Obnoxious Dogs: Mine

I thought I loved dogs. Since going to the dogpark, I realize I don't. I only love some dogs. The ones I don't love are the obnoxious ones.

What makes an obnoxious dog? Not the breed. He/she can be any breed that defies correction. An obnoxious dog barks incessantly, jumps up on me and leaps around me after the ball in the chuckit. Really obnoxious dogs grab the ball right out it. And really obnoxious dogs not only steal balls, they don't return them, running away when their owners try to catch them. (I supply several balls a week to other dogs.) One really obnoxious dog, Ozzie, the Doberman has to be literally choked to give up a stolen ball. (Many dogs "intercept" another dog's ball. That's OK. But on command they drop it. My Great Dane Maggie does this pretty well.)

Obnoxious dogs lunge and snarl, unprovoked. They gang up on submissive dogs. Obnoxious dogs play too roughly. Maggie had a dime-sized piece of flesh taken from her left thigh by Hopkins, a black Standard Poodle.

And obnoxious dogs whine.

As much as it kills me to say it, because I love him dearly, my silver-grey Toy Poodle, Hutchie is an obnoxious dog, a major brat.

I never intended to have him but I couldn't separate him from his white sister Gracie. They were two bouncing pom-poms. From the start, Gracie was a bit shy and always calm. Hutch lept up off the ground on his little back legs if they had springs, barking, barking, barking. That's his most dominant trait: he's vocal, (to be euphemistic). He goes beserk when he sees deer or a coyote in the wilderness preserve behind our house. He yaps like crazy when he sees our neighbour's cat. But mostly he seems to bark at pure air, as if he had microscopic vision and could see whatever invisible things exist. I've corrected him over and over, squeezing his furry muzzle with a forceful "no!". I've sprayed him with water tinged with vinegar. Everything works momentarily. He stops. But then he begins again.

The springing up on his hind legs means he does it on me and whoever happens to come to the door. "Off!" I command. And he does. For a few seconds. And then he's boing-boinging again against my knees, his tail moving as fast as a hummingbird.

And he whines. He whines when he wants me; he whines when he wants something. (I often have no idea.) He whines just because he hates silence.

He has been particularly nasty to Maggie, lungeing and snarling and biting her jowls since she arrived. He's horribly jealous and can't share me or toys without turning on her, even if they get a good game of "tug" going with the octopus. He's worst when she has a big marrow bone, which she loves to put on my lap, right where Hutchie lies. I hold him back and say "leave it!", but instinctively he growls and snaps and I have to put him down.

At the dogpark, he's quite hostile to some dogs, usually the ones romping all around him to play. He particularly doesn't like puppies. And if other dogs seem to be in an escalated skirmish, he charges at them, barking, as if he's policing them. We call him "Hutchie le Flic," (the French word for "cop".) (To give both him and Gracie their due, if a dog steals their ball, their only reaction is to follow the perpetrator around hoping he/she will release it.)

He is like one of those anklets they put around prisoners to keep track of them. I've learned to keep the bathroom door open as he will make a fuss outside if I don't. When I'm on the sofa, he's tight against me. The same when I'm in bed. Even though he only weighs 12 pounds, he's a lump that makes it difficult for me to move, because he doesn't.

When I arrive home from somewhere, he shrieks from behind the door as if he's being tortured. He makes the same piercing noise when we arrive at the dog park. Then he chews and pulls on Gracie's leash when we walk to the gate, tripping me. (I'm already trying to handle Maggie in her excitement and carry a large cooler of water.)

Why do I keep him? Why do I love him? Well, he's cozy and loyal and trusting. He has an inquisitive, alert, endearing face that gives the impression he'd return a conversation if he could. He has a lean, jaunty body, athletic for its size and he struts when he walks. He's fearless. One day he took after a coyote in our yard. I thought it was the end of him but he came back. He adores his sister. She has those runny red eyes that small white dogs often have, but in fact she doesn't, because he keeps them clean. Lately, he's even been cleaning Maggie's face.

When I throw the ball at the dogpark, if he gets to it before Gracie, he drops it at my feet. (Gracie usually takes it under a picnic table where she thinks she can protect it. A thieving dog can grab a ball with the speed of a striking rattlesnake.)

When you get a dog, you make a commitment to him/her: to love and care for them, treat them with firmness and accept their faults. Some faults in a dog are fixable and Hutchie's probably are. I keep thinking of getting an electronic training collar for him, (like the one that's worked so well for Maggie) but he's not a puppy. He's five. I wonder if his bad habits are embedded.

For now, I'll sigh and grit my teeth and breathe deeply and sternly reprimand him when he's obnoxious. And cuddle him when he's not.