Beware Of Retractable Leashes!

For a long time, I have loathed retractable leashes. Walking two sight hounds who weigh eighty-one and seventy-eight pounds respectively, I must maintain control of my dogs at all times. I use four foot, reinforced velvet leashes with adjustable loops to wrap around my wrist. Any moving object will get my dogs' attention, and if I am not alert, I will be pulled along by two running machines that can reach forty-five miles per hour in a few strides. A sight I dread is a small dog being walked on a retractable leash. A small animal, dashing about erratically, is the most tantalizing prey for Bingley and Magic. Trying to control them under such circumstances is challenging, and, if I fail, serious injury can result. And I am not speaking only of the little dog. A friend of mine recently told me her story which illustrates a quite different, but equally serious, danger of retractable leashes. My friend is a tall, large-bone lady who is perfectly comfortable riding very large horses and jumping them over hurdles. She is at ease around both horses and dogs, and for years has always had an Australian Shepherd as her canine companion. Her Aussies are beautifully trained and well behaved. Recently, my friend was taking a walk with her sister and her dog. They were in the country-side, following along a gravel road. To give the Aussie a sense of freedom, my friend had her on a retractable leash let out to eighteen feet. What happened next is the intersection of innate dog behavior with physics. The Aussie saw a squirrel before my friend did. My friend does remember being lifted up in the air. Mercifully, she cannot remember the following seconds--or minutes. She came to her senses after having been dragged down the gravel road, her face, arms and one hand bleeding profusely. With help of her sister and husband, she was able to get to an emergency room for treatment. But the healing has been slow and painful. She will be consulting a plastic surgeon. If you are using a retractable leash, I hope I have frightened you.

When Will They Ever Learn?

Our daughter lives in a pretty residential area of a city in another Western state. She has a Yellow Lab, Georgia, whom she walks regularly. Yesterday, they encountered an off-leash Golden Retriever. What seemed to be an uneventful doggie meet and greet ended when the Retriever attacked Georgia. The Retriever's owner was shocked and distressed and has paid the vet bills. But we have a traumatized dog and human who will never again feel quite safe on their walks.

I hope that the Retriever's owner has learned NEVER to let her dog off leash unless she is in a dedicated off leash area.

I hope.

When Will They Ever Learn?

Yesterday, about 5:40 a.m, while I was walking Bingley and Magic, I chatted with another early rising neighbor. She has a VERY small Pomeranian, which, thankfully, was sleeping soundly inside her house. The ruckus that Bingley and Magic would have made over a Little Bundle of Fluff would have woken the entire neighborhood.

But I digress. Our chat drifted toward the subject of dogs and our loss of Portia. I mentioned that the attacks on all five of our dogs had occurred a short distance from their owner's houses. The dogs had been permitted to run loose from the car to the front door, or given a "brief" elimination break on their neighbor's lawns, or had "accompanied" their humans who were setting out trash cans for collection day.

My neighbor's eyes got large. She said, "Oh! I let Punkin come out with me when I roll out the trash cans."

I murmured that she was taking a great risk. She then remembered that Lucky, a minimally socialized mixed breed, lives directly across the street from her.

I rest my case.

But there was more to come.

Later in the morning I stopped at the light before turning right onto a four lane street that gives access to the freeway. Two women crossed the street with two Shih Tzus trotting along in close proximity. Actually, one woman was walking ahead of the dogs and one behind. Neither seemed to be paying close attention to what the dogs were doing. I looked closely to detect my bete noir the Awful Retractable Leash. But neither dog was leashed at all! Just two little Bundles of Fluff trotting merrily along a 4 lane street that is a favorite walking route for many neighborhood dogs of all shapes and sizes. I know of two Mastiffs and one Akita who are frequently walked there.

I wondered just what the little dogs--they're in the Toy group, for crying out loud--might meet on their totally unprotected walk. I didn't have to drive far to answer my question. Less than a block ahead of this nonchalant band of dogs and humans, another dog was being walked--Thank Heaven, on leash. A large Rottweiler.

Perhaps that particular Rottie can tolerate tiny creatures rushing up to it, yapping "hello", dodging back and forth in front of its face without feeling the urge to lunge and capture the little nuisances. Perhaps the two women, who were paying little attention to their canine companions, would see the Rottie, recognize potential disaster, scoop up the little darlings and turn for home.

Perhaps something frightening but not fatal would instruct those two women in the importance of walking their little dogs on leash.

Perhaps some tiny creature did not survive the inevitable encounter.

Call me a coward, but I was relieved that, whatever happened, I wouldn't be a witness. Traffic was moving rapidly. I didn't have time to change lanes, make a U-turn and warn the women with the Shih Tzus before they would have caught up with the Rottie.

And if I had, what do you think the odds are that they would have smiled at me and said, "Don't worry, our dogs love everyone.

Can We Talk?

It's no secret that Friends of Portia is implacably opposed to letting unleashed dogs set paw on any urban, suburban street, lawn or park. Indeed every single one of the attacks on my leashed dogs have occurred within a few feet of the attacking, unleashed dog's house.

But there is another problem encountered by anyone who walks an adequately leashed dog: The Retractable Leash.

There is one setting in which I would give my ok to the use of a retractable leash: In The Country, Where No Other Dogs Are Present.

On city and suburban sidewalks, in city and suburban parks, retractable leashes are a serious hazard, both for the inadequately restrained dog, and for properly leashed dogs and their walkers.

One of Portia's Good Friends is Zoe, who walks her Chow Chow mix, Lucy, in a nearby park. Like many rescued dogs, Lucy is--shall we say--discriminating in her choice of canine friends.

I admit that I totally identify with Zoe and Lucy. Having met Lucy, I can assure you that she is a sweet, adorable creature. She is a loving, dependable companion to humans. However, she is one of thousands of canine companions who are devoted to their humans, but are not so sure about their tolerance of other dogs. So, of course, Zoe does not take Lucy to off-leash parks and takes all reasonable precautions when she walks Lucy on leash.

But there are no reasonable precautions that can withstand an encounter with a dog on the end of a retractable leash.

On a recent morning, Zoe and Lucy encountered, not one, but two Little Bundles of Fluff at the end of retractable leashes. I doubt the owners of those dogs had any idea of just how much strength it took for Zoe to keep their vulnerable little companions from serious injury.

There is NOTHING more tantalizing to an adequately leashed dog than the sight of a Little Bundle of Fluff making its erratic way along a path or lawn, which is what a retractable leash permits--encourages--a dog to do. And THEN, there is the moment--the inevitable moment--when the Little Bundle of Fluff realizes that it is receiving the intense, undivided attention of a Big Serious Dog.

Gentle reader, I can scarcely bring myself to describe what invariably happens next. The Little Bundle of Fluff chooses to confront the Big Serious Dog, lunging and yapping. If the human at the other end of the retractable leash is typical, he or she will interpret their darling's suicidal behavior as "an invitation to get acquainted with a new friend."

Proper leashing of dogs permits their walkers to adjust for optimal distance between turf conscious dogs and to control their dogs when optimal distances cannot be maintained. Good leashes make for good canine neighbors. Good leashes make it possible for Lucy and Bingley and Magic and Odie--and many, many other dogs I might name--to enjoy walks without jeopardizing themselves or other dogs.

But retractable leashes compromise these protections--and in the process compromise the safety of all humans and dogs in the vicinity of the retractably "leashed" dog.

Furthermore, many city codes--including the city code of the City of San Marcos where Lucy and Zoe's ordeal took place, specify that leashes are not to exceed six feet, which makes all fully extended retractable leashes illegal.

But who is going to bother with that technicality when there are so many totally unleashed dogs creating havoc.

So please. I beg of you. If you plan to walk a dog of any size, invest in sturdy equipage. And, especially, if your dog is a Little Bundle of Fluff, you should NEVER FOR ONE SECOND consider placing it on the end of a retractable leash. If you really care about its well being, pick it up if you find yourself in the vicinity of a dog who shows intense, undivided attention to it. I promise. The other dog is not looking for a new friend.

What I Would Have Said

Given the fact that I have had FIVE leashed dogs attacked by unleashed dogs, it's not surprising that I am still mentally reviewing my Walk In The Park yesterday. I am more grateful than I can say that I am not spending today home-nursing two traumatized, stitched and drained dogs. Or worse, visiting a wounded, bewildered dog fighting for its life in intensive care.

Only someone who has done all that can possibly know how much I never want ever, ever to have to do any of that again.

But until the general level of knowledge about dog behavior and differences bred into various groups and breeds of dogs is raised, I must accept that every time I harness and leash my beloved Bingley and Magic and take them out for their favorite treat--a walk--one of them, both of them, or all three of us, might very well end up in an emergency medical facility because some other dog owner has failed to exercise common sense or has failed to follow the law.

As I was shouting to the Boxer's walker "Leash your dog!", "Keep your dog away from my dogs!", "Don't come any closer to me!", she was walking toward me, shouting "You need to train your dogs better!", "My dog is perfectly trained!"

Aside from the fact that I doubt her dog would have remained calm and obedient if it had been leashed and had an unleashed dog charging directly at it,there are other facts that cannot be "shared" when one is literally fighting for the life of one's beloved canine companions.

I would have explained that Bingley and Magic are Sighthounds, and, as such, were bred for a very different purpose than her dog, a Boxer.

Boxers belong to the Working Group, dogs who were developed to work alongside humans, looking to humans for guidance and direction. Their work required a tough, strong body and jaws that rival those of the large terrier breeds.

I am very glad that the Boxer in question has been to obedience classes. If Boxers are not trained and socialized early in life, they can be as serious a canine menace as can be imagined. Well socialized, they are wonderful companions and family pets.

Sighthounds are just about as different from Boxers as can be imagined and still belong to the same species. Sighthounds were bred to run. Fast. They were not bred to "take directions." They were bred to follow normal canine instincts as efficiently as possible.

Greyhounds are the crowning achievement of canine aerodynamics. Greyhounds have long, slender bones, long, fine muscles, that are covered in the thinnest layer of skin and hair. Their skin is so thin that in some places not only can it not be stitched, it cannot even be cauterized. Direct pressure is the only way to stop bleeding. A Greyhound that has been attacked by another dog requires immediate veterinary care to save its life. Even that was not enough to save my beautiful Portia.

Greyhounds--and other Sighthounds, Magic is a Greyhound/Scottish Deerhound--are bred to respond to movement. They will chase ANYTHING that moves. Furthermore, their long distance vision is superior to humans', so they will see something moving before the keenest-eyed human sees it. The running/chasing response to movement is instantaneous. It cannot be trained out of their behavioral repertoire. AND within two strides, the Sighthound is moving so fast and their heart is pumping so loudly, they cannot hear even the loudest shouted command. It is nature's ultimate over-ride of training. Not only does the Sighthound not hear commands, it does not see anything but the object of the chase. Not the tree it is about to hit, nor the car that is about to hit it. An unleashed, unconfined Sighthound is very likely to be a dead Sighthound.

Now. Imagine that you are the fastest breed of dog in the world. You love your walks, but your greatest joy in life is running unrestrained. However, you cannot run unrestrained very often because your human is concerned about your safety. So, you settle for walks. And every week you get to walk with some other dogs who look a lot like you and live in similar circumstances. It's the highlight of your week.

Then, one day, you see a dog across the park who gets to run free. But it cannot run half as fast as you can. You really want to show that silly dog how running should be done! But you've got on a collar, a harness and two leashes and your human isn't responding to your urgent request to run after that clumsy excuse for a running dog.

You get the picture.

But yesterday, it got worse. The loose dog's human let it run DIRECTLY at my two excited, aroused dogs.

I supposed it's unrealistic to ever expect other dog owners to understand the unique vulnerabilities of my sweet Magic, and especially of my sweet Bingley.

But leash laws are there to protect Magic and Bingley. And Franklin and Hattie and Odie.

I can expect people to obey leash laws. Even if they don't understand them

A Walk In The Park

Marilyn and I walk our hounds in a park close to my home just about every week. The City of San Marcos has strict but reasonable leash laws. It has also provided four off leash parks for people who prefer to run their dogs off leash. The park where Marilyn and I walk Franklin, Hattie, Odie, Bingley and Magic is NOT an off leash park and is posted as such.

This morning was cloudy and cool--ideal weather for dog walking. The dogs were frisky and happy to see each other.

As we were strolling, discussing recent placements of kennel dogs in "forever" homes and dogs who need "forever" homes, Bingley let out a distinctive whine. It means: I see something I really want to chase, or, I see another dog. Sometimes it means both.

Across the width of the park, a woman was walking a large Boxer. All five of our dogs went on alert, and we did what we always do, changing the direction we were walking to maximize distance between our two packs and the new dog.

But just at the moment we thought sufficient distance had been achieved between our dogs and the Boxer, the Boxer's walker removed its leash and let it run.

Leashed dogs--especially leashed dogs whose main joy in life is running and who can out-run any other breed--become quite agitated when they see another dog running free when they are restrained.

We prepared to leave that section of the park.

But the Boxer's owner had a further "surprise" for us. She turned her dog, who began to run directly at Bingley and Magic.

I called for her to leash her dog. She was very angry with me for such presumption.

I called for her to keep her dog at a distance from my dogs. She told me to send my dogs to training school. Her dog, she said, was "perfectly trained."

Her dog was charging my dogs.

Marilyn, ever quick witted, performed an evasive action with her pack which distracted the Boxer while she engaged the Boxer's owner in further "conversation".

Eventually the Boxer and its owner left the park so that the owner could "research" San Marcos leash laws. She refused to believe that it wasn't permissible for her to run her "perfectly trained" dog off leash since there was an "open field."

I trust the Boxer's owner discovered that the park in question is,indeed, only for leashed dogs. I trust that next week we will not encounter her or her Boxer.

Only Marilyn's quick thinking and intervention saved Bingley, Magic and me from something I can't bear to picture.

As Marilyn said after the incident, Some people shouldn't have dogs.

Walking Sight Hounds

Most Tuesday mornings, my friend, Marilyn, and I walk our hounds in a park not far from my house. I say "hounds" rather than "Greyhounds", because two of our dogs are of mixed heritage. Franklin, Marilyn's big male, has some indeterminate breed in his background. But he "thinks" he's a Greyhound and is a star of Show and Tells. My female, Magic, is all Sight Hound, but a blend of Greyhound and Scottish Deerhound. She looks a little like a "Wirehaired Greyhound", or as Greyhound Adoption Center says, she's a "Fuzzy".

The last two weeks' walks have offered the added interest and challenge of a Mallard couple who have found that grub hunting on the spacious lawns of the park is the way they want to spend their mornings. Sight Hounds aren't particularly "birdy", but they are wired to chase anything that moves. So our walks have involved turning all five dogs before they fix their attentions on the Mallards and become a pursuing pack.

Yesterday, as we were executing one of these avoidance maneuvers, an old Nemesis appeared to our left.

For months last year, we did battle with a man who brought his herding dog to the park and ran it off leash, causing our dogs to do everything in their power to pull free so that they could show that clunky herder what real running was all about.

Multiple phone calls to The Authorities, and a few face to face confrontations in front of the official sign that notifies dog walkers of the leash law in San Marcos finally convinced the herding dog's owner to leash him--on a retractable leash that technically still violated the law. But even this inadequate restraint gave Marilyn and me a chance to turn our dogs and avoid a serious incident.

Until yesterday, when the herding dog was off leash--and relatively close to our dogs. It was a formula for disaster. But miracle of miracles, the herding dog saw the Mallards before our dogs saw him. I had the distinctly mean-spirited pleasure of watching the herding dog's owner, "Mr. My Highly Trained Good Citizen Canine Always Obeys Me," running to catch up with his dog who was in hot pursuit of the Mallards.

I am still amazed that Bingley, who had been "on point" and trembling with the urge to run all morning, somehow failed to notice what was going on--just yards behind him. But sometimes, sight hounds' hard wiring works to my advantage. With Bingley it is really almost always the rule, "Out of sight, out of mind." He had found something else on which to focus. Who knows what? Perhaps a branch on a distant tree blowing in the wind. Or a plastic bag, floating far out of my range of vision. All I can say is, for once, he was not in the middle of the drama. What a relief!

Starting Over

Top to bottom: Daphne, Zephyr, Portia, Bingley and Magic


The dog attack in Emerald Heights serves as another reminder that the entire body of laws and their enforcement in San Diego County need to be re-examined and reformulated to fit the current situation which includes:

1. Much denser population than existed when current laws and policies were made.

2. A rise in two career families, leading to dogs being left on their own for long stretches of time.

3. Severe dog overpopulation.

4. No-kill shelters (good), leading to re-homing of rescued dogs with "issues". (Good, but challenging).

This is probably not a complete list of changes that have occurred regarding dogs and people, but these are all factors contributing to the current problem of unsocialized, unrestrained dogs on North County streets and parks who present threats to the safety and lives of people and leashed dogs.

Since April, 2001, five rescued dogs have been a part of my life. Two of the five are currently members of my household. John and I would not have wanted to miss knowing any of them. However. Each one of them came to us with their own quirks and issues that were their individual adjustments to their genetic predispositions and their unique--sometimes cruel--life experiences.

We have not brought one of these dogs into our home that did not make me initially ask myself: "What have I done? Am I really able to meet the challenges that this dog presents?"

Sometimes it has taken weeks. Sometimes it has taken months. But, eventually, we form our methods of two way communication. The dog learns that John and I can be trusted for basic needs, acceptance and love. A new equilibrium is established in our household, and we watch our new doggie begin to share their "true selves" with us.

However: Each one of these dogs has enduring traits that are reflections of their previous life.

Daphne never could overcome her terror of motorcycles and loud trucks. Nor could she learn to modify her aggressive reaction to them. The puppy abandoned and alone on the streets of L.A. was a permanent part of her make up.

Zephyr never was able to overcome her fear of anything that sounded like a gunshot. Whenever she heard an engine backfire, she turned and ran for home. We suspect that during her long racing career, she witnessed the shooting of her less successful competitors.

Portia had night terrors. She was apparently re-living some early trauma--perhaps the race when she broke her ankle.

Bingley is very high prey. A model citizen in the home, he becomes The Mighty Hunter once we hook up collar, harness and leashes and open the door. We are resigned to his never being able to unlearn the early training that his job, indeed his life, depended on his being able to chase down fuzzy creatures.

Magic is still settling in. But the years of confinement in a cage, having no nurturing contact with a human have clearly made her anxious in new situations. Unsure of her safety, she is poised to bolt.

Now. Think about it. Do these dogs deserve a chance to live out their lives in a loving home? I think they do. Do these dogs deserve to enjoy daily walks on a leash? I think they do.

I work with my dogs. I teach them "no", "let's go", "down". But I am not sanguine about being able to overcome early learning and trauma. I depend on collars, leashes and harnesses to enable me to restrain them from being nuisances or even menaces to other dogs.

I also depend on other dog owners to keep their dogs restrained. Their dogs might be models of canine good citizens. But all dogs are unpredictable. Even highly trained dogs. I do not take my dogs into situations that I have reason to believe are beyond their tolerance. I rely on other dog owners to obey the laws so that my dogs can live a reasonable doggie life.

Rethinking dog-human laws and their enforcement is necessary at this time for many reasons. But an important reason is that people are becoming more and more aware of the challenges of homeless dogs and are adopting rescued dogs. This is a Really Good Thing. But it makes realistic dog related laws and enforcement all the more critical.

Dog or Coyote?

Yesterday morning, Bingley, Magic and I were enjoying our morning walk. It was getting on for 5:30am--still dark enough to need a flashlight for poop clean-up, but light enough to see objects against the eastern sky. The storm of the previous day had cleared out and I wasn't concerned about getting the dogs home before the arrival of a downpour.

We had climbed the hill, walked across the crest, and had begun to make our descent, when both dogs went on alert. Across the park at the foot of the hill, I saw a tan animal run from my right to left and disappear into the shrubbery at the edge of the park.

My initial thought was that it was a large, loose dog. But then I realized it might be a young coyote. I couldn't be sure.

So I turned my excited dogs around and headed back the way we had come. The dogs seemed to realize that they had missed their favorite part of the walk, but I couldn't take a chance.

I thought about it all day yesterday. What had I seen? A dog? A coyote? What should I do this morning? Should I walk the usual route and depend on my pepper spray and my dogs' early warning behavior? Should I think about a different route? The problem, of course, is that the route I usually take is the one where I feel safest.

So, with a prayer for our safety, I hooked up harnesses and leashes and off we went on our regular walk. Just beyond the park, both dogs went on alert, looking up into the undergrowth that borders the sidewalk. Bingley responded to my gentle tug and "let's go", but Magic really wanted to go after something lurking in the thick vegetation. I had to speak to her again to break her concentration.

Strangely, I felt relief. I'm pretty sure now that what I saw yesterday and what Magic wanted to pursue this morning was a coyote. A single, probably adolescent coyote. I feel safer. A single adolescent coyote poses much less danger for Bingley and Magic than does a large loose dog.

Hello, 2010, or, Having A Dog Is A Privilege, Not A Right

Part of caring very much about an issue is losing one's reluctance to be seen as a scold or a nag. In a previous post, on the eve of Thanksgiving, I wrote about two dogs who, to their misfortune, belonged to People Who Should Not Have Dogs. Happily, for the little Pekingese, a brand new home was found for him with People Who Have Earned the Right To Have Dogs.

Unhappily, the Husky puppy who cried for hours the evening before Thanksgiving remains with People Who Should Not Have Dogs. Repeatedly over the past six weeks, his cries have been ongoing for periods of several hours: sometimes in the afternoon, sometimes in the evening.

The days are long since past when Authorities can tailor responses to individual dog related problems to the individual circumstances. The quantity and severity of pet abuse incidents require Authorities to follow procedures to the letter and act only when a law is violated. A healthy four month old Husky who is very unhappy about being left on a pulley in a backyard for hours and hours and shares his unhappiness with anyone within earshot, is not, by statute, being mistreated, if he has access to food, water, and "some sort" of shelter. If he is not on a pulley, but just on a lead, he is not being mistreated until he cries for more than three hours.

On the other hand, if a citizen lodges a complaint about a crying or barking dog, the Authorities, by policy, write a letter to the dog's owners. A second complaint, by policy, requires a visit to the dog's owners by an officer.

So. When the Husky cries, I call Authorities. Authorities explain to me the limits of the law. I listen. I suggest, perhaps, some required dog ownership classes for the Husky's owners. The officer to whom I speak knows that won't happen. I know, that at least in the foreseeable future, it won't happen. But "procedures" require that Authorities contact the Husky's family because I've complained.

And guess what? It's been almost a week since I've heard that Husky puppy crying for more than a few minutes.

All it takes is for one private citizen to be willing to make herself a Royal Pain.

Last week when Marilyn and I were walking our dogs in a nearby park, not one, but TWO dogs were being run off leash. Marilyn and I have a long history with the owner of one of the dogs. After our repeated reports, he had reluctantly put his large herding mix dog on a 10 to 15 foot lead--well over the legal limit of 6 feet, but we had won in principle.

Last Tuesday, just as we were congratulating ourselves on a non-eventful walk, and heading back to the parking lot, Bingley saw something, let out his "Prey Needs To Be Chased" howl, and pulled on the leash. Sure enough, a couple was running a small, white, fluffy dog off leash.

When we asked them to leash their dog, they assured us he was "fine." I don't know how they thought that since--by then--FIVE sight hounds were pulling at leashes, eager to give chase to their darling doggie.

But as Marilyn and I held our dogs in check and blocked their view of the fluffy white dog as best we could, (for sight hounds, "out of sight IS out of mind") the large herding mix dog, who had been the bane of our walks for months, appeared unleashed ahead of us to our right, and even though our dogs saw HIM, HE was concentrating on the little white dog, who, suddenly, was not "fine", even in the judgment of his carefree owners.

Marilyn and I waited while the fluffy white dog's owners and the herding mix's owner sorted things out and left the area.

Marilyn and I plan to walk our dogs tomorrow in the same park. Will the owners of the fluffy white dog and the herding mix have learned a lesson from last week's encounter? Stay tuned. If not, I suspect that the Authorities will be receiving yet another call from this Cranky Old Lady.

Loose Pit Bull

Last week, Zoe was walking Bella, her rescued Aussie-Chow mix, when they encountered a loose, intact Pit Bull--no tags, no collar. If you do not feel a frisson picturing such an encounter, check to be sure you have a pulse.

Like many rescues, Bella has "issues." In the years that she has lived with Zoe's family, Bella has made great strides in learning to trust and in becoming less reactive. But the emotional scars of past mistreatment will never be totally eradicated. Like all dogs, Bella enjoys and deserves walks. Her safety, of course, depends on other dog owners observing leash laws and keeping their dogs properly confined. THAT is what leash laws are for.

Somehow, Zoe maintained her composure, slowly turned Bella to return home and calmly chatted to the dogs as the loose Pit Bull followed them all the way home and settled in their yard as Zoe carefully opened the door to take Bella into safety. And yes, Bella has been spayed, but I understand that intact male dogs do not always make that distinction.

Since Zoe and Bella live in San Marcos, their leash law enforcement agency is Escondido Humane Society. Do not bother looking for the EHS phone number in the phone book. It is not there. Zoe contacted the City of San Marcos for the number, but waited until 10:00 am to call. That is when a live person begins to take messages at Escondido Humane Society.

Upon learning that an intact Pit Bull was loose in Zoe's neighborhood, the EHS representative informed Zoe that Escondido Humane Society is more than busy because they are the animal enforcement authority for the cities of Escondido, Poway, AND San Marcos. So, there was no certainty that one of their officers would be available to respond to a report of a LOOSE, INTACT, PIT BULL--with no identification.

Think about that.

The City of San Marcos, the County of San Diego--indeed, every jurisdiction within the County of San Diego--have a SERIOUS problem with an over-abundance of unsocialized Pit Bulls and Pit Bull mixes. San Diego Pit Bull Rescue works tirelessly to ameliorate the situation, but there are limits to what a group of even the most dedicated volunteers can do.

Public shelters have more Pit Bulls and Pit Bull mixes brought into their custody than they can ever hope to place for adoption. One wonders just what priorities should take precedence for EHS's attention over a loose, intact Pit Bull--potential source for even MORE unplanned, unsocialized Pit Bull mixes.

San Diego County Animal Control is the dog-related law enforcement authority for most of San Diego County. However, the City of San Marcos, along with Escondido and Poway, has contracted with Escondido Humane Society to enforce their leash laws. Escondido Humane Society represented itself as capable of performing that job.

Frankly, I have my doubts.

Happy Birthday, Bingley! The Survivor is Six Years Old Today

The afternoon of February 16, 2008, John and I were standing with Darren in a turnout run at Greyhound Adoption Center, trying to decide which of two dogs to adopt. Portia had romped and played with both dogs, and it was probable that either dog would adjust to her aggressive play style.

These are terrible moments. Even though the dog you don't choose will have good care from dedicated staff and volunteers at the rescue kennel, dogs need a home, and only one dog was going to get a home that day. Which to choose?

I felt a brush against my leg and looked down into the warmest, sweetest pair of brown canine eyes. "Please take me home." I swear I heard the words.

We brought the big fawn-red Greyhound home that day to be Portia's buddy. Today he is our only dog. He is a Survivor. The Survivor. This is his story.

When Bingley was three weeks shy of his second birthday, on August 11, 2005, he ran and won his first race in Florida. He continued to race in Florida until sometime between June and November of 2006. He won his first race in Tucson, Arizona on November 14, 2006. The last race he won was in Tucson on January 1, 2007. He lost races on January 4 and January 8.

Racing Greyhounds have limited chances to be winners. If they stop winning and no one rescues them, they are killed. Fortunately, Bingley wasn't killed. Unfortunately, sometime after January 8, 2007, Bingley was sold to Gambling Man. Gambling Man thought it would be a good idea to run his own string of Greyhounds.

Bingley was one of five Greyhounds that Gambling Man acquired. I don't like to think about what life was like during the months Bingley and his four companions were being hauled around while Gambling Man tried to set up races for them. Eventually, they were hauled into California, where dog racing is illegal.

The authorities caught up with Gambling Man on October 13, 2007. Greyhound Adoption Center was notified and Rescuer, with many years of removing Greyhounds from bad situations was on hand when Gambling Man's dog hauler was opened. Rescuer reports that it had been years since she had witnessed such a dreadful scene of neglect. Two dogs had died. Three had survived. Bingley was a Survivor.

It's fortunate that Gambling Man was found and the dogs were rescued when they were. A week later, San Diego County was engulfed in fires that would have made such a rescue impossible. Indeed, Bingley and his two buddies were among the dogs evacuated from the Greyhound Adoption Center kennel at the height of the fires.

Bingley knew nothing about houses when he first entered ours. We had put large pieces of paper on windows and sliding doors, so that he would understand that they were not starting gates and try to run through them. We put paper squares on the mirrored doors of my closet. But Bingley could still see the dog looking directly at him from inside the closet. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn't dig through the carpet to reach that dog. Each time I opened the closet door, he was poised--then puzzled.

Bingley learned to ask Portia's permission for just about anything. THE kong was the kong that Portia wanted. THE sofa was the sofa Portia wanted to laze on. Of course, as soon as Bingley got comfortable on the other sofa, Portia might--and probably would--change her mind. Bingley would let Portia have HER sofa.

The one place where Bingley ruled was out-of-doors. Houses and sofas and cushion beds and toys were wonderful, but they weren't a part of the world he knew. What he DID know was running--and chasing small or furry critters.

Portia might start a race in the back yard, but Bingley always won it.

Bingley changed--and still changes--from sweet, get-along doggie to SUPERDOG, once the front door opens. So he'd better be on leash. Shortly after he came to live with us, we discovered that he could duck out of a regular Martingale collar in a nanosecond and streak across TWO lanes of traffic in order to chase two Chihuahuas.

Both Chihuahuas and Bingley survived. But Bingley now sports a two inch wide, custom-made Martingale collar (thank you, Laurel) and a harness when he is out and about.

Bingley doesn't understand "Fetch." And certainly not "Bring it here." HE tosses. HE catches. HE keeps.

Bingley cannot always remember what "sit" means. But he remembers where he saw the last bunny in the park and which houses have cats.

The night of the attack, after Portia had been savaged and John had been bitten and fell, Bingley slipped out of both collar and harness and in spite of being bitten, he helped our neighbor, Jim, chase the attacking dog back to his yard. And very uncharacteristically for the high-prey Greyhound that he is, he returned to John promptly when he was called.

These sad two months since our beautiful Portia died, Bingley has been a constant solace to John and me. But we know Bingley is lonely. He's never been an only dog before, and not all the squeaky toys in the world can replace his pal, Portia.

We're thinking about finding another buddy for him. When we're ready. When we find the perfect--or next to perfect pal for our Survivor.

But today, it's time to say, Happy Birthday, Bingley, Bing, Bing-Bing, Bing-a-ling, Mr. Bingley, Mr. B. And many, many more.

Defensive Dog Walking II

I mentioned that I try to start my dog walks between 5 and 5:30am. That's because the neighborhood is VERY quiet. People who think it's a good idea to let their dog loose "out front" for a quick pee before they close it up for the day are still sleeping and junk yard dogs are sleeping.

My husband takes the evening walks--usually after 8pm, when dog activity is winding down; a precaution, but not sufficient, as we found to our sorrow. The attack which injured John and Bingley and killed Portia occurred well after 8pm.

We slept in a bit this morning. It was 5:45 am when I fastened Bingley into his harness and clipped on his collar and harness leashes. It was a clear, lovely morning. The rooster that I usually hear thirty minutes earlier was still greeting the day. It was six weeks after Portia died before I got the courage to complete my old walking circuit, passing the place of the attack. I have now done that twice. Today I intended to.

Then, as I was coming down the hill where I turn into the street where the attack happened, I noticed a garage door opened, the light on. I paused, waiting to see if someone was backing out a car. No sound of a car motor, no car lights. That particular house is home to a large mixed breed dog who frequently barks from the confinement of his backyard as we pass. Once or twice, I've waited about a half block away while he is transferred, leashless, from house to car or car to house.

Decision time. I was well beyond the halfway point of the walk. I wanted to get home in good time because I had things to do before taking Bingley on his Big Weekly Treat, his Tuesday morning walk with Marilyn's pack: Franklin, Hattie, and Ruby.

I took my own advice, turned around and headed back up the hill, retracing my steps. Would there have been an Incident? I'll never know. But Bingley had his Big Treat. He's sleeping soundly on the love seat in front of the desk where I'm typing. I'm glad I didn't take a chance. The pleasant morning I've had beats any trip to even the best emergency vet's. Believe me. I know.