I've let my blog lapse over the last several months, but I won't offer up any excuses. I grew lazy. But as I looked at the last post I realized I owed readers an update on our dog. Our new dog, featured in several photos, and named Rob (3) because my husband likes that name, lasted only three weeks.
Rob (3) was a handful. He bonded almost at once with my husband, who took him out two or three times a day for long walks on tree-lined streets, into wooded areas, and along the beach. That had to be heaven for a dog we only learned on arrival had spent the last two years in a cage, not allowed to play with other dogs because he was considered too aggressive. He was that, but he was happy and wildly playful. Fortunately, he also knew to get into his crate when it was necessary. At over seventy pounds of solid muscle, he did obey a few commands.
We brought in a dog trainer, Ed Baez from Salem, who has enormously helpful, and Rob learned a few more commands and began to understand limitations. But it wasn't enough. On a Sunday morning in June, in his excitement at encountering three women walkers at five in the morning, he jumped, nipped one, and knocked my husband down, leaving him with a broken arm.
There is no malice in the dog, just far too much energy for one who has never had a chance to burn it off. Our vet pointed out that the dog acts like a ten-pound pup, mouthing and rolling and jumping as though he were just a bundle of baby fur. But he's not a ten-pound pup.
My husband called me from the sidewalk where he was stranded with a dog still jumping and a broken arm. I went down with the rabies certificate (fortunately they weren't far from me) at 5:30 in the morning, a lovely summer day dawning with bright sunshine and a light breeze (it could have been worse). One woman photographed the certificate, and the three of us talked. The one who was nipped showed me her hand and indicated she was on her way to urgent care.
The dog officer came by the next day, giving us a fine and going over what could happen next if the dog continues to do anything like this. The dog was too much for me to walk alone, my husband was in no condition to help, and I wasn't sure what to do. Fortunately, Ed offered to come by twice a day to help me, and in the end I was able to walk Rob in the back yard. But the die was cast.
As difficult as it is to accept, I cannot handle a dog of this size and strength and attitude. Nor did I want to face the prospect of his biting or nipping someone else. The next incident meant more than a fine--it meant a court date. After a lot of backing-and-forthing, we arranged to surrender Rob (3) to a local dog trainer who knew the nonprofit that had brought us Rob. I delivered him on the Wednesday after the incident. The hope was that with strict training he could be re-homed.
The upshot is that my husband has to take his long walks early in the morning or late at night alone for the most part (I'm not conscious at three a.m.), but the surprise is that day and night people stop and ask him about the dog, his arm, and what's in the future. One woman told him he was an "institution." Eventually there will be a Rob (4), and we're already looking at photos of Labs. The arm is healing, and my husband continues to field questions and good wishes from people he didn't know he knew. We miss having a dog, but my husband has promised me that the next one will be docile, not aggressive, used to people and other animals. In other words, a true Labrador.
Rob (3) was a handful. He bonded almost at once with my husband, who took him out two or three times a day for long walks on tree-lined streets, into wooded areas, and along the beach. That had to be heaven for a dog we only learned on arrival had spent the last two years in a cage, not allowed to play with other dogs because he was considered too aggressive. He was that, but he was happy and wildly playful. Fortunately, he also knew to get into his crate when it was necessary. At over seventy pounds of solid muscle, he did obey a few commands.
We brought in a dog trainer, Ed Baez from Salem, who has enormously helpful, and Rob learned a few more commands and began to understand limitations. But it wasn't enough. On a Sunday morning in June, in his excitement at encountering three women walkers at five in the morning, he jumped, nipped one, and knocked my husband down, leaving him with a broken arm.
There is no malice in the dog, just far too much energy for one who has never had a chance to burn it off. Our vet pointed out that the dog acts like a ten-pound pup, mouthing and rolling and jumping as though he were just a bundle of baby fur. But he's not a ten-pound pup.
My husband called me from the sidewalk where he was stranded with a dog still jumping and a broken arm. I went down with the rabies certificate (fortunately they weren't far from me) at 5:30 in the morning, a lovely summer day dawning with bright sunshine and a light breeze (it could have been worse). One woman photographed the certificate, and the three of us talked. The one who was nipped showed me her hand and indicated she was on her way to urgent care.
The dog officer came by the next day, giving us a fine and going over what could happen next if the dog continues to do anything like this. The dog was too much for me to walk alone, my husband was in no condition to help, and I wasn't sure what to do. Fortunately, Ed offered to come by twice a day to help me, and in the end I was able to walk Rob in the back yard. But the die was cast.
As difficult as it is to accept, I cannot handle a dog of this size and strength and attitude. Nor did I want to face the prospect of his biting or nipping someone else. The next incident meant more than a fine--it meant a court date. After a lot of backing-and-forthing, we arranged to surrender Rob (3) to a local dog trainer who knew the nonprofit that had brought us Rob. I delivered him on the Wednesday after the incident. The hope was that with strict training he could be re-homed.
The upshot is that my husband has to take his long walks early in the morning or late at night alone for the most part (I'm not conscious at three a.m.), but the surprise is that day and night people stop and ask him about the dog, his arm, and what's in the future. One woman told him he was an "institution." Eventually there will be a Rob (4), and we're already looking at photos of Labs. The arm is healing, and my husband continues to field questions and good wishes from people he didn't know he knew. We miss having a dog, but my husband has promised me that the next one will be docile, not aggressive, used to people and other animals. In other words, a true Labrador.
