Super Mutt

I've spent many hours on the internet trying to figure out Simon's genetic make-up. In dogs, their breed(s) are such an integral piece of the mystery of their personalities. Before I received Simon as a "foster dog", I was told he was Shepherd/Husky. (People stop me on the street all the time and throw out their own ideas. I think there's also some Border Collie in him, and maybe even some hound.) Now anyone in their right mind in an apartment in downtown Toronto* at the kickstart of the winter season would pause, for at least a second, to contemplate the undertaking of a dog with that mix. Because I know now, a little terrier or a miniature anything would have been much much easier - the dog wouldn't be able to squash a cat with a paw, it could be picked up and placed somewhere if misbehaving, a long walk would mean around the block, and I could tie it up for 3 minutes in front of the liquor store without my worrying it would jump on someone and claw their eyes out. Simon, in truth, has never clawed anybody's eyes out but he does jump up. It was such an annoying habit of his, based I believe out of insecurity, that the first few months I was petrified to pass anyone on the sidewalk, in a hallway, invite guests over to my apartment, have him in any circumstance where he could jump up, because he inevitably did. Some people are okay with it. Many are not. The point is he shouldn't do it ever. He's too big. And too unpredictable. After many months of working on this, he only jumps up around 3% of the time.

Training a dog is like packing a house up in preparation for a move. You start packing boxes and bags and days go by and yet the house is still full of stuff, there's hardly been an imprint of all of that work, let alone results. For the first 3 months, I worked Simon daily, commanding him to sit, down, stay 20 times a day. We would wrestle in front of his crate when on the 5th day he arrived he would no longer step foot in it. Even when his dinner was in there. He had decided the couch was preferable. I was in tears that night when through the saliva and vigour of both of us I succeeded in getting him in to the crate against his almighty protestations. I might have felt more badly but when his body went limp and he gave in he was in essence passing over the authority torch and I knew the significance of that.

It is difficult when you have a rescue dog who begins to take over your life. You have mixed emotions. Part of you feels like a saviour; the dog is a poor helpless creature who has been locked up in a cage, nearly euthanized, and devoid of attention and love. The instinct is to buy all sorts of expensive treats - dried liver, venison snacks, chicken jerky - get him a soft pillowy bed, give him lots of hugs and kisses, talk in a baby voice, and sacrifice your entire social life in order to make sure he isn't left alone. Do this, however, and your dog will whip your ass. He will jump up on your bed when he returns from a muddy walk. He will ignore you when you ask him to do something let alone command him. He'll growl at you if you try to take a toy away. He'll take over your life and make it so miserable you will lie in bed wondering how you spent hundreds of dollars adopting this awful creature, hundreds more securing his good health, endless hours making him chicken and rice for dinner, countless walks a day in weather no human should have to endure, and enabled yourself to almost get a concussion, a broken wrist, and the sorest ass in history from all that hiking in deep snow. I have been there. I have had those moments where I secretly hoped I could find someone else to adopt him. Maybe a nice family with teenagers who live in the country and he can ride around the back of a pickup truck. It'd be better for him, I thought. The reality is he is deeply attached to me. As I am to him. And he is unmistakably happy. The hard truth was that I was letting him rule the house and that was making me miserable and exhausted and losing weight. I am not good at confrontation. Even with a canine, apparently. I'm 115 pounds, Simon is 60+ pounds but his dead weight when he wants it to be is much stronger than anything I can muster. I learned pretty early on, although we still battle it out sometimes, that I had to turn into some sort of General, when required, and through patience and fairness, show this dude who's boss.

*(The reality of Simon's genetic make-up, that hyperactive hunting husky in him, means that the key to his good behaviour is simply exercise. For those who think it unfair to have a big dog in a city, when you enter into the rescue dog world there is no choice of an estate with a big backyard in Rosedale, or a home in the suburbs. These dogs require a lot of work and they are being fostered out because they have been unadoptable. A dog alone all day in a backyard is not necessarily a happy dog. Nor is one left to roam free in the countryside getting into all sorts of danger and mischief. I have undertaken the responsibility of making sure he gets out 4 times a day both for long, leisurely, urban leash walks and for ample play time where he can run hard for at least an hour a day. We have friends at the dog parks we visit but for the most part we try to include off leash trails and ravine meanderings into our regime. Luckily, my folks live north of the city and we go often and walk for hours along stretches of the Bruce Trail.)

The following dog books are my favourite so far for anyone looking to learn the basics of understanding dogs and how to effectively communicate with your dog. In addition to these, I ordered about 14 more through the Toronto Public Library and whipped through those too.

The Monks of New Skete. Divine Canine. The Monks' Way to a Happy, Obedient Dog. Everything You Need to Know.

Good Owners, Great Dogs. A Training Manual for Humans and Their Canine Companions. By Brian Kilcommons and Sarah Wilson. Published by Warner Books.

Why Does My Dog Act That Way? A complete guide to your dog's personality. By Stanley Coren. Published by free press.

Hip Ideas for Hyper Dogs. By Amy Ammen and Kitty Foth-Regner. Published by Wiley Publishing.

Comments

[Mats Flemstrom]

Daphne, I'm curious if , in your reading, you have found any evidence that the effects of mixed breeding and rearing of a dog can in any fundamental way be "undone"? I think this may be an important question since you have now chosen to structure your life around Simon. If the answer is "NO", do you still plan to live your life dog-centered?

[Daphne Randall]

Mats, I think that a mixed breed has a better chance than any purebred to not be so beholden to genetic make-up predetermining personality. When I first got Simon he was a product of a kennel - hyper, anxious, reactive, unpredictable. His dogplay happened with very aggressive dogs in a fenced in tiny yard. After 5 months of stability, he is now only those things on rare occasions. After I have socialized him to things, he no longer reacts to them out of fear or sees them as threatening. Bicyclists can cycle by us; skateboarders, joggers, etc. all things that he would chase after a few weeks ago or lunge towards. Very typical dog behaviour. His mixed breed smarts mean that when I train him on something he learns it immediately. It's up to me to make sure I enforce it. Simon has what I call a more naturally curious and less competitive nature than most purebred dogs. Simon is not naturally aggressive or dominant but I believe he learned to inhabit a place of fear. He is a TOTALLY different dog now than the one I first met and everyone who has seen the transformation finds it remarkable. So, although my life has been temporarily turned upside down for a few months, I do continue to live it Simon-centred. If he had shown no improvement, was a total nut case, threatened me or my cats or destroyed my home, I would feel differently. But his willingness to please and obey means we have a working relationship. And I'm committed to that.

[Mats Flemstrom]

Sounds very much like the answer is "yes". I'm really glad that your herculean efforts have paid off. I was just worried that it was all for nought. Good on you then!

Mats