Goodbye to Bel

On the afternoon of July 12th, Bel was bit by a rattlesnake, and we euthanized her later that day.  I have some other things to say about Bel, but this is the first post, about what happened to her.

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Grieving, I sometimes find myself saying the same words over and over, like a mantra, though it is not one that brings comfort.  And in this past week, I’ve been hearing these words run through my head:   I lost my little squirrely girl.  I let my girl go.  My little Bel is gone.  But she is not lost, and I didn’t “let her go.”  No, I made the decision to euthanize her.    I held her while my vet slipped the needle in, and held her as she suddenly slumped, soft as a sigh, into her death.  I did that, and we can rationalize it all the ways we need, but I did make the decision to kill her.  I know I did the right thing, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier, and grief keeps up its oddly euphemistic chant in my head.  We lost our girl.

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My red girl loved the snow


I’d been agonizing over it for weeks.  Years, really, but in the last few weeks of her life, it was a constant weight.  It wasn’t a “should I?” it was a “when” and that was the difficulty.  I’ve had to euthanize other dogs, of course.  With Kai, my German Shepherd Dog, it was obvious.  The cancer had turned the bones in this back legs to lace, and he was not always able to get up.  But the final sign was when he got a fever he couldn’t shake, and it raged so high it was clear it was going to do damage to his brain if we couldn’t get it down.  And we couldn’t.  Not with aspirin, not with towels soaked in ice water.  It would subside a bit then spike up again, and he was clearly suffering.  So, after a bad weekend, we took him into the vet, and he sighed and wagged his tail when the vet asked him if he was ready to go.  I think he was.  It was the first time he’d wagged his tail in a week.

But with Bel, it wasn’t so easy at all.  it wasn’t one, terminal disease Bel had.  It was a myriad of other things.  Bel was epileptic, and often had small (petit mal) seizures that left her frightened and confused.  She was hypothyroid.  She had liver and kidney damage, and the kidneys were chronically a problem.  In May, we discovered she had two badly broken teeth, and one mildly chipped one.  She had luxating patella and had had surgery for it on one side, but in April, the other one went out too and then she tore the MCL, and so from April til her death in July, she got around mostly on three legs (and she mostly got around quite well on three legs).  We also noted, at a vet visit in May, that she was beginning to demonstrate some other neurological problems.  My vet noticed she was swaying more, and had more trouble recovering from a gentle nudge, not from her bad leg, but because her balance was off.  She was confused more often.   I had noticed a year or so before that one eye protruded slightly more than the other–this time, the vet noted it too, and felt it was more obvious than it had been just a few months before.  I have long thought Bel might have had a brain tumor; my vet disagrees, as her experience has been with fast growing tumors that kill quickly.  But I know there are dogs with slow growing tumors, too, and I believe, still, that Bel likely had one of these.  There were just too many symptoms.  But we’ll never know for sure.

The thing is, many of Bel’s health problems could have been fixed if I had more money to spend.  I could have had her broken teeth pulled, had the surgery done on her knee.  We couldn’t, likely, have fixed the neurological problems, but we could have done MRIs or CT scans to see if there really was a tumor.  We could have ordered a battery of tests to check her kidney function.

I did not.  There are times I felt guilty about this, but I have three other dogs, and limited resources, and I understood the hard truth:  I could spend thousands more dollars on Bel, and it would still not fix her.  It would not change the fact that she’d still be a fearful, sometimes aggressive dog who was often confused and frightened by the most ordinary aspects of her life.  No amount of money would make Bel a normal dog.

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Bel was often sick



I kept a journal of Bel’s health.  Since Dec. of 2012, it had been getting worse and worse.  She often wouldn’t eat, and would drink and drink and vomit up bile.  She had these episodes at least once a month at first, and then it got worse and was twice a month, sometimes more.  I could interrupt it with anti-emetics (and did, and sometimes had to give her injections when it was particularly bad), but it was stressful for us all.  When she was sick, she’d ghost around the house, tail and head down, clearly miserable. She’d become incontinent during these times too.   As the spring progressed, she was often sick and then agitated at the same time:  sometimes she would pace the house, and if I blocked off a place I didn’t want her to go (I was tired of her vomiting on the carpet upstairs, or sometimes peeing on our bed), she went nuts, and she broke down doggie gates trying to get upstairs or back downstairs.

The worst was in May.  I was supposed to go to graduation, to celebrate the very wonderful graduate students I had been working with.  Bel was having one of her episodes, and had been vomiting, but she also became very anxious and was pacing.  I realized, later, she probably had had a seizure I hadn’t seen.  But she would not settle.   She broke down the doggie gate to come upstairs, and she hid in the closet in my bedroom.  Then came back out.  Then climbed on the bed.  The jumped off, bad leg and all.  Then she wanted to go back downstairs, but the gate was still in place.  I was trying to dress to go to graduation.  Suddenly, Oskar, the Akita, began to bark, and I discovered Bel had crept in between the railings on the stairs and was going to jump downstairs, a jump of six feet or so.  I caught her  and put her in the big crate, where she went crazy, flinging herself at the side of the crate and screaming and biting the metal.

I left anyway.  I had to go; it was graduation.  I got in the car. I could hear her barking and crying outside the house.  I drove away.  I could only drive a few miles, though, before I stopped and turned around.  I worried she’d hurt herself in the crate.  I went home and sedated her, and after an hour, when the acepromazine had finally worked and I was able to leave (ace, while not ideal, was the only thing we could use that would actually have a sedative effect on her by then–we’d already worked our way through valium and xanax and prozac, all of which made her hyperactive and aggressive).

It was terrible.  I was worried about her, but I was also frustrated, and exhausted.  She was not an easy dog to live with in the best of times, but her behavior had become so erratic, her health so unpredictable, that sometimes I simply couldn’t take it.  I’m not happy to admit I did not always feel kindly toward Bel.  When she refused to take her pills, I became frustrated with her, and one day, when she refused liverwurst or cheese, I finally just opened her mouth and shoved the pills down.  She had to take them:  without the phenobarbital she’d have more seizures, and be even worse.  She had to have the meds for her injured leg, the antibiotics to keep her broken teeth from becoming painfully infected.  I didn’t hurt her, but I scared her, and she ran away from me tail down, and hid, and I felt so horrible and so guilty. It haunted me.   I did the best I could, but seeing her fear was terrible.

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Leo comforting Bel while she was sick



In early June, I took her to the vet.  We were supposed to have her teeth pulled, but I finally realized that maybe that didn’t make sense.  I wasn’t sure putting her under general anesthesia and putting her through the recovery of the pulled teeth was a good idea.  I handed my vet the list of Bel’s illnesses since December (most of which, of course, they’d seen).  I told them about her behavior, how some days she didn’t know how us.  How many nights I couldn’t get her inside at all, and how finally, I’d given up, and let her sleep outside at night, though I never slept well, listening, fearfully, for her, worried a coyote would get her.   My vet weighed her.  She’d lost 15 % of her body weight in 3 weeks.  She wasn’t eating anymore, or barely enough to sustain herself. Some days she would eat nothing. Some days,  she’d eat a half a stick of string cheese.  She’d eat a quarter cup of Stella and Chewy’s Duck Duck Goose, the only food she’d tolerate in those last months.  She’d eat a spoonful of ice cream or liverwurst.  And no more.   There was a real worry, my vet said, was that Bel would simply starve to death, a particularly unpleasant way to die.

And so we had to have the talk.  My vet has known me through all these years of struggle with Bel.  She was there to put Toby back together after Bel nearly killed him, and she listened to me think about euthanizing her then, all those years ago.   She even helped me try to find another home for Bel, though in the end, I kept her.   She did the surgery on her knee; she’s stitched her back together after the coyote attack that caused head injuries, and after the stray dogs bit her a year or so ago.  She or her husband attached Bel to IVs for failing kidneys, and she helped us sort out the thyroid levels and the right dose of phenobarbital for her epilepsy.   She’s seen it all.  And my vet said that she thought it might be time, and that I’d done all I could do for this little dog.  But I think what really got me was this:  she told me that if I wanted, we could order tests.  We could do a full panel of blood work to try and figure out what was wrong with her kidneys.  We could do a MRI or a CT scan.   I could spend several thousand dollars, or more, but in the end, we’d still be where we were, and she’d still have to recommend putting the dog down.

And I knew.  I knew that before I’d come in.  I needed to hear someone else say it.  But I also couldn’t do it right then; the thought of losing Bel was too hard, and also, I knew my husband who loved Bel deeply, but was also in deep denial about her health, would never agree to it.  In the weeks to come, though, what to do about Bel, about euthanizing her, became the constant question.  Not if.  But when.

And in those weeks, while she still managed to race through the yard on three legs, while she refused food and refused to come in, but then had moments of unaccountable sweetness, I mourned my little Jezebel, though she was still there, a flame-bright presence in our lives.  I saw a dog bed I thought she’d like at the thrift store, then started crying when I realized it made no sense to get it for her.  I watched Leo lay snuggled up against her and got teary thinking of how much he’d miss her.

On the summer solstice, some dear friends came over and we sat outside under a tree, the other dogs happily gathered around us.   Bel was like a phantom already, a red presence who ghosted through the yard like a shadow.  She’d been unaccountably friendly for a few moments, then she disappeared, moving like a wild animal through the trees, too spooked to do more than glance at us.  She had a favorite place in the yard she liked to sit, and from that place, she’d stare out to the woods beyond the fence, the woods the coyotes often called from, and I had the sudden sense that she was already only half in this world anyway, that she was already looking out into whatever comes after for dogs.  She seemed utterly indifferent to us, like a wild creature who had stumbled into the yard and stayed, but was not really part of our lives.  She was like this for weeks, a feral presence in our little half acre.

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My vets are often in and out of town, and what I knew was that I did not want to have to euthanize Bel at a strange clinic.  I wanted, instead, for our vet to come to our home.  Bel had always been a little homebody, a dog who could be lively and charming at home, but who did not enjoy going to strange places.  So I made an appointment.  My vets could only come out on Weds or Saturdays, so I picked the last Saturday they would be in town in June.  June 29.  It was also her eighth birthday.  It was terribly difficult:  my husband didn’t agree with me and I wasn’t even sure the time was right, though I had one illuminating moment when a friend asked me what I would do if I wasn’t arguing with my husband about the “when” and I said I’d put Bel down.  And she said, well, there’s your answer.  And it was true.  I knew it was the right thing to do.  Though she didn’t act like it, I knew Bel was in pain–from her teeth, from her leg, from the chronic kidney issues.  I also was aware that I was giving her more and more meds:  for pain, to sedate her when she was crazily anxious, and it just didn’t seem right.

Then, unpredictable as always, Bel began to eat again.  The week before I’d planned to put her down, she rallied.  She ate.  She started to come in at night, happily.  She was affectionate again, and she played with the other dogs.  She was lively. Our little girl was back!  I wasn’t fooled–I knew she was not going to get better.  But I also decided to give her a bit more time.  The night before her birthday, my friends and I went to see Patty Griffin, and she sang a heartbreaking song (Wild Old Dog) about a dog she’d seen on the highway, and I cried through the song, and was so thankful that I had called the vet that day and cancelled the appointment, and that the next day was not the day I was going to put my little girl to sleep.

It wasn’t that everything was better.  Bel’s problems remained.  And in the final week of her life, I noted more confusion.  Once, when my husband came home, she ran out to greet him, then got confused, and she backed away from him so fast and so fearfully that she tumbled into me and fell, stricken and scared.  A few minutes later, she came out of it, and showed her regular delight to see him.  That happened more than once.

I knew we were just biding time, but we had that time, those few extra weeks, and in that time, Bel seemed happier than she’d been.  I thought vaguely of making an appointment before we left for Germany, as I was worried about leaving the responsibility of her to my friends who were housesitting.  I just tried to be present with her in those days, to watch her, to be with her, though often I was in tears as I stroked her soft fur.

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Leo and Bel in the yard

Her final day was unexpected, and I think, in someways, as awful as it was, that it was also a great gift.  Because I couldn’t seem to decide. I couldn’t figure out what the right thing to do was, and I talked to friends about it endlessly, needing advice, but more than that, probably, just an ear.  I scoured the web for articles about euthanasia, about when to make the decision.  I found  a good article  from a hospice vet that included a quiz to help decide if it was time.  Bel’s score was 11; they recommended euthanasia at 8.  But it was still a decision I couldn’t seem to make, though I knew Bel would not live out this summer.  (Some other good links about making this hard decision are here and here)

Friday, July 12.  Bel was out in the yard, in the early afternoon, and I heard, suddenly, her shrill alarm bark.  I let Oskar out after her, and then I heard him bark, and a dog scream, and I ran out into the yard yelling “no!” before I even knew what was happening.  A part of me registered that the scream I’d heard was not one of my dogs, but I ran out to find all three, Leo, Bel and Oskar, packed around a small, strange dog, which was on its back, screaming.  It was a Shih Tzu or Maltese, a small white dog in a blue, untagged harness, and even as I was screaming “leave it”  and Oskar was backing away, I saw Bel move in to bite it.  She’s always ignored the signs of surrender, the dog turning on its back, always took that as an opportunity to do damage, and all I was trying to do was to stop her from killing this dog that had somehow appeared inside our fenced yard.  Then some miracle–the little dog pushed itself back and fell through the fence (it was so small it fit through the squares of the wire of our fence), and then it was on its feet and running away.  I wanted to make sure it was ok, so I ran after it, but I had to run around to the gate to get out, and by the time I made it to the street, the dog was very far away, running. And then, forgotten, because of what happened next. I hope that little dog was ok; I hate to think of someone else losing their dog that day.

I went back to get the car, and I called the dogs in, and when Bel came in, I noticed she was pawing at her face. It looked like there was a little knot on the side of her muzzle, and it looked like a bite, though  a very small one, but I figure that tiny little dog probably had tiny teeth.  Still, I’ve been through enough dog fights to know that it is best to always treat even the seemingly minor bites, so I called the vet, and as I was calling I saw the knot was swelling rapidly….and I think I knew then it was not a dog bite.

We’ve been through the rattlesnake bites before, of course, with Leo, and he’d swelled up like that too.  He’d been uncoordinated and confused, though, within minutes, and Bel was not.  I got her in the car, and she leapt into the front seat as if she were fine, ignoring the bite, the injured leg, and she leaned against me in her favorite place to ride.   I knew.  And in the brief drive to the vet  I talked to her.  “Girly,” I said, “if this is a rattlesnake bite, I think this might be it.  It might be time for you to go.”  I was crying, and she leaned against me harder, as if she were trying to comfort me.

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Pretty girl



I still wasn’t sure when we got to the vet’s office.  She wasn’t disoriented.  She didn’t seem dizzy.  By this time her muzzle, though, was horribly swollen, though she didn’t even act as if she were in pain.  I told the vet  that I didn’t think it was a snake bite, but I saw his face darken as he glanced at her when we walked in the door, and I knew I was wrong.  We went into the exam room right away, and even before he examined her, he talked about our options, about using antivenin or not (we had with Leo), about possible treatments and the difficulties we faced because of her particular health issues.  And he said what I’d been thinking–did I want to try to get her through this?  In the meantime, Bel acted like her usual self, pacing a bit, trying to jump up onto the chair in the room.   On the exam table, she was calm, and didn’t seem disoriented, even when he shaved her muzzle and we saw not one, but two set of puncture marks.  She was calm even when we saw that her muzzle was already turning black where it was swollen, and the wounds were seeping black beads of blood.

I knew.  I knew when we’d gotten in the car.  My vet reminded me, gently, of Bel’s failing kidneys, and the damage that snake bites can do to kidneys even in a healthy dog.  Could he get her through this?  Maybe, maybe not.  In any case, she’d be on an IV, left in the vet clinic overnight, and I knew I couldn’t do it.  It was too much–the snake bite and everything else, the litany of health issues that never seemed to end, and I knew how scared my little girl would be there at the vet, overnight, and what if she died anyway and I wasn’t there with her?  I couldn’t bear it.  And so I made the decision then.  It was not the way I’d wanted Bel’s death to be.  I’d imagined she’d be at home, and my husband would be there and my best friend, M., who had driven with me, almost eight years before, to a place in Nebraska I wasn’t then educated enough to understand was a commericial breeder, a puppy mill, where I’d payed $300 for a 4 month old puppy who I had named Jade Jezebel Foxglove, and called Bel.  I wanted us all there.  I wanted the other dogs there.  I wanted her on her favorite sheepskin, surrounded by those who loved her.

But Bel had always had a mind of her own.  And as I told the vet as he prepared the injection, I couldn’t help but think Bel had had a good day for her.  She’d loved to fight, and she’d gotten in a fight.  She liked to hunt, and obviously, she’d been after a snake.  She’d gone for a ride.  She was calm, and seemed happy and pleased with herself, and I think, if she could have chosen, she’d have chosen to go out after such an eventful day.  At least, that’s what happened.  I held her, and kissed her between the ears on her fur bright as a fox’s pelt, avoiding that still swelling muzzle, and she had that final dose of phenobarbital, the one let her slip away from us forever.

In the end, her death seemed so sudden.  But I suppose that was the gift,  in the midst of grief.  There was no more agonizing over what was right to do–there was just that moment, and the knowledge that I couldn’t let her go on in pain.   It was time, and it almost seemed as if she’d chosen the way she wanted to go–to go out fighting.

The next morning, I walked around the yard, looking to see if I’d find a dead snake.  I wondered if she’d killed the one that bit her.  I didn’t find anything, but I found a slight hole in the fence, and grabbed a big log to block it.  Under the log, there in the middle of the yard, was a rattlesnake.  I don’t know if it was the same one that bit Bel, but I hope it was.  It didn’t move, and I went into the garage and got an axe and killed it.  I think Bel would have approved of that.

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A past snake encounter she won



The next week, all the other dogs got the rattlesnake vaccine, which will help lessen the effects should they be bit.

There’s more to say about Bel of course, about her life from the days I got her at the puppy mill til the day she left us.  I learned so much from her.  Some of it I suppose I wish I didn’t know, but because of Bel I know how to flush drains in wounds.  I know how to give dogs injections.  I know about luxating patella and torn ligaments, about canine epilepsy.  I’ve learned a lot about fearful dogs, and fear-based aggression, and dogs that haven’t been socialized.  I’ve learned, too, that many dogs are dealt a bad hand by the people who breed them, who don’t care enough about animals to be more careful, and I’ve learned that many dogs who come from puppy mills are not actually ever able to overcome that initial bad hand.  Bel was one of those dogs.  She didn’t even come from the worst of the mills.  But she was never able to really be a normal dog.  Toby paid for that.  I paid for that.  Our entire family did, physically, emotionally and financially.  The last count I had of Bel’s costs, we were up to around $12000, and I’m sure it was closer to $14,000 or $15,000 by the time she died.  She was a hard dog to live with.

And yet, I loved her.  And that day when I took her home, I committed myself to her, became responsible for her life.  I gave her the best life I could. I also gave her a good death.  And in between, she lived her life on her terms.

Goodbye, squirrely girl. We miss you.

(More about Bel’s story is here and here.)

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Merry Christmas to All…..

Leo’s first Christmas at the House of the Fox Dogs, and I think he enjoyed it!

There were lots of interesting things to look at and unwrap:

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And at first, even Bel had fun–what’s in this bag?  (There were dog treats in there–a gift from my mother).

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But the holidays can be stressful, too, especially when others climb all over you in a rush to get at the presents.

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And then Bel starting getting a little anxious:

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Leo was enjoying checking out the stockings, but Bel thought, When will it ever end?

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Leo loved it!  He loves the limelight too.  Bel?  Not so much.

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Handsome Oskar had to have a timeout with his presents upstairs.  Oskar doesn’t share well, and at some point he decided he should have ALL THE THINGS.

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I’ll be good now, I promise!

He had taken his Himalyan chew upstairs, and was torn between coming down to be with us, and guarding his chew.

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Toby had his chew and a quacking duck toy in his room.   He came in to investigate the wrapping for a bit, but decided that he would prefer to spend the holiday alone with his stuff.   We could hear him quacking his toy merrily from his room.

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Toby says “Hmmm…..nothing to eat.”

Bel had been in and out several times by then, but still seemed to be anxious, and was now frozen in front of M’s chair, where she stayed for most of dinner:

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Bel says “the holidays are so stressful.”

Leo decided that holidays are about eating ALL THE THINGS and decided that he was willing to eat anything and everything, including brussell sprouts and then salad:

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Leo says “That looks tasty!”

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Leo says “Lettuce! My favorite!”

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“Hey, what about me?”

Overall, Bel was less than thrilled with the holiday.  Either that, or she was just stuck:

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Oh god, is it STILL Christmas?

But the rest of us had a lovely day.   And we wish you all wonderful holidays, and peace, blessings, and abundance in the new year!

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Bel’s Story: an Addendum

After first posting about Bel in my previous entry, I was reminded of something I should add so the context of my struggles with Bel are clear.  It’s impossible to understate how near to killing Toby she came.  My vet thought Toby would die.  She even told me that putting him down might be the thing to do, because his recovery was going to be long  and expensive and he might not pull through, the damage was so great. He had multiple wounds on his neck, head and front legs, many of which had to have drains put in them.   In one place on his rear leg, the skin was entirely gone, exposing muscle, and this place was almost the size of a dollar bill.  (I have pictures of the wounds, but they are rather gruesome, so I’ll keep them to myself).  The skin tissue turned necrotic, and couldn’t be pulled back over the damaged area–we didn’t know if it would grow back.  He had liver damage from the sheer amount of damage to his body.   He was at the vet for six weeks.  SIX WEEKS!  His wounds had to be flushed three times a day, and he had to be force fed.

Toby at home, after 6 weeks at the vet

But Toby’s tough.  He pulled through, and now you can’t even see the place where the wound was on his leg–he does have a scar, but his fur covers it.

Bel had done so much damage that my vet asked me if I wanted to put her down.  She pointed out that Bel was a risk to the other dogs.  Honestly, I thought about it.  I thought hard.  But I couldn’t bear the thought of losing both Shibas at the same time, and we weren’t sure Toby was going to make it.  And then, as now, she’d never shown any serious aggression to a dog other than Toby.  I kept her, though there were days when I couldn’t stand the sight of her as I flushed Toby’s wounds and force fed him.  For weeks–even after he came home from the vet, I still had to do this.  I spent thousands of dollars I didn’t have on his care.

But there were other days too, when seeing another, healthy Shiba was a comfort.   She slept with me, and though it wasn’t Toby, it was still a familiar, curly-tailed dog.  I kept him alive.  I kept her.

But people who multiple dogs know this:  sometimes you have a dog that people call the “heart dog,” the one that feels closest to your own heart.  Toby was that dog for me.   The thought of losing him was–is–terrible.

Behind my frustration with Bel is fear, fear of loss.

Today, Bel had her birthday.  She went to Long Leash on Life to get some dog treats.  She did not enjoy her visit; there were people there she didn’t know, and that scared her.  She did not enjoy seeing M’s dogs, though some days she does.   She went for several rides, which she did enjoy, and she had a Sonic burger which she liked, and a tiny bit of ice cream from my root beer float.  She ate a bully stick in the car on the way home.    Even though she’s still hyped up from her encounter with Toby–still stalking him, pawing at the door to his room–and even though she still has her fearfulness (there was thunder, wind, and then it got dark, all frightening things to her), I think she enjoyed at least a portion of her day.

Perhaps that all that any of us can hope for.

Bel’s Birthday: the Bitter and the Sweet

Today is Bel’s birthday.  She’s 6 years old.  Forgive me if I have a hard time mustering up some enthusiasm for this event, but I might as well admit it, as much as I love Bel, she’s often a hard dog to like.

Bel:  A Retrospective

It seems an apt time for a review of Bel’s life so far.  I got her when she was nearly four months old from a place I now recognize as a puppy mill.  I’ve talked about this in other posts, so we won’t go over her early life, but besides being not particularly well-bred, Bel was not socialized much as a pup.  I didn’t help things much when I got her:  she was fearful and I was busy, and I didn’t even take her to the puppy classes that I took the other dogs to.  I thought her being with my dogs and my friend’s dogs was enough.  It wasn’t.

Bel as a puppy

It might not have made a great deal of difference in her behavior:  she has a number of health problems and a fearful temperament.  Maybe I could have made things better with more socialization–certainly I know now it would have been worth the effort.  But I doubt it would have fixed her.

In 2008, when she was not quite three, she had a series of minor squabbles with Toby which ended in her suddenly attacking him at the door.  I couldn’t get her off him.  When I did, finally, manage to separate them, Toby was seriously injured.  He nearly died, and was at the vet for 6 weeks.  At that point, I decided to try to rehome her, and went through Shiba rescue, but honestly, who wants a dog who is that reactive, and who is also afraid of people?  A couple of people inquired about her.  Some even came to see her (she hid).   After six months of having her listed with rescue groups, I decided to just keep her, as I was used to keeping them separated by then.  That’s how it’s been ever since:  Bel and Toby are almost never together.

In the fall of 2009, she was attacked by coyotes (through the fence)  and bitten badly on the head and neck.  She had some eye damage, which healed, and who knows what else happened in her little brain.  She’s never been a particularly predictable dog, and this didn’t help.

Bel after the coyote attack

Bel after the coyote attack

After that she started to have a lot of “episodes” for lack of a better word, in which she would run and run along the fence, eyes blank, sometimes not recognizing me.  She’d done this on occasion before, but it got much more frequent after the attack.

In late 2010, she had a full on seizure.  The first I’d seen, but my vet and I suspect her “episodes” might be petit mal type seizures, which include periods when she “blanks out” in the house, for 30 seconds to a minute, and when she comes back she is fearful and confused.  Her crazed running outside seems almost like a fugue state.  Also in December of 2010, her luxating patella required surgery and she shredded her ACL, which readers of this blog know she had surgery for in March of this year.

She’s not been an easy dog.   She’s almost feral.  She is afraid of most people–sometimes even us.  She doesn’t come when called.  She runs away instead, and now can’t even be off leash in the main yard because she’ll hide out there and won’t come in, or she’ll run and run like a crazy thing til she does further damage to her legs (she’s already reinjured the leg we did surgery on, though luckily it doesn’t appear she tore the ACL again).

But before she attacked Toby?  It used to be lovely to watch them together….the way she followed him and watched his every move.  She taught him how to play–he never played before she came to live with us.  They used to run alongside one another in the yard, shoulder to shoulder, like a team, and they’d turn their heads at the same time as if they were one unit.  She was still fearful in those days, but she was funny and sweet too.  And then she wasn’t.

Toby and Bel in better days

Bel Today:

Bel can be very sweet.   She can be a charming, silly dog.  She likes to be petted, and she indicates this by standing up on her hind legs, and placing one paw gently on my arm to get my attention.  If I don’t pet her, she paws me a bit more.  She likes to have her chest rubbed, and she turns her head away as I do this, and leaves her paw resting on me to remind me that this is my duty–to pet her.  She is playful and she likes to steal things.  She taught me to always keep the bathroom door closed, because if it’s open, she’ll find the toilet paper roll, no matter where it is, and steal it and drag toilet paper banners all over the house.  She is smart, and loves clicker training, and took to it faster than any of the other dogs.

This spring, she’s been injured, so some of the things she enjoys (running, twirling, leaping, and hunting birds) haven’t been possible.  I have to keep her on the leash.  She’s been pretty mellow overall.  She was off phenobarbital for awhile (because of the liver problems she had in the spring), but she started getting fearful again.  She developed a fear of thunder last year, and now she’s added fear of wind to that.  A couple of weeks ago, she started to get fearful as it got dark.  Not full dark, but at dusk.  Every night as it gets dark, she starts to panic.  Her fearful behavior is the same for all these things:  she paces and pants.  Her tail is dropped.  She tries frantically to get outside.  Then she tries to climb up on me.  She wants to climb up on my neck like a dog scarf.

Bel doing her fox stole imitation (she wasn't in full on panic here)

After a few weeks of this, I put her back on the phenobarbital.  She wasn’t having seizures per se, but her behavior was erratic, and she was having brief “blank” periods again, so I thought it would help regulate her behavior, and it seems to have done that.  She was calmer.   So much so that I got complacent.

Bel and Toby:  A(nother)  Scary Incident

Since she has to be on the leash all the time (to keep her from further injuring the leg she had surgery on), sometimes I take her out in the yard when Toby is loose. (This gives Toby the freedom to interact with her or not as he chooses). Lately, they’ve been playing together, and even doing something they used to do when they were young and got along: they walk along shoulder to shoulder, like a little Shiba team.  She’s on the leash, and Toby comes up and initiates play, or walks closely to her.  They’ve been fine.

Sometimes I even walk them to the mailbox together, sometimes on separate leashes, and sometimes on a leash coupler.   I decided to do it on Monday.  I was overly optimistic: I thought maybe they were going to get along now that they are a bit older, calmer.  I’d heard of that happening with feuding dogs.

So I leashed them up with the coupler and walked down to the mailbox. On the way I saw someone jogging with an Anatolian shepherd and I thought, this is a bad idea. Seeing another dog may be too much for them.   By then it was too late. They saw the other dog, and both growled at it, and once Toby growled, Bel turned on him and they started fighting. Of course I could hardly separate them because of the stupid leash coupler. Bel grabbed him by the scruff and would not let go.   Then Toby slipped his collar (probably the only time this is a good thing) when she let go a bit because I pulled her by her back legs.  I usually leave their buckle collars on and put a martingale collar on to walk them, and thank god I’d done this, because I was able to grab Toby by his other collar.

Then I had two dogs, one leash, both dogs still snarling at each other.   Each time Toby growled, Bel went berserk again; I could barely keep them apart.   I managed, somehow, to get them to our fence, tied Bel to it, and took Toby around to the gate then into the house. Luckily he’s got a ton of hair and a roll of fat on his neck, and was not badly hurt.  There was no blood, but he was so scared! He ran in the house and hid, and wouldn’t come out from under the table for almost three hours, and he was panting with stress, poor boy.   And I felt awful.

Lessons:

There are some things I learned from this:

  1. NEVER become complacent with reactive dogs, and never underestimate what they can do.  Both Shibas have a low threshold for stimulation, and the excitement of a walk together was probably enough to be dangerous, but seeing another dog sent Bel over the edge.
  2. Leash couplers are a bad idea for reactive dogs, possibly for any dogs.  They simply don’t have enough room to get away from one another, and if there is a fight, as I experienced, then it’s hard for the person handling the dogs to get them separated.
  3. Know how to separate fighting dogs.  The first things to try would simply be noise to startle them, or try to get something in between them (even the mail, as someone suggested!).  Water is another good thing to use–spray them with a hose or dump water on them if needed (this has never worked for me to get Bel off Toby, but it will work for some people).  The wheelbarrow move, which I used, is something to be tried if other things don’t work.  Grab the dog’s back legs and lift them off the ground–they lose their balance and in theory, will let go (which did work for Bel).  One person who told me about this found some information about it on the Leerburg GSD site*, and this site suggests holding the dog’s back legs and moving in a circle so the dog can’t snap back and bite you.  It’s worth a try.  Some people have said it could be bad for a dog with a luxating patella, like Bel.  I agree.  But I also knew this was a matter of life and death:  she would kill Toby if she could.  I’d rather risk the injury than lose a dog.  Don’t do what I stupidly did out of panic, which was to try to separate them by pulling on their collars.  They simply got more agitated, and I was lucky I wasn’t bitten.  (You just don’t think about these things, in the heat of the moment,  though).
  4. Bel is crazy and can’t be trusted.
  5. I did a very stupid thing, and it was a stupid thing that put Toby’s life at risk.
The Aftermath 

As I said, Toby spent the rest of the afternoon and evening really spooked and I can’t even begin to tell you how bad I feel about this.  He trusts me to keep him safe, and I failed him.  Everytime he looked at me, I felt awful.  I know this incident reinforced his reactivity:  for him other dogs are dangerous, and therefore he needs to react as if his life is threatened every time he sees another dog:  he needs to go on the offense.  Or so he thinks, and it’s not an unreasonable supposition on his part.

Bel was fine, of course, but hyped up like crazy.  I took her into the vet that afternoon for her regularly scheduled appointment, and she could not settle down (she still hasn’t.  She’s still hyperactive, and she “stalks” Toby from inside the house when she sees him outside, and she’s tried to force herself into his room.  It’s scary).

I told my vet what happened as she was examining Bel’s leg.  And my vet told me this:  they had a fox terrier who was very like Bel, and though their dogs had had several fights (none with big injuries) they still let her interact with the other dogs, because they misjudged how bad the situation was.  One day they left the terrier bitch and another male in the car briefly while they ran errands.  When they came back, she’d killed the other dog.

I was astounded, and heartbroken.  Both my vet and I were petting Bel at that time, who was sitting on the chair like a little princess, acting as sweet as can be.  My vet said “So I understand about dogs like Bel.  And I’d understand, with all her health issues and her craziness, if you decided she was too much to deal with and decided it was too much to put your other dogs at risk with having her in the house.  I’d understand, and wouldn’t blame you.”

We didn’t say anything for a moment, though of course, Bel’s life hung there, for a moment, in the balance.  I asked my vet what happened with the Fox terrier bitch.  “Oh, that was five years ago,” she said.  “She’s 9 now, and still evil as can be to other dogs.  We just keep her separated from the others, and they know not even to get near her crate.”

 We both looked at Bel.  “You’ve been managing all this time with her, and you’ve done a good job.  Be careful, and don’t beat yourself up for a mistake.”

I brought Bel home.

This is hard to say, but  it is the truth:  there days I really do think of giving up.  I think about how she’s only 6 years old–barely middle-aged for a Shiba, and I think of the mistakes and near misses that occur at least once a year, and I wonder if I’m selfishly putting Toby’s life in danger by keeping her.  I think about her seemingly endless health problems, both mental and physical.  I wonder if life is ok for her, as fearful as she is, and as limited as she in activities lately–she can’t even get out and run and play now, as it risks more damage to the leg she had surgery on.  She has LP on the other back leg too, and her constant carrying of the leg she had surgery on simply puts stress on her other back leg–eventually she may not be able to walk on either leg.

But I’m not ready to give up on her.  Giving up means one thing:  euthanasia.  She’s not a dog I could, in good conscience, rehome. Right now, I can live with her, even though, to be honest, she scares me.  I don’t know what goes through her head when she looks at Toby, but I know it’s like a switch is flipped, and she’s homicidal.  She’s never shown a bit of aggression toward a person, but she’s so unpredictable.  I’m not really afraid for that, though. I’m afraid of her unpredictability with other dogs, and though she’s only done this to Toby, how do I know she won’t turn it on Oskar someday?  Or some other dog?  I don’t.

But then there’s Bel.  Sweet little Bel, who comes to me when she’s scared.  The little girl dog who lays against me on the sofa as I read.   This silly, beautiful, fucked up little dog, who also trusts me, who is lucky to have someone like me who doesn’t give up easily.   And I know there may come a time when it is all too much, and her bad health and bad temperament overwhelms everything else.  If she every hurt another dog badly again, yes, I think it would be time.  But this is not that time, not yet.  I’ll keep going, keep the dogs separate, be more careful.    And I’ll keep enjoying the good days, and hope for more of them.

Happy birthday to Bel, my little crazy girl.  I hope there are better days ahead for us all.

Bel's a bad girl! (But this kind of bad is just cute!)

*Re: the Leerburg site.  I agree with almost none of this breeder/trainer’s philosopy, but I do think his method of separating fighting dogs is a good one, and so I mention it here.  Google the article if  interested.

Food Review Two and Bath Time at the House of the Fox Dogs

Freshpets Select Review Two

I’ve been steadily  feeding the dogs Freshpets Select, especially Toby, and we’ve finally made a dent in the giant roll of  Vital Smoked Salmon and Ocean Whitefish:

Smoked Salmon and Ocean Whitefish

We got quite a lot of this food, and because I’m not giving Toby chicken at the moment, he’s getting most of it.  This Vital roll contains salmon, ocean whitefish, spinach, blueberries, pomegranate, cranberries and a variety of vitamins and minerals (see the list on my other post about Freshpets Select food), plus broccoli, natural flavors, inulin, sunflower oil and green tea extract.

You can actually see the berries in it when you slice it, and they add a little color to what is otherwise a kind of grey mass (but hey, the dogs don’t care about the color!):

Toby's dinner

As for reviews, this food was pretty popular:

Oskar gives it an A+  As soon as I started to open the package, he came over and tried to get his big head on the stove near the package.  He’s not quite that tall yet, luckily, so when he realized he couldn’t actually reach the food, he cleverly offered a sit, and got a sample, which he barely even sniffed before eating.   When I put some in his dinner, along with some pieces of chicken and a part of a fresh sardine, he ate the Vital first, even before he started in on his sardine.

Toby inhaled it.  A+  However, I should add that so far, almost everything is an A+ with Toby, including frozen peas and carrots, bread crusts, and small pieces of paper that he mistakes for something edible.

Bel gives it an A-  She was quite interested in it as a treat (she did a leap and twirl for it!)  I gave it to her with dinner a couple of days in a row, and when her dinner contained a bit of chicken, the Vital, and a fresh sardine head, she went for the sardine head every time.  After that she ate the Vital. In Bel’s mind, a fresh fish head is much superior to fish mush, but fish mush is much better than a chicken back.

My review:

Overall, I think this is pretty good food.  My dogs like it, and after a couple of weeks of at least one dog eating some form or an another everyday (Toby), I haven’t noticed any loose poops or excessive gas.  In fact, Toby has had significantly less gas since he’s been off chicken, and he’s lost weight!  (I’m not sure if this has to do with Freshpets Select which is a small portion of his diet, or more likely his “spa menu” of fish and veggies, or if it also might have to do with the fact that we upped his thyroid meds.  In any case, he’s slimmer!)  My dogs are much less interested in the Homestyle chunks, but they’re really into the Vital, and I prefer it too since it doesn’t contain grains.  I think this is a good alternative food to grainfree kibble, and I’d definitely feed it to my dogs if I needed to give them a break from their regular raw diet, or if I was kenneling them.

So yay for Freshpets Select, and thanks for including me in their blogger program and giving me the opportunity to test out this food on my canine crew!

Bath Time at House of the Fox Dogs

Friday was bath time here.   Toby has been having a problems with his coat for several months, and while we suspect allergies (and he was on steroids for a while), we just weren’t sure what was going on, and I noted his coat was both slightly oily, and still somewhat thin and brittle, which to me indicates possible thyroid issues (even though he’d had been tested in the fall).  He even had some bald patches that have since started to grow in, and the hair on his belly and underarms was particularly thin.  Because he’s also blowing his coat, I couldn’t get a good sense of how bad the problem was, so I decided he needed a super brushing and a bath.

Toby before his bath

The problem is, Toby doesn’t do baths.  He really doesn’t.  There has been biting during bathing (not me, but there were unfortunate incidents with a groomer and with a vet tech).  The only time he’s let loose with the Shiba scream was during a bath.  He doesn’t even like to get his feet wet.  So bathing is always….an adventure.

So while I can’t recommend this as standard practice, I might as well just confess:  I drug him.  I know, it’s not ideal.  But 1/4 of an acepromazine, and I can give him a bath.  (As I discovered, 1/4 is not enough for me to clip his nails by myself, though).   So yesterday, after brushing a kitchen garbage bag full of Shiba hair off him, I slipped him a “special cookie” (ace+cheese).  About 45 minutes later, he was looking decidedly mellow:

After the "special cookie"

Bath time!  We hadn’t yet started when U. came home, so he decided to document the bath.  (He has found some program to give special effects to his phone pics, so you’ll see some of his handiwork here).

As soon as Toby saw me put towels on the floor of the bathroom, he had an inkling of what was up, and he tried to hide, but of course I caught him, and dragged him into the bathroom, then U. plopped him into the tub, where Toby sighed deeply, and sank right down into the tub (don’t let the photo fool you:  he was not in the least bit happy):

Toby says "I hate this"

There were, of course, attempts at escape:

Toby is a blur of outrage!

Before he finally surrendered:

But overall, he was easier to handle then usual, and his bath was successful.  After a good towel drying, some more air drying, and yet more brushing, he turned out very handsome indeed:

Toby is Clean!

One of the other big discoveries:  Toby is really a bright orange dog, not a reddish-brown one!  You can see, however, that his coat is thin on his chest.  That’s where he had bare spots from allergies, and his coat is only just beginning to grow back in there.

After Toby’s bath, the tub was filthy, and I had to clear it of an awful lot of hair.  As I was doing this, I thought, well, it’s already dirty, why not give Oskar a bath?  So into the tub with the big Akita boy!

It took two of us to get his 106 pounds in the tub and hold him in, so there are no pics of the bath in progress, but Oskar went in happily, and seemed to enjoy his bath.  He especially liked having the shower on him, and of course, the massaging in of the shampoo was also quite popular.  There were  more color discoveries:  Oskar is a cream-colored dog, overall, but his undercoat is still charcoal grey!  When he was wet, it was quite noticeable:

Oskar looking for Bel after his bath

Of course, his loop, as we call his tail, looked particularly magnificent and bright after the bath!

I did have some problems with matting in his coat, both before the bath and after.  His coat is longer and silkier than the Shibas, and it tends to mat at his elbows and under his collar.  I brushed him as well as I could before the bath, but afterwards, I sprayed on some ShowSheen, which worked as a detangler, and I was able to comb everything out.  It also protects against dirt, and leaves the coat very silky, but it does have silicone, so I’d like to find another, more natural product eventually.

He looked great after his bath:

Oskar after his bath

Of course, once I got done with those two, I was on a roll, and though Bel sensed what was going to happen next and tried to flee, I caught her.  Her bath was uneventful, except for the fact that I ran out of shampoo.  She still has her “poodle cut” as her hair has not grown back in after her surgery, so she didn’t need much.   She’s the smallest and has the least hair, so she was in and out of the tub fairly quickly.

After she got out, she tried to do the Shiba 500 through the house, but it’s hard to get up to speed when a very large Akita thinks this means a fun game of chase, so Bel took some quick spins around the living room, then hid from both me and Oskar:

No one can see me

Since Bel was getting the worst of it in the game of Shiba/Akita tag, I decided to put her in her crate, where she settled down prettily:

I was able to coax her out about an hour later with a promise of a cookie…..the much appreciated salmon and white fish Vital!

Bel says "Get out of my way, Oskar!"

And that was that:  everyone had a bath, a brushing, and finally, dinner, and everyone survived just fine, humans and canines.

Toby did have some later trauma when I decided I’d better take care of his nails, too.  I managed to clip four of them before he began to growl, and I decided to leave the rest for another day.  Once he was clean and brushed, I was able to look him over fairly well.  His coat is thinner than I would like on his belly and in some other places, but it’s not quite as bad as I had originally thought.  I think I’ll keep an eye on him, and if it gets worse, it’s off the vet again.  Right now, however, his diet and slightly higher amount of thyroid meds has really improved his health:  he’s slimmer and more lively, and I hope his coat condition will improve as well.

Overall, bath day was a success!

Big clean boy!

You Get What You Pay For (A Lesson on Choosing a Dog Breeder)

I was on the Shiba forum recently, responding to a thread called “Where did you get your Shiba?”  I started thinking about how important it is to do your research, to find a good breeder, but it wasn’t until I wrote out my response that I realized my two Shibas illustrate the difference between really doing your homework and finding a good breeder, and going for the less expensive and less well-bred dog, which will likely cost you more money in the end.  In fact, once I calculated how much I’ve spent on my dogs, I was shocked, so I suppose this post is also about the cost of owning dogs.

Like many people, I was not always well educated about how to buy a pure bred dog, and what constitutes a good and ethical breeder.  My story will illustrate that.  Nowadays, I’m frustrated by people who buy a dog from a backyard breeder or worse, a pet store, but I admit I didn’t know better either–I had to be educated.  (Actually, my frustration is not so much with those that don’t know better, but rather with those that do, and who still support bad breeders).  I found this article to be a good one in terms of discussing what the different types of breeders are.  What I call “backyard breeders” they define as amateur breeders, and what they call “hobby breeders” is closest to what I define as a good, reputable breeder.   Their definitions are down near the bottom of the page linked, but the entire page has useful information.

So in case someone reading this doesn’t know about what constitutes a good breeder, here’s some information for you:

This link (from the same page) also includes a very good–and long!–list of things you should consider when trying to find a good breeder.  Seems like a lot of work?  It is.  But believe me, it’s worth it. Another important site is the Orthopedic Foundation for Animals (OFA) which is a registry that collects information on orthopedic and genetic diseases in animals. This is where you can find out if dogs have been tested for, at minimum, hip dysplasia. Although there are no guarantees that healthy parents will produce absolutely healthy pups, the odds are sure better when you know about the health of the parents.

Our Story (A Tale of Two Shibas):

Toby

I got Toby from a small breeder (a hobby breeder according to the article above) who is active in showing and was active in breeding for show, but is not very active anymore with Shibas.  His sire is a top stud (Japanese import Ch. Tenkuu Go Etchuu Wakasugisou; his OFA rating is good on hips and normal on elbow and patella) and his dam also had good lines (San Jo The Eyes Have It, and her OFA rating on hips is excellent and normal on patella). I paid about the going rate for pet quality pups for him ($900).  He still has some health problems (mild luxating patella, low thyroid, and some inhalant allergies) but is generally a very healthy dog.  His temperament is not the best, and that was clear from when he was a pup (I was not experienced enough to understand that a pup who was 7 weeks old and very dog reactive was going to be a problem; now I would have spotted the problem, though I might still have gotten him).  Still, he’s in pretty good shape overall, though quite large (another reason he was sold as a pet quality pup).  I wish he were less reactive, but otherwise, even with the problems that have shown up with him, I feel like I got a good deal.

I didn’t know what questions to ask the breeder though. I never even asked about health tests, because I didn’t know to do that. (I have since looked on the OFA website for information about Toby’s parents which I noted above.) Now I would want to see results of these tests, and some good breeders post the results on their website, though it is actually relatively easy to look up the information yourself, as long as you have the registered names of the parents. It is important to note that the hip, elbow and knee tests will not be effective til after the dog has reached maturity, ie. after two years of age, though some breeders may include preliminary tests done before that age. This means, of course, that is important for dogs not to be bred before they can be tested.

Obviously, these health tests aren’t guarantees. Both Toby’s parents had normal knees, and Toby does not. But Toby also has a relatively mild LP, and may not ever need surgery.

Bel:

Bel was very much an impulse purchase.   I wanted another dog, and thought another Shiba would be perfect, but I’d read that Shibas get along better in male/female pairs, so I was going for a female.  Too bad I didn’t do further research so I could understand what constituted a good breeder.  I wanted a Shiba right then, and I couldn’t afford to pay $1,000 for one (or so I thought….but as this story will illustrate, it’s better to pay the money up front for a healthy dog then get a so-called “bargain” that isn’t one).

I got Bel from a place that was sort of a large backyard breeding operation–someone who I believe meant well (and even does right by her dogs in the sense that she did volunteer to take Bel back when I was having the worst problems with her), but is still far from ideal. (This breeder would probably be called a commercial breeder according to the article linked above, and she did indeed have USDA certification, which is actually NOT a good sign when looking for a breeder).   Bel came from a farm, a real working farm, where they also bred several different types of dogs.  If you read this, it might sound close to a puppy mill, and perhaps some people would define it so. I did visit, and I saw that all the dogs were healthy, and the place was clean and looked well run.  The breeder bred about 4-5 different types of dogs, and it looked like there were 2-3 litters of pups available.   Some of the adult dogs were in a big pen (the size of a normal suburban yard) and some were free, and some, most of the adult Shibas, were kenneled.  As I said, they looked healthy and everything was very clean, (and I don’t mean to suggest that kenneling dogs is a sign of a bad breeder; it’s not).   What bothered me about this breeder now is simply that there were too many different types of dogs, and that she was not doing the things that a good breeder would do:  the dogs were not screened for genetic disorders; the dogs were not socialized; the dogs were bred somewhat out of whimsy–she bred the dogs she had without concern to if they’d produce good puppies. She told, me for example, that she liked the look of a more prominent chest in Shibas, so she was breeding for that, even though this is not a part of the breed standard. This place was not awful. The breeder seemed sincere. I’ve since learned, however, that sincerity and “not awful” are not good enough reasons to buy a dog from someone.

In comparison to Toby, I paid $300 for Bel.  She was about 12 weeks old when I got her.   Her health and temperament issues are legion.  Her degree of luxating patela is bad in both legs, (as readers of this blog know, she just had surgery done on one leg, and will need to have the other done next year).  She has epilepsy we think (unexplained seizures and other odd behavior that seem to be petit mal seizures).  She is low thyroid.  She is unpredicatably dog reactive (not all the time, but when she is, it’s bad), and she is very very fearful with people.   She was not socialized during the critical puppy socialization window (7-12 weeks) and so she is not at all comfortable around people.  I love her, but she was definately not a good deal in terms of price.

I’ve spent a fortune on both my dogs. Toby has probably had about $8,000 worth of vet bills, but because the biggest bill was from a fight he got in with Bel that Bel won, I should really count his vet bills as part of the cost of Bel.  If I do that, I could say that Bel has easily cost $10,000.  Yep, you read that right: about $10,000. She’s five years old, so that’s $2,000 a year, and in that count, I only mean vet bills; I’m not counting food, or the piles of books and remedies I’ve tried to get Bel to be a “normal” dog–that’s not counting training or DAP diffusers, special harnesses. $10,000. That’s my bargain Shiba!

So my lesson here?  Spend more money up front, buy from a really good breeder, do all the homework on background of parents, etc, and hope for the best (because even the best breeders can’t control everything)

Next Up: Review Two of FreshPets Select food, and more on Choosing a Breeder

Toby’s on a Diet

 

That’s not Toby, of course, but the point is relevent:  our boy is not as svelte as he used to be.

In fact, the last time I took him into the vet, he weighed a whopping 44 pounds!

Granted, Toby has never been a small Shiba, and he looks positively thin at 35 pounds.  Also, he’s been on prednisdone for allergies (poor boy lost the hair on his neck and chest!), and that made him retain fluid and look a little puffy, so I supposed he was more like 42 pounds off the steroids.   Even so, there’s no way around it.  He needs to lose weight.

I’m a bit puzzled as to why he has gained so much.  Granted, he doesn’t exercise much (Toby’s idea of exercise is moving from the sofa, to the crate, to the chair).   And he’s a master scavenger.  But still, he usually only gets one chicken neck or half a chicken back a day, so it’s not like he’s eating much.  And as you know, HE’S HUNGRY!

So we’re trying something different.  He’s getting a bit of pollack (half a fillet) and some frozen green beans.  Normally, Toby doesn’t much like vegetables, but HE’S HUNGRY, so he’s eating them with gusto.  What I’ve noticed on day three of the fish and veggie diet for Toby is that he’s not acting quite as ravenous as usual, so I’m hoping this is filling him up a bit more (while still being relatively low in calories).

I hope with a new diet, and some exercise (yes, Toby, we are going to resume our walks), he’ll soon be his only mildly plump self, rather than the enormous great pumpkin Shiba he has become.

Of course, Toby is a scavenger par excellence (or forager, as he prefers to call himself), so I have to make sure there is nothing out that he can forage.  Or we’ll have something like this:

 

 

And our boy does not need to be eating cake.  I’ll keep you all posted on his progress.

And speaking of progress, Bel is NOT on a diet, but she is much improved.  She’s eating well (or as well as Bel ever eats), and her hair is slowly growing back in:

 

Bel has a snack

 

She is also able to walk–and even run!–on her leg now, and though I’m trying to keep the running to a minimum, it’s encouraging that she’s not carrying the leg anymore, or limping.  She can’t sit normally yet, but she is able to get into her “froggy” pose, with her legs out behind her, and she seems to be feeling well overall.

On a near final note, Toby  would like to remind everyone that there is still time to get a great Shiba print here, with proceeds going to ARK.   We finally ordered this one, which Toby liked because it shows a Shiba pissing on an Akita (ok, the Hachiko statue!) and Toby finds that deeply satisfying.  He still is not happy with the fact that there is an Akita in our household!

And I’d like to thank the Shibal Inu crew for the great fundraiser for a good cause,  and for drawing my attention to the Soft Bank commercials, which fit in so well with this post!

And this really is the final note:  if you’d like to hear more  Shiba adventures from another perspective,  check out this and this from Mornings with Birds.   Shibas and birds: it’s all fun and games til someone gets hurt.  Or til the humans intervene before  damage can be done.

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