Rescue Dog Month # 7

Daisy’s purple collar is missing. She had it on when she got up, but an hour later it is gone, along with her license and I.D. tag with my phone number on it. Where could it be? And how did it come off?
I’ve walked the entire back yard and haven’t found it. I’ve looked all over the house – nothing. The dogs have a habit of racing out the dog door whenever they hear someone in the adjacent park. Did it get caught on something and come unhooked, or did she slip it over her head somehow?
My garden hose has holes in it where Daisy has punctured it with her teeth. She doesn’t like the noise it makes. She bites at the stream of water coming out of it and apparently bites the hose when it’s turned off. Watering the yard is a hilarious endeavor as she barks and bites. I worry about her breaking her teeth on the metal nozzle, so I hold the hose up high and laugh while she gets soaked jumping up and battling the fearsome H2O. Yesterday my other mild-mannered dog joined in the jumping and biting game, and I had two wet dogs to show for it.
Oh well, it’s summer. I keep a beach towel by the back slider to dry them off.
Daisy doesn’t sneak into my bed anymore. She leaps into it the minute I climb in. I am too tired to fight with her. She’s going to get her way in the end. What happened to the meek little girl hiding in the corner of the viewing room at ARF, Tony La Russa’s rescue organization?
Daisy has taken over the Alpha position on pretty much everything. She gets walked first (otherwise she’d bolt out the door if I try to walk Pepper first), she gets to sit on my lap (mostly because she only weighs 20 pounds, not 58), and she gets whichever dog bed she chooses. Poor mellow Pepper gets second place on those things. But if there’s food involved, Pepper is the alpha. She gets her bowl set down on the floor first, she gets bigger treats because she is a bigger dog, and she gets the first chewy treat while Daisy and I go for a walk. Pepper doesn’t bolt out the door. She knows I will be back for her. When I return, I leash up Pepper and throw Daisy’s chewy treat across the room so that we can get out the door without her bolting.
Daisy sits for me, but her butt pops up a lot when she reaches for the treat, so I have to pull back the reward until she can leave her butt on the floor. Pepper can do a down and have her belly fully touching the ground, but Daisy can’t/won’t do that. It’s too submissive. She is too scared/neurotic/abused to do it.
Now that it’s summer, the three little girls across the street lie in wait for Daisy to be walked. When the white Jack Russell and I come into their site line, the five year old asks, “Are you going to walk Daisy now?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Can I give her a treat?”
“Yes,” I say, tearing off a piece for her to give to the dog.
“Can I?” asks the shyer seven year old.
“Yes,” I say.
“Hi!” the almost-two year old says, backing away from us.
The five year old holds out her treat and takes a swipe at Daisy’s soft furry head.
“She’s getting used to us,” she says.
“Yes, this is good. You are both getting used to each other,” I say.
Daisy never gets used to men. Whenever one enters the house or yard, Daisy is out of there, scaling a four foot gate if she needs to. Daisy must have had an abusive man in her past.
My sewing room is piled high with projects. Daisy goes in there to hide or to be next to me whenever I sew. She cuddles up in the “to finish” pile and stays there until my neck starts to hurt and I am done for the day.
My newest rescue dog has a no-man household with a four-legged buddy and an old lady who thinks she’s pretty swell.
Daisy has got it made in the shade.

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