Turning Right on Red: April 2014

Warning: This post could be boring for people that don't like dogs, or even for people who like dogs, or for dogs who don't like people, people that don't like people that like dogs, or any other such iteration. Talking about your dogs for 1100 words could be like talking about your dreams for 550 words, but I'm gonna do it anyways

Since moving to Atlanta Maya and I have started to become dog people. We’ve now fostered two pups, a sweet lab-possibly pit mix named Mushy and a hyper little corgi mix, sweet, but often difficult dog called Gulliver. I always knew it before caring for dogs, but dog people really are (pun intended) a different breed. It really is like having a kid and when you have a dog you enter into a whole new world of spoken and unspoken agreements, talking to people you never would have talked to before, not talking to people you would have talked to before (although you’ll know everything about their dog, including their name, and nothing about the person), having constant distractions, dealing with new annoyances and surprises, and having a weird sense of protection and pride. Inversely, when people would comment on how sweet Gulliver was, I would complain about his constant nipping, difficult behavior around other dogs (I hated being “that” dog owner), food aggression, constant choking/tug on his leash during walks, pooping and peeing in the house, and his occasional barking. Having puppies is harder, but gives you even more to talk about and stops 50% of people in their tracks. And it seems like 50% of my new neighborhood are dog owners. I know every little side street and many houses by their dogs (rather than the actual people living there). We’ve enjoyed the challenge and will be adopting our own soon as the fostering thing has its obvious obstacle of getting too attached to a dog.

The fun part of having a dog all made sense with a dog like Mushy, who despite crapping all of over the place and constantly eating our shoes, and being generally a mess, was just so loving, kind, funny, and obedient for a pup, that you couldn’t help but love him. He also had a black fur coat (picture below) with white paws and legs that people use to ask jokingly if he had stepped in a bucket of paint. Gulliver, the little corgi sheep herder dog, was a different story and things ended tragically yesterday. We knew from very early on that he was food aggressive – if you pet him when he’s eating he will bite you. Very strange as he was otherwise seemingly 99% friendly, but it seems like he probably came from some difficult past of fighting for food or some other trauma. The rescue group we are fostering through told us just to ignore the issue but we couldn’t help ourselves. We wanted to help him get better. So two days ago, what started as a simple exercise and attempt to train him ended with a big fight, Gulliver snapping, pooping and peeing everywhere, frantically running around the house and knocking things over with me chasing after him, and then eventually, attacking me, and me losing a chunk of my palm.

Hours later he was still acting strange around me and avoiding me. This, after 6 weeks of friendship, sleeping with him in the bed (he was the best cuddler), and an otherwise very normal dog with a sweet comportment. It all changed in a matter of minutes, and so, it pains me that we had to move foster homes for him for his remaining two days before he gets shipped up North (as all of the dogs in the rescue group do – apparently there’s way more strays here and way more people looking for rescues up North). I ended up at the doctor’s office and am now on antibiotics and had to get a tetanus shot (thankfully the dog had his rabies vaccine). The big empty space where his crate and toys were and the left behind month’s accumulation of dust leaves me feeling depressed. We’ll take a month or so off now before the next dog. On a lighter note:

What’s in a name?

Mushy actually came to us as Tyler or Taylor, some really waspy sounding stupid human name. First of all, naming your dog after a human seems silly to me and incorrect. One exception would be a famous person, like Larry Bird, that’s just funny. Frank on the other hand, not funny, kind of weird. Another exception would be something truly unusual, like Moishe, an orthodox Jewish name. And that’s what we first went with for whatever reason with Mushy (and despite the fact that we were fostering him for just a number of weeks and probably had no right to rename him…not that he really probably knew any of his names). Attending Shabbos dinner at an Orthodox household we decided to ask how the Orthodox care for dogs. Do they feed them Kosher food? Do they name them Jewish names? Do they even have dogs? Apparently naming a dog a Jewish name is fine, according to our host, “as long as it’s not something biblical and holy like Mosha, that would be disrespectful.” “Oh that’s interesting” we commented. We kept quiet after that.

Around this same time a small child had seen Moishe in our neighborhood, as he was called then, and not knowing the name, said, “oh Mushy?” and I had just said, “yes, Mushy.” Roll with the punches you know? After the night at the Orthodox home, we actually just started calling him Mushy. People loved it. He was Mushy. It was perfect. Not all dogs are so lucky with names. Where ever he is now, with whoever, and whatever they call him (Tyler, Tailor, or Frank), he will always be Mushy (just as Jewish people who convert to Christianity are still Jewish).

Gulliver had a decent name to begin with and maybe we just didn’t love him enough to even think of our own name for him. We occasionally called him “Gus” or “Gully” or “Bob Barker” when he was annoying us. It’s challenging when you know you’ll have him for just a few weeks (a few turned into 6) and that there’s actually pretty much zero need to rename dogs unless the inherited named is so clearly off and horrible. But it is funny that people feel this need to rename their dogs to really make it their own.

I have a burning desire to name our next dog Orville Redenbacher, after the popcorn, but Maya only likes Orville. Ultimately, the dog’s personality, physicality, and story of how we are introduced to him or her, should probably matter more. But I want to call him Orville Redenbacher.