When I was 12, I was badly bitten by a big black dog. The details of that might be another story. I mention it here because it was the Initial Incident in the series of events that planted me squarely in the middle of Dog Obedience School. I started displaying a morbid fear of large dogs. My parents decided that the best way to get me over it was to make me take our own dog, Rusty, to Dog Obedience School.
Yeah, right...whatever!
Rusty was an undisciplined wretch whose chief duties were to drag me around the neighbourhood once a day, and to keep us and our next-door neighbours awake all night, if a raccoon happened near the hen house.
At the first class, I had to be removed from the back of a bench when a pair of Harlequin Great Danes decided to investigate my presence. Dang, those things are HUGE!
There were dogs in all shapes and sizes in the class, and Rusty had a very aggressive attitude to all of them. Dane, or Peke, it didn't matter to Rusty. He was constantly saying, "Come here and I'll beat the tar out of you," and many of the dogs were quite willing to oblige.
There were two schools of thought on dog-training, back in those antideluvian days. One said that if your dog disobeys, you whack him with a rolled-up newspaper. The other says that you never, EVER strike your dog, no matter what. Of course, we now know that the latter thought is right, but there was controversy, back in the day. Even in Dog Obedience School in Chemainus, B.C.
I had ADULTS yelling at me: "Smack him with the newspaper!" "Don't you DARE hit that dog!" It's no bloody wonder that the class was, for me, an almost total failure. The one thing I did learn was that not ALL dogs are inimical. The Harlequin Danes turned out to be the sweetest animals you could ever know. Rusty didn't learn much, though he did drag me more slowly around the neighbourhood, and could be persuaded to sit and stay for short periods of time. I never did learn how to use my voice to control a dog. I came away from the course feeling just as powerless as I went in, and a deep-seated fear of large black dogs stayed with me for may years.
Bless your heart! Is it solid black dogs? Or even mostly black? I have a black wolamute (malamute hybrid, not something I'd get on purpose, but she's a rescue). She had been a puppy mill brood bitch, we're pretty sure. When I had her spayed, I informed her no more babies for her, that she was baby now. Holy moley, she took it to heart! Now I have 105lbs. of lap dog who loves everybody. This is a dog who's never met a stranger. Everyone exists to rub her belly.
ReplyDeleteOkay, I'm not sure why I'm rambling about my black dog in your lovely post, aside from I'm biased and adore her. And I'm dearly glad you didn't get frightened off -all- dogs. Dogs are the real guardian angels, in my mind. Cats are the seraphim that run everything. ;)
The one that bit me was a black German Shepherd.
ReplyDeleteThe Black Dog is a Celtic symbol of death, much the same was that an owl is to some Native American Nations.
And no, I am no longer afraid of black dogs, unless they growl at me. If they do that, it matters not what make or model thay are--I'm outta there!