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    It’s Only Natural (Part 3)


    2010 - 02.25

    So what’s the number one reason animals end up abandoned, neglected, or ‘put down’?

    Lack of training.

    No joke.

    Animals are intelligent.  Depending on who you ask, the amount of intellect attributed to different species varies, but it’s generally accepted that domesticated animals classified as “pets” can be taught basic rules for behavior.  And yet, so few of us take the time to teach these basic rules–and then punish our pets for not behaving as we’d like.  The more “responsible” people drop their ‘bad’ dog or cat off at a shelter, consoling themselves with the belief that their pet will quickly find a new home.  61-77%* of animals left in shelters are euthanized, many because they pee on the rug, or chew furniture, or no longer looked as cute chewing shoes at 60 lbs. as they did when they were 7 lbs. 3 oz.  I realize that raising a puppy is hard work–I’ve done it (and boy, was it a learning experience!), but they are also living, breathing entities.  How then is it right to drop them off like a donation of used clothing?

    And then there are the extreme cases, the situations that are ultimately caused by human error, but for which the dog often pays with his life.  Last week there were reports of a pit bull attack in Nashville, TN, where the Hubby and I reside.  So many things were done wrong that could have prevented this!  A mother left her little girl alone with a strange dog—who had been moved from its home into a strange environment—already knowing the little girl thought nothing of getting “in the face” of the strange dog to give it kisses.  From the context of Dog, the pit bull was in a strange place, with strange people, and a smaller creature was challenging his space—is anyone really surprised he bit her?  Some people have pointed out that the girl is lucky the dog “missed” her throat—did anyone consider he wasn’t going for a kill, but simply using one of the few tools at his disposal to make the “stranger” back off?

    Neither the child nor the dog are at fault, in my opinion, but the dog is dead and the child is now severely scarred.  And anti-pit bull groups will use this as another example of why, as one person once wrote on Facebook, “(pitbulls) ARE NOT PETS. They should all be put down. Heck, I’m a vegetarian and a pacifist and I’ll sign up to pull the trigger on these beasts. Seriously. Wouldn’t flinch.”

    While dog attacks can be horrible, I try to remember what Bandit has taught me: I cannot define another species’ actions with my personal emotions.  We might see Bandit’s treatment of a spider or a dog’s attack of a stranger as malicious and mean, but *frightened* dogs are the most likely to bite.  And consider this: I was once given the argument that statistically Golden Retrievers don’t bite people with the frequency of pit bulls, and thus pit bulls are obviously more aggressive dogs.  Well, it’s true that pit bulls (and Rotties, and German Shepherds such as my Savvy) are more often used to guard properties because of their naturally protective instinct, so that might paint them as more “aggressive,” but also consider *what type of people seek out pit bulls.*  How often have you seen a Goldie lugging around a thick chain to strengthen its neck, receiving daily injections of steroids?  How frequently do you hear about a chihuahua fighting circle being disbanded?  If a creature is being trained as a weapon, is anyone surprised that it causes damage to a target?  But is the gun at fault for shooting people, or is it the person who bought, loaded, cocked, and aimed it responsible for the injuries caused?

    Caring for another creature can be a very rewarding experience: furry cuddles, a jogging buddy, a purring muse as you type out your blog post–these are all pluses that fill our selfish needs.  In return, our pets ask for little: he needs food, water, shelter, and a guide through this strange world of grinding machines, squealing hairless offspring, bright lights, slick floors, strangers that walk right into his private den and simply expect him to roll over and offer the tender flesh of his belly, trusting—against his instinct—that these strangers will not tear him open, because he trusts his Master.  He has no other protection, as our legal system gives him nearly no right to fight back against a human.

    The Master is the host and, as host, it is the pet owner’s supreme responsibility (not to mention honor, if you believe in the Stewardship given Man by a Higher Power) to protect and guide her guest.

    *The numbers vary, but all are well over the 50% mark.

    It’s Only Natural (Part 2)


    2010 - 02.22

    Prior to purchasing Savvy, I did a lot of research.  I’m not naturally a research-loving person, but I am obsessed with a firm believer in personal responsibility; since we wanted a large breed dog, sifting through the shelves of dog training, canine behavior, and animal psychology books was a must, in my very logical and long-term-consequences mind.

    Of course I watched Cesar Millan whisper to dogs, sat entranced by the wondrous Brit-speak of Victoria Stillwell, and generally came to the conclusion that my dog would not, *could* not, be a little fur person to me.  I adore Savvy, but—as Hubby will attest—”Mommy don’t play that” game with the dog.  She is always “dog” first and my beloved “Savvy” second.

    As with Bandit, when dealing with Savvy I can’t define her actions by my logic.  For one thing, dogs don’t experience “context” the way we do.  (For instance, if Hubby allows her to jump up and lick his face, Savvy would not understand why then it would be dangerous for her to jump on an older woman with shaky hips to lick her face; or, if we were to give Savvy an old shoe as a toy, she would be hard-pressed to understand the difference between the toy shoe and my designer boots because they are, after all, both shoes—what does a dog care for fashion?)

    But more informed/educated/experienced people than I *have* made a study of canine behavior and offer insight into the basic thought processes of our doggy friends, and so it is their teachings I pull from when I try to understand what my actions communicate to Savvy.  In many ways, I’m learning a new language in order to translate Human to Dog.  I can’t expect Savvy to learn every word of English (she can’t even understand context–god help her with our bastardized language).  As her owner–the person who *chose* to pick her out and haul her home–it is always my responsibility to act as her intermediary, her translator, as she navigates the world of a species not her own, one not of her choosing.  Having invited her in, I am her hostess, and I try to remember this in every circumstance.

    Which is why I don’t understand animal cruelty.

    If I invited a friend over, tied her out back, and simply left her there with little more than some muddy water for weeks on end. . . if I were to ignore her cries for food, her whimpers of pain as her metabolism slowly ate the flesh from her bones until she was little more than an animated skeleton. . . if I tried to explain to Mr. Police Officer that I was going to take my guest to a doctor, soon, maybe later this week. . . you see where I’m going here.

    Some cruelties aren’t so easily identified, and I’d argue that many more are often deemed harmless (I should probably point out here, to hopefully save offense, that the legal definition of “cruelty” doesn’t imply malice or intent.  ”Cruelty” simply means a harm was caused).  Allowing a dog to eat chocolate doughnuts, for instance, in quantities that would not quickly kill, is a type of cruelty because of the damage it does to the dog’s liver.  Unchecked obesity, too, causes harm to a dog’s joints and internal systems and is a sort of cruelty.  Yet even these examples are easier to understand and accept for many of us, because we can *see* the negative results of such behaviors with a simple trip to the vet’s office.

    So what’s the one cruelty most often overlooked by well-meaning owners and bad hosts alike?  What’s the number one reason so many of these wonderful creatures are abandoned and legislated against?

    The Miracle Of Poo


    2009 - 07.30

    Savvy is not a dainty doggy.  Her tail alone shames Godzilla, so when it comes to describing the destructive force that is the Savvy-copter, “giver of life” and “builder of homes” do not spring to mind.

    And yet she is–through the incredible power of her stinky poo.

    We live in a condo so our “backyard” is really a shared green.  Savvy loves chillin on the deck, but she loves lounging in the grass even more.  So I have one of those crazy reinforced steel cables that I attach to the indestructible pine pillars (after she bent the metal stake that was designed for up to 120pds of disgruntled doggie, I checked with the Homeowners Association to make sure the pine was truly indestructible for anything weighing less than an elephant) that enables her to roam around along the outside of our deck without risking her running off after a rabbit.  (As a note for my PETA friends, she is supervised while on the tether and the cable is less than 15′, which is no longer than a retractable lead).  She usually spends about 30-45 minutes browsing the lush blades of greenery, checking the rain gutter to make sure the chipmunk she terrified weeks ago has not returned, and just meditating the scent of pine needles strewn around the shrubs.  When she is sufficiently satisfied that all is well, she marks a few spots. . .and takes a monumental dump.

    I always pick up after Savvy. Always, always, ALWAYS.  But in instances like this it may be just a few minutes until I do because I’ll first take her off her tether so she can come back up on the porch and will sometimes let her in the house if she sits at the door because that means she’s hot and wants to go into her crate for a nap.  Savvy was hot and wanted a nap today, so her poo remained uncollected for several minutes while I took Savvy in, settled her down, and gave her an ice cube to nom before sleepy time.

    When I finally returned to the poop, a bright pink bag pulled up to my elbow like a surgeon’s glove, the targeted sample was already being collected.  Flies fled before I’d even crouched down to reach the brown lump, but those cowards weren’t a surprise.  The two wolf spiders, however, were.

    I’m not a fan of spiders.  They skitter right below ticks and just above crickets on my list of the top three most disgusting creepy crawlies.  Two within springing distance (they jump!  I swear!) gives me the heebie jeebies.  And yet I couldn’t pull away!  I just sat there and watched, holding my breath–partially because of the smell, but also because I didn’t want Spider Bob and Spider Edna to notice me.

    The flies quickly returned, greedily trying to lay a few more eggs.  A particularly fat one with shiny reddish eyes stuttered its way towards Spider Bob.  Poor fly didn’t even see it coming, and I didn’t really see Spider Bob going, which elicited a squeal and some brisk omg-get-it-off-me shivers, but Spider Bob was apparently happy with just one victim.  Spider Edna was still waiting patiently for her meal, but I had reached my limit of creepies for the day.  I blew a gust of breath in her general direction and she disappeared.

    Picking up such a pile of poo is a two-handed job, so I was forced to make myself vulnerable by sheathing both arms elbow-deep in the pink plastic.  The feat usually takes two passes, but I almost dropped the entire load when I got my second surprise of the day: a genuine dung beetle stared up at me from the stinking filth, his shiny carapace mottled by the processed remains of Savvy’s breakfast.  His mouthparts were circling furiously.  I think he was chewing.

    Ew.

    “Seriously?!”  I queried aloud.  Mr. Dookie Beetle seemed to shrug as he bent back to the sticky remnants.

    I poked him off with a stick and retrieved the last bites, er, bits.  Next time Savvy wants a nap, she’s gonna have to wait.  I can’t trust Mother Nature to leave off the poo.