But before Sherry attempted to bring him home, she needed to know how the old dog would respond to her menagerie of housemates, and vice versa. If Knightly could not find his place in their world, trying to foster him would be unpleasant—perhaps extremely unpleasant—for everybody.
One day Sherry and Elissa Jones, who also works at Best Friends, took four of Sherry’s five dogs out to a small, grassy park on the property called Angels Landing. (Sherry had one more dog, a mixed-breed named Trainwreck who stayed at home.) There they would introduce them to Knightly one by one on neutral ground. These introductions would determine if fostering was even a possibility for Knightly; if Sherry’s dogs and he did not get along, then he would stay at Old Friends.
Sherry and Elissa carefully orchestrated Knightly’s meet-and-greet with each dog. They tried to keep each of the dogs’ leashes loose, so they were not adding any discomfort to a potentially tense situation. Sherry had the skills to encourage appropriate greetings between the dogs, even though “lots of dogs lack social skills, and in an uncomfortable situation like this, they may not give appropriate greetings, and then they get stressed and anxious and may start fighting.”
Taken together, Sherry’s four dogs were a motley crew of rescues. Norton, a long-haired black-and-brindle mutt, was found when he was just a newborn pup, living in a Dumpster on the Navajo reservation; Sherry began bottle-feeding him before his eyes were even open. (Her intention was to foster him, but sometimes “the heart has its reasons the mind knows not of,” as Pascal said, and Sherry wound up keeping him. He’s now 12 years old.) Chica was a little black dog, mostly Chihuahua, with a graying muzzle, who was rescued from an extremely grim hoarding situation in California. Miles was a fierce little fur ball whose mother, Jenny, was a purebred Chihuahua. Last of all was Shade, a gray, maybe-border-collie-mix with cold golden eyes, who was a former stray found beside the highway.
All of these animals, whom Sherry tended to refer to as “my guys” or “my family,” had their odd behavioral issues. But together they were a unit, and if Knightly could not find a way to be accepted into it, the whole idea of fostering him at Sherry’s house was a no-go.
First up on the dating game was Miles, whose ferocity was out of all proportion to his size. Sherry called him “my little furry ’gator.” Sherry and Elissa gently moved the two dogs together, on leashes, but when they got close enough to make contact, Miles exploded into a fury, or as Sherry described it afterward, “he went into a Jackie Chan doing martial arts all over Knightly’s face, with no contact but a lot of noise and a big display.” Still, a few minutes later, a second meeting went better. This time Knightly sniffed Miles, tail wagging, which Miles tolerated. Then Knightly walked off imperiously and Miles followed, meekly. “You’re doing well, big dog!” Sherry encouraged.
The next dog, Chica, was fearful and tended to snap when frightened, though normally her dog-to-dog interaction was fairly calm. And that’s what happened on this day: The little black dog and the big gray dog sniffed each other’s noses and backsides and seemed content to let one another live.
Next came Norton, who worried Sherry because he had been aggressive toward people and other dogs since he was a puppy. She actually took him in because she was afraid to put him out in public. But he was getting older and had mellowed in his senior years. Knightly came up and sniffed Norton, tail wagging, but Norton appeared to ignore him, walking off stiffly. He looked uncomfortable, perhaps feeling threatened. Still, no fireworks. The introduction went well.
Sherry’s most devious and unpredictable dog was the gray border collie, Shade. Shade’s MO, Sherry explained, was to demonstrate hardly any behavior at all when he was introduced to another dog, “but then I’ll turn my back and hear somebody scream, and that’s when he’s jumped somebody.”
Because Knightly grew happier on sleepovers, Dogtown staff concluded that a home environment would be best for him.
When Knightly approached, Shade went silent. He seemed to be trying to ignore Knightly, refusing to make eye contact. Sherry said this was a bad sign. He lifted his lip just a little, though Sherry didn’t think Knightly even noticed.
“He’s going to completely ignore him right now, but that doesn’t mean he won’t offer up something unpleasant when I’m not looking,” Sherry said.
“Will you try to be good?” she said to Shade. “Huh? Try to be a good boy?”
But Shade’s sneaky golden eyes gave no real clue about what he might be plotting next.
Knightly’s reaction to all these introductions was a little difficult to read. He did not seem overtly anxious when he met each animal. But he was not terribly friendly or outgoing, either. He acted mildly curious but reserved.
Ultimately, Sherry decided to take Knightly home to see if fostering him would work. She felt that might be the best way to get him accustomed to living with other animals, and to help overcome his anxiety. She was still uneasy about it, though.
“At the end of all our introductions, I still have concerns,” she said. “The other dogs are going to need to be supervised. But that won’t be a barrier in being able to offer Knightly a place to call home for now, until we find him the ultimate home.”
But that place to call home did not turn out to be Sherry’s house. Knightly’s presence in the house made the other dogs seem stiff, uncomfortable, on edge. Although there was no overt fighting—at least, none that Sherry saw—none of the dogs, including Knightly, seemed able to relax around each other. Oddly enough, Knightly seemed to get along with the five cats just fine; it was the household’s canine component that gave him trouble.
The only time Sherry saw Knightly completely unwind was when she closed off the rest of the house, including the other dogs, and allowed the old Weimaraner to lay claim to the entire main part of the house. Suddenly Knightly could exhale completely. Suddenly he felt at home. It was as if he had reclaimed his rightful place as monarch of the realm, and he’d sprawl luxuriously on the sofa, awaiting his next repast.
The other dogs hated this, of course. And Sherry did not feel it was fair to them—after all, they were there first. Unable to find a way to keep everybody happy, after a month or two of trying, Sherry walked Knightly back to his enclosure at Old Friends, just across the street from her house.
She did maintain strong hopes for Knightly’s eventual adoption. When she imagined his future, ideal adoptive home, Sherry felt it “would be with someone who has a lot of time to offer him. He would love to be with someone who either didn’t work, or worked from home, and was there most of the time. He could be a retired dog with a retired family, and that would be wonderful for him.”
KNIGHTLY’S NEW HOME
Knightly had a few false starts in his quest for a forever home. A man in Oregon adopted him first, but a change in his personal situation meant he had to return Knightly to Dogtown. Then a woman approached Best Friends about Knightly, but in the end she was unable to adopt him. It was frustrating because everyone knew that Knightly would thrive in a home environment if just given the chance.
Dogs have lived with humans for more than 12,000 years in various capacities, including friend and protector.
But then something wonderful happened. One of the second woman’s dog-loving friends, whose name was Crystal, had seen the old boy’s picture and was interested in adopting him. That’s when Knightly finally got what he had been wishing for so dearly.
Today, Knightly has found his home in Windsor, California, in the idyllic Sonoma wine country. He lives there with Crystal, her husband, a winemaker, and two dogs—a Jack Russell–Chihuahua mix named Minnie and a year-old Labrador retriever named Jack. Knightly’s house has a big backyard and a neighborhood dog park. He adjusted quickly to these grand new digs, as if he’d finally found his way back to the sort of circumstances he was looking for. Although Knightly didn’t spend much time playing with the other dogs—Crystal reported that he was definitely a “people dog,” preferring the company of her and her husband—every
night Knightly curled up and slept with Jack.
“Knightly is doing very well!” Crystal reported in a message to Best Friends. “I receive lots of compliments on him, he is a very handsome and well-mannered boy. He looks very happy, his eyes are bright and his coat is healthy…I am so happy to be able to give him a home, he brings much joy!” Knightly had settled in and finally had seemed to relax. It was just as Sherry had predicted: Once Knightly found a home, he would be confident enough to let his true princely self emerge.
Meryl deftly leaps through hoops on the agility course in Dogtown.
11
Meryl: Lessons in Trust
Watching the big caramel-colored dog Meryl run through the obstacle course called Tara’s Run is like going to the circus without having to buy a ticket. Meryl is a gorgeous animal, sleek as a seal, with that combination of grace, power, and agility that only the finest human athletes can approach. In fact, Meryl is a regular agility superstar, effortlessly navigating twisting tunnels, bouncing seesaws, stairs, and tires and deftly weaving through a series of tightly spaced poles at high speed like a daredevil downhill racer threading the gates.
There is clearly a bond of trust and affection between Meryl and her trainer, Ann Allums. Ann guides her through each obstacle with the gentlest of directions—Ann shows Meryl where to go, and then Meryl enthusiastically attacks each new challenge. Deeply muscled, especially across the chest and shoulders, Meryl is nevertheless lithe as a dancer, nimbly weaving, explosively sprinting, carefully balancing. At the end of the run, she pants happily and lathers Ann all over with wet, sloppy kisses, while Ann rewards her with praise and pats. It’s been a good workout for both of them, and Meryl is worn out and content.
To witness the affectionate teamwork between Meryl and Ann makes it difficult—almost impossible—to believe that this dog is under a federal court order never to leave Dogtown. Meryl is one of the dogs rescued by Best Friends in 2007 from a dogfighting ring run by former NFL quarterback Michael Vick. The society and other rescue organizations became involved in the high-profile Vick case when it looked as though all the dogs involved, regardless of history or temperament, would be euthanized. Both the Humane Society of the United States and People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals felt that the pit bulls could not be rehabilitated because they had been trained as fighters, not pets. Best Friends felt differently and took decisive action to save the dogs’ lives.
Best Friends and ten other animal welfare groups filed a brief arguing that the dogs could be turned around if only they were given the right environment. They outlined their approach for assessing and rehabilitating the dogs. It was a thorough plan, one that succeeded in persuading the court to spare the lives of the dogs. Twenty-two of the dogs went to Best Friends (the rest were placed with other rescue groups), but there was a catch. Of these 22 dogs, Meryl, with her history of aggression toward people, and another dog, Lucas (said to be a five-time fight champion), remained under a protective court order: They could be released to Dogtown, but the court deemed them too dangerous ever to leave it.
Best Friends Animal Society (and many others) take the approach that punishment of aggression is the wrong way to address behavioral problems in dogs. According to Best Friends, positive reinforcement is the most productive way to solve dog aggression.
In spite of this prohibition, Best Friends Animal Society accepted Meryl without hesitation because they believed that given the right care, she could turn things around. They were willing to give Meryl a permanent home at Dogtown, where they could get to know her and work with her to give her the best life possible—even if adoption was not in her future.
FEAR OF A BREED
Anyone encountering Meryl for the first time might understand the judge’s initial fears and the decision to keep her at Dogtown for the rest of her life. She is a formidable-looking animal with a massive, hammer-shaped head, oversize jaws, and heavily muscled forequarters. When behind the chain-link fence of her enclosure, she would sometimes bark relentlessly and snarl when a stranger approached. To anyone unfamiliar with her, the behavior could be frightening. But Meryl’s behavior was only one problem. The other obstacle: prejudice against her breed.
The reputation of pit bulls in the past 20 years has taken a hit. Once adored and trusted companion animals, pit bulls are now believed by many to be terrifying “superpredators” bred for ferocity and aggression and unfit for human society. They have become the dog of choice in illegal fighting operations, which has only done more damage to their reputation. Even the best behaved pit pull, with no history of aggression, must overcome this pervasive bias before being adopted. Because of breed stereotypes, Meryl’s barks and growls take on a more frightening quality. But where does this stereotype come from?
In a book called The Pit Bull Placebo, vet tech and author Karen Delise argues that every age seems to have a “villain” dog—and at this particular moment in history, pit bulls are it. In the late 1880s, bloodhounds were said to be vicious and bloodthirsty, and no stage production of Uncle Tom’s Cabin was complete without a pack of baying bloodhounds chasing the escaped slave Eliza. Later it was bulldogs, then German shepherds and Doberman pinschers—especially after World War II, when they became associated with Nazis.
Pit bulls (in reality, a vague term that can refer to about 20 different breeds) have been maligned partly because of several frightening myths, Delise argues. One of the most prominent untruths is that pit bulls have a unique jaw structure that allows them to “lock” on to their victims. This is simply untrue, says Dr. Howard Evans, veterinarian and author of Anatomy of the Dog, considered to be the definitive work on canine anatomy: “There is no anatomical structure that could be a locking mechanism in any dog.”
It’s widely believed that one quality setting pit bulls apart from all other breeds is phenomenal biting force, as measured in pounds per square inch, or psi. But one study, which measured (by means of a bite sleeve attached to a computerized instrument) the bite force of a German shepherd, a Doberman pinscher, and an American Staffordshire terrier (one of the breeds commonly called a pit bull), found that the American Staffordshire’s bite exerted the lowest amount of pressure.
“A TIME BOMB”
It is such misconceptions that cause pit bulls to loom so large in the public consciousness. They have become so frightening to so many, in fact, that an increasing number of localities have enacted “breed-banning” or “breed discriminatory” laws, which make it illegal to own, import, or even possess certain breeds of dog, usually pit bulls or other “bully breeds.” Some believe that pit bulls are so dangerous that the entire bloodline should be wiped out; while arguing in favor of a pit bull ban in the city of Denver, Assistant City Attorney Kory Nelson claimed in the late 1990s that “the breed should be terminated as simply being a time bomb waiting to go off.”
The wave of fear—some would say hysteria—over pit bulls began to build in the early 1990s, when Denver, Miami, Cincinnati, Kansas City, Toledo, and dozens of other smaller cities enacted bans on them. By 2000, more than 200 cities and counties had enacted breed bans or restrictions. Most of these laws were aimed at pit bulls or dogs with “pit bull characteristics.”
Although breed bans are intended to solve the problem of vicious dogs, when a dog bites a person, the issues involved are far more complex than just breeding. In a 2006 New Yorker article called “Troublemakers: What Pit Bulls Can Teach Us About Profiling” by Malcolm Gladwell, Randall Lockwood, a senior vice president of the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, summed up the complexity of the problem: “A fatal dog attack is not just a dog bite by a big or aggressive dog. It is usually a perfect storm of bad human-canine interactions—the wrong dog, the wrong background, the wrong history in the hands of the wrong person in the wrong environmental situation.”
Lockwood, a leading expert on dog bites, told Gladwell that he never saw any fatal attacks involving pit bulls until the late 1980s, when the breed’s popularity b
egan to surge. (Before then, Lockwood said, he saw fatal attacks by every breed of dog except beagles and basset hounds.) It could very well be, Gladwell argues, that pit bulls are involved in a fairly large number of attacks primarily because there so many pit bulls—a kind of statistical fluke suggesting that they are more dangerous than they really are.
Meryl’s life was spared by a 2007 court order, which also deemed that her entire life be lived out at Dogtown.
Which is why, in a nutshell, breed-banning legislation is too generalized an approach to tackling the problem of aggressive dogs. Best Friends’ view is that an animal’s breed alone should not result in an outright ban or a death sentence. They see dogs as individuals, as products of their training, their personality, their temperament, and their level of socialization, in addition to their breeding.
Best Friends’ decision to take on a “difficult” dog like Meryl is based on this belief in treating the dog as an individual. Rather than classifying Meryl as some sort of demon dog because she is a pit bull, the sanctuary chose to assess Meryl using everything they could learn about her—their professional observations and assessments, her known history from the dogfighting organization, and the qualities of her breed. There is no denying that Meryl can be a dangerous dog, one who could bite in the wrong situation. But Best Friends believes that introducing Meryl to a better set of circumstances, socializing her to interact safely with people and other dogs, and teaching her behaviors that will enrich her life will help Meryl to change. She may not get all the way there, but Best Friends is determined to try. As Ann Allums has described it, “Here at Dogtown is where the dog gets a chance to be who she is, not who humans fear she might be.”
BUILDING TRUST
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