Death of the green squeaker

Dorothy destroyed something for the first time today--her favorite toy, a green latex squeaking ball. Too bad Petsmart seems to have stopped carrying it. But, I'm not worried. I don't think she really misses it though; a pink oinking plush pig has already taken its place. Every carpeted inch of the house pretty much becomes her playground; she spreads all of her toys out all around the floor. We added a new plush toy from a Burger King kid's meal to her collection today (how's that for cost effective?!).

Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy, a BALL!

Dorothy loves chasing her mini-tennis ball. However, she keeps losing it under the shelf...
She gets frustrated and wants me to get it out for her...

My dog got attacked by a cat (how embarassing)

When I was little, it seemed that Hollywood always depicted cats as an evil threat to us. Lady and the Tramp, Cats vs. Dogs, Babe: it was always the cats that were sly, untrustworthy, and antagonistic. Positive cat portrayals were a minority. I just couldn't understand why such a cute and cuddly animal was always supposed to be evil. Now I know: BECAUSE THEY ARE!

Dorothy had been doing great with her full crate training. Last night was the first time she peed twice in one day. Stefan and I took her out for her scheduled 10pm walk, and she quickly squatted in the grass. We were so happy! I didn't expect her to go twice in one day. You can never know... animals are unpredictable. I'm just pleased with myself for remembering to bring a treat with me. While we were praising and pleased, we got distracted because this fat orange blob of a feral cat had creeped up on us. Catzilla--I swear it must weigh over 20 lbs. There's two of them; we've met them before, and it went fine. No one got aggressive or upset; we all just met each other and went on our separate ways. Well, not the case this time! Poor Dorothy. She cautiously, curiously stepped toward the cat, wanting to meet her and gently sniff her. I didn't want to get too close because I'm so allergic to those durn cats. But I thought, what's the harm? The cat didn't seem to go on the defensive, she just sat still in an unassuming pose and neutrally watched Dorothy approach her.

Then, WHAM! Without any sort of hiss warning, out flies a cat paw! I let out a startled scream, froze, the action came so abruptly. The cat paw made contact with Dorothy's face and made a sound, like when you punch someone. Dorothy took off running. Stefan dropped her leash--Dorothy got farther. If I hadn't been so stunned, I would have punted that miserable feline across the swamp. Once the stun wore off and my brain clicked back on, I immediately regretted not doing so. I'm ready to mess up that cat's day. I was OK with cats before--loved 'em at one point in my life, when I had one, before I had such a serious respiratory allergy to them. Well, it's safe to say I no longer have any interest in cats as of last night. Particularly fat ugly ones.

Dorothy is not as phased by this as I am. Once we got her back inside, you couldn't tell anything happened to her. She immediately went to say hi to my roommate and her mom. Not shy at all. We walked past that cat again today, and Dorothy didn't even notice. Terriers are supposed to fight cats--and win!

Now here's the thing about Dorothy. The struggles I have training her are completely the opposite as what you'd expect from a puppy. She really doesn't mind us bathing her, or examining her face, or almost any way we've handled her. I decided that this was an acceptable time to break my bacon-treats-for-potty-only rule. I held both of her eyes open to look for visible damage, combed around through the fur on her face to look for scars; she did not oppose. I looked into her eyes again later and saw what looked like scratched flap of corneal tissue. I FREAKED! I held her eye open to wash it with saline solution. She let us hold her still. I was shaking. After several minutes of Stefan and me coddling her, we started to see blood emerge from a scratch on her muzzle. I held her as I called KK. I left a message and apologized for calling so late at night, and she was able to return my call right away. I followed KK's instructions: wash the area with soap, treat it with Neosporin.

Today, her eyes looked free of damage (must have been debris I saw in there last night that we successfully washed away), I searched for the scar, but I guess dogs heal really fast. There's no scab, just a pink spot. It couldn't have been that deep since blood didn't appear until like 10 minutes later. I'm going to keep grooming her into cat-fighting shape.

Introduction

I'll be honest, my first few posts will be written retrospectively. However, I believe stories should be told chronologically, so here is the story of Dorothy and me.


It was about a year ago that I decided a west highland white terrier (westie) was the dog for me, whenever I decide I'm able to take proper care of one. I didn't decide this just because they're cute; what I really wanted to bring home with me is the westie personality. They are small in physical size, 12-18 lbs usually, but they are not small in any other way. They are intelligent, energetic dogs that are meant to hunt vermin and don't back down. They need to spend time outside, they want to go wherever you go, and they tend to be very independent-minded--they'll boss humans around if you let them! They are strong enough to keep up with an outdoorsy person but are small enough to still be portable. They can seem stubborn; I guess this is true for any terrier. If you don't know much about dogs and training, you might not know what to do with a westie. I think this is true for most terrier breeds. In general, you need to consistent, positive, and thorough with them to train them properly... but they are awfully cute!!!!!! Who could resist those inquisitive, expression-filled faces, pointed ears, and chunky tails?

Well, this is the day I was notified that I could take one home.
I got an e-mail from the president of Westie Rescue Indiana. (I filled my application out almost a year ago, but I didn't send it in until summer. I was worried my application wouldn't be approved. And besides, I was living in a dorm at the time. I wouldn't have a home to give the dog until I moved into my apartment in the fall. I was waiting for the right time.) Anyway, I got an urgent e-mail from her. She said, "I wanted to let you know that we are getting 25 Westies this coming weekend from a Missouri puppymill that is closing." WOW! She also said puppy mill rescues tend to be quiet and shyly suffering from a lack of human contact. I replied to her IMMEDIATELY to say I was still interested.

I have to admit... I'm nervous about it. I'm adamant that dog owners should be very responsible and that it's their responsibility to make sure their dogs are healthy and well-behaved. There is no room for people who allow their dogs to be problem-dogs. And I was worried that I wouldn't do a good job; what if I'm not responsible enough? What if I'm not ready? I don't want to be a hypocrite!

OK, I also know that I tend to hesitate. But I also realize that doubting yourself means accomplishing less in life. People who do good things do not lie in fear and wait for urgent matters to pass. They act. I just can't believe this is really happening! Time for me to pursue this, full force.

This is a rescue volunteer's picture I'm borrowing here.

I want to end this post with one very important point. Never, ever buy a dog from a pet shop. You may make the puppy in your arms very happy, but it ensures the misery of other dogs. More about puppies from pet shops, and alternatives, to come.