And Then Came Charlie – Revisited
“If Charlie can do it, any dog can”
A true life short story with a mystery – by Steven N. Veigel December 10, 2020
As I understand it, in the spring of 2010 a woman spotted a white male dog trying to navigate a four lane highway. Worried that the dog would be killed by an oncoming car she somehow managed to lure him into the back of her vehicle by enticing him with food. The dog had “T3” painted on his sides. He was filthy, starving, had bite scars on his face and a split ear.
Having owned dogs all of our adult lives my wife, Jenny, and I spent the last few years learning some things about dog behavior and we thought we were doing pretty good. We had a Beagle-Terrier mix named Casey and a Red Bassett hound named Millie. Then we took on a pure bred show Beagle who didn’t want to participate in dog shows, named August. August was fearful of anything that moved and would urinate if something scared her. But we helped her get through all of that.
Eventually we would adopt a beautiful white long haired male named “Squish” from a local “No Kill Shelter” who we promptly renamed “Sammy”. I don’t know what Sammy’s breed was I just knew he was starving and sick. He had to have eight teeth removed to save his infected jaw and he had inoperable thyroid cancer which presented a lump on his neck the size of a baseball. We knew when we got Sammy he could die any day, but we decided that every day he was with us we were going to give him our love and care.
Then it happened. Sammy, who had been with us only 5 months, just couldn’t make it any longer. It took a little time to get over his loss and then we started counting our dogs. It seemed that we had room for one more and only right that it should be a dog that was disadvantaged. After all, we can handle it. We believed that we could deal with any dog that just needed a home. And… then came Charlie.
1: Open Arms
It’s ok. We’ve done this before.
With the memory of Sammy still firm in our hearts Jenny sent me an email with this picture of a dejected looking floppy eared dog in the back of this woman’s vehicle. From the picture it seemed like a small dog. I of course write back, “Let’s pick him up,” and from the picture we immediately name him “Charlie”.
Jenny then takes the picture to the pound on the first day Charlie arrives and says, “I want to see this dog.” To which she is told only the owner can see the dog for the first week. But my wife is not deterred. She visits the pound every other day just to make sure the people there understand that Charlie already has a home waiting. We want to make sure nothing happens to him. Then finally, the following Friday – since no one claimed him and in part due to our persistence – he was released into her custody.
In expert fashion, as she brings Charlie home, she first walks Charlie around the circle where we live to get him familiar with the neighborhood and then into the back yard. Then she lets him sniff around the yard and only then introduces him to the girls. Very professional. But, it didn’t quite turn out as smooth as this sounds.
Now I arrive on the scene. I’ve been looking forward all day to welcoming our new underprivileged arrival into our pack. I’ve been anxious to give him my love and kindness, a full meal and a cozy place to sleep. What a wonderful occasion. But knowing my wife to be good with dogs I’m a bit surprised to see that the girls are in the house instead of outside with the new dog. As I step out onto the patio anxious to see our new arrival I’m met with an anticlimactic atmosphere. Then I see my wife has an unusually worried, rather frazzled look on her face.
In the yard is this short haired tall spindly legged dirty white animal with a big “T3” painted on both sides running back and forth at high speed barking at us. He stops for a moment, staring at me. Then I move and apparently seeing me as a threat he again starts his running and constantly barking.
Next my wife imparts a tale of struggling with the dog just to walk him around our circle. She continues with an account of the struggle to get the girls in the house when Charlie nipped at them. Last of all she laments that she can’t get near him; neither can I. Then she says with a rather distraught tone in her voice, “We made a big mistake here. This is a high energy dog. We can’t handle this dog. This dog is not going to fit in with our pack.”
Now, for those of you who don’t know, Charlie is an American foxhound and this animal is a long legged breed about 25 inches at the shoulder. And, as I observed, they can run like a cheetah and pivot on a dime. Apparently George Washington was looking to create a breed from the Trigg and Goodman strains of Foxhounds. The goal was to create “a superior dog, one that had speed, sense and brains.”
According to the information I later found on some breeder web sites American foxhounds are very loving animals, great with children, and gentle by nature. But they can be difficult to train because they tend to turn everything into a game.
Just what I need, right? A tall speedy stressed out hound with his own ideas about how to play this. No doubt they are fine animals. But Charlie didn’t apparently grow up with a lot of human contact. From the bite scars on his face I surmised there was some competition over food or territory and he probably grew up in a kennel until it was time to hunt. Perhaps that was when he ran away or got separated from the pack. And the big “T3” spray painted on his sides? That was curious. But if he was some sort of a hunt club dog I surmised T3 might mean “Tracker 3”.
Whatever happened to Charlie he was now in a constant state of anxiety. Instead of a dog who found a new home he was more like a terrified trapped animal looking for a way out. And as I watched and listened to my wife’s concerns I really think I was starting a little prayer, because all I could say was, “Oh.. my.. God.”
2: Welcome Home Charlie
Getting to know your new pet.
As I watched Charlie in the yard I didn’t really feel like he was a threat. He ran back and forth barking at us avoiding contact, of course. He definitely didn’t want us to catch him, but he was in a panic, not attacking. When he “nipped at the girls” he didn’t hurt them, he just warned them to keep away.
At this point there didn’t seem to be many choices. It was going to be dark soon and we couldn’t just leave Charlie out there to bark all night. Whatever we were going to do he was our problem for now. And frankly, though some would say I was not being very realistic about this, I was at least going to try to do something.
I don’t remember how we actually managed to catch Charlie. There was a great deal of running and eventual success. I remember he balked when he started to go through the door frame of the house, that he almost tripped me trying to back out, as if avoiding a trap. But most of all I remember us experiencing surprise and amazement as Charlie, once inside and off-the leash, leaped on top of the antique roll top desk and stood there for a moment balanced on the curvature of the closure.
The girls (the other 3 dogs) kept their distance with anxious postures as Charlie ran barking from room to room. So I told my wife to take the girls upstairs to bed and there we were. Me sitting on the floor watching TV and Charlie lying on the floor of the dark kitchen staring at me. He looked like some wild animal leering out of the darkness ready to take me on. Chin on the floor between his long spindly legs, penetrating eyes evaluating my every mood and movement. And every time I moved my hand he’d rise with a jolt and bark at me.
So, now what do I do? This dog was terrified of people. Not what you’d expect from a hunt club dog. I could just see Charlie’s wheels turning. As if Charlie was thinking, “It’s either him or me now.” So, in typical amateurish fashion, I got a package of cheese hot dogs, sat on the floor and watched TV. Every once in a while I’d break off a piece of hot dog and toss it, each time a little closer to me. Something I think I saw in a movie or two. But Charlie wasn’t buying it. Each time Charlie would cautiously approach, snatch it up and dash back to the dark kitchen.
This was not working. After a couple of hours we were really not making any progress. Enough was enough. Charlie was going to have to deal with his anxiety. I walked towards Charlie and he bolted. I kept out maneuvering him and eventually cornered him in the downstairs bathroom where I clipped a leash on him. Then I pulled him close and made him stand there while I gently stroked his face. Charlie was shaking.
For the rest of the morning, leash in hand, occasionally stroking him, if I went to make coffee, Charlie had to come with me, if I went to watch TV, Charlie came with me. And by noon the next day, low and behold, Charlie was my best buddy. That is, he would timidly permit me to approach; most of the time.
3: The Challenge
No. I never did this before.
When you have a situation like this it is best not to just sit and let it fester. It was daylight now and we really needed to get a good look at Charlie. The girls were in the backyard and Charlie takes to them. Especially Millie, the Basset Hound. He would sniff Millie’s ear and go into a trance (delicately put, he stood there having an orgasm – which I had never thought possible). Maybe he’s going to be alright, I’m thinking optimistically. I made a little progress with him last night.
Then a car goes by, or someone’s talking in the distance and that sets Charlie off. He runs a line in front of the females, barks and nips at their face as if to say, “Stay here, I’ll take care of it”. They yelp and cower. We react, “No!” Then he runs out jumping up on one of the two barrel composters in the back corners of the yard and barks wildly out toward the neighborhood park behind us. He was protecting them! He was making them back up while he confronted the perceived danger.
As we get to know Charlie we realize everything sets him off. People walking down the street, people walking dogs, vehicles going by, a door closing, the sound of a trash can lid, noises on a TV set, all spiriting him to constantly bark as if he’s facing a mortal enemy. Every muscle in his body engaged in some terrible fierce encounter.
As I try to correct and calm Charlie down in the yard I’m now noticing something else about Charlie (other than I’m failing miserably). Domestic dogs frequently watch your facial expressions, your body language and listen to your tone of voice to help them interpret their relationship with you and what you want. Charlie on the other hand won’t even look at my figure, let alone my eyes. Everywhere I move he shifts his glance away from me. If I move into his line of sight he steps to see around me. And then he’s off barking again.
Ok, so two things here:
1]: With multiple dogs in our house every dog has their own separate location to eat in the kitchen. We placed Charlie’s bowl furthest from the others where we could watch him. Charlie would very cautiously approach, start to eat and then suddenly back away if we moved, before trying again to approach the bowl. An aggressive dog guards the food. They suddenly stand still if you approach their bowl. And then, if you don’t back away, they will growl with their face still in the bowl. Charlie was really hungry, but he was not going to get into a conflict.
2]: Though Charlie wildly barked and made the other dogs nervous and standoff, though he barked at us defensively, he never actually attacked anyone. Never really tried to bite anyone.
So even though Charlie was totally out of control, I’m seeing a good soul here. I saw progress that first night. I identified with whatever his terror was that made him that way. And we were going to protect him. Charlie was home. He wasn’t going anywhere. But it was made perfectly clear. The dogs were my responsibility. Especially Charlie.
4: Walking the dogs?
It was still the morning of day one after Charlie arrived. I had been up all night with Charlie and we’re still in the back yard. Jenny looked at me and said, “If we’re going to help this dog we’ve got to get him out for a walk with the pack now. The sooner he starts to learn how to be a dog the better.” Not having any sleep yet I really didn’t want to hear that. Especially knowing she meant what we call the “mile walk”. But she made a point I couldn’t find any fault with.
Did I mention here, we first had to get Charlie in the house to get everyone ready for the walk? It wasn’t as bad as the first time, but he really didn’t feel right about going in a house and he wasn’t going to let me just walk up and grab his collar. You may assume therefore that if I say “Charlie was in the house” it was because I finally got near him and either gently pulled him in by his collar or attached a leash.
Ok, so, Jenny’s at the door with the girls, I’m behind them with Charlie. All the dogs are on leashes. Charlie is dancing around trying to run back and forth against the leash in the narrow hallway and stepping over the girls as if he didn’t even notice they were there. We are trying to get everyone to sit while the door opens, but Charlie will have nothing to do with it. I pull back on the leash and press on his hind quarters trying to calmly direct him into a sitting position. Charlie sits for a second and then starts prancing about again. I try again and again but Charlie spreads his legs and goes rigid. I give him a poke to break his concentration but that only makes him leap and become more defiant and anxious. So we just get them out as best we can and get the walk started.
Jenny is in front walking the girls like a training video and I am in the back with Charlie tugging, barking and dancing about. I stop, change directions, swing my foot around behind me and bump him in the rear trying to surprise him and get him to pay attention. We stop and take a deep breath trying to refocus a sense of calm. I try to get him to sit for a time out but Charlie is totally defiant and intently focused on where he wants to go. And of course, Jenny is full of advice and I’m just about at the end of my wits.
Then we continue on and Charlie darts 90 degrees in front of me, trips me, darts back, pulling me and we both fall into the street. The rest of the way Charlie did nothing but fight me to track every other animal that walked that route before him.
Normally, when our hounds get to tracking too much, we go out in the street – where it is safe to do so – to break the scent and usually get good results. But not Charlie. Charlie, I believe, would let that collar choke him to death before he’d give up a scent. On one walk I was tired of fighting him and just let him track. It was almost comical to watch his long gangly legs sprawling everywhere while he was trying to keep his nose to the ground. He was so intent on tracking, I assume another dog, he walked by within 4 feet of a rabbit we surprised in a neighbors’ yard and never even glanced or broke stride.
Oh yes, Charlie was a new experience at every turn. If Charlie saw another dog on a walk he would start a high pitched yelp and stand on his hind legs, pulling against the leash. He’d go into a panic and bite at the leash, nip at your legs or the girls, whichever was close in the moment. Try to turn him around, even using your body as leverage to point him in the right direction, Charlie would manage to leap, sometimes just on two legs, turn and out maneuver you in every way possible. So, pull as you may, just hang on because if Charlie saw another dog he would walk half a city block backwards on his hind legs barking the entire time.
5: The Old Man and the Bicycle
After returning from our first walk with Charlie and not willing to give up yet, we decided that the next attempt would be the bicycle. Give him a good run before we walk him and let him expend some of his pent up frustration.
Now, I was 58 years old at the time. I had not been on a bicycle much since I was a kid. So here I am on my wife’s “girl’s bike” riding around our circle trying to make sure I still had the skill to do so. I go and leash Charlie. I walk him around the bike and let him sniff it. I ride with him trotting beside me just a little in the circle to see how he’ll do. Then we’re off around the corner.
I want to tell you that it was a thrill to see that long legged hound run. We picked up the pace, he stretched out and I could almost see a smile on his face. This was going to work, I thought with a sense of relief. And then, Charlie sped up, made a 90 degree turn in front of the bicycle, I slammed on the brakes, Charlie darted back pulling me down, I hunched over trying to protect him from the fall and we ended up, once again, in a pile.
As I limped home with the bike and Charlie in hand to tell my wife what had happened, I met my son David at the house. David was not deterred. He was inspired! He pulled his roller skates out of the trunk of his car and Charlie took him for the ride of his life; thoroughly embarrassing his father’s attempt of course. And it could have been a success story right there. But now it was time for Charlie to see Dr. Marie Deavers, our veterinarian.
6: Bad News
As if Charlie didn’t have enough issues, on the way to Dr. Deavers’ office, and any destination thereafter, I now observed that Charlie did not like to ride in a car. The foxhound is not a breed known for drooling but in the car Charlie’s mouth was like a fountain (an anxiety reaction). By the time we drove four minutes to arrive at our destination the car door and the dash looked like someone had opened a bottle of water and poured it all over everything. I thought about the bite scars on his face and his incessant barking and wondered what on earth had this animal been through?
At the office Dr. Deavers found that Charlie had hook worms and heart worms. She also found that Charlie’s ears were so packed with dirt that it would be best to finish cleaning them under anesthesia when he came in to be neutered. As I recall I pointed out how the tips of his K9 teeth were worn, but no one really had a response. I suggested maybe he’d been biting at a chain link fence out of anxiety or an attempt to escape. But that idea was just left as a “who knows” proposition.
As time goes on here Charlie kept going on “walks” while the hook worms were treated (with Charlie a walk was a matter of opinion). There was a brief interruption when he was neutered and then a few more attempts at walking him. But now Charlie had to be treated for the heart worms.
For those of you who never had to put a dog through heart worm injections – and those who think heart worm pills are not necessary – let me tell you it is an extremely painful experience for the dog. Heartworms are nasty little devils that live in the dog’s blood stream near and/or in the heart. The treatment is basically a poisonous concoction injected in a high volume and the dog stays kenneled overnight. Then, after a while, you take your dog back to the vet and do it again. Without the treatment, the dog dies.
7: The kennel Approach
Keeping Charlie calm and going to work.
Heart worm treatments were trauma on top of Charlie’s trauma. I would pick him up shaking and drooling, bring him home, lay him on a doggy bed, cover him with a doggy blanket and lay down beside him trying to comfort him. For six months now Charlie was to remain quiet. No running or going on walks and no excitement; yah right. If the heart worm dislodged it would kill him. And if Charlie survived, Charlie being Charlie, it was going to be by the grace of God.
So now what do we do? We had to go to work and Charlie was not to be trusted indoors. We tried to put him in a large Kennel in the house, but despite our attempts to make it friendly, adding toys and the use of pheromone sprays Charlie bent the bars and ate a chunk off the end of the couch. And these were not wide spread low gage bars. I couldn’t bend these bars with my fingers, but he did it with his nose!
To my wife’s credit though, as we stood there looking at the end of the couch he chewed off, she just said calmly, “I never liked that couch.” Later, he just knocked the kennel apart and proceeded to rip up the house. After that it was decided he’d just have to be outdoors when we weren’t home. Heart worms or not, we had to face reality and hope that Charlie didn’t get to running too crazy. During the weekday no one would be in the park out back, so maybe it would be fine.
Fortunately, though I worked 10 hours a day 6 days a week, I was able to work from home frequently where I could limit some of Charlie’s outdoor antics. He seemed to be more manageable if I were in the house with him and all the dogs napped most of the morning anyway. So one day I went upstairs to my office to work. It seemed quiet for some time and then I heard a crash. I ran downstairs and to my horror Charlie had struck once again. This time I was furious!
Charlie had pulled the frying pan off the stove shattering the glass lid all over the kitchen floor. The paper towels were strewn from one room to another, the kitchen chair cushions were in shreds, dining room curtains torn off the rods and a toilet paper ribbon stretched the length of the house. Need I go on?! And I was not going stand for it, other than the fact that I knew that a dog would not mentally associate a correction minutes after the fact. He just would not know what I was upset about. But right or wrong I was undeterred. I clipped the leash on him, tied it to the refrigerator handle and made him watch me clean it up!
With each piece I held it to my body, looked him in the eyes and said, “Mine!” For the first time Charlie was looking in my eyes not knowing what to do. Sometimes I’d look at something and growl, then say, “Mine.” One time I growled like a rabid dog I was so upset and Charlie really wanted to run away. And then, after it was all cleaned up, I calmly let him go. But gave him no affection.
I never hit Charlie. That’s not “discipline” it’s just violence. It would have only made him more afraid of people. I just wanted him to know there was something that had meaning and consequence. Something Charlie could never know running through the woods. But the problem was catching him in the moment, having the opportunity to correct him and have him associate the action with a response. In my frustration other than showing him some kind of dog emotion I had no idea what to do (very unprofessional). But wouldn’t you know it? Charlie started to watch me. And I think it was at that point he actually started looking me in the eyes once in a while.
8: Where There’s a Will There’s a Way
Dividing Charlie’s rehabilitation into 3 parts.
At first figuring Charlie out seemed to be a monumental task. There seemed to be too many issues. But usually that’s an illusion. So I broke Charlie’s issues down into 3 categories or goals. The first was “Waiting for food/taking direction”, the second was “The House” and the third was “Things outside the fence”. We also spoke with our vet about some of the anxiety issues and she recommended that we get Charlie fitted with a “Thunder Shirt”.
A Thunder Shirt isn’t complicated. It’s basically a snug fitting soft cloth with Velcro fasteners that you easily wrap around your dog’s body. It’s based on the concept of swaddling a baby. The dog moves about freely but it’s always there as an extra sense of security.
As soon as we put this on Charlie we noticed some improvement. It wasn’t going to be a cure all, but it absolutely helped.
A: Food Issues:
In our house the dogs are not allowed to jump all over us and jockey for position while we’re preparing their meal. Every dog that comes into the house learns to sit (or lay down) and wait until all the bowls are set in place. This isn’t done for the sake of a cute trick, it’s about establishing some ground rules in a multiple dog environment.
I think it was helpful for Charlie to see what the other dogs did, but Charlie was a little jumpy and anxious. To achieve the goal Jenny and I would team up. One would hold his collar and make him sit while the other was preparing the food. If he lay down and waited we’d let go. If he started nervously prancing around we’d hold up our hand and tell him to wait. If that didn’t work one person was using the hand jester and words to disagree with his behavior while the other took his collar and added a little reinforcement; gently making him sit again.
Eventually Charlie started to realize that the food was regular and that waiting for it was rewarding. He looked forward to it. He even felt confident enough to let me know when it was time for food.
At exactly the same time every morning and evening Charlie would come up to where I was sitting at the table and poke me in the ribs with his nose. Then he stepped back and watched my eyes to see what my reaction would be. If I got up and started gathering food bowls he’d do a happy dance.
After a while I nicknamed Charlie, Fred Astaire (after the mid-20th century dancer). He’d have this awkward moment when he would prance in place with excitement and push in to where I was working. I’d close the food bin, turn around and look at him with my hands on my hips and he would suddenly stop. There was a look about him for a second, as if he was thinking, “Oh yah, I’m supposed to wait.” Then he’d lie down and wait licking his lips over and over with anticipation.
B: The House:
When a dog tears up your house in your absence it’s not really trying to hurt you. Dogs are not vindictive thinkers, that’s a human trait. The dog doesn’t even think about your house as property, that’s a human trait. What is happening in the dog has more to do with anxiety, fear and panic in your absence. The dog depends on you and suddenly feels trapped and alone. It’s lashing out and tearing things up to find some sort of mental distraction to ease that anxiety. On one hand you can’t allow a dog to do that, but on the other hand a little compassion is in order. So if you want to help an animal who doesn’t speak English you don’t just yell at them or hit them. They don’t understand.
For the house issues I would make Charlie, who preferred to stay outdoors, come in and stay in the house so he would have to deal with it under supervision. I’d get him to play with some doggy toys, let him go out to do his business and then make him come back in again. And yes, part of being in the house was to sometimes submit to utter boredom. Life with humans, after all, is rarely perfect.
As I was working from home I’d go out front and around the corner of the house to take a break. Then I’d wait until I could see him looking out the window and walk back in unexpectedly. Every time I went outside I’d take a little longer before I walked back in. I wanted him to think I was gone, get a little anxious and maybe pull a dish cloth or something that wasn’t really important off the counter.
When I suddenly came back in the house it surprised Charlie to see me. I’d be looking at the dish cloth with my hands on my hips saying, “What’s this?!” Then I’d pick it up and say, “Mine!” put my hands on the counter and again say, “Mine!” After telling him what not to do, Charlie retired to the family room to give me distance. But that wasn’t the end of the lesson. To complete the task I piled doggie toys around him, spoke friendly and gave him some affection. This told him what he could do.
Charlie seemed to like the part with the toys. He’d pick each one up while I was handing them out and was content to lay there with them for a couple minutes.
The hardest part with house issues involved my son though. He didn’t like Charlie because Charlie always barked at him when he came down the stairs. But what Charlie experienced was my son’s insistence on coming down the stairs without turning a light on. The stairs would creek one-by-one in the dark. Someone was coming. And then this dark silent figure walked through the hall with indifference toward Charlie’s presence. Charlie went to the dining room and barked at the sound fearfully. “Steve! Do something with that dog!” I’d hear.
“Turn on a light so Charlie can see you,” I told my son. “Stop and try to show him it’s alright”. But my son was frustrated that Charlie wouldn’t respond to him and Charlie was afraid. Each tried just a little and gave up when it didn’t work right away.
This was going to take a while. And I was going to be sitting in the backyard with the dogs a great deal when other dog-indifferent visitors came to the house.
C: Things on the other side of the fence:
Like the house the yard, noise and things on the other side of the fence were about being there and changing the experience. Whether Charlie was barking out the window or over the fence I took advantage of the bond we were creating with each other. The trust he was beginning to give me.
When Charlie was barking at something on the other side of the fence he always jumped up on the composter in the south corner of the yard by the park. So I used that. While he was barking I’d quietly walk toward the fence as if nothing was going on. Charlie looked as if he needed to jump away, but then feeling I wasn’t going to stop him, he kept barking. “What’s going on Charlie?” I asked calmly, just wanting him to hear my voice.
Apparently Charlie liked this. He even seemed to want me there sometimes. Then I started to gently loop my fingers under his collar so he wouldn’t jump down. I even steadied him on the composter and calmed him down.
Then one day, he looked into my eyes, studying me for a minute and gave me a single lick on my face. Just one, but Charlie never did that before. Then he buried his head in my chest and I gave him a big hug. “Knuckle head”, I’d say.
The window of the house was no different. When he started barking out the window I went, got down on his level and just looked out with him. “What do you see Charlie?” I’d ask. And before long it was just “father and son” looking out the window together. Just two friends watching the world go by.
9: Let’s play
Do dogs have a sense of humor?
I think I mentioned that Charlie was smart, speedy and very agile. But one day I think I noticed the proverbial foxhound finally come out. The part where they’re said to be difficult to train because they like to turn everything into a game.
This particular day, after I had been trying to corner him, he suddenly stopped and trotted up to the door. I couldn’t believe it. He was just facing the door like he wanted to go in. I thought we were actually getting somewhere. I walked toward the house and he didn’t move. I got beside him and he was just waiting. As I reached for the door and his collar he was being very calm and patient until my fingers tickled his fur and he bolted. He stopped and looked at me and then started running at high speed around the yard as if he was daring me to catch him.
This time though it wasn’t so hard to get him in the house once he tired. I walked into the kitchen where my wife was sitting and just stared at her dumbfounded. “Did you know”, I asked, “that Charlie actually, totally understands the word ‘come’?” She responded, “Really?” Then I repeated, “He knows that word when he wants to.” And I walked away.
10: Should I Stay or Should I Go?
It’s the little things that count.
As things went on there were small changes we noticed in Charlie. Instead of me pulling him in the house at night he started coming in on his own. When we put him out so we could go to work he started to hesitate and balk going outside through the door frame instead of in. When we came home he would be jumping up and down the full length of the door with excitement and I was just grateful to see that he was still alive. Charlie also spent more time looking me in the eyes like he was trying to figure me out. And as I sat on the kitchen chair he’d push in close and lay his head on my arm for as long as I’d pet him.
One afternoon as I drove into the neighborhood my next door neighbor, Tom, waved me to a stop. I rolled down the window and he told me that Charlie was in their backyard. It seems that Charlie had dug his way under the gate. “But that wasn’t the funny part”, Tom said. “After he got out,” my neighbor continued, “he seemed to realize that he shouldn’t be there and he kept running from one side of the house to the other trying to get back in.”
After recovering Charlie I looked at the muddy prints on the trash can and the outside of the fence. I recalled a couple of times chasing him three quarters of a mile on foot only to be saved when Charlie stopped to sniff another dog. Then I muttered to myself, still pondering the muddy paw prints, “Well, at least he seems to want to be here now.”
Not wanting to chase after Charlie again I attached slide bolts to the bottom of the gate so it wouldn’t flex. Then I dug a 6 inch trench under the gate where I laid two layers of 2 pound paver bricks and covered them with dirt. Thinking that would stop him I was surprised to get a phone call from my wife the next day saying she caught Charlie lifting the 2 pound pavers out of the trench when she came home for lunch.
“Lifting them out?” I asked. “Yes. He was digging them up, flipping them up on edge and lifting them out of the dirt with his mouth,” she answered.
After that, I set the stones upright like a castle wall in 4 inches of cement. Charlie walked over while it was curing and pawed it gently, then gave it a sniff. And that was it. Even though there were other places he could have tried he never tried to dig out again.
11: This Can’t Go On
Despite small gains however, Charlie still seemed to have us beat. My wife stepped out on the patio where I was watching Charlie once again running and barking. She said, “He just needs to be on a farm. I mean some place with a lot of land where he can run.” Knowing my wife had a big heart and was always out front looking for solutions I didn’t really take this in a negative way, but after thinking about it for a moment I answered, “He’ll just be right back where he started. He’ll run off and be back in a pound or die under some tree trying to get out of a thunder storm. Nobody’s going to accept this dog. If we don’t do it, no one’s going to do it.” I looked at her half hoping for an answer and repeated, “Who’s going to do it?!”
At the time I didn’t realize I had said anything that profound. Then one evening there was a storm coming and I wanted to let the dogs out before it rained. Charlie pranced out at a quick pace headed for the fence, probably to bark at something. Midway through the yard there was a clap of thunder and without breaking stride Charlie turned around and trotted right back into the house.
Another day I was once again on the patio feeling helpless about Charlie when my wife came out with another idea. She said, “I’m going to get him a dog house.” I looked at her with surprise, “What, the girls go in every night and he stays out here?” In my response there was an obvious feeling of attachment to Charlie’s better nature. I thought about how bed time eventually became one of Charlie’s favorite moments. It was the one time he needed no prodding. He’d run up the stairs to the bedroom with enthusiasm, trot over and curl up on the thick dog bed next to my side of our bed. Now I’m going to take that away from him?!
“No, of course not,” my wife continued, “Just when we have to go to work. We’ll put it in the corner of the patio, it’ll be out of the wind and we’ll get him a nice thick doggy bed. He’ll be fine.” Then I looked at Charlie’s short fur and remembered seeing a small dog years ago, also with short fur, in the winter. It was standing on top of the dog house it was chained to shivering horribly and barking at me. “No, Charlie’s got to be an indoor dog by winter,” I said intently. Like that was going to happen.
Ok, so it got me. I saw in this dog an unwanted child that was just starting to feel like it finally had a home and we were constantly wondering – unknown to this child – if that were even possible. Charlie’s new sense of belonging was being challenged and there was a possibility that through the course of good intentions and poor decisions he would once again run away into the cold, sickness and starvation.
Soon after our conversation Charlie walked up to the couch, paused and for the first time hopped up and sat there. Head high he was looking at me to see what my response would be. I gave him an approving pat on his head and he lay down. Then he moaned! It sounded like a human moan. Like a man lying down, letting go of a hard day and went to sleep.
12: When Push Comes to Shove
Somehow Charlie survived his 6 month period of “required calm” and I was now able to start working with him on a leash again. Fall was upon us and winter was coming like a freight train. Every time I took Charlie for a walk I was losing confidence in the idea that I could make him an indoor dog by winter. I found myself apologizing to people when Charlie was acting out and explaining his situation constantly. I saw other people with well-behaved dogs staring at us. Somebody drove by rolled down the window and said, “Who’s walking who?” and laughed. They just don’t know, I thought. Persistence and consistency, persistence and consistency. And even though I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, I believed he had something worth saving inside.
Then it happened. I’m out walking Charlie. A woman was walking up the street with her small dog and Charlie went ballistic as usual. He pulled at the leash barking with a high frantic pitch, nipped at my legs in frustration, tried to lunge repeatedly and again nipped at my legs. I curved my fingers and poked him but Charlie just kept ignoring me as he became more frantic. This time I was determined, “Oh no you don’t!” I said. I poked again at his hind quarters and he stepped sideways, still yelping at the other dog. Again and again I poked until Charlie fell over sideways. I placed my hand like a “bite” over his neck. Charlie struggled to get up and I pinned his hind quarters with my other hand. “You are NOT going to fail!” I said standing over him. Charlie struggled a bit, but I kept him down until he lay in submission. The approaching woman looked shocked and walked the other direction.
The next time we were out I added a back pack and started making Charlie sit. He’d stand rigid spreading his legs in defiance so I’d pull him backwards, sometimes 30 feet with the leash until he decided to do it. Then I told him (as if he understood every word), “Ok Charlie. Since you can’t walk and track, from now on, until you can walk, there’s no tracking.” Then I adjusted the collar high just behind his head. With my arm kept at 90 degrees I gave him just enough leash to where he couldn’t lower his head or get his full body length in front of me. I wrapped the leash around my hand so I could relax my hand but he could not win trying to pull ahead of me. And we were off.
Every time Charlie pulled or tried to track I’d make a turn just so Charlie wouldn’t know where we were going. We back tracked and crisscrossed all over the street. We walked in squares, triangles and circles forcing him to rely on the leash. Charlie would struggle to put his head down and sniff, but I’d wouldn’t let him. If he started to even look at another dog I poked him – not just once, but as much as it took – and then kept him walking. If I could catch him before he started barking at another dog I’d make him sit and pin him there until the other dog passed.
Some days Charlie made me proud walking “lose leash” the last half of our walk. Other days he was like a donkey pulling a wagon. Especially in the early morning. On one walk, with all four dogs at my side we unfortunately chose a bad direction. It was about 5:30 in the morning and in every other yard was either a rabbit, a cat or some squirrels. Rabbit, cat, rabbit, cat, rabbit, squirrels, rabbit, rabbit. All four hound dogs went nuts the entire time we were out and Charlie left me with a nice bite mark on my leg.
Then, it dawned on me. Charlie was built to track and run down animals. So all my tugging on his neck didn’t mean anything. The struggle and tracking frenzy was normal to him. And that’s when I used a “Gentle Leader”. This collar fits around the upper head and the nose. When a dog goes anywhere you don’t want it to, it turns the dogs head in the direction you’re going and it doesn’t pull on the neck.
It took me a couple tries to get the gentle leader fitted correctly and trust that Charlie wouldn’t pull out of it, but wow! What a difference! All of a sudden, by the second day, Charlie was walking lose leash on a 3 mile walk with me, my wife and the girls. We went to see the ducks at a nearby pond and actually ended the walk feeling happy and very proud of Charlie. Maybe Charlie could be a normal dog.
Well, the “other dog” issue? I used the gentle leader with a second leash connected to a choke collar. Because there were still times Charlie would freak out when he saw another dog and he could actually wriggle out of both collars if he panicked.
That one thing with other dogs? It would take me 10 years to figure out why he reacted that way.
13: The Epiphany Inserted
A Note – Why Charlie was Charlie.
Ten years after Charlie came to be with us I learned more about life. And everything about Charlie became clear.
Charlie wasn’t a hunt club dog. He was a “bait dog”. T3 painted on his sides didn’t mean “Tracker 3”, it meant “Trainer 3”. His K9 teeth were dull because dog fighters file them off so the champion dogs won’t get injured. Charlie’s job was to be attacked. To teach the other dogs to attack him.
When Charlie was being led on a leash and he saw another dog coming on a leash, it meant that he was being taken somewhere to be attacked. The facial bite scars, the dull K9’s, the split ear, all part of a cruel sport. Of course he panicked.
Charlie being captured, leashed and brought into our house? That was never a good thing before. My son walking in with the lights off? A male figure indifferent to Charlie walking by? All suddenly totally understandable.
But Charlie was a smart, fast, agile distance runner. And Charlie escaped. He was also very gentle. He would take an offered treat from a toddler with the most delicate and careful nibble.
14: The Final Chapter
Lessons of the heart come with a cost.
It is now December 2010. This day I was once again standing on the patio with a cup of coffee. Only this time alone. The girls were in the house. It was strangely quiet with fresh snow on the ground. There was no wild barking at the fence for a change. And it’s moments like these, after all is said and done, that you wonder if you couldn’t have done more or if you shouldn’t have tried harder.
I thought for a moment about all the people I use to know who could have spared me the frustration. They would have used words like “dense”, “stubborn”, “wild”, destructive”, even “dangerous” to describe Charlie. Charlie was just saying, “I’m scared” and “I don’t know how”.
Eventually the broken things got replaced, the end of the couch got covered, winter is upon us and it’s very cold outside. But I know Charlie is curled up in a warm comfy chair. Charlie’s Chair. He doesn’t dream like most dogs, barking or running in his sleep. He just occasionally stretches and moans. Every morning and every evening at exactly the same time he walks up and gives me a poke when it’s time to feed the dogs and then backs up and looks at me with anxious eyes. If I agree, I rise to wash the bowls and, other than a little prancing dance, Charlie lies down to wait.
As of today (December 2010) I’ve had some really good walks with all four dogs together. Occasionally we’ve had some minor distractions with other dogs, but we’ll work on that. Jenny and I had to go shopping most of the day not long ago. When we returned home Charlie’s big white face towered over the girls looking out the glass door. They were just lying there and of course very excited to see us pull up. Charlie had pulled down one of Jenny’s “Green” shopping bags off the counter, but everything else was in order. Nothing was damaged. Sometimes he just pulls something of ours down to lay on it. Like something familiar to him.
And you know? Though I love all my pets, Charlie is my very special boy. He was the kind of dog who found a home only if you did not know him. And he would then only keep a home if someone really truly cared. And I think he knows it. I think he tries to tell me because when I come home he doesn’t jump on me. He gently stands up on his hind legs, sometimes takes a lower sitting position, puts his paws on my chest and gazes into my eyes. I put my head to his cheek in a hug and he just looks at me and gently steps down.
But then, you have to ask, don’t you? “Was it really worth all that?”
The American foxhound is a gentle breed, great with children and very affectionate. Right now Charlie is playing with the girls. And I want to tell you, when little August gets him going, it’s a thrill to see that long legged hound run. He stretches out and I can almost see a smile on his face.
Yah, but was it really worth all that?
“Oh.. my God.. yes!” Every minute.
