The Akita

Are you considering an Akita? Think again. Richard Gere gave this breed a boost in "Hachi: a dog's tale"  but this is no Retriever or Shepherd we're talking about. In order to properly care for one of these large, strong willed animals, you'll need to know exactly what you're dealing with. We came across this article on the apparently defunct dogster.com, and felt it was worth passing along. 

It really has been a long trek with me and the Akita, as for a long time they were on my secret list of breeds I could not stand. My very first childhood dog was part Akita, and while I loved him dearly his aggression was just a trauma to me....not merely that he had it, but HOW, which I would come to know to be rather Akita specific. I then went through an extended history of Akitas aggressing on my own dogs and on those of my comrades, and just for my own sensibility could not exactly connect with a dog who was so NOT a GSD.

For a working dog, I would like to see something more trainable and handler thirsty, thank you very much, and so for the longest time while those who I would review the breed for never would have guessed my personal feelings, there was no love lost between me and the Akita. He was a pretty face but a marauder, and stacked up against other breeds not worth much to me personally. Didn't like him. Didn't like him one bit. I didn't even admire anyone who liked him....I thought they were being sucked in by an impressive form and were just clueless to how dogs COULD be.

That would change in, of all things, a shelter setting when I was asked to test out dominant dogs. And people were not too keen to mess with this staunch figure who did not bark, did not growl, did not flinch, but just in his stance lent the firm suggestion that he was packing heat and was not afraid to use it, but would not let you know when. I am also not only a wildlife rehabber but more to the point a stallion manager, and what I found was an animal strikingly reminiscent of the latter. Not the jiggy, over thirsty stallions, but the crested ones who were vats of confidence. The ones who would try to fake you out.
And in time, we came to an understanding, the Akita and me, and he won my begrudging admiration. For in such a dank, depressing dungeon of chaos, with nothing left to hold onto, he would still stand proud. A sense of self and self assurance....science says animals do not have that, but they would do well to pull their faces out of books and stats....that belonged only to this dog. This defiantly proud animal, stuck in domesticity but never quite electing to bow. 

Now before I say a word more, to underscore this CLEARLY. They are adorable as puppies, they are stunning adults, and they are impressiveness on a leash....massive ego dogs. And massively overbred, milled to the gills. You will see many variations in Akita temperament. I have found some softer, I am found some affably outgoing, even some submissive. The Akita being spoken of here is what breeders go for, judges look for, and what breed fanatics revere most. THIS is the Akita in America when he is what his greatest supporters would expect him to be. Some would call the Akita dominant. To me, more aptly put, he is the personification of ALPHA. He is confident, contained and never out-stated. Drama and the Akita are often many miles removed. He is mysterious at times and can be hard to read. He does everything with self assurance....he doesn't rush in - he just responds. He is often intolerant of stranger dogs in his backdrop. I have more than a few times seen an Akita not show aggressive response until within strike range, and then it comes fast and hard. For he is not aggressive in a traditional sense - he is resolved, absolute, intent. He can, more than most, be intolerant of those messing around with his possession or his own sense of order. He is, infamously, intolerant of heavy or harsh handling, or being treated disrespectfully.

This is the romantic Akita, but it also can be the actual Akita. This is a niche breed who should be SO less popular than he is. Those who love him do so profoundly. A dog from quite a different culture, he is not a fawning or highly emotive dog, but he is intensely loyal to his family. He would defend them to the death, considers them his own, wants to be near them, and separates from them poorly. Rehomed as adults, Akitas can take a while to settle in.....this is a dog of discretion and they do not open their hearts carelessly. Once embraced by an Akita however, he is yours for life. And in death as well, much as Akita legend would show. To understand the Akita, cultural understanding is important, as is to function. There are many hats this breed has worn in his history, but I think the one that most defines him is a hunter of large game, which he pursued not only with determination, but also held at bay until the hunter could arrive. Now when it is a bear being held, should the dog back down he would likely get killed, but getting too riled up, also, would have escalated the situation and perhaps prompted the bear to strike.

So in the Akita character, we do see a dog with lots of determination, an absoluteness of holding his ground and tremendous rates of confidence and self control. Many who are drawn to this breed find something reminiscent of the wolf in him and something primal....a "savage beauty." They also are able to enjoy some marvelous qualities the Akita can bring. One is that for all his size, he is not bursting with energy, has a marvelous in-home energy, is very tidy, and can be rather good at not being constantly underfoot. He is, in short, a superior house companion. He also has a vibrant, charming demeanor and an enthusiasm for life that brightens his personality tremendously, and is extraordinarily devoted to his people and his life. He is a protector and a guard dog who takes the matter of turf very seriously....an excellent breed for a sense of inner security....and yet is not a noisy animal.

When an Akita barks, LOOK, for infrequently is he a random barker....he is not one to sweat the little things in life. Many of the other breeds considered for security and protection are considerably more reactive than this dog. These are qualities that partner well with our modern lives. As well, beauty is as beauty does, and this is an enormously intelligent breed and a true thinker. You may not always know his thoughts, but that he is always assessing and always aware is vividly clear. A very wise animal, he seldom does anything stupid and has a very knowing presence. It IS that presence that draws people. 

There is much Akita brings to the plate. Presence personified, he is one of the most loyal of all breeds, offers a distinct brightness and he is amazingly responsible. He has a great energy, is easy to live with and offers a tremendous sense of security and pride in ownership. I am sure Taz is destined to agree, however, that this is NOT the dog for an inexperienced owner. Akitas need a great deal of socialization. They need an owner who will ensure their world to not become too "small"...getting out with them frequently, having them experience many different situations, so that they will not define their territory lines too profoundly. And they need the experience of someone who knows how to be a calm, strong and effective leader.

This breed is a total Goldilocks. If you are too soft with him he may well not respect you....and this is a dog who can be naturally driven, to function, to enforce his wont....and yet at the same time if you are too stern with him, he will not tolerate that, even if you are his beloved. There are very few breeds who are as infamous to their responses for overbearing handling....this IS a dog who will put you on the floor....but not having control of a dog so determined is an equally bad idea. He already loves you....now he wants to be sure you know what you are doing, that you do it well, and that you treat him with respect. A dog of very strong will and at times an achingly independent mind....far less a follower than many....the Akita is a training challenge where fairness, consistency and self assurance are paramount.

Those who connect with this breed can manage OB titles with him and even can turn him into a hunting dog and retriever. They also can do well in therapy work.  A good mentor is essential, as well as is a devotion to laying a good foundation down, always having control of your dog, and being someone worth listening to.

The single greatest piece of sage Akita advice I can give is that an Akita WILL decide what is acceptable and what is not. If that sentence made you nervous, this breed may well be too much for you.

The original article was found at this link, which may or may not remain available:
http://www.dogster.com/forums/choosing_the_Right_Dog/thread/625201#

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For more information:
Akita Rescue: Facts about Akitas

Lessons from the school of hard knocks

Here are a few accounts from readers who have chosen to remain anonymous for their own safety. 

The sweet pit bull

My coworker owned a pit bull. She described her as very sweet, wouldn't hurt a fly. She often dog sat for a friends large akita, and the pit and akita were always best friends. One night they were out in their yard together and they noticed that their play had escalated to a full on dog fight. The pit was no match for the akita, who had size and a protective coat on its side. But despite the fact that the pit bull was losing badly, it continued to fight. Her husband had to beat her with a shovel to get her to stop. Once the pit stopped, the akita stopped.

Some years later this same coworker decided to adopt a small, elderly chihuahua mix that someone found wandering in the road. I warned her not to trust her pit bull, but she was not concerned. For a year the dogs lived together happily, often sharing a bed and seeming to enjoy each other. Then one night the pit walked over to the sleeping chi mix and grabbed it around the neck and began shaking it with the clear intent to kill it. The chi was screaming but the pit was silent. Again her husband and to stop the pit bulls attack, but there was no shovel handy. He had to punch the pit bull repeatedly in the head to get it to stop, and he had to do it so hard he broke his hand. The little chi survived only because he was wearing a thick collar. The next day my coworker came to work and was clearly still shaken up by the whole thing. She kept saying "you were right, you were right..."  She will never own another pit bull. Wise woman.

The Vet

She was connected to the company I worked for, she was not my vet. Because she knew I had  knowledge of dogs, she called me one day and told me that she adopted a pit bull and wanted advice on how to integrate this male dog into her household of three other dogs, a male and two females. I told her to return the pit bull and not even bother trying. She did not take my advice, but she did call frequently to keep me posted. Big surprise, the pit decided that her male dog needed to die, and would attack him whenever he saw his chance. She had to separate them, and enlist the services of a trainer. Of course it did no good. It got to the point where if the pit bull even heard the male dog in another room he would go ballistic and try to get to him, through the door or wall if necessary. He could not be distracted when he was in such a state. Eventually, of course, management fails and he had a fight with the male and the vet and her husband realized that it was not going to work out and that someone was going to be seriously injured. They returned the pit to rescue where it was placed in home with no other animals. I hope their neighbors have no other animals either... That vet did call me and say that she would NEVER own another pit bull again.

The Dog Walker

Several years ago I helped out a local dog walker with her overflow clients. One of her clients owned a young male dog, Ralphie. The dog walker mentioned she had a "bull pit" and when I asked her what that was, she said it was a pit bull that didn't realize it was a pit bull. I know. Nauseating. In any case, her bull pit figured it out pretty fast. When Ralphie was taken to the dog sitters house for the evening, he was attacked by the shit bull and his throat torn open. He survived, but the dog walker didn't even have the decency to tell his owners. She returned Ralphie while they were at work the next morning and went off on vacation. I got the phone call asking what the hell happened! I could not believe that not only would she endanger a clients dog's life by bringing it near that fucking thing, she didn't even tell them what happened! She just took the dog to the vet where she worked and had it treated!

A sad place for a pit bull

The Animal People organization have been working for animal rights for decades, and have been documenting their efforts along the way, and as a result, their archives are filled with relevant data. We recently came across some accounts published in the Animal People News nearly 20 years ago that we find quite relevant today. Here is one of those accounts

We had Nikki euthanized this morning. She was a purebred pit bull terrier, rescued from an animal collector here in southwest Michigan. When we responded to the call from Children's Protective Services, who had gone to the home for other reasons, we found Nikki chained to a doghouse. The chain was bolted to her collar. It was the dead of August, and Nikki had been without food or water for who knows how long. She lay in the dirt, barely moving. We were able to convince the collector that her dog was days away from death, and she finally consented to let us take her.

At our veterinarian's clinic we took photographs, in case we were able to pursue cruelty charges against the collector. Nikki was grossly underweight at 25 pounds, and was full of worms, fleas, and mange. Her age was estimated as two years. When her heartworm test came back negative, we determined that she was salvageable. I took her on as a foster project, and watched this pitiful wreck of a creature bloom into a healthy, handsome dog. It took weeks. We kept her indoors, though she was smelly and crusty from the manage. She learned about living in a home, and reveled in the constant affection she got from my husband, myself, and our two boys. Though Jon and I had been battling in court about the five dogs we already had, two more than the city limit, we grew attached to Nikki. That she was a pit bull made finding her a proper home more difficult. Most people who would adopt such a dog had no business having one at all. We intensified our search for a place in the country.

We moved to our 9-acre farm early in the fall. By now Nikki was a spayed, healthy, 60-pound success story. She and the other dogs spent leisurely afternoons with the family, walking the pastures and woods on our farm. Nikki loved to dig after the pasture critters, though she never caught any. She'd come up for air after five solid minutes of burrowing, her white face and head caked with earth, tongue lolling out, smiling a joyous, dirt-filled smile. Our other dogs, a Dane, a greyhound, and three mixed breeds, would race through the pastures, chasing and teasing. Nikki, with her great bulk, could not join them. She'd get up to a slight run, then somersault over her own feet. So she mostly tagged along with Jon and I, dashing away from us now and again to dig another hole.

In the house she was a dream dog. Perfectly housebroken, perfectly crate-trained, clean, submissive, and gentle, Nikki dispelled our image of the raging, murderous pit bill. All those pit bulls who turned on their families, well, those people must have done something to make it happen. Our Nikki was just a lover and a cuddler. Other than normal playing and sleeping with the dogs, Nikki seemed indifferent to our other animals. Then, late in the fall, a potbellied pig came to us for foster care. After the initial pig-dog introductions, we saw that there was a potential problem between Nikki and Petunia. Nikki was over-excited by the pig, chasing and biting at her in a way that was not just playful. Petunia brought out a side of Nikki that we had not seen before, and we were concerned. We decided that the two animals would never be exposed to one another.

This worked for about a month. Then, late for work one evening, I rushed out without telling Jon that Petunia was unpenned. He called me at work an hour later to tell me that he let Nikki out and she attacked Petunia, mauling her face and head. I came home at midnight to find Petunia still bleeding and frightened. Traumatized and plagued with guilt, we immediately found Petunia another home.

That dog should be destroyed, our vet said. On the most reasonable level, we knew he was probably right. But we we weren't operating from that level. Jon and I rationalized the incident. Nikki lived next to a pig farm when she was with the collector. On the day of her rescue we witnessed several other dogs fighting over the remains of a pig who had been slaughtered that morning.

They probably had to kill pigs to survive, we protested. We kept Nikki, vowing to watch her every move.

Mac

In December a pit bull mix named Mac came for foster care. Because he was heartworm-positive and a pit bull, we knew he would be a longterm project. We started his heartworm treatment and integrated him into the family. Things were uneventful for the first month. He fit into the routine easily, getting along with everyone but the cats and one unneutered male dog who stopped at our home on his way to another foster home. Otherwise Mac did not worry us. Then one evening Mac and Nikki were playing in their typical vigorous fashion, and suddenly both turned on Enzo, our Labrador mix, who was sitting nearby. Within seconds Mac s jaws were clamped on Enzo s hind leg while Nikki s were locked at his throat. The sounds of the fight were terrifying, and as Jon and I rushed to separate the dogs, I lost my footing and fell. Mac bit hard on my ankle and I screamed until Jon was able to shake him off. Jon had Mac by the collar; I grabbed Nikki s collar. We had to twist and yank with all our strength to get the pit bulls of Enzo. When we did, Enzo crawled into the corner, injured and whimpering and terrified. His leg was hurt and there were deep puncture wounds to his throat, but there was nothing that required stitches. My leg throbbed from Mac s bite, but that bite too consisted of deep puncture wounds that could not be stitched. Mac was put outside and Nikki went to her crate. Because Mac bit me, he was unadoptable by Rescue standards, and he was euthanized the next morning.

Jon and I were forced to re-evaluate our beloved Nikki. We had to face that she was a pit bull, and had the potential to act every bit like those we d read about in the papers. I spent the next day on the telephone, seeking the advice of professional dog trainers and animal behaviorists. In essence, I was told that with pit bulls and other dogs bred for aggressiveness, one blood bite would usually precipitate others. Indeed, Nikki was temporarily preoccupied with Enzo, sniffing the door to the porch where he stayed and attempting to attack him again when we went to reacquaint them several days later. We had a trainer come to our home to evaluate Nikki and her capacity for further aggression. He suggested obedience training and trying to desensitize Nikki by having her see Enzo from a distance, then gradually bring the two dogs closer together. He explained that even with training, there would be no guarantees, and he reiterated his point that dogs who have bitten are likely to bite again. My husband and I, clinging to the slight possibility that this was an isolated incident, vowed to keep Enzo and Nikki totally separate. Nikki would become a full time house dog.

Within a few days we had developed a workable system to keep the dogs away from one another. We felt that it must have been Enzo s timid, ultra-submissive personality that caused Nikki and Mac to go after him the way they did. Nikki was second highest in the pack order of our household, the uncontested alpha dog being Rita, our five-year-old greyhound. Enzo had always been at the bottom of the hierarchy. We had never seen anything between Nikki and Rita that concerned us. The two dogs co-existed peacefully, and even played sometimes, with Nikki consistently adopting a submissive posture in the games.

Jon and I watched Nikki with eyes in the backs of our heads. She ate completely by herself, and went out in the fenced yard on a cable, just in case. She was kept from Enzo, and she was crated whenever there was not an adult available to supervise her. She lost her couch privileges, since we didn't want to encourage any illusions of dominance she held. If she and Rita s play got a little too rowdy, Nikki went to her crate to calm down. We bent over backward to safely accommodate our dog. Despite this, we saw her getting worse. Within one week, Nikki broke out two windows when she saw cats outside. When she was out on her cable and saw cats, she would nearly choke herself trying to get at them. We watched, tense, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It was a matter of weeks before it did. My mother came for a visit. Because of deep snow, I had to move my car into the driveway. I was on my way back in when she ran to the door, screaming my name. Rushing in, I could hear the dogfight. I ran to the dining room and grabbed Nikki s collar, and tried to unclench her jaws from Rita s throat. It took several seconds for me to twist and pull her away. I immediately crated Nikki, who continued to snarl and bark at Rita from the crate. Examining Rita, I was amazed and grateful to find her uninjured.

I knew then that our time with Nikki was over. What we had dreaded most was now the only option. While we had never seen Nikki act aggressively toward any person, her behavior toward other animals was likely to result in their death. Doing the rescue and sheltering work we do, there are always other animals around. We could no longer jeopardized their safety. We spent the evening grieving.

Readers of this story might ask, God! What took you so long to put that dog to sleep? It s a valid question. Within the Rescue, we've euthanized dogs who behaved less aggressively than Nikki, and I've advised many people to euthanize their unpredictable or aggressive dogs. All I can say is that we loved her deeply. The pit bull aspect of her personality, while terribly frightening, seemed minuscule compared to the dozens of endearing things about her. People who weren't dog people loved Nikki. When people came to adopt our foster dogs, they were taken aback by Nikki s friendliness and silly antics, and often asked if they could adopt her instead. Family members who had long since stopped trying to keep track of our pets asked about Nikki regularly. When we had her before and after pictures on a Rescue donation jar, she gained fans we've yet to meet. Truthfully, Nikki was adored by everyone who knew her, and even by some who didn't know her. The goofy, smiling, happy, friendly Nikki was the one we couldn't put to sleep. Watching the pit bull take her over was like watching a loved one succumb to mental illness. We denied what was happening until we just couldn't any longer.

Postscript

In the days since Nikki's death, I find myself moving between grief and anger. Grief dominates when I think I hear her barking, or when the boys, out of habit, call to her to come snuggle with them while they watch TV. My most tearful time so far was when I moved her crate out of the living room. I gathered her blankets and buried my face in them, breathing her sweet, clean smell, and my chest just ached. The anger is much easier to deal with. In sadness, I want to be left alone to cry for hours. In anger, I curse the twisted idiots who breed these lovable time bombs. I think of pit bulls who have killed people; killed children. I pity the animal lovers who, like me, feel compelled to give a pit bull the benefit of the doubt. The pain we've earned in so doing defies description. I am aware of several other instances, some within the Rescue, of other pit bulls killing or injuring animals or people. Sorrow and regret seem almost inevitable when we're talking about this breed. I myself vow never to take on a pit bull again. Should I find one crossing the highway, of course I ll stop and try to get him, or her. And if I succeed, straight to Animal Control is where I ll go. Better for me to euthanize the dog immediately and forever question myself, than to take such a dog in, grow to cherish him or her, and then face what we faced with Nikki.

I harbor no anger or blame toward Nikki. She was as much a victim as her own victims were. My regret is that I thought she was different, that she was incapable of the violence her breed is known for. Or maybe I thought we were different, that if we just gave her enough love, enough discipline, enough something, that love would override her pit bull instincts. It hurts to admit we were wrong. It hurts to think that because we took in this animal, our other animals lives were threatened. I have yet to admit to myself or to anyone else that our children could have been in danger.

I know now that pit bulls have their reputation for a reason. Fear of the breed is not unjustified. And while rescuers will be rescuers, I personally will advise my fellow animal people not to try rehabilitating pit bulls. Your chances of success are too slim, while your chances of bringing tragedy upon yourself, your children, and your other animals are too high. As unpopular as my position might be with my peers, I believe that a peaceful death is the best we can offer pit bulls.

Nikki's ashes were scattered at the Special Place, a serene wooded valley at the back of our property. It is easy to visualize her there, digging and playing and just being the goofy dog she was. Nikki loved the Special Place, and she makes the valley even more Special by being there.

Shannon Lentz
Founder and Director, Kalamazoo Animal Rescue
(Now founder/director of Grateful Acres Animal Sanctuary.

(From ANIMAL PEOPLE, May 1994.)

My pit bull experience

In observation of pit bull awareness month, we would like to offer this story as an example of a "teachable moment" - a pit bull experience that someone took the time to record, in order to help others understand the problems faced by pit bull rescuers. Like so many similar accounts, hers has largely been kept quiet by pressure from pit bull activists (who typically swarm angrily against any entity that dares to publish an opinion that these creatures, created and bred specifically for a violent blood sport, and currently leading all other dog breeds in the human death toll by a country mile, might actually be dangerous) Although her story has not gotten much traction, we're highlighting it here, for your edification. While there are many who could tell a similar tale, she has told hers particularly well, with meticulous attention to detail.

Sonya Marmeladov did everything right, thinking she was doing a good thing by adopting a pit bull. She followed the guidelines of the pit bull advocacy groups to the letter. She provided a wonderful home and every opportunity for the pit bull to live a wonderful life. She was patient and thorough, determined to help the timid, fearful pit bull regain its confidence, which it did. Her efforts were almost superhuman. Nobody could have done any more than she did to make it work.

Sonya didn't count on the vicious, sustained attack that the newly-confident pit bull launched on her other dog, a sweet, non-aggressive boy who didn't deserve what happened to him. That attack was the last straw, so after coming to the realization that her attempts to rehabilitate the violent and unpredictable animal were doomed to failure, she did the responsible thing and requested that it be euthanized. To her dismay, the local SPCA group refused to put the creature down, instead covering up its violent record and offering it up for adoption to unsuspecting families.

Unfortunately this sort of thing is not so rare as one would hope.

Read Ms Marmeladov's full account here
Read the insightful commentary by dog behaviorist Alexandra Semyonova here

Susu's last day

 On the night of June 21, 2012 Susu, a elderly chihuahua mix, breathed her last. After having been given the cocktail which would put her to sleep, she passed away in the arms of a kindly stranger who had taken pity on her. In that sense Susu was more fortunate than many elderly dogs, whose owners abandon them at the shelter as if they were worn out toys, rather than the sensitive, feeling creatures they are.

Susu had been dumped by her owners, perhaps simply because she was old; perhaps because she had advanced arthritis. In any case, Rancho De Chihuahua was her final stop, and RDC co-founder Joy Nicholson was the kindly stranger who held Susu in her last moments.

Joy's observations of the little dog's last days:
"The amazing thing about Susu is how doggedly she looked for her family. Our property is about 3 acres, and is not level, but on wobbly, painful knees, with little sight and very, very little hearing, she searched endlessly for them, walking through every inch. She would sense my presence, ( I think through smell) get very excited, 'run' towards me, then realize I was not who she was looking for, and then turn away and continue her search. When she got too physically tired, she would lay down, and I would go pick her up ( she hated to be picked up, and would buck, bite, and salivate) then she would lay, very depressed, until she slept. The other dogs scared her, so we always kept her alone, which she preferred, but didn't 'like'. When she woke, she would want to search again. Immediately. Any time of day or night. She would turn endless circles, and cry, trying to find a way to get out and search. Her happiest moments were the first 1/2 hour of each search--she would navigate to the fence, then carefully, with an upraised tail, walk the fence line, back and forth. Her tail would sink lower and lower as she got tired, and she was unable to find her people. Still, she wanted to walk. She seemed to believe that if she kept walking, she would eventually find her people, and everything would be okay."

I have to wonder where her family was during this time, and what they were doing. Did they love her? Did they stop loving her when she got old? Were they thinking about her at all? Susu could seemingly think about nothing else except finding them again. 

Joy continues:
"Susu was on Rimidyl, which seemed to help with her pain. And her ability to walk further did increase with less pain, but the emotional pain got worse, not better, when she couldn't find her people."

As sad as Susu's death was, the fact is that dogs put down at the shelter generally come to an even less pleasant end. It varies from place to place, but 50 to 80 percent of Chihuahuas and Chihuahua mixes in shelters will ultimately die for lack of someone to adopt them. An older dog has virtually no chance at all but the least crowded shelters. An older dog with considerable health issues, like Susu, will suffer greatly for the few days spent at a shelter before the euthanization takes place.

Joy recalls Susu's last hours:

"I gave her a tranquilzer ( Acepromazine) in her breakfast treat, and when it set in, I brought her to our vet. She slept the whole way, looking at me, but not in any apparent distress or fear, and seemed very relaxed--the most relaxed she had been. At the vet, we gave her a little more tranquilzer, waited until the injection fully 'took' and she was completely under. She did not open her eyes, wake, struggle or seem to have any signs of distress when she was euthanized. I was touching her the whole time, and lightly petting her face. Susu did not like to be touched, so I kept it very light in case she was feeling it--just enough to let her know she wasn't alone--but not enough to irritate her.) She went to sleep and did not wake up.

She should have been euthanized with her people holding her. We couldn't give Susu much in life, but I do think her death was a peaceful one."

Many of us have been guilty in the past of letting the vet or someone else handle the details when one of our pets is put down. Let's resolve to do this, at least: If and when the time comes that our pet must be put down, let's not dump the poor bewildered baby off somewhere and wash our hands of the whole affair. Let's be with our pets in their final moments, and hold them as they leave this world. Let them feel love and compassion, rather than fear and loneliness. I believe It really makes a difference. 

"One can measure the greatness and the moral progress of a nation by looking at how it treats its animals." -- Mahatma Gandhi 

Abused Chihuahua - Lancaster, Ca

Update 12/10/2011 -

I'm sorry to say that Stevie has been put to sleep. Her adoptive mom, Stefanie Larue, agonized for some time over the decision but ultimately decided that the pain she was suffering did not afford her the quality of life she deserved, and made the painful decision to end her suffering.

From her facebook page: "her time has finally come...there is nothing else that can be done for her. her bones have deteriorated...it's not just her legs anymore...it's her inner bones. "

Finally free of pain:

STEVIE AT PEACE*** TEARS IN HEAVEN R.I.P. 12/10/2011

To friends of Stevie from her step mom:

"To all of those who loved and supported our little Stevie the Survivor…
It is now been one week after having to let my precious Stevie go. Last Saturday, at 4pm, I experienced one of the biggest heart breaks my mind, body and soul has ever felt. It has quietly shaken my internal peace. Have since felt such emptiness in my moments of existence without her and a profound sadness lingers within. I know it was the right decision to make. But it still hurts. SO MUCH!! But I loved you so much that I had to gift you with freedom. Freedom of pain. You hid it well with me until the end. I know it’s because you too wanted to stay here as long as you could to be with me as I felt the same about you. We made a pack. If I had to stay here on this earth, then so did you! We had to survive together!! And we did. For a while. But things change, our bodies change, and they give out on us sometimes. And sometimes, we have done all we can and there is nothing left to do… but to let go. It was the hardest thing to let go of you. Of your body as it lay in my hands and arms. Even after you left to go sleep with the angels. I apologize to the vets for it taking so long for me to actually give you over to them. Your spirit had already gone. I saw it leave. Never witnessed that before but I saw that it was peaceful. But again, it still hurts. SO MUCH!! I would hold you as much as I could while I was gifted with your presence because I knew… I knew it would be some of my last moments to hold you. Especially at night snuggled up watching movies. Beautiful moments embedded in my memory.

I will see you again soon my little Stevie girl. I smile thinking of when I will join you over the rainbow bridge to complete the end of my journey because that is where I want to be. To see your little crooked wiggie tail going in circles when you see me again, to hold you for so long, and this time, never having to let you go. I will see you again soon…

Until then, there is another Stevie the Survivor out there that needs people like us to help rescue them from the shelters. Sadly, there are so many in fact. And it is my continued commitment to rescue another that is need of my sacred love. And I will do in honor of Stevie and all others out there like her… May God bless their unconditional souls.

Thank you again, truly, to those of you who helped rescue Stevie from the shelter, those who transported her to Brent Air Animal hospital from the shelter, all of the vets, especially Dr. Edmonson, and vet techs, especially sweet Kaylan (you were always her favorite) who cared for her and helped her heal quickly. And without the undeniable efforts of my kick ass animal advocate and long time friend Linda Delizza and ever so big hearted Kris Kelly and the Kris Kelly Foundation… I would have never been able to adopt the most amazingly little vibrant creature that deeply enriched my life. Kris Kelly, I am devoted to you for life for choosing me to adopt Stevie. We were meant to be together until her end and I am so grateful you understood why.

Finally, to all of Stevie’s supporters… some of you donated, and donated greatly. And I, more than anyone, thank you so very, very much. Without your generous donations I would not have had the treasured time with Stevie that I had and she, would not have experienced the unconditional love, fun, joy, excitement, play time, and some levels of comfort from the pre-existing pain. And to those of you who supported her by showing her love on her Face book fan page, constantly following her, posting such inspirational and loving thoughts… even just the valuable time you took out of your days and night to check in on her was so appreciated.

The on-line support has been so overwhelming so that is why I decided to write this letter. In hopes of precisely expressing my deepest gratitude to you all along with sharing a bit about what it was like to be blessed to have crossed paths with such a beautiful spirit and soul. Stevie… you are forever cherished."

 
Rest in peace, sweet girl. Your life was short and hard, but you knew what it was to be loved for the final 6 months of your life.


-- original story below--

On May 25th an injured Chihuahua was brought to the Lancaster animal shelter. On May 26th, a call for help was posted to the Chihuahua Rescue group, with a picture of this terribly abused little girl.

On May 27th The little Chihuahua was rescued by the Kris Kelly foundation. Her new name is Stevie and she is getting help.

Over the Memorial day weekend, Stevie was taken to Brent-Air Animal Hospital for treatment. Images are available here.

6/6 - An update from Dr Schlanger:
Stevie's head wound is healing nicely and responding very well to our daily treatments and bandage changes. Her attitude has significantly improved as she is feeling much better. We are consulting with specialists in order to determine the best way to further diagnose and manage her orthopedic issues.

Update 6/7 - New photos of Stevie at Brent-Air Animal Hospital

Update 6/9 - An update from the doctors...
Testing has revealed that Stevie has an immune mediated disease (erosive polyarthritis) that is causing her joint problems. It is very severe and advanced. Surgery is not an option for Stevie. She will need to be on medication for the rest of her life to try to control this disease and protect her other joints. She will likely also need lifelong physical therapy. Hopefully custom splints can be made so that Stevie is more comfortable when she walks. Her head wound is more than 50% improved but there is no way of telling what caused it. She is still getting daily bandage changes and lots of love. Stevie is most comfortable when being held or laying in a soft padded bed. Once her head wound has healed she will be ready to go to her loving foster home.

This poor baby will always need special care

Update 6/20/2011 - Stevie now has her own facebook page - Stevie the survivor

Moving forward, Stevie's facebook page is the best place to monitor her progress.

Update 6/27/2011  - Stevie has been taken home to live with her new caretaker Stefanie LaRue. Her head wound is healing, but her arthritis related issues are not so easily fixed. There are plans to get her a wheelchair to help her get around. Good luck Stevie! Visit her facebook page to track her progress moving forward.

Final update 8/04/2011 - Stevie is doing well in her new home, is loved and happy, and has some new wheels to help her get around. Her facebook page is kept up to date with her progress, so feel free to visit and comment there.

The story of Rhett

There was a dog who once had a home, but was abandoned by his owners when they faced hard times. He waited for them, and tried to survive. But then he was found, and adopted by a woman who was smitten by this handsome boy. She wanted to give him a forever home. This is her story:

I miss his velvet ears. I have some of his hair in a pretty little silver box.

In the neighborhood where my husband and I live, there is a graveyard nearby. Dogs are sometimes abandoned there, victims of the economy, and of owners who considered them expendable. It breaks my heart to see these dogs discarded like last week’s newspaper. I’ve always loved dogs. My childhood years were filled with happy memories of our Beagles - I loved their musical howls. One of our beagles actually slept on top of her doghouse - just like Snoopy.

We had been looking at rescues, thinking of adopting an older beagle, when I started seeing a beautiful dog in the graveyard. Kind neighbors would bring him food, which he would take warily and run away. One day, I saw him drinking from one of the leaky sprinklers on my front lawn.  He looked at me warily, but with kind, soulful eyes.  He had his drink, and then returned to his vigil at the graveyard, crossing his front legs, sitting like a statue, waiting for an owner who would never return. One day, I brought him out a can of cat food. He let me pet him, and I was smitten. I told my husband how beautiful he was, and he said, “Well, catch him and put him in the garden” - and that’s just what I did.

The vet thought he was a Chow/Lab mix. His hair was short, but thick and luxurious, with a copper-like metallic sheen. He had a teddy bear face, a black tongue and a curly tail. He’d been neutered as an adult, appeared to be 3-4 years old, and had no microchip. I named him Rhett, because he was handsome, and a bit of a rogue, but also because of his beautiful red coat.  He was never destructive, didn’t dig in my garden, and was very polite about his bathroom duties; always in the same place, and never when we walked. He was a gentleman, very well behaved. Somebody had obviously trained him well, although from what I understand about Chows, they are naturally polite dogs. He was also a very good watchdog. If he barked, we knew something was up. He knew the difference between the little old ladies that walked by, and the hooligans.

Rhett was very smart, a quick learner. I taught him to sit at a snap of a finger, and lie down with a hand command. He also knew “Give me five”, “Give me ten”,  adored having his belly rubbed and would roll over on his back if you said, “Belly time”, he played “patty cake”, and did a “happy dance” when it was supper time.  He was very enthusiastic about food.  One time, he stole a whole container of Loft house Sugar cookies. He would also “speak” on command. If  I threw something, he would grudgingly and dutifully go retrieve it, but if you threw it again, he would give you a look like your were insane…as if to say “Hey, I JUST brought it back to you, silly.”  He had a kind of aloof dignity that I just adored, and respected.

Because of Rhett’s shy idiosyncrasies about going potty, I had no luck in getting him to relieve himself on walks.  A friend told me about the Dog Park, so I thought I would give it a try. At the dog park, Rhett was minding his own business, investigating the grounds and marking the trees, when a pit bull cornered him and would not let him pass. Then the pit bull grabbed him by the neck. I came over and kicked the pit bull, the pit bull owner came over and the dogs were separated. I remember she said that her pit bull was “correcting” my dog’s behavior.  I’m not sure which was more disturbing - the pit bull or it’s owner. Thankful that no blood was shed that day, I put Rhett on a leash, and never returned to the dog park.

About a week later I was walking Rhett and Scarlett, our other Chow mix, when we were attacked by an off-leash pit bull. Another horrible, crazy owner.  A couple of weeks later we were attacked by yet another pit bull. Reports were increasing in my neighborhood of  people being attacked and injured, of their pets being killed, by pit bulls - a little girl’s Chihuahua mauled right in front of her.  A neighbor’s beautiful Chow attacked and seriously injured while on a walk. A neighbor’s home was invaded by a pit bull. A child attacked while sharing Easter Candy. The nephew of another neighbor had his testicles bitten off by a pit bull. One evening when I came home, a loose pit bull chased me from my car to my front door. It was surreal, a war zone.

On Memorial day, around 7:00 in the evening, I was feeding Scarlett, alone in the house, as she was on medication.  She began howling and carrying on, and I knew something was wrong  I looked out the back French door, and was horrified to see the whip of a tail attached to a giant white pit bull.  Rhett had assumed from what I read is a “submissive” posture.  He had surrendered to this pit bull which somehow got into my back garden. I ran inside and called the police, then ran to my front door and called for help. Several neighbors ran to our help within seconds. One of the young boys knew that the pit bull belonged to a man across the street, and he ran to get him. Another neighbor asked for my gate key, while two other neighbors went for golf clubs and a shovel, in an attempt to stop the pit bull which was still attacking Rhett.

The owner of the dog arrived to see his pit bull wagging its tail, covered with the blood of my dog, as if everything were fine. As my dog lay wounded, this owner couldn’t stop grinning - was it some twisted sense of pride? He took the pit bull and left without a word. My next door neighbor helped me pick up Rhett, and she drove us to the emergency hospital while I held him and put pressure on the wounds.

Rhett survived the initial attack, but would never again be the same. He was profoundly disabled, his behaviour that of a stroke victim. He walked at an angle, he drooled, and he would fall while going around corners. He had a haunting, defeated, humiliated, and confused look.

I  didn’t understand how the pit bull was able to enter my seemingly secure back yard, which is surrounded on all sides by a dense, 10 foot high bottle-brush hedge and a masonry wall, until we noticed that the two bottom rungs of the wrought iron gate had been damaged, so that with enough force, a determined attacker could push through. This pit bull had escaped from its yard to ram himself through a locked wrought iron gate. This beautiful garden, which was meant as a restful oasis of peace, had been violated by this hideous creature, transforming it into a slaughterhouse, a nightmare and a lingering sorrow.

My Rhett, my handsome friend, continued to suffer strokes as his condition deteriorated. I could see that he was barely existing, and so I had to make the heart breaking call to my vet. Choking on the tears, I went to the kitchen to get a glass of water, and Rhett started to follow me, as he always did. I could see a strange, faraway look in his eyes as he stood there. I ran to him and held him. My handsome boy died in my arms. We’d had a bittersweet, 3 week goodbye. When the vet called back I gave him the news that Rhett had already passed, and he gave me the phone number to the pet crematorium.  

I shed a tear for Rhett every day.

Rancho De Chihuahua - a worthy cause!

I recently learned about Rancho de Chihuahua, a dog sanctuary in New Mexico which has been doing really good work, rescuing doomed and hopeless dogs and nurturing them in a healing environment. Some of the dogs have special needs, some are "lifers" and some will be placed in homes.

Here is an introductory video: Chihuahuamercial - Chitastic!

I discovered this little community some months ago. While I was browsing books on amazon.com, the cute and soulful image of a supplicant Chihuahua caught my eye -

Naturally, I bought a copy of "a small furry prayer" and reading it kept me up way past my bedtime. I was taken on a quixotic journey - I found myself captivated by the sheer sweetness of their vision, and moved by their bittersweet experiences in living it out.

This highly readable tome is really two books in one. On the one hand it's the story of their rescue, and on the other, it's some really deep philosophy about dogs. Mind you, I'm not saying I agree with every single idea that Mr Kotler has ever had, but I have to say that some of his insights are genius - simply going where no one else has even thought of going before.

I won't spoil the plot here - I'll recommend that you just go buy the book - or watch the trailer first to help you make up your mind.


Visit Rancho de Chihuahua

A lost puppy saved from the wilderness

In October of 2009, a tiny chihuahua puppy was separated from her mother and siblings, and ended up abandoned in a rural area outside Lake Elsinore. We may never know where she came from, or how she ended up beside a road far from any dwellings or businesses, but I can tell you what I know of her story.

Not a good place for a tiny puppy to be stranded

Not too long after she landed in the middle of nowhere, some good Samaritans happened to be driving through, and spotted the tiny puppy struggling to climb up out of the ditch beside the road. When they stopped the car to investigate, they found a black and brown female Chihuahua puppy the size of a rat, with filthy, matted fur, and the smell of death about her. They brought the poor little dog home, not sure if she would survive, but after they cleaned her up and fed her they discovered that she was essentially intact.

The photo sent to the chihuahua rescue list

Since they already had big dogs at home, they sent a message to the yahoo chihuahua rescue group, along with the picture above, to inquire about finding her a home. We saw the message and the picture, and contacted her rescuers to arrange to see her, and on Sunday, Oct 11th, we made the trip down to Lake Elsinore to meet her. When the puppy greeted us by licking our face, they were surprised, saying she hadn't previously licked anyone. After some discussion we arrived at a mutual agreement that we were a good match, and so we drove home with our new little puppy, naming her Bella.

Bella in her new home after a long day

Max, our 10 year old min pin, seemed a tad resentful at the newcomer but grew accustomed to her. On the other hand, Baby Girl, just one year old at the time, was very gentle and affectionate with Bella from the beginning, treating her like a long lost daughter. They became playmates and friends, and many who have seen them at play together have assumed that Baby is Bella's mother.

Bella with her new friend and big sister

We were concerned about Bella's small size, and tried to protect her, keeping her inside at all times unless we could directly supervise her, since we didn't want her to be carried away by some bird of prey when we weren't looking. In the months since her adoption, Bella has grown to a weight of about 10 lbs, and for the most part has been quite healthy and energetic.

A grown up Bella in the back yard

It's still a mystery to me how that little puppy ended up out there, how long she was there, and how she survived. Was she taken from someone who loved her? Was she was tossed out of a car window and left for dead? Did she have siblings?

In any case I'm writing this blog entry on the off chance that someone near Lake Elsinore, Ca, who was heartbroken over the loss of their tiny chihuahua puppy in Oct 2009, might someday stumble onto this page and know that she was saved, and is now a happy and healthy, if spoiled, little dog who loves her home and her adoptive family.

Spoiled puppy under the covers

It's a shot in the dark, but what the heck. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

My Wild Louisiana: The Crocodile Whisperer

This story was so novel that I had to pass it along. I'm sure some will see parallels to pit bull rescue in this story - click on the link below and read on - I hope you'll find it as interesting as I did -

My Wild Louisiana: The Crocodile Whisperer