by paulabowles

Following the recent sad news of the death of 4 year old John Paul Massey, after he had been attacked by his uncle’s American bull mastiff, media attention has refocused on the ownership of ‘dangerous’ dogs. As part of the BBC ‘Pledge Watch’ series of articles, Justin Parkinson has taken the opportunity to revisit the Dangerous Dogs Act 1991.

Following a spate of dog attacks on children in the early 1990s, media coverage focused on various breeds of dogs as symptomatic of Britain’s growing levels of aggression. One particular case – the fatal canine attack on Rukhsana Khan – led to the creation of emergency legislation, supported by the Conservative government and the labour opposition. The Dangerous Dogs Act 1991 banned the import of four types of dog, as well as allowing for those dogs deemed dangerous to be subject to a compulsory destruction orders. The legislation also made the wearing of muzzles when for certain types of dog.

Despite allegations that ‘the Dangerous Dogs Act is among the worst pieces of legislation ever seen, a poorly thought-out knee-jerk reaction to tabloid headlines that was rushed through Parliament without proper scrutiny’ it is seen by many as necessary. With recent NHS statistics suggesting that dog attacks are on the increase, it would seem that this particular act is not able to tackle the problem. It would seem that for the foreseeable future, certain types of dogs will continue to be ‘folk devils.’

Read More

Chas Critcher on Moral Panic Analysis: Past Present and Future

Brody Burton 1996-2007

Two years ago today, I looked into those beautiful, big brown eyes that you see above for the last time.  I hugged that warm, wiggly big little lap doggie and held onto him as  Dr. White administered the cocktail that would both take him from me and end the pain he was experiencing from the severe osteoarthritis of his pelvis and spine.  He had been a steadfast source of love and affection for me for eleven years and my only source of dog affection since August when we said goodbye to Misha.

There isn’t anything that can prepare your heart for the sudden separation that is created just moments after the veterinarian gives that injection.  Nothing.  The pain is emotional and physical. Something happens at a quantum physics level when your beloved pet dies. I have little knowledge of the field of quantum physics, but I felt it and that is enough evidence for me.  It didn’t take the sting out that he had lost control of his back legs.  It didn’t take the sting out that he had no longer been getting up to greet me when I came home because it hurt too much.  There is no such thing as intellectualizing or rationalizing away the deep pain of losing your trusted pal. Yes, it was the right thing to do.  Yes, I would want someone to do it for me.  No, I didn’t want to be selfish and keep him alive when he hurt so badly.

It just hurt like hell.  My last dog, gone forever.  It hurts just as bad today as it did two years ago. I am sobbing as I sit at my computer, typing away as  Brody’s memorial candle burns and fills the air with a sweet scent.  Much like my experience of Brody has left a sweetness in my life, but ironic as well.  Pain.  Sweetness.  Life.

Brody was six months old when Jared and I adopted him. We went to his foster mom’s house to “just look at him”.  Ha.  We left with him.  He had been in someone’s basement for the whole of his life because their child was allergic and consequently, he had experienced very little affection.  It did not take him long to adjust to the love that Jared and I poured on him,  maybe a few seconds.  He truly was Jared’s dog.  He was so easy going and mellow, funny and free-spirited with endless energy for play.  Misha was my dog, more intense, uptight and afraid of and worried about everything.  Brody was the best thing we could have done for Misha.  She had been slow to realize that life was good and that we were there to take care of her, not force-breed her or abuse her like her previous owners.  Another dog, a more quick-to-trust-humans dog, really helped her make the connection between us and good things.

Brody could always calm me down.  He would just look at me, saunter my way and give me a full-body hug or sit on my feet.  His affection became especially important during the time surrounding  my divorce from Jared.  Brody loved to sleep on the bed, and he would lie lengthwise just like a human.  And I let him,  even though his frequent erratic movements could and sometimes did result in minor injuries for me.  It was worth it all, including the very frequent washing of my bedding because of the dog hair.

Brody was terribly confused and missed his Papa after Jared and I split up.  The four of us– Jared and I, Misha and Brody had always been together.  And, as far as the dogs knew, everything was okay. All of a sudden, it was just the dogs and I.  Brody had never ever ever been a problem for us in any way. But without Jared in his life, he barked incessantly and marked all over my house.  It breaks my heart that the last three years of his life, he did not have his Dad with him and that was mainly my fault.  Or the fault of my neglect and abandonment as a child as well as my eating disorder and drinking finally catching up with me.  Heck, I don’t know.  There is no one or nothing to blame. I made my choices which eventually led to my awakening, thank goodness.  It is really hard coming to terms with how my inability to nurture relationships has hurt other people and my animals.  It’s harder dealing with that than it is the hurt I have caused myself.  I do believe that dogs are more understanding and forgiving than the humans in our lives, and for that I am grateful.  I am truly sorry for my part in your separation from and loss of your person, you wonderful dog soul you.

I miss that big little guy.  His under bite would often catch his lip and make his smile crooked.  He would sing on cue, and sing loud and long.  He would, in his healthier days, run to me with his movements reminding me of  Barkley from Sesame Street.   Actually, many of his mannerisms were similar to Barkley’s.  He hated the water and would try his hardest to disappear when it was time for a bath.  A 95 pound dog really has to be very skilled to become invisible and he never achieved that level of skill.  He loved his hikes and walks.  Tonight, when I went on my walk, I thought about peeing on the short, vertical logs that comprise the corner of the neighbors yard.  If Brody didn’t mark any other spot on his walk, he marked those logs.   It was dark and I probably could have pulled it off. My rational mind won that argument,  thank goodness.  I think I may be growing up a little.

Love. That’s what he was.  He loved everyone he met and they loved him back–they could not help themselves, unless they were some stiff person, impervious to the love of animals for fear of getting hair on their clothes.  He would hug people  with his signature Rottweiler hug and that was it, they were hooked.  He was  always an effusively friendly dog, period.

Love.  That’s what he taught me and it guides me every day as fumble around in recovery and I awaken to life and its possibility.  I try to lope into life and toward others  the way he bounded toward me, which is something new.  I try to use my felt sense to tell me who I should go toward and who I should walk away from or ignore.  I try to hug those that I meet in some socially acceptable way so that they know that the world is kind, that there are people who think and feel deeply and know what is really important in life. It’s the connection, the sharing, the being together, the play, the just being there and being still when someone needs to cry or vent or when they seem crazed  so that they know that whatever they do they aren’t judged harshly and are still cared for.  I still hesitate to sit on someone’s feet.

Thank you for everything you were and are to me, Brody Burton.  You changed me for the better, forever. I know that life across the Rainbow Bridge is wonderful for you and your lifelong pal, Misha.

Love,

Mama

[Estados Unidos] [Prohíben a perros que hayan demostrado conductas agresivas en bases militares]. Lo leímos para traducir en Los Angeles Times:

El Cuerpo de Marines Prohíbe Pit Bulls, Rottweilers y Otras Razas Caninas en Camp Pendleton y otras bases.
El Cuerpo de Marines prohibirá a los perros con temperamentos agresivos en Camp Pendleton y otras bases de acuerdo a una nueva política desarrollada después de que un niño de tres años fue mordido fatalmente en Camp Lejeune, Carolina del Norte.Las razas prohibidas son pit bulls, rottweilers e híbridos de lobo.
Las familias que llegan a las viviendas de la base ya no podrán introducir a perros de esas razas. Las familias que ya viven en la base podrán conservar sus perros hasta el 30 de septiembre de 2012, pero sólo si reciben un certificado de “perro bueno”.
En las unidades residenciales de Camp Pendleton hay 190 pit bulls y treinta rottweilers, de acuerdo a funcionarios. La base tiene más de 7.300 unidades residenciales para familias.
No se permiten perros en las barracas ni en los cuarteles de solteros o reclutas. Todos los perros -y gatos- en residencias familiares deben ser inscritos. Ninguna familia puede tener más de dos mascotas.
Camp Pendleton todavía debe determinar cómo se evaluará a los perros para obtener el certificado de exención.
En tres bases marines de Carolina del Sur, 83 de los 85 perros de las razas mencionadas recibieron certificados después de aprobar un test de la Sociedad Americana para la Prevención de la Crueldad hacia los Animales.
[Tom Perry]
[8 de noviembre de 2009]
[9 de octubre de 2009]
[©los angeles times]

Keely, over at Unmom, does this thing.

You post Random Thoughts on Tuesday. That’s it. Try it – it’s addicting. Then link back to Unmom and see what other people are randomly thinking and typing about.

I think I finally have this Random Thoughts posting figured out, y’all. What I have to do to make this happen is to keep a little list in a notebook of things that pop into my mind the day before. Because I cannot come up with a bunch of random thoughts first thing on a Tuesday morning. I’ve tried it and it can’t be done.

So yesterday, when I dreamed up this little plan, I got my notebook out and turned it to a blank page, ready to fill it up with all sorts of randomness.

There was only one problem. I could not find a pen.

Which leads me to my first question.

1. How many pens do you have to buy -  to be able to have just one somewhere, anywhere, when you need one?

I have bought package after package of pens. I don’t think it matters how many you buy and put in your junk drawer, they are going to disappear. I think there is a black hole in my house that sucks pens into it when I’m not looking.

Which leads me to my second question.

2. Do y’all think it is possible that there is a cosmic black hole (or something) located directly over my house in Wilmington, North Carolina?

Seriously, have I missed the YouTube video about this? I swear there is something wrong down here, because I cannot…CANNOT…talk on a cell phone inside my house!

I used to think it was the crappy phone and/or the crappy service I used to have. So. I waited patiently for my two year contract to expire, all the while enduring calls that sounded like this : “Mom? Hi……when….so…..then…..she said…..and….before…..what was…..yesterday……important…..what do you think?”

So I’d say, “Klinton, you’re breaking up. I can’t hear you. Hold on. Let me try going outside.”

To which he’d say, “Mom? Are you there? Mom?”

Then I’d hear that joyful little electronic jingle that tells me the phone has dropped the call.

Not fun. So it’s two years later and now I have a much nicer phone with a cool little slide out QWERTY keyboard and everything. I have Verizon service now, which is supposed to be top notch, or at least way better than what I had before.

I was so excited. Now I could text! I could talk inside the house and not have to stand outside in the cold, and the rain, and the dark.

But nooooooooo. I guess I just need to learn morse code or something. It is not meant for me, in 21st century America, to be able to use an easy electronic devise like a cell phone in my own home.

The phone works inside the Corning factory, where I work. (I never even got a signal there on my old phone.)  It worked in the rural contryside of Upstate New York, with no problem. It worked at the airport, in the grocery store, in the car, at the hairdressers, at other people’s homes…..just not in mine.

So, see? I obviously live directly underneath a black hole.

Yesterday, while I was searching in vain for a pen, I noticed something. So here’s my third and final question.

3. Is it normal for animals to follow you around all day and look at you when you get a day off?

Because that’s all mine do, y’all. My rottweiler and my cat follow me from room to room while I gather laundry, put things away, look for pens, curse mutter under my breath because I can’t find one, fix a cup of coffee, toast a bagel, read the newspaper, sit at the computer, brush my teeth, or whatever….they follow and they stare.

They stare at me as if they don’t know who I am. They stare at me as if they expect me to do some kind of puppet show to amuse them. They stare at me accusingly, as if to say, “Geez, we waited all week for you to have a day off – FOR THIS??”

I eventually got tired of looking for a pen, while the damn animals tried to give me a guilt trip, and gave up. Anyway, I had forgotten what I wanted to write down by then. So if I can find a pen between now and next Tuesday, maybe I’ll be able to compose a nice list of random stuff.

Or, I might not.

This is my rottweiler, Hannah. She is my big velcro dog. I think she looks pretty good in sepia, don’t you?

I’ve just discovered that Mary the Teach has another photo blog, besides Ruby Tuesday. It is called Sepia Scenes. Every Wednesday, she posts a picture in sepia, and invites everyone else to do the same. She also has a tutorial on her blog on how to produce good photos in sepia. I you are into photography, like I am, go on over and check it out.

I’m tasked with writing about the great outdoors, and sometimes, what puts people off the great outdoors are the animals.

Life is not all industrious beavers and bushy tailed squirrels, sadly, as this piece from The Times online tells us.

A cat called Wilbur has discovered that it really is a jungle out there, even in the suburbs. Wilbur, a four-year-old tabby, strayed into the next garden on the outskirts of Bristol, only to encounter a 13ft Burmese python with a hungry glint in its eye.

Yesterday Wilbur’s owners, Martin and Helen Wadey, described what happened next. “We heard the python’s strike from the terrified scream that came from Wilbur, and the blood-chilling cries as he fought for his life,” said Martin Wadey. “Then in less than a minute, all was silent.”

The Wadeys rushed next door but their neighbour was out. It was days later, when the python was scanned by the RSPCA, that Wilbur’s remains were identified by his micro-chip inside the snake’s body.”

Now this is unusual at best. Strange at worst, but the key part of the tale is what’s to come…

The Wadeys are now launching a “Justice for Wilbur” campaign. They say the unusual manner of his death highlights an anomaly in British law: pythons are not covered by the Dangerous Wild Animals Act.

The Wadeys believe such snakes should be licensed and owners prosecuted if they leave them to roam. Martin Wadey said: “Wilbur’s little life was brutally snuffed out. We don’t want it to have been in vain.”

Brutally snuffed out? I say, law of the jungle. Or Bristol suburbs. A life in vain? How many cats have a life that’s not in vain? They sleep. And eat. And go to the loo in your neighbors garden. Hardly any Luther Kings out there.

It got me questioning just exactly how many people have left their pythons to roam free that it would be appropriate to name an act against it.

Especially an act for something called ‘Wilbur’. If I was a snake, I’d sense that Wilbur was as soft as a freshly made marshmallow flump and launch an attack before it looked up at me with its sappy doe eyes like Puss in Boots from Shrek 2.

If it had lived, no doubt counseling would have been campaigned for. You know what to do Wadey family? Buy an even bigger snake. And a studded collar for it.

So lest we forget the Great Outdoors, and our company hits the fan as you all stop buying tents and sleeping bags for fear of bears and other dangers eating your innards as you slumber- here’s the down low on what’s really out there…

1.Adders. Gross. Last spotted chowing down on an Outdoorsy type in Swansea, they like Wales, thanks to the weather and Sea (potentially also, the views) and are Britain’s only venomous snake. Pretty harmless, a speak when spoken to type. You might want to stash up on, dependent on your personailty, some catapults, a magnifying glass, a big net, or a hideaway. Or -a really fast bike.

2. Swans- Sometimes can attack- they have huuuuge wings. Sounds like a film name to me. Not sure if any actual deaths have occurred from swans,  but they have a nasty peck. Don’t taunt them with bread that you intend to eat all by yourself without sharing. Like expecting an only child to share,  it never ends well.

3 Wasps. Natures bully boy, wasps like to sting you and carry on, as opposed to the humble bumble, which will sting you, only if you’re worth actually dying for. What a romantic gesture. Futile, yet sweet.

Wasps cause allergic reactions in a handful of people, thanks to their stocks of poison, which can cause anaphylactic shocks and cause death in some people. To everyone else, they just cause a painful shock and ruin picnics.

4 Cows. Now, this sounds crazy, but who am I to doubt my lengthy research. – Google.

In April 2004, a 74-year-old man was struck and killed by a cow in St Albans. He allegedly got too close to the cow and her calf and the cow attacked.

Blimey. Not sure what it attacked with, the idea of a lick from a cow make my stomach churn enough to contemplate suicide nonetheless.

Anyway. To prevent a humourous but pointless death by cow, (Not via burger ) the solution is only to get too close to the cows who don’t have calves, or just stay away from them unless you know what you’re doing. (Life is not like a Crunchy Nut advert, they do not appreciate off the cuff milking. )

5 Rottweilers – On the danger scale, i’d rather wear a hat laced with sugar, stale bread and honey whilst blowing a whistle that attracts adders, near Swan Lake, before volunteering to milk heavily preggers cows than sit near a rotteweiler. Especially with a child in tow.

 So as you can see, we have none of the proper dangers to put you off strapping on some hi gear boots and getting out there. Sharks, Octopus, Elephants, deadly spiders and deadly snakes evade us.

The most we have to worry about is untrained dogs and narky birds to go with our drizzly weather.

We aren’t the most exciting country. Full of culture, history and safety however, which, for the merits of getting to sleep at night is looking very appealing.

Sunny and WARM today. We brought home Legend’s full sis yesterday. I named her Linkin, she was born Aug 6th so about 8 weeks old. Her mom stopped taking care of her so she was bottle fed like our Smokey. Fun to be outside, but orange ladybugs are BACK!!

One of the best things about fall in Wrightsville Beach, NC, is that the dogs are allowed to be on the beach again. We look forward to being able to take our rottweiler, Hannah, for walks on the beach and the weather is still warm enough to make it enjoyable. You can tell from the expression on Hannah’s face that she loves it, too.

The leaves in the mountains of North Carolina are spectacular this time of year. We try to find the time to get there during the fall to enjoy the crisp fall air and the fall colors. The above photo was taken at Chimney Rock, near Lake Lure.

Wilmington, NC, is a perfect location for a fall wedding. The weather is perfect and you can have your wedding photographs taken with the beautiful ocean or river as a backdrop. This is my oldest son and daughter in law at their perfect October wedding in 2005. I love the colors of pumpkin and gold she chose and the happy smiles on everyone’s faces.

Aren’t they just stunning in their wedding finery? I love them both so much. Happy Anniversary, Kyle and Erika. Now the two of them, along with us, are eagerly awaiting a son and our our first grandson in late December or early January. Life could just not get any better at our house, y’all. Really.

I found a new photo blog to participate in on Thursdays! It’s called You Capture. Every week there is new theme. This week’s was “Fall.” I immediately thought of these pictures – how they illustrate the beauty of fall in my little corner of the world.

How about y’all? What photos do you have that give you the feeling of fall?

Click on the link here to read about how to play along. Then, do your best to visit the other participants’ site – everyone loves the traffic, the comments and the feedback (not just you!) Next week’s photo challenge is the color red. I really have some great red shots that I can’t wait to share!

I took this photo of my back yard the other day for Shadow Shot Sunday. Hannah is a photo hog. She has to try and get in every picture I take!

Taking pictures of shadows is harder than it looks, y’all. Of all the photo forums I participate in, I think this one is the most challenging!

Here is a closer picture of my coleus. I am quite in love with them this year.

Shadow Shot Sunday is a cool idea that has folks posting photos of shadows, and then linking back to Hey Harriet’s blog so everyone can visit each others pictures. Check out the other participators and post one yourself.

Our crazy cat goes on walks with us, y’all.

It’s not like we ever invited her.

We try to take our rottweiler, Hannah, for a walk twice a day. Well, my wonderful husband does this. ( I admit, I’m a bit of a slacker.) We’ve had Hannah for going on six years now and our cat Pixie is close to ten years old. In the last six months, she has decided to accompany us on these daily walks.

She doesn’t exactly walk. She sort of sprints along for a bit, then stops to rest. Since she’s old, she has that flabby skin hanging down for a belly and it swings back and forth when she runs. She has a habit of trotting along for a ways, then lying down under a bush for a while, then trotting along to keep up with us.

We call her The Gut-Slinger.

I’m still having a hard time figuring out why she does it. We don’t call her, we don’t encourage her. Truthfully, we would prefer it if she’d stay home. We used to have a little routine of walking around the block, but since Pixie has joined the party, we don’t walk out by the road anymore. We’re afraid she might decide to dart out in front of a car, so we keep our route to the open field and the sidewalk around our pond  in our neighborhood.

We’ve even tried to sneak off without her. We’ll peek out the back door, and not seeing her on her usual spot on our porch, tip toe out into the yard with Hannah. But before we make it to the edge of the yard, Pixie is trotting up out of no where to follow us.

Hannah, of course, has a collar and a leash. But since she’s a rottweiler a lot of people are afraid of her. Most of the people we meet on our walks will draw back a little when they see us coming towards them with a rottweiler. But then when they see the cat trotting along behind us they do a double take.

“Is that your cat?” they’ll ask, with looks of alarm on their faces. I can almost hear what they’re thinking, y’all. “Why would a sweet little kitty cat be out following a savage breed like a rottweiler, unless it has rabies or something?”

One day a couple we passed paused to give us a wide berth as we went by with Hannah. Then they noticed Pixie about five feet behind us, doing her best to keep up.

“What kind of cat is that?” they asked.

I replied sweetly. “Oh, she’s a trained attack cat.”

The looks on their faces were priceless.

By Critic Jasper Pennies

I don’t know if you guys are familiar with the show Garfield and Friends. But boy howdy is that show missing an important aspect of a cat’s life. The main character is a cat. Now I know cats eat lasagna. I’ve fed my cat lasagna for the past 7 years now. The vet tells me that this is not good for the cat. I tell the vet, “I’m not paying you for your advice. I’m paying you to neuter my cat. So get to neutering, you dick!”

My cat Chompchomp eating lasagna

My cat Chompchomp even sleeps long hours just like Garfield. My cat even seems to have stupid ass dilemmas between eating lasagna and sleeping. But I think one thing that’s missing most in the show Garfield and Friends is Garfield’s shitting habits. Since when has Jon ever had to clean up Garfield’s shit? I find myself going through the daily routine of this primitive activity that should be replaced by robots, so why don’t I see Jon labor daily over the next cat patty?

This isn’t the only thing stupid about the show. The show is completely inaccurate when it portrays common interactions between cats and dogs as exemplified in Odie and Garfield. I had a 6 foot tall Rottweiler and my previous cat tried to push it off the table. It tried to push it off the table until “chomp!” my cat was no more. That Rottweiler thought its stupid obliviousness could get it out of being put to sleep. It had another thing coming!

Another stupid trend I’ve seen in Garfield and Friends that is clearly not reflected in reality is the idea of sending cats through the mail. Folks, every time that I’ve sent a cat in the mail, I always get a lot of grief for it. Why doesn’t it show Jon being arrested by Homeland Security for causing trouble? That’s what I want to know.

I found a lot things accurate and easy to relate to in Garfield and Friends though as expressed in this video:

Geez, my mom is always calling me and asking, “Is everything normal?! Jasper, things have better be totally normal!”

For example, my cat hates to exercise too. This is why I’ve filled the apartment with venomous scorpions (not lethal ones, I’m not an asshole) and this gives my cat Chompchomp plenty of incentive to exercise. Sometimes they accidentally sting me. And then I go to the happy place. Chompchomp gets pretty lazy after this, and just curls up on the carpet, a poofball of infected stings.

Chompchomp, like Garfield, hates Mondays. Haha! That’s so funny! And understandable too, since Mondays are when I take him to the Loud Noise and Sudden Movement factory.

I love cats so much. This is why I always get a new one after an old one dies. I’m up to my 47th cat now. My! How time flies!

I give this cat a rating of: 5 Dead Pets out of 7 Dead Pets.

En effet, mercredi 26 août, un élevage dans les Bouches-du- Rhône s’est fait saisir les 50 rottweilers qui étaient en leur possession.

L’élevage était insalubre et douteux, la Société Protectrice des Animaux a donc saisie les chiens,  parmi eux, sept chiots, une vingtaine de reproducteurs et une vingtaine “d’invendus” âgés de deux et trois ans.

Les chiens attendent donc des nouveaux maîtres !

–Practice taking the food away while your Rottweiler is eating (but give it back to him after a few seconds!) By allowing you to control the food, your Rottweiler is giving you the dominant position (because the Alpha dog controls the food)

–The Alpha dog never breaks a gaze first or looks down. When your Rottweiler meets your gaze, stare at him/her until they look down or away. The one who looks down or away first is the submissive one.

Tip2: Never give your Rottweiler treats or a new toy just because they look cute. Always make them work for it or ‘earn’ it. This helps them feel important and they don’t begin to think that everything is theirs for the taking.

Tip3: Ok this isn’t a training tip but it’s one of the BEST things we ever did for our rotti (and we keep hearing it over and over from other rotti owners). We got pet insurance.

Tip4: Teaching your Rottweiler the “Leave It” or “Drop It” command early on helps keep your Rottweiler safe. Often they curiously pick up anything in their path and it can be quite poisonous or harmful to their mouth.

By teaching them this command, you can then tell them to “Drop it” quickly, even if you are yards away and can’t take it out of their mouths physically

Tip5: A gentleman with a Rottweiler gave us this one:

To train his 7 month old, very rambunctious puppy, he would tire her out by taking her to a leash free zone for an hour. When she was exhausted (but happy and well-socialized!) he would then start to train her.

She was more apt to pay attention during these times and soon, with some repetition, she even began to listen to him when she was energized and wound up. He said it was the easiest way in the world to train dogs!

Tip 6: We’ve heard horror stories about people trying to crate-train their dogs and this might seem simple, but here’s what we did:

When we were trying to train Hunter (our Rottweiler) to go into his crate, we simply said “Crate” and then gave him peanut butter or a dog treat (with lots of verbal praise) when he followed the treat into the crate.

This took a few days, but soon he was running to his crate when he heard the command. We eventually scaled back the treats to just verbal praise but it worked quite well. Now his crate is his own little home. To this day, he’d rather sleep in his crate than even on our bed!

Tip7: When our Rottweiler was a puppy and had to stay in his crate for a couple of hourse (like when we wanted to sleep!), we found that after a while he would begin to cry in order to convince us to let him out. This drove us crazy until we tried something just on a whim.

We threw a blanket over his crate so that he couldn’t see anything. Surprisingly enough, his cries soon stopped! We’re not sure why this worked, (out of sight, out of mind maybe?) but we were thankful to be able to sleep again!

Tip8: Although we know this too is a simple one, we found that good Rottweiler training can be summed up in one word: Consistency.

Rottweilers are famous for testing their owners over and over – especially when they’re puppies. If they try to get up on the couch once and you say “NO” they’ll wait a while and try it again. If you allow them to get up on the couch (or another family member allows it) the second time, watch out.

This is me taking my Rottweiler, Hannah for a walk at Topsail Beach when she was still a puppy. I chose this for Shadow Shot Sunday, because,well, the shadow, y’all.

Shadow Shot Sunday is a cool idea for a meme that has folks posting photos of shadows, and then linking back to Hey Harriet’s blog so everyone can visit each others pictures. Check out the other participators and post one yourself.

I love Rottweilers and when I saw this on Twitter I had to share it. This male Rottie, Ulrok, has become the orphaned wolf’s, Beldaran, guardian. Beldaran’s parents rejected it and Ulrok, who is 18 months old has become this little wolf’s pal! Both are living at the Kisma Preserve in Maine. After Beldaran was rejected by her birth parents, the Preserve staff tried to find a surrogate for the infant wolf. Ulrok was the only one interested in parenting Beldaran and the bond between them is forever strong. Read the full article at Daily Mail.

Yesterday was Cutter’s 11th birthday (June 5)!  We didn’t do much out of the ordinary;  I mean, he doesn’t know what a birthday is, so I don’t celebrate per se.  In years past I’ve been known to put a birthday party hat on them and take a photo or three, but that’s about as far as it goes.  He did get a fresh egg on his dinner (laid that day), as did the other two dogs, but that was more for me than him, since treats with dinner aren’t all that rare.  Mostly I just hugged him a little more.  Which he hates.  

It really is a small miracle that he’s still chugging along at age 11.  It’s getting up there for a Rottweiler, a breed that isn’t nearly as robust as they look.  Tough, yes, but not durable.  My previous Rottweilers haven’t made it past 12 (my first lived to 12 1/4) and with Cutter’s issues, well, every day is amazing.  He had a few seizures this week, but they stopped after day three (his birthday) and it’s been “quiet” today.  Fingers crossed.    (I spoke too soon…he just had another mini.  And another.  Here we go…sigh.)

He’s still radioactively cute, if a bit curmudgeonly now.  There are times when I could weep at the loss of the dog he was–canine epilepsy stole a lot from us–but despite these issues he’s a strong dog with the heart of a lion.  He wouldn’t still be here if he weren’t so strong.  The anti-seizure meds leave him a little dopey and sometimes zombie-like, and he’s weaker than I’d like him to be, but overall I am amazed and grateful he’s still with me in body and mind and enjoying life, after spending over half his life with the specter of epilepsy hanging over us like the Sword of Damocles.   But, epilepsy or no, I’m glad he came into my life.  He’s a wonderful, one in a million dog, and I love him to bits.

Happy Birthday, Cutter-butter.  You’re my best Buddy.

Don’t Do That
by Stephen Dunn

It was bring-your-own if you wanted anything
hard, so I brought Johnnie Walker Red
along with some resentment I’d held in
for a few weeks, which was not helped
by the sight of little nameless things
pierced with toothpicks on the tables,
or by talk that promised to be nothing
if not small. But I’d consented to come,
and I knew what part of the house
their animals would be sequestered,
whose company I loved. What else can I say,

except that old retainer of slights and wrongs,
that bad boy I hadn’t quite outgrown—
I’d brought him along, too. I was out
to cultivate a mood. My hosts greeted me,
but did not ask about my soul, which was when
I was invited by Johnnie Walker Red
to find the right kind of glass, and pour.
I toasted the air. I said hello to the wall,
then walked past a group of women
dressed to be seen, undressing them
one by one, and went up the stairs to where

the Rottweilers were, Rosie and Tom,
and got down with them on all fours.
They licked the face I offered them,
and I proceeded to slick back my hair
with their saliva, and before long
I felt like a wild thing, ready to mess up
the party, scarf the hors d’oeuvres.
But the dogs said, No, don’t do that,
calm down, after a while they open the door
and let you out, they pet your head, and everything
you might have held against them is gone,
and you’re good friends again. Stay, they said.

(published in the New Yorker, 6/8/09)

A comunidade Rottweilers Brasil, com o objetivo de mapear informações sobre os Rottweilers no Brasil devenvolveu uma simple, mas importante pesquisa.

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