It's All About Attitude: Travis to the Rescue

For anyone who has ever owned a Miniature Schnauzer, the saying "it's all about attitude" should be a familiar one.

There is no dog in the world like a Miniature Schnauzer (and I say this with nothing but admiration). The first Schnauzer I ever knew as a child, named Heidi, was only 15 pounds, but I was terrified of her.  Maybe it was the beard, or maybe it was the eyebrows, but she had me sufficiently cowed that I would never have tried to pet her in a million years.  This was the reason that many years later, when my sister and I were sharing a house, we decided to get a Miniature Schnauzer (to help me get over my fear of them).

His name was Travis, and he is legend.

Travis, aka Mr. T (photo by PS)

I had never known such ferocity could exist in such a small package.  When Travis was a puppy, he gave new meaning to the phrase "sharp toothed" (especially when it came to my poor sister).  He made Pasja look gentle when it came to the teething stage.  Travis was the king of the household, ruling with absolute power over my toy poodle Charla, our Shih-Tzu Nikki, and each and all of our cats.  At times, he was ferocious enough that I became angry at him (especially when he assaulted Nikki) but he made up for all of these times by his actions one wintery night.

A neighbor had told us that two German Shepherd mixes were attacking small dogs in the area, one of which was her rat terrier.  It had to be hospitalized for an extensive period of time because it had been mauled so badly.  Since I never walked Charla and Nikki (they were too small!) and they were in a fenced yard, I didn't worry about it too much...until late one night when I let them out before bed.

At the time, the two of them were alone in the west half of the yard, while Travis was sniffing for something on the east side.  Suddenly the two delinquent dogs appeared and charged my fence, obviously aiming to jump over it and attack my two little ones.  I began shouting and running toward them, but I never had a chance to do anything to protect them, because Travis got there first.

He shot across the yard like he had been fired out of a cannon, every hair on his body standing on end.  As the two dogs gaped at him, he began bouncing up and down like a giant windup toy, growling, barking and practically screaming in his rage that they would threaten his friends.  For a moment, the two of them snarled at him angrily.

Then they slowly turned and slunk away.

Moments later, I snatched up my two tiny dogs and told Travis to come inside, still afraid the two of them would return...but Travis simply ignored me.  He knew he had scared them off for good.  I never saw either one of them again.

As for Travis, he continued to show the same unflagging courage for the rest of the 10 years that my sister had him.  Schnauzers mean business...and every animal he met was smart enough to recognize it.

It's All About Attitude: Pasja and the Boxer

I've heard it said many times that dogs don't really pay attention to the size of other dogs.  My own personal experience is that they really do notice when a dog is very large (like Prince) but not necessarily as much when a dog is small, especially if the small dog has an attitude.

A perfect example of this would be Pasja.

Pasja (left) and his friend Hector

Pasja liked almost all other dogs (and they all liked him) but if any dog tried to be too assertive with him, Pasja immediately evinced a "big dog" attitude.  This was especially apparent one day when I was walking him through the woods by our home, when I was a teenager.

The people who lived by the woods (who possibly owned part of them) had two dogs, a Boxer and a German Shepherd.  The German Shepherd was pretty laid back, but the Boxer would aggressively pursue anyone he saw passing through the woods when his owners were not present.  On the day I happened to be walking Pasja through the woods, this exact set of circumstances occurred.

Being young and foolish, as soon as he began to chase us, I ran.  Pasja seemed reluctant to follow me, but did because he was on the leash (even though he fretted the entire time).  Unfortunately, this only aggravated the Boxer even more, and I could hear him gaining on us, with low growls and excited panting noises, until he was almost immediately behind us.  At this point, unsure of what to do but out of breath, I stopped...and he came charging toward us.

That was when Pasja took over.

Pasja was still fairly young at the time, and I had never yet seen him get really angry with anyone or anything.  He began to bark and then to growl so menacingly that the Boxer actually stopped and stared at him with what I can only describe as astonishment.  The angrier Pasja became, the more uncertain the Boxer grew, until he eventually began to back away and finally turned for home, wearing an almost sheepish expression, even as he continued to growl under his breath.  Pasja continued to bark and snarl at him until he was a good ways off, at which point we resumed our walk in peace and quiet.

I never worried again when I was walking Pasja about any kind of threat, whether it was four-legged or two-legged.  In spite of his being less than 50 pounds, Pasja was absolutely certain that he could deal with anything or anyone...and his certainty made it true.  He protected me in many instances throughout the time I had him, provoking a great many reactions, but always inspiring a healthy respect.

Bedtime Snacks

Many, many years ago, when my toy poodle was just a wee little thing, the groomer who I normally took her to told me that little dogs require more than one meal a day...preferably one in the morning, and one sometime later during the day, to keep their blood sugars from dropping.  Somehow, this evolved into an excuse for me to feed my dogs 2 meals a day, which gradually got further and further apart.  Eventually I made the exciting discovery that dogs, like people, sleep better on a full stomach, and thus the tradition of bedtime snacks was born.

It is a tradition that I have since come to regret.

My initial concoctions were of the simple variety...perhaps a bone or some other kind of dog snack. They then graduated to more elaborate plates of snacks, and then to full-fledged meals.  Why? Because my dogs insisted upon it.

Bedtime for Prince (photo by SCB)

I have to give Prince credit for at least being polite about it.  When I approach him at night, he initially stares at me in an expectant manner, at least giving me the chance to produce the snack without his demanding it.  If this approach fails to work, he will begin to shadow me, and finally sniff at my pockets in an expectant manner, staring at me intensely the entire time.  Failing to produce a snack will result in his failing to do whatever I want him to do, until the snack is produced.  Since I would rather cajole than command, whenever possible, his approach usually works.

Isabel is not nearly as polite about it.

Bedtime for Isabel (photo by SCB)

She, too, will stare at me as bedtime approaches, but in a far more expectant manner, as if she cannot imagine that I would not grant her wishes.  If the snack does not meet her approval, she will either snort loudly or refuse to bestow upon me her treasured good night kiss.  She also has another, more ominous method of getting exactly what she wants (sometimes used even after receiving a satisfactory snack).  This technique can only be described as hounding.

For the rest of the night, whenever I get up, for whatever reason, she will get up, too.  After I have finished whatever errand prompted me to arise, I will return to find her sitting in the middle of the dining room floor, refusing to go back to bed unless another suitable snack is provided for her.  She will do this as many times as she desires, and yes, I admit, I always give in.

Unfortunately, I have created a monster.  Now, after receiving her first or second snack, she actually has to be locked into the bedroom at night to prevent her from insisting upon a never ending supply of bedtime snacks.

Bedtime for Scrappy (photo by SCB)

Oddly enough, the real beneficiary of both Prince and Isabel's behavior is Scrappy.  He never asks for anything, and for some odd reason, always seems to end up with the most of everything.  Persistence does pay, but patience really is the best technique of them all.

Prince and the Wily Woodchucks

                                           The Wily Woodchuck (Filmed by SCB)

Of all the wild animals that (welcome and not) come to visit Prince's yard, the wiliest one is definitely the woodchuck.

I never knew much about woodchucks until I began to encounter them.  Then I discovered that woodchucks not only have a huge appetite for any fruits and vegetables you may try to grow in your yard, they also have an unfortunate habit of burrowing dens near the foundations of homes.  When we first encountered this problem , I was hopeful that Prince's presence would deter them.

Unfortunately, it has not.

While Prince has caught many other wild animals prowling through our backyard, he has never caught a woodchuck.  They always seem to know when he is about to come outside, and stay just far enough away that they can easily elude even a mad dash gallop toward them.  Failing this, they will actually climb trees (especially when they are young).  Prince has never managed to come closer than 10 feet to one.  As for the rest of my dogs (and any humans who happen to be here), they show us no respect whatsoever.  Even a full throated yell will only cause them to give you a toothy glare in return.

Realizing Prince wasn't the answer to our dream of eliminating woodchucks from our yard, we decided to trap and relocate them, but unfortunately there has been on major deterrent.   The woodchucks are simply too smart!  Just how smart are they? Look at the above video.

Yes, Woodchucks really do climb trees!  (photo by SCB)

I am still trying to figure out a way to get rid of them, but unfortunately, this is the one thing I don't think Prince will be able to help me with.  The woodchucks are simply too smart for him...and for me!

Isabel's Toys

When Isabel, our Chihuahua, first came to live with us, I noticed that she had a tendency to hoard things...especially toys and food.  Whereas initially she would put them in fairly easy to access spaces, she eventually changed her preferred spot to various areas on the living room sofa.  Toys that she was especially fond of were laid out in various locations on the cushions, while food was placed beneath them, ostensibly to hide it from anyone else who might be interested.  While this worked well for her at first (because my toy poodle and Shih-Tzu were both too small to get onto the sofa), the suitability of this hiding place became less so when Prince grew up.

Isabel On Guard (photo by SCB)

Isabel has always had difficulty sharing (whether it be affection, toys or food), but she has an especially difficult time sharing with Prince.  No matter how well she hides food, he can find it...and he shows no respect for her when she tries to stop him from taking it, either.  In spite of her growling, snapping, barking and yes, occasionally biting, he will simply nudge her out of the way and persist in taking it from her. She is always incensed by this, but oddly enough, she becomes even more angry when he steals her toys.

Isabel has a special relationship with her toys.  Every day, she picks out a new favorite one, and will play mostly with it all the during the day and even take it to bed with her at night.  She is especially fond of red toys (which I believe is her favorite color).

Prince on the Prowl for Toys (photo by SCB)

Prince sees toys as something to be shredded apart and abandoned.  The only toys he seems fond of are his football and his soccer balls, and he also enjoys destroying these (by puncturing them).  This means we have to throw deflated balls for him in the yard whenever we want his attention.

Having once been a small child myself, I understand Isabel's point of view, and always try to rescue her toys whenever Prince evinces interest in them.  I have been too late on a couple of a occasions, but many times, I have stopped him from chewing it and taken it out of his mouth, only to find she has completely lost interest in it when I return it to her.

Understandably puzzled by this, I asked her favorite person in the world (my boyfriend) why she didn't want them anymore.  Both he and Isabel stared at me as if the answer should be obvious.

"Well?" I prodded, since it was not.

"He drooled on them," he said, even as Isabel turned her back on me in a haughty manner.

Unfortunately, it appears he was right, because even after I washed them, Isabel continued to snub these unfortunate toys.  My solution was to relinquish them to Scrappy (our Shih-Tzu) who doesn't seem to mind, and to buy her new ones.

Oddly enough, this now seems to have become a sort of pattern.  I almost wonder if Prince just likes tormenting her...or if she does it on purpose in order to get new toys!

I guess only the two of them (and maybe her favorite person) know the answer.

Joy

Joy (photo by TLS)

I met Joy for the first time when I visited my veterinarian's office for a no longer remembered reason.  She was in a cage with a black and white Papillion, and when I asked about her, they told me she had been rescued from a puppy mill.  Joy had been used for breeding, and after she had delivered several stillborn puppies, the breeder decided she was no longer a good investment and wanted to put her down.  Joy was rescued by one of the staff who worked in dog rescue.  At the time, Joy was only 3 years old.

Several days later, my sister Tina went to the clinic to pick up a product and fell in love with her.  She promptly adopted Joy, in spite of her many problems:  Joy was not housebroken, she hated men, she was terrified of thunderstorms and she had what I can only describe as withdrawal syndrome.  Joy would periodically crawl into a closet and hide for hours, not wanting to be disturbed.

The first time I took Prince over to my sister's house after she had gotten Joy, we thought it would be best to keep them apart, due to Joy's various issues.  Joy, however, had different plans.  When she heard Prince out in HER backyard, she began barking so loudly at the bedroom window that he jumped up on it to see her. My sister subsequently brought her outside (with a great deal of trepidation) and introduced her to Prince, to whose leash I was still holding.  To my surprise, Prince's reaction was that of a complete gentleman.

First, he gently sniffed her.  Then, when she growled a little, he backed away until she calmed down, and then returned to greet her again, his tail gently waving.  As she calmed down, he grew more friendly, yet never pushy...retaining a discrete and slightly aloof manner until she jumped up on HIM to lick his face.

Prince and Joy are friends now, and I have to admit, he is not nearly as polite as he used to be.  The other day he even put one of his giant paws on her back!  Fortunately, Joy didn't seem to mind in the least, and simply ran away from him.  She's come a long way from the frightened little dog who my sister brought home.  She still doesn't like thunderstorms, and once in a while she still hides in the closet, but she actually likes men now!  I think Prince is still her favorite male, though.

Prince and the Baby Raccoon

Prince dislikes a lot of things...cats, opossums and thunderstorms being a few of the more noteworthy ones. Another of his least favorite things is raccoons.

Perhaps he dislikes them for purely physical reasons, but I tend to think that it's because of their attitudes. Of all of the animals that my dogs have encountered, the most brazen ones are raccoons, who almost never run from anything.  I've heard from neighbors about them attacking their dogs, and I have actually had them get into fights with my dogs, although fortunately neither the dog nor the raccoon were seriously injured. Perhaps the most badly behaved of them all, though, was the mother raccoon that came into my yard several summers ago.

For some unfathomable reason, she brought her tiny kits with her... and they were actually as small as an 8-week old kitten.  Not knowing that they were around, I happened to let my Chihuahua Isabel out, who promptly began to bark at them.  I suspect she just wanted to sniff and maybe even lick them, but the mother was having none of it.  Even though I was standing there, she rushed the fence and hit it, snarling at Isabel so loudly that she ran away.

Unfortunately for the mother raccoon, Prince was in the back porch and promptly came thundering outside to see what the commotion was about.  When the mother raccoon saw him, her maternal instinct was instantly superseded by terror.  She fled from the yard with her children in tow, leaving one poor little kit behind in her haste.  At the moment I saw him, he was clinging to a twig with one paw, on a bush that only came up to my knee.  Prince saw him the same instant that I did, and went rushing toward him, barking furiously.

"Prince!" I shouted, "No!  Leave the baby alone!"

It was the same thing I always said to him when he teased Isabel too much, or one of the cats (back when he still liked them).  I had little hope of its having any impact on him, but he suddenly stopped, sniffed at the baby and ran back to where the mother had been, ignoring the kit as it fell onto the ground with a plop and then hurried after its mother and siblings.

I like to think that Prince knew it was a baby, and that's why he didn't try to hurt it, but it's just possible that he may have finally listened to something I told him at exactly the right time.  Either way, I consider it to be a win/win situation.

Of Dogs and Possums: Part 2

(Photos by SCB)

The Pokey Possum

After my old dog, Trevor, had his unfortunate encounter with a possum, I was leery of them for a long time, and tried to ensure that none of my other animals would ever encounter one.  Unfortunately, one winter day Prince decided otherwise.

A rather large possum  (pictured above) had, for some unfathomable reason, decided to make its new home near the side of our shed.  Whether it was broad daylight or night time, it refused to budge, and no amount of yelling, stomping our feet or throwing objects around could convince it to change its mind.  Then came the morning when I was desperate to take Prince out and, not willing to have the possum get hurt, I decided to take him out on a regular leash.

It was the most disastrous decision I had ever made with him.

The instant Prince came out into the yard, his head lifted as he sensed the presence of something new.  One second later, he saw the possum and took off toward it.  I braced myself against his pull...and found myself flying through the air after him, unable to even slow the impetus of his rush toward it.

For several terrifying, helpless seconds I flew along behind him, screeching at him ineffectually.  Then I slammed into a tree headfirst, dropping the leash and going down on my knees as Prince hit the fence.

Prince relaxing after possum hunting

I've  heard it said that possums never move quickly, but I found out in that moment this was patently untrue. The possum moved so fast he seemed to disappear into thin air...leaving Prince barking after him in rage and myself on the ground, holding onto my head in agony.

I didn't speak to Prince for the rest of the day.  Later that night, when the possum came back, a friend helped us trap it and move it to another location far away, from whence it would never return.

I have never since then attempted to hold onto Prince when he was going after anything in the backyard.  I figure our backyard visitors will just have to fend for themselves...and they do.  Possums can actually move a lot faster than most people think they can...they just need the right impetus to get going.  And Prince is definitely that impetus.

Of Dogs and Possums: Part 1

Many years ago, I owned a mixed breed German Shepherd/Collie/Labrador named Trevor.  Trevor had a long list of behavioral challenges, but the one that got him into trouble the most frequently was his avid pursuit of wildlife that wandered into our yard.  Trevor knew no fear...until he pushed his prey just a little too far, and it retaliated against him.  One of the unlikely victims in this scenario was a possum.

There have always been a lot of possums in the area in which I live, and the time when I had Trevor was no exception.  I would find possums of all sizes in my yard both in the daytime and the night time.  When I asked a local wildlife official what I should do about them, as my dog seemed far too excited to see them, he said possums never go anywhere in a hurry...and he was right.  The time Trevor caught one was no exception.

Possums look mean...and, when it came to Trevor, I found out they actually are mean.  On this particular evening, I let him outside and he happened to find one near the edge of my yard, under my apple tree.  I think he was under the impression when he attacked it that it would be an easy victim...but he turned out to be tragically wrong.  As soon as he went after it, the possum leaped into the air and grabbed a hold of his muzzle with his teeth.

Thereafter followed a horrifying period of time (which probably lasted seconds, but seemed to last for an hour) wherein Trevor screamed and swung his head back and forth, and the possum held on.  I ran toward them, shouting (thinking maybe if I pulled Trevor away, the possum would let go) and as it caught sight of me, it suddenly did and fell on the ground in a dead faint.

I actually thought Trevor had killed it.  After carefully examining him (there was no blood!) and putting him inside, I returned with a flashlight to check on the possum.  He was still out cold, stretched out on his back in what appeared to be a dead faint.  I was afraid to touch him, but I shouted at him and picked up a broom and gently nudged him with it...to no avail.  Finally, I went back inside, resolving to go out and check on him again in half an hour.

This went on for an hour and a half...until I finally came out and found he had recovered and wandered away while I was inside.  Thankfully, he didn't leave any blood behind, either...yet he left me with a healthy respect for possums and a resolve never to let my dogs anywhere near them again.

As the years went on, many of my dogs would see possums and bark at them hysterically, but the possums never reacted.  They would simply stare at the dogs insolently, turn their backs or slowly plod away.  I believed what the wildlife official had told me...that there was no hurrying a possum...until Prince proved him wrong.

YouTube video of PrinceBlackstar!!

Prince and the Angry Skunk

Since we happen to live by a rather large wooded area, a variety of wild animals have walked past our yard and through it over the years, including raccoon, possums, deer, coyotes and, unfortunately, skunks.  One memorable summer evening, I was unlucky enough to let Prince out into the yard when one of the latter happened to be moseying along under our apple tree.

For years, I had been reading (and hearing) about other people's dogs' encounters with skunks, and had even looked up the recipe to get rid of the odor just in case it should happen to my dog.  Oddly enough, only a week earlier, a friend of my boyfriend's had been unlucky enough to have a skunk/dog encounter in his backyard, with the expected consequences.

Of course, as with everything else that happened with Prince, this, too, turned out to have an unexpected ending.

The instant I let Prince out in the yard, I sensed (or smelled?) that I had made a mistake of possibly epic proportions.  Prince, too, immediately realized that we had a visitor, but instead of displaying any prudence whatsoever, he went tearing after it, ignoring my screams of dismay.

Prince Contemplating His Good Luck

In the darkness, I could just make out Prince's silhouette as he landed on top of the skunk, and heard it snarl at him in a vicious manner.  I got ready to hold my breath, but the poor creature, obviously stunned by Prince's lack of respect for it (and perhaps by his size) never paused long enough to emit the slightest drop of skunk spray.  Instead, he fled for the fence, with Prince in hot pursuit, dove underneath it with a loud clanging noise and disappeared back into the forest, never to return.

Perhaps Prince just had a moment of exceptional luck, or maybe the skunk was simply too stunned by his audacity, but luck was certainly on his side that night.  I have, of course, exercised even more caution since that time when letting him out at night, and yes, I do still have the remedy to wash him in the event that he is not so lucky the next time.

Oddly enough, though, I have never had another skunk come into my yard...and hopefully never will.

Prince and the Construction Crew

Last summer, the city in which we live decided that some of the pipes under the sidewalk needed to be refitted (or replaced).  They subsequently sent out a crew of workers to dig them up and refit them...and the majority of the time, they worked in extremely close proximity to our house.

Prince and his big boy stick (branch?)

Being the friendly fellow that he is, Prince was delighted with all of the new company, and would bounce over to greet them each time they happened to pass by.  Not surprisingly, the crew was a lot less happy to see him.  Each time they walked by, they would cast rapid, uneasy glances in his direction, and then look at us as if seeking reassurance.  The foreman, especially, seemed acutely aware of the danger.

"He doesn't realize he could just step over that fence, does he?" he asked one day, as he passed by with a member of his crew.

"He's actually very friendly," I said...and received the usual highly skeptical look.

Then came the balmy summer afternoon when I took Prince on a walk through the park...and emerged from it to find 20 of the crew members directly in the path that we had to take home. Trying not to alarm them, I approached as slowly as possible...until one of them saw us coming and shouted a warning.

A special smile

"He's really very friendly," I said to the foreman, who gave me another disbelieving look before he slowly and gingerly offered his hand to Prince.  When Prince sniffed and then licked it, he stared at him in astonishment.

"He really is friendly," he said, in wonder.  He then directed us immediately toward the crew, several members of which were on their hands and knees on the sidewalk.

"Bite them right there," he told Prince, pointing at their backsides.  All of them immediately sat down.

"He's really very friendly," I repeated, but none of the rest of them seemed to believe me.  After passing through their midst, Prince and I reached the final obstacle...a man with a large truck parked directly on the sidewalk, who flung himself back in fear as we reached him.

"He's very friendly," I said again.

He, too, put out his hand...and then slowly smiled as Prince licked it.  "He's sure isn't like most German Shepherds I've met," he told me.

"Well, no," I admitted.  Because, of course, Prince isn't.

But sometimes that really is a good thing!

German Shepherds and Children: Prince Meets His Match

The first time Prince began to  bark at a child, I immediately assumed that he had been upset by something that the child had unintentionally done.  I thought the child might have shrieked, moved too quickly or even showed him some object he was not accustomed to.  I realized I was wrong when Prince met Selena.

When  Selena was a baby, her mother would frequently pass my yard pushing her in a stroller...and Prince would bark at them to the point that the mother would become uncomfortable.  I thought it was because her stroller reminded him of a lawn mower (like many other dogs, Prince has always had a strong reaction to mowers).  The real reason for his barking, however, became apparent when he encountered her later, when she was big enough to walk.

A Bottle!

We were passing the house that she lived in when she unexpectedly came toddling toward us, and stopped immediately in front of the fence that we were walking by.  I saw her grandfather start to come after her, but immediately change his mind when he saw Prince.  Prince himself barely seemed to notice her when she was within touching difference, until she shouted at him.

At first, he looked at her with an expression that almost seemed to convey surprise. Then his tail began to wag, faster and faster, and his ears went all the way down, and he put his nose through the fence and began to nuzzle and then lick her face as she grabbed at him.  That was when I had my epiphany.

Prince and his Bottle

Prince was not barking at her (or any of the other children) because he felt aggressively toward them.

Prince was barking at them because he wanted their attention, and as soon as they gave it to him, he stopped barking.

This is one "trait" that Prince continues to possess to this day.  He still barks at small children and babies...until they come close enough that he can sniff and lick them. Then he immediately stops until they move away.  He actually does the same thing with any of the neighbors who pass by that normally talk to him or pet him.  If they fail to do so immediately, he will bark at them until they do what he wants them to.

Somehow, and I really am not sure why, I have ended up with an inordinately friendly German Shepherd Dog.  He likes ALMOST everybody...there are a few notable exceptions, but for the most part, Prince actually thinks that almost everyone wants to be his friend.  I think part of the reason may be because he has met so many people.  Another part may be that he has never been hurt by a human being.  Since Prince has never been afraid of anyone, he has never had to act aggressively to anyone.

Prince's attitude has surprised a lot of people...but perhaps no one was more surprised than the crew of construction workers that we happened to run into last summer.

German Shepherds and Children Part 5: The Little Girl in the Pink Pants

Having had only positive experiences with German Shepherds during my own childhood, I expected Prince to love children...especially since he seemed to love almost everyone else so much.  At first, it seemed he did.  During the first year I walked Prince, we actually met a small boy in the park that Prince was delighted to meet.  Therefore, the first time a small child happened to wander past my yard unattended, I actually smiled in anticipation of the delight that she and Prince would find in each other.  As she toddled past my back yard fence, I calmly waited for Prince to notice her, and smiled as he rushed toward her, coming to a stop in front of her inside the fence.

I can still remember that long moment as her tiny head turned toward him, and his giant head loomed over her.  For a second, I thought she was going to smile, and maybe Prince did, too, because his tail wagged the slightest bit.

Then she screamed.

I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that she was terrified by the sight of an animal 10 times larger than herself, but Prince took her reaction very personally.  He began to bark at her...loudly...and since he was standing immediately before her, the noise must have been deafening.  The poor little thing turned to flee, still screaming, and suddenly (and unfortunately) Prince turned into a herding dog.

Every way she tried to run, he was there, his hindquarters up and his head down, barking in her face.  When she turned right, he was there.  When she turned left, he was there.  Eventually her mother heard her and came racing up the street to grab her, paused when she saw Prince, and then, in an act of heroic bravery, dashed forward, grabbed her daughter, and fled.  All the while, the little girl was still screaming and Prince was still barking.

Once his daughter had been rescued, her father came marching toward my house in a fury, probably to chastise me for my dog's behavior.  The only amusing part about the entire incident was that when he saw Prince, he turned on his heel without breaking stride and marched back to his house without saying a word.

Disappointed by Prince's reaction (Prince loves almost everyone!), I discussed it with my sister.  After she discussed it with a friend, she relayed that it was probably the screaming that had gotten Prince so excited, and that was why he had barked at her so much.

At the time, it seemed like a reasonable explanation, or at least one I found vaguely comforting.  As with so many things about Prince, however, it turned out to be an erroneous assumption.

German Shepherds and Children Part 4 - Prince II

Years ago, I read an article about German Shepherds that claimed while they were good with their own family's children, they tended to be less so with the children of other people.  In my own personal experience, there is no better example of this than Prince II...the first dog we owned after Prince William.

Prince of Holland was a beautiful sable German Shepherd that was bred by a work associate of my father. When this man told my father about the puppies, my father decided to go ahead and get one for us.  This time, it was my younger sister who was allowed the privilege of picking out our next dog, who, unfortunately, turned out to be a colossal mistake.

In retrospect, we should have known from the start that Prince II was not the best bred German Shepherd, because when my father and sister went to pick him out, his mother had to be confined so that she wouldn't attack them.  I've heard it said that it's always best to meet a puppy's parents before you take it home, and it certainly would have applied in Prince's case.

From the start, Prince had problems.  He was extraordinarily difficult to housebreak and inordinately submissive.  Any time an adult man would try to grab him or even pet him, he would urinate and sometimes even scream.  He was destructive, as well...any time he was left alone for an extended period of time, he would tear apart everything from furniture to books to toys.  My father immediately pronounced him to be a fear biter...a badly bred dog that, according to him, should have been destroyed, and would have been if he had been bred for the military.  His remedy for this was to punish him by hitting him with a rolled up newspaper, which was traumatic both for Prince and for us.  Every time Prince had an accident, I would cringe in my room and cover my ears, not wanting to hear the noise of his being punished, because I loved Prince.

All three of us (my sisters and I) adored him.  This was in spite of the fact that he was extraordinarily "nippy" and would frequently nip us by accident, usually drawing blood.  We always forgave him because when we cried, he would cry with us...sitting right up against us and howling until we stopped crying in order to comfort him.  We called him Princee, and in our eyes, he could do no wrong.

When Prince tore things up, we picked up the pieces and hid them so nobody would know.  When he nipped us by accident, we pretended something else had happened.  When he had an accident, we cleaned it up.  When our next door neighbor bent over to work in her garden by our fence, and Prince nipped her hair through the links, we defended him and said she had been yelling at him first.  And Prince adored us all in return.  He always wanted to be with us, was always delighted to play with us and was always there to comfort us when we were sad.

One day, my younger sister invited a friend over, and when the friend ran across our back yard, Prince ran after her and grabbed her by the arm.  In spite of the fact that the little girl was unperturbed by his actions, and he didn't even bruise her, my father decided it was the end of the road for Prince.  The next day when we came home from school, Prince was gone.

Initially, my father told us he had given him away to a policeman.  Later, he admitted he had had Prince destroyed, because he was convinced Prince would end up hurting somebody.  At the time, I wondered why my father, who had trained dogs in the military, didn't take the time to train Prince better, but when I asked him this, he said it would have been impossible.

Oddly enough, of all the dogs we had during my childhood, I loved Prince II the most.  I think it was because he loved us so very much.  He might not have been good with other people's children, and he wasn't exactly the best with us, but I still miss him, and he is the dog I named my Prince Black Star for.

German Shepherds and Children 3 - Count and I

Since my father had trained German Shepherds in the military as a young man, he considered himself to be an expert on them, and on what they would and would not do in a particular situation.  One day, when I was very young, we had a disagreement about what a German Shepherd would do if it were ordered to do something against its will.  My father said a German Shepherd could be trained so well, that even if it were ordered to kill someone it loved, it would do so...out of fear of its trainer.  I childishly insisted that this was untrue.

Oddly enough, I was right, and there is no better example of this than Count.

Count was an exceptionally well-behaved dog that never showed any defiance when ordered to do something.  At the same time, he was extremely protective, and if he thought one of us were being threatened, he would literally interpose himself between us and whatever he thought was threatening us, regardless of the consequences.  The extent of his valor in this regard became apparent to me one day when I was arguing with my father.

My father thought that everything the military and the government did was right.  As a rebellious teenager who listened to music from the 60s on a regular basis, I strongly disagreed.  One day, after a series of arguments about the justice of certain military interventions, I happened to be listening to one of my favorite 60s artists, and my father lost his temper.

I was sitting downstairs in front of my stereo, with Count, when my father stormed into the room, grabbed the record off the turntable and threw it onto the ground.  Then he turned toward me and began shouting.  I don't remember what he said.  I only remember how frightened I was, of what was happening and what might happen next, and that Count suddenly stood up and made himself a barrier between us.

Count at 7 years of age

My father yelled at Count.  Then he tried to shove him out of the way...but Count refused to budge.  No matter how angry my father became, Count refused to give in...and eventually my father gave up and stormed back upstairs, leaving me alone with Count.

I immediately got down on my knees and hugged and kissed him.  Count responded in a somewhat aloof manner, as if he were disappointed by the entire series of events, and the fact that he had been forced to disobey.  With a loud sigh, he pulled away from me and went to lie down in a different part of the room, and I picked up the record and quickly put it away.

When I think about it now, I think it shows that what I thought as a child was right.  Fear is never as strong of a motive as love, and the love that German Shepherds (and other dogs) have for children is something immeasurably more powerful than their fear of anything...or anyone.

German Shepherds and Children Part 2 - Prince William of Orange

After my father returned from Vietnam in 1970, we went to live in Maryland, and my parents decided it was time for another dog.  My father initially brought home a toy fox terrier, Odin, but Odin was terrified of children, and attacked my father every time he got into bed at night.  Eventually it was decided that Odin should be given to an elderly lady, and my father told me I could pick out our next dog.

Several weeks later, he took me to meet a lady who seemed to have 20 dogs running around.  I still remember them racing toward me when we walked in, most of them Odin's size...except for two long-haired German Shepherd puppies that looked like little woolly bears.

"Which one would you like?" my father asked me, gesturing at all of the dogs milling around.

One of the long-haired German Shepherd puppies was already standing beside me, licking my hand.  "Him," I said.

I could tell my father was pleased, even though he pretended to be surprised.  "Him? Really?"

I nodded, and put my arm around him.  I still remember how he stayed by me, even as my father went off to talk to his owner, and how he walked beside me when I followed.

That was how Prince William of Orange (named for the Dutch Royal Family) came to stay with us.

Prince William of Orange (right) and his cousin

Prince William grew up to be a gentle giant.  My father took numerous pictures of me, at 5 years of age, with him, and in almost all of them, I have him around the neck in a death grip.  Prince William's only response to such overly friendly tactics was to lick my face.  He liked everybody...except the trash collector.  This unfortunate man was so frightened of him, he would try to sneak up and collect the trash every Monday, and Prince William took it as a personal insult.  He would lie on the front porch, pretending to be asleep, until the man reached the trash cans...and then fly off the steps toward him with a volley of thunderous barks.  My mother says he liked to bark at butterflies, too, but I don't remember this.  What I do remember is how safe he made me feel.

I even thought he could protect me from the things I saw in my nightmares.

Unfortunately, we didn't get to keep Prince William for very long.  A year later, my father was transferred to Alaska, and Prince William went to stay in Florida with a friend of my father's who, coincidentally, owned Prince William's cousin.  The cousin was extremely aggressive, and I remember being terrified of him, but I was never afraid of Prince William.

Everything I can remember about him is good.

German Shepherds and Children - Part 1

Several years ago, a friend of my sister's who had very small children told her that she had always wanted a German Shepherd, but her husband was aghast at the idea.  "A German Shepherd?" he asked.  "With little kids? Are you crazy?"

When I was 2 years old, my father went to serve in Korea (he was an officer in the Army) and my mother went to live in Indiana, with her two small children, while he was away.  The house that she happened to rent was near a cornfield, and one night when she was standing in her back yard, she noticed a man hiding in it, watching her.  She promptly called the state police, and the office who came out told her he had only one piece of advice for her:  "Get a German Shepherd."

She did...a 1 year old mostly tan German Shepherd that she named Brutus.  This promptly solved the problem of the man in the cornfield, but it also solved another problem that she had, with me.

After multiple surgeries as a baby, I was slow to develop motor skills, and at the age of 2, I was still unable to walk.  Thus far, I had not shown any motivation to learn, either, but this changed when Brutus came to live with us.

Brutus helped me learn how to stand.  My mother says I would literally pull myself up by him, and he would let me.  I learned to walk with his assistance, as well.  She said I have two favorite places to grab him by when I was doing this...the first was by his tail, and the second was by his mouth.  I can't imagine that any of this was pleasant for him, even though I was very small, but he never showed the slightest bit of impatience or even reluctance when it came to helping me.  According to my mother, we would walk around and around the dining room table in this manner, until I finally learned to walk by myself.

Interestingly enough, he also seemed to be a guardian of sorts for me.  When my mother had to go into the hospital for an operation, and my father's aunt came over to care for us, she put Brutus outside the entire time because she was afraid of him, and I promptly began to walk into walls.  Although nobody realized it at the time, I had a visual defect that made me extremely accident prone, and I wonder, now, if Brutus might not have known something about this, as well.

My parents did not have Brutus nearly long enough.  Two years later, my father had to go serve in Vietnam, and my mother returned back to the Netherlands with us while he was gone.  Brutus was given away to some people who owned a farm.  I was too young to retain a clear memory of him, but for years, as a child, I had an imaginary dog that I named "Brutee"  Now, of course, I realize that even as young as I was, I must have remembered him, and "Brutee" was the name I must have called him as a baby.

The Boy and the Bike

When my boyfriend was a child, his grandmother owned a German Shepherd named Tiger that almost everyone in the neighborhood was afraid of.  One of the few exceptions to this was a boy with autism who lived on the same street.  Whereas everyone else was afraid to even approach Tiger (with good reason), this boy befriended him, and Tiger was unfailingly patient with him.  According to my boyfriend, Tiger "just knew" that there was something different about the boy.

Although I have always had a very high opinion of the intelligence of German Shepherds, I wondered about the accuracy of this statement...until one day when Prince displayed the same "sense."

At the time it occurred, Prince was out in the yard, and I happened to be at the back door, keeping an eye on him.  Suddenly he began to bark, and when I stepped out to see what the commotion was all about, I saw a boy pushing his bike up the street past my yard.

Most bicycle riders unlucky enough to pass by when Prince is outside tend to pick up the pace when they see him...quickly.  This boy, however, stopped walking as soon as Prince began to bark at him, propped his bike up on the sidewalk and marched directly up to him, both arms outstretched.

Prince's initial reaction frightened me.  He dodged away and then rushed back at the boy, the hair on his back standing on end.  I expected the boy to back off, but instead he leaned over the fence, still reaching for Prince, and shouted something unintelligible at him.  As I started to run toward them, Prince leaped up on the fence toward him...and then froze.

A very good boy

Suddenly, all of the aggression seemed to melt out of him.  He stared at the boy (who was still shouting at him), sniffed at his face and then slowly began to wag his tail, putting his ears back at the same time.  As the boy continued to shout at him, Prince leaned toward him in an almost solicitous manner and actually began sniffing at his mouth, his tail wagging wildly the whole time.  The boy began to pat him, vigorously, and then hugged him, hard, around the neck, as Prince licked his face.  When Prince finally got down from the fence, the boy backed off, picked up his bike and walked on.

My father told me years ago that German Shepherds react strongly to fear, and I have heard other people say this, as well.  Prince really does react differently to people that are scared of him than he does to people who really seem to like him (especially when he is in his yard).  I have to acknowledge that he might have responded as he did, at least in part, because the boy showed absolutely no fear of him.  I really doubt, though, that he would have reacted the same way if anyone else had been so forward with him.  I have to conclude that my boyfriend was probably right about his grandmother's German Shepherd.

German Shepherds really do "just know."

A German Shepherd Never Forgets - Part 2

When Prince was a little less than a year old, he got his first exposure to fireworks.  At first, it didn't seem to faze him at all... a few times, he acted a bit startled, but as time went on, and he heard them more, he showed less and less reaction...until the teenage boy who lived across the street invited some friends over for a fireworks fest.

In spite of the large number of fireworks they were setting off, Prince still didn't seem to care (although my Chihuahua, who was inside, was shaking uncontrollably).  Then one of the boys came up with the idea of inserting fireworks into bottles and throwing them into the street.  Before I had time to get Prince inside, one of the boys threw a bottle directly at my yard, and it exploded in the street near my fence.

Understandably, Prince was frightened, and immediately hid behind me.  The boy who actually lived across the street then came to retrieve the bottle (and perhaps to apologize?) but he never got the chance.

Prince immediately associated him with the incident that had just occurred, and began to bark at him so ferociously that the boy gave up and retreated back to his own yard.  After the boy yelled at his friends, the fireworks fest ended, and I hoped that the incident was behind us.

Unfortunately, for Prince, it never was.



Mother's Day Weekend 2014

One of the results of walking Prince and exposing him to a variety of different people had been that, as he had grown older, he had grown remarkably tolerant of anyone we met in public.  Even if we passed someone in close proximity, the most he would do was sniff at them politely or, if they backed away from him, simply stare.  The permanent exception to this was the boy he associated with the explosion.

Almost a year later, when we were walking past the boy's house, I noticed Prince pulling back and staring at someone.  When the boy came walking toward us, Prince immediately began to growl and then to lunge at him.  Scolding him made absolutely no difference...Prince still associated him with the unpleasant experience, and nothing I did helped him to overcome this.  Interestingly enough, he also associated the incident with the boy's family, toward whom he displayed uncharacteristic aggression from that time on.

Years ago, I wondered why a lot people who tease dogs tend to be less likely to tease a German Shepherd.  I think now I know why.

A German Shepherd never forgets.

A German Shepherd Never Forgets

When I was 13 years old, my parents purchased a male German Shepherd puppy from some reputable breeders in Gretna.  While I no longer remember their names, or the name of their kennel, I do recall that the puppy was descended from a champion German Shepherd named Wilva Don's Bikini.  His name was Count of Holland.

As a child, I was unable to appreciate the extraordinarily calm temperament and stoic personality that Count possessed.  I thought he was boring.  He almost never barked at anyone (a simple stare sufficed to chase most people away), his only sign of anger even in the most provoking of circumstances was a low growl, and he greeted all visitors at our house calmly and politely.  The only naughty thing he ever did was steal our dolls' babies, which he would never chew up, just take in his mouth and run away with.

The only exception he ever made was for the boy who lived next door to us.

Count of Holland

Although Count had never barked at any of the neighbors, they all displayed an inexplicable fear of him. Perhaps it was this that motivated one of them to shoot Count in the leg one day, when he was briefly outside by himself.  We never heard anything, but he came to the back door on 3 legs when we let him in, and when my father promptly took him to the veterinarian, he was told that somebody had shot Count in his left front leg.

Since nobody had seen anything, we figured we would never know who the culprit was...but we hadn't realized how furious Count was about the situation.  The next time we let him outside, and the neighbor boy came into his yard, we saw a side of Count we had never seen before.

Count literally went insane... all of the hair on his back rose up and he started throwing himself against the fence, acting as if he were going to clear it and rend the boy limb from limb.  The boy instantly went back into the house, and my father went over to talk to his parents, realizing who the culprit had to be.

The parents never admitted that their 16-year-old son had actually shot our dog, but the boy almost never came into the yard again when Count was outside.  When he did, even years later, Count would react in exactly the same manner, promptly driving him back inside.  Even when Count was very old, and the boy left for a period of time and then came back to visit, Count still remembered what he had done.

With the memory of what had happened to Count in my mind, I have always attempted to be outside whenever Prince is, or at least standing in the doorway watching him.  Even these efforts, however, could not prevent Prince from going through his own traumatic event...which he, as well, has never forgotten.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Disappointed as I was by Prince's bad behavior, I had yet to see the worst of it.  This occurred when a young friend of my boyfriend's, Kurt, came by for an impromptu visit.  My boyfriend and I both thought it might do Prince some good to play with a fairly young man, not only to tire him out, but also to enable him to see men in a more positive light.  Since Kurt was only uncomfortable around very small dogs, he was more than willing to play with Prince, and I let Prince out into the back yard with him and crossed my fingers.

At first, everything seemed to be going surprisingly well.  Kurt threw a stick for Prince several times, which Prince happily retrieved.  They then played a spirited game of tag, with Prince pursuing Kurt around our picnic table in an enthusiastic manner.  Things took a turn for the worse when Kurt doubled back on his heels in an attempt to excite Prince even more.

At that instant, Prince leaped into the air, his mouth dangerously close to Kurt's face, and snapped, his jaws coming together with a noise reminescent of a steel trap closing.

The most amazing thing, to me, was how Kurt avoided Prince's jaws.  He jerked back in a movement of breathtaking agility, causing Prince to miss him by mere millimeters.  Obviously stunned, he then froze, and I grabbed Prince by the collar and pulled him back.

That was the exact moment that Prince's transformation occurred.

I halfway expected him to turn on me and nip at me in the manner that he had when he was a pup, but instead he instantly calmed down and stood by my side, the picture of good behavior.  It was as if he had changed from Mr. Hyde to Dr. Jekyll.

Later, I figured it must have been the countless walks I had taken him on, wherein he knew that he was at least partially under my control, and not able to do exactly what he wanted.  I think, now, this is what had frustrated him so immensely during our first walks, when he had repeatedly attacked my feet, until he accepted my "authority."

It was another turning point in my training of him...or perhaps in his training of me.

Prince doesn't jump on people anymore when they come into the yard, and he never tries to nip anybody.  For a while, I would hold him by the collar, just to be sure, whenever we had a male visitor, but now he will simply say hello to them and then ignore them.

I think this is because he has finally matured.

My boyfriend says it's because he's already tasted everybody we know.

A Very Bad Dog - Part 2

Shortly after Prince began to exhibit his new, alarming tendency to jump onto men's backs, my boyfriend invited an old friend of his over to see what advice he might have to offer.  Greg was a large, burly man with a loud, commanding voice who claimed to know a great deal about German Shepherds.  He walked into the yard where Prince was in a confident manner.

"What you have to keep in mind," he said, as soon as Prince came ambling toward him, "is that German Shepherds recognize assertiveness in people.  If they know you're not the sort of person to put up with being jumped on, they won't jump on you."

"Okay," I said, thinking that thus far, Prince didn't seem to be reacting any differently toward Greg than he had toward any of the men he had jumped on.  But Greg seemed so sure of himself, I held my tongue.

"Come here, Prince," Greg said, in a loud voice, and held out his hand to him.

Prince happily complied, ambling up to him, sniffing at his hands and then frisking away.

"See," Greg said, somewhat proudly.

"He doesn't jump on you until you turn your back," I started to say, but Greg turned away from me to say something to my boyfriend, and didn't hear me.  The instant he did, Prince rushed forward and jumped up on his back, causing him to stumble forward.

Prince in a more pensive mood

"No!!" Greg bellowed, his face slightly red as he recovered his balance and whirled around.

I started to tell him I really didn't want him to yell at my dog but refrained from doing so in light of how provoking Prince had actually been.  Besides, Prince really didn't seem to care.  After giving Greg a thoughtful look, he went to lie several feet away, with an old bone, and began to chew on it in an innocent manner.

"That will probably be the last time that happens," Greg told me confidently.

I glanced at Prince, who was wearing an almost chastened expression.  Perhaps, I thought, Greg was right...but a certain gleam in Prince's eye made me wonder.  He didn't look repentant.

He looked as if he were pretending to be repentant.

For the next several minutes, Greg kept a watchful eye on Prince.  Then, as Prince continued to ignore him, he turned back to my boyfriend, eventually becoming so engrossed in the conversation that he turned his back toward Prince again.

In the next second, Prince dropped his bone, hurtled toward Greg, jumped onto his back so hard that Greg almost went to his knees...and nipped the back of Greg's head.

"Prince, no!" I shouted, and dove toward him.  Obviously delighted with himself, he stood still long enough for me to grab him by the collar and drag him inside away from Greg, whose face was now almost purple with rage.

Suddenly Prince's jumping on men's backs seemed almost comical compared with this new, far worse behavior, which I had no idea what to do about.

Unfortunately, things were going to get worse before they got better.

A Very Bad Dog - Part 1

The first indication we got that Prince had a markedly different attitude toward men than he did toward women occurred when my boyfriend's brother came to visit.

Encouraged by Prince's very favorable reaction to the neighbor lady, I was more than happy to have him stop by, and was looking forward to his reaction when he discovered how friendly Prince was.  After all, I thought, it wasn't every day that someone gets to meet a friendly German Shepherd Dog.

To my surprise, the first thing my boyfriend's brother did when Prince came romping toward him was to back away from him slightly.  Then he began to turn around in circles, laughing a little under his breath and holding out his hands each time Prince tried to come up behind him.

"What're you doing?" I asked, taken aback.

"Making sure my back isn't turned toward him," he said.

"Why?"  I stared at him.

"Because he's trying to jump up on my back," he explained.

As I watched, I realized he was right...Prince did seem to be circling him, looking for an opportunity to jump on him.  But I figured it was an anomaly, something about my boyfriend's brother that he was reacting to, and not something I needed to be particularly concerned about.

Over the course of the next several weeks, I discovered I was dead wrong.

Each time one of my boyfriend's male friends came to visit, Prince would bide his time until they happened to turn their backs toward him.  Then he would lunge forward, jump up and hit them with his front paws as hard as he could.  Since he was tall as they were when he was on his back legs, the result was frequently devastating...one of them spilled coffee all over himself when it occurred, and a second one (who unwisely came over without a shirt on) ended up leaving with a gigantic welt across the middle of his back.

My bed, my pillow!

Each time Prince would jump up on someone, of course, I was appropriately horrified and would yell and/or scold him severely.  Nothing I did seemed to faze him, though (and sometimes it actually seemed to make it worse).  Each male visitor was a new victim to him, to the extent that eventually I wondered if I would simply have to keep him locked up each time a male happened to come over.

Being the dog people that they were, they all encouraged me not to do so, obviously holding the opinion that it was something Prince would outgrow.

Unfortunately, they were wrong, as shortly thereafter Prince began to develop a second inexplicable and even more alarming behavior.

The Ladies' Man

After deciding that walking Prince was one of the best ways to expose him to a variety of people, I began a morning schedule of taking him out immediately after I got up, and deliberately walking him past whichever unsuspecting individual happened to be out and about.  I figured that as long as he did not have any negative experiences, he would learn to tolerate people fairly well.  At least, that was what the articles I read had suggested.  He might not be friendly (and I really did not expect him, as a German Shepherd, to be very friendly) but at least he would not be so vicious that he would potentially hurt an innocent person.

"Don't forget," my mother warned me, when I told her about my plan, "German Shepherds are usually not friendly dogs."  Since she and my father had owned a total of four of them, I figured she ought to know.

In retrospect, I should have known that Prince would end up reacting completely differently.

One of the first "strangers" we encountered during phase 1 of my plan was a neighbor that lived half a block away.  Prince was almost 5 months old (although he already looked like a full grown standard sized German Shepherd).  As we walked past their house one bright and chilly morning, the neighbor and his wife happened to be pulling out of their driveway, and he rolled down the window to talk to me.

"How old is that dog?" he asked, as Prince paused to stare at him in the aloof, curious fashion I had hoped for.

"He's only 5 months old," I said.

As he stared at me doubtfully, I heard the passenger door click, and then it unexpectedly flew open.  His wife leaped out of the car and came running toward us, her arms held out to Prince as if he were a long lost relative.

I was too stunned to pull him away until it was too late.  Prince froze, stared at her with almost as much astonishment as I had...and then, as she neared him, began to dance, his ears laid back and his tail wagging furiously.  The next thing I knew, she had her arms wrapped around him, and he was doing his best to lick her face.

"Good boy, Prince," I said, lamely, although neither one of them seemed to hear me.

A moment later, she released him and ran back to the car, giggling, whereupon he tried to go with her.

Prince demanding a hug

It was a turning point in Prince's life...and mine.  Whereas before, I had been worried about what his reaction to new people would be, I now knew (when it came to women, anyway) exactly what it would be.  All women suddenly became, to Prince, potential givers of hugs.

To this day, if women don't get down on their knees and give him a hug when they meet him, he will jump up, put his paws on their shoulders and demand one.   Hiding from him doesn't accomplish anything, either...when he goes to the veterinarian's office, and the receptionists huddle behind the chest high desk in the lobby, he knocks everything off it in order to get to them.  The technicians always make sure to get down and hug him when he leaves the office.

With men, however, it was a completely different story......as I discovered when I began to expose my boyfriend's poor unsuspecting friends to him.

Nature Versus Nurture

The very first time I took Prince to the veterinarian, for his puppy shots, she told me the most important thing I could do for him was to introduce him to as many people as possible.  The magazine she gave me emphasized the same thing, instructing owners of breeds like German Shepherds, Rottweilers and Doberman Pinschers (among others) to introduce their dogs to as many different types of people as possible.

Prince on the prowl

Both the veterinarian and the magazine emphasized that socializing a puppy as early as possible was the best way to end up with a dog that was good with people outside of its family.  I must admit, however, that I had my doubts about this, especially in view of my experience with my first dog, Pasja.

Pasja was adopted from the local humane society by my older sister, but she gave him to me when he displayed a marked (and inexplicable) preference for me.  He was a Labrador/Border Collie/Husky mix, which made him look like a very small, blond and somewhat fluffy Lab.  His personality, however, was nothing like a typical Lab's (or any of the other dogs that contributed to his heritage).

Pasja hated absolutely everyone except for the people in our family.

We had unintentionally done everything to ensure that Pasja was as well socialized as possible.  Countless people had visited when he was a puppy, oohed and awed over him, picked him up, cuddled him and even held him on their laps.  Pasja's response to all of this was to stare at them in a stony manner, which at the the time we thought was evidence of his stoicism, but later figured was his way of reacting to the unwanted attention before he was big enough to defend himself.

As soon as he became a year of age, he began to display his hatred toward almost every member of the human race.  Men, women, children were all the same to him...he hated all of them equally.  He attempted to attack neighbors, veterinarians, veterinary technicians, and once even went after a group of almost twenty adolescents who had happened to gather at the end of our street (who all wisely fled).

The only theory I could come up with to explain his behavior was that it was genetic.

As such, when Prince was very small, I actually wondered whether I should even make the attempt to socialize him.  However, the extremely rapid pace at which he grew, and the fear people displayed around him even when he was a mere 4 months of age, made me resolve to follow the professionals' advice.

I decided I would do this in two ways:  First, by walking him frequently and letting him see as many people as possible (even though this had never accomplished anything with Pasja) and second, by letting him meet a wide range of people at our home, mostly friends of my boyfriend.

I hoped for the best...but the outcome was something I had never expected.

Cookie and Cream

Almost a year before I got Prince, one of the feral cats living in my neighborhood gave birth to four kittens in an old, unused doghouse I had on the side of my yard.  They were all girls, and we named them Farrah, Leah, Clara and Oreana (or Oreo).  I kept Clara and Oreo, and my sister took Farrah and Leah.  Because of Oreo's name, and Clara's coloring, my boyfriend nicknamed them Cookie and Cream.

Oreo and Clara in their favorite spot

Both Clara and Oreo liked dogs (especially Isabel!) but Clara had her doubts about Prince.  Each time he sniffed her, she would huddle down in a small heap and gaze around in a terrified manner until he lost interest and walked away.  Oreo didn't mind him at all, though,and when she was very small, she even tried to sleep with him at night, until he got too rowdy for her.

Prince had a special feeling for Oreo.  Every time he saw her, he would try to wash her, or even put his entire head underneath her so that she was practically sitting on his muzzle, and sniff and lick her stomach.  What I think he knew at the time (and we, of course, did not) was that Oreo was sick.

Oreo

After she got spayed, Oreo began to lose weight.  I don't know if she possibly got infected with something during the procedure, or it was something she'd had all along that was triggered by the stress of the surgery, but even though she ate, she continued to deteriorate.  We took her to the doctor's almost every week, tried countless antibiotics, vitamin shots, food supplements, natural food, all of the most expensive foods that we could find, and none of it helped.  The veterinarian thought she had feline leukemia.  She suggested putting her to sleep, but we wanted to keep trying.  We even fed her formula from a bottle and spoon fed her baby food, but she ended up dying a few weeks later.

It's always extraordinarily difficult to lose a pet, but losing one so young has always been even harder for me.  She was my boyfriend's favorite cat, and he was her person...when she was well, every time she got excited about something at night or wanted to play, she would wake him up by jumping on his chest and rubbing her head against his beard.  He always felt like she was saying, " Come look at this, Steve!  Come see!"  (And he always did.)

I wish we had been able to figure out what Prince knew, long before any of the rest of us did.  If I'd known I was going to have her for such a short time, I would have been able to give her twice as much love as I did.