Good Girl, Bad Dog

For years I considered myself a cat person. I love cats even though Pastor Jack refers to them as "demons in fur coats." But mostly, telling people I was a cat person, was code for, "No, I don’t want your dog in my face, on my lap, or up my crotch."

I had an aversion to dogs and didn’t want to mess with them. I particularly didn’t like little yappy dogs. That’s the dog once described by Dave Barry as "Yap-yap-the-neighbors-dog-that-makes-you-want-to-buy-an-Uzzi." Dave understands me. I’m one of those people so sensitive to repetitive sounds that I had to forego a career in espionage.

Oddly, in my younger days, I had a couple of dogs. Doberman Pinschers. Big, beautiful, black and tan, scary-looking, Dobermans, who liked to sleep on the sofa. Below, a picture of Caesar.

Cats are so much easier, less demanding, and they don’t bark . . . for hours. Dogs don’t like being left alone. Cats can pretty much do without us unless they’re in the mood. ‘Course they don’t frighten off intruders the way a glare from a Dobie can, but I was okay with that.

While living in the San Fernando Valley, George and I had neighbors who owned a wiener-dog. This young couple, like so many dog owners, presumably wanted a pet, but didn’t have the time to spend with it. They both worked, leaving the dog alone all day. If someone rang the doorbell, that sorry animal would dash from the patio, via the doggie door, run through the kitchen and living room to the front door and back again, over and over, for half an hour . . . barking the whole time in that cute, high pitched, nerve-jangling voice those dogs have.

Where IS that Uzzi?

My husband and I loved our condo in West Hills with it’s large windows and spacious patio. We’d cook outside and have a meal under the stars sometimes. Until the new neighbors moved in. Both--on either side--used their patios as toilets for their dogs. So, besides the noise and the smell, there were the flies. Big flies. Lots of ‘em.

Cat person, that’s me.

About seven years ago, George and I began watching The Dog Whisperer. For you newbies, that’s Cesar Millan, a very gifted animal psychologist. He says, "I rehabilitate dogs. I train people." www.cesarsway.com

Even though we had no dog, we enjoyed the program. We agreed with his approach (exercise and discipline before food) and thought it might work with kids, too. I learned a lot from Cesar and discovered that I didn’t dislike dogs so much as I did their owners. (It seems to me, a dog will do whatever its human allows.) People can be downright goofy with dogs, more permissive with them than with children, and overly solicitous.

I have a friend who has three big dogs. Mastifs, I think. When we meet for breakfast--at dog-friendly restaurants--she brings her dogs. Other friends can’t go out of town because their pup cannot be left with anyone. Another never has company because her animals bark at, jump on, and scratch all who enter her home.

In this last situation, I tried one of Cesar’s techniques and got the two obnoxious little dogs to stay in their beds and leave me alone. For 30 minutes anyway. Proved that, with a little effort, they could be trained/disciplined to behave.

I was kinda proud of myself. I think it helps if you’re not invested in the animals.

While taking my regular walk in my Redding neighborhood, I encountered a pesky dog that dashed out of its yard barking at me. Mind you, I wasn’t on his turf, just walking past. The next time I went by, out he came. I simply stopped, faced the dog dead on and waited. His barking abated, but didn’t stop. I took one step toward him. The animal gave a weak woof, then turned tail and disappeared.

BE the pack leader!

The best part about watching The Dog Whisperer, is that I rediscovered my love for dogs. I don’t cutchy-coo them or fawn all over them like some folks. Mostly, I appreciate them from a distance. Then, I ask permission to approach/pet. If I'm in the mood.

Two years ago, I thought I needed a dog. My grand daughter, Ashley, found a young female Doberman in the Portland area. Here’s the picture that captured my heart.

　
I named her Diva. She was maybe 1 ½ years old, about 50 lbs., and all legs. We had three short, happy months together that cost me over $3000. There were vet bills, including spaying, a fence to keep her from running off, and doctor bills from a fall on our first walk. Yep. First walk.

Nevertheless, I leaned a lot from having Diva. She was fun and smart, and I enjoyed working with her, brushing her, and walking her. (Except for that first time.) I learned to interpret her signals, especially the one for "I have to GO."

Like most dogs, she loved to run. One morning, she managed to get away and escaped into the forest on the edge of my property. I called her name over and over, searching for her, and worrying about what might happen to her. She was, after all, my responsibility. Exasperated and sad, I stopped calling and left the back of my one-acre yard, heading toward the house. I said aloud, "Lord, why doesn’t she come when I call?"

I heard God’s answer: "She’s just like you."

He was right, of course. I don’t always listen to Him, come when He calls.

I said, "I’m sorry, Lord. Please bring her back."

I felt something wet on my hand. Diva’s nose. I was so happy, I nearly cried. We’d only been together about a week, and I was so attached. She was just a pup, and we were finding our way together. She kept me company and looked out for me at a very lonely time in my life. I particularly enjoyed sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace with her beside me. Taking care of her was a lengthy lesson in patience, forgiveness, and mercy.

Yeah, Lord. Just like You with me.