Who's Afraid of a Little Canine Pus?

By Bill Zahren
(Posted 06/29/02)

I just called a complete stranger to talk to her about drops of pus coming out of a dog’s penis.

Earlier this morning, my 10-year-old daughter detailed her amazement at the extreme size of a dog turd.

All part of the magic of having a new puppy.

Now, for many people, "I got a puppy" sounds the same as "I brought a wild wolverine into my home." The only difference is you probably won’t find yourself lying on the floor at 5 a.m., nose to nose with a wolverine demanding to know, "Who’s a good boy?"

My puppy Chester joined the family on May 31, plucked from the available inventory at the local Animal Rescue League.

Chester is an "altered" male Labrador mixed with something (we think German shepherd). We got him at (roughly) age 8 weeks. He weighed 8 pounds with brown and tan on his face, chest and all four paws. Striking. Today, of course, he weighs 14 pounds and, yes, his feet are reasonably big. (Insert chortling from sundry pet food executives here.)

The kids -- Jena (7) and especially future veterinarian Haley (10) -- busted into flames when they saw Chester in the lock-up. My wife, Rhonda talked baby talk to him. He had me between his big paws in seconds. Once we got Chester home, the dam exploded. Within hours I was back in new father mode. I had ordered sundry puppy raising books online and started research into dog food suitable for His Worship.

If you feed your dog some off-brand food, other dog freaks look at you like you’re torturing him with a cattle prod. "You claim to love this dog, and yet you feed him this maggot-infested, cancerous-tumors-included rendering plant garbage."

The Books say (a term I use at least twice a day to justify my latest dog raising antics) that you feed less of more expensive food AND the "waste" (dog dump) isn’t as big as cheap brands. Sold!

My buddy Arj, owner of a striking golden retriever named Bo, claims the dog actually dumps more than it weighs each day. "It’s mathematically impossible for this much (poop) to come out of this dog," Arj says from behind the gas mask while cleaning up the dung. "I mean, how can an 80-pound dog dump out 50 pounds of (poop) and still weigh 80 pounds?"

The Books say American dogs create 2 million TONS of crap. (Note to Arj: Bo accounts for 10,000 tons of that, tops, so it could be worse.) And did I mention the 10 million gallons of pee every year? Every drop of which is lethal to all known plant life.

Oh, and just a note: If your dog pees and then you see drops of pus coming out of his pee parts, that means urinary tract infection. In my case it also meant giving my veterinarian $45 and getting used to jamming antibiotic pills down Chester’s throat twice a day.

The Books say dogs are pack animals. Therefore, a puppy’s life is all about finding its place in his new "pack" (that would be our family). They find their place exactly the same way your kids do it -- by using cuteness, brawling, growing, whining, pouting, the evil eye and punk-like behavior to see just who they can bend to their will and who they cannot.

The leaders of the pack are called the "alphas." Alpha, as in first letter of the Greek alphabet. In every wolf pack (dogs descended from wolves), there’s one alpha male and one alpha female. A lot of dogs want to be the alpha. Reminds me a lot of corporate America.

Woe to you if your dog thinks he or she has become the leader of the pack. Welcome to Hell. Having raised one puppy pretty badly 14 years ago, this time around I know puppyhood is all about letting the little tyke know he’s loved -- and also that he’s the lowest ranking member of the pack.

So lately I’ve been all about showing/teaching Chester that I am the alpha -- swift and fair with discipline, lavish with love and praise and fiercely protective of my pack, including Chester, so long as he keeps his place.

My kids may be a little foggy on who’s the leader of our family pack (it's obvioiusly their mother!), but the dog has to be crystal clear that I love him like a son except that, if provoked, I’ll bite his head off and slake my thirst in his flowing blood.

Since dog’s can’t read, I can tell you I would never actually bite his head off. He just needs to think I would. Chester, of course, has challenged the alpha in some subtle way about once a day since May 31.

To wit: I was sitting in the living room soon after Chester arrived, trying to project my alphaness, when he decided to go upstairs. The rule is he can’t go upstairs without permission. He looked upstairs. He looked at me. I say "noooo, stay here." He looked back upstairs and darted up at full puppy speed. I was immediately in hot pursuit.

I grabbed Chester out of Haley’s room and marched downstairs, verbally reinforcing my complete disgust with every step. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, I put Chester on the carpet and said. "NO."

He took two steps, leaned forward and pissed right in front of me. Just his way of saying, "I got your alpha male right here, buddy." He did it again a few weeks later after I discipline him for being too rough with Haley. Got himself a little time out in his kennel for using piss as a weapon.

So it’s a lot like having another kid. They pee and poop wherever. You have to watch them every second. They chew up everything including you and your bank account. They scream, hit, bite, urinate, vandalize and (they're most deadly weapon) turn on megawatt cuteness to gain control.

Puppies' major redeeming factors are cuteness (good thing, too, because it often stops owners from killing them), you don’t have to put puppies through college and they’ll never date boys with nose rings. But, best of all, if you raise a puppy right, he’ll stay by your side through hell itself, which for me will be my daughter’s " dating years."

Now that I have Chester (sort of) convinced that I’m the alpha, I can see we’re going to be tight. I plan on many long conversations with him over why teenage girls are brain damaged. That, after all, is worth dealing with a little pus here and there.

© 2002 Bill Zahren

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