The case of Innotek Australia (Orion Pet Products) vs RSPCA

A private blog keeping up-to-date (though not anymore, sadly) of the laws regarding the pinch collar in Australia

Some Aussies with working dogs have had success ordering equipment (including pinch collars) from Euro Joe, but again, I'm not sure about the import situation.

K9 Force is located in Australia and has prong collars available for any size within the country. PLEASE NOTE there is no order form, as you must email in an order as specified on this page. I recommend looking around this site if you are in need of some hands-on help in Australia; is has some great information.

A letter to the Victorian government to lift the ban on prong collars. This site is full of working dog owners in Australia. It's a good look-around too. Be warned that links are hidden unless you are a registered member.

Chris Flegler has a Sit Means Sit satellite in Brisbane. If you are near that area, I highly recommend checking him out. He even has some videos up, among other SMS trainers nationwide. Sit Means Sit is a highly respected organization of trainers who use the e-collar, and their results are fantastic. It's quite the opposite of what the RSPCA wants you to believe regarding dogs who've been trained with an e-collar!

Again, if anyone has any other link submissions or information regarding the laws of training collars in the general Oceania area, create a thread for it for the forum.

In reading through Suzanne Clothier's book, she has a few pages deicated to the concept of a dog pulling its owner along on a leash. She mentions, and I paraphrase...

When we see someone dragging a dog behind them, it is cause for an argument of cruelty. Yet when a dog is in front of the owner, dragging him along with a possible accompaniment of hacks, wheezes and coughs because of the tight collar, all of a sudden it becomes normal, accepted and OK.

I think a lot of people call it 'being a dog.' I'd go so far as to say that this is an excuse to make up for a lack of training or motivation to train the dog, but I'll draw the line at the owner who knows differently and is actively searching on how to make 'being a dog' into 'being my dog.'

It drew me to how we raise (raised?) children. We teach them society's rules as well as how to be polite and do something like ask if they want to pet a strange dog. I have been lucky with Mallory so far, and every child who's petted her at the park has asked my permission first. This gave me a moment to explain to them how she likes to be petted, as well as warn them that they'll inevitably get a SLURP on their hands. There's nothing like a dog and kid team who's happy because they're doing things right.

And then there are times when I take Malgal for her walk, quite deliberately close to or during off-leash hours at the park. I take advantage of the potential distractions as well as the presence of children and their toys so she not only learns to work under some distractions, but also continue to learn that all the wheely things that kids ride aren't out to get her. (This is why summer should be a dog trainer's dream: between the multitudes of dogs outside and the noise from urchins not in school, there are more then plenty of distractions!)

Despite our common cultural thinking that dogs are our children, they are most supremely lacking in the major manners that most people try to teach their progeny, the least of which is to simply ask before allowing their dog to come up and stick their collective nose up my dog's butt. I know this is simply how dogs do things, but sometimes I do not WANT their dog's nose in my dog's butt. It is rude, and when I'm obviously walking her at a tight heel and keeping her attention on me, the least I deserve is the "Is it OK if my dog approaches yours?"

Don't get me wrong, it is nice to have a dog that socializes with others, and Mallory does get her playtime. It's just not the first thing on the agenda.

Unfortunately, adding this requirement will also bring upon me the stigma of having a dog that doesn't want to interact, whether for aggression or fear or any other reason. I don't have an aggressive dog, despite the pinch collar. My dog is most certainly confident in herself and presents herself as the queen bee when approached. I am not afraid of other dogs that might try to come up. But as usual, if their dog is denied the opportunity to interact with mine, a majority of people it seems will do some quick critical thinking that will last about a second, and as often happens, come to a conclusion that is simply wrong.

So if our dogs are indeed our children, since they cannot ask for themselves whether or not they can approach, let's do it for them. It is not OK to approach every dog anyway, and I personally make a point to walk on by another dog no matter what, and if it looks safe and the owner is interested, I will ask if it's OK that they sniff. It is simply etiquette and I know I'm not the only one who does it...am I? How come it is OK, even required that a child ask to approach any strange dog, yet we just let it happen when it's between two dogs? The same outcome can still happen, and the same people will still be upset because something happened against another dog, and "Thank heavens it wasn't a child!" That's probably because the child ASKED and was warned of what would happen otherwise.

And as an added bonus, let's start teaching them the manners we (or at least most people) expect out of our human children. That means no temper tantrums when things don't go the way they want, and things to play with during downtime so they don't run amok and destroy everything short of...well, everything.

Sweet Mallory stepped out of the car into a new environment that wasn't surrounded by fence and didn't have armed guards. She had been in a prison-training program and had some training under her belt, enough to know what she was supposed to do yet little enough to know that she was supposed to do it every time. She walked on a loose leash, sat (in a very unlady-like position), lay down, and had about a 50% recall rate. Whoever taught her, though, put their own signature onto her training: she sat on command on her hip instead of on her two back legs and her Come consisted of a good recall that would automatically turn into a finish into heel position.

Apparently in the prison, she lived in the honors dorm where the men had access to...a microwave. She was scared of the dishwasher, strangely attracted to the low rumblings of the washing machine, and if it was a strange shape or made a funny noise, she didn't like it. We're a bit concerned that she isn't going to like the target range, but so far she thinks the farm is her playground and also that the screened-in porch at home was added onto the house just for her.

Her eyes go all slanty, her ears go down and her tail just sweeps side to side when she's happy. She doesn't jump anymore, and after a few weeks of crossing her legs, she's finally learning that the one area in the backyard is her bathroom instead of the whole thing. She doesn't say a peep when she's in the crate and no matter how long she's held it, the bedding is always dry in the morning.

And my mother loves the convenience and ease of the quick-release pinch collar.

She officially knows where we live now...she ran off when she was out for a walk with our neighbor and thankfully ran straight home and waited at the back door to be let in, so we know she's adjusted to our house. We've laid down some basic rules already and only given her free run in a few rooms, but the time has come for her to officially start obedience training with my family. Her sits will be cleaned up, her recalls will become more consistent, and best of all she'll be able to have play dates with neighborhood dogs since she speaks Dog. The neighborhood German Shepherd had to repeat himself a few times when he invited her to play, but she eventually accepted and they had a fun time together! She plays pretty rough and bares her teeth a lot, but he never said a word about her being over-the-top...so I'm really looking forward to that.

In moving home, I'll be helping with retraining Mallory, so hopefully there will be more frequent updates about how she's doing and what we still have to work on. We'll be enrolling in the local training club to help her work around other dogs and maybe going back to Zeke's trainer if we need some extra hands-on professional help, but otherwise we have our work cut out for us and she's got some big pawprints to fill.

Papillon (mispronounced "puh-pill-un," "PAB-il-on," correct "pap-ee-YAWN"), a small spaniel-like dog with rather large ears that stand straight up. When the hair on the ears grows to a suitable length, they resemble butterfly wings, where the breed gets its name. However, the reason we don't go around asking if your dog is a Butterfly is because the French got to it first: when they started breeding for that radar-dish pricked ear (as opposed to the drop-eared variety known as the Phalène), they decided to call it a butterfly&in French, of course.

Dachshund (mispronounced "dot-sun," "dock-shund," "dash-hound," correct "dox-und") is a short-legged, long-backed dog originally bred to flush badgers and rabbits in Germany. Because the modern version of the breed was created by those darned non-English speakers, we must grow a collective spine and learn the proper way to say the name instead of attempting to Anglicize it to the nth degree. The dog was named appropriately for which it was bred, that being Dachs, or "Badger," and Hund, "Dog." With English being a Germanic language, perhaps we can all take this to heart and keep good relations with our fellow planet-dwellers by keeping with the breed's history and proper name. There's a reason I didn't go into cars, people...let's try to remember that.

Coton de Tulear (mispronounced "cotton-day-too-lee-air," correct "coh-TAHN-de-too-lee-air") Sounds French and probably is, but this breed is actually from the city of Tulear (now Toliara), Madagascar where it is actually the island's national dog. In short, it appears as a Bichon Frisé with a softer, more cottony textured coat, hence the name. It has a rather fuzzy history, from being companion dogs to ratters on ships...the former seeming more plausible than the latter because Cotons have little prey drive and the ones I have met have one sole purpose in life, that being to be with people.

I've been hearing this a lot lately, mostly from people who got rid of one dog and want to immediately replace it. And sure, while wanting to have another dog isn't a sin in and of itself, but few people take the time to really investigate why the event occurred and what could have come of it.

Of course, the most likely situation is that the dog was part of the family first: he did fine around other children and adults, but when the Bundle O Joy© came home from the hospital, all of a sudden children weren't so cool anymore. The Bundle screamed, made sudden noises and movements; pulled fur, ears and tail; and then when the Bundle learns to crawl and even walk, the dog can't even escape anymore unless the Adults find it fit to secure the Bundle in a large area. And the Bundle takes away all the attention the dog used to get, so now he's not getting the love to which he feels entitled. It's no wonder why some dogs bite their Bundles!

However, there's also another perfectly likely situation that most people aren't willing to consider: their dog wasn't trained.

Back in December, a county-run shelter was outed for some pretty bad practices, such as altering medical/behavior records, adopting out vicious dogs, severe overcrowding and poor management overall. The independent firm hired to take care of the management problems did the job quite well, but during the investigation, an article appeared in the local paper regarding the vicious dogs issue that opened my eyes to what was really going on, and I figure it's good enough to let you all read the main part [hold on, this actually does having something to do with the topic at hand...I'm not just being random!]:

Vicious dogs get adopted, some say

Wednesday, December 31, 2008

THE COLUMBUS DISPATCH

Workers at the Franklin County animal shelter don't knowingly let vicious dogs out the door, its director says. But bitten or blindsided owners tell a different tale.

"There was blood all over my family room," said Julie Thompson of Hilliard.

She and her husband, Arlie, had fallen in love with Rel, a husky who tested fine at the shelter with a family dog before adoption on Sept. 2, Mrs. Thompson said.

But within four hours of bringing him home, Rel was back at the shelter: He had attacked the Thompsons' other husky and bloodied one of their two beagles.

"My dogs are my children," Mrs. Thompson said, adding that all were rescued animals.

Rel's search for a family didn't end there. The shelter put the 36-pound, year-old dog up for adoption two more times.

And twice more, he was returned.

Shelter Director Lisa Wahoff said Rel was held for observation and training after the Thompsons brought him back to make sure he'd be a good pet. Such training has succeeded with other dogs. Randy, a 43-pound mixed breed, bit a shelter volunteer. After seven months of rehab, new owner Phyllis Sage was carefully screened and warned. She wrote Wahoff recently to say that Randy is a sweet dog: "We feel truly blessed."

Rel did well in training, but it didn't stick. "He did well in a large play group; no aggression was seen," a shelter card says.

Rel's second owner returned him Oct. 30, one day after adoption. Her dog was "initiating attacks" with Rel, she wrote.

He lasted two days with his third owner. On Nov. 12, she noted that Rel was "sweet, smart, affectionate." He also "attacked my sheltie and drew blood."

The shelter euthanized Rel the next day.

The number of dogs returned for biting people is statistically small, about 0.7 percent -- or 24 dogs -- a year, Wahoff said. Overall, people have returned 285 of the 3,234 dogs adopted through November.

"Most say, 'It was too much dog' or 'We're moving,' " Wahoff said. "We do a good job of trying to match up people and dogs. Dogs are dogs, and you can't predict."...

OK OK, I know there are SO many problems with a LOT of things in this article, but let's stick to the topic. Below is my response, the stereotypical "letter to the editor" that never really got sent in, but in case you couldn't figure out the main problem in the article, let me outline it for you here:

I read with interest the article about vicious dogs being adopted out from the Franklin County Shelter, but as I reached the end, my interest turned to astonishment. Should I be appalled that dogs with behavioral issues are adopted out? Of course, however, my concern is more for what we are doing with these dogs.

Has our instant-gratification mindset taken us to the point where we "special order" our dogs to fit a mold we create for them? Have our ideals and expectations sunk to where we expect housetraining to be the only "training" a dog receives in its lifetime, and obedience training to be optional? Columbus has a wonderful training club located in close proximity to the shelter that can help people with behavioral difficulties and obedience training. Instead of facing these problems and working to solve them, either with the http://www.columbusallbreed.com/">Columbus All-Breed Training Club or with a private trainer, people choose to abdicate their responsibility and return the dog to the shelter. I applaud the shelter staff for putting in the time to train dogs while they are there, but ultimately it is not their responsibility to deliver to us a perfect dog. We must continue that training once the dog is adopted, and this is where many well-intentioned rescuers are lacking. A dog is a responsibility as well as a pet, a service animal, or even a furry "child," and it amazes me how many owners give up on their pet simply because they didn't think to train it or didn't know how.

The unfortunately husky, Rel, didn't have to meet his fate at the tip of a needle. All he needed was someone who was willing to invest the time and dedication into teaching him the appropriate rules of our world in a way he could understand. Dogs will not always act as themselves in such as strange and stressful environment as a shelter, and they also might not adapt to a new home those first few days. I'm sure every child who is the "new kid" on that first day of school is no different.

In the end, I cannot fathom the hypocrisy: Shelters and pet lovers everywhere are attempting to educate how no animal is disposable, yet here we are throwing them away and dumping their problems on someone else because they do not fit our ideals of a "perfect pet." It is our job to teach them how to live in human society and not to otherwise abandon or euthanize them before putting forth that effort to the best of our abilities.

That last line is a bit vague though, because "to the best of our abilities" seems to be defined by a lot of pure positive humaniacs as "Tsk, guess he's just not trainable." Sounds pretty "positive," right? But I digress&

To get a bit personal, my dog had bitten me not a month after we brought him home from the shelter. He had otherwise been very sweet and loving, a typical Lab/golden personality, but apparently I was the lucky one who stumbled upon the dark side of the moon instead of my parents. It was a very deliberate bite, but also very quick and to the point: I wasn't mauled and no flesh was consumed. Did we consider sending him back? If you read the eulogy a few posts down, you would know that we did, and while I was the one who gave the ultimatum, my parents were also right to say the same thing. While I wasn't a baby at the time, I was still young and I can only imagine the turmoil they must've felt at that time: their perfect dog just turned on me, their daughter, and sent me to the hospital for stitches. Is this the kind of dog we really want for a 4th child?

I think the important thing here is that we didn't give up on Zeke. We knew there was a way to fix his aggression, but we didn't know how and if we couldn't find the appropriate person to teach us, then he would have to go back. We were lucky to find the trainer we had, and this is what we here at DogProblems are for. Unless the dog you have is truly a bad match, unless it really is hardwired wrong in the head, unless you really don't have the motivation to fix the problem and just pass it along to someone else, your dog can be retrained.

Will it be easy? Most likely, no! The hardest part about searching for a dog trainer is admitting that maybe the dog behaves the way he does not because there's something wrong with him&it might be something you're doing too! (The easiest part of searching for a trainer is thinking you're going to get a cheap quick fix from a magic bullet, FYI.) It takes maturity to admit that part of the reason your dog bit someone, chewed the furniture, peed on the bed, ran off or killed small animals might have something to do with a lack of a proper relationship with your dog. It's not a process in which we lay blame to the owner and/or the dog, but in reading through the Secrets book, during a training session or even on the forum, we want you to see what might have went wrong and how you can fix it. But here's the thing, and here we come full-circle: any trainer can start the learning process in a dog, but we can't finish it for you. If you are to fix a dog problem, be it aggression, chewing, or even pulling, there will come a time when you have to be on the other end of the leash and not me.

(By the way...just in case you think a dog can't be retrained from aggression, consider this: Zeke became a therapy dog and lived 10 all-too-quick years with a family that loved him enough to give him a second chance. Can't beat that happy ending! Anyone think he might've achieved that had we returned him?)

So anyway, your dog just bit your child.

What are you going to do about it?

EDIT: My Problem has been pulled to a rescue organization and placed in a foster home. He'll hopefully have no trouble at all finding a permanent home, so now I can focus on more pressing Problems.

He's an underweight (probably should be 90 lbs, right now at about 75-80 lbs), intact marshmallow of a Rottweiler who's biggest problem is that he thinks anyone around is fair game to give him love and pats. Yeah, he hikes his leg and will use his weight when on the leash sometimes, but we can work past that. His head is probably slightly less than the size of a basketball and his paw is as big as the palm of my hand. I can barely wrap my entire hand around his muzzle. I don't think I've heard a single Woof come out of him the times I've been around him, even when all the other dogs are going crackhead in the kennels.

His mate (the female with whom he was picked up) would have been my first choice but she was adopted first. She was just like him, except more feminine and slightly more forward with the concept of "If there's an empty lap, I will soon be in it." The first time I worked with her, I had to clip her nails. She didn't say a word to me...obviously didn't like it, but didn't struggle too badly either. The one time she barely put her teeth on me was when I clipped slightly close to the quick, and even then she put her ears back, squinted and then tried to pull the leash out of my hand. "Sorry, I know I wasn't supposed to do that; can I do this instead?"

But now that she's gone and no longer considered a problem, I've focused on the male, whom I've been affectionately calling Big Brother. Just teaching him how to walk nice(r), maybe starting on a redimentary Come, all the usual things in order to make a dog into a good family member who will hopefully be kept inside the house instead of chained to a tree or left in a kennel as an outside-only dog.

See, he's become something of a Problem, yes with the capital "P" included. Because I want him to be with me in a forever home. I'm glad adoption fees have gone up, otherwise when I move back home for a little bit, he'd be coming with me and no matter what, you wouldn't hear me complain at all...

When we took you for the recommended "test drive," you showed us something of your previous owners: even at 7 months, no matter the excuse they gave when they dropped you off, they loved you and put so much time into you that you didn't pull on the leash once. You also dropped that sad, "poor me" face and suddenly came to life outside those kennels. We had our name card on your cage and you knew we would come back for you once we convinced Dad to come with us. When we returned, someone else had their name card on you and had moved ours onto another dog. No dice, we got to you first.

You were so happy on that ride home. Sure, you knew to lay down and ride quietly, but you were so excited...that poor old Peugeot quickly learned the meaning of dog hair inside and out, even before it learned to put up with frat boys and the things that accompanied them. We debated for hours what to name you. Mom wanted you to be an Oscar, but a niggling memory of a guinea pig from fifth grade made me adamant that you were a Zeke.

I remember when we were both young and stupid; you didn't know that I meant it when I said "drop the ball," and I didn't know that you were just as determined to not let go. You gave me two good punctures on my hand that appeared so fast I didn't even have time to cry! (Of course, there was plenty of time for that while I was being stitched up...even with local anesthetic, I could still feel the thread being pulled through my skin.) What you didn't know was that we gave you an ultimatum: you shape up or go back to C7. How the "shaping up" would work, we didn't know...but it had to happen.

Well, we know Craig wasn't your favorite person, especially when he made it plain that he expected to be listened to, even more so when he wanted that darn ball back. You even tried to bite him, but he knew better. Sometimes humans CAN be smarter than dogs.

You learned a lot of things about us those first few months, just as we did about you. You loved your red rubber ball, and even though you couldn't quite catch it all the time, your Frisbee was also a favorite. You seemed to find any item that was textured to pick up and carry, especially when someone came through the door. You also grew to love the farm and the rich cornucopia of scents out there, plus there was a LOT more room to chase that red ball than the back yard. You showed us that you weren't scared of guns, and you quickly learned the rules of the target range to the point where we didn't even need to say anything: we'd just point to your spot to lay down while we were shooting, and when we took off our earmuffs and walked forward to check our targets, you knew it was time to play.

But then, you decided (oh wait, that was me who suggested it!) to star in my 8th grade play as Nana, the dog in Peter Pan. You did awesome with everything, until the performance night, when you didn't listen to the off-stage call to "Come" and instead decided to wander over where Dad and I were playing in the orchestral pit. So sure, you weren't stage material then, but everyone still loved you and the fact that you were such a sweet boy and listened off-leash.

Throughout the training, you earned your Canine Good Citizenship. This wasn't so much of a stretch as it was actually trying to help you get along with other dogs, just so you wouldn't cower when they so much as sniffed you. I don't think Cera helped with that, though...of course, you DID come into her house first without letting her know, so sure, she was technically right to charge you and give you the what-for.

We heard your true calling when we had you certified as a therapy dog. The one organization didn't want you, just because we were both young and stupid...apparently that one little mistake put you on some doggy-FBI blacklist. Thank goodness you never flew anywhere, or else they'd detain you! TDI decided you were worth a shot, though. They signed you up to go to a local hospital, and every Tuesday became your work day. You wore that red collar and yellow tag with pride, but when it came time to work, you became serious. Maybe someone needed to play and de-stress a bit, and you romped with them. But then there would be someone who was crying because a loved one was dying, or a patient would be depressed because of a diagnosis or extended hospital stay...and you knew just who they were and what to do. The hospital staff came to know you, and they'd also know which rooms you visited even after you left!

The years flew by, and I had to leave for college. I'm sure you wondered what all the fuss was about, seeing everything out and being packed up...wondered why there wasn't room in the car. I was also told about how you became depressed after I didn't come back home. Turned out that whenever I moved anywhere, you needed to see where I was staying, see that I was OK, and only then would you stop chewing your feet raw. Sure, seeing the other students in the dorm was a plus (I'm sure the long hall with doors reminded you of the hospital hallways, so naturally you went into Visit mode), but you always brightened up a bit more when you skipped those last few rooms to come into mine.

I took a year off school and moved into another apartment where I was only 5 minutes from the house, but working all the time so I couldn't see you much. I was horrified the one time I went over and was told that you were in surgery, because you had a tendon in your shoulder that had gone wonky. Your arthritis was also a factor in that, but that was our fault really...we should've known better than to play Frisbee with you on our concrete driveway.

Throughout all this, we put up with you. We kept asking why you put dog hairs on our floors and clogged up the air filter. I'd pull entire mats of hair out of the filter vent when I swept it out. You really were like a small child, leaving your multitudes of toys all over the house. Sure, we tried to teach you to put them away, but we gave up...not that you couldn't have learned, but we enjoyed the reminders that you were around, you were always there...plus, whenever you needed one of them to carry around, one was always handy. You never knew when someone was going to come inside the house, and of course you, as the primary greeting party, would give us all you had until you realized "Oh no, I don't have anything to give them! Where's the closest toy?!" You learned most of them by name, no matter how silly the name was, just so you knew to bring whatever we asked. You gave Dad company whenever he went out to the farm, and I know you gave his arm a workout throwing that red ball or Frisbee around.

We became aware of your age when we started seeing the gray around your eyes. You tried to act young still, but we knew better, and you reached your limits a little sooner than usual. You still had your puppy moments, especially when we'd play mouth games: who knew that such a sweet, gentle therapy dog had such large teeth that made such a loud snap when they were playing! Those moments just didn't come as often as they used to.

We noticed you'd slip and slide a little more than normal, and we knew with your bad hips and shoulders, we'd need to take things a little easier when it came to activity. You also started showing a little bit of hearing loss, even though you still claimed you could still hear Mom crunching the lettuce for salad and Dad peeling his after-dinner banana. But when you finally started stumbling a little bit and walking in circles (well, we all do that sometimes, if not for the same reason as you!), the vet told us that you had some spine problems. The prognosis was guarded, but that was the first time we realized that we might lose you. You pulled through that and gave us reason to hope you would be with us forever.

You were such a puppy on your last Christmas. We panicked when we couldn't find your stocking, but you stayed calm and knew it would show itself. Indeed, when it did, you picked it up and carried it so proudly to everyone. "Look what I have! It's that time of the year!" It was the one time of the year you were allowed in the "dog-free" zone, and the worst damage we'd have to worry about was your tail sweeping off ornaments and icicles in its excitement. Every year, you searched--rooted?--through your stocking, looking for that new toy that you could smell through everything else. You broke your puppy stocking hanger more than once trying to get your stocking onto the floor, but he was always fixable. We never did find that one front leg, though.

And then you went downhill, at just enough speed to let us realize that you couldn't be with us forever. First, you were a little bit stiff and couldn't sit or lay down. We didn't realize that you were holding some gas and your bowel was horribly swollen, nor did we notice that weird curvature on your spleen until the vet Xrayed you. She gave you some medication and prescription food, and within a week you bounced back, just like your red rubber ball. I got the call about that at a friend's house while preparing dinner. I told Mom that no matter what, no matter what the time was, no matter what class or work I'd have to miss, if anything bad happened to you, I'd drive the hour and 20 minutes and make it just to be with you.

I did have to make that drive today. You woke up this morning and couldn't stand. You couldn't even go outside to potty and your gums were pale. Even though you were a puppy the night before, sometime during the night, something decided to let loose and bleed horribly inside you. I got the call at 9:20 this morning, called off from work, and was on the road soon after that. I cried the whole way home, all for you. You were my boy, my dog, my best friend...you weren't invincible though. We knew you were in pain, you were about to die, but you waited. You waited that long hour in that exam room just so you could see me walk through the door, when you could finally wag your tail and close your eyes, knowing that everyone you knew was together. Your feet were going cold and your eyes didn't quite want to focus, but you still looked at each of us and we knew what you were saying. We knew it was time.

It hurt to bury you. Ashes are something we can keep with us, but we knew you always wanted to be at the farm. We gave you your red ball and your blankets, and also a banana to snack on...Dad felt guilty eating one earlier and not saving you a piece, even though you weren't there, ready to help him with it, so we had to give you a whole one. We'd never have done it without the help of friends who've gone through this loss before...plus having a backhoe helps when the temps are in the teens and twenties and the ground is otherwise frozen.

I don't think I've cried this much, and I know there's a lot left in there, all for you. People say you were spoiled to be with us, and you were...but the truth is, you spoiled us right back. You didn't pee in the house, you didn't jump up on anyone, you didn't chew anything, you didn't even want to be up on the couch or the bed. Sure, you never turned down an invitation to share a lap on the couch, but you didn't push the issue and assume you could get up without one. You rarely turned down offers for walks, and a lot of neighborhood children will be sad to learn that you are gone. Your best dog-friend Rufus knew what had happened, even before we opened the car door to show him your body. How we're going to tell Tasha and Clancy, we don't know yet.

It's empty here in the house without you. It's almost cold now, almost echoes a little bit. No one stood and watched Mom make her salads, and there was no familiar gold-furred blockade at my feet during dinner. The door will open and there's no one to greet them. No one brings toys anymore, and there's not any click-click-jingle as you walk around the house. Your familiar flag of a tail that announces your soon-to-be presence in the family room isn't there. Your toys are still scattered around the house; where will we put them all now? Square Ball is still by your dishes, Green Bone is under the counter with the hair you'd recently shed, Tasha Toy is at my feet, Bump Ball is still in the basement...what to do with them all now?

There are still many tears left to cry over you, I know. I don't mind so much the fact that you're not in pain anymore, you're a healthy puppy again, it's your presence I miss. You may have made me sneeze and my nose run (OK, more than once), but I didn't care. I know we made your life miserable, making you listen to everything we made you do. I mean, when it comes down to it, all that "down," "sit," "COME HERE DAMMIT" stuff really was all obedience...you did great at it, but what mattered more was the relationship we were honored to share with you and the boundless love you gave us. We always did joke about how that bump on your head held your brain, all two of them gray cells...but indeed your heart held it all and then some. If only we can be half as good.

Here's to you, Zeke old buddy. Go chase that red ball in the sky.

Adopted June 17, 1998; euthanized January 31, 2009. Never a dull moment in between.

We all know of the myths of owning a dog. However, my locale seems to take some of those to heart and not really thing anything of it. Let's go over some of the basics, first.

"Get 'em while they're young, so you can imprint them!" I mean seriously, those older shelter dogs are just worth NOTHING at all! They're not imprinted on you, they don't stay on your property because they don't know you, and man, that whole thing about not being able to predict a dog's behavior? It's a fact now that any and every dog from a shelter has been abused and neglected to the point of no return, so it's not worth putting in the effort to actually work with it. Plus, a puppy is cuter anyway, never mind that it'll grow as big as that adult standing in the pen in front of you. No way, YOUR dog will be so much better than this one&until you decide otherwise.

I actually do recommend people go to the shelter in the case we don't carry a breed that they request. Consistently, 90% of the time, I hear the whine "But he/she/we want a PUPPY." Here's lesson number one, folks: There will ALWAYS be a market for puppies. This is why we'll never be able to get rid of puppy mills, or rather "substandard kennels." This is why, if you DO get a puppy, ask the right questions. A perfect pet isn't always champion-sired, nor papered, nor should it cost exorbitant amounts of money. Rarely will you meet the parents unless you ARE buying from a backyard breeder or heaven forbid, a truly reputable one; in this case that the parents aren't there, whoever is working there needs to be able to either say "Yes, I know/have heard of the parents" or "Here is the contact info to someone who can tell you." Don't just go in somewhere without the right questions&I love to volunteer information, but I'm even happier when someone asks for it. They're much more likely to get the dog that is right for them, whether that puppy comes from the store, or that dog comes from the pound just down the street.

"Full-blooded? It better have papers!" I tell you, I've seen some pretty sad-looking purebreds in my day, and the honest truth is, since the owners weren't able to produce papers, I can only deduce that the darn things weren't even pure! The dog even looked like ones I've seen before who win titles and all those fancy thangs, but was pretty darn near worthless just because it wasn't registered. Sad that people don't think to register their purebreds; I don't want to pay for something that looks like the real thing but can't prove it!

Lesson number two: a Mercedes without that signature hood ornament is still a Mercedes. If a pedigree and fancy name, no matter which registry you use, is most important to you when choosing a dog, maybe you shouldn't have one.

"No males! I only want a female puppy." Oh jeez, of course! How could I have forgotten...those stupid boys do nothing but lift their leg to pee and hump things! Plus, how can anyone stand to look at those dangly bits? That's just plain embarrassing! But what do you mean, neutering will fix it? We had my friend's stud dog neutered and he STILL does it! Plus, you can spoil and dress up a female much easier. Everyone knows those girls are so much more loving and gentle than males. If I wanted a guard dog or a potential liability, I'd look for a male, but for now, I only want a female!

Apparently no one here has ever heard of neutering or housetraining. Or, perhaps, the potential that any dog has to bite.

"Dobes? Don't ever get a Dobe, they'll turn on you!" See, a Doberman's brain is only so big, and when you fill it up all the way and it can't hold any more, they just all of a sudden go batshit crazy and attack you. In fact, I'm wondering if it's not just limited to Dobes because it happens with Staffies too! Maybe it's just that 'big dog' thing, and until we know for sure, let's just stick with some more family-friendly breeds. Oh, and that miniature Doberman is quite cute you have there! What, you mean it's called a miniature Pinscher? Naw, ain't never heard of such a thing...it's just always been a miniature Dobe!

Tuffntiny, I thought of you when I had someone mention this recently. I really do envy you in that you have both a min pin and Dobe, but I'm even more happy that you know the difference between the two! No one seems to think "Hey, let's do research" and learn that the miniature Pinscher actually dates from 1836, while the Doberman was developed to RESEMBLE the min pin around the 1880s. Turns out though, that the Dobe was introduced first the US, so when the min pin followed, people automatically thought OMG SHRUNKEN DOBE!

"Well, we're looking for a small dog to live in our house with us." Those big dogs, they're cool but man they shed! And it's so difficult to control them, especially when they were puppies and we couldn't even get them housebroken. Plus, really, it IS easier to stick a bigger dog outside, that way there IS no housetraining and they're big enough to stand the cold. This way too, we don't have to walk them all the time or play with them since they're outside and can play by themselves. Nope, something smaller, more manageable and please make it non-shedding because seriously...who WANTS to deal with dog hair? I love dogs so much, but most of them shed and I just can't have that!

Someone please shed some logic on this: you get a dog. For one reason or another (oh, maybe, say, LAZINESS?!) you stuff it outside 24/7 on a chain or in a kennel that gives it LESS room than it would have even in a small studio apartment. You go out maybe once a day, just to check if it's still alive for stuff like eating and fresh water. Let it out or let it off to run? Why should you, when it'll just run and not come back? Any ideas?

"My dog just got hit by a car." "Yours too? Same thing happened to me." What's with people who dare confine their dogs and not let them run free? A dog needs to roam! He's smart enough to stay out of the road, never went out there at all in his whole life. Sure, we've caught him at the neighbors tearing apart their fall decorations, and you know, they threatened to call the dog warden on me! They shouldn't just leave decorations out like that where a dog can get into them!

I'm a bit calloused to this now: people come in and say that, and I'll just say "That's preventable and shouldn't have happened. I hope you've learned something from it." Am I mean? Maybe. I like to think that not enough people really think, and have to learn the hard way that yeah, dogs won't go into the road&but the one time they want something in it or on the other side, the one time they need a fence or a leash confining them so they can't run over there, there won't be one and they will get hit. Even if it's someone coming down the driveway and your dog is loose, there is no excuse for it to not have a solid recall so it can't get hit. Simply put, if your dog is loose all the time, you take responsibility and not cry about how it shouldn't have happened. Yes, it definitely shouldn't have happened, but it did: and don't tell me it wasn't your fault. There is no excuse for any responsible dog owner to a) not TEACH the dog to not go out into the road, and/or b) if not teach the dog somehow, CONFINE it so something like this is never allowed to happen.

I do believe more of these will be coming up sometime in the future. Post any additional ideas/myths you might know about in the forum (try to keep it to one thread pls), since I know Small Town, Ohio isn't the only places where thoughts like these abound!

A lot has happened between my last blog and now, I'll try to keep it short, but knowing me...we'll see how that goes.

First item of importance is that I had a dog for about...oh...a week. My little standard wirehair dachshund came to live with me at the end of August as I was winding down from my summer job. I loved him, but soon quickly learned that between working my summer job and my main job, something had to give. Little Shorty was spending way too much time in the crate, even though I was allowed to bring him to work with me at the main job. The best I could do was pop back to the far back room where he was kept, take him out for a quick jaunt down the parking lot to stretch his legs and potty, and then stuff him back into the crate. Not fair at all to him. Plus, even though he was doing much better at not biting, he was still definitely possessive over raw bones (and that was even with me holding onto it like what Hexen does!) and his crate (heaven forbid you reach in there for anything!). He didn't really have a potty schedule; he'd poop only on walks, but he thankfully learned to "find a spot" right outside my door.

The one bad night was when he pooped in his crate and cleaned it up by himself. I came home, smelled it and immediately let him out of the crate to take him outside, but between the time it took to get his leash and for me to get to the door, he said something like "I can't make it!" and...retched. Digested poop mixed with stomach acid and bile is not something I clean off my carpet everyday, thank goodness. (And here's where I have to thank my pet store job for giving me a stomach of steel when it comes to dealing with poop of many kinds!) Anyway, he went outside and retched twice more before having some diarrhea. Suffice to say that he was very quiet that night and only got some canned California Natural Chicken and Rice food with a Flagyll that next morning. Everything else got a hefty spritz of enzyme cleaner and hospital-strength anti-viral spray.

Ugh, see--give me enough time and my words will eventually degenerate into something poop-related. I'm not kidding, it even happens over the dinner table!

Anyhow, Shorty was given back to his owner at the end of the week. It was a great week, he didn't bark at all in the crate (that anyone reported to me at least, I'd given my neighbors notice and my number in case), but he wasn't living the quality life he could've lived had I not been so darn busy. Thankfully, his owner was very gracious about it and he now has a new home, just recently in fact, that I hope will keep him in line, especially with his possession and biting. I'm glad I learned first-hand, though, how difficult and expensive having a dog can be sometimes (or at least through that first week), but I'm also kind of anxious now: what will it be like when I actually get a dog for real to keep? How will I know when I'm ready? I definitely know when to NOT get one, like now (the whole school/work/money/time thing doesn't pan out), but is there a little switch that clicks when all is said and done that tells me "Get your dog!"?

I've a lot of interesting (read: facepalm) stories from work at the pup store, but I'll compile some of those into the next blog. This one will probably bee too long for some peoples' short attention spans anyway :P

September through November was mostly school and work stuff, so no interesting side stories other than what's coming up, but...

Come November, the local dog warden passed some papers through the county Big Cheeses to let me volunteer at the pound. I call it a "pound," not a shelter or humane society, because that's what it is. I could maybe call it a shelter, but then of course people will ask "Is it a kill shelter?" Yep, it is...not going to beat around that bush. The place is about as big as my apartment, with there are about 30 pens mostly full of pit bulls on any given day. Did I mention that my county of residence is renowned for pit bulls and heroin? Well, they say the more you know...!

Now here's where we get into some gray area. Not only do I work at a puppy store, but I also volunteer for homeless dogs. Am I a hypocrite? Some might say so, but I say, mostly no. The vast majority, probably about 99% of dogs there, are breeds the store doesn't work with for many and various reasons. However, we do get people asking us "Do you have any pit bulls/Rotts/Shepherds?" to which I can now say "No, we don't, but the shelter has some nice ones" and then go on to describe some of the ones I know. The unfortunate thing about it is (and this goes for all puppy stores anyway) that people who are dead set on it, no matter what, will still want a puppy and nothing can convince them otherwise. They don't want a pre-owned dog or one picked off the street, because they have "issues" that, heaven forbid, might need "training" (OH BOY is there more on that in another blog!). So I do get some frustration out of trying to save some dogs while also selling puppies. However, it's a good kind and comes along infrequently, so I find it easy to live with.

I do have to share one story in particular that actually came to a good close this past weekend.

Towards the end of summer, a couple came into the store with a full-grown reverse-brindle greyhound. I'm drooling over Gracie as they tell me they'd just gotten her from the pound and how wonderful she was so far. In fact, they came in the next day with her and gave me a first-night update. Perfect dog, no obvious problems behavior-wise, and the one puddle was honestly their fault because they didn't know her potty signals and she didn't know where the door was. I didn't see Gracie at all after that, not until the first week of December... *deep breath, here comes Chapter 2*

...when I was driving home from work one day and had this urge stop by the pound today. I don't like to put it this way, but it was more than coincidence; it was definitely a nudge from something or someone. I went in, walked down the first row of pens, turned to the next row and there, staring with those big greyhound eyes was Gracie! She definitely perked up, wiggled and wagged her tail when she heard her name, and I was able to reach through the wire and hug her. According to the warden, the story behind her was that her owners had split up and one of them had returned her. The other was supposed to come pick her up, and legally, he had to hold her for a period of time that ended after Christmas.

I had to call my voice of reason (which would be my dad in this case) to convince me to not bring $45 cash and take Gracie home. Both my parents know that I've been looking at dogs, mostly large ones (top 3 in no particular order: Greyhound, Doberman, Malinois), but I needed some skagging good reasons to not take this dog. It was all the harder because I knew her, but I was told that I could also be a vector for her to get out. Turns out that a friend of ours loves greys as well, but wasn't quite ready for a dog.

I did think of her over the holiday break, but couldn't go visit because of work and the whole "going home" thing, as well as the pound being closed. However, after work on Saturday, I decided to stop by once again...*deep breath, here comes Chapter 3*

...during hours when the pound should have been open, but wasn't for miscommunication reasons. There was another car in the driveway, and the two ladies in it told me they were from out of town and had been waiting since 330 for someone to open up. They called the warden from my phone (their cell phones had no service over the entire county, ask me how I know this) and as we waited, I learned they were there to pull a dog for a rescue. "Oh, which one?" I asked. "There's a greyhound here--" and that was all they needed to say. I told them Gracie's story and how happy I was that they were here. In the phone call, they also learned that another local rescue had picked Gracie up just the night before, but wasn't sure if there would be space in the kennel or foster system for her.

In the meantime, while we were waiting for the warden, we talked (you guessed it!) dogs. I finally felt good talking real dog talk with people, even though they weren't from my county; know how it feels to be isolated from the majority of intelligence (or kept in a large crucible of somewhat lesser intelligence, I'd hesitate to call it true "stupidity") for a while, and then have access to it? It was a feeling of relief, mostly, that real dog people still existed, who kept their big dogs inside as pets, who didn't beat their dogs to punish them, who didn't breed left and right just because the dog is oh-so-prittee, who actually stood up for logic and reason instead of...everything else.

The deputy warden arrived, gave the girls the contact to the local greyhound rescue and they were off to hopefully get her while I went into the pens and cleaned things out. Even though she didn't go with these people, I'm still glad that she's out. It means a lot to know that even in my area, while a lot of people might not want a dog with some mileage on it already (holy wow, I'm sure almost every old wive's tale is still canon around here!), other people are still keeping tabs. It's those people out there who give me hope that things CAN change for the better. The end. Gracie is safe now, whether in Michigan with ReGAP or in Ohio with Heritage Farms Rescue. That is what means something to me right now.