Two Dogs in the Rain

Yesterday I went out to the humane society. I have gotten better about walking the dogs that need it most. By that I mean, when I first started, I walked the dogs that I liked most. Now, though, I look at the board and see who hasn't been walked yet that day. If everyone's been walked, I walk the dog who's been stuck inside longest.

Yesterday, the problem was, only one of the dogs had been walked. Who, then, of the five or six dogs calling for my attention? I went with the quietest, a shepherd/lab mix named Sharby (I know—talk about a made up name).

I went out to the front desk to get a little background on him, and I was glad I did. They told me, "He's a great dog, but scared. Don't be surprised if he bellycrawls through the door."Yow.

He didn't—but he did cower, and press close to me. He was scared of the world, and it showed in surprising ways. For example, while I kept Sharby on the leash the whole time, I didn't need it. We'd met maybe a minute before the walk, and that was enough to make me his anchor of familiarity in the world. This meant he stayed close enough to touch me at all times, often turning his head back to check on me as we walked.

We passed a woman walking the opposite direction on the other side of the street. He froze up, hiding behind me the best he could.

He was loving when we got back in his cage, but in general, the boy is scared.

When I got back, they were putting Goliath in his kennel. They commented on how big and strong he was, and I knew I had to walk him, because if I didn't, he might not get walked. He is big (97 pounds of Rottweiller) and I guess strong, but mostly, he's a big friendly puffball.

We went out into the rain, and he loped a long, pulling occasionally but mostly content to be out in the world. If you want to make him happy, here's a secret. Pick up a stick. He loves to play tug of stick, and we did, starting with an 8-10 foot branch that the wind had knocked down. We'd tug—he'd snap off a branch. He'd clamp on to another branch. We'd tug, he'd snap, repeat, repeat, repeat. I think we stood in the rain whittling a branch to a pile of toothpicks for five minutes.
He carried the last six inches of the branch all the way back to the humane society. That was one happy dog.