.

This dog may have been the runt of her litter because ALL other dogs instantly try to dominate her, even tiny ones, but that still doesn't explain her excessive displays of submission.  (There are plenty of great runts out there.)  However, I can guarantee she was poorly treated by her previous owners and was probably greeted with a kick instead of a loving pat.  Consequently, I think she developed this premptive, uber-submissive maneuver with the hope that her "caretakers" would take pity on her.  I sure as hell did, because a sane person would have returned her right away.  But Hey!  I never mentioned anything about my sanity, that is between me and my therapist(s).   Let's just say that I was up for the challenge, with a plan to rehabilitate and transform her into a well (enough) adjusted member of our loving family.   I'll let you know how it turns out.

This is (was) my first "published" story and I would appreciate any constructive feedback, comments or stories about your Idiot Dog.  If you Do Not have something to write about, you can click on the link below and start your own blog!

FREE DOG (black magic, click with caution)


Thank you very much for reading.  Please feel free to share my story with others. 


Grrr,

Robert "Mighty" Quinn