Someone was spreading a suggestion, in the form of a...what are those things called? There must be a word for them: a visual post on facebook with a picture and a cause. This one was suggesting dog owners adopt the practice of securing a yellow ribbon on the leashes of challenged dog to let other people know the dog needs space. Having a dog that needs space, I liked the idea and shared the post, and below it I mentioned I have such a beast.
A friend responded, "I feel your pain."
I think the ribbon is a nice idea. I don't hold out much hope for it's success when something as simple as 'don't touch strange dogs' does not appear to be anything people learn.
But I haven't gotten to the pain stage yet. I've actually only had dogs for about two years now. (Two years exactly on the first of May, the day Nancy and I drove all the way to Indianapolis to rescue the thirty pound dog (who now weighs 52.4 pounds--he never weighed 30 except in the ad) who peed all over my leg and jumped out of the car half-way home. (I caught him. I used a toddler. Pure luck on my part.) I'm still just...baffled.
There were things I didn't know when we got Riley. The number one thing I didn't know:
When the description of the dog says, "is good/bad with kids" or "does/does not well do well with other dogs" these warnings have nothing to do with you as the potential home-giver. You're either going to take the dog or you're not: the warnings are to alert you to the 50,000 other people you and your dog will meet in his lifetime who are profoundly, inexcusably dog-stupid.
I was used to living with cats. When strangers came to my home half of my cats packed their napsacks and disappeared, half of my cats minus one came out to greets my guests and one came out to plot his revenge. You can't just walk up to a cat who would prefer you not do that.
Screw you, sayeth the cat, I'm outta here.
My first wake-up call was at Pride. We took Riley because we had a new dog, we didn't want to leave him home all day, we were proud of him, and a lot of people take their dogs to Pride. Nancy hissed, "Cheryl" and as I turned around a toddler grabbed my beloved yellow dog around the neck and slobbered him with a kiss.
His father was standing right there! He watched !
This is what I know about dogs. Children--particularly small children--get bitten in the face by their own dogs (not to mention mine) because they break the cardinal rule of dogs:
don't look me in the eye and don't get in my face.
As it happens, Riley loves children, particularly toddlers, and--although I have never tested this--I believe they could poke their fingers in his eyes, up his nose and down his throat and he would continue to wriggle with unabashed pleasure. He was clearly raised in a daycare facility. Somewhere around Indianapolis there is at least one and probably multiple growing babies who probably still miss their yellow dog. He clearly misses them.
Riley is less predictable around other dogs. He can behave very well. He really doesn't like to be restrained while meeting other dogs, and when he worries I'm not paying enough attention he will assume guardian role and try to growl the intruder away.
And I will be absolutely honest here: I will walk up to a stranger's dog and put my hand down. I am very tactile with animals. I also believe I can tell the difference between a dog that is pleased to meet me and one that has some reservations, and I know that if someone else's dog bites me, it's my own stupid fault. I also am much, much more likely to reach out and touch a mid-sized, long-haired wobbly dog than a.) a small dog, b.) a stiff dog, or c.) a large dog demonstrating anything less that sheer enthusiasm for our greeting. I'm an almost farm kid. There are things you learn along the way, not the least of which is, animals can be unpredictable and farm dogs are at the top of the list. His job is almost never to greet you and take you to the family safe.
I think Riley is a beautiful dog. When I take Annie and Riley somewhere with me, the dog everyone on the block responds to is Annie. They either love her or hate her on sight, and those people who love her want to touch her. I am not an expert on dog body language by any measure, but I would personally interpret her response as 'ambivalent'. If she were someone else's dog, I would never walk up to her and stick my hand out. I'm not even a dog person: but then, clearly neither are they. And there are people Annie is quite happy to greet. (They tend to be women. Older women rather than younger women. Go figure.) She is less sure of herself around children. She has never been aggressive toward any human being once she's seen them: she barks at Ilah's movement noises, but never at Ilah, she races to the door and barks and growls like the hound of the Baskervilles when guests come, but as soon as the door opens she's all wriggly waggly come in come in, I think they keep the silver's over here...
I watch her more carefully around people than I do Riley. I never take Riley entirely for granted. I believe, rightly or wrongly, that the difference between Annie and Riley is a matter of trust: Riley trusts that I will never put him in a threatening position, and Annie isn't entirely sure of me yet. Nonetheless, that requires that I will always be paying enough attention to keep everyone involved safe.
I could be wrong, too. I took Riley for his annual physical yesterday and they took a blood sample. It turns out he has veins like mine--they roll around and avoid needles. So at one point the vet tech is hugging him, the vet is stabbing him in the leg with a needle and Riley is slamming me in the leg with his tail. Look, Cheryl, they love me--everybody here loves me ouch they do Cheryl, really
His vet--the vet who owns the practice, is at least my age and has met a lot of dogs in his life, gave Riley the ultimate compliment. He said, "This is a really nice dog."
Annie is smarter than he is, she runs circles around him in both energy and charm and she is a happy, cheerful little dog. Yesterday she took it upon herself to school a Newfoundland. (In Hadley June's eyes, Annie is slightly bigger than a chihuahua. She was not impressed.)
We're still working on "nice".
ps--I should clarify something that was not clear in my last post. Annie is not aggressive toward Ilah in any way. Neither Nancy nor I would tolerate that. She has never barked at Ilah. She barks at noises from Ilah's room when Ilah herself can't be seen. She also barks at wind shifts and unpleasant smells that attack our sidewalks, people who walk up to our door (but never the people once they come in.) She likes Ilah. She has no problem with Ilah's walker. She worries about the noises the metal sculpture makes when Ilah's door closes.
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