Goodbye, Max

Max is dead.

He and Rufus got out of the house Friday night, ran into a nearby road and were hit by a truck. Rufus was killed instantly. We took Max to the emergency clinic, but X-rays showed extensive damage to his hips and spine, and so we put him to sleep. He died as I stroked him and looked into his eyes.

We buried Max and Rufus together in our yard, so they are together in death as they were in life -- best friends.

As you know from reading this blog, Max could be a terrible dog. He would attack any other dog and kill small animals. In three years he never learned to sit, stay or come. He stole food off the table. He refused to be housebroken and considered the entire house to be his potty. He richly deserved his nickname "Rat Dog."

Max was also the sweetest little guy I ever met. He had a huge nose and a personality to match. His favorite place was on my lap having his belly scratched. On walks he would trot along like a little gentleman, his eyes watching everything, missing nothing.

As I've said before: you tend to love the kid who gives you the most trouble. Max gave me a plateful of trouble in his short life, and I loved him like crazy.

Goodbye, Max.

Max Did NOT Kill The Puppy

Well, Max did not kill the new puppy, although it was touch-and-go for awhile.

To back up: While Bev and I were on vacation in New Hampshire a few weeks ago, we passed a dog rescue group on the side of the road that was giving away 15 puppies. Being suckers, we stopped and held a few, and soon we had adopted Sam, a 12-week-old rat terrier. Black and white spots, floppy ears -- the whole irresistible puppy package.

We weren't worried that we already had three dogs. We have a large home, a big yard, and we LOVE dogs. The only problem was Max. We knew that he attacks and tries to kill other animals, and that includes dogs. We figured if we could introduce Max to the puppy gradually over several days, Sam had a good chance of surviving.


It was like we figured. Our old dog, Ginger, sniffed Sam and then ignored him. Rufus, our English Setter, wanted to play ball with Sam, using Sam for the ball. But when Max saw us holding the puppy, he launched himself -- mouth frothing, teeth chattering -- straight at Sam. We had to kick him away and put Sam in a cage, where Max tried to bite through the bars to get at the cowering puppy. Whew.

We kept Max and Sam separated, and when we got home from vacation, we gradually began bringing the two together. At first, we kept Max muzzled because he kept trying to bite. After a few days, we took the muzzle off and let Max approach Sam as we held him and kept one hand on Max's collar. There were several near misses, and Max bit the puppy once, but soon Max started to show more curiosity than aggression. He would sniff and nose the puppy, and if he started to get excited we gently made him back off.

We knew we were on the right path when we were able to break Max's fixation by offering him a treat or calling him to go outdoors. And after a week, we put the puppy on the floor, Max sniffed him and then went to eat his supper. Victory.

We still have to be careful. Max and the puppy will play, and it's a fine line between play and aggression with Max. If Sam runs away, Max quickly switches to attack mode. But we think as the puppy grows, he will look less like prey and more like a friend, and Max will calm down.

So Max did NOT kill the new puppy, and we're well on our way to becoming a four-dog family.

Toads: The Fifth Food Group

The highlight of Max's day is when we put the leashes on our three dogs and go for a walk. Max and his buddy Rufus play in the yard all day, but there's no substitute for the walk. It seems to fill a doggy psychological need. Even if we talk a short walk, Max always comes back refreshed and relaxed.

When we walk, Max has to wear a head harness or he leaps and lunges uncontrollably. The harness fits loosely over his head and attaches to the leash. If he tries to lunge, the harness pulls his head sideways, something he doesn't like. So Max walks like a small gentleman, head erect, looking straight ahead.

In harness, Max ignores other dogs, cats and even the occasional rabbit. (Out of harness, these things turn him into a raging, frothing mini-tornado.) But he has one weakness: toads. There are plenty of toads in our neighborhood during the summer, and there's always one hopping across our path and under Max's long nose. When this happens, there's a quick jerk on the leash, a snap and the poor creature is ready for Toad Heaven.

But with the delights of killing amphibians also comes Toad's Revenge. The toad releases a foul-tasting fluid that gives Max a bad case of "Aggghh! What's in my mouth? Help, I'm dying!"

Despite this, Max continues to bite toads. I guess his little psycho-pooch brain is long on aggression and short on consequences. I hope he never meets a skunk.

Max supports reading!

BANISHED!

It finally happened. Max has been kicked off the bed, where he had slept under the covers since we got him. He has been banished to a dog bed in the corner of the bedroom. He is not happy.

This is a major change for all of us. The day we got him, we said, "Where will Max sleep?" and he answered the question by diving under the covers. He had slept there since, a furry hot-water bottle on cold nights. And every morning, he would crawl out and stick his big nose in my face to wake me up or, if that didn't work, sit on my head.

Unfortunately, Max was territorial under the covers. He never touched me (I am Alpha Dog, after all), but if my wife bumped him at night, he would nip her. The last time this happened, we decided enough was enough. Max was out.

Convincing Max was another matter. The next night, he jumped onto the bed and I nudged him off. He jumped up and I pushed him off. He jumped up and I kicked him off. (You trying telling a Fox Terrier no.) After the sixth repetition, he stood on the floor, a look of confused reproach on his face. We made him a bed of blankets on the floor and covered him with a bath robe. It took several tries, but we got him to stay there.

We went through this routine several nights and then bought Max a fluffy dog bed. He inspected it and settled down, apparently deciding that sleeping in a little bed was preferable to getting knocked off the big one.

From king of the covers to dog-bed refugee. Poor Max.

Max the Knife, or Where Is Rufus' Tail?

Warning: The following post is not for the weak of heart or stomach.

Max and his best friend, Rufus, stay together in a large cage when the family isn't home. This was fine until last Thursday when I arrived home late from work. The family wasn't there , so I let our three dogs out of the house, to the usual happy commotion.

Coming back inside, I was shocked to see heavy blood spotting across the kitchen floor. I followed the red trail to the cage, and found a scene of crimson gore: blood soaking the cage floor, spattering the wall behind it, drenching the window curtains, spotting furniture, and pooling on the carpet around the cage.

Quickly checking, I found Rufus' tail and hindquarters were drenched with fresh blood. And with every step, more dripped from the end of his tail.

The next hour was a confused blur as a neighbor and I used direct pressure, chemical cauterization and wrapping to stop the bleeding. Rufus was in shock from blood loss and pain, but we wrapped him in a blanket and he soon recovered.


The house looked like a butcher's shop, with blood spotting, streaking, smearing and soaking surfaces from the back door to the bathtub (where we contained the worst). Five days later, we're still sponging blood out of the carpet, and I'll have to repaint sections of the walls.

So what happened? Our vet later found that the tip of Rusus' tail, about an inch, had been neatly severed. You can see his tail bone in the wound, yuck!

I have two theories:

1. Rufus somehow wedged his tail into the wire of the cage and yanked off the tip while getting loose.

2. Max and Rufus fought in the cage, and Max bit off Rufus' tail.

Either idea is plausible, especially since the cage was half-wrecked, as though someone had thrashed around in it. However, there was no hair caught on the cage, no blood on Max's muzzle, and we never found the tail tip.

Rufus will be fine, though he will have a little less wag from now on. And I have my suspicions about what happened. Since the "accident," Max has looked particularly innocent, a clear sign he's guilty of something.

Max and Ginger

When Max came home Ginger did not like it at all!!So when Max went outside .Ginger came outside too.Max wanted to play with Ginger but Ginger didn't want to.

Mei-An
Age:8