Posts tagged "doggiediaries"

This week's guest columnist is my wife Anna.

There's as wide an array of doggie personalities as human personalities. The dog park taught me that.

It turns out our 9-month-old puppy Pippi's a wimp. At home, she exhibits alpha-dog tendencies such as teasing the cat, attempting to jump up on people and pulling on her leash. But at the dog park I see a different side of her.

In our park visits so far, Pippi's remained silent while many of the other dogs bark, snarl and make a racket. She does not enjoy roughhousing in the midst of a whirling canine cluster. (This is understandable because, as we've seen, it can turn quickly into a fight.)

Instead, Pippi prefers to make friends with a single pooch to engage in nice, one-on-one play at the edge of the field. She prefers dogs her own size or smaller. It was a real hoot to watch leggy Pippi befriend a short and stocky English bulldog who followed her around and whose owner told us had never run for that long or that fast in her life. They were two mismatched peas in a pod.

Pippi keeps a close eye on us as she plays, and we sometimes have to run alongside her to get her in motion. Otherwise, she just hovers around our legs. Unlike at home, she is generous with her toys in the dog park, even when another dog appropriates her red Frisbee. Maybe she just trusts that we'll retrieve it before we all head back home.

All in all, the dog park has helped me see what a peach of a pup we have. She suits us, and to some degree matches our personalities.

Have you learned anything surprising about your dog after observing him or her in a group setting?

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Other than the 1998 Luke Wilson movie, I didn't know much about dog parks before Anna and I got Pippi. I always imagined places where pups smelled each others' butts and guys attempted to pick up chicks. After our experience at one this weekend, however, I realize they can be much more intense.

The park we visited was just off one of New Jersey's godforsaken stretches of highways and Pippi had a great time. She was a little shy around the other dogs at first, but eventually got into the swing of things. I'll talk more about her behavior in a future post about dog parks, but for now I want to focus on a particularly fraught incident.

It began when a youngish guy came into the park with his muscular black pit bull. The pit bull played friendly at first, with dogs including a German shorthaired pointer mix who looked something like Pippi. But after a few minutes the pit bull got snarly and nippy (with the pointer mix in particular) and the dogs had to be broken up. A few minutes later the same thing happened again -- except the pit bull was even more aggressive this time. I couldn't tell if he was just playing or if he was out for blood, but the pointer's owner freaked out.

She split the dogs and began punching the pit bull in the chest and gut. This incensed the pit bull's owner, who began swearing at the other owner and warning her to keep her hands off of his dog. The gathering onlookers insisted that it was time for the pit bull to leave, and so his master angrily put on the leash and took him out of there.

Certainly everyone is responsible for the behavior of his or her dog, and it seems likely that the pit needed a break from the dog-park "fun." But to my mind the pointer's owner ceded the moral high ground when she attacked. The safety of everyone's dogs should be of primary concern, even that of those behaving inappropriately, right? Then again, perhaps the woman's maternal instincts simply took over and she was doing what any protective dog owner would do in that situation. What are your thoughts?

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Only a few months ago, before Anna and I got Pippi, I wrote about the old cat people vs. dog people debate. I called myself a cat person, despite never having owned a dog. Now, with two months of canine companionship under my belt, it's time to reevaluate that label.

When we first got Pippi, I was overwhelmed. Between her insistence on peeing and pooping wherever she wanted and her constant need of attention, I was a bit freaked out. She was as well. Still a puppy, she'd been shuttled between a breeder, a temporary guardian, a foster dad and us, all within six months. And as a dalmatian/pointer mix she had boundless energy, requiring four walks a day and was constantly taunting our kitty Nora. "I thought having a dog would be like having a cat," I told my friends at the time, "but now I see that having a cat is more like owning a pet rock, while dog ownership is more like caring for a baby."

But in the past few weeks I've found our baby to be less of a burden and more of a pleasure. We've gotten into a dog-walking routine, her house training has taken, and I've realized something that is, to me, delightful: Dogs really let you manhandle them.

I've always been a pretty hands-on, rough-and-ready guy when it comes to affection, be it wrestling my brother or aggressive cuddling with my cat. The only thing is, Nora doesn't like it when I hold her too close. Like most felines, she prefers affection on her own terms.

My wife Anna and I had no idea. Turns out that when we acquired our puppy, we also received a Hoover upright free of charge! Our canine vacuum will consume almost anything within reach, including food we've dropped on the floor, socks, underwear, snow and even part of our down comforter. Yesterday, inexplicably, she wolfed down a wad of paper towels. A few days before that, she chewed up my favorite wooden stirring spoon. Perhaps the worst offense was when Pippi obliterated one of Anna's notebooks. It had been full of information Anna needed at the office, and required her to explain to her boss that our dog literally ate her homework. "I felt like such a moron," she says.

Perhaps we should count our blessings. After all, since the great diarrhea incident of early February, Pippi hasn't consumed anything that has aggravated her stomach. Also, she tends to stay away from the furniture and, of course, hasn't nipped any people.

And yet it's expensive to replace and replenish household items and foodstuffs, and we worry about Pippi's well being. Surely bits of wood can't be particularly conducive to digestive-tract health. For this conundrum we turn to you readers. We've been doing our best to keep potentially edible items out of her reach, but beyond that, what can we do? How do we ensure that young Pippi doesn't find herself at the vet with, say, an eggbeater in her stomach?

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Pippi's arrival in our home has been a lot of fun. Our new dog loves being near Anna and me and she loves meeting new people. The problem is that in her enthusiasm for children, friends, strange dogs and, well, anyone who happens to be passing by, Pippi often leaps on them to say hello. In the process, she has jumped onto some folks' bad side.

One early-morning, Pippi and Anna were exploring a yard when a small, middle-aged woman walked by on the sidewalk. With a hop, skip and a jump, Pippi reared up in front of her, placing her front paws on the lady's collarbone to say hello.

"Excuse me, ma'am!" the vexed woman yelped, looking at Anna sharply. Anna apologized, retracted Pippi's leash and tried to make her sit, but the damage was done.

Puppies are prone to hopping up, in an attempt to become face-to-face with their guardians and potential new friends. (It's a way for them to get closer to you, and, of course, makes it easier for them to lick your face.) The ever-curious Pippi seems especially prone to this behavior. It surely doesn't help that in our dog-friendly town, lots of people actually invite her to jump up and play with them.

What do you think, readers? Must we lay down the law and insist Pippi never jump up on anyone? And, if so, what's the best way to nip this jumping behavior in the bud?

Looking back, I had no idea what to expect. When my wife Anna and I adopted Pippi a couple of months ago, I anticipated some dog walking, the destruction of socks, and some muddy paw prints on the finery. But I never thought I'd have to deal with puddles of diarrhea all over the house.

My first encounter with the poo was after a fairly late evening in the city. Getting home at around 1 a.m., I walked into the kitchen, where we keep Pippi at night. The smell hit me first, and then I saw the awful mess. This was odd, because Pippi is fairly well house-trained at this point, and almost never goes number two indoors.

I cleaned it up and then, the next morning, Anna awoke to more puddles. This continued for a few days. Whenever we took her out she relieved herself, but her consistently upset stomach ensured that she couldn't hold out for more than a couple of hours. I feared she was seriously sick, but after consulting with her sister and reading up on the subject, Anna concluded that Pippi had acute, rather than chronic, diarrhea. She was not lethargic, for one thing, which would point towards a chronic case, as would watery, mucus-coated or blood-coated stools. So instead of taking her to the vet we simply cut her food portions in half as our research had recommended and hoped for the best.

Our apartment is not getting any bigger, but Pippi is. Anna and I are wondering: How big will our puppy get?

I was recently out of town for a few weeks, doing research for a book I'm writing, and when I returned she looked bigger. It was not my imagination. When we adopted her in December she was about six months old and weighed 30 to 35 pounds. Now she's closer to 40. Of course, many dogs don't stop growing until they are two years old.

As previously discussed, Pippi seems to be either a Dalmatian, German Shorthaired Pointer, or both (we're going to send away for the doggie DNA test soon). Her paws were (and are) too big for her body in that classic clumsy cute puppy way, but I've heard from numerous sources that it's not a good idea to guess a dog's full-grown size based on the size of her paws. (This can be deceptive.)

I've read that a good rule of thumb for small and medium-sized dogs is to take her weight at four months and double it. From talking with Pippi's foster dad, it's safe to assume she weighed about 25 pounds at four months. That would predict a full-grown size of 50 pounds, which would put her in the range of dogchannel.com's estimations; they say a full-grown Dalmatian can weigh between 40-65 pounds, and that a female German Shorthaired Pointer usually weighs 45-60 pounds as an adult.

Do these seem like good guesses? Have your rescue puppies ever turned out to be much bigger (or much smaller) than you expected?

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Once again, this week's guest columnist is my wife Anna.

We need your help! Our recently adopted puppy, Pippi, is in unrequited love with our 10-year old tuxedo cat, Nora. At all times, Pippi likes to know where "big sister" Nora is, what she is doing and whether she wants a canine playmate. (The answer is "No!")

Nora is highly affectionate with humans but is slow to come out of her shell. Her personality clashes with Pippi's in-your-face approach.

A typical interaction goes like this: Pippi returns from a walk all jazzed up and ready to play. Nora, half asleep, is chilling on the sofa or the bed until Pippi begins frenetically sniffing her head and tail. A terrified Nora goes into defense mode, huddling with her ears flattened, growling like a tiny, fluffy mountain lion. Somehow this doesn't faze Pippi in the slightest.

Nora growls and swipes her claws at Pippi, who has decided that this is a game. So she in turn lifts her paw and bats the air in front of Nora, who perceives this action as a full-on attack... and so begins their noisy upward spiral of chasing, hiding and facing-off.

I refuse to believe that all hope is lost. So I ask you: What are some of the successful techniques you have used to keep the peace between your cats and dogs?

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While I'm out of town, this week's guest columnist is my wife Anna. Take it away!

With Ben gone, I have brazenly broken our agreement not to allow Pippi on the bed. She absolutely loves our bed and snuggling up to me!

Anyway, we woke up early one day recently – around 6:15 a.m. Without bothering to brush my teeth or wash my face, I piled on some warm clothes and bounded out the door with Pippi for a bathroom break. Everything went to plan (hooray!), but then Pippi attempted to (excuse this detail) eat some frozen poo from under a bush. I scraped it out her mouth, grabbing a handful of wet and partially masticated poo in the process. Yuck!

We ran all the way down our street and up the back stairs of our place. I reached for the knob and discovered - to my horror - that I had forgotten to unlock the doorknob and to bring along my keys. I was locked out of the house with a stinky doo-doo-hand at 6:30 am. In frigid January. In a new town. And I didn't even have my phone!

Last week, Anna and I moved from our small, third floor walk-up in Hoboken to a new place on the ground floor of a house in the New Jersey suburbs. It was a pretty standard moving day, complete with an early morning snowstorm and a flat tire on the moving truck. But you know who wasn't any trouble? Our new puppy Pippi.

Dutiful guardians that we are, we gave nary a thought to how she would react to two guys we hired to help move our stuff, or to the 45-minute car ride to our new place. Pippi gets carsick, a condition that typically makes her shake and drool in equal measure. This time, though, she took refuge in the lap of one of our brawny helpers (he is a saint), who cradled her and helped her stay calm during the trip.

Perhaps because she has more space, perhaps because she feels more bonded to us, Pippi appears to be more relaxed overall. Whatever the reason, she is having fewer accidents than before. In fact, she's done some insanely cute things since we moved in, including insisting on sleeping with Anna's slippers and attempting to French kiss us all the time. (I find said smooches endearing... mostly.)

Anna and I adopted Pippi just before going out of town for several days over Christmas, so we didn't have a lot of time to weigh options for her care while we were away, and thus had to board her. Knowing that some dogs react badly to the stress of kenneling we were a bit worried, not to mention concerned about finding a clean, safe facility on short notice.

Anna's coworker referred us to Club Barks in West Paterson, New Jersey, and fortunately they were quick and responsive in verifying Pippi's vaccine schedule. (They also gave us a freebie day of doggie daycare to assess her before full boarding began.) It's not a luxury canine "spa," but the dogs get to run around outside and socialize during the day. At pick-up, they said they enjoyed boarding our "adorable" Dalmatian (German Short-Haired Pointer? Mix?), and when they brought her out, Pippi seemed to be a happy camper.

Other folks we've talked to choose other methods of caring for their canines while they're gone. "We prefer our dogsitters if one is available," Anna's sister Alicia tells me. "It doesn't cost much more [than a kennel] to have someone stay at the house." Benefits for the dogs include eating their own food, sleeping in their own beds, and having their regular backyard playtime and walks. Benefits for the owners include avoiding the hassle of pick ups and drop offs and having someone trustworthy to watch the house.

The future husband of my sister-in-law Emily, Dave, opts for an even lower-cost option: Having a friend stop by in the mornings and evenings. "One word, free!" he says. "Duke and Dash are already used to no one being there during the day since I'm gone all day for work." He adds that he's not a big fan of kenneling because it involves taking the dogs out of their normal environments, which can cause anxiety. "When they're home at my house, they can roam free in and out of the house and do as they please."

We might have to try that ourselves, assuming we make some friends in our new town. How about you? What method do you prefer?

I mentioned last week that Pippi, our new white-and-liver-spotted puppy, is a sixth-month-old rescue who we think is a Dalmatian/pointer mix. We're not sure, however. Pippi's foster dad told us he got her from a Russian carpenter with whom he worked. This carpenter said that Pippi came from a breeder, but his English wasn't good enough to make out much more than that.

If she came from a breeder, that would imply Pippi's a purebred, right? But a purebred what?

When I walk her down the street, children point at her and yell, "Dalmatian!" But even though that breed can have brown spots (here's one that does), Pippi doesn't quite fit the mold of a purebred Dalmatian. Anna notes that Pippi's spots are not "breed standard," i.e. evenly distributed and about the size of dimes or half dollars. Pippi's look, rather, is more like the "ticking" of a pointer, sparse on her sides and clustered on her face and back.

Pippi also has large patches of color on her ears, side and tail, which are similarly not standard for Dalmatians. (At the very least, they would disqualify her from showing in a competition.) Then there's the shape of her muzzle. Anna says she associates Dalmatians with slightly tapered muzzles (when viewed from the front), rather than those that are more squared, like Pippi's. But she wonders if that might just be a faulty association on her part, which some Web sites indicate.

They say when you describe your dog you're really describing yourself. So does that mean I'm sweet-natured, freckle-faced and suffer from occasional bladder-control problems?

Anna and I finally have a dog. We adopted six-month-old Pippi, a liver-and-white-spotted Dalmatian/pointer mix (we think), from a New Jersey rescue service called Cuddly Creatures. She landed in their foster program through the good graces of a construction worker who saved her from the pound after a carpenter with whom he worked adopted her for his own family, but for some reason decided that they could not keep her.

We spent about two hours meeting Pippi, much of it in a soggy yard under a gray December rain, before signing on the dotted line. She's very wiggly and prone to jumping, which gave me pause. But she hardly ever barks; she clearly is very bright; and, probably the deal-clincher, she's unbelievably cute. Almost every time we walk we're stopped by people fawning over her.

Were you bitten by a dog as a child? How did it affect the way you feel about dogs today?

My mom and my wife both were bitten as kids. Anna's bite was a lot more serious than my mother's, yet Anna loves dogs and my mom does not. What gives?

Anna's family got an English springer spaniel puppy when she was about four, and there seemed to be something wrong with her almost immediately. She snarled inexplicably and was very food territorial. They had to be sure not to walk behind her while she was eating. When Anna was six, the dog attacked her at the top of a set of stairs: "She knocked me onto my back and did not let go. She had my whole forearm in her mouth and bit me several times before my mother could pull her off of me."

She doesn't remember much about the aftermath other than (gross-out alert) "the blood and the tissue that I saw hanging out of the hole in my arm." Her mother cleaned the wound and took her to the hospital, where she got stitches in five places on her arm and a bandage she had to wear for weeks.

Anna and I continue to pursue a pooch that will make the planets and constellations align for us. Question: Should we get a puppy, or an adult dog?

I adopted my cat Nora ten years ago when she was a kitten, and as everyone knows there is nothing more adorable than a clumsy, excitable kitten. I'm sure the same is true for puppies, though I've never had one. It seems unlikely that Earth offers anything much cuter than a tiny dog with oversized paws.

Plus, as Anna points out, there are other advantages to adopting a puppy. To the extent environment determines behavior, she says, you can teach puppies to be appropriately-mannered. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, of course, but you can teach old tricks to a new dog.

Then again, puppies have their drawbacks. With puppies, you don't really know how big they'll get, and they have that pesky habit of peeing on rugs. Then there's the chewing. I fear a puppy will go to town on that knockoff, um, I mean totally legit Fendi bag I'm planning to buy Anna for Christmas

Adults dogs, on the other hand, often come potty trained and crate trained, and they're more likely to make it through the night without crying like newborn babies. They're less energetic, less prone to wearing you down, and probably won't go around knocking all my bottles of cologne off the shelves. On the other hand, the bad habits of adult dogs may be harder to break.

What does everybody think? Should we go all cute overload on everybody and get an impressionable little puppy, or stick with a tried (if not necessarily true) older dog?

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