July 3, 2011

Although Allie was exhausted, I'm pretty sure she didn't sleep her first night here. I'm certain that she didn't blink for at least 8 hours. She wouldn't make eye contact with me, turning her head away even when I held her. She lay motionless in her crate, as flat and compact as she could get, even tucking her front paws under her chest. This is commonly known as "pancaking," the body posture of terrified dogs everywhere. The message couldn't be any clearer: "If I am very small and completely quiet, I will be invisible. Invisible to the predators in this world." 

She couldn't be coaxed to the front of her slightly too large crate, so I tied a small box in the back space to keep her toward the front. My short arms could only reach so far, and she wasn't helping. I'm afraid she got a few head bonks before I figured out how to best get her unwilling, stiff body out of the crate. (Go ahead. Try getting a wee dog frozen in a sitting position out of a restricted space. Not so easy, is it?) 

Once out, I put her on an old leash and carried her out the door to the back deck. Until I knew I could trust her, she was destined to drag this old leash. The ratty blue leash would serve two purposes: a) to help catch her again; and b) to be able to find her when she scooted under something. The latter she did with astonishing frequency. I never knew I had so many hidey holes in my house until The Dust Bunny came to live with us. 

Allie was also reluctant to remain in the yard if any of the male neighbors were in their back yards. She would head for the door, fear making her fly over the steps to the back door. Poor Larry, who adores animals of any kind, was introduced to a shaking Allie from ten feet away. 

I knew my biggest challenge would be housebreaking Allie. Papillons are notoriously hard to house train. But I had a secret weapon: Dulcie. Dulcie with her sweet temper and gentleness had Allie wrapped adoringly around her paw from the beginning. When placed on the ground, Allie would rush to Dulcie's side and stick with her. Soon, the yard resembled the practice field for the Canine Olympic event of "Synchronized Squatting." Mostly they would be side by side, but once I looked out the window to see them butt to butt. (Where is that stupid camera when you need it?)

They say a puppy learns from an older dog, making training much less stressful for everyone involved. It certainly was true of Allie and Dulcie. Allie learned to come when Dulcie did, even though I still had to step on the leash to get her. I quickly learned that Allie was more relaxed with Dulcie in the room. 

The same was not true of Rimba. By the end of the first day, Allie was snapping and snarling when Rimba got too close to her crate--and therefore, her food. Although Rimba couldn't get at the food, nor did she want it, Allie thought she had to guard her food from Rimba, but not Dulcie. Outside of her crate, Allie got along fine with both dogs. 

Rimba is old. And deaf. I have to raise my voice to get her to do anything if she can't see my hand signals. My theory is that Allie heard me raise and deepen my voice to Rimba and thought Rimba was a BadDog. Why else would I be yelling at her? 

My next goal was to get Allie to open her mouth. At the shelter, they had told me that her teeth were clenched and her lips so stiff they gave up trying to look at her teeth. Using T-Touch on her mouth and face throughout the day, I finally got Allie's lips to come up off her teeth. What I found was worrying.

All of Allie's canines looked like they had been broken off. Her breath could knock a zombie back ten paces, even though her teeth didn't look decayed too badly. Her gums were red, instead of healthy pink. Although I knew she was not happy to have her mouth handled, she never tried to bite or nip me. But she sure could whip that head around like a hydra! 

Another concern were Allie's kneecaps and shoulder joints, which would snap and pop when I picked her up. Even though it didn't seem to hurt her, I knew it was a sign that her joints were not in the best shape. Her left front paw felt hot and swollen, and she didn't want me handling it at all. When she ran, she wobbled.

Her spine had molded itself into a curve to accommodate the way she had been crouching in her crate. I could feel the tiny spinous process of each vertebrae as they twisted down her back. Her tail was tucked so firmly on her belly that I despaired of ever seeing its graceful curve floating in the air. Her ribs were covered with muscles beaded with tension, and she was far too thin. But she clung to me as if I were her only hope in this sea of despair.