I now have good relations with dogs, but when I was really little, my dad had a collie named Michael, who was so big (to me) that he scared me. I realized later he was a good boy, but he would nuzzle me and knock me over. Then there was another dog I got to be friends with that lived on the route I took walking to school. The first day I…
I now have good relations with dogs, but when I was really little, my dad had a collie named Michael, who was so big (to me) that he scared me. I realized later he was a good boy, but he would nuzzle me and knock me over. Then there was another dog I got to be friends with that lived on the route I took walking to school. The first day I rode my bike and went past his house, he came out and chased me and bit me. I ended up having to have that series of *really painful* rabies shots in my belly. So after that I was very cautious around dogs. Didn't dislike them, just didn't trust them. In adulthood, I got to where dogs and I declared a truce and became friends.
that really IS just about the most emblematic story I've ever heard about a horrible early encounter with dogs. my family didn't have a dog until I was about seven, but my Bronx grandparents had a sort of Golden Retriever mix named Mimsy of whom I was very fond (in retrospect, I might have been guilty of a little abuse). the thing is (and you'll REALLY appreciate this, Tom) that my father said that, as far as he remembered, she was found as a nearly newborn abandoned puppy around the time of the Munich Pact (!!). which is to say that I actually knew a dog (this'd be around '53 or '54) whose existence predated WWII. and dogs don't live all that long, although Mimsy was obviously pretty healthy. this provides a healthy sense of perspective. or something.
as kids, were always told to avoid strange dogs because of rabies and the horrible shots, but all of that seemed like a sort of mythology. you're actually the first person I know who actually had to go through that. if it had been me, I'd probably have given dogs a wide berth as well. OUCH.
Yes, it turned out the owner of "Champ" the dog that bit me, wasn't a nice guy. He took the dog away immediately, before he could be checked for rabies, which is why I got the full course of rabies shots. There were more than a few of "The Greatest Generation" who came back from that war seriously damaged. They were scary to us kids, nobody at the time knew anything about PTSD.
I can remember going shopping with my father in the early fifties and the conversations he'd get into with other guys we encountered over their war experiences. at least three or four times, the talk would be perfectly okay (almost like discussing the weather) until someone would say "I was at the Bulge" and there'd be complete silence for a few seconds, which can feel like a pretty long time. then they'd change the subject.
our next-door neighbor Tony (whose front closet was the other side of my front closet) would occasionally stack some phone books horizontally in his closet and shoot them because he didn't want his aim to go bad.
I guess he was worried about the Nazi invasion of Astoria, Queens.
to tell you the truth, I also kinda like the idea. Tony was definitely a unique neighbor. plus his wife was a knockout Irish redhead.
but it WAS a rifle and, unless there's some kind of lore I don't know about the capacity of old telephone books to stop bullets, it feels pretty dicey from the point of view of someone who might've been getting a coat at the same time.
this is almost always true, but I know of one or two cases where friends of mine adopted a shelter dog who turned out to be pretty problematic. I'm glad it wasn't me because I feel like once you adopt a dog, you're making an implicit contract to keep that dog, no matter what. one of my first dog dyad had intractable glaucoma, so we had to remove her eyes. both of the second dyad--mother and daughter--had the gene for degenerative myelopathy, which is basically ALS, and it was a nightmare (in the middle of which, I was diagnosed with lung cancer for the second time, which has nothing to do with anything except to make very trying times a little more trying).
but I've also had six amazingly sweet dogs, so it's really easy for me to talk. and I'm partial to herders because I love all those herding behaviors that are all about accounting for things, protecting them, making sure everything's correctly organized...in general, taking RESPONSIBILITY.
so I assume that TFF would, if he knew anything about it, ESPECIALLY hate herding dogs. more reason to despise him, as if any of us required yet ANOTHER reason to do so.
in the meantime, it's very hard not to turn the television on, but impossible to watch it....
I now have good relations with dogs, but when I was really little, my dad had a collie named Michael, who was so big (to me) that he scared me. I realized later he was a good boy, but he would nuzzle me and knock me over. Then there was another dog I got to be friends with that lived on the route I took walking to school. The first day I rode my bike and went past his house, he came out and chased me and bit me. I ended up having to have that series of *really painful* rabies shots in my belly. So after that I was very cautious around dogs. Didn't dislike them, just didn't trust them. In adulthood, I got to where dogs and I declared a truce and became friends.
that really IS just about the most emblematic story I've ever heard about a horrible early encounter with dogs. my family didn't have a dog until I was about seven, but my Bronx grandparents had a sort of Golden Retriever mix named Mimsy of whom I was very fond (in retrospect, I might have been guilty of a little abuse). the thing is (and you'll REALLY appreciate this, Tom) that my father said that, as far as he remembered, she was found as a nearly newborn abandoned puppy around the time of the Munich Pact (!!). which is to say that I actually knew a dog (this'd be around '53 or '54) whose existence predated WWII. and dogs don't live all that long, although Mimsy was obviously pretty healthy. this provides a healthy sense of perspective. or something.
as kids, were always told to avoid strange dogs because of rabies and the horrible shots, but all of that seemed like a sort of mythology. you're actually the first person I know who actually had to go through that. if it had been me, I'd probably have given dogs a wide berth as well. OUCH.
Dogs generally reflect the humans closest to them, in my experience. They experience trauma and internalize, just like humans.
Yes, it turned out the owner of "Champ" the dog that bit me, wasn't a nice guy. He took the dog away immediately, before he could be checked for rabies, which is why I got the full course of rabies shots. There were more than a few of "The Greatest Generation" who came back from that war seriously damaged. They were scary to us kids, nobody at the time knew anything about PTSD.
I can remember going shopping with my father in the early fifties and the conversations he'd get into with other guys we encountered over their war experiences. at least three or four times, the talk would be perfectly okay (almost like discussing the weather) until someone would say "I was at the Bulge" and there'd be complete silence for a few seconds, which can feel like a pretty long time. then they'd change the subject.
our next-door neighbor Tony (whose front closet was the other side of my front closet) would occasionally stack some phone books horizontally in his closet and shoot them because he didn't want his aim to go bad.
I guess he was worried about the Nazi invasion of Astoria, Queens.
sounds like a bit of PTSD to me.
Well, David, in spite of all my high standards, I will confess I sort of like the idea of old Tony firing on those phone books.
to tell you the truth, I also kinda like the idea. Tony was definitely a unique neighbor. plus his wife was a knockout Irish redhead.
but it WAS a rifle and, unless there's some kind of lore I don't know about the capacity of old telephone books to stop bullets, it feels pretty dicey from the point of view of someone who might've been getting a coat at the same time.
this is almost always true, but I know of one or two cases where friends of mine adopted a shelter dog who turned out to be pretty problematic. I'm glad it wasn't me because I feel like once you adopt a dog, you're making an implicit contract to keep that dog, no matter what. one of my first dog dyad had intractable glaucoma, so we had to remove her eyes. both of the second dyad--mother and daughter--had the gene for degenerative myelopathy, which is basically ALS, and it was a nightmare (in the middle of which, I was diagnosed with lung cancer for the second time, which has nothing to do with anything except to make very trying times a little more trying).
but I've also had six amazingly sweet dogs, so it's really easy for me to talk. and I'm partial to herders because I love all those herding behaviors that are all about accounting for things, protecting them, making sure everything's correctly organized...in general, taking RESPONSIBILITY.
so I assume that TFF would, if he knew anything about it, ESPECIALLY hate herding dogs. more reason to despise him, as if any of us required yet ANOTHER reason to do so.
in the meantime, it's very hard not to turn the television on, but impossible to watch it....
Dogs can indeed endure so much trauma that they become permanently broken. Any mammal can.