Am I Boring My Dog? (2 page)

Frankie was naturally enlisted to illustrate many of the points I wanted to make. That’s not to suggest any dog you get or already have will bear more than a superficial, species-based resemblance to him. You might even conclude that your dog is superior. Of course, you would be wrong.

A few words on terminology. I’ve used names of specific dogs (and people) whenever I knew them and wasn’t writing anything that could be construed as libelous; dogs are notoriously litigious. Otherwise, I have alluded to “your dog,” “pooch,” “pup,” and “canine” and—indiscriminately, but with the aim of equal time—used masculine and feminine personal pronouns. I’ve often observed the linguistic conventions of dogdom, including words like “poop” (which I never thought I’d hear from anyone other than parents of toddlers, much less use), but haven’t always steered clear of disputed terms, such as “owner” as opposed to “guardian.” Frankie is a rescue, which absolves me of any further need for political correctness.

In addition, I’ve sometimes made-up words—for example, dogdom—because it’s my book and I can.

Finally, every advice book is expected to distill a bit of take-away wisdom. Here, then, are the top five things you need to do to maximize your dog’s quality of life—and the quality of your lives together:

Observing the first, second, and fourth rules will help maintain your dog’s health; honoring the fourth and fifth will ensure you good karma; and following the second and third will go a long way toward keeping you from boring your dog. Which is only fair. Your dog may amuse you with his antics, amaze you with his wisdom, and, occasionally, fill you with fear or anguish, but he definitely won’t bore you.

Frankie, naturally, was my prime source of information and inspiration for this book, but many other dogs and their companion humans also contributed a great deal. The latter include Rebecca Boren, Frankie’s rescuer, who remains a benevolent presence in our lives. Frankie is far less effusive toward Rebecca than he once was and than he should be, what with her saving his life and all, but—smart dog!—he doubtless wants to assure me of his undivided loyalty. He did indicate that he appreciated Rebecca’s refurbishment of his favorite squeaky chile toy, albeit not directly to her.

Among the many other friends who contributed advice—almost always solicited—anecdotes, and general appreciation for dogs as well as for this project are (alphabetically): Barbara Buchanan, Lori Chamberlain, Kate Davis, Lydia Davis, Jennifer Duffy, Daniela Lax, Jean McKnight, Kathy McMahon, Elaine Raines, Kimberly Schmitz, Linda Snyder, and Karyn Zoldan. Their dogs are too numerous to thank—and, besides, prefer acknowledgment in edible form.

Although I rarely traveled during the writing of this book, it was nice to know I could depend on Linda Zubel and Sarah Meyer to take care of Frankie when I went on research trips, including attending the conference of the Association of Pet Dog Trainers in Louisville. The APDT professionals I met couldn’t have been nicer to an outsider, and I learned a great deal about the efficacy of—and scientific basis for—kindness and fun as training techniques (in conjunction with consistency and firmness).

Dr. Randy Eberhardt earns kudos for being a skilled and wonderfully empathetic veterinarian. Where I allude to vets who said mean things about Frankie or subjected him to silly treatments, I am most definitely not referring to him.

I am grateful to Betty Liddick, editor of
Your Dog,
the news-letter of Cummings School of Veterinary Medicine at Tufts University, for encouraging my contributions and—after I paid my dues by taking on topics like shedding and inflammatory bowel disease—for giving me assignments that afforded me the opportunity to interview such top dog experts as Nicholas Dodman and Ian Dunbar.

Monte Workman, dog lover and artist extraordinaire, brought my text to life with his witty illustrations, and put up with my perfectionism.

Above all, I would like to thank Clare Macdonald, who appears frequently in these pages along with her wonder dog, Archie (formally, Archibald Macleash). Over the years, Clare’s job description as my (human) best friend has often involved talking me down from feelings of unworthiness. By reading the manuscript and offering invaluable advice, she has helped make me—or at least my book—worthy.

Concern and doubt are the hallmarks of today’s dog owner, so you’re not alone in wondering about your qualifications for the job. In the past few decades, dogs have joined babies as the objects of our obsessive attention—of intensive, often expensive, analysis. Whereas we once expected our furry friends to fend for themselves, psychologically speaking, we now fret over the angle and intensity of every tail wag and the volume and timbre of every bark.

Given all that pressure, the fact that you haven’t mentioned renting a dog
³
is a good sign.

Relax. If you’re responsible, ethical, reasonably solvent, and reasonably flexible, you can’t fail to be a good dog guardian. You can and will make mistakes. But you will read, observe, seek advice, and learn. And you will never be mocked by your charge when you do something stupid.

In the end, you take a leap of faith. Dog is love.

Yes, and irrevocably—but in a good way. Unless you have a tiny, flinty heart, in which case you shouldn’t inflict your mean self on a dog or any other living creature.

Puppy love is no accident, nor does it stem from the efforts of a powerful dog lobby. Canine-human codependency has deep and ancient roots. Scientists haven’t resolved precisely when and how dogs parted ways from wolves; most estimate that the process began more than 15,000 years ago. There’s no question, however, that some canids discovered it was in their best interest to endear themselves to
homo sapiens
to get access to food and fires. Humans eventually became actively involved in the genetic selection process, breeding dogs to make them useful as well as appealing. Thus the bond between the two species developed and strengthened over time.

Interspecies communication is another matter, which I’ll get to in Chapter 6; suffice it to say, it’s nearly as complicated as intraspecies communication between the genders. One relevant example: dogs don’t need much from us beyond the basics of food, shelter, and kind attention, rewarding us with intangibles like loyalty and devotion. Humans, in contrast, tend to confer pricey, often frivolous gifts on the objects of their affection—a display of status that dogs neither recognize nor respect.

When you’re older than 45 and have given up on meaningful relationships with other humans.

Oh, you mean the dog.

It depends on your circumstances and temperament. Not everyone wants the hassle of housebreaking a puppy, or dealing with her irrational exuberance. Rescuing an older, mellower dog has its rewards, not the least of them knowing that you’ve saved an innocent from spending her golden years in the hound hoosegaw, perhaps on death row. Contrary to the tired maxim, you
can
teach old dogs new tricks. And there are no size surprises with a grownup.

In theory, raising a puppy will allow you to control the circumstances of his upbringing. But that’s only true if you go to a reputable breeder who hasn’t separated mother from offspring and sibling from sibling too early—just one of the innumerable bad practices of the mass breeding operations known as puppy mills that can lead to behavior problems later on. (See question 10 for more details.) And even the best attempts at socialization at the correct age and the most assiduous training can’t guarantee you haven’t brought home a bad seed (perhaps an overly inbred one) who will eventually manifest Cujo tendencies. Nor can you watch your pup 24/7. Control, as any shrink or Zen master will tell you, is impossible to achieve or merely an illusion.

So if I had to choose an ideal age at which to get a dog—who, in my ideal universe, would be housebroken and have no history of being mistreated—it would be about a year and a half for a small dog, two to two-and-a-half years for a larger one.
⁴
The pup has calmed down a bit but still has plenty of pizzazz—and, in most cases, plenty of years ahead to spend with you.

If he or she is old enough to ask, that’s a start—“ask” being the operative word. Never get a dog for a child who hasn’t requested one just because you think he is lonely or needs to learn responsibility. That would be the equivalent of using real babies rather than dolls or eggs in one of those teen anti-pregnancy programs that involves taking care of an infant for a week. Robotic dogs are now widely available, should such a lesson be your goal.

Then, take into account the circumstances that sparked the request. Wait at least three months after your child viewed the last dog movie, including animated ones (
101 Dalmatians
in any version is particularly dangerous). After that, you can consider it.

In the meantime, try not to be swayed by the intense desire to stop the cajoling and whining that tend to accompany all pet requests.
⁵
Inform your offspring that dogs are very sensitive to high-pitched sounds like whining, and that you couldn’t possibly bring one into such an inhospitable environment.

Finally, ask yourself: Are you or anyone else in the family willing to take primary responsibility for the dog if your kid loses interest? If the answer is no, don’t get a dog. It would not only be horribly unfair to the neglected pup, but also to the child, who’ll come to associate dogs with nagging and yelling and, as a result, never want to have anything to do with the species later in life.

If you decide your household is truly dog-ready, involve your child in the adoption process, thereby ensuring a match of temperaments and creating an emotional bond. But avoid bringing a dog home during the holidays, a sure recipe for disaster. The excitement of the season leads to overstimulation and bad behavior. The dog often gets really wound up, too.

That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t let your child associate getting a dog with the holidays, which is one way to ensure better memories of the season than most of us have. Either go together to get the dog in advance, stressing that this is a holiday gift, or give the child an IOU—perhaps tied to a stuffed animal—promising an excursion to get a pup in the new year. If your kid can’t deal with the concept of advance or deferred gratification—or does really creepy things to the stuffed animal—then she isn’t ready for a dog.

Whatever you do, avoid family trips to stores that sell puppies.
⁶
It’s tough enough for a grownup to remember the greater good of shutting down puppy mills (see question 10) when faced with the pathos of a small, squirmy cutie in a cage. Don’t expect your child to be able to grasp this difficult concept—or forgive you for dragging him away from that wagging tail.

In the past, status in canine circles derived primarily from having a dog that conformed to the standards of a particular breed as defined by the American Kennel Club or United Kennel Club. Pejoratives like “mongrel” or “cur,” which suggest a link between character and blood purity, were applied to dogs of unknown or mixed origin.

These days, because mixed breeds tend to be rescues more often than not, owning a mutt—even the term has acquired shabby chic cachet—confers a different type of status, that of moral superiority. So if you’re disposed toward oneupmanship, you’re no longer restricted to the breed-related variety—which clears the slate for criteria other than snobbery to be factored into your decision.