On those walks, we are bonding, just like Cesar had written. We are becoming a pack with a common purpose. When we are all moving forward in unity, I feel a rush of love for these creatures that are exhausting me. These brief interludes of peace give me hope that all our struggles are leading to someplace worthy of this effort. I can't wait to get there and take a nap.
Dear Lord,
I know I probably am missing some things. I probably should have been nicer on the phone. I hate telemarketers, and of course you know that is who I thought it was. How was I to know it was someone worth talking to? Well, forgive that little slip of the tongue, Lord. I know in your eyes, all have worth, but you are God and have to like everyone. I guess you are waiting for me to notice that I snapped on the phone at a perceived intruder in a shockingly similar parallel to Honeybun’s aggressive defensive stance toward strangers. You probably have not noticed how often these interruptions disrupt my good works- homeschool, training the dog YOU put in my path…..
And by the way, did you notice that I could have thrown off the yoke of this crazy dog, but I didn’t? That deserves some credit, doesn’t it? I am trying to trust you, Lord Jesus, really I am. But you might have confused me with someone with competence and patience. I am not qualified for what you are asking me to do, but I am developing at least a modicum of success.
I think now that I have learned with a humble spirit all that you set forth to teach me with this little dog, we can move forward to glorifying your name with final and complete healing. I thank you in advance for that blessing. Amen.
CHAPTER 6 Inconstancy, Infidelity, Ineptitude
Email Letter to Malta 8-31-08 -
ok, so the friend came to pick up her painting, the one HB knows and likes, and she rang the doorbell. HB went ballistic, I tackled and held her down (btw, I have been completely unsuccessful in rolling her, I can just get her down and then claw my hand to hold her head to the ground, but she is not belly up). She continued to make low growls for about a minute, then must've realized it was my friend, and wagged her tail. So I let her up and she was fine.
The cable man was a different story. When he knocked, she went nuts. I rolled her and held her down, and she continued to growl for about 5 minutes. He walked back in and out about 10 times and every time he went by she would growl, hackles raised, lunge and bark, (I had her on leash) and I would push her back into the ground and hold her there. It was exhausting and I am not sure I accomplished anything. When my husband would come by and shout DOWN, she would lay down, but the barking and growling continued every single time the man walked through (he was here about 20 minutes).
Our summer has been fairly visitor free, but the school year is when I teach art and soon start another weekly science group I teach. People are in and out all the time. I hope you have some advice because it is overwhelming at the moment to think of doing this every time someone walks in. nor is it feasible to crate or tie her every time someone walks in, unless that is just for the short term. I am disheartened wondering if this dog will ever be safe for Asherel to have friends over, running in and out, without fear of being attacked. I don't want to give up, but I do feel like right now, it is beyond my skill.
I think it would help most for me to see you handle it the way it should be handled with the same circumstances- strangers walking in, who don't know dogs, are likely small and fearful. Not positive I have any willing victims for you.... one neighbor might comply if she is around when you come (if I can guarantee she won't get bit). Another thought is to leave HB with you for a long time, as I know you can help her.... but will what you do then translate to our home? We have a free afternoon, and I would be willing to drive her over and watch you work with her if you have time today- we get back from church around 12:30 (where I will be praying up a storm for wisdom and guidance here.....)
I know I sound down and I am so sorry for whining.
Lucky , btw, barked and stormed the door, but then backed off when told, and when the guy entered (while I was strangling HB) Lucky wagged his tail and licked him. I have not used the whip to back them off in a long time (since that seemed to have been losing effect) but maybe I need to do more of that.
Please don't scream at me. If I am on the right track even though it doesn't feel like it, I will stick with the program.
Blessings,
Vicky
Email from Malta:
She continues because she knows it is allowed. I know that sounds wrong. But it is not. Lucky is also still raising the excitement level when guests arrive. (Alert- HB goes up a notch)
Lets look at it this way..... Lucky is allowed to do this but HB is not.
There is no barking allowed - no going to the door. You have a doorbell.... let the doorbell tell you when someone is there. Your door, not the dogs. Easiest thing to do would be to send HB to the crate when people arrive at this point. I am going to make this clear to you - NOBODY wants HB in her current state. I don't want her as I have 20+ great non aggressive dogs. It would not be fair to pass her to any family in this current state. This is either fixed or HB needs to be disposed of. Sounds harsh..... But HB is not the only dog in need and other dogs simply are in a better position to actually find a home.
So time to poo or get off the pot with this dog. Or you can accept that every time someone comes she must go in the crate. End of story. We can try the air horn - electric collar..... But neither will change her aggressive nature. They will control it but not change it. Pretty much instant fixes. But for a real change it takes months and even years of reconditioning. She is still doing her job of boss and protector..... Take the job away.
When I arrive, I am sending Will into the house first.... if he is bit he will not tolerate it. This is a warning to you. You may want to ask Asherel to wait in her room. A human has the right to defend themselves. If she does bite him he will not hurt her but there will be a physical confrontation. Just let her run loose with a leash on when we come. I don't believe she will bite him. I have a theory that the physical restraint of the leash is causing some of this behavior.
We need a fresh victim as well while we are there. Can this be arranged? Or I need a video of what happens to witness the behavior with a person besides Will or myself as a victim.
Malta
I haven’t felt this low since watching Bambi when I was five. No one wants Honeybun, and we are stuck with her. If we don’t get her behavior under control, she walks the long green mile to execution. Death penalty. No passing Go and collecting two-hundred dog biscuits. We now have no choice. The safety net has been yanked. Malta had falsely raised my hopes that I could bail out when engulfed by the waves of total failure. Tucked for emergencies in the back of my mind was her email that I could trade Honeybun in for a newer model, one that wouldn't run over us all. But now, Malta seems to have had second thoughts. Malta, the last hope for hopeless dogs is sending me a clear message. This one really is hopeless. It is up to me- me with exactly one month of experience in dealing with dog aggression. Any way about it, I need to find a strength and depth of courage in myself that I don’t have or break my little girl’s heart, not to mention my own. I of course am not able to do this, having no idea where to locate this reservoir of courage. Oh, I know what you are thinking…. What about God? Yes, He has the strength, but He is very busy right now with the mess caused by Al Qaeda, not to mention the plight of the penguins and melting polar ice caps which are needed to film Coca Cola commercials.
I am grateful for Honeybun’s acceptance of Lucky, and she is certainly trustworthy with all of us. However, it is intolerable that every time a friend or salesperson comes to the door, we will all have to scramble into action for the rest of our lives. Friends will peer in, wondering what could be important enough for them to even think of entering this house. They will drift away one by one, and I will die a lonely death with no one daring to attend my funeral, unless of course Honeybun dies first. These happy thoughts drown me for the next hour, but then the doorbell
rings and the explosion of dog rams me back to the present.
It is time to call in the reserves. This is war, and I am determined to win. I will show that Malta, with her snippy little email telling me to poo or get off the pot. I can poo with the best of them. Calling my friend Debbie, and explaining our need of a videotape of Honeybun being vicious at the door, I ask if she would agree to ring the doorbell and enter our dog infested home. With my promises to prevent serious wounds, Debbie is amenable.
I am increasingly struck by the devotion and kindness of my friends. Some watch the dog saga unfold, and tell me I am crazy to continue. They urge me to send her to Animal Control before something awful happens. I waver with their advice, because success is so distant and uncertain. Praying for wisdom and discernment, all I hear is silence, and barking….and growling.
However most are very encouraging, cheering me on, and telling me how lucky Honeybun is to have been found by me. (Because no one else in their right mind would have gone near her, they don’t add, but their sympathetic looks convey the message loud and clear.) Debbie is not one of those doubting Thomases. She repeatedly pronounces, "I know you will be able to cure that sweet little dog," long before the dog is sweet, and I am grateful for her confidence in us, especially as mine is so shaky right now. I of course don’t believe her, but am eager for praise.
I receive an email asking for donations for homeless victims still struggling after Hurricane Katrina. Not now, I mutter, I am too busy building faith, resilience, and care for hopeless, discarded creatures critical to helping this dog. Busy with the Lord’s work, I delete the email.
Asherel is excited about the prospect of chronicling our adventure by videotape. She spends several minutes setting up her camera where she can capture the whole drama as it unfolds. She stakes her position right behind the couch where she can film unobtrusively, but has a clear view of the likely attack zone. She asks me to pose with Honeybun near the door so she can check lighting and distance. I am not certain she is approaching this with the proper respect for the gravity of the situation.
Debbie calls us when she is five minutes away so we can get in position. She and her daughter Lucy both get out of the car. The dogs are already on high alert, obviously aware something is up. We put Lucky in a back room so he will not add to the bedlam. When the doorbell rings, Honeybun performs her usual rabid dog routine. She jumps on the door, barking and growling, hackles raised, a thin brown line of aggression prominently displayed. Her tail sticks straight up, like a machete, ready to cut down the harvest. When the door opens, she predictably lunges, and I roll her. She struggles only briefly, "woofs" feebly and then lies subdued on the ground. Asherel is gleefully filming.
“Hello Debbie,” I say crouching over Honeybun, who wags her tail. Yes folks- wags her tail. She lies peacefully under my claw alpha wolf grip, grinning and wagging at her friend Debbie. This is not exactly the man-eating behavior I have told Malta about. Hopping upright, she sniffs Debbie and continues wagging. Honeybun has met Debbie before and apparently knows she is a friend. She could not have looked more like a normal dog greeting a person at the door.
We catch it all on tape. While I am glad that she has not mauled my friend, I know this will only solidify Malta’s belief that the perceived aggression is in my head. It is likely that this very smart dog just remembers Debbie, and she certainly knows and loves Lucy. This is not her typical response to strangers walking in our door. There is no doubt in my mind that had I let her off leash while the cable man was here she would have removed his ankle bones. But where can I find a total stranger willing to walk in our house to obtain a more accurate video of what Honeybun is like when her normal dog spirit is replaced by the spirit of darkness and spooks?
Perhaps we have not provoked her enough, so I urge Debbie to run around a little. We have noticed in the past that Honeybun can seem relaxed and accepting of someone in the house until they begin to move away from her. Many times she will then lunge and nibble at their backside. She has never bitten, but she seems to be warning them not to take another step if they value the ability to sit down without pain. Malta may believe this is just "herding" dog behavior, not aggression; however, I am pretty sure that nibbling someone's behind would qualify in most of our guests' minds as undesirable dog behavior, at the very least.
Debbie complies with our request to run past Honeybun. Honeybun watches, wagging her tail while Debbie jogs back and forth.
"Start waving your arms and making noise!" I command.
This game with the humans is strange, but fun, thinks Honeybun. She stands up happily still wagging, and looks expectantly at Debbie. Debbie continues jogging, waving her arms and shouting threatening remarks, egging on our vicious dog. Glancing at me, Honeybun cocks her head, wondering if Debbie is having a psychotic breakdown.
I ask Debbie to pretend to fight with her daughter Lucy. Debbie begins shoving Lucy, pushing her into the wall, even wrapping her arms around her neck and pretending to choke her. Since Honeybun knows and loves Lucy who is often at our house, I am sure this will elicit the desired undesired behavior. Nope. Honeybun sits down, wagging and entertained by all the humans cavorting cheerfully about.
“CUT THE TAPE!!!!” I cry, “Malta will never believe me now. Destroy that videotape. What can we do to make Honeybun vicious again?”
“You could invite a neighbor she doesn’t know,” advises Debbie, “Ask them if they would like to come over for a bite.”
We all laugh, but I am not comforted. There is a demon inside this dog that I cannot control and have no hope of controlling if my dog expert doesn’t know it is there. I know it is not “I think, therefore she bites”… it is not all in my head, or only emerging because my fears create it. What will my life be like if we cannot control the aggression? I will be chained to the front door waving a whip with bloodshot eyes and tangled hair. If Malta doesn’t help me, who will? I have children traipsing in and out of my house all the time, between my art classes, Destination Imagination team, and Asherel's friends. I can’t trust Honeybun, and am fairly certain that if children are sent home with chewed off arms, parents will be hesitant to let them return.
At the last art class, a boy who was comfortable around dogs had pet Honeybun and she had seemed very loving and sweet. She nuzzled against him, lifting her lovely brown eyes to him. But as he stood up to walk away, she had lunged. I had my hand on her collar, just in case, and jerked her back, and then she began barking and growling. I suppose it is possible I was communicating fear and that intensified the response... but was not aware of feeling fearful while he was petting her.
Her response has caused my fear, not the other way around. How can I show that to Malta? Her vast experience with dog problems has led her to conclude that most human beings are idiots with dogs. Largely, I am sure she is right, and clearly, as our failures with Lucky demonstrate, we are not the brightest examples to sway her opinion otherwise. But I also know that I am not causing the responses we are seeing in Honeybun….am I? She "flips", for no apparent reason. And most people would respond with fear to her aggressive demeanor. If fear is accelerating her actions, then the result is still the same- she cannot be trusted with people.
Malta and Will are installing a sound system a few minutes from our house, and will come tomorrow when they finish. I am amazed at her patience and perseverance with me, at this point, with all my questioning her every suggestion. I know she doesn’t believe I have what it will take to rehabilitate Honeybun. In fact, she feels that I am largely responsible for the problems Honeybun is currently exhibiting. Confused by Malta's assertion that I am causing not just responding to the aggression, I find myself alternately wanting to coronate or kick her. Of course I would never dare kick her. Like the dogs, I have a healthy respect for her.
But in fact, I am a little ticked off that she insists on blaming me. Doesn’t she realize what a wonderful person I am by trying to help Honeybun? It is annoying to be forced to resort to self promotion so th
e full extent of my selflessness is revealed.
When Honeybun curls up near my feet as I school Asherel or settle down with a book, I feel a rush of sympathy and love for her. This little discarded dog wants to be part of our family or at least wants to be fed by our family. If I am part of the problem, how can I solve it? And if Malta is correct, this poor little dog’s survival depends on me. I see two faces in the mirror, depending on the day. Sometimes I see a face that is shining with optimism and very few wrinkles. The next morning, there is a hag who is old and tired and wonders why God created dogs in the first place. My faithful execution of a cogent plan has room for improvement.
I find myself hoping Honeybun will be as rotten as I know she can be when Malta shows up. This is not going very well. Being a Good Samaritan is certainly not all it is cracked up to be. The easy stroll to sainthood is not unfolding as I planned. By now I should have been on television with Honeybun in the chair beside me while Katy Couric interviews me and little children pull on Honeybun’s ears as the camera pans over her. Instead, I spend a sleepless night, thinking how Honeybun has never met my oldest son, Anders. Anders will be coming home at Christmas, my beloved son who lives in Boston and I am lucky to see twice a year. Since going to college, he has grown increasingly enmeshed and content in his intellectual world at MIT. As the years go by, he comes home less and less frequently, answers the phone fewer and fewer times, and even ignores emails more and more. I grieve tremendously over his distancing from us. He has found a circle of friends who understand and relate to him, something that has been a sad failure for him in Charlotte. I understand his attraction to fellow egg heads, but I miss my son.
I'm Listening With a Broken Ear Page 8