Am I Boring My Dog? (9 page)

Wolf-canine analogies loom large in expert opinions on this topic. Dubious as many such comparisons may be, in this case they lead to advice that strikes me as reasonable. To wit, whatever you ultimately decide about sharing your Posturepedic, it’s a good idea to let your new dog stay in the wolf den (a.k.a. your bedroom) initially, to allow her to feel like part of the pack (a.k.a. you and your family). Proximity to your scent is all that’s required, so it’s fine for her to sleep in her own bed or in a crate. Your dog will never tell you if you’re too close, so just choose a place where you won’t trip over her if you get up in the middle of the night.

In fact, it’s not only fine to keep your dog at a distance at first, but desirable. Because Frankie was so standoffish initially, I was thrilled when he finally deigned to get off the couch and bond with my pillow. But we’re talking about a diminutive pup. You might, with good reason, have reservations about letting an 80-pound lug hog the blankets. So play hard to get for a while, at least until you’re sure whether or not your dog snores. It’s the same as with humans: after you let them into your bed, you have a tough time getting them out.

Chapter 6 focuses on training in more detail, but some things are useful to keep in mind from the beginning.

Some people don’t mind if their dog shares the sofa with them; others prefer to keep their furniture pup-free. Make up your mind about what you’d like and stick to it; otherwise you’ll just confuse your dog.

But don’t be inflexible. Your dog may not be capable of conforming to your every lifestyle desire, especially early on. Just establish general principles and work towards them as best you can.

This corollary to the first dictate may seem obvious, but it’s surprisingly easy to do the opposite of what you intend. For example, it may initially tickle you to catch your dog nabbing food from the kitchen counter, but if you laugh instead of commanding “No” and distracting your dog the first few times, you’re likely to create an unregenerate counter surfer—or at the least one who’s baffled by your inconsistency.

Conversely, if you catch your pup behaving badly and call him over to you, don’t reprimand him if he responds. He won’t associate the tongue-lashing with the act you’ve interrupted; the only thing you’ll have taught him is to avoid coming when summoned.

Dogs will be dogs. They dig, sniff, chew, bark, chase things, fight, and partake in other activities that might render them less-than-perfect housemates, but they don’t do it to offend you. So don’t take offense—take training classes. And remember,
you
do things that are considered hostile in the dog universe, such as making direct eye contact and giving head pats. Your excuse is no different from theirs: you don’t know any better.

Dogs unquestionably have emotions and goals such as achieving pleasure and avoiding pain. But their emotions and goals are not precisely the same as ours. For example, when you come home to discover that your dog has pooped on the rug, don’t interpret the expression on her face when she greets you as guilt. It is far more likely to be confusion about why you’ve suddenly begun barking at her. And pushing her face into the offending (to you) feces will merely indicate that you have some peculiar feeding habits. She would much prefer you to push her face into hamburger and skip the irritating vocal accompaniments.

Only if you want to find her if she’s lost or stolen.

I bring this topic up now because some dogs make their most dramatic escape attempts before they’re fully settled into their new homes.

Yes, a collar with full ID tags is the first line of defense for locating a hound with Houdini tendencies, but it’s far easier to ditch a collar than it is to remove an implanted chip. Tattooing, a common identification method in the past, is painful for the dog (who doesn’t even get to choose a personalized design); moreover, because they’re out of fashion, tattoos are easily overlooked, especially in long-haired breeds.

Not to be confused with a Global Positioning System, a microchip doesn’t allow you to locate a lost dog yourself; it’s activated by a scanner that’s available at most shelters and veterinarian offices—the places to which canine escapees are most likely to be brought. GPSs are good supplements in some cases, but they’re expensive, heavier than is comfortable for many small dogs, and only useful if your dog doesn’t wiggle out of her collar or a thief doesn’t remove it.

Getting a microchip implanted is as quick and easy as a vaccination, and far longer lasting; you almost never have to replace a chip during the dog’s lifetime (it’s extremely rare for it to migrate from the scruff, where it’s placed). And these tiny devices serve not only to identify
¹⁹
your pup when she’s turned into the pound, but the databases with which they’re affiliated store information about any medical conditions she may have.

Many shelters microchip dogs for free or for a nominal fee; at a vet’s office, expect to pay less than $100. The only thing you need to do is register the chip online (generally, at a cost of less than $20) and update the information if you move or change your telephone number. When I couldn’t read the numbers on Frankie’s ID tag, I was amazed to discover that the act of calling the microchip company from my home phone allowed all his data to be retrieved.

Which leads to an objection some conspiracy theorists have: that it’s a slippery slope from microchipping your dog to government-enforced human microchipping. Please. Anyone who goes online, drives past a traffic camera, or enters a convenience store has relinquished all claims to privacy. At least microchipping your dog increases the odds that you’ll continue to have warm and friendly companionship in a cold, surveillance-crazy world.

Nor is there any convincing evidence that microchips cause cancer. The odds of harm coming to your dog because he’s lost and can’t be identified are immeasurably greater than the chance that he’ll develop a tumor on the chip site.

Time was when a dog would have a vet for life, a family practitioner for the furry. Veterinary monogamy is no longer a given. Specialization and the explosion of the industry have made pet care very competitive. So take your time, and don’t worry if you don’t find
“the one”
right away.

Among the many reasons to get a dog from a shelter
²⁰
or a reputable breeder is that they’ve vetted many vets and have a good basis for recommendations. Ask dog-connected friends, relatives, and co-workers for referrals, too. Groomers, trainers, and pet boutique proprietors may offer leads, but beware canine cronyism (“I carry your brochure and you carry mine”).

Some objective criteria to consider include affiliation with the American Animal Hospital Association (AAHA;
www.healthypet.com
), which ensures that a facility offers a wide array of equipment and services. It doesn’t, however, allow you to evaluate the skill—or the warmth—of each participating doctor. Similarly, membership in a state veterinary association (click on the state resources section of the American Veterinary Medical Association website,
www.avma.org
) suggests a practitioner’s interest in continuing education and animal welfare issues, but not necessarily her ability to relate to patients.

In any case, you’re the only one who can judge what’s most important to you, including convenience, cost, and approach (for example, openness to alternative medicine). You may not even be aware of your priorities until you visit a vet a few times.

Consider these basics when choosing a practice.

Of the offices, not of the participating vets (although hot-ness is a bonus in any professional you’re likely to be seeing on a regular basis). The waiting room should be clean but not sterile, with comfortable chairs and a good use of space, including enough room to keep the nervous dogs from being intimidated by the bullies. The back areas where overnight patients stay and lab work is conducted should be spotless—ditto the vet techs—and the cages should be spacious. And yes, any reputable vet should allow you to tour this back area on the spur of the moment, i.e., without having to yell, “Heads up, pet owner incoming.”

Again, of the office, not the vets. Things such as onsite x-ray equipment, laboratory, and pharmacy mean your dog can get diagnosed and treated expeditiously, and you don’t have to run around or phone a lot of different facilities.

If you have an emergency and your “primary” isn’t available, it’s comforting to know that other trustworthy docs have immediate access to your dog’s records. You don’t have to like the other vets as much as you do your own, but it’s desirable for you to consider them competent. Ideally, a practice should be diverse, including a fresh-out-of-school newbie versed in the latest equipment and techniques as well as a senior person with lots of surgical experience. If there’s a clinic in your city affiliated with a university department of veterinary science or college of veterinary medicine, you’ve hit the jackpot.

The fees for basic procedures such as exams and vaccinations should be in the same ballpark as those of other vets in your town; phone around and ask. Don’t consider a practice that makes you feel guilty or cheap for inquiring; it’ll only get worse down the road if you’re faced with deciding whether you can afford an expensive life-saving procedure (but see question 28). Nix any vet who tries to minimize your financial concerns.

Be suspicious of cutesy names like Paws or The Pet Center. They tend to signify either superficial glitz—soft music, Earth tones, the latest issues of
Dog Fancy
instead of three-year-old copies of the
Economist,
all which will cost you—or bare bones facilities that need a gimmick to draw patients in.

Quantity—enough people in the office to ensure efficiency in a large practice—and quality are both important. Staff members should be able to answer basic questions about medical procedures as well as about payment plans, and they should be welcoming to canine patients, no matter how smelly and drooly. If your dog isn’t as cute as, say, my Frankie, the receptionist should at least comment on her sweetness, perhaps, or his friendliness.
Note:
The flattery requirement is waived for dogs who make the staff cower behind their desks.

Things to look for in a vet include the following traits.

While your dog is being weighed, take a peek at the diploma on the wall. You want someone with at least a DVM (Doctor of Veterinary Medicine) or equivalent degree (for example, a BVMS or Bachelor of Veterinary Medicine and Surgery, offered in the United Kingdom), preferably from a country you’ve heard of where they don’t eat small domestic animals.

Not all vets are equally kind to their pet patients; I’ve encountered some who are downright brusque. No pup likes to be probed and prodded but the best vets are skilled in minimizing doggie discomfort with gentle handling, soothing tones—and a well-paced plying of treats. (People doctors should consider adopting this last technique; I’d bet a few Godiva chocolates would go a long way toward mitigating the stress of a gynecological exam.)

Sure, the vet’s attitude toward your dog is foremost, but you need to be able to provide follow-up care, so instructions need to be clear. And there’s no excuse for a vet to be patronizing; remember, a good part of her day is spent inserting thermometers into small animal butts. Finally, as with the members of his staff, a vet should say flattering things about your dog—or at least should avoid insults. One vet told me that Frankie was “weird” and a “bad patient” because he wouldn’t pee for the techs who walked him during an all-day diagnostic stay. Frankie is an extremely skilled urinater when he so desires, thank you very much, but he’s not a pee-on-demand pup.