New Dog Day.
A friend of my wife’s took on Daisy, a shelter dog. It had problems with her other two dogs, both of whom are elderly. Daisy was Alpha-Plus – gimme Hitler! I’ll show him what for! - but also sweet and affectionate and smart. Natalie met him on Sunday and fell in love: she’s soooo cuuuute! We’ve talked about getting another dog for a while, and since Jasper gets along with every dog he’s ever met, we said we’d give Daisy a shot. Bring her over, and let’s see how they get along.
Amend that; Jasper doesn’t get along with lunatics. At our old house there was a crazy Doberman down the block named Raina. She’d get loose, lope over to our house, come in the back yard, chase Jasper around the house. He ran from room to room with his ears back and his eyes wide: get this hellbeast off my flanks, boss. C’mon. Back me up. Raina’s favorite trick was flipping another dog and pinning it by the throat, just for grins. I used to watch the neighbor walk her at night, and was like watching someone follow a large, animate switchblade.
The doorbell rang at 6:30, and Natalie lit up with delight: she’s here! Daisy’s here! I went to the door, and beheld a beautiful mutt with a silky red coat and a black muzzle. Perfect size. Smart face. Eager manner. This was our new dog!
Something inside of me said:
wrong dog
this is the wrong dog
It was a dismaying thing to feel, because there was no reason for it, and my daughter was already in love with the dog. I told myself I was thinking about what I’d been told: she doesn’t warm up to men right away. But this hadn’t been a problem for the current owners; Daisy had come to trust the Two-Leg Male, so I was making that up. We let Daisy romp in the backyard, which she consecrated immediately with the extrusion of the ceremonial stool. Eventually Jasper wandered over to the back door and looked out: What. The. Hell.
I let him out, and the got to know each other – the elaborate ritual sniffing fore and aft commenced while they ran around in circles, something Nijinsky and his partners could never achieve with equal grace. Lots of play barking; no play bows. We let them sort it out for a while, and they seemed to do okay.
wrong dog
this is the wrong dog
Everyone went for a walk to see how Daisy did with dogs she met on the road; apparently she did okay, aside from the old paw-on-the-shoulder trick that says SUBMIT TO MY WILL, but Jasper was the same way as a pup. They want to have their way; they’re mouthy, they jump & hump, they get away with anything they can. When the dogs got treats after the walk, I tried talking away Daisy’s food; she gave it up without a struggle. Good sign. No so good: this dog would win a staring contest.
The current caretaker went back to get Daisy’s blanket for the night, since we were going to keep her, and we stood back somewhat amazed: we have a new member of the family.
I went upstairs to work. A few minutes later: calamity. A shouting match, dog style. For five solid minutes they yelled at each other. Daisy followed Jasper, barking, putting the paw on his back, and bullying him. Jasper yelled back; sometimes they just stood there and barked at the same time as loudly as possible at each other. Well, they have to figure it out.
I looked over at Natalie: her face was moist.
“Is Daisy staying?” she asked in a small voice.
“That’s what we’re finding out,” I said.
She leaned over and whispered in my ear. “I sorta just want Jasper.”
“Is it the barking?”
She shook her head.
“I just want Jasper.”
wrong dog
this is the wrong dog
The owner came back with the smelly blanket, and we had a talk. During this chat, the barking continued until Jasper went into a corner and started licking his paws over and over again. Since he’s not a cat, I took this as a sign of stress. They got up and paced around for a while again - then Daisy decided to make it easier for everyone by biting Jasper. Oh . . kay.
Now. I’m not one of those fancy dog whisperers, but I speak a little Alpha, and I had my hand on Daisy’s neck in a second, pushing down firmly but gently. She sank right down – and stared at me. Would not break eye contact. Eventually she looked away, but it was like one of those sullen juvenile delinquents who stops glaring at Officer Krupke after he’s been tossed in the back of the squad car and cuffed on the ear.
This was the wrong dog.
She’ll be fine with someone who doesn’t have other dogs, I’m sure; very affectionate, and very well-mannered with people for a pup. But this wasn’t going to work. We bade goodbye, gave her a last scratch and a pet, and off she went.
Jasper looked at us: seriously? That? What? Do I bring in people to the house who push you around and bite you in the ass?
Then he went upstairs and we helped him up on the bed. Everything was fine again.
Right dog.
That is the right dog.
–
Later today: Comic Sins around 11; Black and White World – a great 30s journalism movie – around noon; buzz.mn Small Town Website of the Week at noon as well.
Pass it along, if you wish
53 Responses to Tuesday, April 21
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Beautiful piece, James. One of your best, I think.
This is the wrong dog.
Sometimes, you can just tell. I’m really glad you were able to sort it out before it became…complicated.
Drat…forgot to close my tag!
Helluva story, Lileks.
Jasper must feel relieved.
But don’t worry; you can just tell him it was a blind date gone wrong . . . .
I’ve been through that a few times, as well. The better stories, though, involve cats trying to work out a detente. As a kid, I remember us taking in a stray just after we’d gotten a kitten: the stray was an _enormous_ grey tom who our miniature version decided to stand up to, all spitting and poofy fur. I can still remember the almost amused look on the tom’s face at this display across the kitchen floor. It was the same near-smile my already-Clint-Walker-sized-in-6th-grade friend would get when some normal-sized kid, no doubt on a dare, would start trying to pick a fight. The tom seem just so bemused that our kitten strutted off in triumph before he even thought to twitch a tail in annoyance.
The classic was Judy,a lunatic Abyssinian(thanks to the offhand kittenhood abuse we rescued her from) I had with my ex. She so terrorized a spoiled cheerleader of a calico we boarded for a couple weeks that it wouldn’t walk on the floor–only traveled by furniture or whined for us to carry it. But Judy’s weirdest moment came when I brought home an intended addition, a brindle runt of the litter we called Mavis. Watching to see what Judy would do, I set the kitten on the sofa, two of us poised & ready to grab the loon if she went for the kitten. Judy entered, locked eyes with Mavis & stopped. She crept forward in a straight line, as slowly & silently as if hunting, but without the crouch or dropped head, never changing from her line a milimeter, never changing speed. Closer & closer she zeroed in on this poor, terrified, snake-fascinated kitten, like a slow-motion film, for a three long minutes, until they barely touched noses *ding!*–and then, Judy walked away, relaxed & bored-eyed as if none of us existed. Even stranger, later that night our certifiable wanna-be mother was busy teaching Mavis the best way to play-pounce our ankles as we walked past the coffee table(we were soon referring to the kitten as “the little terrorist”–she’d let out blood-curdling, human-sounding yowls from hiding before she & Judy would run straight at each other full-speed, stopping at the _last_ possible second to rear up at each other like bears, & run away they way they came, Mavis trailing a steady stream of “rrrrrrrr-rrrrRRRRRRrrrrrr”s like a kid making boat/plane engine noises).
Sweet. Nice. Intelligent. Thanks.
You need to watch the Dog Whisperer.
I’m glad you recognized the potential for problems and did not close any doors beforehand. That makes it much easier for the family and for your own peace of mind. Agreeing to take in a dog is a lifetime decision (of the dog, at least; or it should be), not something to be done without due diligence and some soul searching. Been there, done that, and it’s wonderful that Natalie came to her own conclusion. Here’s wishing many more healthy days for Jasper.
I always love reading stories about Jasper, especially when it comes to other animals. It reminded me of when my grandmother acquired a lab puppy, and brought her over to meet our old dog, Pete. The puppy would jump all over Pete, biting his ear, his tail, his leg, until he finally got fed up, and like the crochety old man he was, turn around and give the lil’ whippersnapper whatfer, as only an old dog knows how.
Now we have an elderly black lab named Magic, who gets along fine with the cats, but gets irritated with a small black lab puppy that the neighbors let loose. She doesn’t snap at the pup, but she looks at my dad with the same pleading look of an old woman needing help getting up the stairs, which she sometimes does.
I should have known I had the wrong dog when I adopted Rocky, a 6-month-old South Carolina Dog from a local animal shelter. He chased after the cats, and when I tried to take away his food, he growled and snapped. Bad sign. Very bad sign. Even worse than “Bridge Out Ahead”. I should have taken him away when he grabbed one of my cats’ heads in his mouth for getting too close to the food. Luckily he didn’t snap it off: I was in the same room when it happened, and grabbed the broom and whacked him on the head with it. He let go of the cat. My parents finally took him to a shelter when he grabbed one of their cats and shook it for getting too close to the food. The cat survived, but she’s been deaf from birth, so she wouldn’t have heard him growl.
If I ever adopt another dog, it’s going to be a fairly old dog, no less than five years old. Hopefully one that already has some basic training ingrained into it. Magic has been apparently trained, although I haven’t seen her do any of the basic commands. One thing I have seen her do, or rather not do, is eat off our plates if we put them down. She’s slowly coming around, but her previous owner had trained her to not eat off the Two-Legged Dogs’ food dishes, but out of her own food dish. She’ll eat off of paper plates and bowls, but she still has a hard time with glass/ceramic plates and bowls. One time my dad put down some scraps on a real plate and placed it in her usual eating area, but she still refused to eat off of it. He put it in her bowl, and she happily ate it. She will eat out of the pot or pan if we use that, and she will eat out of a casserole dish or other large serving dish, if we use that. Put a real plate or bowl in front of her, and she won’t touch it, even if it was steak.
So glad you didn’t commit without a trial run. It would have seriously messed up Jasper’s life. And your daughter is empathetic–what if she had really pushed for the dog to stay?
You did the right thing. But if you find the right dog, it can be great. We introduced a young female rescue to our elderly dog and he accepted her from the get-go. She seems to have livened him up a bit. He responds to her play overtures. It’s the first time in a while we’ve seen him frisky. I guess it’s part chemistry, which is as mysterious for dogs as it is for people.
Now, I’m worried about her when the inevitable happens and we have to let him go (he’s almost 14 years old). We’ll probably have to get yet another dog to keep her company.
Unfortunately this sounds like my Daisy. We seem to have finally convinced her that the small human is not an annoying puppy for her to subdue. But we try not to let her interact with other dogs and don’t completely trust her around other people’s children (unless they have food for her to steal, in which case she loves them).
Sometimes I think that if we get a really good dog, it’ll teach Daisy the right way. HAHAHAHAhahaha. Ha. Instead we’ll just wait for her to die. Then get something that has small poops, not lab poops.
Good thing Nat is a puppy whisperer and had the wisdom about this Daisy, too.
I used to watch the neighbor walk her at night, and was like watching someone follow a large, animate switchblade.
Eventually she looked away, but it was like one of those sullen juvenile delinquents who stops glaring at Officer Krupke after he’s been tossed in the back of the squad car and cuffed on the ear.
Excellent writing. Just excellent.
Advice for the future: Having worked in a large kennel and dog training facility, I can tell you that the best way to establish “who’s in charge” is not to grab by the scruff or hit the nose with the rolled up paper (they still print those, right?). If you have an unruly mutt that defies, barks, and “attacks” established animals in the house, alpha-presumptive dogs can be made a bit more submissive by quickly taking them to their back and holding them there. You may then vocally assert yourself to them. It may take more than a few times (just like with the kids), but they invariably “get it”.
We are dealing with a new dog that now knows that when I say QUIET! it would be in her best interest to do so. She also no longer chases any of the 4 cats and our golden, Charlie…
Adoption is usually the best way to get a dog. I was looking for a Scottish Terrier years ago, to replace one that had died. Kept looking on petfinder.com (an excellent website for adopting any animal!) until I found Rosie–a gorgeous face, sweet expression. Her owner was an old woman who had passed on. The woman’s son couldn’t keep Rosie, and reluctantly gave her up for adoption. She was five years old when I got her.
Only thing was, Rosie wasn’t exactly a pure-bred Scottish Terrier. She’s a pure-bred St Bernard. I went looking for a twenty-pound lapdog, and came home with a 120-pound behemoth! She was very well-trained, and fit right in. And I’m happy to say that, despite cataracts, hearing loss, and arthritis, Rosie just celebrated her 13th birthday. She still goes for a walk every day, and still eats her food; when she stops doing those things, then I’ll know the time has come to say good-bye.
She was, and is, the right dog.
A beautiful story. Thank you. Sometimes you just know: This is the wrong dog.
Hmmm…I can understand a moment’s weakness, especially in light of the fact that you may still have remnants of that ‘Disney Glow’, generating the warm fuzzies, but seriously, would you have renamed the estate “JasperDaisy Wood”?? I don’t think so! Jasper is lord of the manner and will remain so.
@Ross: I love that story of the tiny kitten doing the “I’m gonna moider ya!” dance with a tough old tome! My cat was exactly like that when she was young — her response to pretty much everything was “Attack!”
She just turned 13, and has mellowed somewhat, but she still believes a good, energetic “SSSSSSS!” communicates so much more than a wussy little mew. But bring another cat into my insane kitty’s house? I don’t think so….
That’s “tough old tom” (sigh). Though my cat has been known to attack books now and then, too.
We’ve only ever had two wrong dogs in our long string of dogs. The first was a lunatic Boston terrier named Nicky. He got along with our kids all right, and with the other dog, but he was a horror around other people, especially other kids. We finally had to give him to my aunt who had a kennel. The second was an American Eskimo Spitz named Sam, who was sweet-natured, non-aggressive, and beautiful, but absolutely impossible to housebreak completely, or to train to come when called. He was inherited from my daughter (a gift from a soon-to-be ex-boyfriend), so not really our choice of a dog, but we kept him until we had to have him put down at 13. I had affection for him, but the total dog-love was never there.
We used petfinder dot com to find our latest two rescue cats. We got two older kittens from two different rescue groups at about the same time. They were the same age and size and fell in love with each other at first sight. Now, one is twice the size of the other, but they don’t appear to know it, and they are still best buds. We look for sweet first, and smart second. We’ve been very lucky to have mostly sweet, affectionate cats that like each other and us.
I’d really like a Maine Coon, though – maybe next time.
Aw, poor Jasper!
We had a terrible time trying to get our bunnies to be friends. Hunny was our big fluffy alpha bunny. She bullied the cats and escaped from her room whenever she got a chance, hopping all over the rest of the house chasing the cats and making trouble.
We fell in love with Patch at shelter, and he was so tiny that he fit in the palm of my hand. Hunny immediately attacked Patch, so we had to back off and reintroduce them slowly, putting their cages within sight, then next to each other. Then we had to take them on car rides together (apparently, shared stressful situations bonds bunnies) and then do supervised visits in a room neither of them had been in. Eventually, we let them have supervised visits, then we let them visit each other with just the cats supervising (the cats broke up fights). Finally, they were best friends and inseparable.
Then Hunny died suddenly one night.
Patch was sad, but his new best friend is our cat, Max.
Balance of power is important with cats. I have three and they seem to have worked out who sits where, who eats first, who gets the bed, who gets the lap, etcetera. “Balance of power” is also a good (and legitimate) excuse when someone (knowing my weakness for cats) asks me to accept another. “The balance of power has been established and appears to be working,” I reply, shaking my head sadly, “don’t want to mess that up.”
A new dog is hard.
Our old Lab Barnaby was with us for 11 years. Got him as a pup, and he was every bit of Marley, from John Grogan’s Marley & Me. As he got older, he got better. Good mannered, followed commands, but tons of character. Tons. There was always a leavening of lunatic puppy beneath the surface. He was our kid before we had kids. Hardest thing ever when after a year of cancer he had to let him go. Hard because we had to make the decision for him. Not like a family death, but hard because of the trust the dog places in you.
New Lab is the kids’ dog. He’ll never be mine. He quasi-minds me, and commands, but this time my wife is the alpha. Probably because I really did not want another dog 8 years after losing Barnaby, and this dog knows it. He’s a much better dog in all honesty. Better athlete, much calmer, extremely tolerant of the kids. It’s rather comical, in fact, to watch him hang his head as he endures Fairy-Tale Princess dress up (he looks good in Cinderella gowns).
He’s a good dog, and the right dog for the girls. Just won’t ever be my dog the way ole Barny was.
I guess I have been lucky with rescues lately. In the last two years we rescued four ferrets from the local animal shelters* and semi-stray kitten. They joined my own two elderly ferrets.
The older ferrets are tolerant, the younger ones and the cat get along like BFFs and eat, sleep and play together.
*ferrets illegal in California, I get away with the fuzzy fun by being a semi-official rescuer, about once a year I get called by a shelter in the SF or Monterey Bay area with a “stray” ferret (there really is not such thing as a stray ferret, they are lost or being turned in by someone who does not want to confess ownership).
You might have better luck with a puppy. They have a way of bringing out the puppy in an older dog, and dominance isn’t an issue.
My parents have a middle-aged larger cat. Then last summer a very nice stray showed up and decided that their house looked like a good place to live (boy, did that cat win the lottery….spoiled rotten now). The two cats mostly ignore each other…each has their own spots to sleep and lounge. And each has their own bowls and litter box. But every once in a while, the big older cat takes a randomn swipe at the newer little cat. And just kind of intimdates the new cat.
My grandmother never had behavioral problems with her farm dogs. (German Shepherd “mixes”.) When they misbehaved she would grab them by the neck, straight arm them to the ground and deliver a surprise clang to the cranium with the bottom edge of a two pound Folger’s can (which she used as a water dish for the chickens in the yard). Repetition did not seem necessary. The corner of a high velocity tin can seems to re-organize a dog’s gray matter so that an attitude of subservient cooperation results.
Oh, Mr. Lileks, I’m so sorry! That sounds like it was a tough spot to be in.
I’ve loved dogs my whole life and had dogs and never ever thought it would happen to me – but a similar thing did, with a lovely young female Akita that immediately attacked (and attacked and attacked and attacked) my very submissive, quiet, easy-going Jasper-esque existing dog – it was very difficult to bring that lovely (if way too alpha) girl back to the shelter, both of us with lowered heads.
It sounds to me like Daisy needs some work. Even in a house with no other pets, she will be trouble, frankly. She is way too alpha.
Give Jasper a hug from me! and Natalie. Poor little thing!
I fear, my friend, that Daisy was the Wrong Dog because her youth and energy made it clear that you were looking for somebody to fill the role of Family Dog when Jasper can’t do that any more.
Daisy’s presence is a sign that Jasper’s may end soon.
And under those circumstances, any dog is The Wrong Dog.
Bill
http://willstuff.wordpress.com
Frogpuddle: that brought a chuckle – course they don’t make Folger’s cans like they used to either!
Do I get a no-prize for guessing “problem with Jasper” yesterday? Well, if you have to ask for a no-prize and get something then it’s not a no-prize (if I can be so presumptuous as to employ a double negative). The prize is getting to read a Bleat, of course, so it’s all good.
“I sorta just want Jasper.”
Am I the only one sitting here totally choked up? OMG.
But then you wrote the “…bite you in the ass?” line and I almost choked, literally! : D
This is just a test to see if my avatar is showing up.
Apologies!
Nuts!
Great story, and a happy ending. We had been a multiple-dog family for years, but, through attrition, we are now down to one: Chester, our 11-year old Rough Collie. Call me crazy, or sentimental, but if we got another dog now, I think Chester would KNOW he was being phased out, and that would make him – and us – very sad. I’m so glad that Natalie’s discerning spirit allowed you to go with your gut feeling. We may become a multiple-dog family again someday, but only when we’ve rebooted the system. Until then, we’re enjoying Chester as the senior member of the family.
Oh, your serious writing has such poise. Excellent.
Isn’t it amazing how you just know it’s the “wrong dog”. Not that there’s anything wrong with the dog, it’s just not the dog for you. But we love dogs and so it seems wrong to say it’s the “wrong dog”.
Another right dog will certainly come along. You and Natalie will know it. I’m guessing she’s learned a good lesson about the difference between liking a dog and wanting it to be your dog – the right dog.
I love Jasper.
One of our best friends is an Emergency Surgeon Vet. Invariably she brings home animals to her three acre spread that she saved with emergency surgery, but the owners couldn’t swing the bill. When the owner elects to put an animal down due to cost of care (and to be honest, those costs are astronomical) or they cannot provide continuing care, and she feels that she can save the animal and give it good quality of life, she asks the owner’s permission to do the procedure, and she takes the animal home and pays the health care bill herself, out of her own pocket. Our dog “vacations” at her house, spending a good deal of time in the pond, and running with the other half dozen dogs, or the cats, or the horses.
She had one dog that was just insane, but she did save it. After about 5 years I guess it wanted to assume the Alpha role and killed my friend’s oldest dog (who was quite advanced in years). She said that she always knew that the one dog was trouble (wasn’t the right dog) but due to her love of animals, and the tremendous amount of care she can provide, she brought it home anyways. She found it strange that after five years the dynamic of the pack was volatile enough that the “wild” dog would take action, but it happened.
We have our own Daisy that we rescued. Our intent was to provide a companion for our other dog, Chloe. To tell the truth, I was very worried that I’d also picked the “wrong dog”. We found bite marks on Chloes ears and there were several fights between the two. It took almost 2 years but now they good friends. Daisy has never been the playmate for Chole we had hoped for but she has been a wonderful dog for us. She has completed our family and I don’t for moment regret taking her in.
Hey Smartie Pants, I always go into your site at the main page. I love the new, picture perfect aqua kitchen of the future.
By now everyone should know not to get a replacement dog until the old and beloved is actually gone.
Great story, well told. The little two line inner dialog (“wrong dog…”) gave me Stephen King flashbacks for some reason.
Worst dog we ever had was an animal named Fisty by his former owner. That should have been a warning sign – when they give the dog a name that’s a cute variation on a weapon: Knify, Knee-to-Groiny, Lugery.
We gave up on him within two weeks after he tried to bite everything that moved. He went to “live on a farm,” as we told our younger siblings.
Last year, while rummaging through old photos, we found a picture of fisty. The damn dog was a pit bull – ugliest dog I’ve ever seen. Hope it enjoyed “the farm.”
Outstanding post. Thank you.
I have to agree with others, James–this was one of your best. I’ve had dogs all my life, both purebreds and “rescues”, and when Natalie asked if Daisy was staying, I almost cried myself.
It’s very very hard to acknowledge “this is the wrong dog”. It’s harder to do that when you have children, I think, because you want so badly for everything to have a happy ending.
Daisy will be absolutely the right dog for another family, and you and your family gave them both the chance to find one another.
Beautiful piece, brilliantly articulated.
Daisy sounds like a LOT of dog- and I wouldn’t count so much on her sweetness with people, either. Willing to have a staring contest with a strange adult male, even if she eventually yielded? Dogs usually start out much less confident in a new environment with new people. I have an dog that packs quite a lot of intensity behind her pretty face; love her to pieces, but she is NOT an easy dog and would have been a disaster in a home that didn’t see her coming. She would have backed off almost immediately in a new place with new people being assertive- she waits until she has the lay of things before she starts testing limits. A dog whose first reflex was a staring contest even so… hope she gets a working home with someone experienced… that does not have children.
As a general rule, I am not a fan of physical “dominance” techniques that necessitate the human putting their face down close the dog’s. Most dogs will yield rather than escalate, but when they don’t that can be a mistake of plastic surgery proportions.
And on the much lighter “cats and dogs pecking order” note… oh yeah. Our household is two Akitas that would never dream of yielding to any dog… and defer utterly and completely to one geriatric Siamese with a complete mastery of psychological warfare. Hilarious to see, say, a dropped piece of meat hit the kitchen floor… and the two giant dogs hastily backing off from the cat charging in that’s not even a tenth their weight.
My mother adopted a stray who’d originated from a litter we’d known about in the woods behind our house. I still how remember how eager that cat was for affection, and how he let us try to clean out the infected wound on his leg without complaint (later treated by the vet). She brought him into a house with a ten-year-old small, dainty, slightly overweight female and the two of them could only barely have hit it off worse. He would chase her under the bed or table and they would fight and cry at all hours; more than once I heard her wailing, rushed to see what was going on and had to shoo him away so she could use the litter pan in peace.
She got him back in other ways, though. It took us a while to realize that she’d figured out that if he got too close, she could flop down and yell bloody murder and we’d come in and shoo him off, sort of the way pro basketball players act like they’ve just received horrifying injuries. He also liked to eat a bit or two of food and come back for small snacks later in the day, but she wolfed every bit of food you put down for her, and we ended up having to put his food on the counter, or she’d eat all of hers and all of his.
They did finally reach a sort of detente. They staked out sides of my mother to sleep on every night, leading her to complain that she was getting pushed from two different directions, and her initial idea to segregate their litter pans got abandoned when she discovered they were both using one pan for one thing, and the other pan for the other thing. As he got older he stopped chasing her around, and as he wasn’t big on people food anyway he never seemed to mind when she’d eat treats put down for them both. When the older cat finally passed on, he spent a few days sniffing around the places she liked to sleep. He’s getting quite old himself now.
Good call on that, Jim. If Jasper got that stressed in the first few hours, he would’ve been soiling your bedspread within a day. And it looks like your daughter inherited whatever innate dog-sense you possess.
What a wonderful story. I love the way you are so observant of Jasper and his reactions. They read very true to life.
Such fortuitous timing. I have an old dog, and have always felt a kinship with Jasper. In fact the photo essay on Jasper was one of the first things I ran across on this site years ago. Of course, my dog was not old then! But as you have described Jasper’s aging, my dog has been going down the same path. Now we have a puppy, and he played happily with our dalmatian until the dal passed away last fall. The old dog has no interest in the puppy, and just wants to finish out her days sleeping on the couch undisturbed, and claiming all the treats whenever possible, and the pup has been very respectful of that for the most part. But he really needs someone to play with. So tomorrow we are bringing home a sweet 4 year old beagle who found himself needing a home. He’s already been over for a visit and passed with flying colors. I hope that was not because he was on his ‘guest’ behavior
We’ll know after he’s been here a few days. He certainly loved to play with the puppy, and he left old dog alone. If that continues, he’ll be the right dog.
RebeccaH: My old dog and my pup are american eskimos. They are both house trained, but neither will come worth a damn. I think it’s the breed! But I still love them dearly.