"Dogs Like that Should be Shot"......(an open letter)

To the two old ladies who decided to harass Bear and I today, 

You are despicable.  

As dog owners yourselves you should know that we are a tight-knit community who do our very best to advocate for the rights of our dogs.  Our dogs are our families – our little fur children….

Imagine walking down the street with your dog – your well-behaved, leashed dog – who, as he passes two women walking with their own small dog stops for a cursory sniff.  The interaction should have been a calm one.  Maybe some mutual sniffing, a little dance around the owner’s legs and then that’s it.  Goodbye.  Thanks for coming out. 

What happened instead was something that I would rather soon forget, but can’t.  The malice and hatred that those women demonstrated towards Bear literally had me seeing red.  They called him a monster (among other horrible names) and when we attempted to turn the other cheek and walk away, they followed.  Continuing to mutter under their breaths about how dogs like Bear should not be allowed out on streets, or in public.  And how owners like me who allow their dogs to roam on a longer-than-standard leash should be fined.  

It was hard to take silently.  It was a despicable display of insensitivity culminated by a final remark that monsters like my Bear ought to be put down.  And that could not go ignored.  I attempted to reason with them – to explain that Bear was a dog who frequently worked with children; a calm and gentle soul that went through hell to get to where he is today. I tried to explain that reasoning such as theirs was the reason that our shelters are full of unwanted dogs.  Dogs who are abused, dogs who are sometimes shot…dogs who deserve nothing but our love.

The response.  “Dogs like that should be shot”

I saw red.  Fortunately for me (or maybe fortunately for them, because really, I don’t know what I would have done) a police officer drove by and I had the sense of mind to flag him down.  They hightailed it out of there as fast as their creaky old bones could carry them.

This is not the first time Bear and I have been accosted by people who are, for one reason or another, afraid of large dogs.  We have been harassed, screamed at, denied entrance to elevators in our place of residence and in one particularly vicious interaction I’ve had a man try to kick Bear in the ribs….for doing nothing more than standing calmly.   

Maybe I’m blinded by my love for my dog (for all dogs really) but I don’t understand.  I don’t understand the illogical hatred.  The harassment, the filth being spewed at us as we do nothing more than try to go about our daily business.  

Bear has never in his life hurt another living creature.   When he discovered field mice abandoned by their mother, he brought them to me in distress.  When he found and injured bird in our yard, he brought it to me and then stood vigil beside it’s box until animal services arrived.  I just…. I don’t understand….

I mean, look at him.  Does this:

look like the face of a monster?

Bear's P4ws

A "LOST BOY" UPDATE!!!

Remember this pooch?

 

His name is Lost Boy and, not too long ago, he was looking for his forever home.  Lost Boy lives in Repulse Bay Nunavut; a small community where life for stray dogs is hard, cold and potentially deadly.  We came across Lost Boy through a friend who, had she had the room in her own home (being a dog mom to 2 other rescue pooches) would have adopted him herself.  She was determined not to leave Lost Boy behind and the search began.....

Four days after posting this poster for Lost Boy and reaching out to an incredible Toronto-based dog rescue called Just Paws Animal Rescue, Lost Boy had a veritable army rooting for him.  His story ends happily -- the family that had agreed to temporarily foster him fell head-over heels in love with his incredibly gentle and loving nature and very quickly decided to adopt him themselves.

Romping with one of the local pups =)

Lost Boy now has a bed to call his own, a warm place to lay his head and a family that will love him and care for him.
A happy tail indeed!

Thank you to everyone who passed our Lost Boy post along, and to the wonderful people at Just Paws who had their sleeves rolled up and were ready to dive head-first into a fundraising campaign to help us find this beautiful boy a home.


Keep your tails wagging,
Bear's P4ws

Street Festivals, Parades, Concerts....and Your Dog

'Tis the season for Street fairs, concerts in the park, parades and festivals… they are great places for people watching.  But today I found myself dog-watching.  I was actually surprised at the number of people who brought along their pooches out considering the incredible heat…but really, can I blame them? 

 Not really, no.  Given the chance, Bear would go with me to every "dog permissible" street fair or festival in our area....there is, however a certain amount of caution that needs to be taken when you and your pooch are going to be out in the summer heat for the whole day.  

You want to make sure that you yourself stay hydrated, as cool as possible and protected, but you also want your pooch to have the same luxuries and comforts. Also, consider the length of time that you will be walking around, and the fact that most streets tend to get pretty hot after the sun has had the chance to beat down on them for a while... 

That being said, I want to share some things to consider before you decide to take your dog to this weekend’s festival – whatever or wherever that might be.  

First, ask yourself a few questions:

• Will my dog be comfortable at the event… or would she be happier sleeping alone at home?
• Can I be sure my dog won’t react aggressively if an overly aggressive person approaches him? (You might be surprised at how strangers will rush up to your dog.  I see a lot of this on a day-to-day basis.)
• Can I make sure my dog won’t get into something I don’t want her to get into? (Dropped food, trash, etc.)
• Will it get too hot for my dog if I can’t find a spot in the shade?

If you do decide to take your best friend along to an outdoor public event, then here are a few suggestions:

• Take along a bowl and bottled water – you might not be able to find water at the event.
• Consider taking an umbrella for shade – just in case there isn’t any.
• Watch for signs of stress – look for calming signals in your dog – and be prepared to leave early if your dog is stressed.
• Be an advocate for your dog – don’t let unruly kids (or adults) make inappropriate moves toward your dog.

Bark back at us! What other tips do you have for fellow dog owners who want to bring their pooches out on Festival days?

Keep your tails wagging
Bear's P4ws

Will You Be my Forever Family?

There is nothing sweeter than the love of a rescued dog....

 
Lost Boy is looking for a family to call his own.  Normally we don't blatantly post adoption requests like this, but this pup strikes close to home because like Bear, he is a Northern Dog is serious need of some tender love and care.

If you are interested (or if you know anyone who may be interested) in adopting Lost Dog, get in touch with us via this blog, our Facebook page, or through email at bears.p4ws@gmail.com and we will put you in touch with the wonderful people trying to get him out of Repulse Bay.

Hopefully, with a little luck and a lot of hope, we can help this sweet Lost Boy find himself a home.

Keep your tails wagging
Bear's P4ws

Poor Little Rich Dog

Probably one of the saddest, but most reality-based articles I've read regarding the fate of the "picture-perfect-dog"
 Try to remember, that as advocates for our fur-babies, we also need to advocate for those who are not abandoned on a street corner, or a shelter.  We also have to advocate for those whose owners simply don't know any better, and have never made the effort to learn.... 

Original text by Jon Katz


Ernie, a fluffy, 10-week-old golden retriever with heart-melting eyes, was originally a birthday present. The lucky recipient was Danielle, a pony-tailed 11-year-old living in an affluent Westchester, N.Y., suburb.
Danielle's passions for some time had been soccer, Justin Timberlake, and instant messaging, but her parents wanted to give her a different kind of birthday gift, "something that you didn't plug in or watch, something that would give her a sense of responsibility." She'd often said she'd love a puppy and vowed to take care of it.
Girl and dog, growing up together--what parent hasn't pictured it? Her folks envisioned long family walks around the neighborhood, Ernie frolicking on the lawn while they gardened. They could see him riding along to soccer games. 

Acquiring a dog completed the portrait that had been taking shape for several years, beginning with the family's move to the suburbs from Brooklyn. The package included a four-bedroom colonial, a lawn edged with flowering shrubs, a busy sports schedule, a Volvo wagon and a Subaru Outback to ferry the kids around. A dog--a big, beautiful hunting breed--came with the rest of it, increasingly as much a part of the American dream as the picket fence or the car with high safety ratings.
So Danielle's parents found a breeder online with lots of awards, cooed over the adorable pictures, and mailed off a deposit on a pup. They drove to Connecticut and returned to surprise Danielle on her birthday, just hours before her friends were due for a celebratory sleepover.

It was love at first sight. Danielle and her friends spent hours passing the adorable puppy from one lap to another. Ernie slept with her that night. Over the next two or three weeks, she spent hours cuddling with him, playing tug of war, and tossing balls while her parents took photos.
But the dog did not spark greater love of the outdoors or diminish her interest in television, iPod, computer, and cell phone. Nor did his arrival slow down Danielle's demanding athletic schedule; with practices, games, and victory celebrations, soccer season took up three or four afternoons a week. Anyway, she didn't find the shedding, slobbering, chewing, and maturing Ernie quite as cute as the new-puppy version.

Both of Danielle's parents worked in the city and rarely got home before 7 p.m. on weekdays. The household relied on a nanny/housekeeper from Nicaragua who wasn't especially drawn to dogs and viewed Ernie as stupid, messy, and, as he grew larger and more restive, mildly frightening.
Because nobody was home during the day, he wasn't housebroken for nearly two months and even then, not completely. No single person was responsible for him; nobody had the time, will, or skill to train him. 

As he went through the normal stages of retriever development--teething, mouthing, racing frantically around the house, peeing when excited, offering items the family didn't want retrieved, eating strange objects and then vomiting them up--the casualties mounted. Rugs got stained, shoes chewed, mail devoured, table legs gnawed. The family rejected the use of a crate or kennel--a valuable calming tool for young and energetic dogs--as cruel. Instead, they let the puppy get into all sorts of trouble, then scolded and resented him for it. He was "hyper," they complained, "wild," "rambunctious." The notion of him as annoying and difficult became fixed in their minds; perhaps in his as well.

A practiced trainer would have seen, instead, a golden retriever that was confused, under-exercised, and untrained--an ironic fate for a dog bred for centuries to be calm and responsive to humans.
Ernie did not attach to anybody in particular--an essential element in training a dog. Because he never quite understood the rules, he became increasingly anxious. He was reprimanded constantly for jumping on residents and visitors, for pulling and jerking on the leash when walked. Increasingly, he was isolated when company came or the family was gathered. He was big enough to drag Danielle into the street by now, so her parents and the housekeeper reluctantly took over. His walks grew brief: outside, down the block until he did his business, then home. He never got to run much. 

Complaining that he was out of control, the family tried fencing the back yard and putting Ernie outside during meals to keep him from bothering them. The nanny stuck him there most of the day as well, because he messed up the house. Allowed inside at night, he was largely confined to the kitchen, sealed off by child gates.

The abandonment and abuse of dogs is an enormous issue in the animal rights movement, and quite properly. There are, by U.S. Humane Society estimates, as many as 10 million dogs languishing in shelters; the majority will be euthanized. But Ernie is an abused dog, too.
Nobody is likely to talk much about Ernie, the kind of dog I saw frequently while researching several books. His abusers aren't lowlifes who mercilessly beat, starve, or tether animals. Quite the opposite: His owners are affluent, educated people who consider themselves humanistic and moral. But they've been cruel nonetheless, through their lack of responsibility, their neglect, their poor training, and their inattention. 

I've seen Ernie numerous times over the past two years. I've watched him become more detached, neurotic, and unresponsive. I've seen the soul drain from the dog's eyes.
He's affectionate and unthreatening, but he doesn't really know how to behave--not around his family or other people, not around other animals, not around me or my dogs. He lunges and barks almost continuously when anyone comes near, so few of us do. Increasingly, he gets confined to his back yard, out of sight and mind.

This family was shocked and outraged when I suggested that the dog was suffering from a kind of abuse and might be better off in a different home. "Nobody hits that dog," sputtered Danielle's father. "He gets the best dog food, he gets all his shots." All true. 

But he lacks what is perhaps the most essential ingredient in a dog's life: a human who will take emotional responsibility for him.

Sadly, I see dogs like Ernie all the time, victims of a new, uniquely American kind of abuse, animals without advocates. Dogs like Flash, a Westchester border collie who spent her days chasing invisible sheep beyond a chain link fence, and Reg, an enormous black Lab in Atlanta who, like Ernie, was untrained, grew neurotic and rambunctious, and eventually was confined to the family playroom day and night. He leaves that room for several brief walks each day.
Who knows how many Ernies and Regs there are in urban apartments and suburban backyards? Few media outlets or animals rights groups would classify a $1,200 purebred as a candidate for rescue. In fact, I've contacted rescue groups to see if they could help; they were sympathetic, but they felt more comfortable with traditional kinds of abuse. A situation like this--emotional mistreatment is not illegal--was beyond their purview. 

I understand, but Ernie haunts me. He may be the most abused dog I know. 

Jon Katz's next book, The Dogs of Bedlam Farm: An adventure with three dogs, sixteen sheep, two donkeys and me will be published in October.

 

Keep your tails wagging

Bear's P4ws