Don't Dump The Dog (12 page)

Finally, always let him win. When you play tug-of-war, let him win. When you wrestle on the floor, let him win. When he paws you for attention, let him win. Build his confidence up one win at a time, and in the end, which is just a few short months away, you’ll see a much less submissive dog.

As for Bud ... Fortunately, we found a family to adopt him. Unfortunately, it took a long time, I guess because of the following description we put under his picture on our Web site:

Oh, by the way, that family is
me
. Bud is pretty normal now, sleeps
on
the bed and not under it, loves playing with toys, and loves to be petted, but to this day, he eats his meals under the bed. I find that endearing, for it’s a constant reminder to me that nobody, whether two-legged or four-, is perfect.

Bud’s a little shy, so he should have a family with other dogs and parents willing to let him win tug-of-war games and yell “NOOOOO” and then make gagging noises in a convincing way whenever something scares him ...

T
his one had me shaking like a rattle in the hands of a psychotic baby. I was pissed, and thought it had to be a joke. How could this be for real? So, I did what any good Rescue Randy would do and called to talk with the Dumps, live and in-person. It went something like this:

No, I really didn’t say exactly that. The “stupid-ass morons” part came out of my mouth after I’d hung up.

Let’s look more closely at this letter. The first sentence states that they adopted her several years ago as a puppy, but now she is ten. Did Casey get some sort of accelerated aging disease, or is there something fishy with their story (because it stinks)? Doesn’t the word
several
mean something like three? So the Dumps are dissembling. Several years is not ten years old, except maybe in giant tortoise years.

Show of hands—how many of you reading this book right now would want a dog that had these characteristics? She’s a wonderful dog. She gets along great with the other dogs in the neighborhood, and is completely housebroken. She also graduated at the top of her obedience class. My hunch is that many of you are clutching this book in one hand as if it were the doggie bible and raising the other to the sky, shouting “Hallelujah!” If you are like me, none of my kids (kids=dogs) are as well-rounded as Casey. In fact, most of mine ride the short yellow bus.

Another show of hands: How many of you stopped loving or caring for your parents just because the inevitable happened, and they got old? (You all better
not
be holding up those hands.)

I pray that dog karma exists. When the Dumps get old and gray and lose those cute freckles and their teeth, develop cloudy eyes, and accidentally knock over their own adult Depends diaper pail, I hope they get sent away to the nursing home from hell. The one with Nurse Ratched, who forces you to eat Jell-O while playing Hell’s version of a never-ending bingo game where there is never a winner—only losers with cloudy cataracts.

I love old dogs.

Casey was getting the ax, but what was also very disconcerting to me was the Dumps’ desire to have a new puppy. Do they think dogs are like cars, where you can just trade in the older model (before it dies) for something younger? If they’d written because they wanted to adopt a new puppy to help keep Casey feeling young and to give her some company, that would have been great. But that wasn’t the case at all. I feel awful knowing they’ve probably adopted a new puppy from somewhere else by now. If it’s not the perfect puppy, what will they do next? Let’s just hope the new puppy dumps on the Dumps and destroys their home. Heck, I hope the puppy throws in a bite or two for good measure, and then runs away and lives with someone like sweet little Jimmy from
Lassie Come Home
.

How would I solve the problem so they would keep Casey? My advice would be intense daily therapy with the world’s leading psychiatrists, and if that didn’t work, try Dr. Phil. If he can’t straighten them out, God help us all—especially if you bark.

Darren and Dodo, I take solace in hoping Nurse Ratched and her never-ending supply of lime Jell-O will be waiting for them in their glory years. Fortunately, Casey found a new home with new parents who are over sixty years of age, and who understand where Casey is on her journey through life.

I love old dogs.

W
hile you and I may not like the thought of being in crates (although I welcome the thought when I read some of these letters), a dog’s point of view is very different: they
like
being in crates.

Consider the wolves. For them, a den is a place where the pups spend their first few weeks of life with their mother. It’s not shared with the rest of the pack and is a warm, safe place where they sleep, eat, and play. Wolves make their dens by digging with their paws, which is a trait passed on to my own crew and which is why my backyard looks like the moon’s surface.

So don’t think of a crate as a prison cell. It’s a dog’s version of a den, and if you have problems with the idea of crate training your dog, think of it instead as den training.

But a crate is much more than a den, it provides a secure nesting space free from all other distractions. It is your dog’s haven and your ticket to sanity. A comfy den should not be kept in too bright or busy of a room, because it’s supposed to be a place for the dog to decompress, his own private Idaho where he can be alone, kick back and play with his toys or chew on his bones in privacy.

The point is that crating a dog is not cruel as long as you don’t turn the crate into a tool of punishment. It should
never
be used as such. Think about it: when did having to go to our rooms as children for punishment ever work? I still snuck out the window and pulled off my shenanigans. Dogs are no different, so let’s do this exercise mantra aloud, before we go any further:

Repeat this fifty times so it sinks in. Shenanigans=Dogs. Do you think your dog will play with his X-Box, listen to music and vacuum while you are gone? Playing in the garbage
is
your dog’s X-Box.

Basically, I divide my life into two parts: before the crate and after the crate. Before the crate, Steffi and Patsy (whom I call my little lesbians, because they are inseparable) played Shenanigans whenever I turned my back on them. Those two dogs tag teamed attacks on my couch, my bed, and my closet the
second
I stopped paying attention. I even had them professionally trained but all that accomplished was a perfect “sit” next to whatever they just destroyed.

Then one night during the Christmas holidays, I got a call from Jenn that one of the dogs in the shelter was going into labor. She was a ghetto yellow Labrador mix rescue who was malnourished, suffering from heartworm and had no real nipples for the pups to nurse on, so I knew Jenn’s call was an emergency. Instead of locking Steffi and Patsy into the kitchen as I normally did, I just turned on the radio loud and bolted out the door thinking, “How much damage could they really do?”

During the course of the next several hours, as the mom dog labored in vain, the radio at the shelter—set to the same station as the one I left on at my house—played the same series of Christmas songs over and over and over. For some reason, ...
here comes Suzy Snowflake dressed in her snow-white gown
... got so stuck in my head, it was if my brain’s cerebellum bled the words....
Dressed in her snow-white gown, weee the ride’s on me
...

Eventually we took Suzy (as we ended up naming her) to the vet where an emergency C-section was performed. She lived, some pups died and I was delirious from lack of sleep. All I could think about as I approached my house still humming the song was crawling into bed and sleeping for the next twenty-four hours straight.

When I opened the door, well ... picture the most evil hooligans armed with machetes declaring war on your stuff: overturned garbage in every room; sheets ripped completely off the beds; there were actually pictures from the wall on the floor. As I wondered around in a daze, the radio I left on for the dogs played ...
Here comes Suzy Snowflake dressed in her snow-white gown
...
weeee
... like the background music of a movie not far flung from
The Shining
. That awful song must have had something to do with my destroyed home.

Upstairs, my mattress sported a colossal hole in it as if a meteor ripped through my ceiling and into my bed. Bits and pieces of my shirts, shoes, and books littered the floor. I eventually found Steffi and Patsy on the stripped guest bed engulfed in clouds of pillow stuffing. When they heard me gasp, their faces popped up out of the white stuffing, they cocked their heads sideways in opposite directions, and then promptly did skilled “sits” next to all the mess they made.

Defeated, I climbed into bed fully dressed with my butt fitting snugly into the newly formed crater that once was my mattress and hummed myself to sleep,
dressed in her snow-white gown
...
weeee
...

That’s when I purchased two more crates.

Wire crates work best and allow a panoramic view for the pooch. Your dog’s crate should be just large enough for him to stand up and turn around in. If your dog is still growing, choose a crate size that will accommodate his adult size. Block off the excess crate space so your dog can’t eliminate at one end and retreat to the other. Place it in an area of the house he enjoys hanging out in. Mine are in my bedroom next to the crater bed and TV.

Desensitizing your dog to her new den will be the first step. Start by keeping the front door off the crate for easy access, and line the crate with comfortable bedding such as fleece. Let her spend a day just looking and sniffing her new digs. Once she sees that it doesn’t transform into a metallic canine-eating monster, start putting her favorite treats and toys inside the den. Use gentle praise, and don’t make a big fuss about it. Let her instincts start to kick in.

If she is being stubborn about it or shows no interest, try feeding her meals in the crate. We all like eating in bed.

After she waltzes in and out on her own and believes she has some cool new pad, it is time for tough love. Feed her in the crate but this time close the door. Pretend it is no big deal and walk away out of sight but stay close enough to hear what will probably come next, whining. Do
not
open that door. Go grab an adult beverage and sip it until the whining stops. Once she simmers down, release the door, and again, don’t make a fuss about it.

The first time you leave her alone in her crate for any length of time, grab an old dirty shirt out of the hamper with your magnificent stench intact and toss it in her den. Your smells will help her later on feel more comfortable knowing you are still close by somewhere. Now go grab a leash or a ball and get her tired, because you want a pooped pooch. Snatch a Kong toy, available at any pet store, and stuff it with peanut butter or cheese. Place the Kong in the crate with her. Now, shut the door. She will probably howl, so turn up the TV or buy earplugs for you and your neighbors.

In time and especially with food, your dog will cease howling or whining. In fact many dogs pick up on their guardian’s actions and will boogie to their den when they see you grab your keys, for it all starts to become routine, habitual. My lovely old pit-hound mix Hannah is always in her den when she hears the shower going. She knows a clean Dad means he is about to leave the house. Hannah doesn’t need to be crated anymore. Her shenanigans stopped many years ago but she still goes to her crate with her favorite toy every time I leave. I don’t even shut the crate door. The lesbians, however, get locked in for maximum security.

Crating should never be used for punishment or endless hours of confinement. We all love going to bed but we do want to wake up and go to the bathroom eventually. This is a den, a home within a home. Make it nice.

My old chow Bear knows how to properly use a crate. He actually enjoys hanging out in one even though he has never been crated. Why train a perfectly behaved dog to use the crate, you might ask ... one word: K-A-T-R-I-N-A.

After rescuing so many dogs during hurricanes Katrina and Gustav and seeing so many dogs die or left behind because the guardians couldn’t or wouldn’t use a crate, I go nuts. We live in a world where natural and unnatural disasters can happen on a dime. Your pooch will thank you for having a safe den to nest in while you ride out the catastrophe. Hotels, emergency shelters and more importantly your family will be more open to take you and the dog in if you have a crate in tow. Like a good scout, be prepared.

Den dos and don’ts

• Do use your crate for housebreaking
  
• Do use your crate if you have a destructive dog
  
• Do make sure it is a fun, cozy, secure place with treats and toys
  
• Do feed your dog in the crate
  
• Don’t replace the crate as a socialization tool
  
• Don’t use as a remedy for separation anxiety, for your dog could get hurt
  
• Don’t use a crate for punishment
  
• Don’t crate for more than eight hours with an adult dog; much less with puppies
  
• Don’t listen to a song called “Suzy Snowflake”
  

Alternatives to crating can be even more stimulating and effective for your dog. Hire a pet walker while you are gone or use a doggy day care. Doggy day care is all the rage and you bring home a very social pup. We put our human kids in day care so why not the dog? I prefer this over long hours of crating.

As for Ollie, his sanity has returned and Fred now uses a crate and calls it his den. His new throw pillows lay beautifully on his couch in one piece and the garbage now stays in the can. Shenanigans are now supervised, the way it should have been from the get go. Fred didn’t get dumped.

Remember a crate isn’t cruel unless you make it that way. Don’t screw up.