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Authors: Allen Anderson
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his. Leaf decided to hunker down on the lower seat section, ignoring Speedy’s turf only inches above him. Deliberately, yet relaxed, Speedy fully extended and embedded his claws into Leaf’s backside. Leaf froze and made a low yelp and dared not move without the risk of being gouged. After weeks of what Speedy must have considered as “this obnoxious dog” chasing him, he was taking his revenge. “Speedy, you made your point,” I said, as Leaf waited for me to save him.
Linda got up and examined Leaf’s back. “I think Speedy’s claws are stuck,” she said.
Speedy lifted his paw, yawned, and moved himself into an even more comfortable position. Leaf quickly sped away to take his nap elsewhere.
We wondered what we should do to control the behavior of this small dog the vet had called “a troubled teenager,” which is essentially what he was. And so we eventually enrolled him in a beginning class we called Training 101. With time, patience, and more knowledge about how to handle a dog like Leaf, we hoped to help him trust us, adjust to being around other people, and heal.
C HAPTER N INE
Leaf in the World
A LTHOUGH WE KNEW NOTHING OF L EAF’S PAST OTHER THAN THE SKETCHY information we received from the animal shelter, it was becoming clear that he definitely had history. I got a glimpse of the baggage he brought with him almost every day.
One afternoon Linda, Leaf, and I were on our way to the pet store. When we stopped at a red light, Leaf started growling at a large man who waited on the sidewalk street corner, just as he had done to another man after our first walk around the lake. “What is it, Leaf?” Linda asked. He quickly took on the job of being Linda’s protector and barked, growled, and barked again at the fellow. When the light turned green, Leaf calmed down but repeatedly looked back to make sure we were not being followed.
We were becoming accustomed to Leaf’s erratic mood shifts. Instantaneously he could switch from frightened to protective to wagging his tail enthusiastically. By the time we arrived at the store, Leaf excitedly bounced around the backseat. He loved this store where dogs were encouraged to sniff to their hearts’ content.
Every Wednesday I took Leaf to doggy day care, where he had a full day of playing with smaller dogs, munching on dog treats, watching Animal Planet in the playroom, and being treated as a VIP guest at this resort for dogs. We hoped that going where staff supervised him and the other trained and untrained dogs would help him become more social. He’d get a lot of exercise and give us a break from all his issues.
In spite of his abandonment fears, Leaf loved the facility and the time he spent there. Whenever either Linda or I dropped him off, he’d bolt out of the car toward the door, eager to meet up with his playmates. At the point of departure, though, when we handed him over to one of the staff, he often piddled on the linoleum floor. We couldn’t tell if this was from excitement or fear. I felt some hesitation at leaving him. When I’d call the receptionist later in the morning, she would assure me that Leaf was having a blast. Evidently after we left him, he’d adjust quickly and focus on the task at hand, which was playing to his heart’s content.
One of the staff, a young Latino man, affectionately called him a Spanish name that he said meant “little leaf.” Our dog had a fondness for the man and wagged his tail wildly whenever he saw him.
One day after work I arrived at the doggy day care to take Leaf home. I entered the building and peered into the large playroom, which had a glassed-in upper wall. In the middle of the room, a large man stood observing all the small dogs. I hadn’t seen him there before and figured he must be a new employee. Clean-shaven, with short hair, he wore a gray button-up shirt. The man stared down at twenty dogs milling about on the floor. Leaf was nowhere in sight.
“Where is my dog?” I asked with a
Linda got up and examined Leaf’s back. “I think Speedy’s claws are stuck,” she said.
Speedy lifted his paw, yawned, and moved himself into an even more comfortable position. Leaf quickly sped away to take his nap elsewhere.
We wondered what we should do to control the behavior of this small dog the vet had called “a troubled teenager,” which is essentially what he was. And so we eventually enrolled him in a beginning class we called Training 101. With time, patience, and more knowledge about how to handle a dog like Leaf, we hoped to help him trust us, adjust to being around other people, and heal.
C HAPTER N INE
Leaf in the World
A LTHOUGH WE KNEW NOTHING OF L EAF’S PAST OTHER THAN THE SKETCHY information we received from the animal shelter, it was becoming clear that he definitely had history. I got a glimpse of the baggage he brought with him almost every day.
One afternoon Linda, Leaf, and I were on our way to the pet store. When we stopped at a red light, Leaf started growling at a large man who waited on the sidewalk street corner, just as he had done to another man after our first walk around the lake. “What is it, Leaf?” Linda asked. He quickly took on the job of being Linda’s protector and barked, growled, and barked again at the fellow. When the light turned green, Leaf calmed down but repeatedly looked back to make sure we were not being followed.
We were becoming accustomed to Leaf’s erratic mood shifts. Instantaneously he could switch from frightened to protective to wagging his tail enthusiastically. By the time we arrived at the store, Leaf excitedly bounced around the backseat. He loved this store where dogs were encouraged to sniff to their hearts’ content.
Every Wednesday I took Leaf to doggy day care, where he had a full day of playing with smaller dogs, munching on dog treats, watching Animal Planet in the playroom, and being treated as a VIP guest at this resort for dogs. We hoped that going where staff supervised him and the other trained and untrained dogs would help him become more social. He’d get a lot of exercise and give us a break from all his issues.
In spite of his abandonment fears, Leaf loved the facility and the time he spent there. Whenever either Linda or I dropped him off, he’d bolt out of the car toward the door, eager to meet up with his playmates. At the point of departure, though, when we handed him over to one of the staff, he often piddled on the linoleum floor. We couldn’t tell if this was from excitement or fear. I felt some hesitation at leaving him. When I’d call the receptionist later in the morning, she would assure me that Leaf was having a blast. Evidently after we left him, he’d adjust quickly and focus on the task at hand, which was playing to his heart’s content.
One of the staff, a young Latino man, affectionately called him a Spanish name that he said meant “little leaf.” Our dog had a fondness for the man and wagged his tail wildly whenever he saw him.
One day after work I arrived at the doggy day care to take Leaf home. I entered the building and peered into the large playroom, which had a glassed-in upper wall. In the middle of the room, a large man stood observing all the small dogs. I hadn’t seen him there before and figured he must be a new employee. Clean-shaven, with short hair, he wore a gray button-up shirt. The man stared down at twenty dogs milling about on the floor. Leaf was nowhere in sight.
“Where is my dog?” I asked with a
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