Night fear

We whose families include little dogs face unique perils.

Last night, walking her alone in the hazy, humid darkness, I heard the sound of a fierce dog barking. I know by now all the homes in the neighborhood where dogs live. Behind their fences, they can bark without concerning me. And my feisty little friend can bark back without bringing a death sentence upon herself.

But this sound did not come from any familiar yard. It came from the ominous gloom near a factory at the edge of the neighborhood. In the haze, I saw a large, dark shape.

I went into defensive mode -- scooping up our little pet, whom just about any other dog could bite in half like a McNugget -- a concern of which she is blissfully unaware. She squirmed in my arms to get down and barked at the shadow in the dark.

With my free hand, I scrabbled in the dirt for a good-sized rock, my heart pounding. My fingers found only hard-baked dirt and crabgrass clumps -- then, finally, closed around a weighty chunk of asphalt sheared from the edge of the road by some long-ago passing truck. I gripped it in my hand ready to fight.

Our little dog squirmed free. I grabbed her up again and stood still, squinting into the blackness.

Relief. The strange dog was behind the factory fence, unable to do harm. I put down my aggrieved little dog and we continued our walk, the strange dog still barking behind us in the night.

Top Dog

Doing a little web-surfing on my lunch break y'day, I hit upon a site for Cesar Milan, the Dog Whisperer. Great eye-opener. Reminder that humans and our canine buddies, much as we love each other, are partners hailing from different countries on the globe of evolution.

Quite simply, a dog pack has a dominant dog. His or her job is, not surprisingly, rather stressful. If a human unwittingly promotes their dog-pal to top dog, that dog will therefore be stressed -- especially if their human sends mixed signals.

So, no more letting our little pup stand and put her legs against us, something we thought was just her being cute. I am to go out the door first on our walks. She is to walk beside me, never in front. If she pulls on the leash, I don't pull back but to the side, throwing her slightly off balance as a reminder to heel.

I put what I learned into practice last night. Immediately, I had a calmer dog on my hands -- she didn't even growl as she used to at a neighbor we passed.

What is it about dogs lately?

I was getting into my car preparing to go home last evening when I saw a large black dog wandering in the street. Back and forth went my thoughts: It's probably from nearby, it'll probably find its way home, it's a big dog, if I approach it, maybe it will attack ...

Then I thought about the sweet little furball who is now part of our family. What if that was her, wandering out in danger? Wouldn't I pray that someone would help? Wouldn't we be devastated to find her crushed in the road?

So I called Animal Control. The phone rang endlessly. Well, it was about 5 p.m. They have the right to go home to their families like the rest of us. Still ... wouldn't you think they would have someone on hand for after-hour emergencies? Dogs don't wander just from 9-5.

I dialed the police department non-emergency line. They made no commitment to do anything. I hung up, screwed up my courage and tried to approach the dog. It ignored me and kept wandering south. I got out a slice of bread left over from lunch.

And so passed the next half-hour or so. Horrible half hour. Dog continuing to wander down the middle of the street. Some cars slowing down and carefully going around the dog. Some cars occupied by lead-footed, hell-spawn who deserve to be reincarnated as lost-dogs-in-traffic if there is any justice in the universe -- narrowly missing the dog as they roared past it without slowing in the least. I give credit to the driver of a large bus who managed to bring his big vehicle to a complete halt and not hit the animal, without swerving into another lane. I give less credit to those who honked their horns at the poor animal as they went on by it. That doesn't help.

I think I've mentioned I hate UPS. That's one reason. Those ugly brown trucks blast along even residential roads like gunmen are chasing them. When one thundered past, I thought it would be over for the dog. Missed by a hair. I renewed my long-time vow never, ever to do any business with UPS. I will never forget the piece of human garbage who killed a huge turtle in front of me years ago that I was manuevering to save. If he didn't see me, and the turtle, he was blind as a cave shrimp. He was driving a UPS truck, no surprise. The turtle was so big his damned truck nearly tipped over. I wish it would have.

I followed the dog in my car, stopping each time I got close and getting out, trying to talk to it and waving the piece of bread. The dog resolutely ignored me. Finally, it wandered away from the deadly big streets and into a quiet neighborhood -- huge relief. I called the police again. I gave them the location. By now, it was dark and I could no longer see the black dog. He was somewhere in somebody's yard. There was absolutely nothing I could do. I drove around the area one more time, trying to see him. Maybe he had indeed made it back home.

So, not a happy ending, not one that I would witness at least. Sometimes, all you can do is try.

Awful

Bang. Bang.

I heard the sound from my study room late last night. Maybe firecrackers. Or just some fool firing off his gun in a backyard.

But then the sounds were followed immediately by the yelp of a dog in pain.

Shots again.

I left my book on the floor, jammed on a shirt and ran outside. Slipped around the side of my house in the dark, heart pounding, trying to figure out what had just happened, without being spotted.

Saw nothing. Nothing but an old white car near the intersection in front of my house that may have had nothing to do with the situation.

Heard nothing. Nothing but a slight rustling from the darkness a house or two over by the treeline. Might have been someone walking, might have been a possum creeping along.

For the first time in my life, I called 911. Told them I thought I had heard a dog being shot.

Don't know if it was one of our trashy neighbors or some outsider, like the child-of-hell demon-spawn scumbag who once threw a dog out of his car in the street in front of our house -- a dog whom we took in and loved, sweet little thing, til the day he died.

So 911 asked me if I had seen anyone or any vehicles in the neighborhood. I told them what I remembered.

To their credit, two police cars were in the neighborhood within a few minutes. I don't know if they discovered anything. They drove up and down and then drove away.

By dawn's early light, our neighborhood appears quiet and seemingly deserted. People have hauled their recycling to the curb.

But something happened here last night. Something terrible was done.

Story of a little dog

My local paper carried this story, which originated in Florida. It has to be one of the most beautifully written articles that I have read in a long time.

World's ugliest dog title pays pooch's medical bills

Owner found special connection with scrawny, one-eyed, three-legged friend
Lane DeGregory, St. Petersburg Times

Published: Thursday, November 13, 2008
GULFPORT, Fla. - She wrapped the World's Ugliest Dog in a blue baby blanket and carried him outside. But even in the sun, Gus couldn't stop shivering.

"Hey, little guy," she said softly. "You want to go for a ride?"

Gus looked up at her and blinked his one bulbous eye. His three paws were curled, claw-like, into his bony body.

Gus, the one-eyed, three-legged Chinese crested who won the title of the world's ugliest dog in June, died this week after a fight with cancer.

In June, when he was crowned in California, he became an instant celebrity. He growled at Howard Stern, appeared on The Today Show and Fox & Friends. Everyone agreed he couldn't look worse.

Since then, Gus had lost five pounds -- half his body weight. The cancer that claimed his back leg had twisted his spine. The $1,600 he won in the contest helped pay for chemo. But it didn't cure him. A few days ago, the vet said Gus only had a few days.

So this past Saturday, Jeanenne Teed booked a room on Treasure Island, one last getaway for her dog who loves road trips.

"There you are," she said, lowering Gus onto a pillow on the passenger seat. "Let's go to the beach."

She found him eight years ago, just after her divorce. Someone told her about this hairless, bug-eyed creature being kept in a cage in a dark garage.

With the help of a rescue team, Teed saved the Chinese crested puppy.

"He was the most hideous thing I had ever seen."

She told her son and daughter, who were in elementary school, that she was going to find the dog a good home. But that night, he curled against her on her ex-husband's side of the bed.

"My mom had this crazy bond with Gus," said Janey Teed, 16. "We'd had other dogs before, but she'd never been like that.

"It was like, Gus needed her more."

After a cat scratched out his left eye, after cancer ate his leg, Gus became even more docile. And hideous.

When Teed saw the World's Ugliest Dog contest on TV last year, she patted Gus and said, "They got nothing on you."

She flew him to California in June. By September, he was too weak to walk. Chemo cost $5,000, so Teed, a certified public accountant, put down his prize money -- plus her mortgage for October.

"He's part of the family."

She carried Gus into the motel, still shivering. She built a bed of blankets on the sofa and tucked him in.

"Remember?" she asked. "This is where we came to celebrate, when you won."

Gus opened his eye, then closed it. The effort seemed to exhaust him.

A few days earlier, he had stopped eating. A day ago, he stopped drinking.

Teed had to pour a few drops into the cap of a water bottle and hold it near his tongue.

She knew he needed her, now more than ever. But how do you know when it's time?

He slept fitfully Sunday night. By Monday morning, he was hiccupping, trying to catch his breath. She stroked the soft plume of fur on his forehead.

"Hey, little guy," she said softly. "You want to go for a ride?"

He had taken her places she'd never dreamed of going, got her on talk shows and YouTube. All the way to the vet, she kept telling him, "I'm right here."

She held him as he left her. He watched her for what seemed like forever.

When he shuddered, she tugged the blue blanket over his bald head.

On his tiny grave in her backyard, she planted a Butterfly bush with golden flowers.

"Something beautiful," she said, "to grow out of all that ugly."

Dawn makes me laugh

You simply must visit Dawn (now at www.dawnsdoghouse.com/b2evolution/index.php) and read about Her devious dog and an escapade with a sweet potato. It's the funniest thing I've read in ages.

First, be sure that you are sitting down, have recently emptied your bladder and are not in a workspace cubicle where chortles, chuckles and belly-laughs might get your fired.

What you can learn from your dog

Dawn should like this:

Being a grown-up human is like being a dog, in more ways than one. You seem to spend your days gnawing endlessly on the same old bone or pile of bones -- in people terms, worrying at the same old problems which defy speedy or tidy resolution. Once in a great while, you break through to the tasty marrow and finally finish off the bone. In people terms, you achieve a measure of success.