The Name Game

I offered my new puppy breakfast one little handful at a time.  I did this because the woman from the shelter recommended that I do so, to give the puppy the understanding that I was in control of the food.  I had watched at the store while this woman gave the puppy a bowl of wet food and then stuck her hand in the bowl.  I’d seen similar tests performed during assessments on some of the shows they aired on Animal Planet, and had read arguments for and against such testing on the internet, so I understood what she was trying to determine.  However, I was skeptical of the practicality of this test, particularly because the woman was using her actual hand, the food was wet, the puppy was hungry (after all, she’d been running around playing for hours), and the store was noisy and stress-inducing for everyone.  The puppy hadn’t really reacted until that hand started getting in the way of her eating (going under her muzzle), and even then she’d only given a low growl and continued to eat.

A growly puppy, however, was not something I wanted around my nieces (particularly since I hadn’t been all that forthcoming about her breed mix to my mom) so I decided that I might as well teach her from the start that she didn’t have to covet food.

She seemed unconcerned about this unorthodox method of eating and sat on the floor at my feet, waiting patiently for each handful (and taking them gently) until there was none left.

It was a gorgeous late-summer Sunday, and I remember thinking that I only had this one day to really start bonding with the puppy before morning came and introduced her to the fact that she would spend most of her days in the laundry room behind a baby gate, at least until she was more reliably house-trained.  And it isn’t as bad as it sounds because my mom worked from home, and she said she would let the puppy out to play every once in a while until I got home from my own job.  I wasn’t looking forward to leaving her.  I didn’t want her to feel abandoned again.

I was testing out the name “Brandy,” and it was – ok.  I wasn’t completely sold on it and neither was the puppy.  I’d brought out a bunch of toys and she didn’t seem to know what to do with any of them, except for the rope.  She loved to play tug, I discovered.  She was afraid of the Frisbee (she kind of ducked and looked at me with a “why you throwing stuff at me?!” face) but she seemed to enjoy running around the yard with the squeaky stuffed animals in her mouth.

Our next-door neighbor had an adult chocolate lab female named Lacey.  Lacey weighed probably 120 pounds and was fiercely protective of her yard.  Of course, I’d been living in the house and gardening out in the back yard for a couple of years by now, and she was used to me, I guess.  By the time I was ready for a puppy, Lacey was bringing me tennis balls to the edge of the fence that separated us so I would play fetch with her.

Lacey came charging up to the fence that first day, barking her head off at the little interloper on the other side and stood there menacingly.  My puppy was overjoyed to see another dog and went charging to her side of the fence to meet Lacey.  I was a little afraid for the puppy, considering Lacey outweighed her by 100 pounds.  However, Lacey gave my waggly-tailed puppy a few sniffs, a few growls, and few “I’m the adult” snaps, and after a little while they started playing with each other through the fence.  They’d run up and down the shared fence line and then meet in the back corner when the other neighbor’s golden retriever came out - and I found out that her name was Brandy.

Another strike against the name I wasn’t sold on.  I decided it was best to keep thinking on it and see if she “grew into” anything.

As the days passed, I could see that she was kind of a prissy little thing.  She never seemed interested in digging while I gardened (didn’t realize how big a deal this was until three years later – but stick with me and I’ll get there) and stopped short at the door when it was raining.  She loved to go on walks with me through the neighborhood, seemed to enjoy her obedience classes, and we spent practically every Saturday and sometimes Sunday mornings at Ceil’s house training and playing with Amber.

Everything we learned together that first year is melted together into a series of memories.  And I cherish every single one of them.  They are foundation stones.  It is what made my research turn into knowledge, because I learned from her.  And she learned from me.

I was at Ceil's house about a week after the adoption and we were throwing names back and forth.  I liked the structure of the name Brandy, but since it wasn't quite a fit (and since the Golden neighbor had that name), I laughed and said, "Bryndy."  And that was that - she had a name.  It fit her nicely, it was close enough to Brandy that the change didn't confuse her, and while my nieces continued to call her Brandy for a few weeks, Bryndy and I became an inseparable team.

The summer flew by and when cold weather settled in, we went out to the back yard one morning and I watched as she alerted on an unfamiliar object in the yard.  She went from surveying the grounds to becoming immediately stiff, and the ridge of hair on her neck and shoulders, and in a line down to her back end stood up in a flash.  I looked to see what the problem was, and noticed a white plastic shopping bag had drifted into the yard and was stuck up against the fence.  She started barking at it - and I could tell that in the barking itself there was a note of anxiety - because this was not the same bark she gave out when playing with Amber or me, or even Lacie at the fence.  I encouraged her to go see what it was and she declined going first, with a look that said, "NO WAY!  I told you it was there - now it's YOUR problem!"  So she followed me cautiously and after sniffing the plastic bag, she promptly forgot it was there.

She was not happy about her first snowfall (told you she's a priss), and she was further displeased when we had a significant storm in February of that year.  But I took her mind off of it by doing "trick training" with her.  There was a show running on Animal Planet on weekend mornings, and I forget the name of it but it was something like Dog U or Puppy University or something.  Anyway, there was a segment about how to train your dog to do certain tricks.

I spent the whole winter learning tricks and how to teach them, and Bryndy eventually mastered something like 30+ tricks.  It was THE BEST way to bond with my dog, since the obedience stuff was already learned and practiced on a consistent basis.

When spring came with pet fairs, Bryndy took prizes for "Say your prayers," (I kneel in front of her while she sits, she puts her front paws on my leg, tucks her head in until I say "A-men," and then gets into her bed, curls into a ball, and goes to sleep) and various other things that were less complicated.  I was proud that I had such a smart, adorable, and obedient puppy.  It hardly ever crossed my mind that she is a pit mix.  She has a long body, gangly legs, a narrow muzzle (all things inconsistent with pit bull body typing) but she also has a deep chest, and a brindle coat (things consistent with pit bull body typing).  On those two physical aspects alone, she is classified as having pit in her mix.

And I was about to have to own up to it...

It was a couple of weeks since the adoption, and Bryndy and I were out in the backyard getting ready to garden (me) and frolic (both of us, really).  I had mentioned our neighbors with the chocolate Lab, Lacey.  On this day, they were out in the yard with her and came over to see my puppy at the fence (which was see-through; 2 horizontal posts with that green chicken-wire stuff over it).  The mom (in her 40's at the time) immediately asked me if she was a pit bull.  After I confirmed this, I watched and listened in amazement as she started telling me all sorts of things about pit bulls being bad dogs and her absolute knowledge came from the fact that one of her parents was a vet.  (I never understood this argument.  You are basing your knowledge of a subject on the career experience of someone else. I didn't realize that life experience could be gained or learned through osmosis...but I digress.)

I don't remember my response, if I had anything more than, "Mmmmmm."  But I know I made a face and walked away from them and into my yard.

A couple of weekends later I saw the college-aged daughter of this neighbor at a local State Park.  We got to talking and she said, "You know, my mom is really afraid of your dog."

"Really?  Why?"

"I don't know.  She's afraid your dog will eat Lacey."

I looked at the dog at the end of my leash and had to take a moment to process the thought that someone could be seriously fearful of the idea that my 27 pound puppy would EAT a 120 pound chocolate lab.

In the end, I laughed, of course.  I told her I thought that was ridiculous and continued my walk.

But that was my first encounter with what is now widely known as "breedism."

My next encounter would hit even closer to home...