Dogma on a life on paws
AT 6.45am it is still dark. I hear an approaching stampede of many feet and a rapid tick-tick-tick of claws on polished boards.
Then comes a desperate scratching slide on a sharp right-hand turn into the bedroom. There is a momentary loss of control before the antiskid braking system takes over.
There is the soft thud of a glancing blow to the doorframe, but still sufficient forward momentum to barrel across the carpet and launch boldly into pitch darkness.
Dusty the dog, not yet four months old, has achieved his lifelong ambition of being able to leap onto a bed. I have never seen him practice developing this skill and assume it must be innate, from somewhere deep down in his doggy DNA.
Until now, his early morning territorial demands have been negotiated by whimpering and looking unbearably cute. But now he can jump onto the bed.
A great leap for a dog, but I suspect a small and possibly backward step for a man.
He landed on my chest, which would have been a terrible shock had I not been alerted by his boisterous approach.
A couple of days earlier at his check-up, the vet weighed him in at 14kg. On impact, I would have said the dog was punching well above his weight.
Welcome to the World of Dog and, in these unhappy times, the best $400 I have ever spent.
The vet warned that Dusty was about to have a growth spurt and should catch up with his gangling long legs and ridiculously big feet. Seven weeks ago, when we got him, he was only 3.5kg. Since then he has twice doubled his weight and outgrown his sleeping pad and his food bowl.
For the first couple of weeks he had big feet and tiny little legs. He ran with the rockinghorse gait of a Tasmanian devil whom he closely resembled. Then overnight he grew long legs and now he lopes like a Thylacine.
But his feet continued to grow, remaining way out of proportion with the rest of him. In the bush he resembles a small FWD on oversized tyres.
Dusty loves the bush.
It is full of wondrous new smells and a large choice of animal scat. He finds wombat and wallaby quite acceptable but, horribly, his preference is for possum.
I know coprophagia is an unattractive habit. I’m doing my best to dissuade him and will take any advice you can give me. He doesn’t eat his own, which I am told is a good thing.
Though if he did, at least we would both know where it came from and what he was getting.
Dusty’s head and face are also widening, and while the people he delights still remark on what a lovely puppy he is, I think I see something else coming.
There is an old Australian description, “Head like a robber’s dog”; as in, “He’s a beaut bloke but mate he’s got a head like a robber’s dog!”
Whatever a puppy is going to become you might expect some early warning from his parentage. We got Dusty from Dogs’ Homes of Tasmania and his papers indicate he is Bulldog/Shar-Pei X Kelpie.
I doubt Dusty is the intentional
HE RAN WITH THE ROCKING-HORSE GAIT OF A TASMANIAN DEVIL WHOM HE CLOSELY RESEMBLED. THEN OVERNIGHT HE GREW LONG LEGS AND NOW HE LOPES LIKE A THYLACINE
product of careful breeding, but then how many of us are?
From the British bulldog I might expect Churchillian resolution and courage (he is crazy-brave with bigger dogs and resolute in his bad habits).
The Shar-Pei was originally bred in China as a palace guard. The breed is said to be suspicious, reserved and loyal (no match — he is up for everything and is everyone’s friend).
Dusty doesn’t much look like a Bulldog. He has no trace of its distinctive pushed in nose. Nor does he look much like the deeply wrinkled and loose-skinned Shar-Pei.
But he does look a lot like a Kelpie, the smart and active Australian sheepdog which musters and droves instinctively and requires little training in that skill.
In fact, I am trying to figure out how to discourage him working me like a mob when we go walking. He nips at my heels to get me going and then darts in front to bite at my toes to change my direction.
He’s got the Kelpie’s funloving nature and its black and tan markings but not the trademark pricked ears. With his drooping soft velvety ears and his tan eyebrows, many people who meet him are reminded of the Rottweiler.
Whatever his parts sum-total makes, Dusty absolute charmer.
Donna, my wife, has always been a little nervous around dogs. But she has fallen bigtime for Dusty. He has wormed his way into her heart and sometimes onto the sofa, but so far not into the bed.
Short of a DNA test, Dusty’s immediate antecedence will remain a mystery, but it hardly matters. Fifty thousand years ago, like every dog on Earth, his forebears were Eurasian grey wolves.
The greater mystery their is an is in fact how and why at least some of them started to interact with our human ancestors, developing a beneficial familiarity, and over time becoming man’s best mate.
Fifteen thousand years ago our ancestors in central Europe and Asia were burying dogs with the same kind of care and respect they showed for their own kind; suggesting the close relationship we share now developed early.
Scientists speculate the adaptation worked, because although wolves are superior trackers, the killing power of their jaws could never match the effectiveness of spears and arrows. And because humans notoriously waste food it made good sense (and an easy life) to hang out with us.
Who adapted to whom was always going to be a “chicken or the egg” question.
Like so many recent dog adopters, with nowhere to go and little to do, I suspect I have done most of the adapting. My dog wakes his human at 4.30am every morning when he needs a pee, which is serious and most unlikely adaptation on my part.
Padding out into the chill pre-dawn dark I still can’t believe I am doing it. I grumble, “Dusty needs a dog door or a bigger bladder”.
He was easy to toilet train. When he was lighter, I would carry him outside and praise him when he peed. I always rewarded him with a tiny tasty snack which he quickly came to expect. After a week of this, one day he streaked to the door and yelped urgently.
I followed him out, delighted with our joint progress. But as I watched he produced no more than a thimble full.
Then, sitting down and panting eagerly, he demanded his reward.
Clearly one of us had been toilet trained.
But which one?