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Truce broken in canine kingdom
(by Barbara Christian - January 07, 2010)
WINDOW ON MAIN STREET, BY BARBARA CHRISTIAN
Truce broken in canine kingdom
It all began 18 months ago while perusing the online animal-rescue sites -- a practice I have now forbidden myself to do, lest I end up one of those old ladies they find dead, her legs eaten half off by her dogs.
There was actually a news story about such a thing, and, in the last 18 months, more than ever, it has become a cautionary tale.
My heretofore peaceable canine kingdom includes Mia, an elderly poodle mix, an angel who does not make trouble. It's the two males (isn't it always?) Paco, a Chihuahua, and Dusty, a Yorkshire terrier, who, after a year and a half of armed truce, decided Christmas was a good time to end the cold war. But not in a good way.
Looking back, it is the breeds of these two dogs that created the problem. Yorkies were bred to kill rats, and Chihuahuas were bred to be hot-water bottles. If you squint, they also look like rats.
Now, Paco is nobody's rat victim. During past hostilities, he has held his own. This little guy can be all teeth. This has served him well during encounters with, for example, my right hand. In his mind, Paco has decided he can only be petted with one hand. If the other one appears, look out. I have to throw a blanket over him to pick him up. If he can't see both hands, he's OK. Paco clearly has issues, and that's probably why he was in a shelter.
Dusty has issues too. He has a sad story, having been forced to live in a garage without a bed or even toy. This is why he hides his treats and toys (and everyone else's) in the sofa cushions. Dusty no longer is stud stock, but his instincts still tell him he is a dude when it comes to rat catching. He demonstrates this daily by shaking his stuffed monkey. It's violent and fearsome to watch. This causes Paco to quiver and growl in a schizophrenic combination of terror and bravery.
Paco and Dusty were adopted within two days of one another, so no one except the grand old lady, Mia, has an upper paw in the tenure situation. In truth, Paco and Dusty barely tolerate each other, dashing my fantasy of watching the two foundlings joyfully playing together. What I got was two neurotic dogs who glare and grrrr at each other.
This armed peace ended when Dusty decided Paco, in his blanket on the living-room sofa, looked like "rat en croute." He snatched the blanket, with Paco still in it, which sent Paco scampering for safety under the sofa. Dusty, too big to go after him, sat down and held him hostage. For an hour. Dusty would not be distracted. Paco made sounds I had never heard from him before. By the way, did you know Yorkies can smile?
It was Christmas Eve, the night animals are supposed to talk. If Paco had anything to say, it would have turned the air blue.
In time, Dusty got bored, found his stuffed monkey, curled up on the sofa and went to sleep. Paco emerged cautiously from under the sofa, took to his bed, which he leaves only to go out. His food is brought room-service style.
At this writing, Paco remains in seclusion. A letter has been penned to Cesar Millan, TV's famed dog whisperer. It begs for help. I hope he answers soon. Last I checked, Dusty had stolen Paco's food dish and hid it in the sofa cushions.
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