Doggone Dogsitting, Part I

Four of my dogpark friends are taking a sabbatical from me. The sabbatical started somewhere in mid to late March as Joe and I were ending what turned out to be serious lapse in judgment, that is, we agreed to dogsit for a three-year-old, female german shepherd “princess” named Maya for two long weekends in a row. We naively agreed to take on this challenge before our own two male dogs – Moroho & Koelle - had fully negotiated a peace agreement among themselves.

Both Joe and I really wanted to help out our friends, Aimee and Dave, who had taken care of our dogs when we went to Obama’s Inauguration in Washington, DC and left for my grandmother’s funeral on short notice later in February. We thought about how well our dogs got along with Maya at the dogpark and in Aimee & Dave’s backyard. We also overlooked two auspicious details: a) Koelle is a male german shepherd on the cusp between adolescence and adulthood – a time when status becomes important to dogs; and b) the play between Koelle and Maya often became volatile whenever Joe was around – meaning that our house may not be the most idyllic spot in the world for Koelle & Maya.

Still, we agreed to take in another german shepherd for seven long, muddy spring days and, like all german shepherds, she and Koelle got as mucky as possible whenever possible, which was pretty much every single time we let them out the door. I would have coped just fine if two filthy dogs and a muddy kitchen floor were all I had to handle on those two long weekends. Oh sure, I may have rolled my eyes and exhaled a bit more melodramatically than usual, but all in all, I would have been A-Okay. I wear rubber boots in the spring, Joe & I have a sturdy mop and plenty of Murphy’s Oil Soap and Moroho is pretty much self-cleaning – no big deal.

Unfortunately, there was more. Much, much more. I could go on at length and, believe me, I called close friends and family spewing frustrations and seeking advice on handling dogs. Maya repeatedly jumped up on Joe & me (one behavior I absolutely will not tolerate) and knocked photographs & artwork off of bookshelves and countertops. She jumped over baby gates in our house and tracked mud through the living room. She hurdled over the couch and peed on the couch. Hell, she peed on everything, including our feet on a daily basis. She repeatedly escaped from our backyard – with or without being attached to a long leash – and lunged at a neighbor.

Nearly in tears, I called my father and told him what had been happening. I had invested one-on-one time with Maya, playing fetch and practicing sit, stay and release. Joe & I had tried to take the dogs to the dogpark and let them play in the backyard, but Maya & Koelle’s fighting got out of control. We leashed the dogs at the park, confined them in separate areas of the house, and tried not to leave them unsupervised. The situation was increasingly frustrating. I saw that Maya could be a sweet dog, but I didn’t think that destroying our backyard, risking our neighbors’ safety or living in a house unsafe for all the canines living under its roof should be part of the dogsitting agreement. “Dad, am I being too hard on this dog?”

My father replied, in a matter-of-fact tone, “A well-behaved dog is an easy dog to love.” And he’s right. It’s really hard to love a dog that snaps at neighbors, destroys your backyard, pees on your feet, knocks personal relics off of bookshelves and fights with your own dog. No one in this house – except for Moroho, who slept through the entire fiasco – was comfortable. Koelle was anxious and peed in the house. Maya was anxious and peed in the house. Joe & I were exhausted and our house was a wreck.

I will admit that I selfishly wanted Maya out of our home, but I also knew that our home wasn’t a safe environment for Maya either. This had been a lose-lose situation for everyone involved. Towards the end of the second week, after Koelle appeared to gain dominance over her, it was obvious that Maya was stressed. She started panting late Sunday night and continued panting for the next 12 hours. She hid under furniture and clung the sides of Joe and me. Joe called Aimee & Dave, telling them about Maya’s anxiety and suggesting that they return to get her as soon as possible. We worried that something – physical, mental or situational – was wrong. We knew that it was time for her to go home.