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Now anyone who has ever gotten a small puppy knows that they go through difficult times. We brought her home and tied her up, in order to not overwhelm her. She had a nice warm dog house, with fresh cedar shavings, under it and then inside it, and lots of food and water. We started to pay attention to her on a a regular and consistent basis, and she got used to us. Even started to look forward to our love and attention.
All that was fine, except that we are not people who believe that dogs should be tied up. In most cases, that is no life to live for the dog. So it was never the intent to keep her tied up permanently. Just long enough that she would learn her new home. To give her some sense of permanency. A place of her own.
When we first started to let her off her leash, after about a two week timeframe, she seemed to understand that this was home. She would go sniffing around our 1 to 1 1/2 acres of five foot tall, chain-link enclosure; never testing the boundaries. Happy to be there, establishing her territory!
That was fine. No problems… until we decided to let her loose permanently! What you have here folks, is a 35-50 lb. 5 or 6 year old mentality, highly intelligent, giant breed dog! And what she really wanted to do was to see what was beyond the fence! So she looked and she looked, and she looked and she looked for a place to escape. And, of course, she found one. It was not through digging or jumping. It was not through an open gate. It was though the one and only spot in the fence that had been compromised. Then patched, two years previously and forgotten about, part where the pump man had to put his truck through the fence, in order pull our dead pump out of the well, and drop the new pump in.
Well of course, she went exploring on our property, and came back in. No problem? Right? Wrong!
We'd see her outside the fence, but on our property. And we'd yell: "Quincy's out!" And we'd all scramble and get her back inside the fence, and we were fine. Right? Wrong!
When she was about five months old, we received a call from one of our neighbors: "Your white dog just killed one of our cats, and our renters are distraught over it."
The problem? Our white dog was inside our fence when we got the call.
So I asked questions: "When did this happen?"
Neighbors: Well, we didn't see it, we were just told about it by our renters who were having a party. So a couple days ago.
Oh, O.K. What did your renters see?
Neighbors: Well, they just saw a white dog carrying around a dead cat.
Oh?
Neighbors: We were gone, and they were having a party, and they saw YOUR white dog with a dead cat in it's mouth. And this was a cat they had started feeding and it traumatized them.
Did anyone actually see our dog with a cat in its mouth?
Neighbors: No one of their friends saw it, and told them about it. They all went looking for it, but they never found the dead cats body, and they never found the dog. It must have gone back in your fence.
Are you sure it was our white dog?
Neighbors: Yes. It must have been your white dog.
Oh? O.K.?!?!? Well, we haven't found any dead cat bodies, and all our cats are accounted for. So I really don't think it was our dog. Are you sure it wasn't your white dog?
Neighbors: No! It wasn't our white dog!
My husband walked our fence line, and found the trouble spot, and fixed it. No more Quincy roaming, and she settled in to a nice routine of patroling the enclosed/fenced area. She would sleep during much of the day, and patrol during the night, barking/warning us whenever the coyotes where roaming.
We used to watch the coyotes walk in broad daylight, across our property, across the paved county road, and onto the neighbors property. Quincy was telling the coyotes, "You are not welcome here! Go away!" We had no issues with our farm animals during this time, lost no chickens to weasels, and settled into a nice farm routine. And we lived happily ever after, right? WRONG!
A couple months later we got a phone call (on my cell phone) from the exact same neighbor: Your white dog is out running loose in our field, and we're afraid of it.
Uhhh, are you sure????
Neighbor: Yes! I'm sure, I can see it.
I don't think it's our dog, because im inside the house and I can see her through our front door, and she's asleep on our deck.
Neighbor: Oh, you're home? I didn't see your mini-van. (you can see our mini-van from way over there?) Yes, I'm home.
Neighbor: Well I can see your white dog running around on our land.
O.K. (insert neighbors name) I just walked out my front door, and I have my hand on my dogs head. She's right here. Quincy is not running around your field.
Neighbor: Well, who's white dog is that?
I don't know. But I know that it is not our white dog. Are you sure that your white dog isn't running out in your field?
Neighbor: No, our white dog is up at our house (more than a 1/3 mile away.) I'm down at the shop. It's not our white dog. (Are you getting the picture?)
Well, I'm afraid it's not our white dog, either.
End of conversation and again, we settled into a nice rural/farm routine.
September 2010:
My smaller children were out in our front yard playing. Our daughter ran into the house and yelled: "There's a puppy in our front yard!"
I yelled at the two older kids: "Try to get it out before Quincy see's it, cause I don't know what she'll do!" (She was here to protect our farm animals after all.)
Well as it turns out, the "puppy" was a full-grown Dachshund running loose, belonging to the adult grand-daughter of the same neighbors. She was visiting and the dog was not being watched, got loose, and had wandered down the road (after wandering down a rather long driveway) and squeezed it's way under our man-gate.
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| From Drop Box |
Stay tuned for Part 3: That fateful day!
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