I was reading Smart & Sassy this afternoon, and there was a letter from a woman complaining about people whose badly trained dogs poop on the rugs when they come to visit.
Reminded me of the father-in-law's dog, a miniature Schnauzer named Robin. He thought nothing of dropping her off for three weeks during his yearly trips to France. He'd drive to here and leave his car and dog, and I'd take him to the airport and pick him up when he got back.
One year he called to say he'd be leaving her with us, and I said no, we couldn't keep Robin, because my yellow lab, Baby, was in congestive heart failure and I didn't want to stress her. He'd have to make other arrangements this time. Perhaps a neighbor. Damn if he didn't show up the next week ready to go to France, with Robin in the car. He totally ignored what I said. I freaked. Jay's sister lives just down the road, so I called her and asked if she could keep her father's dog, and she flatly refused to have anything to do with "that damn dog". (Well, she also refused to host him, himself, when he came for visits down this way, so I shouldn't have been surprised.) She also pointed out that he probably heard me all right, but wasn't able to find anyone else who would deal with Robin.
Robin was fairly continent, but she absolutely refused to use the doggy door to go out to the fenced yard, like our dogs, no matter how, or how many times, we showed her. She insisted she would go through only a proper people door. Which meant she had to be taken out, on HER schedule, which had nothing whatsoever to do with MY schedule. Back then, Jay and I got up at about 7 or 8 am, but if Robin wasn't taken out at 6 am, she piddled or pooped wherever she wanted. Usually on the carpet at the foot of our bed.
Our male, Ninja, being a good and very male Keeshund (albeit "neutered"), but also being rather stupid, knew that it was his duty to "cover" the scent of female doggies (albeit spayed), so he'd dutifully piddle on top of her puddles and piles. Sigh. Ok. 6 am it is.
Our dogs had their own dishes a few feet apart in the kitchen, and they knew that they were not allowed to eat from the other's dish without specific permission from Mommy or Daddy - which caused some cute situations. Every once in a while they'd eat half their dinner, then they'd BOTH decide to check what was in the other's dish, usually when it wasn't their favorite brand (like Iams. They hated that stuff). They'd sit in front of the other's dish wagging their tails and begging, until I said ok, then they'd happily finish each other's dinner. Weird.
Anyway, Robin decided that every dish in the house was HER dish. I'd feed her in a separate room, but when she heard me put Baby and Ninja's dinners down, she'd run out and try to chase them from their own dishes. A lot of snapping and growling. If I tried to shut her in the other room, she'd throw a fit. I had to tie her outside until Baby and Ninja were finished.
I don't even want to discuss the situation with the cat.
But worse than all that, she wouldn't allow me to touch her. She adored Jay, but if my hand got anywhere near her except to fasten or unfasten a leash, she bit me. Damn dog bit my hand at least once a week. Once she went right through a fingernail. There was no possibility of my ever actually picking her up.
We were out on the deck one day, and she was standing near the edge of the deck when I walked too close. She whirled around to snap at me, and whirled right off the edge. Eight foot fall. Didn't even hurt her. Darn it.
We pretty much hated each other.
And then, one day while she was staying with us, she had a heart attack. She was standing at the water dish and she started to shiver, and then she keeled right over, out cold. The vet is about 1/2 mile down the road, so without thinking, I scooped her up, laid her on the passenger side front seat, and hightailed it to the vet's. No carrier, no leash.
When we got to the vet's parking lot, she was regaining consciousness. And - she - was - pissed -!!! I guess she blamed me for everything. I got out of the car barely ahead of snapping teeth. I had to explain that I had a very sick emergency in my car who hated me and wanted to kill me so I couldn't get her out of the car to bring her in ... what do we do now? The receptionist got the same reaction as I got. The vet had to go out, and Robin quieted right down when she saw him. The MALE vet. Oh. So it wasn't personal. She just hated females in general. That makes me feel a lot better?
She also didn't die, darn it. I got to shove pills down her throat several times a day for the next week. Not fun. It involved towel wraps and a metal bit across her jaw, but I got them down her. Without killing her, darn it.
Damn dog.
~~Silk
(Yes, I know "damn" is a verb, and it should be "damned dog", but nobody actually says that.)
Link in this entry:
http://www.smartandsassy.net/
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