Kismet
UPH Guru
That first night...
I'd just gotten Young Bert, the not-right dog, from the breeder who followed me home so I wouldn't change my mind. YB was going to put down for chronic barking and running away (only when the wife was at home alone...odd, eh?). He once walked into an all-night Walgreen's through the electric eye doors, and just meandered around, meetin' folks.
He'd spent most of his life tied to a tree in a yard in a western Chicago suburb. He was not a house dog, except in the most simplistic sense of the term. Dad didn't train him and Mom didn't want him. This was a shame, for he was beautiful, smart, and could have used the socialization. I've always thought that the more stimulation a young dog got, the more intelligent it became. I know this is true of human babies...pathways form in the brain, and with regular stimulation, become permanent. If the stimulation halts, the pathways deteriorate.
He was friendly during the first hours/day that he and I were getting to know each other. A little rambunctious, but he was just over two years old, and congenial, if a little anxious about the new surroundings and lack of familiarity with the human in the house.
I went to take a shower, closing, but not shutting the bathroom door. I was in the shower, cleaning up, when I heard the door open and the click of his toenails on the bathroom floor. YB was coming to check on where I was.
There was a pause, then ever so slowly, first a brown nose, then muzzle, then eyes, then head of a dog pushed aside the shower curtain and looked to see what I was doing. I said "hello" and went about my business. He just stood there.
Then, with pains-taking slowness, a paw appeared, rested on the tub side, and then extended itself into the bathtub. He looked at me. I looked at him. We looked at each other. I was curious. He was anxious.
Then, another front paw appeared, and with the same deliberate movement, extended itself so that the front of the dog was now standing IN the tub, and the body and back half were outside on the bathroom floor.
He looked up. I laughed. "What is THIS," I said. He did not reply. He just stood there, with the spray of the shower ricocheting off the wall and tub up on his legs, chest, and face. He put his head down a bit, then, almost abashedly, awkwardly lifted a rear leg in and then brought the other in.
He stood still, head down. Then he looked up at me. I was hooting as the now-almost drenched dog stood at the end of the tub. Very tentatively, he sort of shuffled over towards me, into the heavier deluge of water. First his head, then shoulders and back came under the main spray.
He just stood there, head down, getting soaked, and then....
sort of leaned into my leg, putting some of his weight against me.
It was one of those moments...you know...where two separate species fully understand each other. He was apprehensive and scared of being abandoned again and I knew it...exactly as if he were articulating his apprehension in words.
I finished the shower and used a "good" towel to dry him off. Got a fresh one for myself, and took him out in the kitchen for some dog-bribe.
Later that week, he did it once more, but never again since.
But he still "ain't right."
I'd just gotten Young Bert, the not-right dog, from the breeder who followed me home so I wouldn't change my mind. YB was going to put down for chronic barking and running away (only when the wife was at home alone...odd, eh?). He once walked into an all-night Walgreen's through the electric eye doors, and just meandered around, meetin' folks.
He'd spent most of his life tied to a tree in a yard in a western Chicago suburb. He was not a house dog, except in the most simplistic sense of the term. Dad didn't train him and Mom didn't want him. This was a shame, for he was beautiful, smart, and could have used the socialization. I've always thought that the more stimulation a young dog got, the more intelligent it became. I know this is true of human babies...pathways form in the brain, and with regular stimulation, become permanent. If the stimulation halts, the pathways deteriorate.
He was friendly during the first hours/day that he and I were getting to know each other. A little rambunctious, but he was just over two years old, and congenial, if a little anxious about the new surroundings and lack of familiarity with the human in the house.
I went to take a shower, closing, but not shutting the bathroom door. I was in the shower, cleaning up, when I heard the door open and the click of his toenails on the bathroom floor. YB was coming to check on where I was.
There was a pause, then ever so slowly, first a brown nose, then muzzle, then eyes, then head of a dog pushed aside the shower curtain and looked to see what I was doing. I said "hello" and went about my business. He just stood there.
Then, with pains-taking slowness, a paw appeared, rested on the tub side, and then extended itself into the bathtub. He looked at me. I looked at him. We looked at each other. I was curious. He was anxious.
Then, another front paw appeared, and with the same deliberate movement, extended itself so that the front of the dog was now standing IN the tub, and the body and back half were outside on the bathroom floor.
He looked up. I laughed. "What is THIS," I said. He did not reply. He just stood there, with the spray of the shower ricocheting off the wall and tub up on his legs, chest, and face. He put his head down a bit, then, almost abashedly, awkwardly lifted a rear leg in and then brought the other in.
He stood still, head down. Then he looked up at me. I was hooting as the now-almost drenched dog stood at the end of the tub. Very tentatively, he sort of shuffled over towards me, into the heavier deluge of water. First his head, then shoulders and back came under the main spray.
He just stood there, head down, getting soaked, and then....
sort of leaned into my leg, putting some of his weight against me.
It was one of those moments...you know...where two separate species fully understand each other. He was apprehensive and scared of being abandoned again and I knew it...exactly as if he were articulating his apprehension in words.
I finished the shower and used a "good" towel to dry him off. Got a fresh one for myself, and took him out in the kitchen for some dog-bribe.
Later that week, he did it once more, but never again since.
But he still "ain't right."
