BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories

Subject: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Charley Noble
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 09:08 AM

Let's first get rid of all the usual puns before this thread is prematurely curtailed. What we're looking for are real stories about your favorite canine or pack, from your own family experience. Here's a story about my last dog:

PUPPY

Puppy, a Norwegian Elkhound of female persuasion was a typical co-op pet. She was the product of a broken home, her human parent having been forced to abandon her when she had to vacate her apartment through lack of centralized heating, and her new landlord having a rigid NO PET policy. Puppy also had the misfortune of having been "knocked up" by a neighboring dog by the name of Willow, who bore a remarkable resemblance to a hyena; a litter of more ugly puppies can not be imagined. However, Maxine and I came to her rescue, having also been forced to move out of the now furnaceless apartment building. Fortunately we had already made plans to pioneer a new housing co-operative with some of our music and political friends, and there was room for a dog.

"Puppy" never acquired a more dignified name, which may be typical for adopted animals. She soon made herself welcome with our new housemates; she was particularly thrilled with Steve and Robin's waterbed. She also became the terror of the local gray squirrels, stalking them low to the ground, using nearby trees to help shield her approach. Puppy was most definitely not a vegetarian, which earned her some glares from certain household members when she returned with her catch. Although extremely friendly with her co-op "pack," Puppy was a terror to anyone in uniform (a byproduct perhaps of her early political training), be that mail carrier, policeman, or serviceperson; she would bark and snarl, tree them if possible, and then sit back and look proud. She was also very territorial with regard to garbage pick-up; the entire block was her domain and no bag could be moved before she had personally inspected it. As I remember it, she returned home one day looking especially pleased with a garbage bag around her shoulders, her head sticking out the middle. I'm amazed that our neighbors were not more offended by her, but after a few years of residence we co-opers become one of the more established residences on our block.

When I decided to leave Michigan and Rivendell Co-op in 1982 to return to Maine, one of the leaving ceremonies was focused on Puppy. At our collective dinner that last evening we decided to take her to the Lansing Zoo (you know, the one over at Potter Park) to commune with some real elks, she being an Elk Hound. This seemed like an irresistibly good idea at the time, and I'm not even sure if it was inspired at all by any "special brownies." However, we were wise enough to realize that we could never achieve this adventure by bringing her in the front gate, although there was some discussion of disguising her as a see-and-eye-dog, an idea which was quickly dropped because of her predictably rude behavior in the presence of authority figures. Thus, we planned this foray for the dark of night, with access over an abandoned railroad trestle that entered the rear of the park. Hours later we all piled into a pickup truck and made our way to the railroad trestle, and contrary to some peoples' "adventure" stories everything went like clockwork, good clockwork. We found an elk cage with elk inside and Puppy actually got to go nose to nose with one massive feller. Puppy, however, was more thrilled by a nearby cage of wolves, who appeared equally thrilled to see her, raising one unholy din and persuading us to abort an otherwise fascinating foray as blazing torch lights appeared from the security shack.

Puppy did make it to Maine with me after I finally returned there from Michigan, terrorizing a new neighborhood of squirrels in Portland before finally retiring to my parents' farm. Then one day she went out into the woods and didn't return. Sad, it's true, but I like to think of her spirit still out there in the woods, keeping the squirrels on their toes.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Mrrzy
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 09:16 AM

"Look at Esti out there chewing on that bone with no teeth!" said my Dad about my old basset hound, whose name was Jessica. Esti is my Mom. I don't think she ever forgave him!

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: The PA
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 09:37 AM

Not sure if this is a favourite dog story, but a story all the same.

Our working border collie Fly is 'borrowed' by some local farmers when they need an extra 'hand' at various times during the year. During the foot and mouth outbreak she worked for days on end at different farms in the area controlling and bring in sheep who were sadly being despatched. She carried on all the time she was needed, but now she cannot stand bangs or shots of any kind, not even the bird scarer or the cartridges which detonate warning the railway workers of an approaching train. No matter where we are if there is any kind of sudden noise she heads for home and there is nothing we can do to calm her. She was always OK before, but husband swears its the after affects of the foot and mouth out break and what she witnessed.

She's a really sensitive dog, after one of our horses was killed on the road, she just 'planted' herself and refused to walk past the spot where it happened. One year on, she'll only just go past but on the other side of the road and she didnt even see it happen. She just seems to know.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: John Hardly
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 10:35 AM

Malamutes are very musical dogs. They might not much care for my guitar music--they have better taste than that. But they howl very musically. The dogs and I really enjoy a good howl every now and then. You'd be surprised how good it feels.

If sirens don't get them howling, the never fail method is the guitar amp or even using the portable phone as an intercom. Just howl into either and they'll go on and on for 5 or more minutes.

Our current male, Aspen, is a real tenor and has a beautiful voice. He can falsetto ... and he loves to trill. He also likes to "fade". He almost never just stops singing, rather, he "Do Wops" into silence.

Our previous male, Bear, used to change pitch with us. We could get him to sing high or low. He would darn near vocalize words, imitating us. He did not, however, like the song "Be Bop A-Lula". I sang it to him when he was a pup and he ran away from me with his tail tucked. Even as an adult he remebered that song.

Bear was also a typically-malamute ornery fellow who stole my heart. In addition to his expert, on-pitch howling, he was a trickster with comical antics, and not-so-comical escape strategies. But he loved running with me--5 or 6 miles a day for 9 of his 11 years, and if I didn't come to get him for the daily run, he would often come to me, his leash in his mouth -- the length of leather dragging behind him.

Our female, Sadie, was the lover of the pack. She was the one who -- just to be near us -- laid at our feet in the shop while we worked.

Sadie just happened to be at the groomer's the sad day when Bear could no longer make it.

Our vet is also a close friend and was nice enough to come to our home to put Bear "to sleep". He did so out in the yard where Bear had last fallen.

We were heart sick for weeks. We missed him terribly. And then the strangest thing happened...

My wife and I were busying ourselves in different parts of the house when we both became aware of a VERY strange sound. Simultaneously we made our way to separate windows and looked out to see Sadie, sitting in the exact spot where Bear had last lain (remember? ...she was at the groomer's when the vet put Bear down), her head reared back and crying the most mournful howl I have ever witnessed. I'm chilled just remembering.

Anyway, I recently bought Sugar Hill's "Sacred Voices" on which Doc Watson does "What A Friend We Have In Jesus" acappella. I know I have an over-active imagination but I heard it as a song for the loss of Merle--and it struck me in so much the same way as Sadie's song for Bear.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Wesley S
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 10:43 AM

My uncle had a lab that was part fish. She would swim out to the diving dock at the lake and then swim up under it so that it could bark in the enclosed section underneath. It was made from 20 gallon oil drums - We assumed she enjoyed listening to the echo. But every summer a neighbor would call frantic - "your dog - she's trapped under the diving dock - you've got to help her!! She'll drown!!" Yeah - right.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: katlaughing
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 11:35 AM

Great stories, fellahs!!

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: catspaw49
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 11:54 AM

Great stories Folks!

Jaeger and Sissy were a beautifully matched pair of blue, longhair Weimaraners. Sissy is still with us but Jaeger went to wait for me at the Bridge last summer. Jaeger was as sweet an animal as I ever knew. Docile, gentle...a real love. When Sissy came along she was the obvious Alpha and a strong one to say the least. Sis has grown into Daddy's girl and my best buddy. She loves Apple Fritters from Tim Horton's and recognizes the place when we drive by. If we don't stop, she looks up at me from her spot between the van seats and let's me know I made a serious mistake.

Poor Jaeger always did as he was told though. If Sissy wanted the place where he was sleeping, she walked up to him and drilled him with as cold a stare as a Weim could muster. If he failed to react, she'd add a bit of a growl and he'd get up and move.   What Sissy wanted, Sissy got! Jaeger couldn't eat without asking permission. Sis would eat some from his bowl while he lay off to the side. When she gave him a glance and moved to her bowl, he'd eat, but not before.

So by the time he was 12 he was about half blind and his hearing had just about gone. Karen and I were sitting at the table when they both came in from their morning naps in the den and went to their food. Jaeger always laid down to eat and proceeded to do just that. Sissy was obviously incensed. They were much like an old married couple with the wife shaking her head at the doddery old bastard who was over the hill. I always wondered if dogs knew what their "parts" like ears and eyes did and on this day, I found out.

Sissy went over to Jaeger who was happily munching away and gave him one of her "looks."   It didn't work. She got closer but at that angle she was out of his field of ever-weakening vision. Jaeger continued to eat. Sissy stepped back as if to think about this new circumstance. Karen said to me, "Well at least he might get some peace this way."   She was wrong. Alpha Dog was still Alpha Dog and........I swear to god this is exactly what happened.........Sissy was not about to let her doddering old coot off the hook. She got close and stuck her nose under one of his long ears, flipped it out of the way, and BARKED!   Jaeger was startled but saw the situation for what it was immediately. He got up and moved away, waiting as always for her approval.

Karen and I cracked up. It was obvious Sis knew exactly what an ear did and equally obvious she was still in charge. When he died about 8 or 9 months later I figured she wouldn't care in the least and at first she didn't. But after a few weeks it was clear she missed him deeply and she still will occasionally look about for him.

Spaw

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Stilly River Sage
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 12:46 PM

I've told you about how my American Staffordshire Terrier arrived three years ago now. She limped up the driveway, where I saw her from the kitchen window. I called her from the doorstep and she limped over, tail down but wagging. I patted her head, she licked my hand, and she stayed. She had lived wild for weeks in the prarie and woods across the street from us, and several neighbors recounted later chasing her off because they were afraid of pit bulls. I made the first friendly overture to her, so she stayed.

She had various injuries from what the vet figured was a glancing blow by a car in the street a week or so earlier. She was dirty and greasy and covered with ticks. A month after she arrived I took her in for spay and dental work. It turned out she had an abscess, but we didn't know it, she was so sweet and happy to have people to love her. By the time she was fully healed this 55-pound dog was so strong and so passionate about meeting other people and dogs that I could hardly control her on the leash if we met others on our walks. (I hadn't discovered Cesar Millan yet--that was a huge breakthrough for all of us!) I still had mixed feelings about owning a pit bull--every so often someone would make some pronouncement about how dangerous they can be, how they could do an irrational "snap" in no time at all, kill their companion. . . I now put that down to fears of people who don't know the breed well and who don't recognize when the owner is in charge, let alone the individual character of the dog. It was a difficult path for me, but Cinnamon is still with us.

A turning point for this dog came when after four months we concluded she needed a companion. After Hurricane Katrina the local Humane Society did a half-price sale on local dogs to make room for the Louisiana dogs. Poppy, as she is now named, was a Catahoula/blue heeler mix, about five months old. They weren't sure if she was female-aggressive or just really really glad to see people and other dogs. We know that she is a needy dog, she wants to be the center of attention when people are around.

I couldn't bring her home to meet Cinnamon before I made the choice, so I brought Cinnamon to the shelter. They brought out the pup and the two were remarkable--wagging, happy, both rolling over on their backs, then sitting chest to chest madly licking each other's face. It looked like a good match. A high energy pup for a high energy older pup. It was 100 degrees out that day so I kept Cinnamon with me in the waiting room to speak to the counselor who filled out the purchase papers. I listened as each prospective dog owner in line ahead of me got the lecture about how to care for dogs (so many adopted for the wrong reasons after that storm). Cinnamon lay quietly on the cool concrete, and people entering the room either crept around the opposite wall for fear of this dog or walked up and asked to pet her, some wanting to know if I'd brought her in for adoption? We'd have had several takers. She was perfect, and when my turn came with the counselor, we simply filled out papers. No lecture required because of the example set by my beautifully behaved "dangerous breed" dog.

Poppy had to be spayed before I could bring her home, and then she had to stay quiet for a week after the surgery. I blocked a room in the house (our dogs are outside dogs, sleeping in the garage) for her to recuperate. Cinnamon knew there was another dog and was desperately beside herself to meet her again face to face. Poppy likewise. After a couple of nights I got smart and bought a small kennel so at night Poppy slept in the kennel and I let Cinnamon in the house to sleep beside her. They were in heaven! After almost a week had passed I would let Poppy out in the back with Cinnamon and they would race around the yard, then Poppy went back to her quiet area. We were careful to avoid wrestling and a stray toenail hitting the stitches.

Cinnamon calmed considerably once she had a dog companion, but Poppy is still a hyper Catahoula. She is the operatic soprano, a coloratura. Look at her cross-eyed and she'll yelp, and she hates water. Cinnamon has a child's wading pool in the back that she splashes in all summer; Poppy will sometimes approach to drink out of it. We have the pit bull alpha dog and the Catahoula wannabe alpha dog, so they have occasional skirmishes, but they're great together. When they play they in turn grab each other by the collar and look like they're going to rip each others' heads off. They have a classic stance, standing perfectly still rather like Greco-Roman wrestlers, when one wrestler positioned behind the other, waiting for the whistle to restart the match. They wear the Invisible Fence collars because Cinnamon was an escape artist (though Poppy isn't and she always would bark desperately if Cinnamon got out). The gray element on the collar is a great lump to bite, and they occasionally rip them off of each other. They did have some woven collars with plastic buckles, but one afternoon I found a colorful stack of collars near the back door, the plastic parts on both chewed to pieces. Now it is leather and metal buckles.

Last week I was in and out of the garage door and didn't notice Poppy slip into the larger room from the dog stall I built by the side door. She exited the garage without my seeing her. I closed the door from the house, and a few minutes later heard a desperate yelping from Cinnamon in the back, the kind of bark that tells me a dog is in the vicinity who she really wants to meet. I looked out the back door and Cinnamon raced to the gate where Poppy waited, desperate to rejoin Cinnamon. It was old home week with wagging and licking after five minutes separated by the wrought iron gate.

The Girls when they were still pups.

SRS (I figure this is kind of long, but only dog people will stray in here anyway, so what the heck.)

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: John Hardly
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 01:23 PM

Love stories. Thanks, Maggie and catspaw. The Cinnamon/Poppy photo is a perfect yin/yang pose.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: kendall
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 01:35 PM

When I was about 4 years old, I had a dog that was half Collie, and half Something else that looked like St. Bernard. He had bitten or threatened everyone in the area, and most people were afraid of him.
One day we were roaming around and for some silly reason, I went to the neighbor's well and climbed down on the rocks. I was unable to climb out, but it was lucky that I had that dog. He went out to the road and stopped a man who was passing by, and would not let him pass. He kept running back and forth from the road to the well, and finally, the man knew something was wrong. He came to the well and found me. All I remember was him climbing up with me on his back, and the look on my sister's face. She was supposed to be watching me.
My Mother was furious and relieved at the same time.

It's possible that someone might have found me, but that old dog gets the credit for my being here today.

Here's to you, Keebo, thanks again.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: John Hardly
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 01:50 PM

I've heard it said that dogs are pretty good at recognition but lousy at reasoning. In other words, there's lots of good data that'd lead one to believe that a dog might do okay at BINGO! (I mean, besides the song by that name), but would be lousy at Chess.

My brother's dog, Kasey must not have received the bulletin.

Kasey was a mutt that looked mostly like a labradoodle -- though, back then there was no such "breed". And Kasey was the source of great love AND frustration for my brother's family.

Kasey was a really terrific trick dog with a repertoire of (I'd guess) at least twenty good crowd-pleasing tricks.

But Kasey suffered separation anxiety. When the family would leave her, Kasey broke things. Tore up things. Expressed herself.

And Kasey also had some typically gross dog habits, among them, drinking out of the toilet. And, man, did she know she wasn't supposed to drink out of the toilet. My brother made that quite clear to Kasey.

As part of working his way through dental school, my brother's family lived frugally. Part of that lifestyle was managing a trailer park in the college town.

One day, while he was out cutting grass around the park, my brother noticed Kasey who was obviously putting lots of effort into getting noticed. Like some old scene from a Lassie episode, Kasey was running up to my brother and then circling back to a trailer close to their house. My brother didn't pay enough attention. So Kasey continued this circling until my brother finally sort of followed her. Sheepishly, I might add. NOBODY believes the Lassie, "I think she wants us to follow her!" gambit. And I'm sure my brother felt just a little stupid to actually be falling for it.

When my brother finally followed Kasey around the corner of the trailer, he found her peering intently into a discarded toilet that was resting against the trailer's outside wall.

....THEN....

Kasey raced to her own water bowl -- my brother still in tow -- and nosed it. It was empty.

Pawn to King's Bishop 3. Your move.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Big Al Whittle
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 02:01 PM

Buster the Line dancing Dog
http://bigalwhittle.co.uk/id19.html
and Old Tige by Jim Reeves, but that's a dead dog (damnit I've given away the plot!). Not sure that dead dogs count.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Amos
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 02:32 PM

My thanks to Keebo, as well! (Well, well, well -- a deep story...).


My brother came out to San Francisco in 1962-3, shortly after I did, in a sort of exodus from our Eastern upbringing, seeking the bohemian life. He yearned to have a dog, and a friend told him about a sort of community dog that wandered Shattuck Avenue and environs in Berkeley, a yellowish older Saint Bernard, free for the taking if we wanted to go over and find him.

Well... we thought it would be swell to adopt the ole dog, so we clambered into brother's 1958 sedan and trundled across the Bay, armed with a box of puppy biscuits. We saw what we thought was the dog, a Saint Bernard snuffling around in the grass on the UC Berkeley campus, so we parked the car, and quickly lured him to the car with puppy biscuits. I was in the back, and we lured him on in. He was not the old, raggy Saint Bernard we'd been given to expect. He was a strapping young one, with paws as big as paddlewheels, and a tongue a yard wide and two yards long. But he had dreamy brown eyes and lovely color, and he didn't seem to much mind stretching out across my knees in the back seat, so we drove him back to San Francisco and incorporated him into our household near the Park, romping with him and admiring his beautiful conformation and jolly attitude and huge paws and tongue.


We got a slightly panicked call from our secret agent in Berkeley. next day. We had nabbed the wrong animal and had stolen a pure-blooded Saint BErnard which was the newly acquired mascot of the Tau Kappa Epsilon football fraternity. They were really, really mad, as college-age football players can be sometimes, and were threatening mayhem if they ever found out who dognapped their mascot.

Well, it was an honest mistake, but the thought of explaining things to angry linebackers kinda seemed too much for us at the time. So we hit on a scheme.

We wrote a ransom note for the dog demanding a bag full of Milky Ways and Three Musketeers, and my brother took my little scooter and scooted off to the City Lights bookstore and posted this note on the bulletin board there. The note directed them to a laundromat over by the park -- a good dfistance away from the bookstore.

Meanwhile, I called the frat house in berkeley and adopted a heavy Okie accent, and I told them we had their dog and they would be well advised to meet our requirmeents of candy bars. They started yelling at me over the phone and I twnaged back, "Y'all nevah mine--jes' do whut we say effen yew wanchur dawg back...". ANd directed them to the City Lights bulletin board for further instructions, where my brother waited anxiously in secret observation.

Well he called in about forty minutes later. He said, rather nervously, that the representatives from the ftraternity had indeed showed up, and there were "six of them...and they were big!. He also added that the football boys had not seen fit to bring a paper bag full of candy bars as requested.

Well, we were a bit nervous at the description but we were not goign to take this noncompliance lying down. We broke out the water-color box used by one of our girlfriends and whistled up the Saint BErnard puppy, who was always good for an adventure. And we spotted him up with green and red and blue spots ikn watercolor. We tied a huge bow around his neck in pink ribbon, tied a string to it, and then I hastily led him across the street to the laundromat, which we could observe from our windows. There was a nice lady sitting there waiting for her laundry and reading a book, and I hastily asked her if she could do me the kindness of keeping an eye on the Saint BErnard pup for a minute, that I would be right back. I dropped the string ather feet and hightailed it bback tot he house, where we turned off the lights and peered cautiously out through the Venetian blinds awaiting the Tau squad.

Well, by and by a compact Valiant pulled around the corner and screeched to the curb outside the laundromat. What followed was droll and eye opening. One after another six large football types, each of the six feet tall and easily 200 pouonds apiece, unfolded themselves from the compact Valiant (not a roomy vehicle in any case).
Once they were extricated, they shook out their wrinkles and stormed the laundromat, much (I am sure) to the astonishment of the woman reading her book therein.

Shortly, they came out pulling the string with the large goodnatured Saint Bernard attached to it, sporting his floppy pink bow and bedecked with his brightly colored red, green, and blue freckles all over his face and paws.

THen they stood for a good ten minutes arguing about which position they were going to have to sit in. THey obviously hadn't thought the thing through, as they had jammed six of themselves into a smallc ar meant for four or five at the most, to go and recover a very large dog. So the logistics for the trip back to BErkeley looked extremely uncomfortable and they had to hammer out which three were going to have to sit int he back with that very large drooling wide-tongued puppy stretched across their knees.

By the time they had established their pecking order and all squeezed back into the Valiant, and disappeared around the corner, we were practically exhausted from laughing so hard while trying to stay quiet behind the blinds across the street. It was a very satisfactory end to the tale, as far as we were concerned.

A

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: GUEST,Chicken Charlie
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 02:43 PM

My wife and I have taken in a number of strays over the years, and spoiled them. We have no children & all our friends know if we talk about "the kids," we mean the dogs.

Watching the "pack" dynamic form and change has been very interesting.

First came Anneke, a fox-terrier mix with lots of attitude. She was small, but she won all of her battles except one. One day she was standing in the 'family room' in front of the row of my instrument stands holding guitars, banjos, an autoharp, etc. (My motto is, if it isn't handy, it won't get practiced on.) Anyway, she heard one of those inaudible noises that only dogs can detect, and let out her typical, belligerent terrier bark. The sympathetic vibes were astounding. Bill Monroe always talked about the "wall of sound," and that's what 'Annie' got thrown back at her from all those beautifully engineered wood and plastic resonators. WOOOOOF! Her ears instantly went back, and she retreated. I don't think she ever went into that side of the room again, as long as she lived. She knew it belonged to a huge if invisible mastiff, which she had heard bark.

The real pack, however, she ruled with an iron hand. "Sissie Mae" is a golden retriever mix, so mellow that she never really challenged Annie until Annie got old and started to lose it. Then came "Murphy Brown," who is a clueless (obedience school TWICE didn't help much) Shar Pei mix. Annie, surprisingly, tolerated the 14-week old pup better than 'sweet' Sissie Mae. Annie would always let the pup rough-house and play-bite her; they'd end up rolling on the floor, chewing each other's noses and growling like they were out to kill, but it was all just sparring. Murphy made the mistake of pouncing on Sissie's tail, but she only did it once; she picked herself up on the other side of the kitchen floor and realized that there were boundaries.

When Annie died, Sissie moved up to the alpha slot; the change was amazing. Our "mellow" golden now is the only one of the three of us that Murphy will mind. Sissie automatically gets the first crack at the food & water bowls if they both get there at the same time; Murphy sits down and waits until her 'pack sister' is finished. On the other hand, whereas Sissie always used to literally run behind Annie if they were challenged by another dog, she now takes the lead if she and Murphy meet strangers. Murphy is actually much the stronger of the two, but Sissie feels that it's her duty to look out for her 'junior' pack member. If she thinks another dog--or human!--might be playing too rough with Murphy, she'll interpose herself between them. I still have a hard time getting used to that side of Sissie, now that she's in the 'alpha' mode. She has a little trouble now, because at almost 17 she's gone deaf--I'm glad I chose a trainer who combined hand signals with verbal commands; otherwise we'd be have a problem now. As it is, 'come,' 'sit' and 'stay' are easy. Sissie can't hear my wife's car drive up when she comes home from work, but Murphy will find her and start doing "play with me" gestures until she gets the old lady to follow her--then she leads her to "Mom." We'll never limit ourselves to just one dog ever again--the interaction is to big a part of their lives.

Chicken Charlie

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Sorcha
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 03:33 PM

Years ago we had a pair of Doberman mix females, so we were the 'obvious' choice when a family who had a full blood, registered male had to move and couldn't take him.

We, being young and dumb, said yes. Went to pick him up...name 4 K Kahuna Khan....and there he was, a year old, on a 4" link log chain, just gloriusly happy to see us! Not a mean bone in his body, but it was a LARGE body. Nearly 30" at the withers....rather oversized even for a male Dobe.

We took him home, and a few weeks later discovered I was pregnant with our first child. Poor Khan had done nothing all his life except pull on the chain til it broke, whereupon, his human just got a bigger chain. This dog was ALL muscle. Khan also failed obedience twice. The second time was high summer in southern Kansas...hot and humid.

The night of the 'graduation' exercises Mr had him on the off lead (lead still attached tho) Long Down. Khan got bored very quickly and noticed the door was propped open, so off he galloped. The last the Instructor saw of either Khan or Mr was Mr chasing him down the sidwalk on Kellog Street (only Bill D and JiK will appreciate that...VERY busy street in Wichita). We were so embarassed we just loaded him in the car and went home.

Another time, Mr was 'rebuilding/turning' a starter. He was squatted down on his haunches concentrating on the starter. I had all the dogs out of the pen, cleaning it up. Khan looked over, saw his 'dad' and proceeded to 'mark his territory'......yup, right down the 'plumbers crack'! I was laughing so hard, I was no help at all.

The ONLY way that I, at 9 mos + pregnant (and after the baby came) could control this dog was with a 'pinch' collar...yea, I hate them too, but....I'm told that watching me push the stroller, the girls on a brace lead and then good old Khan with his pinch collar was quite a sight.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Bert
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 03:58 PM

Well there are so many.

Smartest dog though was Sheapet. She was an Australian sheperd that Tree had rescued from the pound.

In the summer we would give her a buzz cut to keep her cool. She would be embarassed for days because her behind was bare.

She wasn't allowed on the bed, so when she got caught she would lie with her head on the pillow and snore, pretending to be asleep.

Very often half a dozen or more of the neighbors' kids would come and ask if they could take her for a walk.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Charley Noble
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 04:33 PM

Really nice to read these stories.

My brother who lives in Brooklyn near Prospect Park has earned the love and respect of many dogowners there by organizing the "dogs run free" time at the Park, from 7 to 9 am each day. It's an amazing sight to see, hundreds of dogs playing with one another, romping around, chasing sticks and chew-whatevers, and hardly a spat. There owners also congregate in small packs and actually talk with one another. They've been doing this for years, and actually won legal sanction from the City to continue to coordinate this community service. Everyone picks up after their pets. Once a month there is a general coffee, bagels, and dog treat welcome wagon. Those who don't abide by the rules are warned, and if they continue to be violators I'm not sure what sanctions prevail. But I've never seen any major problems. I'm always amazed that such a community activity can survive in the big city. Here's a link to their webpage for those who might doubt or are simply curious for more info: Click here for website!

Charley Noble

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Bill D
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 04:40 PM

Oh, my Sorch! (what part of Kellogg? The first place I ever lived in Wichita was just south of it on Washington St.) Kellogg I think is just a freeway now.

My only dog stories are from Wichita...I'll do one soon,

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Stilly River Sage
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 05:53 PM

Brooklyn dog owners are so much easier to talk to than uptown Manhattan dog owners. Brooklyn folks interact with their dogs and are proud to talk about them and share stories. Manhattan dog owners seem to have them solely as status symbols, to be seen but never discussed. They would look right through you if you asked a question about their purebred whatever-it-was. I worked as an Urban Park Ranger in 1980 and was stationed at various times in all of the large urban parks, but was based at Prospect. I met a lot of dogs in the parks.

One day in Prospect Park, over near the copper beech, a large male German Shorthaired pointer came racing down the path toward me, tennis ball in his mouth. I could tell that the guy jogging down the path some distance back was with him, so when the dog came over to me I took the ball, palmed it and pretended to throw it in his owner's direction. The dog bounded off. I then realized that I was doing that out of habit--my mother's German Shorthaired pointer was as sweet as could be but a bit of a dope when it came to seeing where the ball was when you threw it (or pretended to throw it), though she had an uncanny ability to find balls at rest in out-of-sight places in hedges and bushes. She fell for that trick every time.

"I'm so sorry!" I told the guy as he ran up. "That's a game we play on my pointer, but I shouldn't have done it to yours."

"No problem--he's such a dope, we do it to him all of the time!"

I guess there are some breed characteristics that tend to bring out the same kinds of games across the range of owners. :)


A couple of years ago I was in the lobby at a friend's apartment house in Greenwich Village (different than the part of Manhattan I referred to above, the upper west side of Central Park) when I guy came through the doors to the elevator with a large white dog that I was pretty sure was one of the group called pit bulls. I stepped into the elevator also and asked what breed his dog was.

He did the typical sigh one hears from owners of this breed. "He's a pit," he responded briefly, expecting me to cringe, perhaps. I had to put him out of his misery.

"I have one at home, red and white. A real sweetheart." The transformation was remarkable. The guy beamed, popped off the leash (the dog stayed at the elevator door, focused on his route to home) and when the door opened the dog raced around the corner to his apartment door. I'd guess by his behavior that it was dinnertime.

Great stories here. And yes, that is my "yin and yang" photo of the dogs. It's my favorite.

SRS

SRS

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Georgiansilver
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 05:57 PM

My long nosed long tailed terrier,
Best fighting dog on earth.
Much longer thaqn the average dog,
And greater round the girth.

My long nosed long tailed terrier,
Not had a fight for a while.
Seems other dogs won't fight him,
Cos he's a crocodile!

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Stilly River Sage
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 08:47 PM

Drill ye terriers drill. . .

Oops. Wrong type.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Charley Noble
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 08:55 PM

SRS-

Really! I didn't know you were NYC. I was figuring Midwest, wherever that is!

Are you now retired as an urban park ranger?

Anyway, feel free to introduce yourself to my brother Bob at Prospect Park on some 1st Saturday. It will earn you a bagel or a doggy treat, your choice! His dog is named Danali.

Cheerily,
Charley Noble

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Rowan
Date: 26 Feb 08 - 11:30 PM

What we're looking for are real stories about your favorite canine or pack, from your own family experience.

Well, I can say that, when I read Henry Lawson's "The loaded dog" I wet myself laughing. And almost everyone I know has the same experience when reading it.

But I suspect it doesn't count.

Cheers, Rowan

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Stilly River Sage
Date: 27 Feb 08 - 12:26 AM

No, I'm in Texas now, Charley, have been for about 25 years. I worked in Prospect Park in 1980 (I worked at Ellis Island for a couple of years before that). All of the dog activity was supposed to be on leash when I worked there (though I obviously wasn't enforcing rules too much if I was throwing a ball for a shorthair!)

I was back a couple of summers ago and it had changed a great deal in the park. Mostly for the good.

SRS

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: GUEST,strad
Date: 27 Feb 08 - 06:23 AM

Great stories! I had a working border collie Flash and a little grey kitten Kalamazoo who were the greatest of pals. The cat would lie across Flash's neck and clean his ears for him. The two of them used to play outside the house every day. You'd see the cat chase the dog one direction then the dog chase the cat back. One summer evening the cat came racing into the the house and disappeared under the couch. The dog arrived in hot pursuit but ebbed up at the shoulders. We then noticed the cat creeping round the edge of the room until she was right behind the dog who still had his head under the couch. The cat then pounced on the wagging tail of the dog, beat hell out of it with her back legs, then shot off out the house. When Flash felt his tail being attacked of course he tried to stand up, banging his head on the underside of the seat. A quick back up, then off out of the house to find that pesky cat! We couldn't move for laughing. Sadly both are gone to their final animal home but I still catch myself looking round for them.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Sorcha
Date: 27 Feb 08 - 09:59 AM

Bill, I honestly can't remember. It might have been a YMCA....it WAS nearly 30 years ago!

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Rowan
Date: 27 Feb 08 - 04:17 PM

Yesterday I heard a woman wax most eloquent about the trials of becoming a step parent to a dog.
It might fit in this thread rather well.

Cheers, Rowan

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Mrs.Duck
Date: 27 Feb 08 - 05:56 PM

Back in the day when beer bottles has a return deposit on them my uncle owned a boxer called Peter. When Uncle John had finished his bottle of beer he would say'beer shop, bottle, biscuit' and Peter would pick up the bottle take it to the off licence who would attach the deposit to his collar and give Peter a biscuit, which he would carry all the way home before eating it! If he was ever challenged by other dogs he would put the biscuit down fight his corner and then retrieve the biscuit before heading home again. This went on for a number of years.

Subject: RE: BS: Your Favorite Dog Stories
From: Sorcha
Date: 27 Feb 08 - 06:27 PM

Good one, Jane! I love it!