Taming Wild Dogs

From the moment we brought Olivia and Chance into the house, they acted as if they'd been born to such luxury as beds, air conditioning and ice water to drink. They bonded with our other dogs immediately, although Olivia eyed our alpha Jack measuringly every time he walked into the room. She showed no gratitude; the pleasures of being an indoor dog with a steady supply of food and water were hers by right.

Chance showed his gratitude by climbing on our laps every time we sat down and rubbing his face on ours. It was very hard to watch television, because even though he was a puppy, he was a large puppy mixed of three large breeds.

Because our yard isn't fenced, we took the dogs out on leashes to do their business. Getting a walk with lots to investigate and scent along with a potty break makes the house-breaking business easier.

On our first full day with Olivia, Bob took her out midday for a walk around the nearly-five-acre yard. It was August, a hot, lazy, still time in Oklahoma. The sun shines bright enough to make your eyes hurt. It steals the color from the sky. The clouds are too bored to even drift, and the buzzing of insects never stops.

They walked the yard, and Olivia checked out the apple trees, the post oaks, the maples, the crapes. She pounced on leaves and ducked under the low branches of a giant fir, and she paid special attention to the mole tunnels and gopher mounds. Underground in their cool burrows, the moles and gophers were undeterred by the day's exquisite heat.

After her potty break, they walked a little more, across an open part of the yard that was once pasture and still feels like it when you ride the lawn tractor across it. She took a step, just fine, then took another step and collapsed to the ground on her side.

Bob jiggled her leash. "Olivia, come on."

She lay utterly still. No flicker of her eyes, no twitch of her tail, no rise and fall of her ribcage as she breathed.

"Livia!"

Still nothing.

He dropped to his knees in the parched grass, panicked now, calling her name in a louder tone, giving her a shake.

Nothing . . . except the slight sly opening of one eyelid, quickly slammed shut again, and the faint upturn of the corner of her mouth. She was trying very hard not to grin.

He sat back on his feet and, no concern now, said, "Get up, Livia. It's time to go in."

She jumped to her feet, looking around wide-eyed, tongue hanging out her mouth, and headed toward the house, pulling him along, as if to say, "Let's get inside. It's hot out here. What's the hold up?"

She who had scared every other animal on the hilltop had added her new father to the list. Thinking her heart might have stopped just about stopped his.

For the record, she did exactly the same thing the next day. He had exactly the same response.

She learned fast how much power she had.

Dogs Gone Wild

Once upon a time our neighbor's son decided he needed pets to keep him company. The old man had always had dogs, but the last one had died a few years before. So Son went to the animal shelter and picked two puppers off doggy death row: a charming yellow Lab/golden retriever/wire-hair mix and a beautiful, regal, ruling-the-world (even if she was on death row) pit bull.

Unfortunately, Son didn't ask Dad whether he wanted two puppies. (Dad didn't.) He just brought them out with a big bag of food, said, "Look what I got you," and hightailed it back to town.

Dad was slowing down. He was in his eighties, and instead of the mowing, gardening and other outdoor projects he'd always done, he'd taken to passing most of his time in a comfortable chair inside the house. He really didn't want puppies. He didn't even name them.

So boy Lab and girl pit ran wild around the hilltop. They came to our house every morning, looking pitiful and hungry, and we fed them. Then they went to our other neighbors' houses, we later learned, and chased their dogs away from their food and ate it, too. They might have come from different breeds, but boy Lab and girl pit were as tight as blood siblings could be. She led, and he followed, showering wiry yellow hair everywhere.

Chance, aka boy Lab

They got into the trash cans.

They dug in flower beds.

They chewed the wiring out of the neighbor's trailer.

They intimidated every dog on the hilltop.

They chewed the wiring out of the same neighbor's same trailer.

The neighbor complained, and Son decided Dad really meant it when he said he didn't want the dogs. They had to go.

I really, really wanted yellow Lab. He was the sweetest ball of fuzz you ever saw who only wanted food in his belly and someone nearby while he snoozed. I wanted him so much that I was willing to take the wild, regal, demanding pit to get him.

So Bob left a message for Son and got no response. Again. And again.

I left a message for Son and heard nothing back. Then, two days later, he showed up at our door with what was left of the bag of food and a container of cookies. "They're yours," he said, then left.

Notice he didn't have the puppers with him. They were running wild somewhere, getting into something, irritating someone. But we knew they would show up. After all, dinnertime was approaching, and they never missed dinner.

And that's how we wound up with Olivia and Chance.

{More next time.}