Please give me the support of your vote.
*
Sometimes, seemingly, it's much easier to train a dragon than it is to train a Rat terrier
I love dogs. Since the time I can remember, I always had a dog. Actually, they weren't my dogs but my brothers' dogs. Yet, whether they were my brothers' dogs or deemed my dogs, all their dogs were more loyal and loved me more than they were loyal and loved them.
Maybe because my brothers were so big and always so loud was the reason why the dogs cowered, snarled, growled, and even bit them. With them always teasing the dogs and being mean to the dogs, the dogs never came to them when they called them. Instead they'd come to me and shake by my legs.
The dogs were protective of me and hostile towards them. Perhaps because my brothers were bad men was the reason why they didn't like them. Dogs know. They can sense the good and the evil in people. Dogs are one of the few animals that make eye contact.
Obviously, the dogs feared my brothers and loved me. I was the one who fed the dogs, walked the dogs, played with the dogs, and bathe the dogs. They never talked to the dogs in the way that I talked to the dogs. The even allowed me to dress them for the holidays. Other to just say that they had a dog, with them not caring for the dog, I don't know why they even had a dog. They would have been better off if they had a dragon.
* * * * *
Then, when I was married, being that we couldn't have children, a long story that started with my ex having a vasectomy behind my back just before we were married and not telling me, we had a dog instead. A Rat terrier that I named Polo, he was a wonderful dog but was very hard to train to obey. He'd do all of the normal dog things, such as sit, stay, fetch, and no barking but he'd never walk beside me or behind me in the way that an obediently submissive dog should.
Being that my ex paid for the dog, five hundred dollars, a lot for a Rat terrier when most Rat terriers sell for one hundred and fifty dollars, he got the dog when we split. Good luck in walking and exercising that dog when he never did. I imagined Polo being cooped up all day without even going out to pee. I hope he hired a dog walker. I hope he came home to walk the dog.
He never loved that dog in the way that I loved that dog. He should have given me the dog. Yet, with me being homeless for five months, I would have been forced to put the dog in the animal shelter. I miss the dog and I miss having a dog but I can't. The woman who allows me to live in her spare bedroom is not only afraid of dogs but also is allergic to dogs.
* * * * *
A special dog, Polo's grandfather was a champion. I named him Polo because he looked like a dog that would be in a Ralph Lauren magazine ad. After we split, because my ex was Italian and because the dog had Italian Greyhound in him, he changed the dog's name from Polo to Carmine.
Carmine? What the Hell kind of name is that for a dog? You can't do that to a dog. You can't change a dog's name after he's been called Polo since the time he was a puppy. Like him going by the name of Vinnie instead of Bob, it's as if the dog worked undercover too.
I bought my ex a tee shirt as a Christmas gift that read, "You don't know me." In small print, it had Witness Protection underneath it but he didn't think that was funny.
"What's wrong with you? I'm an undercover cop. I can't wear this," he said throwing my gift in my face.
Quick to rile, he was such an asshole sometimes. He could have worn it around the house, beneath his shirt, or even to bed before sticking it in a drawer never to be worn again. He didn't have to throw it in my face.
Anyway, I named my dog Polo because, at the time I was the business manager for a famous modeling agency in Boston and Ralph Lauren was one of our clients. If anything, looking very chic with his tri-colored coat, Polo looked like a dog that Ralph Lauren would own. With him having a chocolate brown back and hind quarters, a white underside with white legs, and tan markings over his eyes. For the first three years we owned him, he had green eyes, a pink nose, and pink paws. With his unique coloration, he looked like a fashion dog.
* * * * *
Being that one of the dogs my brothers had when I was a kid was a Manchester terrier, a dog very much like a Rat terrier, I was already familiar with the Rat terrier breed. A pedigree dog that's recognized by the AKC, American Kennel Club and the UKC, United Kennel Club, the closest dog to a mutt, the Rat terrier is created from a Manchester terrier, a Whippet, and an Italian Greyhound. A narrow, long legged dog, they are as sleek as they are fast and majestic. Full of themselves, they hold their head up high and prance when they walk. A healthy dog, they don't have the genetic, medical conditions with ear and eye problems that many small dogs have.
Because of their non-stop energy they are the perfect breed for obstacle training. Only with me working all day while caring for the house and for my husband, I didn't have time to take the dog to obstacle training and to obstacle meets too. Giving him a job to do, definitely, Polo would have been good at it. Matter of fact, when talking to her over the phone, the breeder refused to sell us the dog because we lived in the city.
In November 2004, we made the trip to Brattleboro Vermont to convince her to sell us the dog and to pick up the dog after seeing him online. To me, Vermont is God's country. A day trip vacation away from the big city, it's a 200 mile round trip. A gorgeous ride with the trees so very colorful, whenever driving through Vermont, we saw more cows than people. I always wished I could live there in an A frame house decorated with gingerbread.
Just twelve weeks old, we watched Polo play with his brothers and sister before taking him home. Already housebroken and trained not to beg, the breeder was much better at training the dog in the twelve weeks she had him than we were in the years we owned him. She lived high atop a scenic hill where she bred horses too. I envied her life of raising dogs and riding horses. Even though her life was filled with chores and hard work, her life was much simpler than mine.
"These dogs are runners. This dog needs to run," she said. "You can't keep him cooped up in an apartment or a house all day. He'll be bored and will tear your house apart."
We assured her that we were both physically fit and would walk him every day. She agreed to selling us the dog as long as we promised to bring the dog back to her should we change our minds and no longer want the dog. Unless they were forced to because of health issues or divorce, I don't know how anyone can return and/or part with a dog.
"It would break my heart to see this dog in a dog pound," she said.
Well, because my ex worked late night, 12 hour shifts as an undercover police officer and sometimes didn't make it home for days, he slept when not working. I walked that dog six miles every day and that wasn't nearly enough. I was losing weight and he was gaining muscle mass. Then, I found the dog park.
"Praise the Lord. Thank you Jesus."
Boy could that dog run. Fortunately, he always came back when I called him with just a whistle. I swear, when he ran back to me with his tongue hanging out of his mouth, he looked like he was smiling. He looked so very happy. Then, we'd do it all over again and again. He'd run until he was just a dot on the landscape and then I'd whistle for him. With his ears pinned back to his head, his sleek body, and all four legs off the ground, he looked like a bullet fired out of a gun.
Because of his barrel chest and long legs, by far, he was the fastest dog at the dog park. He had four speeds, loping, galloping, wicked fast, and turbo charged fast with him flat out and all of his legs off the ground and extended in the air at the same time. He loved being chased and would wear out any dog that tried to catch him. Even a Greyhound couldn't catch him. Easily out maneuvering him, with the Greyhound's long strides, Polo could stop turn, corner, and jump while the Greyhound was still running right by him.
"Oh, my God. Thank God you're here with Polo," said the owners of the dogs that played chase with my dog. "My dog slept for three days after playing with your dog."
I looked at him and smiled while sometimes wishing I had a slug of a dog like their dog instead of a Rat terrier.
"Yeah, well, Polo doesn't sleep. He wants to play as soon as I bring him home. If I kept him here all day long, he'd be happy," I said.
* * * * *
It wasn't until three Pit Bulls, really not good dogs to have unleashed at a dog park, chased him and cornered him. Easily he could have outrun the dogs but for some strange reason he stopped. I thought it was the end for my four legged friend but once cornered, he turned on the Pit Bulls. I couldn't believe my eyes when I finally caught up with the four dogs stopped behind some bushes. With the Pit Bulls just standing there at bay, Polo was growling and snarling. My cute, little Rat terrier turned into a demon dog.
My twenty pound Rat terrier even bit one of the Pit Bulls in the ear. Taking that as my opportunity, not the brightest thing to do but better they bite me than kill my dog, I pulled Pit Bulls away from him by their collars. After yelling at the owners to call their dogs and get their dogs when they didn't come, even their owners were afraid to get their own dogs.
We were lucky that they were pet Pit Bulls and not fighting Pit Bulls. When they were chasing him, they turned into a pack, and the Pit Bulls immediately went into the red zone. They didn't back off until Polo stood his ground. Just one bite of those much bigger dogs and he would have been gone.
Once my dog was safe and the Pit Bulls were leashed, I turned to the Pit Bull dog owners. I had quite the temper back then. More of a rage I discovered after being diagnosed with post-traumatic stress after all that's happened to me, I was ready to hurt someone.
