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May. 13th, 2012
Thumper's tale...
May. 13th, 2012 09:45 pmThree Saturdays ago, I was attending another in a series of clicker-training sessions that had been organized at the Humane Society's shelter facility out on Cloman Boulevard not far from what passes for an airport in our neck of the woods.
What I was learning in that class was improving our life at the condo with Shiloh, and by volunteering some time at the Humane Society's facility, I not only got more practice in implementing the techniques taught by Marnie (our leader), but our group of volunteers as a whole was helping make the dogs at the shelter more "adoptable" by easing tendencies toward kennel aggression, improving general behavior (e.g., not jumping up when people approach), and improving behavior while walking (e.g., not pulling people off their feet). The next phase of the program gets under way next week, and of course, I'm signed up.
That Saturday, however, I was made aware of the plight of a certain Chuhauhua/Rat Terrier mix named "Thumper," who had been adopted some time previously and had just been returned to the Society with a report that the dog was, if memory serves, aggressive and ill-tempered.
Now I'm not plugged into the daily routines at the shelter, but like most organizations, they have set procedures in place for various typical situations, and I learned that the standard response in cases where dogs were returned because they were said to be aggressive and unmanageable was... well, not conducive to the dog's long-term survival. Marnie intervened, apparently, and went looking for someone who might lend Thumper a hand, or at least a reprieve. She found me.
When I first saw Thumper, the poor little fellow was shivering with fear and wanted nothing to do with me (or anyone but Marnie, for that matter). He strained at the leash Marnie was holding and stayed as far away from me as possible. I offered food, which was refused. In the end, I figured I could hang onto him for a few days, at least long enough to dispel (or confirm, if that was the case) the charges hanging over the dog's head.
It took a full 90 minutes for Thumper to come out of the dog crate after I brought him home to the condo, set the crate on a couch, and opened its door. Once he did quit the crate, he ran around the place and wouldn't let anyone near him, for a while. Then he and Shiloh got acquainted, and I fed them both, and I took them both for a walk. And have continued to do so since then.
Has the road been smooth these past three weeks? Not entirely, no.
The morning after Thumper arrived, Shiloh came up to him and started licking him as if he were a puppy. I suspect Thumper—who, while a full-grown adult dog, nonetheless weighs less than 12 lb and is smaller than either of our cats—may, with his appearance, have awakened some kind of latent maternal instinct in Shiloh. In any event, Shiloh's behavior was apparently unexpected, and I guess Thumper didn't really know what to make of it, so some growls were exchanged. That day, the ritual was over before I could do or say anything, so I held my peace. However, Shiloh continues to greet Thumper in this manner every morning, and I think the little fellow is getting used to it.
Later that same day, while jogging the last 100 yards of our return to the condo after a walk, Shiloh and Thumper ran side by side and began to nip at each other, playfully at first, and then with what I construed as a little bit more passion. However, it took almost no effort to break up whatever was developing, and since then, I've come to understand that it was play, and that I had become unaccustomed to the accompanying sound effects. It then occurred to me that it's been ages since there have been two dogs in our household (Ming and Shiloh, almost 9 years ago).
Is Thumper aggressive? Ill-tempered? Don't make me laugh. He barks, from time to time, that's all, and that's any dog's prerogative.
On the other hand, in the end, "there ain't none of us perfect," not Thumper, not Shiloh, and certainly not me. So we'll keep plugging away as best we can. One thing seems clear: I'm pretty sure Thumper has become part of the family, now.
Cheers...
P.S. While moving stuff from Drew's garage to our own yesterday, I made a short detour to visit a yard sale, which had gathered a pretty good crowd (for Pagosa) by the time I got there. While browsing through a box of books that were offered for sale, the woman running the sale recognized me, and all but publicly introduced me as "that fellow who rescued that cute little Chihuahua mix from the shelter." That people notice that sort of thing enough to mention it took me a little by surprise, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that somewhere in the dim recesses of my mind, it felt good to hear the woman say what she did, even if hearing anyone say anything like that was the furthest thing from my mind that day I took Thumper home.
What I was learning in that class was improving our life at the condo with Shiloh, and by volunteering some time at the Humane Society's facility, I not only got more practice in implementing the techniques taught by Marnie (our leader), but our group of volunteers as a whole was helping make the dogs at the shelter more "adoptable" by easing tendencies toward kennel aggression, improving general behavior (e.g., not jumping up when people approach), and improving behavior while walking (e.g., not pulling people off their feet). The next phase of the program gets under way next week, and of course, I'm signed up.
That Saturday, however, I was made aware of the plight of a certain Chuhauhua/Rat Terrier mix named "Thumper," who had been adopted some time previously and had just been returned to the Society with a report that the dog was, if memory serves, aggressive and ill-tempered.
Now I'm not plugged into the daily routines at the shelter, but like most organizations, they have set procedures in place for various typical situations, and I learned that the standard response in cases where dogs were returned because they were said to be aggressive and unmanageable was... well, not conducive to the dog's long-term survival. Marnie intervened, apparently, and went looking for someone who might lend Thumper a hand, or at least a reprieve. She found me.
When I first saw Thumper, the poor little fellow was shivering with fear and wanted nothing to do with me (or anyone but Marnie, for that matter). He strained at the leash Marnie was holding and stayed as far away from me as possible. I offered food, which was refused. In the end, I figured I could hang onto him for a few days, at least long enough to dispel (or confirm, if that was the case) the charges hanging over the dog's head.
It took a full 90 minutes for Thumper to come out of the dog crate after I brought him home to the condo, set the crate on a couch, and opened its door. Once he did quit the crate, he ran around the place and wouldn't let anyone near him, for a while. Then he and Shiloh got acquainted, and I fed them both, and I took them both for a walk. And have continued to do so since then.
Has the road been smooth these past three weeks? Not entirely, no.
The morning after Thumper arrived, Shiloh came up to him and started licking him as if he were a puppy. I suspect Thumper—who, while a full-grown adult dog, nonetheless weighs less than 12 lb and is smaller than either of our cats—may, with his appearance, have awakened some kind of latent maternal instinct in Shiloh. In any event, Shiloh's behavior was apparently unexpected, and I guess Thumper didn't really know what to make of it, so some growls were exchanged. That day, the ritual was over before I could do or say anything, so I held my peace. However, Shiloh continues to greet Thumper in this manner every morning, and I think the little fellow is getting used to it.
Later that same day, while jogging the last 100 yards of our return to the condo after a walk, Shiloh and Thumper ran side by side and began to nip at each other, playfully at first, and then with what I construed as a little bit more passion. However, it took almost no effort to break up whatever was developing, and since then, I've come to understand that it was play, and that I had become unaccustomed to the accompanying sound effects. It then occurred to me that it's been ages since there have been two dogs in our household (Ming and Shiloh, almost 9 years ago).
Is Thumper aggressive? Ill-tempered? Don't make me laugh. He barks, from time to time, that's all, and that's any dog's prerogative.
On the other hand, in the end, "there ain't none of us perfect," not Thumper, not Shiloh, and certainly not me. So we'll keep plugging away as best we can. One thing seems clear: I'm pretty sure Thumper has become part of the family, now.
Cheers...
P.S. While moving stuff from Drew's garage to our own yesterday, I made a short detour to visit a yard sale, which had gathered a pretty good crowd (for Pagosa) by the time I got there. While browsing through a box of books that were offered for sale, the woman running the sale recognized me, and all but publicly introduced me as "that fellow who rescued that cute little Chihuahua mix from the shelter." That people notice that sort of thing enough to mention it took me a little by surprise, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that somewhere in the dim recesses of my mind, it felt good to hear the woman say what she did, even if hearing anyone say anything like that was the furthest thing from my mind that day I took Thumper home.
Writer's Block: Mommy Mommy
May. 13th, 2012 10:29 pm[Error: unknown template qotd]
When I was a child, we lived in Queens, New York. My favorite memory of spending time with my mom was when she took me to museums in Manhattan, and in particular, to the American Museum of Natural History. (I was unaware, at the time, that Roy Chapman Andrews, the author of my favorite book—All About Dinosaurs—had once worked at the museum and had even been its director!)
Those were good times.
I miss you, mom.
When I was a child, we lived in Queens, New York. My favorite memory of spending time with my mom was when she took me to museums in Manhattan, and in particular, to the American Museum of Natural History. (I was unaware, at the time, that Roy Chapman Andrews, the author of my favorite book—All About Dinosaurs—had once worked at the museum and had even been its director!)
Those were good times.
I miss you, mom.