Let Me Get This Right, My Brother’s A Dog?

I recently received one of those emails that leave your heart in your mouth. A dear friend told me about how, some months earlier, her beloved - and previously docile - border collie had attacked her infant son, biting him on the face so severely that she had to rush him to the emergency room. Fast forward to the end of the story and all is well – her son bears no permanent injury and only the faintest of scars beneath his eye and she has found a wonderful alternative home for her pet and this weekend will hand the dog over after extracting a promise from the family that they will return her if things ever don’t work out. M remains, however, wracked by grief, guilt and distress about the whole situation and, as she puts it, is “scarred for life.”

Any friend would have her heart strings tugged to hear of such an ordeal. It was particularly sad for me because I have had my own share of struggles integrating my “blended” family (I have one son, two dogs and two cats) and, as their weekly groomer at the time, M played a key role in helping me keep it all together when I wasn't sure I could.

M with Aspen and Mardi

Having seen all the challenges I faced once Liam was born M was well aware of what to expect once her own son arrived and, as an animal professional, she was as well equipped as anyone could be to manage those challenges. And still it went sour.

The general perception is that kids and dogs go together and there is a long list of positive factors associated with teaching children the responsibility of caring for an animal. But in my experience it is a rocky road when the dogs came before the kids.



I think that euphemistic picture was painted at a time when life was different than it is today for many people. People had their kids when they were younger and so dogs were perhaps less likely to have been a “child substitute” that suddenly and inevitably gets displaced when the baby comes along and naturally isn’t too happy about it.

In my case getting pregnant was a surprise and so I had not attempted to maintain any boundaries with my adored Tibetan Terriers in anticipation that one day I would have to change the rules by which we lived. They were my babies. I got Aspen first and to this day he remains – once he accepts you – the most affectionate animal I have ever encountered. Everyone who is eventually permitted into his inner circle (and that takes a very long time – he is definitely of the mindset that less is more when it comes to humans) comments on how incredibly cuddly he is and how much he just wants to be held. I used to occasionally take him to the office with me in Manhattan when we worked in a building that allowed dogs and everyone was bemused by how he had to go with me everywhere. Even now I never get to go to the bathroom alone J

When I got Aspen I lived in Manhattan, but I had a weekend house in Connecticut.

Aspen in our yard in Connecticut

Aspen loved being there but one day a neighbor came to tell me (in the nicest possible way) that he wailed and moaned so loudly whenever I was not there and he was home alone that the whole street could hear it. So I did the obvious thing and got him a sister to keep him company. Despite the fact that she is his full sister (from a different litter) Mardi couldn’t be more different from Aspen. She loves everyone and is the most garrulous, gregarious bundle of in-your-face play with me, pet me, hold me, love me, canine energy I’ve met. She took over as the queen of our little household and ruled the roost from the day she arrived. Aspen was in heaven.

That's my sister!

So all was well in our tight-knit little family and then I learned that I was pregnant. My unimaginable joy was accompanied by a realization that for Aspen and Mardi things were going to have to be very different and so began a whole lot of changes. We moved to Florida (how does a single Mom in a Manhattan apartment deal with early morning and and late night relief walks unless she’s prepared to take a newborn out in the cold at all hours?) As I planned for the baby to sleep in my bed with me, that was a privilege the dogs had previously enjoyed that I would now have to rescind. As my niece was coming to live with me to help with the baby it would no longer be the three of us – and soon with me heavily pregnant at age 40 in the unfamiliar Florida heat, our prior long rambling daily walks became a thing of the past. The dogs couldn’t even cuddle in my lap any more. By the end of my pregnancy my belly was so huge, I didn’t have a lap!

If my pregnancy was bad for them – it only got worse and things went totally pear-shaped pretty much from the moment Liam arrived. Mardi was intensely interested in this new arrival and just would not stay away from him. If I had him in my arms she was constantly jumping up on me trying to sniff him. If he cried she would rush over to wherever he was and start barking. In fact she would start barking often even when he didn’t cry, usually when I had just got him to sleep (and as he was a lousy sleeper that was no easy task.) I tried to allow her to familiarize herself and satisfy her curiosity but her over-zealous interest seemed to know no end and as the inevitable sleeplessness and stress of a new baby (remember “baby boot camp”?) wore me down I lost patience and began to scold and reprimand her.

About six weeks after Liam was born Mardi went and hid behind the toilet in my bathroom and wouldn’t come out. She wouldn’t eat, she wouldn’t drink, she wouldn’t move. After 36 hours when she had not even peed despite the numerous times I had picked her up and carried her outside and put her on the lawn, I took her to my vet and begged for help. The vet kept her for another 24 hours until she had eventually urinated, tested her urine and blood to rule out any medical cause for her behavior, and then admitted the obvious. Mardi was throwing a hissy fit of massive proportions and – in a style completely consistent with her personality – was going through the canine equivalent of a nervous breakdown and had become seriously depressed. The vet gave me valium and told me to take her home. I really wondered whether the valium was for Mardi or for me!

So began the first two years in which I hovered over Mardi and Liam like a hawk. Unless Mardi was put away in the laundry with the door shut I couldn’t take my eyes off them. If she ever got the chance – wherever he was and whatever he was doing – she would be in his face. She never tried to bite him but when he was very young she would just scare the bejeezus out of him and cause him to scream – and as he got older and more confident he would grab her face or her ears if she came close to him – and that would cause her to yelp like she was being tortured, which would scare him and cause him to scream…. you get the idea. She constantly stole and chewed his toys. Her toys had long since been put away because he would chew those if she left them around (ewww!) She always wanted to eat his food right from out of his hands, sit in his baby bouncer, his swing, his stroller, his cute little kid’s armchair from Pottery Barn. I occasionally got the picture perfect moment that suggested all was peachy….

The Perception

But the reality was actually far less perfect than that as the unending turf war was waged. There were plenty of photos didn’t make it into the family album!

The Reality

The words said most often in our house in those first two years were “Mardi – leave him alone” and Mardi was spending a lot of time in the laundry.

Throughout all of this Aspen didn’t pay much attention. He was curious when Liam first arrived in a kind of “Gee Mom, what did you do that for?” way and then proceeded to ignore the baby for the most part. He adjusted to sleeping under my bed rather than on it and sitting at my feet rather than in my lap and otherwise seemed oblivious to the three ring circus that was taking place around him. I don’t remember him having one interaction with Liam that concerned me. So you can imagine my surprise the day that he attacked him.

I still don’t really know what happened. I was travelling on business. My nanny was taking care of Liam and the dogs. It was dinner time and whatever series of events took place resulted in Aspen growling, and with teeth snapping, lunging at Liam’s face. He didn’t make contact with him (thank God!) but I had to recognize that was only good luck on my part. I doubt it was Aspen’s fault. Liam was then of an age that the words heard most often in our house had become “Liam – leave him/her alone” as now it was Liam who was intensely interested in the dogs and constantly interacted with them inappropriately. He ran behind them and pulled their tails as he tried to catch them. He tried to ride them. If he ever got the opportunity he would eat their food (ewww!) and drop his toys in their water bowl. He grabbed and pulled on their leashes from his stroller as we were walking. He absolutely refused to let them interact with me. If Aspen or Mardi tried to get in my lap Liam would rush over and climb up too and push them away until they abandoned the effort and got off the couch.  

I realized I had to step things up. I was able to control (sort of) the situation because I could verbally control the dogs and was pretty good at remembering how to prevent “problem” situations before they arose. Put a cage in the car to keep the dogs separate from Liam when we were travelling. Feed the dogs when Liam was in his high chair so he couldn’t interact with them. Feed Liam when the dogs were in the laundry and not trying to scrounge his food. Don’t leave toys on the floor etc. etc. But I couldn’t be there all the time. I had to work and because of my work I had to travel.

So now I decided that if I wasn’t there the dogs couldn’t be there either and for the first time  - I put them in kennel boarding. Previously I had always had someone stay in my home to care for them if I was away. I hate kennels. Even good ones are still kennels. My dogs clearly hate kennels too. Mardi responding to this with what is euphemistically called “inappropriate elimination.” It’s a genteel way of saying that she began to pee and poop in the house every damn chance she got. She’d done this a bit when Liam first arrived but we’d got beyond it and often I would have to acknowledge I just hadn’t been focused enough on when she needed to be walked. Now she did it deliberately, openly and in a clearly retaliatory manner. Aspen joined in occasionally – I think he just thought that the rules had somehow changed – but this was a charge led by Mardi and my relationship with her now deteriorated as quickly as the condition of the numerous floor rugs that I ultimately had to throw away.

We reached our lowest point one night when Liam’s diaper leaked – in my beautiful king-sized bed with its pillow top mattress. I popped him on the arm chair and stripped the bed, taking off everything including the waterproof mattress protector and marched off to the laundry. I returned with an armful of fresh sheets to see Mardi up on my bed, peeing on the mattress.

I must interrupt this long narrative at this point because I admit – I am not proud of what I did to that dog in the next few minutes. It runs contrary to the view that I generally hold of myself as being humane. In fact it probably runs contrary to a view of being human – unless you accept that to err is human. Anyway. First thing the next morning I called a friend and asked her to take Mardi and Aspen to her house for a few days while I worked out what to do.

I really didn’t want to give my dogs up – but I was at my wit’s end and we were all miserable. Mardi was the one causing the most distress but she had never actually tried to harm Liam. Aspen had – and these dogs had been together for years at that point – I couldn’t even contemplate separating them. I called their breeder and wailed. I asked if she would ever be able to find a home that would take the two of them together. She said she’d try and within a few weeks she had. I could now send them off to a new home where they would be loved and respected and would be the top of the totem pole as they once had been with me.

Only I couldn’t do it. I probably should have but I just couldn’t. I spent days in tears trying to say yes and then just said no. The breeder understood but she was rightly concerned about how the dogs were faring in this unhappy situation. But one of  the good things about parenting is that the only constant is change. Kids grow. Quickly. And I just thought if I could hang on for another year or two it would somehow all resolve itself.

And ultimately it did. I hired a dog trainer and we worked with the dogs and although I didn’t like the general approach as it really does involve dominating your animals rather than being affectionate towards them – it reset who was boss in the house and what the dogs thought they could get away with. And I hired a dog walker so that Aspen and Mardi once again got long rambling walks and some dedicated attention and they could go to her house when I traveled and not have to go to a kennel. And Liam got older and got better at keeping his hands off them. And I bought a new mattress! Little by little things became better. Until one day I realized they were actually quite good and I breathed again for what seemed like the first time in five years. As I write this Aspen is snoozing at my feet, Mardi is guarding the front door waiting for the cats to come in (why I got them will be the topic of another post – this one’s already too long) and Liam is still peacefully sleeping.

A happy family.... at last!     Photo credit: lifeXpressions

I’m so sad that M’s story didn’t have a similar happy ending and I totally get all the mixed emotions she feels about it. When things go wrong you just feel that you somehow should have known better, done better, prevented it, fixed it, anything to not have to become one of those people that gives away their dog. You cannot tell someone who doesn’t love dogs the depth of emotion dog lovers feel for their pets. But it’s also true that you cannot tell someone who has dogs but doesn’t have kids how much the bond with an animal pales into insignificance compared to how you love your child. You would cut off your right arm for them if it were required to protect them and once the situation becomes one of protecting your child, you will give up your dog if you must.

What’s the moral of this long tale? I’m really not sure. I guess it will be different for everyone that it resonates with. Blending families of any sort isn’t easy and that includes the canine members of our families. Whenever I was at my most desperate parenting moments – no matter what is was about  – I always found it helpful to know that others had been there before me and survived. So if you are currently challenged with an issue like this – know that you will resolve it and how you resolve it will be unique to you. There’s lots of things you can try. Just remember to blame the situation – not yourself and not the dog. A lot of people think that dogs that bite – ever – are vicious and must be put down but often it is behavior that is completely natural to the circumstances of being displaced in their owners' affections and it doesn’t mean the dog is vicious at all. If it really can’t work that they can stay in your home, it doesn’t mean that they won’t thrive in another home. I’m certainly hoping that becomes the final chapter in the story of one border collie who is making a sad journey this weekend.