Autumn in Dartmouth

A New Addition

2009-06-28T16:08:16Z

Apparently I'm crazy because in Dec., '08, we adopted a very large (150 pound) black lab mix named Bounder. He's wonderful. Unfortunately, he thinks he's only 3 months old and sometimes tries to jump into our laps.

Bounder has really calmed Autumn down and they love to go to the beach together.

Bounder's big thing is to collect and carry "sticks". . . sometimes they're 12 feet long, and better defined as trees, but that's his passion.

We allowed him to take a very, very large "stick" which was a actually a pretty good chunk of tree, from Lake Banook one day and he carried it all the way home. People were stopping cars to get a better look as we walked along Crichton Ave..

Yesterday I did some work in the yard with them and wanted to start "give me" with both dogs present. Bounder had the toy. Bounder doesn't like to share and doesn't trust people with his toys. So, I finally got him to sit with the toy and then to "leave it"...I assumed the next logical step was for him to allow me to pick it up. He seemed to anticipate that and started dropping the toy before the command...then sitting on it!!! LOL

So, I dug up (literally) two indoor toys for them, because it's been raining and they've been inside a lot. I washed them. One was a giant nylo, the other was one of those hollow bones that you can put peanut butter in. I couldn't find two of the same toy buried in the yard (but I found a missing sneaker).

Both dogs sat for the toys and I let Bounder choose, since no matter which one Autumn gets, he'll plot and plan until he gets it from her. He chose the nylo. Autumn was patiently waiting while he chose, she took her bone and off they went in different directions with their toys.

There were four of us here, and I said, "the show is about to begin. Bounder is no doubt thinking up ways to get that other toy."

Attempt 1: He cried and cried out on the mat in the front hall. Autumn seemed to know he was crying over the toy, and she walked down and offered him her toy!! She wanted an exchange, instead he laid over the toy he had and tried to take hers. At least she's getting a little brighter and dashed away with her toy. LOL

Attempt 2: He comes into the kitchen acting all charming, but with no toy. The scoundrel wanted both toys! He lies down beside Autumn who eats up the attention and you can see him inching closer and closer to the bone. Suddenly she puts her head straight up (I swear you could see a light bulb) and grabs her bone and comes to lie in front of me.

So, today Autumn has the nylo and the bone is up by my bed. It's really warm here and Autumn is acting stranger than usual, so we think it's about to thunder. She hates thunder and we were keeping an eye on her to take her downstairs in case it does. Suddenly we hear the rumbling. Both Bob and Ali and apparently the now pacing Autumn, thinks it's thunder!! I said, "no, that's Bounder." No one believes me. I told them to go up to the bedroom. Sure enough he'd pushed the bone under the bed to hide it and was "digging" at the carpet will all his considerable might to "bury" it.

More Life With Autumn

2008-12-27T18:00:39Z

Life with Autumn is never boring. It's a good thing I work from home. During the ensuing months, even with the guidance of a skilled, professional trainer, Autumn continued to be a topic of conversation. She still is.

I rang in the New Year of 2008 on hold at the emergency vet's office. I couldn't imagine how my daughter managed to eat an entire bag of chocolate mints. She didn't. And not only were the mints gone, so was the all the foil wrapping. Once the vet heard the dog was more than 70 pounds though, she said it too would probably pass. It did.

Mid-winter, during a period when there was no snow on the ground, I realized Autumn was tugging at something. One side of our yard is landscaped with half a truckload of pea gravel. Under that gravel is landscape fabric. It's been there for twelve years. Somehow, Autumn got a corner of it and has actually managed to pull the fabric from beneath all those tons of gravel. Within weeks her back legs became sculpted muscle as she pursued her new hobby. It was then I learned that labs were actually bred to haul fishing nets onto boats. Made perfect sense. Also explained why she so happily jumped into the ocean in the middle of winter and went swimming.

She also liked to bury things. Sometimes she'd take my daughter's shoe out and bury it. Unfortunately, Autumn could not always remember where she buried things and would dig half a dozen exploratory wells looking for her lost treasure. The yard has become a series of traps and the faster we fill holes in, the faster she digs more.

One day I noticed what appeared to be a clump of human flesh on the floor. We had paid a small fortune to adapt the fences so she could not get out, but still...I worried. I finally got up enough nerve to pick the object up and it turned out to be a rawhide bone that must have been buried for months, then dug up. Gross.

One nice, warm summer day my husband spent most of his time putting in a new garden under my office window. He dug it out, put mulch on it, some nice rocks, replanted some lily bulbs and other plants I had and it really made the side yard look nice. Autumn sat and watched him do it. About an hour later there was absolutely no sign that there was ever a garden there and Autumn was running frantically around the yard tossing my lily bulbs into the air and catching them.

NOT SO BRIGHT?

The trainer assured us Autumn was bright and we agreed. Apparently her brilliance maxed out. I mentioned we had adapted the fence so she couldn't get out. Both gates have latches and one has an automatic closure on it, the other is on a hill so it closes on its own. Late one night I heard the latch open on the gate that's on the slope and couldn't imagine who would be in the yard, but I fell back asleep and forgot about it.

In the morning I let Autumn out and a while later realized things seemed rather quiet. Too quiet. I looked outside and sure enough—no Autumn. The side gate was standing open. Apparently the law sof gravity can be broken. After all the times she'd gotten out and headed onto the busy street above us, I was prepared for the worse. I wasn't sure whether to start searching myself, or call the dog catcher on her. As I went out front to get my shoes, I found Autumn, scared to death, trying to get through the other gate, the one that was still shut. She couldn't figure out that she escaped from the other side of the fence. Poor girl was terrified. It was then I realized she was also as dumb as a bag of rocks, but she meant well.

I had suspected that raccoons opened our gate, but no one was convinced. A few months ago, my husband and I watched three raccoons as they walked up our front stairs, explored the veranda, walked back down, climbed the fence and played with the latch. Apparently the local wildlife was conspiring to get rid of Autumn.

One of Autumn's favorite games is "unstuff." Cushions, stuffed animals, sleeping bags, comforters, the sofa, anything that has stuffing, gets the stuffing pulled out of it. I came home one day to discover all six cushions on my sofa had small holes chewed into the corner and every ounce of stuffing pulled out through the holes. One of the cushions used chipped foam, and she was still frantically shaking that one around so the stuffing would fly out, when I caught her.

One of the most interesting nights I've ever had with Autumn was during a weekend I was home alone. It was Ntal Day and I'd taken Autumn for a walk to mingle and enjoy the festivities. She's not really keen on crowds, so she was on her best behaviour and listened well, as she did her meet and greets. I'd forgotten there were fireworks scheduled at night, so when I first heard the bangs I wasn't sure what was going on.

Once I realized there was a firework celebration I decided to take advantage of the warm night and go back out with Autumn. I didn't realize the fireworks were being set off from the shore just below us and when I got outside with her, our street was actually completely lit up, in the centre of the fireworks. She was terrified. She wouldn't move and peed herself repeatedly. She then tried to run up the path onto the busy street above us. Even with the gentle leader I couldn't hold her and I was sure the leash was going to break, so I had to tackle her. For twenty minutes I laid on top of a shaking, peeing, whining dog desperately trying to break free and run. I'm not a small woman, and she still managed to drag me several yards, putting deep cuts and scrapes on my elbows and arms.

The trauma was so bad for her, that all those months of training went right out the window and I couldn't be out of her site for a single minute. It took a good six to eight weeks before she was back to normal.

We made sure she was in the rec room during the last firework show, so she couldn't hear them.

New Sorroundings

2008-11-21T18:42:46Z

Autumn wasn't very fond of men, and my daughter and I had to get her into the van for the drive to our house, because the boys just couldn't get close. She wasn't bad on the drive here. Once we pulled into the driveway, she jumped out the second the door was open and it took two of us to get her into the house, because the concept of walking on a leash or following directions just wasn't something she seemed familiar with.

In her last home, Autumn had spent most of her day in her crate and was taken for short, five minute walks to relieve herself. Other than that, she didn't get much exercise.

The second she entered the house she just started to run frantically from room to room, up the stairs, jumped on beds, back down the stairs on the sofa, tore all the cushions off the sofa and on and on it went. For about twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of broken ornaments and shoes being dragged around and the poor, poor cat being traumatized so much he would spend the next week huddled in a corner in my bedroom.

The five of us just stood there in amazement, mouths agape.

The weeks that followed were even more interesting.

Autumn bonded to me. Only me. If I closed a door, she cried and clawed at it until I let her in. As I worked on the computer, she tried to jump into my lap. She did that if I happened to leave the bathroom door open, too.

She would grab and eat anything impulsively and my prescription eyeglasses and pedometer were no exception. Sneakers had to be locked away, and socks were vanishing at a rate of about one an hour. Autumn has a sock fetish.

When the children tried to leave for school in the morning, one of them had to hold the dog, while the other opened the door and sort of blocked a path. The one holding the dog would then make a mad dash past the other and get the door shut before Autumn made it out.

She was a runner. And she had no street sense at all. Even walking her was hazardous because she'd suddenly bound out in front of a bus or car, oblivious to the danger.

I assumed that she would settle down a bit once we had a routine.

Every morning a neighbour and I would walk around Lake Banook, and I was really looking forward to taking Autumn with us. After a few days of being dragged against my will and having bike riders — who didn't appreciate a large dog suddenly jumping at them, cuss me out, I decided more imaginative means would need to be employed if Autumn was going to get any exercise with us.

So, I used two collars, and two leads. My friend had the lead on the right, and I had the lead on the left. While the dog was under better control, the walks became more stressful than dinner at the in-laws. Fortunately, I was soon introduced to the Gentle Leader concept, and she hasn't left the house without one, since.

My husband didn't seem to believe half the tales I told him about Autumn's antics and he joined me on a late night walk with her. In typical man fashion, he barked orders and yanked on her chain in an effort to control her. It didn't work very well. When we reached an isolated beach, he let her off the lead, much to my despair, assuring me Autumn would listen to him.

I must say, I don't remember ever having laughed so hard before or after. Poor Autumn had never been able to run free. It's possible she'd never done so in her entire life, considering her behaviour, and she took off faster than any dog I'd ever seen, the minute she realized the lead was no longer attached. She headed for the water. She jumped in and swam straight out, as if she had some place she had to be and she was late. I became alarmed, but about 30 metres from shore, she suddenly stopped, looked around as if she finally realized there was no where to go, and swam back.

She then ran in large circles around us, jumping onto walls, over benches and at one point, came down a hill so fast that with momentum and lift off, she completely cleared the picnic table we were sitting at. She ran and she ran and she ran. For at least 35 or 40 minutes, non-stop, that dog ran so fast she was nothing more than a blur. And the smile. Her lips were curved upwards, ear to ear. Anyone who doesn't believe a dog can smile, hasn't seen a happy dog. It was the long tongue flailing wildly about and the rather deranged look in her eyes that bothered me...that and the fact I was afraid she'd have a heart attack.

Surely, I thought, that run would calm her down for one night at least. And she was much better behaved on the walk home. And she wasn't too difficult to recapture after the run, either.

Now that I realized she loved to run, we gathered up some sticks, and bones and toys for her to use in the yard.

But this was Autumn.

Our large yard that Otis had enjoyed so much, didn't work for Autumn, and we had to keep her chained. Autumn could jump a five foot fence with ease. She could climb one even higher. Autumn would go out the back door and promptly vanish. Searches would need to be organized and knees and elbows would be sacrificed by those fearless enough to attempt to tackle and take down a deranged dog, bent on freedom.

Autumn was a challenge.

We soon contacted a puppy therapist and training school to see if Autumn could ever be turned into a pet.

The Adoption Process

2008-06-24T13:26:01Z

After Otis died, I was more than content to live without a dog. After all, I wasn't really a dog person and at least we'd now have some freedom to go away over night, since the bunnies only needed someone to pop by for a food and water check, which the neighbour's daughter was more than happy to do.

Within a few months though, I realized two things: I didn't like to be away from the house for long, since we had no security system and my entire business was on my computer. These aren't expensive, new computers or anything that would appeal to someone looking to rob a house for electronics but even so, I worried; We have no big-screen TVs and our VCRs are at least 5 years old. Still, I worried. I didn't realize what a sense of security Otis gave me.

The second issue was with my exercise routine that includes walking around Lake Banook. It's not always possible for me to go during the day and it seems that in the last few years the number of teenagers hanging out in gangs just to intimate people has gone from zero to at least four or five. One night I even had to duck into a boat club to call my husband to come get me because there was no way to get home except through a dark path that was littered with teenagers drinking. A dog was what I needed. Something big. With teeth.

So, I set out to find a dog. Surely, with all the news reports about homeless animals it wouldn't be too difficult. Ha!

It was easier to become foster parents for children when we applied back in the 1980s.

First of all, some places required a fee upfront, with no guarantee that you'll ever get to adopt. The application process alone was daunting, and we often didn't qualify. Some places have a claus that grants them permission to visit your home unannounced — indefinitely. Now, I have no problem with a home check and requiring records from our vet, but beyond that I just wasn't comfortable.

I've since spoken with many people who have hit the same adoption wall. At least one of them now owns a spoiled, pampered breeder pup — the very thing you'd hope people could avoid if they wished.

We had a few "almosts." A shelter in Truro sounded very promising about my adopting a Husky. Otis was part Husky, he was great with the rabbits and he was large and fearsome when necessary. At the last minute though, I mentioned I had rabbits roaming about my house and when the woman I was talking with checked, she didn't think it was a good idea with that particular dog.

About a month later, we found another dog about 4 hours drive from here and I e-mailed that shelter owner. When I didn't hear back, I called and spoke with her for about a half hour. She sounded very positive and said she only adopted the dogs out to people she "felt good" about. She promised to consider my application. I never heard back. The same shelter was closed down a short time later due to horrible abuse of animals. Apparently she didn't "feel good" about anyone and simply allowed animals to sit and slowly die. The case is still before the courts.

We posted ads on various boards, and even decided a puppy wouldn't be so bad. I resorted to asking people at random if they knew anyone with puppies. I was about to give up the search when I happened to see an ad on Kijiji.com from a couple who were looking for a home for a one-year-old Lab and Chow mix. We drove to meet them a few days later and brought Autumn home with us.

We learned that prior to living with this family, she had lived with her original owners for about 6 months. She had been spayed and her vet records demonstrated very loving, attentive dog owners. She was also good with children and kittens. The family we adopted her from had her for a few months and realized they just didn't have room for a large dog or the time to dedicate to exercising such a beast. They had found her a new home, but that person returned her after about a month. So, counting the return, that was four different living arrangements puppy had been in during her one short year of life. They told me to take her on a trial basis.

It wasn't long before I found out why.

Autumn, during an almost-sane moment.

Otis

2008-05-22T17:47:12Z

The story of Autumn really starts with a dog named Otis. Otis was the quintessential perfect dog. We adopted Otis in the early '90s, when he was about six months old. At that time we had just built our dream home on a large property outside of Sackville, Nova Scotia.

We had three children, all under the age of five, and apparently we have more enthusiasm than sense sometimes because we decided a dog would complete the picture. I found Otis in The Bargain Hunter, and my husband went to pick him up. From that moment on he was my husband's dog.

Otis was part Husky and part Lab. He had a light beige coat that was very wiry and one eye that was partially blue. We believe he had some sort of vision problem, but it didn't really hamper his quality of life other than the fact he wasn't confident around stairs.

Otis would live with us for 14 years. He never jumped on furniture, seemed to anticipate our commands and protected our family and home. It didn't quite start off all roses and sunshine, though. A few days after we adopted Otis I was putting the children's jackets on to go outside for a walk. I reached around Otis to button my son's coat and Otis bit me in the arm. I immediately packed the dog and kids in to the car and took the dog to the vet to be put down. With three very young children there were no second chances for a dog bite.

Fortunately, the vet talked me out of it, and said that my pushing in front of the dog probably brought out some Husky instinct intended to keep all the dogs in their proper order. He suggested neutering Otis and giving him a second chance. It worked.

Otis had two talents: the long jump and herding.

Herding was particularly useful to us as a family. As the children spread out during the course of play, in the yard, playground or even swimming at the beach, Otis would make circles around and around the group, slowly herding them into the center and closer to me. Sometimes he tried to herd other people's children. Those attempts were not always appreciated by mothers who wanted to know what the heck my dog was doing.

Otis spent his days sleeping just to the left of the door to my office, on the other side. You see, I wasn't really a dog person, and we managed to live together all day as long as we remained in our own spaces.

Otis and our cat Buster loved each other (although our older cat, Sydney always hated him and Otis loved to give chase), and eventually as rabbits became part of our household, he tolerated them hopping around him and using him as a hiding spot.

On May 15, 2007, when he was about 14 years old, we took Otis to the vet for the last time. He could barely walk, he was blind and deaf and suffering dementia. It was the latter that was creating the problem, because we customized his living area to deal with the arthritis and blindness, but some days poor old Otis would just start barking and growling and attacking unseen foes. Rather than risk an injury to someone or another pet, we decided it was time to say goodbye.

Otis