Dogs

Dogs take a lot of knowledge and work to raise correctly.  I know because I've owned several and have begun to feel rather expert in raising them.  To begin with, I greatly miss my Bull Mastiff Brutus today, for he was the most well-behaved protector we ever owned, and never needed outside obedience training to become that way.  I love big dogs that are protective, yet trustworthy as a family friend.  My older sister raised pitbulls until a disagreement over the food dish caused a fatal fight between her favorite and the bitch's son.  As a result, I haven't decided to trust a full-breed pitbull yet, but have ventured into the bull territory with Brutus, and now a two-year-old Bulldog named Spike.  I think I must always have a Rottweiler, but my eyes are opening to other breeds more and more.

   Our Rottweiler Roxy is a wonderful family dog, but has a few neurotic habits, including but not limited to, profuse air-licking and occasional laser light chasing.  In fact, I feel sure it was the cats who taught her the art of hunting, because she is fascinated with felines, wants desperately to play with them, and hilariously hunts just like them, as if the grass could hide her 95-lb body.  We have had two other Rottweilers in the past, and Roxy is very much like they were, fiercely protective and unconditionally loving.  I discovered that Rottweilers are especially nice to have around when a spouse is overseas for months and months, but they will learn to expect sleeping in your bed, if allowed.  My first Rottweiler, Daisy, was such a beautifully loyal companion that there was nothing I wouldn't do for her.  She and Goliath were the biggest and baddest dogs on our block, and would stand between us and danger in a heartbeat, before we ever saw it coming.  We spoiled them and spent on them, including $4,000 hip surgery, and when Daisy died in my arms at age seven I grieved heavily for over a week before I could function normally again.  Ken had bought and named Goliath, a fully papered 125-lb beast of a beauty who died less than a year after Daisy due to a stroke, but I know it was more from the heartbreak of losing his girl Daisy.  We couldn't bring him out of his funk, even with baby Brutus, though he appeared to rally.  He was only eight.  Brutus died at age eight also.  I guess that some part of us couldn't take so much hurt in so little time, so we got a smaller dog.  This new dog, however, has challenged everything I thought I knew about dogs, and charged me to write this blog about him.  He is our bulldog named Spike.

     If you are going to get a dog, make sure you will have plenty of time and patience for training, and do all of this while it is young.  Do not use non-toys, like towels, as toys, or he will grow up shredding them or all of your towels in his no release practice of tug-of-war.  He may even do it to your terry cloth wrap unexpectedly ninja-like while you're in the backyard greeting the neighbor one morning :/

   Bulldogs are cantankerous friends.  They love to eat human food and sleep in human beds.  If they can sneak a pee on the carpet and then sneak back into bed, hoping to pin blame on another, they will.  However, if you lock them in your bedroom, they will hold it.  A bulldog will not pee in a room where it sleeps.  My Spike is the softest and most cuddly little bed hog in the world too(hearts!)  

     Never discipline your dog with a weapon of any kind.  This should be common sense but it wasn't for my kids, so now the dog straight attacks anything held up in a threatening manner.  Newspaper roll?  Shredded.  Wooden spoon?  Chewed to smithereens.  Your best bet is a little flick of water, but if he's lock-jawed onto your child's favorite shirt because it looked like a towel you were waving, you may need to splash half a glass on his stubborn little butt.  

   Finally, Bulldogs have very itchy skin and cannot tolerate fleas or ants.  They get bloody scabs in their wrinkles that you have to treat with neosporin, which mine perceives as a threat, and must be slyly and rapidly outwitted in order for me to apply the medicine.  If I forget, he rolls around the carpet trying to itch the top of his face and shrieking like he's demon-possessed.  This morning, little Spike turned his nose up at his ant-filled food dish, but he soon realized again that his mama's a genius when I solved the problem with a natural remedy, a moat.  He should have known how smart I am when I got Lexi to do his baths from now on.  She still thinks it's a fun game ;)

     Spike loves the car and jumps in to assist in taking the kids to and from school.  If any of us are gone for more than a day, then returns, he howls with joy, while performing ollies and flips in his extreme excitement.  He loves to skateboard, but chews while he rides.  He can't swim, and doesn't like baths until they're over.  Somehow he knows when I want him bathed because he looks at me funny just before, and then runs and hides under the bed.  He periodically chooses friends of my kids that he doesn't like, and let's them know via vicious barking.  We don't know why, but he has singled out three and recognizes them whenever they come over.  We have to lock him away when these twelve-year-olds come over, and he whines at the bedroom door all the while.  I love my Bulldog, but he requires a lot of supervision and care, and I have only touched on a few of the many strange nuances of his personality.  I'm really thankful for the dog he has become, but I must stress that it's due to all of the time I've taken with him to make him this way that he's become the adorable little part of our family that he is.  And we're still working on the towel thing....