Teemings
The E-Zine of the Straight Dope Community

Learning How to Be a Good Dog

by Dogzilla

Recently I adopted a new dogzilla. Not a puppy, but a full grown dog, complete with his own sad sack story. In the few weeks we’ve had him at our house (me, the other dog and the two cats) I’ve been amazed at what this little guy has taught us all about how to be a good dog.

Hurshell – the new dog – spent the first five years of his life as the resident stud dog in a puppy mill. Can you imagine his miserable little doggy life? He was pent up in a cage, fed occasionally and all that was ever asked of him was a little bit of humping to make some puppies. (Which, evidently, he did very well, considering they kept him for breeding stock for five years. Maybe the humping part wasn’t so bad.) No people ever played with him. He had never been walked. He never had a belly rub. Never played with a squeaky toy. Never got a bath because he rolled in something dead out in the yard. Never chased a squirrel, or a butterfly… or the neighbor’s cat. He’s never been allowed to roam free in a house, or sleep on the humans’ bed with his own pillow. Poor guy. He had no idea how to be a dog at all.

One day a few months ago, a rescue organization went in there to confiscate, buy, borrow or steal all the dogs they could save. Hurshell and his crate mate Mandy, were among them. They are Boston Terrors – as in holy. Bostons are known for their rambunctiousness, tenacity, intelligence and unique friendly personalities. Hurshell has shown no shortage of any of these things.

As I watch him sleeping on my couch night after night, I think about what an overhwelming shock this must be for him. One day he was sick and nearly dying in his cage with his crate mate and the next day: in a foster home being stuffed full of medications, getting baths and good food. The foster home treated his mange and his heartworms, cleaned him and fattened him up and got him ready for adoption.

I read about Hurshell’s sad sack story on the internet and within a week, went to meet him. I knew the minute I laid eyes on him, I’d want to take him home. So, a few days later I did. And then I sat back to watch him learn how to be a good dog.

The first night must have been terrifying. He had only met me once before. But there I was a second time. He was shaking and probably more than a little nervous – he didn’t know he was going home. He only knew he was being taken somewhere else by someone new who hadn’t even fed him yet. He was an angel in the car, sheepishly creeping from the passenger seat, into my lap, as I drove home. Then I tossed him into the zoo.

When we got Hurshell to his new home, he met Tipzy first – his new big sister, a six-year-old Boston. I’ve had Tip around since she was seven months old. The difference in their behavior was striking. Tip knew all about squeaky toys and belly rubs. She bounced around him, sniffing and snorting (as Bostons tend to do), reminding me of that scene in Hook where all the kids toss toys at Robin Williams, screaming, “Play! Play!” She is so humanized that Hurshell had no idea how to relate to her, as if she was speaking some foreign dog language.

Tip wanted to play so badly. Poor Hurshell had no idea what she was talking about. He didn’t know how to be a good dog yet. He spent most of the evening, standing in a corner, not trying to get petted (didn’t know it was such a treat), just staring. The TV was on and as the screen flickered and voices came and went, he was fascinated by the big box with the lights and people voices. He also chased his shadow a bit that evening – the kind of thing a young puppy would do.

After a couple more days Hurshell finally met the cats. He was completely fascinated by them. They would appear out of nowhere, slink in and out of the room, and were not remotely interested in playing with him. Finally, I picked him up and held him to the cats for an introductory sniff-fest. He looked at those cats as if to say, “Well. That’s the funniest looking dog I’ve ever seen.” Soon he learned that they are part of his new pack too, and he is not allowed to chase them. He’s still fascinated with their tails, since he doesn’t have much of one to bark about. Especially when they whack him in the face with them.

It was at least three days before Hurshell discovered the toy box. It’s an old wooden Coca Cola crate, crammed full of balls, bones, Frisbees, all of the squeaking variety (plus a couple old tennis balls Tipzy stole from the tennis courts a couple years ago). As if the toy box had magically appeared just that day, Hurshell took each toy, one by one, out of the box. He tested it, tasted it, made it squeak. Then he’d leave it and go get another one. The minute he’d leave it, Tipzy ran to the abandoned toy, snatched it up and took it to her spot. She still wanted to play with Hurshell. But I wouldn’t let her because Hurshell doesn’t yet understand the subtle difference between playing hard and crossing the line into aggressiveness. (Many people don’t either.) Any time they’d start to fight over a toy, I’d take it away. I’m afraid he’s going to attack The Good Dog, thinking that’s how we play around here.

We can’t have that. The Good Dog must prevail.

A few more days pass and Hurshell and Tip learned to play quietly, each with their own toy planted between their front paws. They’ll sit under the coffee table, facing each other with their toys, eyeballing the other’s toy. Evidently, Other Dog Spit makes the toys taste better.

Hurshell learns something new each day. One day, he learned he was allowed to snooze on the couch whenever he feels like it. Another day, he learned he was supposed to pee outside (he still hasn’t figured out he’s supposed to poop outside. One thing at a time). He’s like the special child who gets on the short bus to go to school: he’s an adult dog, but has never had a dog’s life. I think we had him a week before he would submit to his first belly rub. I know we had him a week before I thought to put peanut butter on a milk bone to get him into his crate. He had his first dropped Frito in that first week too.

Every day must be a huge adventure for Hurshell. He’s starting to look to Tip for what to do next. If she’s getting her belly rubbed, he will now jump on the couch and nudge my free hand with his big ole square blockhead, trying to get his belly rubbed too. He found out that, if he seeks affection – now that he knows what affection is – he gets it. As much as he wants. There’s no shortage of spoiled pets in my house, I assure you.

Last night, Hurshell took his first walk around the neighborhood. I learned how to manage two bouncy, snorty, dogs on two leashes without getting myself braided into the mix. He licked a stranger and let her pet him. He peed on new shrubbery. He chased a butterfly and stalked a squirrel. He was so excited by the walk, it took him nearly twice as long as the walk itself, just to calm down. Then, exhausted by the day’s newest adventure, he crashed out on the couch… Just like a Good Dog.

I decided it was time he could sleep with the rest of the pack – on my bed. That’s four animals and one human on one suddenly-seems-much-smaller queen size bed. Took to it like he’s been sleeping there his whole life. He never knew he could have it so good.

It’s a joy to watch this dog discover what kind of a life he’s missed out on. Thankfully, dogs don’t hold on to past trauma like worn out luggage the way people do. He’s not going to do drugs, skip school or act out because he had a bad childhood. He’s going to forget the horrors of the puppy mill, assimilate into the House of Dogzilla, and become a happy, good little dog.

Once he learns where to poop.

I’ve realized that I haven’t just incurred some good dog karma by rescuing this little guy. He’s already taught me more than I could have anticipated. I didn’t do a good deed for nothing: Hurshell’s giving back already, even though he probably doesn’t even realize it. I sure didn’t.

He made me meet one of my neighbors. I’ve lived in that house for three years and only know the neighbors immediately surrounding me. Never met anyone on the next street over, like we did last night. I bet, as I continue trying to burn off his excess energy with nightly walks, he’ll probably introduce me to a lot more people in my neighborhood. Tipzy and I will probably drop a little excess weight we’ve both been carrying around, having gotten lazy with the fenced-in yard. Hurshell’s stamina will increase and soon, he’ll be as strong as Tipzy.

He has shown me the joy I’ve forgotten in those little everyday mundane experiences that we all take for granted. Like chasing your first butterfly or tasting peanut butter for the first time. And spending two hours trying to get that first lick of peanut butter off the roof of your mouth.

He’s teaching me that there is always another life. You can always start over. You can just let go of the horrors in your past and look around at the other dogs – and learn to be a good dog.

He’s teaching me that there’s nothing wrong with asking for a little affection. And that there’s nothing better than a good belly or head-rub.

He’s teaching me that no human is a stranger. He’s happy to greet anyone who comes along.

He’s re-taught me (because I forgot) that every day is a new adventure and there is something to be learned from every single experience.

I hope I learn to be as good a dog as Hurshell.