Post by EbonyPatriot on Feb 10, 2012 23:25:49 GMT -5
Here's the big news I was telling you guys about.
Ah what I rough time I had the past few months. My depression and anxiety were worst than before. If it weren’t for my mom, my second cousin and especially my old teacher, I would still be unable to come on. Thanks guys, I really owe you.
The school was worst than I’ve ever had: I got a d, a grade I’ve never gotten before in my life.
And now, the flipping computer won’t load the AaaB boards. D: My internet’s been acting up for a while now, so I’m not surprised. I can see the boards through Internet Archive, but I can’t get on.
And then this week my Grandfather went into the hospital. They said he had tried to get up and cut his finger at midnight, six hours later the finger was still bleeding. It looks horrible: it looks like the skin was torn off. My Mom thinks it got caught in wheel.
Then my mom dislocated her shoulder. She can’t use her arm at all and now we don’t know what to do, since we need to check on my grandpa but it won’t help for him to see my mom in a sling.
But not all of the events were sad.
I’ve decided I’d like to be a vet technician but I’ll need some experience first. (Plus it will help if I want to get an internship at the nearby zoo). So I’ve been volunteering at a nearby shelter. My first day there, I helped clean the kennels, clean the bowls, and feed the dogs. But my favorite part was after that: we could walk anyone we wanted. I walked Crystal, a border collie mix whose roommate was out. She was well behaved although she didn’t respond much to me.
After I had walked her around I wanted to walk Jack, a sable-brown German shepherd Shetland sheepdog mix. But Jack had four dogs in his kennel: Jack, a black German shepherd called Marshall, a three legged pug beagle mix called Ihop, and a black Australian cattle dog called Beasley. I asked for help to get Jack out, but Ihop and Beasley made a break for it. I was able to grab Ihop but Beasley made it to the door.
The person dragged Beasley back and suggested I take him instead. I didn’t really want to, but I agreed and went out. Beasley was strong and kept pulling on the leash.
When I got him outside I had trouble with Beasley pulling and wondered if I should go back and ask for a harness. So I started stopping when Beasley pulled, only walking when he stopped pulling; and he started obeying. Beasley’s tail wagged whenever I told him he was smart and a good boy.
We had walked for a bit when I patted his side, careful to stay away from his head. Beasley looked at me and then stood against me, letting me rub and his neck and sides. I started to run with him.
Beasley looked at me and suddenly jumped and grabbed the leash in his mouth and started shaking. I froze. Why was Beasley doing this? Was he throwing a temper tantrum? Was he aggressive? I ran again and he did the same.
Now my family was coming to pick me up so I kept Beasley out longer. A woman gave him a piece of bacon and Beasley laid under my chair.
Beasley lay with his forelegs in sphinx position, but his hind legs straight out behind him like he was in a jump. I have only seen one dog lay like that: my uncle’s black dog, Shelby. In Albert Payson Terhune’s Buff: A Collie, the ¾ rough collie ¼ pit bull hero Buff, shows his pit bull blood, despite how much he looks likes a collie by laying with hind legs out.
When my family arrived, I wanted to show them Beasley. When they were there, Beasley reared on his legs and put his forepaws on my brother’s shoulders, tail wagging. Then he pulled toward the car. I thought he wanted to se my mom but she pointed out that Beasley thought he was going in the car. Poor Beasley wasn’t happy to be brought back.
On the ride home, my brother was quiet. When I asked why, he said he missed Beasley.
For a while, my brother had wanted a dog he could play with. Bo, at then 13, is too old and, having been abused as a puppy, timid. Shadow, approaching her 7th birthday, doesn’t like to play: she gets scared whenever we tried to play fetch. And of course Marley is a cat and only wants to play when she wants too.
Well, after checking up on licenses and costs and a week’s worth of working on my Dad (complete with help from my friends), we went back to get him.
Now the next day I had seen him in the evening; and Beasley was being attacked. Marshall, who he played with previously, and Jack had him pinned on his back and were still biting him. They got out and when I grabbed Beasley, he looked at me and stopped running, like he was saying, “Oh I know you. I can trust you.” It broke my heart putting him back.
Still, I was worried. When one of the volunteers tried to take a blanket from him, he snapped at her. Was he playing? Was he aggressive?
I researched Australian cattle dogs and found that they are loyal, always wanted to be with you. They’re hyperactive, “a tired Australian cattle dog,” the website explained, “is a good Australian cattle dog.” They’re obedient, but they’re always going to see just how far those rules apply. They have a terrible nipping problem since they were bred to herd cows by biting; furthermore, punishment makes them bite harder: good when it’s a stubborn cow, not good with a person. The website said the biting has to be nipped in the bud (sorry, couldn’t resist) and stopped when still puppies. And due to their strong herding instincts, they can be dangerous around cats.
So I called and asked about Beasley. I wanted him as much as my brother, but I couldn’t put Marley in danger. Besides, I wanted to know about his history: why was he given up? Was Beasley the name they gave him, or was it the name he answered to? (I didn’t want to keep Beasley, but if that name was his puppy name, I would have to be close to it. For example, a six month old we got as a puppy had been called Shorty, so we named her Courtney. In this case, I would name him Paisley, from Brad Paisley. Not my favorite name, but better than Beasley).
The phone call did not go well.
I learned that Beasley had been at this shelter for three months, having come neutered from the pound. The pound only has to hold him long enough for period required, then they can be adopted or put to sleep; the pound doesn’t neuter, so that must have been his old family.
I asked about his age, and they said “well remember it’s an estimate, but yeah I’d say he’s a young adult.” Remember this, please.
I asked about his biting and she said “I’ve never seen that.” This shocked me: I had only seen him a few hours and I’d seen him bite. Did she not observe her own dogs? This was a shelter I admire: surely like the ASPCA shown on Animal Planet, they tested all of their animals?
I then asked about the cats, since some had been labels, saying that the website said they can be cat killers. She was shocked and said that remember the breed is a guess and besides, he was pretty laid back and she didn’t think he would be a killer.
The website for the shelter recommends that you bring in your own pets to make sure they get along. So when I volunteered the next week, my family brought Shadow and Bo and stopped to buy a new collar and leash.
I walked Beasley again and a couple gave him treats and he went under a different person’s legs. I had filled out the form and was able to get him though I was surprised she didn’t call my vet.
I asked about the cat test. “Oh yeah I think I tested him after you called…yeah I think he did well.”
Think?! I didn’t like that, so I asked my mom to ask for a test while we watched.
On the ride over, my brother had gone over names. Now I had recently shown him my old tape of a favorite show, and so my brother decided on the name Sprx. I asked him about the spelling and he decided to use the show’s spelling. Personally I would have preferred Eagle or Antauri, from the same show from his coloring; but he was my brother’s, not mine. So Sprx it would be if he cleared. (Heheh I think only Night Bear will get what show I’m talking about with Sprx and Antauri ^^).
This looks like a good part to give his descriptions (I’ve been looking for a place to whole time). Sprx has a huge head, bulging with muscles on his jaws, cheeks, hind legs, and shoulders. The muzzle is slim and shorter than his skull, with his ears large, stand up and roughly the length of his skull. The torso is short but the shorts legs and little round paws make him long longer. The tail is almost as long as his torso and curls over his back. The coloring is black. From where his throat starts after his lower jaw joins his over his chest there’s a silvery mark and a few hairs on some of his paws and the very tip of his tail. The eyes are a warm brown. The fur on Sprx’s neck scruffs up. (By contrast, Bo has a look muzzle, a sleek skull, and a long greyhound shaped body with a huge deep chest and small hips and a long tail. The legs are very long and skinny. The ears are shaped like a Manchester terrier’s, with a pure white mark from his throat, followed by a tornado shaped pure patch on his throat and chest with white tipped toes. Shadow’s a purebred golden retriever).
All four of the kennel ran out again when I got Beasley, he jumped like a fish when I held his collar, though with mouth closed. The people recommended that I bring Sprx into the room with Shadow and Bo. There was an older woman there who told me that Jack had been adopted and returned.
So anywho, I brought in Sprx. Bo ignored him and swiftly, when Sprx got too close, let him know to leave him alone. Sprx lay down, tongue out and happy to sit with my family.
Now for the cat test, they brought in a cat and held it. They assured us that as long as Sprx didn’t try to get their cat why Sprx would be fine. Sprx stared intently, but didn’t try to spring. I had never seen a cat test on TV; was this how it was done?
My mom did note something. They were telling us Sprx was three years old, but my Mom said she had never seen a three year old with teeth that white.
So we took Sprx out to the car, now with Sprx’s papers, a bag of food, and a DVD on training. Sprx hoped in too soon and so we tried to get him back out so Shadow and Bo could get in but Sprx wouldn’t budge. Sprx did not want back out this time.
So finally we went home, with Sprx sniffing Shadow’s fur and enjoying the ride. It was when in the yard that Shadow started getting annoyed with Sprx; Sprx insisted on playing rough and biting her legs. Was he aggressive? Was he playing?
When we brought Sprx in, he ran all around the house. But he was stunned by such normal household sounds: the sound of an alarm clock, the sound of a water kettle, sirens, having people talk to him, heck even the sound of the toilet flushing! The person in charge agreed that Sprx likely hadn’t been in a house before. That first evening, Sprx was laying on the futon and looked around, ears up, like he couldn’t believe he had a home. The next morning, Sprx was so happy he greeted us all by jumping on while were sleeping.
If only I can end it there, but things weren’t well. Sprx was incessantly chewing and biting our hands. Worst, he would bite and latch on when we tried things back off and picking fights with Shadow.
This wasn’t safe. A three-year-old biting like that is aggressive and would take months, if years, to be safe. We couldn’t trust him.
But my Mom said that she didn’t think Sprx was three years old. The way Sprx walked around with his mouth open, the way when he did bite he crammed it as far back into his mouth as it could go that was the way a puppy acted, not an adult.
(This would explain something I had wondered about: he would constantly fight Shadow, and I had thought that he wanted to be ranked above her. But Shadow finally stopped running to us and reared on her hind legs and struck Sprx with her forelegs. Sprx had laid down looking heart broken. This, and how he always happy, made me think that for Sprx, at least, it was play, not a fight).
It had been a week and that’s what it relied on. I admit, the biting got me mad, but I would the thought of bringing him back. I’d miss him forever and would always regret it. Mom said she couldn’t stand the thought of Sprx put to sleep and never could I or anyone else in my family. But Sprx, since he was black (black dogs and cats have a difficult time getting adopted) and had been returned once, how would he be able to find a family? I know I shied from Jack since Jack had been returned.
But a biting three-year-old is aggressive and too dangerous for us: we don’t have the resources, training, or housing to try and make an aggressive adult safe enough to be around the children in our neighborhood. A biting year old isn’t aggressive, but nipping and still young enough to learn.
It all depended on age. And so we decided to go to our vet. This vet had treated my parents’ dogs before I was born and in fact had been the one who took care of Watson. We could trust him.
I rushed home from school and took Sprx in the car. It was the same car I had taken him and Sprx was scared, sitting close with mouth shut and ears back. But I had forgotten my notes and had to go back. Sprx then started to enjoy the ride, ears up and tongue out.
The tech and vet helped bring Sprx back. “How old is he?” the vet asked.
“That’s what we need to ask you about,” I said.
The vet had muzzled Sprx and pulling back his lips before jerking back. “There’s no way this dog is three years old; he’s a year at best.”
“Oh good,” I said.
“One year is a lot better than three huh?” said the vet.
“Yes,” I agreed.
The vet did not like the biting either. But my mom called him and the vet repeated Sprx’s age. What’s more there was hope for him, for he was still young. We would have to puppy proof our house. “You guys haven’t had a puppy in a long time,” the vet added.
So we put things away. One problem I had was that it was hard to stop him without choking him, since his collar was the only thing we could grab. So I bought a harness and love it: it stops Sprx, but doesn’t hurt him.
In addition, following the recommendation of the Australian cattle dog website, we got crates to put him in when he was biting and took out the old spray bottle when needed. (The spray had previously served for our hermit crabs, followed by teaching Marley to avoid the Christmas tree).
Ah how hard it was for Sprx. For a while he would hold his mouth open near us, crying constantly. But for a while Sprx was well behaved (Christmas was hard though). The little teeth we had seen before are now big.
Recently Sprx had started biting again, but when I looked in his mouth, there are two little teeth coming in on both jaws. Poor Sprx; he loves it when we give him ice to chew.
Shadow’s been very jealous of Sprx, constantly taken his bones and toys (we’ve had these toys for years and Shadow had never touched them). I’m not surprised; she was jealous of Marley too.
Ah Marley! That first day, Marley wouldn’t come out of the basement, in fact, she wouldn’t move from her favorite box and Sprx kept smelling her as he walked by. We finally got her up but Sprx had become convinced that Marley needed to be kept on that particular box. Sprx would constantly check to make sure she was down there and only then would he relax. Finally, we’ve managed to get her up but to this day Sprx is still happiest when she’s contained. Though he snaps at her mostly he just follows her and stares at her; every movement matches the herding Australian cattle dogs on YouTube. Marley, for her part, only get uncomfortable when he gets too close.
Poor Shadow’s started acting old ever since we got Sprx: she’s not as bouncy as she was. The same thing happened to Watson when we got Bo and Bo when we got Shadow.
Poor Bo’s gotten so grumpy and snaps at Sprx just for walking past. But he has cataracts and we recently found out after he had already gotten Sprx, a heart murmur (he had been choking on the walks). I think he always had it since he’s always occasionally mad that sound.
And so we now have three in our pack, plus a cat. Slowly, Sprx is learning how to be a house pet. Soon Sprx will be able to join the ranks of all of our well-behaved house pets.
But still, I’m so disappointed at the shelter. Saying a dog is five years old when it’s really three years old or vice versa isn’t a big difference; saying a dog is three years old when it’s one year old is. And worst, we’ve encounter two people since who, having gotten pets from the same shelter, had the same thing happen to them with the age not just off, but terribly off. In one case, the woman returned the puppy they had said was an adult; she didn’t want a puppy and would never have taken it had she known it was a puppy. Worst, I think Sprx must have ad a terrible time of it, teething without anything to chew on in a cage with adults. But what good does it do to lie? It’s the pet who pays for it, since that’s something that will come out regardless.
Ah well. I’ll never regret Sprx. My brother loves him and everybody loves him; and Sprx is so happy. Every time we leave, his ears go back and he acts sad; every time he gets happy when we’re home. Even Shadow and Bo aren’t as clingy as he is.
Sprx has his forever home.
Ah what I rough time I had the past few months. My depression and anxiety were worst than before. If it weren’t for my mom, my second cousin and especially my old teacher, I would still be unable to come on. Thanks guys, I really owe you.
The school was worst than I’ve ever had: I got a d, a grade I’ve never gotten before in my life.
And now, the flipping computer won’t load the AaaB boards. D: My internet’s been acting up for a while now, so I’m not surprised. I can see the boards through Internet Archive, but I can’t get on.
And then this week my Grandfather went into the hospital. They said he had tried to get up and cut his finger at midnight, six hours later the finger was still bleeding. It looks horrible: it looks like the skin was torn off. My Mom thinks it got caught in wheel.
Then my mom dislocated her shoulder. She can’t use her arm at all and now we don’t know what to do, since we need to check on my grandpa but it won’t help for him to see my mom in a sling.
But not all of the events were sad.
I’ve decided I’d like to be a vet technician but I’ll need some experience first. (Plus it will help if I want to get an internship at the nearby zoo). So I’ve been volunteering at a nearby shelter. My first day there, I helped clean the kennels, clean the bowls, and feed the dogs. But my favorite part was after that: we could walk anyone we wanted. I walked Crystal, a border collie mix whose roommate was out. She was well behaved although she didn’t respond much to me.
After I had walked her around I wanted to walk Jack, a sable-brown German shepherd Shetland sheepdog mix. But Jack had four dogs in his kennel: Jack, a black German shepherd called Marshall, a three legged pug beagle mix called Ihop, and a black Australian cattle dog called Beasley. I asked for help to get Jack out, but Ihop and Beasley made a break for it. I was able to grab Ihop but Beasley made it to the door.
The person dragged Beasley back and suggested I take him instead. I didn’t really want to, but I agreed and went out. Beasley was strong and kept pulling on the leash.
When I got him outside I had trouble with Beasley pulling and wondered if I should go back and ask for a harness. So I started stopping when Beasley pulled, only walking when he stopped pulling; and he started obeying. Beasley’s tail wagged whenever I told him he was smart and a good boy.
We had walked for a bit when I patted his side, careful to stay away from his head. Beasley looked at me and then stood against me, letting me rub and his neck and sides. I started to run with him.
Beasley looked at me and suddenly jumped and grabbed the leash in his mouth and started shaking. I froze. Why was Beasley doing this? Was he throwing a temper tantrum? Was he aggressive? I ran again and he did the same.
Now my family was coming to pick me up so I kept Beasley out longer. A woman gave him a piece of bacon and Beasley laid under my chair.
Beasley lay with his forelegs in sphinx position, but his hind legs straight out behind him like he was in a jump. I have only seen one dog lay like that: my uncle’s black dog, Shelby. In Albert Payson Terhune’s Buff: A Collie, the ¾ rough collie ¼ pit bull hero Buff, shows his pit bull blood, despite how much he looks likes a collie by laying with hind legs out.
When my family arrived, I wanted to show them Beasley. When they were there, Beasley reared on his legs and put his forepaws on my brother’s shoulders, tail wagging. Then he pulled toward the car. I thought he wanted to se my mom but she pointed out that Beasley thought he was going in the car. Poor Beasley wasn’t happy to be brought back.
On the ride home, my brother was quiet. When I asked why, he said he missed Beasley.
For a while, my brother had wanted a dog he could play with. Bo, at then 13, is too old and, having been abused as a puppy, timid. Shadow, approaching her 7th birthday, doesn’t like to play: she gets scared whenever we tried to play fetch. And of course Marley is a cat and only wants to play when she wants too.
Well, after checking up on licenses and costs and a week’s worth of working on my Dad (complete with help from my friends), we went back to get him.
Now the next day I had seen him in the evening; and Beasley was being attacked. Marshall, who he played with previously, and Jack had him pinned on his back and were still biting him. They got out and when I grabbed Beasley, he looked at me and stopped running, like he was saying, “Oh I know you. I can trust you.” It broke my heart putting him back.
Still, I was worried. When one of the volunteers tried to take a blanket from him, he snapped at her. Was he playing? Was he aggressive?
I researched Australian cattle dogs and found that they are loyal, always wanted to be with you. They’re hyperactive, “a tired Australian cattle dog,” the website explained, “is a good Australian cattle dog.” They’re obedient, but they’re always going to see just how far those rules apply. They have a terrible nipping problem since they were bred to herd cows by biting; furthermore, punishment makes them bite harder: good when it’s a stubborn cow, not good with a person. The website said the biting has to be nipped in the bud (sorry, couldn’t resist) and stopped when still puppies. And due to their strong herding instincts, they can be dangerous around cats.
So I called and asked about Beasley. I wanted him as much as my brother, but I couldn’t put Marley in danger. Besides, I wanted to know about his history: why was he given up? Was Beasley the name they gave him, or was it the name he answered to? (I didn’t want to keep Beasley, but if that name was his puppy name, I would have to be close to it. For example, a six month old we got as a puppy had been called Shorty, so we named her Courtney. In this case, I would name him Paisley, from Brad Paisley. Not my favorite name, but better than Beasley).
The phone call did not go well.
I learned that Beasley had been at this shelter for three months, having come neutered from the pound. The pound only has to hold him long enough for period required, then they can be adopted or put to sleep; the pound doesn’t neuter, so that must have been his old family.
I asked about his age, and they said “well remember it’s an estimate, but yeah I’d say he’s a young adult.” Remember this, please.
I asked about his biting and she said “I’ve never seen that.” This shocked me: I had only seen him a few hours and I’d seen him bite. Did she not observe her own dogs? This was a shelter I admire: surely like the ASPCA shown on Animal Planet, they tested all of their animals?
I then asked about the cats, since some had been labels, saying that the website said they can be cat killers. She was shocked and said that remember the breed is a guess and besides, he was pretty laid back and she didn’t think he would be a killer.
The website for the shelter recommends that you bring in your own pets to make sure they get along. So when I volunteered the next week, my family brought Shadow and Bo and stopped to buy a new collar and leash.
I walked Beasley again and a couple gave him treats and he went under a different person’s legs. I had filled out the form and was able to get him though I was surprised she didn’t call my vet.
I asked about the cat test. “Oh yeah I think I tested him after you called…yeah I think he did well.”
Think?! I didn’t like that, so I asked my mom to ask for a test while we watched.
On the ride over, my brother had gone over names. Now I had recently shown him my old tape of a favorite show, and so my brother decided on the name Sprx. I asked him about the spelling and he decided to use the show’s spelling. Personally I would have preferred Eagle or Antauri, from the same show from his coloring; but he was my brother’s, not mine. So Sprx it would be if he cleared. (Heheh I think only Night Bear will get what show I’m talking about with Sprx and Antauri ^^).
This looks like a good part to give his descriptions (I’ve been looking for a place to whole time). Sprx has a huge head, bulging with muscles on his jaws, cheeks, hind legs, and shoulders. The muzzle is slim and shorter than his skull, with his ears large, stand up and roughly the length of his skull. The torso is short but the shorts legs and little round paws make him long longer. The tail is almost as long as his torso and curls over his back. The coloring is black. From where his throat starts after his lower jaw joins his over his chest there’s a silvery mark and a few hairs on some of his paws and the very tip of his tail. The eyes are a warm brown. The fur on Sprx’s neck scruffs up. (By contrast, Bo has a look muzzle, a sleek skull, and a long greyhound shaped body with a huge deep chest and small hips and a long tail. The legs are very long and skinny. The ears are shaped like a Manchester terrier’s, with a pure white mark from his throat, followed by a tornado shaped pure patch on his throat and chest with white tipped toes. Shadow’s a purebred golden retriever).
All four of the kennel ran out again when I got Beasley, he jumped like a fish when I held his collar, though with mouth closed. The people recommended that I bring Sprx into the room with Shadow and Bo. There was an older woman there who told me that Jack had been adopted and returned.
So anywho, I brought in Sprx. Bo ignored him and swiftly, when Sprx got too close, let him know to leave him alone. Sprx lay down, tongue out and happy to sit with my family.
Now for the cat test, they brought in a cat and held it. They assured us that as long as Sprx didn’t try to get their cat why Sprx would be fine. Sprx stared intently, but didn’t try to spring. I had never seen a cat test on TV; was this how it was done?
My mom did note something. They were telling us Sprx was three years old, but my Mom said she had never seen a three year old with teeth that white.
So we took Sprx out to the car, now with Sprx’s papers, a bag of food, and a DVD on training. Sprx hoped in too soon and so we tried to get him back out so Shadow and Bo could get in but Sprx wouldn’t budge. Sprx did not want back out this time.
So finally we went home, with Sprx sniffing Shadow’s fur and enjoying the ride. It was when in the yard that Shadow started getting annoyed with Sprx; Sprx insisted on playing rough and biting her legs. Was he aggressive? Was he playing?
When we brought Sprx in, he ran all around the house. But he was stunned by such normal household sounds: the sound of an alarm clock, the sound of a water kettle, sirens, having people talk to him, heck even the sound of the toilet flushing! The person in charge agreed that Sprx likely hadn’t been in a house before. That first evening, Sprx was laying on the futon and looked around, ears up, like he couldn’t believe he had a home. The next morning, Sprx was so happy he greeted us all by jumping on while were sleeping.
If only I can end it there, but things weren’t well. Sprx was incessantly chewing and biting our hands. Worst, he would bite and latch on when we tried things back off and picking fights with Shadow.
This wasn’t safe. A three-year-old biting like that is aggressive and would take months, if years, to be safe. We couldn’t trust him.
But my Mom said that she didn’t think Sprx was three years old. The way Sprx walked around with his mouth open, the way when he did bite he crammed it as far back into his mouth as it could go that was the way a puppy acted, not an adult.
(This would explain something I had wondered about: he would constantly fight Shadow, and I had thought that he wanted to be ranked above her. But Shadow finally stopped running to us and reared on her hind legs and struck Sprx with her forelegs. Sprx had laid down looking heart broken. This, and how he always happy, made me think that for Sprx, at least, it was play, not a fight).
It had been a week and that’s what it relied on. I admit, the biting got me mad, but I would the thought of bringing him back. I’d miss him forever and would always regret it. Mom said she couldn’t stand the thought of Sprx put to sleep and never could I or anyone else in my family. But Sprx, since he was black (black dogs and cats have a difficult time getting adopted) and had been returned once, how would he be able to find a family? I know I shied from Jack since Jack had been returned.
But a biting three-year-old is aggressive and too dangerous for us: we don’t have the resources, training, or housing to try and make an aggressive adult safe enough to be around the children in our neighborhood. A biting year old isn’t aggressive, but nipping and still young enough to learn.
It all depended on age. And so we decided to go to our vet. This vet had treated my parents’ dogs before I was born and in fact had been the one who took care of Watson. We could trust him.
I rushed home from school and took Sprx in the car. It was the same car I had taken him and Sprx was scared, sitting close with mouth shut and ears back. But I had forgotten my notes and had to go back. Sprx then started to enjoy the ride, ears up and tongue out.
The tech and vet helped bring Sprx back. “How old is he?” the vet asked.
“That’s what we need to ask you about,” I said.
The vet had muzzled Sprx and pulling back his lips before jerking back. “There’s no way this dog is three years old; he’s a year at best.”
“Oh good,” I said.
“One year is a lot better than three huh?” said the vet.
“Yes,” I agreed.
The vet did not like the biting either. But my mom called him and the vet repeated Sprx’s age. What’s more there was hope for him, for he was still young. We would have to puppy proof our house. “You guys haven’t had a puppy in a long time,” the vet added.
So we put things away. One problem I had was that it was hard to stop him without choking him, since his collar was the only thing we could grab. So I bought a harness and love it: it stops Sprx, but doesn’t hurt him.
In addition, following the recommendation of the Australian cattle dog website, we got crates to put him in when he was biting and took out the old spray bottle when needed. (The spray had previously served for our hermit crabs, followed by teaching Marley to avoid the Christmas tree).
Ah how hard it was for Sprx. For a while he would hold his mouth open near us, crying constantly. But for a while Sprx was well behaved (Christmas was hard though). The little teeth we had seen before are now big.
Recently Sprx had started biting again, but when I looked in his mouth, there are two little teeth coming in on both jaws. Poor Sprx; he loves it when we give him ice to chew.
Shadow’s been very jealous of Sprx, constantly taken his bones and toys (we’ve had these toys for years and Shadow had never touched them). I’m not surprised; she was jealous of Marley too.
Ah Marley! That first day, Marley wouldn’t come out of the basement, in fact, she wouldn’t move from her favorite box and Sprx kept smelling her as he walked by. We finally got her up but Sprx had become convinced that Marley needed to be kept on that particular box. Sprx would constantly check to make sure she was down there and only then would he relax. Finally, we’ve managed to get her up but to this day Sprx is still happiest when she’s contained. Though he snaps at her mostly he just follows her and stares at her; every movement matches the herding Australian cattle dogs on YouTube. Marley, for her part, only get uncomfortable when he gets too close.
Poor Shadow’s started acting old ever since we got Sprx: she’s not as bouncy as she was. The same thing happened to Watson when we got Bo and Bo when we got Shadow.
Poor Bo’s gotten so grumpy and snaps at Sprx just for walking past. But he has cataracts and we recently found out after he had already gotten Sprx, a heart murmur (he had been choking on the walks). I think he always had it since he’s always occasionally mad that sound.
And so we now have three in our pack, plus a cat. Slowly, Sprx is learning how to be a house pet. Soon Sprx will be able to join the ranks of all of our well-behaved house pets.
But still, I’m so disappointed at the shelter. Saying a dog is five years old when it’s really three years old or vice versa isn’t a big difference; saying a dog is three years old when it’s one year old is. And worst, we’ve encounter two people since who, having gotten pets from the same shelter, had the same thing happen to them with the age not just off, but terribly off. In one case, the woman returned the puppy they had said was an adult; she didn’t want a puppy and would never have taken it had she known it was a puppy. Worst, I think Sprx must have ad a terrible time of it, teething without anything to chew on in a cage with adults. But what good does it do to lie? It’s the pet who pays for it, since that’s something that will come out regardless.
Ah well. I’ll never regret Sprx. My brother loves him and everybody loves him; and Sprx is so happy. Every time we leave, his ears go back and he acts sad; every time he gets happy when we’re home. Even Shadow and Bo aren’t as clingy as he is.
Sprx has his forever home.