I had this thought on Tuesday, July 5, and I’ve been thinking about it on and off since then: Is any progress being made at all in the world of dog ownership?

This was prompted by my brief custody of two small stray dogs, the ones I found trotting down my street the morning after fireworks were going off all over town.

Fortunately, Otto was with me in the yard as I watered our roses and azaleas, and the dogs came in my gate to greet him; I was able to close the gate behind them. They wouldn’t come to me at first; once they realized the gate was closed, they trotted up and down the fence line a few times, to confirm they were, in fact, trapped in my yard. They also raised their legs on every bush and fence post, allowing me to see that they were both males. Both dogs appeared to be American Eskimo Dog- or Pomeranian-mixes.

After 10 minutes or so of exploring the yard, the smaller one approached me, wagging his tail. I was able to feel underneath his thick coat to ascertain that while he was wearing a collar, there were no tags on it. His coat was matted and dirty. Then the larger dog came up to me. He, too, was matted and dirty. He did not have a collar on.

I called my local shelter, and the receptionist took my address and said she’d send an animal control officer to pick them up. When he arrived, he scanned both dogs; no microchips. He also determined that both males were intact. He was kind enough to call me later to tell me that he had found their owner; the dogs live about 10 blocks away, and had supposedly escaped the night before during the fireworks.  I say “supposedly,” because I saw the same two dogs trot by my house a few days later. When I went out my front door, they bolted in the direction of their home.

I just keep thinking: No ID, intact, matted, and free to wander (and be hit by a car).

And I think about WDJ’s readers: involved, concerned, educated owners, who surely have ID on their reasonably groomed dogs, who are, if not neutered, are at least minimally trained, well-socialized, and safely enclosed. In your letters and comments, I see ample evidence that there are many owners who are aware of the need to both vaccinate their dogs and limit those vaccinations; to train and socialize their dogs; and to provide more than the minimum of care.

I’ve been wondering: How can I help to reduce the “class” differences between dogs like the ones wandering my neighborhood and the ones owned by WDJ readers?

I’d love to hear about things you do to help educate, guide, and inspire owners to improve their dog care practices.   

Here’s a memory that just came up: A blog post from July 2011 – 12 years ago!

I’ve been having a nice dialogue with a reader who objected to my promotion of the word “cue” over “command.” He made some good points – but something Otto did the other day gave me ammunition for one more point in support of why I prefer “cue.”

Copying their mama, the last two of my foster kittens (now MY kittens) have developed a classic behavioral response to Otto (and every dog, to be fair to kind, patient Otto): they puff up, spit, growl, and flatten their ears every time they notice him in the room. Frankly, they are often so occupied with play that sometimes this “noticing” happens when they actually run into his sleeping body, but whatever.  I keep praising and rewarding Otto for his calm, gentle behavior around them, and for turning instantly away from them any time he starts looking too interested in joining their chasing games.

The other day, as a reward, I initiated a game with Otto and his current favorite toy: bunny-shaped stuffed animal with a squeaker inside. (It’s from Premier Pet Products, and it’s ingenious; the belly of the bunny contains a rubber cage that enables the squeaker to roll about, making its position unpredictable. Otto LOVES mouthing the bunny in search of the ever-elusive squeaker.) I said, “Where’s your toy?” This is the cue I use to ask Otto to go get a toy. Otto looked thoughtful about this for a moment (as he often does), and then I saw the light bulb go on (as it almost always does) and his expression brightened before he bounded out of my office to go find the bunny. I could see it; it was in the middle of the living room floor.  But just as he arrived at the toy, one of the kittens launched from out from under the couch, right onto the bunny (the kittens like it, too).

Okay, a dilemma. Otto was asked to do something; he also knows he’s not supposed to chase or harm the kittens. If he “obeyed” my “command” to get the toy, he’d surely get in trouble for being confrontational with the kitten. He had to use some judgment – and I want to develop and nurture that judgment. In the real world, I really don’t want a robot, who follows orders no matter what.

I can only imagine that service dogs are trained similarly. They must do what their owners ask, but sometimes, their owners ask them to do something they know is dangerous, like walk in front of a car that their blind and deaf owner doesn’t know is coming too fast. They have to understand that in some cases, a refusal is the right thing to do. In this case, the word “cue” really is more appropriate than “command.” I’d love to hear from service dog trainers about how they cultivate this trait, without creating a dog who “refuses” when it suits his needs, rather than his handler’s.

In this case, I’m proud that Otto knew to “disobey” me. He quickly stepped back from the spitting kitten, and looked at me, tail wagging, for further instructions. “Yes!” I applauded him, jumping up from my chair and skipping into the kitchen to get him something extra yummy from the fridge. “Good dog!” And when the coast was clear of kittens, he got another reward. “Otto! Where’s your toy?”

I share a fence, across the back of my lot, with a family who has three dogs. The dogs are out in the yard about 23 hours a day. They bark a lot, especially when people with dogs walk by their home. Their yard is littered with things the dogs have torn up, like an old mattress that started out on the back porch.

This evening, I let Otto into the backyard to go pee. I heard the usual volley of barking from the back fence as Otto strolled around my yard. I was actually turning to go back in my own house to get a glass of water when I heard an odd noise. I turned just in time to see an entire plank of the back (wooden) fence plunk to the ground in my yard, and the biggest of the three dogs, a black male pit-mix-type, charge into my yard toward Otto.

Well, I went berserk. In stocking feet (and a skirt, no less) I also charged into the yard, running down the back porch steps while yelling and grabbing things to throw at the dog. Initially, he glanced toward me but kept running toward Otto – who, by the way, alarmed by all my yelling and strange behavior, started running away from me. I don’t think he even saw the strange dog until it was right behind him, he was so afraid of my antics. I threw a trash can, a broom, and a pair of shoes, and was also able to turn on a hose and start spraying water toward the dog – just as the two smaller dogs also came through the fence. I kept yelling “GET OUT! NO! GET HOME!” and spraying all the dogs with water. Faced with this unexpected onslaught, the neighbor’s three dogs – thank God – turned and ran back through the fence. I ran behind them, spaying the hose to make them move far enough from the fallen fence plank that I felt confident in bending down to pick it up and jam it back up against the fence.

I then ran inside and grabbed a hammer and nails and ran back outside and nailed the plank back on. Only then did I look for Otto.

I found Otto quivering in the house . . . and spots of blood on the kitchen floor. I don’t know what happened, it all happened so fast. But he had a nasty laceration on his back leg. Did he get bitten? Or run into something in the yard in his panic to escape from his suddenly insane owner? I have no idea. Just a vet bill, a dog with a shaved butt and a few stitches (staples, actually), and a list of materials for a new fence.

Maybe I overreacted, but I’ve heard enough of the dogs frustrated barking (and then redirecting their frustration onto each other in short but intense-sounding fights) that I wasn’t going to take the chance that Otto get attacked by all three – or that I get attacked while trying to save him. All I know is that I certainly won’t take that fence for granted anymore. Ugh.