MY LAST NEW DOG: JEWEL IS A GEM

 [NOTE: Even I need a change of pace from my recent blogs.  I think that you do too.]

 

In the past two years, three of my dogs have “retired”: Cassio, my third “boss” dog; Brandon, my senior citizen; and Miranda, my “girlfriend.”  As I anticipated her retirement, I dreaded leaving Darcy, my “Holy Terrier,” without a canine companion.  So I went to the pound for a suitable friend.  The usual search elicits two kinds of reactions by the inmates: those who rush to the gate and bark to be chosen and those who rush to the gate and bark to protect their turf.  This day, one dog behaved rather strangely; she sat still and silent at the back of the cage.  The card for her said “shy”; that is pound talk for “abused.”  Since all of my nearly three dozen dogs (and cats) have been rescues, most of them have experienced abuse.  Nevertheless, this dog’s behavior was unusual by the standard of my other abused rescues.  I moved on.

 

I came to the pen of a non-descript dog, slender body, long legs, whippy tail, and yellow coat—the kind of dog who, in stories written by or set in the South, is known as a “yaller dog.”  I liked her looks, filled out the paperwork, paid the fees, and took her home.  I named her “Yaller.”  Now I am an ultra-rationalist probably because of my STEM background, but I have learned to trust my intuition, which, with my empathy, is part of my make-up as an animal whisperer.  So the question occurred to me as we drove home, is this dog a cat-killer.  The answer came almost as soon as we got home, by which time Yaller had bonded to me.  I always bring a new dog into the house on a leash.  When I walked with her out on the porch, CleoTwo, my feisty calico, attacked her and scared her so badly that she nearly pulled me over trying to get away from her.  Message sent and received.  The next day, still on a leash in the house, Yaller twice lunged at Damsel, my other cat.  Conclusion irrefutable, so the next day I took Yaller back to the pound (and recommended her as a pet for a family without cats).

 

I then took a second look at the strange dog.  Let me say at the outset, she is a beauty, probably a Shepsky, a blend part German Shepherd, part Husky.  I later named her “Jewel” because it took me very little time to realize that she was a gem.  But, in the meet-and-greet pen, she paid absolutely no attention to me—which also surprised me since most dogs recognize me for the friend who I am.  Again, my intuition kicked in, and I knew that this dog and I would work out just fine.  So home we went and bonded on the way.  Thirty hours later, we were walking together, she on a leash.  She saw a man at some distance approaching; the hair on her back went up, she began growling, she elevated her concern to barking—all to protect me.

 

 

But it was a strange bonding.  She liked me, but, as abused as I realized she had been, she did not trust me.  So it took several months of not scolding or punishing her for her accidents—I did have to scold and punish her a few times for chewing bedding and antique Indian rugs—before she caught on that I was a good guy after all.  But, as I say, she had bonded to me and liked me.  From the start, she got along with my other dogs—Maggie, “boss” and BOAT (best of all time), and Darcy—and my cats, CleoTwo and Damsel (CleoTwo’s approval mattering most).  She also showed herself to be the smartest, most expressively affectionate, and possibly most beautiful dog whom I have owned!  So, with Jewel and Maggie, I have the Beauty and the Best.