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Lennox, guilty of nothing but looking like a banned breed was taken from his family, kept in awful conditions for 2 years & killed by Belfast  Council in questionable circumstances.

Lennox, guilty of nothing but looking like a banned breed was taken from his family, kept in awful conditions for 2 years & killed by Belfast Council in questionable circumstances.

When I was about eight I was nearly bitten by an English Springer Spaniel. Thinking him to be just like my best friend at home, I reached down to tickle him but he growled and lunged at me. I got the shock of my life, but I also learned a couple of very valuable lessons 1) always ask before approaching a dog you don’t know and 2) don’t think breed is an indicator of temperament.

Last week, 14-year-old Jade Lomas-Anderson was killed by four dogs at a friend’s house in Wigan, UK. Horrifying and heart-breaking, it’s hard imagine losing a child so young, yet alone in such circumstances.

Media speculation

Predictably, the news reports, still waiting for confirmation of the facts, started speculating on whether any of the dogs responsible were from a banned breed.  When it emerged that they weren’t, the flames of speculation were duly fanned by the suggestion that Bull Mastiffs and Staffordshire Bull Terriers should be added to the list.

Genius idea. Dog bites have actually risen by 41% since the Dangerous Dog Act was introduced according to HES so on what planet does this sort of thinking make any sense?  I was enraged, not just because I’m a dog lover, but by the laziness of the reporting.  A beautiful young girl had been killed in appalling circumstances and they had rolled out the usual lazy, hackneyed tripe about banned breeds.  It’s akin to obsessing about the make of car involved in a hit and run and not tackling the real issue of who was behind the wheel.

Breed myopia 

The elephant in the room here is that by focussing so myopically on breed we’re totally missing the point. Would our children be safer if we told them it was okay to talk to strangers just so long as they weren’t French, or Greek or any other arbitrary classification? Of course not.

As I found out all those years ago, any dog is capable of biting, just like any human is capable of harming another.   To keep people safe we need to educate them on how to treat dogs ethically and how to meet their needs – for exercise, training, socialisation and security to name but a few, but while any moron can knock out a litter of puppies in their garden shed to earn a few quid and while utter garbage like Caesar Milan is allowed to pass for national dog training, is there any wonder that we have damaged and fearful dogs out there and owners without the first clue of how to properly care for, train and manage them?

State sponsored lunacy

That the media and government compound this lunacy by suggesting that eradicating some breeds of dog will magically solve the issue is just beyond comprehension.  We do need tougher laws, but they should be around the strict control of the breeding of all dogs.  Licence all breeders and stamp out the quick buck mentality fuelled by the likes of Craigslist and PreLoved that provide an easy market for flogging puppies like second-hand sofas.

When we declared a war on drugs we went for the source and we educated people so why not take the same approach with dogs?  Our rescue centres are bursting at the seams and according to Dogs Trust, nearly 8,000 are killed every year by local authorities and other ‘rescues’ due to a lack of homes which is a disgusting waste of life and should be a point of national shame.

When dogs can’t be bought online, in pubs and out of the boots of cars, there’ll be more opportunity for licensed breeders and rescue organisations to vet would-be owners and to educate and support them to raise their dogs in a responsible manner.

Breed specific legislation has done nothing to keep people safe and adding to it will be a pointless waste of time and public money.  It will also bring untold heartache for thousands of committed and responsible dog owners all over the country and allow the backstreet breeders to continue to peddle their misery. Enough is enough.

 

You can find out more about the story of Lennox and the lunacy of Breed Specific Legislation here

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Annie gets cozy

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British summer time begins tomorrow but it feels more like Christmas than Easter in the UK at the moment.

Oblivious to the weather, Annie had a delightful time in the forest this morning, adding to her usual repertoire of puddles & ponds, a stinky black bog.

Mud we can cope with (we have so much practice!) but bogs stink to high heaven so there was nothing for it but to bath her.

The picture above is of Annie after she took herself off to bed no doubt feeling a little chilly. Unlike Little Bear, she doesn’t like the hairdryer, so bed & blankets & er, hot water bottle it had to be!

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Little Bear the dog in front of the Christmas tree

Little Bear and the Christmas tree

With the Christmas holidays around the corner, I’m counting down the days to a week off.

In my head, I’m imagining something straight out of a John Lewis ad.  All Country Living magazine festive with everyone laughing around an elegantly dressed table laden with fantastic food, fine china and posh crackers.

I’m enough of a realist to accept that it will be more like something out of Fawlty Towers, but I’m a relentless optimist too. Somehow, my deep desire for the fantasy Christmas has blocked out the fact that it will most likely be a few stressful days of last minute shopping, wrapping, cooking, cleaning, bed making and entertaining various house guests sandwiched between two 300 mile round trips to pick up and drop off family members.

Stress 

Sad though it is to admit, Christmas is stressful and if we’re stressed, you can bet our dogs will be too. Especially fearful dogs like Annie who take comfort in the certainty wrought through routine and anxious dogs like Little Bear who can quickly get hyper.

Having lots of visitors can be exciting, but it can also be over-stimulating for some dogs and ours are no exception.  In our eagerness to make sure everyone has a full glass and a plate of something tasty, we can too easily overlook the subtle signs of stress from our dogs.

Retreat

We’re taking radical action this year. We’re sacrificing the comfort of guests for the comfort of our dogs. We’re donating one of our sofas to a charity so that the dogs can have their beloved crates back.

Having a safe space to retreat to is really important for dogs all year round, but especially at Christmas. I’ll also be stocking up on Adaptil refills for the diffuser and there will be some stuffed Kongs and deer antlers on the treat menu to give them something to focus on while we’re playing hosts.  It’s no magic bullet, but knowing that the dogs are happy will at least be one less thing for me to stress about.

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Seriously cute Schnauzer

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Shameless excuse for a post I know, but I love this shot of Little Bear so much that I just had to share it.

That’s one unimpressed Schnauzer!

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Annie in her beloved bed

Annie in her beloved bed

When we took on Annie her first bed was a folded quilt under the dining table which was her bolt hole of choice after her ordeal.  She soon discovered the delights of the sofas and as we were only fostering her at that point it seemed fine to let it go.

When we adopted her, we bought her a bed.  It felt symbolic, a way to mark her joining the family officially and after months of being squashed between two dogs on the sofa of an evening, the idea of them sleeping in their own beds was appealing.

So we went to the pet shop and she picked out a bed. Or rather, we bought the only one she seemed vaguely interested in.  It was stupidly expensive, but I justified it on the basis that all the bits came apart for machine washing.  “She’ll have it for years” I confidently told Other Half as he scoffed at the price tag.   It fell apart in the first wash.

We got a refund and decided to get her a sturdy plastic bed that we could fill with soft (and washable) blankets instead. Then came her surgery so ‘bed’ became a crate for almost 12 weeks while she healed. When at last the crate was packed away, we put the new bed in its place.  She ignored it.  She’d sit in it occasionally, as did Little Bear and now and then, Camden Cat. She’d even lay down in it if we asked, but you always got the feeling that she was doing it under sufferance.

Impulse buy

A couple of weeks ago I saw a bed I just knew she’d love. I was only in the pet shop to buy cat treats. She didn’t need a bed I told myself, she had two sofas and two arm chairs to choose from for crying out loud. I left the shop and walked to the car. I opened it and locked it again before even taking the key out of the lock.  Minutes later me and the new bed were heading home.

LB was incredibly excited.  He dug out the inner pillow within seconds and then promptly chewed off the tag putting pay to any ideas of returning it, but  he quickly got bored and wandered off to find a tennis ball while Annie, unusually aloof gave the new bed the eye.

I love my bed

That was a few weeks ago now and she’s very rarely out of it. She loves her bed so much she’ll lie in it no matter where it is. She’s even choosing her bed over the sofa. I have some theories of course. Maybe she likes having somewhere that’s entirely hers. The sofas after all are shared and she can and does get turfed off them if there’s no room for anyone else to sit down.  Or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s comfortable. We’ll never know for sure, but she certainly does look like one very happy dog!

Annie snoozing in her new bed

Annie snoozing in her new bed

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Our school motto was ‘Manners maketh man’. Now I didn’t go to a posh private school, quite the opposite in fact, but we, my peers and I were brought up to understand that manners were important. They’re not just social norms, they’re a way of conveying respect for one another. Sadly, I often see far better behaved dogs than I do owners these days.

The other week we were walking the dogs on the large football pitch near the house. It’s a vast space with multiple exits so for reactive dogs like ours it’s great. You get plenty of warning of other dogs and can make a quick calm exit if needed.

We’d just arrived at the field this particular time when I noticed Annie had dropped her collar torch. It was getting dusk so OH back tracked to look for it. This left me in the field with both dogs on waist leads, which we prefer as it gives you two hands to sort out clickers, treats or poo bags. It started when Annie, much worse than she is now almost dislocated OH’s shoulder and now it’s sort of stuck.

Just as he went out of sight a woman came the field with two dogs and was soon joined by another lady with three dogs. Annie and Bear, until then doing okay with their sit stay and watch me got a little agitated so we moved to a safer distance.

They were walking directly towards us, all five dogs now her off lead. I moved down the field, zig-zagging to a spot I was sure was safe as it was off their trajectory. They changed direction and headed once again, straight towards us.

Lunge
By this point Little Bear and Annie had had enough. They lunged, they barked and clipped around my waist, were doing a great job of cutting me in half. The women looked up to see what the commotion was, shot me a ‘god, your dogs are awful look’ AND KEPT COMING!

Now any normal person seeing that would recognise a fear reaction in a dog. Even if they’d never experienced it, who in their right mind would walk their own dogs towards dogs who are lunging and barking?!

I was incredulous. How could these women not realise that their presence and that of their mob of dogs was seriously upsetting mine? They had an entire football pitch to walk on but seemed intent on hounding me out of it. Thankfully, their dogs had more sense than they did and gave us a wide berth, but the damage was done. By the time OH returned a few minutes later they were extremely agitated and despite trying to lighten the mood with some chase once we were free of our stalkers, Little Bear walked home with his tail down.

I thought of this yesterday. We were out in the woods and spotted a couple with four dogs coming towards us on a narrow path. We called our dogs, they called theirs. We had them sit and wait. So did they to the point that for about a minute nobody moved.

When the stalemate became apparent we walked ours on past them, only to find their dogs sitting patiently just off the track. We exchanged a round of thank yous and all went on our way. To my deep joy our two looked but continued on their way without a murmur. I couldn’t have been prouder or more grateful that there do seem to be some owners out there with manners as good as their dogs.

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Bogwoppit Bear

When I got Little Bear the breeder warned me ‘Don’t expect him to go out when it’s raining – Schnauzer’s hate getting wet.’  He, like me was born in Wales – a country made so lush and green by the plentiful amount of rain that falls sometimes from what appear to be clear blue skies.  Good job we’re living in the (far drier) South East of England then I thought to myself.

Now I sort of thought she meant that he wouldn’t want to go for a walk in the rain; I had no idea that it might extend to setting a paw outside the door too.  A few weeks later, as the autumn weather started to take hold, I found myself in my PJs on the lawn in the pouring rain holding an umberlla over a defiant Schnauzer puppy who point blank refused to wee until I turned that wet stuff off.  It was apparently all my fault and he was entirely less than impressed.

I almost phoned the vet for fear that his little bladder would burst one particularly wet morning and even toyed with the idea of putting up some sort of canopy for the fussy little toad. 

As the breeder had predicted, getting him to go for a walk in the rain was a futile exercise.  If I opened the front door and he saw that it was raining he’d flatly refuse to put one paw in front of the other.  If it started raining while we were out he’d barge my leg asking to be carried and if I refused, he’d break into a sprint for home.

Not all puddles are born equal

But something strange happened when he was about a year old.  Walking in the woods one day, he found a puddle.

This wasn’t just any puddle.  Not the sort of common old garden puddle you find lurking around the sides of suburban pavements waiting for a toddler in wellies.  No, this was a puddle of distinction. Defined not just by it’s watery contents, but by the thick, black almost gelatinous mud that clung to it’s banks.  It stank too.  Of rotting wood and hummus and who-knows what else. 

Off exploring ahead of us LB stopped dead at the sight of this uber puddle in the distance. Other half made for the lead, but I stopped him, ‘Don’t worry, Schnauzers hate the water.’ I said confidently.

If it had been a film I suppose it would have cut to the slo-mo shot.  My smile slipping into what must have been a mix of horror and disbelief and LB running full pelt into the belly of the beast – then squelching and splashing his way into canine nirvana. 

By the time we’d caught up he was up to his armpits.  His beard and snout were black too, having rapidly discovered that if there’s one thing better than a squeaky tennis ball it’s a squeaky tennis ball that’s been marinated in the smelliest mud you can put your paw on. 

 He looked so utterly happy we didn’t have the heart to spoil his fun.  I called him Bogwoppit Bear after a book I read as a child about a creature who lived in a bog and just like the mud, it stuck.  Two years on and he’s still a complete mud magnet.  No tennis ball is acceptable until it’s had a thorough dunking in a muddy puddle and a walk isn’t complete without at least one foray into the black stuff.

He still hates the rain mind you, but he will at least venture out in it now.  Maybe like gardeners the world over he’s thinking ‘Well at least it good for the puddles.’

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