The Ballad of Amanda and Max

Call it serendipity, but when my husband called me at work to let me know a dog had followed my 15 year old stepdaughter home, I felt anything but pleasantly surprised. Especially when upon further inquisition, I found out that the dog was a pit bull.

Wisely, father and daughter got the dog acquainted to our fenced-in backyard first, before introducing him to our big-shot-only-child dachshund, Rex. Even though I'm my own boss, I have a sense of responsibility. So as soon as the clock turned to 4:55, I was outta there and racing home.

By that point, the dog was in the house and making himself fully comfortable and even greeting me. Well, someone had certainly taught the dog some manners.

Upon inspection, I saw that the dog did have that square strong jaw, but it wasn't as scary-looking as full-blooded pit bulls. He was obviously mixed with something else, but my only guess would have been Bambi - because he has gorgeous eye-liner around each wide, character-filled eye.

"You look in his face," Amanda said, "and you'll give him any and everything he wants."

Little did she know, she was also talking about herself. Why else would I even let a new animal into our house? Let's start with New Addition to our Family (July '09), my husband John's daughter, Amanda and the cat, Boots.

Amanda has no clue how irresistable she is and how she can tug on heartstrings. Not only would dogs follow her home, but anyone who meets her would want to become her pet! Long blonde curly hair, gorgeous white straight teeth and blue-ish eyes just mark the beginning of who she is. When she decided to move in with us - late one night, no notice - she was exactly like the dog. Happy, well-mannered and fit right in. I kept thinking how hard this must be for her - but she spread pure happiness with her delightful giggles and mere prescense. A teenager enhancing a household - this couldn't be!

When I introduced her to my tennis and Facebook friends, they were blown away, as was I. It's touchy with 'kids'. She had a humble shyness about her, yet contributed to adult conversation by truly listening to what the other person was saying.

When school began, we learned what classes she liked and what kids she was meeting. She babysat and excelled at school, bringing home straight 'A's on her report card. And she's an athletic girl.

Mainly, she follows household rules. . .there really aren't any. ..but she's awfully good to her Dad, me, and the dog and two cats. So, if she wanted a dog, we're giving her a dog. It was meant to be.

We did find the previous owner, who sadly said she could not keep the dog any longer. The owners before her were long gone. We estimated the dog's age to be about one year. He would need to be neutered and get his rabies shot first thing.

Initially, we kept the dog's previous name, Gordan, but it wouldn't roll off our tongues. We were calling him all sorts of names - from Roger to Grady - before John came up with the perfect name: Max. Amanda had easily assimilated a second name for him: Buddy.

Our dog was now Max and Buddy and he happily obliged by responding to both.

When Amanda would ask for 'rules' regarding Max or questions in general, I pretended that she had great respect for my doggie knowledge, since I used to head up "The USA Loves Dogs Club". But I know it's really because she wanted to avoid any problems with my micro-managing.

"Hard food or soft food in the morning," she asked.

Thoughtfully, I responded, "Hmmmm, I guess hard food, it will be like he's brushing his teeth!"

"Then I want some!" my husband happily chimed in.

House rules for the dog included that he needed to be exercised vigorously. This was an extraordinarily strong dog with boundless energy that needed to be released.

I gave Amanda enormous credit as she tried to walk the pulling dog, and staying consistent with her commands of "heel". The first and only time I "walked" Max, I caved way too easily and just decided to run (and almost kill myself when Max saw a squirrel). Amanda would stop only to rub his neck and tell him to stop choking himself.

"Well that wasn't too much fun," I said as we got home from the walk. Of course, my dachshund has no leash manners, because Mommy (the doggie know-it-all) didn't train him correctly.

I didn't realize that Amanda's head was working overtime. The next time we went for a walk, Amanda put on her helmut and let Max pull her on a skateboard. Rex and I followed them - running and laughing the whole way. I was a kid again and barely felt breathless as we felt free as the wind. Amanda gave Rex and Max the gift of exercise and me the priceless gift of youth.

At home, Max initially marked the house (who cares? tile floors) and got a hold of a couple of shoes. Big whoop. . it would teach me to pick up my shoes. Amanda was so thoughtful and considerate: "Well, we're going to get you new shoes!"

Rex had a new friend who played 'tug of war' with every toy in the house as well as every pair of socks I owned. And John finally had a dog that would greet him when he came home and go to him for love and attention. (Unlike the loyal dachshund breed, who has ONE owner - his mother.)

I felt that Amanda and John had their own deserved pet to really love them - and Max was the sweetest dog I had ever met. He was a lap dog with the most unbelieveable disposition and fun personality. On a cuteness factor of one to ten - this dog was an 11, and I have the photographs to prove it.

When Rex and Max would mouth and wrestle, I would snap a photo. Or scream for my husband to "GET THE CAMERA HONEY!!!"

John wrote on Max's collar: MAX FERGUSON and was making him a cart to pull that a person could ride in. He spent all day on that thing. (I was inside the house when I heard Amanda scream a bloodcurdling scream, which meant something went wrong with the cart. Thankfully, it was followed by even louder laughter.)

Then one night, Max and Rex were playing on the floor in front of the television, when the happy yelps of play turned into a full-blown scary-sounding dog fight. I slammed the newspaper in hopes of the smacking noise making them come to their senses and Amanda came rushing out of her room. John broke up the fight, by shoving Max with his foot away from Rex.

We all stood stunned and then I picked up Rex (who all of sudden went into "this is death" mode) to inspect him in the bedroom for any possible bite. I flipped him over and didn't even feel saliva on him. With his tail between his legs, when I told him he was alright - he flipped back over, jumped off the bed and ran back into the tv room.

Max was shaking like a leaf and went to curl up in a closet. Amanda soothed him.

The next day, Rex wasn't playing much at all with Max - even as Max assumed the play position. When we walked, I noticed he wasn't pulling as hard as usual. Of course, with so much going on in an adult's life outside of the household (!), I lazily justified it as Rex just needing a rest. He was five years old, after all. That evening, I found it. A bite mark, a deep puncture of a tooth mark on Rex's neck, right under his mouth.

What had happened that escalated the dog's play to turn to fighting? "They're like kids," my husband explained. "They'll fight over toys."

The thing is - Rex is all bark, no bite. Max bit. I didn't know how to tell Amanda. But when she came out of her room, she said: "It's probably just a hot spot." When I showed it to her, she said: "Ohhhhhh. . " Then she got some Bacitracin and rubbed it on Rex's wound.

She was being the adult. I was in total panic mode inside. We would have to give this dog up.
Without me even saying anything, Amanda seemed to know this would be the case.

"Look to see if Rex bit Max," I asked her. "That would be an equalizer." Of course, there was no mark on Max.

Rex had been a wonderful host to Max. He shared his toys, slept next to him, took turns with the snacks and let us pet and love Max. But Rex is the alpha dog and I believe something triggered Max into a fight. Because Rex has been here first, he should be able to establish dominance and be downright obnoxious (if that was the case), without getting bitten.

The next day, whenever Rex and Max started to play, Amanda and John would yell at them to stop. I explained to them that dogs SHOULD be able to play without getting yelled at. This wasn't a fair situation to either dog. Amanda said she was nervous and John felt that it could escalate into a fight again.

I wrote to my brother, who has no heart, but a head for logic, about the situation. He emailed back about the experiences he encountered when he was a deputy. The pitbull is a wonderful pet that in many instances cause no problems over a lifetime. But others, still have the inbred quality that can trigger a fight. Just like a dachshund has the innate need to dig for badgers! They were bred to fight and even centuries later, this has not been bred out of them. When they fight, they go for the jugular.

I researched further, coming across a website called the Dog Bite Law Center. They write that "typically 77% of injuries are by friendly dogs known to the bitten person. It is impossible to predict what might provoke a friendly dog to bite. It may be in pain, become panic-stricken, feel threatened, or any number of factors. . .some breeds have a genetic predisposition. . .

"The major problem is that they are frequently (94%) unprovoked."

I told my husband that I loved Max despite the fact that he bit Rex. It's nature. If a person did harm to Rex, I'd find them and KILL them. Easily. I thought of obedience training for Max and my husband videotaped Max and Rex during the day that showed that they slept all day long. Rex doesn't budge.

But when I was alone with the two of them and they started to play, I was nervous. It was too much responsibility. Amanda would possibly be a counselor at camp over the Summer and going off to college in a few years. Who knows when another trigger could go off.

We would need to find the RIGHT home for Max where he could get exercise, play freely and be loved. . . (Part Two coming soon)