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)