White Trash at Flat Rock

“Dolly jumped up and tried to take my glove,” the dour woman with a gang banger’s watch cap declared. Somehow, this woman knew my name. I didn’t ever remember meeting her before. She was large; tall and bulky. Her moves were awkward, like a golem come to life or a small child wrapped in too many outside clothes. Any conversation was stilted; seemingly she had to remember how it was reasonable and appropriate to talk to someone else. Always she was alone when she went on her walk. The sounds her car made as she pulled out of the lot indicated new ball joints were severely overdue.

“Did she get it?” I wanted to know.

“No.”

“Well, that’s good.”

I thought no more about the incident. I was preoccupied with more the more demanding issues in life. My parents were showing the effects of over a combined 150 years of good living. Since I’m the only kid in the area, I’m the one getting those scary “Your father fell down and can’t get up” calls in the middle of the night.

Other than that things in general weren’t too bad, just busy. Work was interesting and absorbing for the most part and even better, didn’t usually require suits, silly shoes and a pair of nylons. Getting everything squeezed into the day was a challenge, between work, parents, my new duties in dog care, working out and keeping two old cars running. I need the extra one for when the other is in the shop. Besides, I have a thing for Mazda RX7s. Perhaps it was a good thing I had no significant other hanging around asking for another bit of my time. Of course having someone with a sizable income would be an entirely negative thing. A freelancer’s income is never steady.

I thought things were going well overall in the dog department. Not one “accident” in the house. Nothing had been chewed up and annihilated in months. Dolly had met all kinds of dogs and lots of different people and seemed to like everybody. Then one day at Flat Rock the man with two Bassett Hounds said, “There’s a woman over there who’s afraid of Dolly. Don’t worry, she turned around and went the other way.”

“Huh?” First of all, Dolly was friendly to all. In the second place, if someone was afraid of dogs, they could go walk somewhere else. The dog walking all happened on a single mile-long trail. There were at least 12 miles of trails in the conservation area. I knew. I’d mountain biked almost all of them at one time or another.

“It’s not all nice people up here,” Wendy said. “Sometimes they try to get rid of us. Have you met mean man? You have to be careful of him.”

“He’s a homophobe,” Peter said. I had figured out that Peter was the tall thin man in the raggedy sweat suit and Kody, the ambling shepherd mix. “You should have heard what he said to Eric.”

“Who’s Eric?” I asked, once again confused. “Is he gay?” Peter would know, being unabashedly gay himself.

“No, but he’s odd,” Peter clarified.

I decided to steer clear of these troublemakers as much as possible. The last thing I needed was an altercation with some whack-job in the woods. After all, I was trying to raise Dolly to be as non-confrontational as it was possible for a dog to be. Instead of cursing loudly and inventively at one of the myriads of idiots on the road I tried to grit my teeth so Dolly wouldn’t learn to get aggressive in the car. Did dogs understand “the finger?” Maybe non-verbal venting might work.

Most of the dogs Dolly played with were happy-go-lucky and well-behaved. They set good examples for her. Jumping was rare, and most of the animals stuck close to their people without too much calling. What was missing was a dog who would play rough with Dolly. I was still adhering to Pit Bull Commandment #6, no tug of war.

Here’s a link to one of Dolly’s recent videos As you will see, she is eager to play.

Scroll down to chapter one to read the adventures in order!

Over the next few months we met up with the walkers several times a week. The blurry group gradually became a collection of individuals, each with an interesting take on life, each just a tad odd. Some came up more often than others.

Wendy was known as the dog-yeller. She kept tabs on everyone and everyone’s dogs. She was also the resident expert on all things Fitchburg and all things dog. Sometimes though, it was difficult to figure out what she was talking about.

“I’ve been coming up to these woods since I was little. I know every trail. My brother told me not to walk around alone up here. He’s a state cop. That’s ridiculous. I know these woods better than anyone.

“My father used to raise Brittanies. We always had Brittanies. The girl at the vet’s just got a pit. You don’t know if they are any good until they are two. They can turn any time, but if they reach two and they’re still good they’ll be okay.

“There’s a lawyer who lives over there, he has a mean dog and he wants us all to put our dogs on a leash. He just can’t control his dog, you know. Henry said we don’t have to leash our dogs.

“Oh, look at Dolly. DOLLY, DOLLY! What a good girl; go play with Star. STAR! Star doesn’t like to play. He only plays with his ball. Ruby thinks she’s a poodle too.”

“Who’s Ruby?” I finally got a word in edgewise. I didn’t remember seeing any dog named Ruby but that doesn’t always mean much.

“Oh, she’s a pit who only plays with poodles. She lives with Star’s sister. She’s always cold.”

“Yeah, Dolly hates the cold too. She shivers a lot,” I confided. “Her feet used to bleed in the snow until she toughened up.”

“Well, you have to let her sleep all the way under the covers with you,” Wendy advised.

“No way.” I was adamant. “She snores. No dogs in the bed.”

“Ruby sleeps under the covers.” It seemed like Wendy was becoming Dolly’s strongest advocate.

“Well, goody for Ruby. The Doll will just have to adapt. I’ll get her a fleece blanket.”

“They had some good ones at the Salvation Army,” Wendy recommended.

It would be some time before I got the complete cast of characters straightened out. As the weeks went by, it became increasingly obvious there was a group of us and a group of them.

Doll and I were one of ‘us.’

Bubba plays tug

Here’s a brief video of Dolly’s friend Bubba teaching Ken how to dispense treats and play tug and provide a comfy place to lay his weary head.

The saga of Dolly the pit bull continues. If you are new to the blog please read from the bottom up so you can follow the story. Enjoy!!

Doll- The Social Butterfly

As advertised there were dogs running free and their people were good with it. The pack welcomed Dolly on their own dog terms; butt-sniffing, running in circles, gratuitous barking and other expressions of general canine joy. Dolly sniffed, ran and barked with the best of them. She was a young and exuberant dog but the other dogs accepted this. After all, they were young once also. If she got too rambunctious somedog was sure to give her an “errr” and straighten her right out.

I was overwhelmed by the statements and advice being batted around.

 “Watch out, there is a woman who comes up here who is afraid of pits,” someone to my right said.

I turned to my left. “Well, Fiona is the alpha female, she’ll put Dolly in her place.” “NO! STAR BENNETT!” I stumbled in a startle reflex. Guess that was one of the dogs getting yelled at.

“Look, Dolly has a crush on Bruno. He’s awfully handsome but there’s nothing between his ears.”

The owners and dogs were a motley crew. A young family with a double stroller and three children gathered in the shade at the edge of the thick woods surrounding the reservoir.  Several women walked with leashes draped around their necks for easy access. One of them used a cane. A tall, thin man in a raggedy sweat suit kept watch over everybody. The dogs were just as diverse. A white standard poodle with an unfortunate haircut, several small dogs who stood their ground and didn’t say much. An older german shepherd mix was a slow-moving object. Large bounding dogs and some mid-sized models rounded out the canine mix.

The group gathered us in and took us for a walk around the pond. Sounds innocent, doesn’t it? Here was this pit bull, a dog with a “bad rap,” playing just like any other dog. The people broke into groups of two or three as the trail narrowed. The dogs cavorted and gamboled through the undergrowth, ran ahead on the path and came barreling back for treats. I kept a close eye on my dog, what if some other dog really annoyed her and something happened? What if she knocked over the woman with the cane?

As the group circled back to the parking area, the others took stock of us. We were the new kids on the block. The owners looked at each other, the dogs sniffed and butted. Nothing was said, but apparently we received the stamp of approval.

“We usually come up here around 10,” the man in the sweat suit said. “Every day.”

“Kody likes Dolly,” he continued. “She plays with him.”

“Um, who’s Kody?” I asked, still confused by the crowd. “Oh, him,” he replied pointing at the ambling shepherd mix.

“Oh, okay. We can come up sometimes then, but sometimes I have to work,” I said. “I know Dolly had a good time.”

I glanced at my watch. “Oh, my god. I’m going to be late for work! Dolly, get in the car, come on Dolly!”

One of the commandments from the trainer when Dolly came home was – no tug of war. It would get her all wound up and make her think she was in charge if she won.  Which she definately could have. She is strong.

After her meeting with Bubba and the joy the two animals showed playing tug with each other, I ignored the rule. We have a fine time playing tug although I cheat. She stays on the slippery wooden floor while I have much better traction in my shoes.

Then, I came across instructions on how to play tug with your dog. Seems like if you interact with your pet it should come naturally, but you can check out the directions here: http://www.naturaldogblog.com/blog/2007/07/how-to-play-tug-of-war-with-your-dog-and-have-the-happiest-dog-on-the-block/

Have fun.

So, he sent his picture. Notice the fierceness (not!) of the pit bull expression.

Bubba stopping to smell the flowers

While I plan on posting further installments of White Trash at Flat Rock,  please enjoy this video of Dolly and Bubba turning a $60 road bike tire into trash. Yes, I know the audio needs work, but what can you expect from a cheap camera?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cxxNuuFAdMw