Hank

I thought she would disapprove. I was on the phone with Arianna, the founder of a local dog rescue group, talking about Arnold, an impounded Pitbull/Shepherd stray found roaming the streets a couple hours away from where I live. Arianna wanted me to set a time to meet Arnold, but I knew that wasn’t necessary. I wondered how she would take the news that I saw no need for a meet ‘n greet.

Arianna loved Arnold. That’s typical of many rescue volunteers. They love all of the dogs they encounter. Arianna acknowledged that Hank was terrified of people but allegedly great with other dogs, as seemingly proven by the pound having him share a kennel. Aided by seeing his photos, I already knew everything I needed to know. The pound trusted him. Arianna loved him. His photos were sweet. I was pretty sure he was Pitbull and Lab, not Pitbull and Shepherd. And I knew he wasn’t an “Arnold”. Arnold was a “Hank”.

I told Arianna that I didn’t need to meet Hank ahead of time. She could drop him off and we would be fine. Before she could object, I cited my reasons and told her about Jackson, my dog from two decades back, who became “the” dog. I have loved all of my dogs, but Jackson hit the deepest. One day, a neighbor and fellow dog owner turned to me and said, “You do realize that your dog is in love with you, right?” I looked down to see Jackson doing what he often did: gazing up at me. You know how most dogs, when outside, galavant around and play with other dogs oblivious to their owners? Not Jackson. He couldn’t care less about the other dogs. On his final day at home, where he was able to pass in peace, all he wanted to know was where I was.

The thing about adopting Jackson, I explained to Arianna, was that when I first met him, he wouldn’t give me the time of day. He literally would not look at me. I had arranged to pick him up at a rescue picnic forty-five minutes from my home. I arrived, sat down next to him, he faced the other direction, and never turned his head my way. Fortunately, I was with my buddy, Lee, and his dog JJ, figuring that JJ would make Jackson feel more comfortable.

When we got home, I realized Jackson had some issues. He was afraid of walking through doors if they were being held open, which led me to believe that someone might have slammed a door or gate on him. When he would squat to relieve himself, he always made sure he was facing me because he didn’t trust anyone behind him. Once I saw the pattern, I started slowly walking circles around him whenever he squatted. He couldn’t relieve himself and be paranoid at the same time, so he had to give up spinning.

Twenty-four hours after bringing him home, I had an incident with my back and had to be taken to the hospital. Lee came by to find me trapped on my guest room futon, leaning on one arm. I couldn’t lie down nor could I stand up. Sitting at attention, on one side of the bed, was Jackson, watching Lee’s every movement. When Lee touched my back, Jackson growled a warning and only backed off when he realized Lee meant me no harm. The dog, who just the day before wouldn’t give me the time of day, was already protecting me.

I told Ariana that I didn’t need to meet Hank because had I let Jackson’s standoffishness get in the way when I first met him, I would have missed the very best canine relationship of my life. To my surprise, Arianna not only understood but revealed that she had the same point of view. Her organization had rescued nearly sixty dogs from the out-of-town shelter, and she never met one ahead of time. She knew from the photos and from talking to the staff which dogs were right for her rescue group, and had never been wrong. All dogs come with their issues: small to large, innocuous to gross. As it turns out, Hank likes feasting on his own waste. Yuck. Eventually, I remembered that what I saw as a toilet bowl, Jackson saw as a soup bowl. We managed to overcome the challenge.

When Hank’s rescuer brought him to my house and handed me his leash, Hank pulled away so hard that it’s surprising the collar didn’t tear his ears off. He couldn’t be consoled, and he wouldn’t take a treat, so I just started walking with him trailing behind. As we passed the first house, I slipped the previously refused treat behind my back. He took it. Then another. Then another. As a stray, Hank was likely used to people attempting to lure him with food. He wanted the treats but was scared of eye contact, so I offered them without looking at him. A half block later, I could look into his eyes. That’s when I taught him to sit before we crossed the street. A few minutes passed. Then several. The friendship had begun.

Hank wasn’t the dog I was expecting. In a way, he’s the first “real” dog I’ve had in decades. The others were more like stuffed animals with people inside pretending to be dogs. Not Hank. He’s all dog. Loves twigs, rocks, dirt, dust, and chasing squirrels. In contrast, my dog Hudson, who passed a few months prior to my finding Hank, was such a dandy that he would walk on the backyard pavers in favor of being on the dirt.

Hank is more active than my past five dogs combined. He can be so intense that, for a while, I was worried that I couldn’t provide him what he needed. Hank was hoping for someone who would chase him for eighteen hours a day while I was hoping for more of a sluggish lapdog.

I knew from the outset that I needed to make a distinction between Hank’s legitimate preferences versus his insecurities, so I indulged him a little; he indulged me a little; and we met halfway. I appreciate that Hank always wants to engage me in play. For him, it is better than a bone. None of my previous dogs had that desire. In the meantime, Hank now enjoys the affection. At first, he couldn’t take it without wanting to turn it into a game, but that was only because he was unfamiliar with getting it from people.

Most satisfying has been an opportunity to teach Hank to be more of a dog. Having not been around people, no one had taught him how to catch. If I tossed him a treat, it just hit him in the face. Now he’s fairly respectable.

That’s one of the cool parts about dogs. Given the chance, nearly all of them can grow and adapt. As for not being able to teach an old dog new tricks, there’s a good chance they handle that challenge a lot better than we do.