Am I Boring My Dog? (8 page)

Along with your personal chilling techniques, it’s useful to …

Many dogs, especially those who’ve been kept in a small area in a shelter, aren’t used to their new-found freedom and get nervous if they’re allowed to wander freely right away. And many have a tendency to, well, dog you wherever you go. Being shadowed is very unnerving if you’re not used to it—and even if you are. So clear out a space that your dog can settle into and explore safely and that you can easily clean—maybe the kitchen if it’s large enough. Exploring can come later; for the time being, there’s security in containment for both of you.

Limiting the range of exploration will also allow you to determine just how much damage your dog is capable of inflicting on your house. Puppies can be depended on to try to ingest pretty much everything, so be sure to put breakables and electric cords out of reach, and to apply a safe (both for the furniture and the dog) antichew substance such as bitter apple to the wooden legs of any item that can’t be relocated without difficulty.

There’s a fine line between socializing a puppy and terrifying him. Don’t isolate your dog but don’t overwhelm him either. Feed him, hang out with him, take him outside, let him know you’re around—but don’t crowd him. If your dog is outnumbered by humans in your household, have each family member approach individually rather than en masse.

What I remember most vividly about Frankie’s first days with me was feeling overwhelmed. Well-meaning friends would recommend the best places to shop for inexpensive flea and tick medication while I was struggling with the big picture: that there was an alien creature in my house who didn’t appear to like me. Arrange to have a calm, dog-savvy friend on call who will address all your concerns, no matter how trivial, but who will not offer unsolicited advice.

In my case, it turned out to be my friend Elaine—as I discovered when I phoned her in a panic because half of Frankie’s morning poop production was stuck, drying, to his rear end. I couldn’t imagine trying to clear off the mess with shampoo, but didn’t believe either Frankie or I would appreciate its presence for very long. Elaine advocated an immediate application of toilet paper to remove as much of the offending matter as possible—and then explained that sometimes you need to give your dog’s butt a haircut. She didn’t proceed to tell me that PetSmart was having a kibble sale.

This is key, whether you’re paper training a puppy or trying to make an older dog feel comfortable. If various family members are to be assigned different doggie responsibilities, get them sorted out during this period. But setting aside two days to get acquainted doesn’t mean you should never leave the house. This is a great time to set the tone for your departures. Going out for increasingly long periods (though not more than a few hours) without making a fuss—that’s right, no dramatic farewells—will prepare your dog for your future absences while assuring him of your dependable eventual return.

Puppies should be socialized and taught good manners as soon as possible, so don’t wait to locate a good trainer—which I discuss in Chapter 6—for yours. But older dogs need education, too. The sooner you rid them of behaviors that bother you, the happier you’ll both be.

You’ll almost certainly be on an emotional rollercoaster when a dog enters your life. One minute she’ll do something amusing like licking your knee, and you’ll think, “I love her. She’s a hoot!” The next, she’ll start barking furiously at nothing, and you’ll decide you were insane to take on this responsibility. Mood swings are perfectly normal and they’ll subside—at least for long stretches of time.

This is not as obvious as you might think. Unless you live within walking distance of a shelter or a breeder, an automobile is likely to be involved. But whose automobile? You might want to use your own car so as to introduce your dog to his future chariot right off. Then again, you might want to borrow a car from a good friend or close family member, so that any trauma associated with the trip home isn’t revisited every time your dog sees your vehicle.

If your dog isn’t used to a crate and, especially, a crate small enough to serve as a carrier, bringing him home in captivity isn’t the best way to roll out the welcome mat.
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For puppies and small dogs, a towel-lined cardboard box—or a designated hugger—is a far better option. You’ll therefore need the aforementioned friend or family member to accompany you, either to do the driving or to sit in the backseat with your pup.

It’s only fair to make potential dog attendants aware that, besides calming duties, they may be expected to perform such functions as keeping your dog from leaping into the front seat and cleaning up any messes created by nervousness or carsickness, canine or human. For the latter reason, it’s a good idea to cover the car’s backseat with old towels or sheets before embarking on this adventure; to take along a roll of paper towels for mop-ups; and to crack the car windows sufficiently to provide air—but not enough to allow escape, canine or human.

Call him anything you like—just don’t call him late for dinner.

Hold the groans. It happens to be true, at least from your dog’s perspective. Unlike children, who grow up to resent you if you saddle them with embarrassing monikers, dogs don’t care what sounds you use to summon them. In fact, if you need to change your pup’s name down the road,
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you can do so over the course of a few days by plying him with treats and other signs of approval.

Humans, on the other hand, attach great significance to names, which are also key to communicating with and training your dog. So it’s in all your best interests to decide on something suitable as soon as possible.

You’ll have plenty of help. Entire books have been devoted to dog names, replete with etymologies. Forget Fido, Spot, and Rover. According to a
Dogster.com
survey, the most common labels for today’s trendy pup are the following:

I’m sorry to report that Lucky also ranks rather high on both the male and female lists—sorry because vets agree that Lucky may be the unluckiest name ever to grace a dog collar. To use it is to invite disaster.
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Trends notwithstanding, it’s best to find a name that fits the personality and appearance of the actual dog who has taken up residence with you.

Trying out different names on puppies is easy. They’re too busy figuring out the relationship between piddling on the carpet and the loud vocalizations the act elicits to worry about any less urgent noises being directed toward them. But don’t worry about creating an identity crisis in an adult dog that you adopt from a shelter, either; except under rare circumstances, your new pup is already operating under an assumed—or rather, newly assigned—name (the ability to respond to which may be among the things that saved her life). Nevertheless, it’s still best to audition new names surreptitiously until you’re certain you have a winner.

Along with sussing out the suitability of a name to your new pal’s looks and personality, there are some other factors to consider.

Although Sweetcheeks might be endearing at home, you run the risk of humiliation—and of having unsavory strangers respond—if you use it when you’re shopping with your Maltese in Home Depot.

Be careful, too, of sound-a-likes. My friend Clare had always liked the name Venus, which suggested both strength and beauty—until, that is, she heard it used on the beach. It took a while for her to realize that the dog’s owner wasn’t attempting to summon a male sex organ.

The converse holds true, too—that is, you might regret choosing a name primarily for its public effect. I’d always wanted to call a dog “Stella”—no matter what the gender—so I could bellow down the street à la Stanley Kowalski. Never mind that I’m not generally a bellower and that not everyone has seen
A Streetcar Named Desire.
I was convinced it would be an endless source of amusement for me and everyone I encountered.

Luckily, I was saved from my worst instincts when the dog I adopted was prenamed Frankie, after the golf partner of his rescuer’s husband. Frankie’s not a duffer-type pup—although he has been known to pee on the greens at resort courses—but the name nevertheless suited the little guy to a tee.

Lots of people think it’s funny to call their Chihuahuas “Tiger” or their Great Danes “Tiny.” One man I pass while walking Frankie always says “Hi, Killer” to my shy, pint-sized guy. I was amused maybe the first 10 times he did it, not so much after that.

Except in the case of Elvis. I personally know two canine Elvises (Elvi?) whose owners are generations apart.

Dogs have fairly short attention spans when it comes to language (as opposed, again, to food; you’ll discover that your dog’s gaze might remain fixed on your plate for the entire duration of your dinner). By the time you’re done saying “Titus Andronicus” or “Princess Grace,” your dog will have stopped looking at you and returned to licking his or her privates. One or two syllables—anything you can shout quickly in an emergency—should suffice.

If you name a dog Don, for example, he will either spend a lot of time in a down stay position or look at you quizzically whenever you try to put him in one.

Unless, of course, you discover that the similarity helps resolve a child’s discipline issues.

What might seem like a good idea in puppyhood can turn dicey if the dog becomes fat and flatulent. It’s also a good idea to steer clear of the recently departed, lest relatives feel their kin has been disrespected.

Finally, keep in mind that your dog’s primary name merely serves as a base for the riffs you’ll play on it. Frankie soon became Frankie Doodle because I thought he was dandy.

This morphed into Frankie Doodle, my tiny Poodle, and from that into Poodle Boy. He is also Frankfurter or, if he’s being imperious, His Frankiness. Sometimes I call him bat boy because his ears seem capable of echolocation, or honey bunny because he’s small and fuzzy … You get the picture.

He doesn’t answer to most of these names, of course, but at least I found a way to amuse myself that doesn’t involve bellowing “STEH-LUH” down the street.

I’m afraid this issue is as complicated—and as emotionally fraught—as discussing human partnerships that fall outside the bounds of traditional marriage. The awkward “significant other” is elegant compared to what’s involved in describing the human-canine bond.

The term “owner” has become problematic because it implies that a dog is merely property; the more acceptable usage is “guardian” of a “companion animal” (formerly known as a “pet”). The thinking behind movements such as the “Guardian Campaign,” being conducted by the California-based In Defense of Animals, is that changing the way we speak about animals changes the way we act towards them. By replacing “ownership,” which suggests unbridled power, with “guardianship,” which suggests protection, we head off animal abuse, the theory goes.

Hmmm.

Of course Frankie is my companion and I’m constantly reminded that he’s an animal, but guardian doesn’t come close to describing my indentured servitude to him. When, in return for room, board, medical care, transportation, and poop scooping, Frankie starts pulling his weight by doing the laundry and contributing to the utility bills, I’ll consider redefining our relationship. In the meantime, I own his cute little butt.

Perhaps more to the point, “companion” and “guardian” are cold in comparison with the terms of endearment you’ll encounter everywhere pet lovers gather, including online. Dogs are regularly referred to as “fur people” or “fur babies,” their owners as “moms” and “dads.” Me, I’m a bit creeped out by the parenting metaphors. As much as I adore Frankie, I find the notion of having given birth to him or any member of another species rather freakish. And I don’t even want to contemplate who the father of such a union might have been—and what unnatural acts I would have had to perform with him. I’ve therefore decided to start calling Frankie my SCO: Significant Canine Other. This term can be adapted to multidog households, with SCO1, SCO2, and so on used to refer to the order of acquisition (um, assumption of the guardianship role).