how Harry came...

Four years ago, my two cats, mother and son, died within three weeks of each other. They were very old - 17 and 16.

Their deaths got me thinking about the increasing age of our darling dog Lot, who was then eight. Death has a way of putting the passing of time into perspective. I knew that Lot would all too soon be an old dog. I began to think about getting a second dog, to learn the ropes from Lottie and soften the pain of her inevitable death.

It was another year before we got around to visiting Staffy Rescue headquarters to meet a male dog they were looking after. But he wasn't the one for us - he was too big and too laidback, not enough spark for me (oh the retrospective irony). He went to another home soon afterwards, so I didn't feel guilty about not taking him.

Occasionally I'd look on their website to see what dogs were there. In August 2003 a pound in western Sydney had a white staffy boy. I hesitated for a few days, then rang. The dog had "gone". I still wonder about him.

A couple of weeks later, Harry's photo came up on the site. He was in foster care, having been rescued from a pound in the outer west of Sydney. We later found out that in the four months between being in the pound and coming to us, Harry had lived in at least three different foster homes. In one, he'd been chained outside. We found that Harry hated being tied up - he'd go into a frenzy of barking and chewing to get free. I hate to think what he went through then - no wonder he was a bundle of nerves when we met him.

Pru the foster carer (not the chaining one) agreed to drop Harry off for a visit one Saturday morning. She brought him into the house and he immediately jumped into my lap and started licking my chin. Now I'd know that was a big warning sign** (which said SEPERATION ANXIETY in mile-high letters) - at the time I   simply thought it was endearing.

Harry was a very cute, funny-looking fellow - he was very short, shorter than our female dog. He had the big staffy head and chest, but very narrow hips. He had beautiful, unusual markings, red and white with an eye patch. He was very affectionate. We were hooked. When Pru came back a couple of hours later, we said we'd like to take him - when could we collect him? She said he could stay with us immediately. It dawned on me that she'd been checking us out as much as we thought we were checking out Harry.

Suddenly we had another dog.

Another staffy. There'd been no question that we'd get a second staffy. Before Lot came into our lives, I'd known nothing about staffies. I became a convert and then a proselytiser. I fell deeply in love with both Lottie and the breed. We were recently given a book called The Ultimate Encyclopedia of Dogs, Dog Breeds and Dog Care. On page 169, the first sentence about staffies is: The staffordshire bull terrier is not just a breed, it is a cult. This makes me laugh every time I read it. And: The devotees of this dog often appear to be blind to the existence of any other sort.  Yes, that's us. Beside staffies, most other dogs seem insipid, uninteresting.

I thought I knew a lot about staffies. I'd studied and written about Lottie's foibles and exploits with rapt attention. Looking back, I now think of this as akin to first-time parent syndrome. (I only have one child, but I can imagine how this works... ) As the parent of one, you do know a lot about children and about your own child. But the second child could surprise you. Harry, our second staffy, surprised us in a big way. 

Sure Harry had characteristic staffyness - big heart, big energy, over-the-top effort in everything he did. Acutely sensitive to humans. And (p169 again) "the staffy views life as if it entirely for his benefit". That was Harry to an H.

But in many ways he was the opposite of Lot.

In her younger days especially, Lot exhibited a dual personality. At home she was the perfect dog. She didn't bark. She didn't beg for food. She  didn't chew. She was perfectly house-trained in every way, from the moment she arrived. She was polite and unobtrusive. We could take her anywhere (to friends' houses) and she behaved well. We could tether her just inside the library and she'd sit quietly waiting for us.

Out of the house, it was another story. She pulled on her lead so much it sounded like she was choking. She regularly sprinted out of sight in the park. She ran over cliffs (luckily low ones), she dived into wild surf, she had skirmishes with other female dogs. She was constantly in peril. As the young Lottie's owners, we learnt to have eyes in the back of our heads. It was like having the most troublesome two-year old and having to scan every situation for potential risks - always to discover that there were dangers you couldn't possibly have forseen. It was nerve-wracking to be out with Lottie but also an adventure - big fun.

By the time Harry arrived, Lottie was 10 and her wildest years were over. So we had the mostly perfect dog, at home and in public.

Enter Harry. When we took him out on the lead, that very first day, he walked nicely. No choking. He did later learn to pull when we arrived at certain junctions, letting us know which direction he wanted to go. But he was small and light and easily handled.

Off the lead, he was also good. He was friendly to other dogs. He always came back when we called him (miraculous!) He didn't go far - he liked to stay near and keep us in sight. Walking in the park with him was nothing like the tightrope experience of being with the young Lotster.

At home, it was a different story. I'd assumed that every staffy would be a quiet couch potato. Certainly Harry liked to be on a lap. But if I wasn't sitting down, Harry wasn't sitting down. He was under my feet. He was right there looking in the fridge with me. He was up on the kitchen table snatching food. He was up on the garden table eating the cats' dinner. He was barking in response to the sound of another dog in the far distance. And his toilet habits left a lot to be desired. He pooed on the brick patio, just outside the back door. He pissed right next to his bowl after eating, in a highly territorial way. If I tied him at the entrance to a shop, he barked frantically (and loudly). No more visits to the library with dog in tow.

All of that was so unexpected and external events in the months immediately following Harry's arrival were so overwhelming (we moved house, my father died, and more) that it was awhile before the ongoingness of Harry's behaviour sunk in.

I consulted a behavourist within a few months. She gave me some useful tips and his behaviour was modified to some extent. But it was another year before I consulted the dog behaviourist who helped us turn the situation around.

Lottie was one when we got her but we rarely wondered about her past - she so thoroughly settled in from the day she arrived. With Harry, I wondered and wondered about his past. Why was he the dog he was?  He'd been estimated to be three by the pound vets. He'd not been desexed. He was well bred, so more likely than not he'd come from a reputable staffy breeder. He had a microchip, not that that was any help in identifying him.

Had he had one devoted owner and become lost? Was that seperation and then being moved around foster homes the basic cause of his anxiety? Or had he been prized for his muscles, used to sire puppies (there's a roaring trade in backyard breeding of staffies, who are seen as cool and 'tough' accoutrements, but often disgarded when they cause trouble) then dumped at the pound because he was an anxious nuisance?

We'll never know.

When I think back to his first days with us, I remember two things: the very first night, he jumped onto the bed, curled up into a tight ball and slept all night. Nowadays, we wouldn't allow that - but I'm glad we did then. He entered our hearts with that move.

The next  day, as Harry walked along the hallway, I noticed little spurts of urine coming from his p*nis. I asked our vet about this - he said the hormones could still be settling down after the relatively recent castration. But after getting to know him, I look back and realise that Harry was terrified - who were we, where was he? Poor Harry.

But part of the particular pain of losing Harry is that he wasn't an irretrievable basket case - I'd hate to give that impression. He was smart and responsive, he wanted to please, he was a loveable scamp. We felt more like his parents than his owners - we had to look after him, teach him, set boundaries and limits, reassure him, protect him. He did change and adapt - and improve. That was very satisfying to see.

And we got so much enjoyment from his clownishness, his sensuousness, his responsiveness, his intense attachment to us. We learnt to love him and Harry learnt that he was finally safe and loved.

Photo: making himself at home, on holiday in January

** would we have taken Harry if we'd realised he was such an anxious dog? Yes. But now we'd have much more of an idea what to do from day one to contain his anxiety. We'll probably get another rescue dog this year - we're philosophically committed to rescuing dogs rather than buying new puppies, even though I can see the allure of 'the blank slate'.

Comments

[KathyF]

This is a lovely post--not maudlin or overindulgent at all! I wish all dog owners could read it, especially the ones who have problem dogs (all of us?).

[Lori]

Thank you for that lovely post.

We were at the RSPCA on Saturday because I'd seen a dog of the type we've been looking for. Sadly for us (but not the dog) it had already been adopted. But in the cage next to it was a dog who was highly anxious and shy. He never came out from behind his sleeping area (which has a wall for privacy) although he did bark a bit. The sign said there was a compulsory training package with him (due to his anxious nature). There was one other dog there with a similar requirement. I've never seen this before but it sounds like a good idea. D was quite attached but I don't think we would be equipped to handle yet another anxious being in our household.

[Helen]

Getting Maggie was a similar experience. I'll have to write a companion piece on what was up with her. it is very rewarding getting a good, but screwed up, dog and ending up with just a good dog (well, if a little eccentric.)
You give a wonderful portrait of H and his personality.

[Kathy]

I'm so sorry for your loss. Harry was very fortunate that you found each other.

[david tiley]

Great sight in the park: I was riding my bike when I came upon an old feller walking with a pair of foxies. One was trotting along beside him, the other was curled up in a basket on his carrier, shivering and timid. We talked - of course - and he told me he had recently taken over the scared dog. "He'll settle down," he said."It might take a bit of time, but he'll be alright."

Made me feel good about people.