The Safety of Four Walls

November 19, 2011
When we got Max, we were told by his foster family that we were his third owners.
His first owners neglected him. He'd go hungry and sick, and rarely get the love and attention that each dog needs to have. His second owners had beaten him.
But I didn't know about his history when I first saw him at a pet adoption event. The little guy laid there in his cage, not looking happy, but content. Other dogs looked more happy, they'd sit up and wag their tails. Max just laid there quietly, looking out at the world. Somehow, that attracted me. He had this peacefulness about him that seemed quite like myself.
I look back now and realize he had felt safe in that cage.
The next several months were Max's best times with us. He'd scramble all throughout the house. His claws would dig into the carpet as he ran as fast he could around the couch and coffee table. I called him "Rug Ripper" because that's what it sounded like when he was most happiest.
And when he was tired, he'd jump up on my lap and take a nap as I watched television.
We couldn't take Max everywhere we went, often we left him at home.
Finally I told my wife, "Max needs a companion. I think he gets lonely when we're gone."
So we adopted another dog. Mia.
The first thing you notice about Mia is that she's social, loves to be with you, sitting on your lap. But you also notice how free-spirited she is, independent. She's pretty smart, and definitely an alpha female. She's always testing me for dominance in the pack.
It didn't take long for me to realize that Mia was my favorite dog.
Max quickly realized his place, which was at the very bottom of the pack. He no longer scrambled throughout the house. He no longer jumped up on my lap to take a nap.
I was concerned. I still wanted Max to be that happy little dog that I knew.
I tried potty training both Max and Mia, but Mia was so darn free-spirited that I lost my patience with her. And Max, seemingly became more submissive. I tried to reward him with a treat, but he just wouldn't obey. I continued to issue a command, use hand gestures, but the more I did so, he'd just lay down and pull his legs under him and stiffen up.
I took them to the dog park, I figured socializing them both was good. Maybe Max needed the company of other dogs.
When I brought him in, six or seven other dogs came rushing up to him. Max sat down and tightened up. He showed his teeth and barked several times. The other dogs didn't seem to care, and continued sniffing him out. Max turned around, kept snarling, looking for a dog that would back off. But none would.
Then Max managed to find a space in between a couple of dogs and he darted out and ran. The dogs followed him. Max got cornered up against a fence, and the dogs continued to sniff him out. He laid down on his belly, tucked his legs underneath him, while the dogs inspected him from head to toe.
Often times, I'd try to train him to sit. A rather simple command I figured. But those old wounds would manifest. When he knew I had a treat in my hand, his thoughts are to get it right away, because he doesn't know how many more days it may take for food to show up again.
"Sit" I'd say. I hovered my hand over his head, trying to get him to sit down. He wouldn't. He kept standing, waiting for me to drop it. I pushed on his hind legs, and he'd just get back up. I raised my voice, get angry. Then, he slowly walked into his dog house to hide.
One time, I dragged him back out of his house. I resented the notion that he could find safety from his master. I reached into his house and pulled him out by his legs, and proved to him that his house could provide no comfort. He only laid down on his belly, on the patio floor, and peed underneath him.
I felt so rotten.
At one time there was a puppy that felt the comfort and love of its mother. Somewhere along the way it became confused, broken down, and uncertain of how to get along. Some dogs are lucky, and some are not. For some, the safety of four walls is all the love it knows.

