Monday – Hank the Pup
Mar. 2nd, 2009 12:34 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ninanevermore.
.
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I telephoned my father yesterday to see if I could score some free babysitting for the afternoon. Grandparents are good for that sort of thing. In fact, if I don't offer my father and his wife a chance to babysit at least every two weeks, I get a lecture. It had been 3 weeks, in this case, so I was surprised to hear hesitation on my father's part.
"We've had some changes around here," my dad said, "We've got a dog now."
"Oh, cool. Since when?" I asked.
It seems that two and a half weeks ago on my father's daily walk through the neighborhood, a miniature schnauzer followed him home for the better part of a mile. They put up signs around the neighborhood, had him scanned for a micro chip (he doesn't have one), and had his picture posted on a rescue website, all to no avail.
My dad told me that my stepmother was in love with the dog and it looked like they would probably keep him. "She says she doesn't usually like male dogs, but this one follows her around and she's really taken to him," my father said. "He's got a great personality. I don't think she's going to let me give him away." Still, they had not tested him to see how he would act around a child yet.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"He doesn’t have a name, but he answers to Hank," my dad said.
I was really looking forward to some time to myself yesterday, so I bravely offered up my son as a guinea pig to see if Hank could be reliable around the very young.
"I trust you guys," I said. Between their big back yard, the dog's crate and rooms with doors that can be locked, I figured that even if the two didn't get along, they could be kept separated.
My stepmother called me a bit later to ask that I phone them when I got close to the house so they could meet us in the front yard and introduce Hank to my son. "I don't much care for male dogs," she said, "But your dad is so taken with this one. He takes him on a walk every day and the dog sits with him on his lap when he's in his easy chair. You should see the two of them."
My son had some reservations about Hank when he met him, but Hank was very well behaved around my son. Our dog at home is retired, so being around her is not like being around a frisky puppy. Evie is 14 years old (ancient for a breed that is not supposed to live much past the age of 10) and she spends her days lying around the house and sleeping. She is mostly blind, completely deaf, and too arthritic to run and play. My son ignores her, and she returns the favor.
Hank, on the other hand, is only about 8 months old. He was already house broken, and was very well groomed and nourished when they found him. He also looks to be a pure bred dog. I wonder if, in this bad economy, his former owner didn't dump him in a "nice" neighborhood hoping someone would take him in.
When I returned that evening to pick up my son, he was sitting in my father's lap with a handful of kibbles. Hank was next to the chair, looking up expectantly.
"Sit," my son would say, and Hank sat. Then my son would drop a kibble on the floor that Hank would retrieve, and as soon as Hank ate the morsel the whole game began again.
"They've been doing this for the last hour," my stepmother to me.
My son was still intimidated by Hank when the dog followed him. At one point when the dog trotted toward him my son screamed and ran. Hank, being a terrier and being bred to chase small prey, barked and ran after him. I was impressed that when my father and his wife barked out his name, Hank immediately stopped and returned to them even though my son kept running. As young as he was, he responded to the command with no hesitation. The terrier instinct to chase is very strong, and this showed a great deal of self-control on the part of the pup.
"He's a good dog," I said as I went in search of my skittish son. "Keep him." I commented that we just needed to get my son accustomed to Hank and teach him not to run like that. Most dogs will chase anything that runs, and the best way to get away from a dog that frightens you is to stay calm and move away slowly. This is counter intuitive to a lot of children and even some adults.
"I think the dog can be trained," my dad agreed, "but I'm not sure about the boy."
Indeed. From what I can see, Hank is well behaved around children and does not seem inclined to bite them.
The same cannot be said about my son, but I think I'll keep him, as well.
* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * # * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *
.
.
I telephoned my father yesterday to see if I could score some free babysitting for the afternoon. Grandparents are good for that sort of thing. In fact, if I don't offer my father and his wife a chance to babysit at least every two weeks, I get a lecture. It had been 3 weeks, in this case, so I was surprised to hear hesitation on my father's part.
"We've had some changes around here," my dad said, "We've got a dog now."
"Oh, cool. Since when?" I asked.
It seems that two and a half weeks ago on my father's daily walk through the neighborhood, a miniature schnauzer followed him home for the better part of a mile. They put up signs around the neighborhood, had him scanned for a micro chip (he doesn't have one), and had his picture posted on a rescue website, all to no avail.
My dad told me that my stepmother was in love with the dog and it looked like they would probably keep him. "She says she doesn't usually like male dogs, but this one follows her around and she's really taken to him," my father said. "He's got a great personality. I don't think she's going to let me give him away." Still, they had not tested him to see how he would act around a child yet.
"What's his name?" I asked.
"He doesn’t have a name, but he answers to Hank," my dad said.
I was really looking forward to some time to myself yesterday, so I bravely offered up my son as a guinea pig to see if Hank could be reliable around the very young.
"I trust you guys," I said. Between their big back yard, the dog's crate and rooms with doors that can be locked, I figured that even if the two didn't get along, they could be kept separated.
My stepmother called me a bit later to ask that I phone them when I got close to the house so they could meet us in the front yard and introduce Hank to my son. "I don't much care for male dogs," she said, "But your dad is so taken with this one. He takes him on a walk every day and the dog sits with him on his lap when he's in his easy chair. You should see the two of them."
My son had some reservations about Hank when he met him, but Hank was very well behaved around my son. Our dog at home is retired, so being around her is not like being around a frisky puppy. Evie is 14 years old (ancient for a breed that is not supposed to live much past the age of 10) and she spends her days lying around the house and sleeping. She is mostly blind, completely deaf, and too arthritic to run and play. My son ignores her, and she returns the favor.
Hank, on the other hand, is only about 8 months old. He was already house broken, and was very well groomed and nourished when they found him. He also looks to be a pure bred dog. I wonder if, in this bad economy, his former owner didn't dump him in a "nice" neighborhood hoping someone would take him in.
When I returned that evening to pick up my son, he was sitting in my father's lap with a handful of kibbles. Hank was next to the chair, looking up expectantly.
"Sit," my son would say, and Hank sat. Then my son would drop a kibble on the floor that Hank would retrieve, and as soon as Hank ate the morsel the whole game began again.
"They've been doing this for the last hour," my stepmother to me.
My son was still intimidated by Hank when the dog followed him. At one point when the dog trotted toward him my son screamed and ran. Hank, being a terrier and being bred to chase small prey, barked and ran after him. I was impressed that when my father and his wife barked out his name, Hank immediately stopped and returned to them even though my son kept running. As young as he was, he responded to the command with no hesitation. The terrier instinct to chase is very strong, and this showed a great deal of self-control on the part of the pup.
"He's a good dog," I said as I went in search of my skittish son. "Keep him." I commented that we just needed to get my son accustomed to Hank and teach him not to run like that. Most dogs will chase anything that runs, and the best way to get away from a dog that frightens you is to stay calm and move away slowly. This is counter intuitive to a lot of children and even some adults.
"I think the dog can be trained," my dad agreed, "but I'm not sure about the boy."
Indeed. From what I can see, Hank is well behaved around children and does not seem inclined to bite them.
The same cannot be said about my son, but I think I'll keep him, as well.
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-06 05:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-06 05:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-06 06:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-06 06:19 pm (UTC)Though I did find it interesting that your dog owned her own cat. I'd never seen anything like that before, and haven't since.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-07 04:30 am (UTC)I don't think you ever met Bridgette. We got her when I was 7. I think she died when I was 18 just before we left South Texas. Seriously, that dog had such personality she put Benji to shame! Which is ironic, since I wanted to name her after him but Mom and Dad said she couldn't have a boy's name. That, and we'd already had (and lost) a male Dachshound (sp?) we named "Benji."
Bridge was semi-feral, preferred to catch her own dinner (sometimes as much as four feet off the ground and in flight, poor dumb Grackles), and was known to climb 8-ft fences with whole deer carcasses in her teeth! 'Bout drove the neighborhood Taxidermist NUTS!!! I never went anywhere on my bike that she didn't follow, except the one time I tried to cycle over to another community five miles away -- one mile out of town, she informed me she'd had enough and headed home, so I had no choice but to turn back. I always knew I was safe with her around.
no subject
Date: 2009-03-07 05:04 pm (UTC)I think all of your family's dogs were half feral, and some I'd say were three-quarters feral. They didn't like anyone but y'all. :P