In this December 2007 talk given by Ian Dunbar, he discusses his observations on human-to-animal and human-to-human interaction.

He relates an experience of boarding a plane and witnessing a father disciplining his child and remarks that if the child had been a dog, he would have acted to intervene. I, too, have been met with this situation and have always done the same as Dunbar: contemplated but not acted. While I hold to the African proverb “It takes a village to raise a child”, I find myself feeling highly uncomfortable when I see a parent behaving irrationally or otherwise unkindly towards a child. What do I say? Who am I to intervene? What if they tell me it’s their child and I should keep out of it, mind my own business? I can’t count the number of times I’ve chided pet owners for mistreatment, or offered ways they can better train their dog, or told them about the benefits of a harness over a collar.

Dunbar suggests we view the world through the dog’s eyes to better learn how to interact with them. I’d say the same goes for interacting with children.

When I first watched this video I thought it was ridiculous that folks would have a problem using a pooper scooper or just putting the bag over your hand. Life with a dog can be pretty gross, but I couldn’t come up with a justification for this product until I saw this video—I guess it would be great for those who live in concrete cities or other places with little-to-no access to grass.

It still seems weird to me, though.

“The rope-ball thing? George tore up the ball, but there’s some left. It’s in the toy box.”

“Ah. It isn’t his.”

“I was wondering about that. I thought maybe you had gone to Giant Pet Store earlier and bought a new toy. But hey, George sort-of played tug with me.”

George sort-of played tug.

After dinner we went outside and I was flopping the toy around on the ground while George pretended to be a cat, pouncing on it and smacking it with his paws. Then he picked it up with his mouth and started backing away, while I was still holding it. I gave him some resistance, and he still held on to the toy.

This is major.

After two years George is finally playing tug, albeit in a kinda, sort-of way. He doesn’t growl and won’t tug too hard, but he’s definitely playing. Hopefully I can get him to play tomorrow so I can take a few shots of him seeming more like a dog who isn’t afraid of humans.

He’s making progress!

We’ve known that Zoe is a high-maintenance dog, but since we never had to care for her for an extended period of time, we never knew just how high-maintenance she is. Zoe is prone to seizures and as a result, gets drugs twice a day — nice drugs, too. At twelve hours apart, she gets 5 barbiturates, an antidiuretic, and a large pill that does something that I can’t remember. Ocassionally, she gets valium. The barbiturates alone are in a dose high enough to kill me and The Partner in one go.

Zoe also has OCD that puts Marc Summers to shame. Left unattended, she will drink drink drink drink drink water until the bowl is empty. 15-20 minutes later she has to pee, which is prefaced by incessant pacing. Her potty ritual is the stuff academics base their theses upon: she walks in circles for at least 5 minutes, then she walks in concentric circles and then, when she’s finally gotten herself dizzy, she reverses order and walks in circles for another few mintues, then finally shits.

The Partner and I have a trade-off schedule going. He wakes up around 6 and does the morning ritual, then I wake up at 8 when The Partner leaves for work. He comes home for lunch around noon and when he leaves for work again he puts Zoe in her house while I go to class for an hour. I return home, let Zoe out and then The Partner comes home around 4 or 5 and we take turns during the evening on who gets Zoe Duty.

The Canadian® comes home this Thursday and we will be oh so very happy to see him. The Partner came into the bedroom this morning in a pissed off mood like I have never seen.

“It keeps getting more difficult to give Zoe her pills. She won’t take them! Not even on biscuits! She just spits it out. I don’t know what to do! It keeps taking longer and longer for her to take them. I’m so pissed off right now. I’m going to work.”

I finish getting dressed, The Partner leaves, and Zoe starts pacing.

I laid my eyes on this guy:

He was sitting in the kennel, looking up at me with the nastiest, goopiest eyes I’ve ever seen. It was love at first sight.

We adopted him on Friday, May 27, and gave him the name George Proudhon. I took him to the vet’s later that afternoon, and I don’t think he had ever been examined. His general health is good, minus the large number of scabs and scars from tick bites, but he has an ear infection and chronic dry eye. For the rest of his life, we will wash and clean his ears a couple times a week and put ointment in his eyes three-to-four times a day. Did I mention this was for the rest of his life? My family has a history of picking the best animals, and I’m no exception.

We took him home, gave him some lovin’, and told him everything would be okay now.

We’ve been taking long walks around the neighborhoods and have been spending lots of quality time playing fetch in the backyard. I bought a new toy for him the other day, a squeaky tire with rope on two sides, and he has already bitten off a piece. “We’ve entered the dog toy trap,” The Partner said.

George has some issues, though. According to the shelter, the gal that had him brought him in because The Boyfriend didn’t get along with him, and they believe The Boyfriend was also abusive because George is weary of men. When he first came to the shelter, he would piddle when men approached him. He also has some separation anxiety. I really hate crappy people.

We’re working with him on the issues, exposing him to our very wonderful male neighbors and friends to let him know that not all men suck ass. He has warmed up to The Partner and even wags his tail when he approaches now.

With time, he’ll be a well-adjusted dog.

Expand for more pictures.

George has droopy lower-eye lids and had not been given a bath in a while. His fur was getting long and going into his eyes, and was full of dirt, grime, and grease. He stunk, too.

He got his hair did and now looks like a sharp cocker spaniel:

I love his tongue:

Luckily, George came pre-programmed with the FETCH, BRING IT, and DROP IT commands, as well as NO, COME, HEEL, and LEAVE IT. We’re working on the SIT, STAY, and LAY DOWN commands.

Here’s George getting some lovin’ from a neighbor gal:

What a good dog!

It was so extreme of an action against an animal that it forced me to scream out, “Hey, dude! What the fuck?!”

I absolutely will not stand to see an animal abused, or even roughly handled in such a manner. It was my very first instinct to yell out at the guy, if that gives any indication as to how he was handling the dog. He mumbled something about how I should see how much stuff he chewed up.

The thing is, the dog is a puppy, and once more, it’s a beautiful, black great dane puppy. Already the dog is monsterous, and I’m not sure what he expects out of him at such a young age. I don’t think it’s fun to be cooped up in an apartment, being a big puppy and all. Plus, puppies chew shit. That’s what they do.

I hate people that take on the responsibility of dog guardianship and then act like assholes to the dog. It’s not tolerated in my community.