Category: dogs

Posted in dogs, Life

Neighborhood walks and aggressive dogs

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by Delphine Beausoleil on Unsplash

I think I’m becoming less and less popular amongst the dog walkers in my neighborhood. I’ve finally gotten my dog – Winston the Westie – to behave when we pass other dogs. But the other dogs haven’t gotten the memo.

I felt horrible the other day as we approached an eighty-plus year old neighbor walking a tiny chihuahua named Queenie. She saw us forty-yards away and was beyond excited. She started for us as he lost control of the retractable leash. I moved to the other side of the street, but the owner had to wrap his arm around a utility pole to keep from being dragged through the water-filled swale. His persistent obscenity-punctuated cries of “Queenie! Queenie!” fell on deaf ears as she fought the leash and lunged ahead.

There was nothing I could do. Whether I turned back to walk home another way or scooted past them as quickly as I could, Queenie wouldn’t give up. Winston was interested, but on a short leash with a prong collar, reminding him to pay attention to me, not her. We made it past and the aggressive barking subsided, but I didn’t want to look back. Next time, we won’t take a chance. I’ll go back home the way I came.

Another neighbor owns two Labrador retrievers, one yellow, one black. I haven’t seen them out walking, but they were out the other evening as Winston and I headed up the street from my house. Once they spotted us, the barking started, followed by frantic pulling to come and check us out. It was all the owner could do to restrain the two eighty-pound bundles of muscle and energy. I would have turned back to go the other way around the block, but when I looked, there was another person walking a German Shepherd I didn’t recognize. Between a rock and a hard place, we walked around the corner to get out of sight.

As he heat of the summer subsides, more and more neighbors have their dogs out for walks. I’ve worked hard to leash train Winston. He’s not perfect, but attentive and manageable. The other dogs? I’ve met a few well-behaved Golden Retrievers and one chill Rottweiler. The rest are out of control. Either they don’t go for many walks or they haven’t been trained.

It’s annoying. I know I’m the one who needs to adjust my route because I’m the one who took the time to train my dog. But I want those dogs to get out and see the world. I don’t think they get out much, and there is so much to smell out there (at least Winston thinks so)!

So, come on, everyone. Train your dog and enjoy some walks!

Posted in dogs, Life

A magical moment: learning to feed the dog

Posted on by William Douthwaite

It’s a magical moment when a child learns to feed the family dog. No one teaches this skill to the child or the dog. It comes naturally.

A lot of life precedes that moment. The infant is old enough to sit up by his- or her- self in a high chair. A couple of teeth have appeared on top and bottom so that they can negotiate some solid but soft food. The little one has also mastered the art of grasping a Cheerio, a pea, or a chunk of hot dog.

Not every morsel will make it into the mouth. Some fall to the high chair tray. Others tumble into their lap. Still others drop to the floor.

The observant pup springs into action, eating the crumb and licking the floor clean for good measure. As more pieces of food descend like manna, the dog figures out the source. It’s that little person. Why wait for the food to hit the ground? If you sit in just the right spot, you can catch it on the way down.

The observant child marvels at how quickly the escaped food vanishes without ever touching the floor. And if you reach your hand out towards that black nose, the food will disappear even faster. A tail wags, the giggles begin, and both are delighted!

Dogs know this is their way of helping keep the floors clean. Children remember this trick for the future, when mom or dad prepares food they don’t like. A win-win, right?

Posted in dogs

“Am I the only one who doesn’t know what the ‘trots’ are?”

Posted on by William Douthwaite
Photo by fatty corgi on Unsplash

Kathy, the receptionist at our veterinarian hails from Scotland and was delighted the first time I brought our newly adopted Westie, Winston, in for a checkup. He picked up on her accent and could hardly contain himself. She made a point of coming out to say hello, so glad to greet a “country cousin.”

The visit was cut short as a gentleman brought an older dog through the front door. She whispered, “This one’s not too friendly. Keep hold of your leash.”

The patient didn’t seem aggressive. No wonder: her owner had drugged her up with some Trazadone in preparation for today’s visit. She hardly paid attention to the other dogs and cats in the waiting room. Returning to her desk, Kathy asked, “Did you bring in a sample?”

“No. We’ve been walking around for the last half hour, and nothing.” Of course. She was there because of an hourly need to poop. Now? Nada.

As they sat in a different section of the waiting room, Kathy told us a story about the young man sitting with her, answering most of the incoming phone calls. She shared how he recently put a caller on hold to ask, “What are the ‘trots’?”

Every cat and dog owner in the waiting room laughed out loud.

Embarrassed but a good sport, he asked, “Am I the only one who doesn’t know what the ‘trots’ are?”

I said, “I think it’s a clinical term” and we all laughed a little more.  

We’ve got plenty of euphemisms to describe this bodily function. I hear new ones all the time. So I guess we can give him a pass for not knowing what the ‘trots’ are.

Posted in dogs, Life

Happy dog

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I loved watching this dog happily greet every customer who came in the coffee shop. With a grin on his face and his tail a blur, he was glad you came in today, no matter who you were!

I did a quick search to find out why dogs smile. It turns out that a smile means they are indeed happy. Some say it’s a learned behavior. People smile when they see a dog smile. Dogs like to make please their owners. So dogs smile to make people happy. That in turn makes them happy, too.

His tag identifies him as a “medical alert dog.” He’s a working dog. I’m don’t know what he was on the alert for, but I’ll bet he went everywhere his owner went. And his smile proclaimed that he loved his work and enjoyed meeting anyone and everyone he encountered.

I’d like to be like that. I’d like to be all smiles when I encounter another person. I do know that if I smile at someone, they are likely to smile back. And if someone smiles at me, it’s hard not to smile in return.

I think we would all benefit from some therapeutic smiling!

Posted in dogs, Life

“Bike ride?”

Posted on by William Douthwaite

Our dog Samson is coming up on his thirteenth birthday. He’s a lot mellower than he was in his puppy days. I had forgotten some of those days until our daughter brought her golden retriever Rex over to play. At six months, Rex is a ball of hair and energy, ready and willing to chew on anything moving or inanimate.

Samson’s got some kind of retriever in him, along with some German shepherd and a little who-knows-what for good measure. The veterinarian called him a “Florida Brown Dog.” In his puppy days, I had to make sure he burned lots of energy outdoors. If he didn’t he’d burn lots of energy indoors.

Bike rides are a great way to do this. No, we didn’t teach Sam how to ride a bike. I was the one on the bike. At the mention of a “bike ride,” he was ready. His leash in hand, I hopped on the bike, and he took off like a shot. Seventy-five pounds of pure energy would sprint down the street, pulling me along on two wheels. I didn’t have to pedal at all, just hang on tight.

But not too tightly. In about a quarter of a mile, Sam would suddenly pause at the side of the road for a bathroom break. Those same seventy-five pounds could quickly pull down the bike. So I learned to hold his leash on the handlebars in a way that I could quickly release him when he stopped. I could then circle back, grab the lease, and we could continue our bike ride. Once we were about half a mile in, he settled down, and we completed our circuit around the block.

Before too long, my other daughter got a puppy, a Florida brown dog named Kennedy. Hair. Energy. The complete package. When Kennedy came to visit, I got out the bike. I leveled up to a two-engine craft when I took them both out for a bike ride. With a leash in each hand, I felt like Ben Hur riding a chariot around the coliseum. I had a couple of close calls, but no tumbles off the bike.

By the time we got home, both beasts were panting hard, long tongues hanging out, eager to slurp up water together, and collapse on the cool tile floor. Happy, tired dogs.

But not for long.

“Bike ride?”

Posted in dogs, Stories

Grrr

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I was out one after noon walking two big brown dogs. One of them, Samson is ours. The other, Kennedy, is my daughters. They’re almost twins.

A hundred yards into our walk around the block, a miniature version of my dogs caught wind of our approach and came over to check us out. He must have been visiting, because I hadn’t seen him before. I braced myself, unsure of how hard my two would pull on their leashes. The little guy trotted over with his hackles up, but the initial sniffing was cordial.

Until the smaller dog snapped, warning us to stay away from his yard. The two bigger dogs woofed but took a step back, unsure of their next move. Really? O come on. He’s not more than a snack for you two beasts. Whatever. We’ll just ease on down the road.

So my question is, why does a little dog like that feel like they can take on a much bigger pair of opponents? And why are the big dogs afraid of such a small antagonist?

I guess dogs don’t pay that much attention to size. It more about territory. If you’re on my home field, I don’t care how big you are, I’m coming after you. You can pee on my mailbox post, but I’m just going to cover it as soon as you leave. I’m defending my home turf no matter what!

The big dogs are thinking, “<pant> <pant> You’re not much fun. Later.”

Posted in dogs, Sunday

We want to go back to bed.

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I settled into my Sunday morning routine quite a few years ago. The first of our two weekly worship services is at 8:15 am. The musicians for that first service arrive to warm up between 7 and 7:20. So if I want the place to myself to run through my sermon, I need to start practice preaching about 6:30. I like to have about an hour to eat some breakfast, shower, get dressed and drive to over to the church. So I’ll get going with all that about 5:30. Plus, after I feed and walk the dog, I like to have some time for my own personal devotions, prayer and journaling, so I set my alarm for 4:30 am. That’s why I always look so awake when y’all arrive for worship. I’ve been up for about four hours.

But that’s not what this post is all about.

My routine was a little different today. You see, my daughter’s dog is spending the weekend with us. So I had two large brown dogs to tend to first thing this morning. No problem. They play, sleep and bark at everyone together. After feeding and walking them, I made my coffee and sat down with my Bible and journal. I figured they would lie down and relax.

Didn’t happen. My wife was still asleep having worked till 11 the night before. We tried to be quiet, but lapping up a quart of water is surprisingly noisy. Toenails ticking on the floor is surprisingly noisy, too, as they sniffed here and there and just couldn’t get settled. They noised our bedroom door over and over again, and I finally figured out what they wanted. They wanted to go back to bed!

I turned off the lights and quietly opened the door. They hurried in, circled around in their beds a few times, and noisily collapsed for a few more hours of shuteye.

It was finally quiet. They probably thought I was nuts to be up so early. I’m sure they’re not the only ones.

Posted in dogs

Turkey necks!

Posted on by William Douthwaite

I’ve been buying frozen marrow bone slices for my dog at Publix for years. He loves chewing them and I am certain that they are great for keeping his teeth clean. Someone somewhere discovered a market for marrow bones among dog lovers, so the price has steadily increased. The last batch I bought went for $2.19 a pound!

However, marrow bones are not always easy to find at my neighborhood Publix. Over time I have established that the truck delivers them on Thursday nights and they may be available on Saturday morning, but you better get their early. They are popular!

For the past two weeks, I’ve been looking for a new supply of marrow bones. But the meat case where I usually find them has been filled with turkeys for Thanksgiving. And not just turkeys. Turkey necks. Piles and piles of packages of turkey necks. I asked myself, “What in the world do people do with turkey necks?”

Well, it turns out you can do a lot with turkey necks. You can sear them, roast them, eat them and enjoy them. But most importantly, you can give them to your dog!

What? You don’t give turkey bones (or chicken bones) to your dog! Do you want a boatload of trouble? Well, as it turns out, dogs love them and it is fine to give raw ones to your dog. I learned about it here. Cook them, and you might have trouble. Frozen or dried? A treat!

I am not the first to discover this treat. The packs of turkey necks at our Publix are selling for $3.49 a pound! Yep, someone is making a fortune on something many people simply tossed out in the garbage. Never again. My doggo will now also get some turkey necks!

Posted in dogs

“Here are some treats.”

Posted on by William Douthwaite

My dog Samson and I had just headed out for a longer walk yesterday afternoon when a neighbor unloading her car said, “Hey, I’ve got something for you!” I don’t know her name, but I am certain we’ve waved at each other before. She handed me a grocery bag and said, “Here are some dog treats. We just had to put our dog down, and you’re the first one I saw, so you can have them.”

The words put our dog down immediately tugged at my heart. In an instant I pictured every single one I ever had to put to sleep. I said, “I know that’s hard. How old was your dog?”

“She was thirteen-an-a-half; just a little Yorkie.” As far as I’m concerned, the words “just” or “little” aren’t appropriate for describing our dogs. Each one claims significant acreage in our hearts, regardless of their actual size or age. That brief moment of sharing spoke volumes. But all I could say was, “Thank you so much!”

Sam and I talked about the encounter as we continued our walk. Well, he just listened, as I reflected how nice it was to take home an extra bag of treats and what a good dog he was.