When a Dog Asks to be Adopted

You’ll never forget that one special dog who asked to be adopted.

Especially if you turned him down.

 

Happy is the dog with a home and master. If only every dog could have one.

Christmas is a very long season in the Philippines. As soon as the “-ber” months start (September) I start hearing Christmas songs on the radio (worse, at the malls!). That’s marketing gimmickry, of course, a reminder for shoppers to start piling up their gift stock.

 I watch the TV news regularly and they start a countdown to Christmas starting from 100 days away.

 Highlight of the season starts two weeks before Christmas Day. December 16 is the start of what they call Misa de Gallo. This is a novena series of 9 days, a lineup of 9 Masses said at dawn until December 24. Foreigners are surprised to find all Catholic churches in the Philippines nationwide packed to overflowing at those early morning Masses.

 These dawn Masses start the feeling of excitement upon the coming of the much-awaited Big Day. Amidst the glitter of twinkling Christmas lights small foodstalls surround the churches and it’s become a tradition for families to proceed to these stalls for the native cakes, hot chocolate, and other pre-breakfast treats after the Mass.

 I was at the local park when I saw the sign that there would be a Misa de Gallo there. It will be an open-air Mass, to be held in one of the gardens. This appealed to me since I will not be jostling with a crowd of churchgoers. I love that park in the early mornings. In 2007 when my dog school used to be there I would appear at the park every morning to see it come alive with activity.

Thus, that early morning of December 16, I arrived at the park to find it still lighted by street lamps because the sky was still black. The rays of the dawn had not yet appeared. I had awakened Spot to come with me because I looked forward to having a walk with him after the Mass at the crack of dawn, and enjoy a leisurely breakfast in one of the outdoor cafes with a newspaper and my dog beside me as I watch the joggers go by.

 At the garden, I noticed a young stray dog befriending the Mass goers as they arrived. Still of juvenile age, he wagged his tail when he saw Spot and invited him to play. I remembered the park rules during my time with the dog school and wondered why the dog had no collar or leash. But I commanded Spot to stay with me.

 The dog disappeared then re-appeared among the crowd, a charming guy and still very young. In the end, he elected to stay around Spot and me. Before the Mass was over the dog disappeared so I had my walk with Spot, had a leisurely breakfast afterwards, then I drove home.

 The next dawn morning as I arrived with Spot at the park, the dog was there again at the garden. We were a loose crowd of Mass goers so I elected to sit apart because I had Spot. But that stray chose to stay with me again.

 I could not forget that friendly fellow and wondered if anybody owned him. He was young, healthy and open to strangers. He was very adoptable. I even wondered if I could bring him home. Whenever he saw Spot and me, the dog would gravitate to us.

 After my third dawn Mass and breakfast, I headed to my SUV and packed Spot in the back. I was getting ready to put the gear in reverse when I saw the dog try to reach for me from the passenger side of my vehicle and whine. Was he trying to follow me? I stopped the engine and got out of the car intending to coax the dog to enter the SUV. I was resolved to bring him home.

 But the dog fled when he saw me approach him.

 That set my thoughts into action. The dog wanted to go home with me. I decided I will get him if he tries to do that again.

 Yet at the same time, my mind was in conflict. I had other dogs at home. How will they take this stranger? I remembered the ritual of introducing dogs to each other. I didn’t know enough about it because I’ve never done it. Theoretically, it would be best if I brought all the dogs to meet each other in a neutral place. What neutral place, I wondered. My dogs walk all over our neighborhood twice a day that they could stake as their territory several blocks of it. So where is that neutral territory? And who can I mobilize at home to help me  -- to haul off all our dogs to that neutral territory to meet the new member of their specie who wants to live with them?

 Regardless, on my fourth morning at the park, I had an extra leash with me. The friendly youngster was there again and I coaxed him to stay with Spot and me. He willingly obliged. After the Mass I had a short walk with Spot and the dog followed us off-leash. I chose a café where I could have breakfast and with Spot on my right side, I guided the dog to join me at my left outside a low railing. After we had all settled, I looped a leash around the dog’s neck. The dog accepted it.

 But my inner tumult arose. Though the dog wanted to be with me I didn’t know if I was ready for him. I kept remembering my other dogs at home and how I will have to set up this elaborate canine ritual of getting-to-know-you.

 By strange coincidence, I saw one of the park maintenance crew who still remembered me. I mentioned the stray dog that I kept seeing at the dawn Mass and pointed it to him. The man remarked that he knew the dog and that nobody owned him. He was just a stray that walked into the park from nowhere. I mentioned being not sure if I could bring him home. The man said he knew of another maintenance crew who would want him.

 Good, I said. Are you sure he will take care of this dog well?

 The man assured me the dog will be taken care of. He disappeared for awhile to look for some rope. A few minutes later, he returned with a length of straw which he looped around the dog. I slipped my leash off. When the man tugged at the rope to pull the dog away from me, the dog fought and protested. I had given him away.

 My conscience gnawed at me terribly as I saw that youngster hauled away against his will. After breakfast, I made one last attempt to find that maintenance man just to assuage my guilt pangs. A fellow worker pointed me to the old skating rink which was now walled off for renovations. I went there. I pushed the gate open and in the distance I saw the dog, tied to a rail, fighting his leash and protesting loudly at what had befallen him.

 I turned away quickly. I wish I had known what to do at that moment.

 

A happy Toby beside his caregiver. I adopted him from an abusive home.

I stopped going to the dawn Masses after that because the early morning chill had gotten to me and I got sick for several days. When I recovered, the Masses were no more. I never went back to the park. I never saw that dog again.

During my long talks with our local dog whisperer, Fred Alimusa, I once mentioned to him that dog that wanted to be adopted. Some 3 years had passed – and I still could not forget the incident. A dog had approached me asking me to adopt him.

But I had turned him down.

“I now know what to do if ever a dog — any dog — should come to me asking to be adopted,” I said. “Bring him home.”

Fred agreed and said he knew how I felt. He recalled a similar incident when he was still living in the United States. A German Shepherd had come to him while he was mowing the lawn. Busy with work, he could not be bothered. But that dog kept coming back to him every morning while he was fixing the garden. A week later, he realized what the German Shepherd was trying to say to him and decided the next time he sees that dog, he will take him in.   

That next time never came because the dog stopped coming. The city pound had caught him.

Seldom do we get approached by a homeless stray asking to be adopted. I realize now as a lost dog tries to survive the streets looking for a place to stay he sees countless humans everyday and qualifies who among them he would like to live with. If he’s chosen you, it’s because he knows you have that touch that can give him a forever home.

Don’t turn him down.

 

Happy is the dog with a master and caregiver. He grows up healthy, secure, and fulfilled.

Dog Aggression – the Hard Way (Part I)

As the two dogs rolled onto an even surface, Spot got to his senses. The Dalmatian managed to get on his feet and bravely faced the angry Boxer. I saw a desperate collision now, both dogs on equal footing

            

              I never wrote about my experience with dog aggression. Dog aggression is the hardest lesson I ever encountered about taking care of dogs. But it has been the most pivotal because I learned it the hard way.

             

           When my Dalmatian Spotty entered our lives as a 6-week-old pup, he was cute as a button. That was back in 2002. The dog had a friendly and curious face, was very lively, and always wanted to play. Meanwhile, our 2-year-old Boxer, Butchie Boy, was dour and morose. I used to be in a very stressful job then, and to come home to see a happy dog bouncing to greet me at the door was a delight. So when I saw our sullen-looking Boxer, it was no joy to see him. His Boxer face was nothing in comparison to the Dalmatian pup’s happy expression.

            

Spot was incredibly cute as a puppy. His flashy coat color, lively expression, and playful personality made him far more agreeable to see than the Boxer's sullen expression.

              I ended up preferring the reception of Spot. I ignored the Boxer.

           

           In the weeks to come, since I took on Spot as a personal responsibility, I took the role seriously. I did constant research online about his breed and kept my attention on his training and care. I sought out the right dog food for him, sought out a good collar and leash, bought different bowls, and studied methods on housebreak training. I’ve never handled a dog personally like this before.

            

           At home, Spot quickly became the family favorite. The dog easily endeared himself to the rest of the household. He was always given attention first, given treats because it delighted us, walked first, fed first, petted first, and many others as first – totally displacing Butchie Boy who watched all this from the side quietly. 

         One day I discovered dog agility and wanted Spot trained for that. Two to three times a week I’d pack the youngster up for a dog school training (Spot started Basic Obedience at 6 months) and leave with him early in the morning. We’d be back in the late afternoon. 

          
         Spot consumed my attention at home. I had plans for him. I wanted him to be Manila’s first agility dog. I was learning too, along the way, in how to handle him. It was a fascinating time for me.

           

            One night, when Spot was a year old, I brought him out of the house, put on his collar, attached a leash and walked him out into the street. Butchie Boy barked and protested at the gate as he watched us go. We even passed him twice as I walked Spot up and down our street before we turned into the next block. Butchie Boy protested every time we passed him. 

            Finally, Spot and I arrived back to the house. Butchie Boy awaited our arrival. I opened the gate and when Spot walked in, I unleashed him. That’s when the Boxer attacked Spotty.

            The young teen-aged Dalmatian gave a squeak of surprise as a menacing Butchie Boy, by then 3 years older than he, grabbed him by the neck and pinned him down. The Boxer was clearly blinded with anger. There wasn’t much noise. Butchie Boy’s growls were muffled by his firm clamp on the Dalmatian’s neck while the young Dalmatian barely cried, surprised at the aggression upon him. 

      

Taken aback myself, I could find nothing within sight I could use to separate the dogs.  The driveway sloped down so the two dogs rolled down the incline in a cloud of dust, sweat, throaty growls and Spot’s legs flying in the air. I found a metal bucket and hurled it at the Boxer but the resulting clatter was not enough to cause a distraction. I must have thrown everything I could see in the yard – broom, garden spade, trash can, anything. 

As the two dogs rolled onto an even surface, Spot got to his senses. The Dalmatian managed to get on his feet and bravely faced the angry Boxer. I saw a desperate one-on-one now, both dogs on equal footing. Sometimes Spot was on top of the Boxer, other times the Boxer pinned him down. But the fight continued with minimal noise and they rolled again until the two were at the end of the driveway, approaching the garage. Finally, Butchie Boy collapsed. Spot, tail high in the air and wagging, amazingly energized, grabbed the Boxer by the neck, and started to drag his fallen opponent towards the garage like a piece of carcass. I found my voice. “Spot, no!” I commanded sternly.

The dog let go.

That was a serious dog fight. But what caused it, was it over, what to do next, I didn’t know anything about it from Adam.

(to be continued)

Dog Aggression – The Hard Way (Part II)

What happened to those happy times when our two dogs got along together?

I was thankful Spot had some basic training at that critical time so I was able to command him. The dog stepped back as I approached his fallen opponent. I saw the Boxer rise. He had fought till he collapsed of exhaustion. Both dogs were sweaty, panting and dirty. Spot’s colorful coat was stained with mud in many places. Butchie was spent. But he was alive.

All I could think of at that moment was to give the two a quick hosing because I will not let them indoors. Surprisingly, both dogs allowed me to hose them down and dry them up. They entered the house and settled into their respective corners for the night.

The next day, one of our househelp remarked that Butchie Boy’s coat was “full of holes.” He compared it to the kind of hole a nail sized “no.2” makes. But the Boxer’s skin had no tears. He asked me what had happened. I said the dogs had a fight last night.

We checked Spot. Amazingly the dog was alright.

That fight, however, was the start of things to come. Later that morning, as our househelp prepared Butchie Boy for his morning walk, I saw the Boxer attack Spot who was just passing by. Chairs tumbled to the floor as Butchie Boy lunged at the Dalmatian and Spot, who had earned his boxing gloves only last night, went into the defense. It took the rest of the household to pull the two dogs apart and restore some peace.

The incident was clearly worrisome. What was going on? I had no understanding what was going on in the two dogs’ heads. But for a vicious fight to occur inside a civilized home -– that’s not the place for it. Something was going very wrong.

I placed an SOS to Spot’s trainer, Jonathan, who arrived, assuring me that he could train the two dogs to behave themselves. We took the two to a neutral territory and the two dogs behaved, Butchie Boy trembling in obedience as Jonathan commanded them to lie down side by side. He walked the two dogs together and they followed him obediently.

But something was missing in the link. What was causing all this? Back home, the two dogs had to be separated now, an unhappy state of things. Both dogs were never tied before. We were now in a state of tension. What if they fought again? How do we stop this behavior?

Once, when I came home from work, my household help reported that the two dogs had a fight again. I found Spot with a bloodied ear that needed stitching at a nearby vet clinic.

As usual, my researches on dog aggression online and advice from a local dog “expert” (I hadn’t met Fred Alimusa yet) were varied and often clashing. Some gave suggestions on how to deal with a dog fight itself, while others advocated letting the dogs settle out the issue among themselves. The best may be the last one, but I couldn’t afford the vet bills in case it happened too often.

Confused, I could not find a solution that related to our situation. Until I found the cause, I would not be able to solve our dilemma.. Meanwhile, our two dogs lived tied in separate areas at home – and could not be friends at all. The tension was clearly affecting us too. We were always on our toes. What happened to those happy times?

One night, Jonathan arrived again, to repeat the training procedure he had done on the two dogs a few days earlier. The two performed as commanded, but as I watched the exercise a question rose in my mind. Sure, Jonathan could make them obey and they do. What about us? How sure are we they will obey us?

Jonathan's reply to this was that the training was still "on-going." I presumed he will teach us when the dogs have learned to obey? But I was not satisfied. We were on red alert. What do we do while the dogs were in the killing mode?

After the exercise, Jonathan tied the two dogs within viewing distance of each other (“to make them get used to seeing each other close”) but made sure their leashes prevented them from reaching each other. Then he left. In his absence, the dogs threw menacing glares at each other and exchanged growls. But they remained in their places.

Before turning in for the night, the dogs have to do their bathroom call. By now, some enlightenment had already entered my mind due to some reading I had been doing. Dr. Nicholas Dodman’s book, Dogs Behaving Badly (Bantam Books, 1999, USA) had talked of his client with dogs who kept fighting because the owner was unaware of their canine social hierarchy. I realized now Butchie Boy was the senior dog. He was entitled to be collared first and taken outside for a walk. I did so accordingly.

A few minutes later, I was back in the house, entering through the back door with Butchie Boy, and approached the grilled window where he was to be leashed for the night. Then I saw it happen.

I was in the process of coiling the Boxer’s leash around the grill when I saw Spot approach dangerously close to the Boxer. He was tied to a leg of the solid wood dining table but the leash had loosened. I saw the spotted dog launch a sneak attack on Butchie Boy from behind. 

 

A young Spot playfully nips at Butchie Boy's hind legs while Butchie looks at the camera. The two dogs were not yet opponents at the time of this photo.

I yelled at Spot but he was focused on the Boxer. Now the aggressor, he pounced on Butchie Boy. I yelled for help while I held the Boxer by the collar tightly in my hands. Butchie yelped and fought to be released by me. I held firm because he was not yet tied to the window. Suddenly I felt the pang of a needle prick the base of my palm. Surprised at the sharp pain, I let go and the Boxer turned towards his attacker. Another doggy brawl ensued inches away from me. 

Our househelp immediately rallied to the scene and in seconds, the dogs were separated. As the scene cleared, we saw on the white tiled floor bright red drops of glistening blood. They were mine. Butchie Boy had bitten me.

(to be continued)

Dog Aggression -- the Hard Way (Conclusion)

The cause of their fights was our fault.

It took many weeks after that dog fight, during the process of healing and more researching that the truth finally dawned on me. I recalled the first doggy fight I saw at the driveway and compared it to that last one where I got bitten. There was a difference. In those initial first brawls, Butchie Boy was the aggressor. In the last brawl, it was Spot.

The cause of their fights, I discovered, was our fault.

Dogs follow a social hierarchy among themselves. There is a dominant leader, the Senior or Top Dog, and there are the followers. They are wired to observe this and a dog owner not aware of this will cause dogs to brawl among themselves as they fight for their positions.

I had brainwashed Spot to believe he was the Top Dog because he was the family favorite. Simultaneously, Butchie Boy, having been there first, believed he deserved respect as the Top Dog. I did not teach Spot that – neither did we observe it as his humans. We had totally ignored the Boxer and whatever he had felt were his rights. We had petted Spot first, walked him first, put him his collar first, fed him first, and given him priority over everything in their lives together. That’s why the Boxer despised the Dalmatian newcomer from the start.

Finally identifying the cause of the fight, I concentrated now on this phenomenon called their canine social hierarchy. We had a lot of un-doing to do.

We started to observe the Boxer’s seniority over Spot by respecting his position first. He was fed first, given his collar first, and walked first.

The brawls were reduced considerably but they were not completely eradicated. Upon my arrival from work, to my disappointment I would sometimes receive reports from our househelp that there was a dog fight that day. But the dog fights were always instigated, this time, by Spot. Spot was now the aggressor, Butchie Boy was the defender.

In the end, it was Butchie Boy that lost his home. I had plans for Spot and wanted him for further training as a career agility dog. We rehomed Butchie Boy as Spot persisted in asserting his belief he was the Top Dog. As long as those two dogs lived with us, there would be no peace.

As Butchie Boy left us, Spot was our only dog for several months until I slowly built up a new pack. But by then, I knew how to handle our multi-dog household. I taught the other dogs their respective positions while assuring Spot he remained Top Dog. Each dog had his position no. 1, no. 2 and no. 3 and this was firmly observed by all of us, a method I picked up from Dr. Dodson’s book. In later years, as I met our famous dog whisperer, Fred Alimusa, I learned that petting Spot in front of the other dogs do not bother them as long as they know their positions.

 

My spotted pack a few years ago. "J.R." (left, back) is Spot's son, an accidental mix with a border collie. In foreground (center) is Toby. Their hierarchical positions are (l-r): dog number 3, 2, then 1 (Spot). We followed this social order of theirs strictly to avoid doggy squabbles.

Dogs are not humans. They do not react as humans do. What we humans dub as “jealousy” is a dog just asserting his position over an upstart trying to bypass him.

Sounds like corporate culture huh?