If Your Dog Is Built Like a Horse, Then Strap a Saddle On

We’ve had problems in the past with the neighbor’s goldendoodle (big, white, fluffy as all get-out) racing into our yard to look at our dogs. A goldendoodle, if you don’t know, is a golden retriever/ standard poodle mix, bred specifically for the supposedly hypoallergenic qualities of a poodle, but with the adorableness/laid-back personality of other breeds. In other words, a family dog that doesn’t shed.

There are goldendoodles, labradoodles, cockapoos, schnoodles, and a bunch of other names that I would be embarrassed saying out loud, including something called the chi-poo that strikes fear into my heart (all I can say is that if they’re using a standard poodle for this mix, it better be the mother and not the father or the mother dog will explode upon giving birth).

As an aside, I’m all for strengthening the gene pool, but when “breeders” charge $1000 and up for what is essentially a mix, I get kind of angry. And by kind of angry, I mean in the way that the Hulk gets kind of green. If you want a large-sized mix, there are plenty in shelters looking for homes.

Our dogs are so small that often larger dogs (or “real” dogs as some people might say, but probably not in my hearing unless they want me to punch them) think that they are toys expressly designed for their enjoyment. Unfortunately, the way they play with these toys is to bark madly at them, attempt to chase them, and run away from me quickly when I try to grab their collars. Occasionally, they will conclude these actions with a giant poop on our lawn.

Fortunately, our problems with the neighbors’ dog stopped months ago when the neighbors put in an invisible fence. Now the dog just sits on their front lawn and stares mournfully at us when we drive into the garage.

This dog, whom I shall call The Fluffy Beast, is not terribly intelligent, but what he lacks in smarts he has in strength. Although he knows better than to knock down the children he lives with, he has no compunctions about rearing up as I approach, and then doing his enthusiastic best to drag me to the ground in a playful dance I like to call, “The Moments Just Before The Shark Eats You.”

However, now we have The Black Terror to deal with.

The Black Terror, lest you think I am a racist, is a black dog. He is also some kind of doodly poodly thing like The Fluffy Beast, but leaner and taller. He was originally fostered by our neighbors and then adopted out to their neighbors on the other side when the little boy in their household was found to be allergic to him. (Apparently, The Black Terror is a poodle mix of just the wrong types whereas The Fluffy Beast is okay for the kid. Poodling, it appears, is somewhat of a science. I say that sarcastically.).

So let’s recap: our house has three chihuahuas, the largest of which tops out at about seven pounds. The next house contains The Fluffy Beast who might be about a hundred pounds. The house next to that contains The Black Terror, also about a hundred pounds.

The Black Terror is very fond of playing with The Fluffy Beast. He is often left outside, free to roam into the neighbor’s yard to play with The Fluffy Beast, and the sight of the two of them locked in a deadly grapple to the death or until one of them gets distracted is certainly a vision to behold. But The Black Terror has learned that there are some fun little toys just one yard over that will bark and move when he visits, and so he visits frequently when he hears me take them outside.

In the past three months, The Black Terror has galloped into our yard on at least ten occasions. On two of the occasions, the son or daughter of the house that owns him showed up shortly afterward to apologize. The kids didn’t quite make it to our yard early enough so that they could herd their dog back to his own territory, so I was forced to grab the dog’s collar and haul him away.

On the other occasions that The Black Terror visits, no one has seemed to notice that he is no longer in his yard or in The Fluffy Beast’s yard. The Black Terror is so large that even pulling on his collar, with all my strength, barely moves him. Sometimes I can’t even grab his collar because he thinks we’re playing a fun game, and I end up having to chase him out of our yard in my pajamas before he’ll go away. Two weeks ago The Black Terror not only came into our yard but jumped the chicken wire that was enclosing our dogs. One of his paws is as big as one of my dog’s heads, so I panicked. I grabbed his collar and hauled him over the chicken wire, and chased him into the adjoining yard after we ran a few laps around the dog pen in our yard.

I was so irritated by this that I immediately stomped over to his owner’s house. This was not an easy task, since there was snow and ice on the ground and I was wearing flip-flops since no one had advised me that I would be require to travel in my dog-taking-out shoes. I rang the doorbell.

No one answered.

I went home and looked up their name and phone number. I called. No one answered. I glanced outside and saw that The Black Terror was now casually strolling in the middle of the street, intent on something that was probably quite smelly. I wasn’t completely sure I had the right number so I didn’t leave a message but tried the number again that night. No answer again.

Last week I was out of town visiting my new nephew, and as soon as Chris brought me home from the airport, I asked for a Black Terror status report.

“Didn’t see him at all,” Chris said. “Aurora didn’t, either.”

Aurora is our young dogsitter from further down the street, and I had expressly told Chris to warn her about The Black Terror in case he chose to visit while she was out with our dogs.

Chris left to go back to work, and since I’d been on a plane or in an airport for the last ten hours, I lay down on the couch with the dogs to take a nap. Upon awakening, I took the dogs outside, and The Black Terror appeared within minutes.

Apparently carrying around my nephew for the past few days had strengthened my upper arms, because I had no problem grabbing The Black Terror’s collar. He twisted his head and tried to get away from me, but I kept a firm hold on him and pulled him into The Fluffy Beast’s yard.

He immediately began to play with The Fluffy Beast, all “I wasn’t trying to play with your dogs, I don’t know what your problem is,” while I continued marching to his owner’s house. I rang the doorbell.

I heard a phone ring inside the house, but no footsteps. As I rang the doorbell a second time, I noticed what appeared to be one of The Black Terror’s owners, the kid who lived in the house whose doorbell I was ringing. He was poking his head out from the garage of The Fluffy Beast’s house and as soon as I caught sight of him, he quickly pulled his head back in and closed the garage door.

Well, now I was even madder. I walked back to The Fluffy Beast’s yard and pressed their doorbell. Hey, I didn’t have to work today and I’d had my nap. I could stand here all day and press doorbells if that was what it would take to get The Black Terror under control.

I heard running footsteps and then a muffled boy’s voice, saying, “I think she wants you.”

The door opened and The Black Terror’s owner stood in front of me. Apparently he’d been playing with the neighbor’s kids while The Black Terror rampaged outside.

“Is that dog yours?” I said, gesturing toward The Black Terror.

“Yeah,” he said.

“You need to keep an eye on him. He’s been in my yard going after my dogs at least ten times.”

The boy looked startled. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

I wasn’t sure he was picking up on how important this was to me, so I repeated myself. “You’ve really got to keep him away because he runs into their chicken wire area, and he’s a lot bigger than my dogs.”

The boy called The Black Terror to him (as if that would stop the dog) and I marched off to my own house, where my dogs were peering anxiously from inside the garage. Were they afraid The Black Terror had taken me down? No, more likely they were wondering where the hell I was and why I didn’t care enough about them to let them back into the warm house.

Posted by: ssjane | February 13, 2007 | 5:30 pm
Posted in: Dogs | This Life