Chapter 40 (Animals I’ve Known and Loved)
CLAUDE -- KING OF THE WORLD
The only problem with his maturing into a handsome German Shepherd was that he wanted to be the only male dog in the WORLD… and began setting out to be just that. He decided it was his duty in life to be our guard dog, and the pup who let people step over him on the doorstep, now censored every passerby and barked at every stranger.
He started attacking male dogs while we had him along on a camping trip. A man had stopped by our camper to inquire about the kids after Jo & August were on an accident on the campground’s Wild Mouse ride. Jo had come close to getting a concussion, having hit her head on the bar in front when the ride came to an abrupt unplanned stop. This man had made the mistake of bringing along his dog. Claude took one look at this gentleman’s dog (on a leash, mind you) and burst from inside the camper almost tearing off the screen door and attacked the dog with a fury. The man was apologizing as he was yanking his dog back from only defending itself while I tried to subdue Claude. I felt that horrible gut wrenching feeling that goes along with the embarrassment of having our pet beat up another’s without the slightest provocation. [I didn’t realize at the time that Claude wouldn’t have touched this dog if it were female.]
But Claude clinched it on a trip we took to Jekyll Island for Spring Vacation in 1976. We left sweet Wendy with the Browne’s “to be spoiled,” as she would be their only-dog for a week. I thought we were leaving all our cares behind. Jo had a male guinea pig she left in the care of a girl friend who was using it as a stud for her two female guinea pigs while we were away. And Alby left his hamster under the care of Diane Frisch. I thought we were to have a perfect vacation. But the first evening we pulled into Park-Away-Parks to stay overnight (a place where we stayed on a previous trip), when I went to feed Claude, I did so outside, as I didn’t want him getting Alpo on everything [he was still a clod]. I handed the dish out to my husband from inside, and Claude jumped out to eat. Then he spotted a terrier--dutifully being led on a leash. He dashed up to it standing on stilted legs…stiff…sniffing this small dog--his hair bristled on his arched neck. We knew if we stepped toward him it would be a wordless signal to Claude to attack, so we frantically called him to get his attention. He didn’t seem to even hear us--this vulnerable little dog was all that was on his macho mind. Suddenly he just TORE into the terrier like he was out to kill it. Meanwhile the woman was screaming “Isn’t your dog supposed to be on a leash!!” (As if by magic those words would save her dog.).
We flew into action and I just grabbed Claude’s hind legs and pulled. We finally separated the dogs in a matter of a few of the longest seconds in my life. I dragged Claude back to the camper not just hitting him but FLOGGING him with my fists, I was so angry! The woman’s husband then stepped out of his camper and yelled at us for not leashing the dog, and threatening to sue us for damages to his frightened dog…that he was “..All torn up!”
Bravely my husband went over to make amends. I (literally) kicked Claude into the camper and just sat at the picnic table at the campsite and shook.
Al soon returned and said that everything was okay--that their dog was only wet from Claude’s saliva, but not bleeding--just scared and trembling. We were lucky, but I didn’t feel lucky. I hate a bully, and I hate to be responsible for my dog’s viciousness. I made up my mind: That was to be Claude’s LAST camping trip!
The following July Claude graduated from wanting to be the only male dog to wanting to be the only male anything, and even began threatening people. He bit Eric Lanz, August’s friend, when they were bicycling through our yard. He also tried to attack the Fuller boys (lived up about a half mile away on Bunn Hill, and were kind of strange to our neighborhood). I began to have to keep him tied most of the time.
When the Rynicks moved in actoss the street, I thought I’d welcome them into the neighborhood with a Bundt cake. The timing seemed perfect. When my cake was baked and cool…ready to go… Mr. Rynick (George) had just came home. I started across the street. Claude had escaped through the front door with me as I left. I hadn’t been keeping him tied constantly because thus far there were no other male dogs on the street--I had finally figured out he wanted to be the only male dog in the world.
I ordered Claude to “Stay!” and he sat by the mail box like a good dog, as I proceeded to cross the street. George seemed real friendly as he rounded the house from where he parked the car to the front of the house. He opened the front door widely to welcome me inside--just then the biggest dog in the world comes whirling and burling out to greet his master, George. The new neighbors had a MALE St. Bernard. That’s ALL Claude had to see to break training, and in a half a second was tearing across the street and lawn, and was thick into their dog, Patches’, furry hide.
It was a strange ballet I performed--a cake balanced in one hand while I tried grabbing Claude’s collar with the other. George was doing the same with his enormous dog. I don’t know how we managed to separate them, but it wasn’t to be their last fight. It was a strange greeting---”Welcome to the neighborhood--Here’s a cake---And, Here is my killer-dog!!”
The Rynicks loved all animals and were very understanding. They knew their St. Bernard had the upper hand as he was probably 1 ½ times larger than Claude. But within a few months, Patches had his turn. He swaggered over and initiated a fight with Claude, getting him pinned down, with Patches mighty jaws clamped around his neck before we got them apart by dosing them with water…. George having come over to help.
Claude was one bad seed. All I could see was trouble ahead. And I was right.
CLAUDE -- KING OF THE WORLD
The only problem with his maturing into a handsome German Shepherd was that he wanted to be the only male dog in the WORLD… and began setting out to be just that. He decided it was his duty in life to be our guard dog, and the pup who let people step over him on the doorstep, now censored every passerby and barked at every stranger.
He started attacking male dogs while we had him along on a camping trip. A man had stopped by our camper to inquire about the kids after Jo & August were on an accident on the campground’s Wild Mouse ride. Jo had come close to getting a concussion, having hit her head on the bar in front when the ride came to an abrupt unplanned stop. This man had made the mistake of bringing along his dog. Claude took one look at this gentleman’s dog (on a leash, mind you) and burst from inside the camper almost tearing off the screen door and attacked the dog with a fury. The man was apologizing as he was yanking his dog back from only defending itself while I tried to subdue Claude. I felt that horrible gut wrenching feeling that goes along with the embarrassment of having our pet beat up another’s without the slightest provocation. [I didn’t realize at the time that Claude wouldn’t have touched this dog if it were female.]
But Claude clinched it on a trip we took to Jekyll Island for Spring Vacation in 1976. We left sweet Wendy with the Browne’s “to be spoiled,” as she would be their only-dog for a week. I thought we were leaving all our cares behind. Jo had a male guinea pig she left in the care of a girl friend who was using it as a stud for her two female guinea pigs while we were away. And Alby left his hamster under the care of Diane Frisch. I thought we were to have a perfect vacation. But the first evening we pulled into Park-Away-Parks to stay overnight (a place where we stayed on a previous trip), when I went to feed Claude, I did so outside, as I didn’t want him getting Alpo on everything [he was still a clod]. I handed the dish out to my husband from inside, and Claude jumped out to eat. Then he spotted a terrier--dutifully being led on a leash. He dashed up to it standing on stilted legs…stiff…sniffing this small dog--his hair bristled on his arched neck. We knew if we stepped toward him it would be a wordless signal to Claude to attack, so we frantically called him to get his attention. He didn’t seem to even hear us--this vulnerable little dog was all that was on his macho mind. Suddenly he just TORE into the terrier like he was out to kill it. Meanwhile the woman was screaming “Isn’t your dog supposed to be on a leash!!” (As if by magic those words would save her dog.).
We flew into action and I just grabbed Claude’s hind legs and pulled. We finally separated the dogs in a matter of a few of the longest seconds in my life. I dragged Claude back to the camper not just hitting him but FLOGGING him with my fists, I was so angry! The woman’s husband then stepped out of his camper and yelled at us for not leashing the dog, and threatening to sue us for damages to his frightened dog…that he was “..All torn up!”
Bravely my husband went over to make amends. I (literally) kicked Claude into the camper and just sat at the picnic table at the campsite and shook.
Al soon returned and said that everything was okay--that their dog was only wet from Claude’s saliva, but not bleeding--just scared and trembling. We were lucky, but I didn’t feel lucky. I hate a bully, and I hate to be responsible for my dog’s viciousness. I made up my mind: That was to be Claude’s LAST camping trip!
The following July Claude graduated from wanting to be the only male dog to wanting to be the only male anything, and even began threatening people. He bit Eric Lanz, August’s friend, when they were bicycling through our yard. He also tried to attack the Fuller boys (lived up about a half mile away on Bunn Hill, and were kind of strange to our neighborhood). I began to have to keep him tied most of the time.
When the Rynicks moved in actoss the street, I thought I’d welcome them into the neighborhood with a Bundt cake. The timing seemed perfect. When my cake was baked and cool…ready to go… Mr. Rynick (George) had just came home. I started across the street. Claude had escaped through the front door with me as I left. I hadn’t been keeping him tied constantly because thus far there were no other male dogs on the street--I had finally figured out he wanted to be the only male dog in the world.
I ordered Claude to “Stay!” and he sat by the mail box like a good dog, as I proceeded to cross the street. George seemed real friendly as he rounded the house from where he parked the car to the front of the house. He opened the front door widely to welcome me inside--just then the biggest dog in the world comes whirling and burling out to greet his master, George. The new neighbors had a MALE St. Bernard. That’s ALL Claude had to see to break training, and in a half a second was tearing across the street and lawn, and was thick into their dog, Patches’, furry hide.
It was a strange ballet I performed--a cake balanced in one hand while I tried grabbing Claude’s collar with the other. George was doing the same with his enormous dog. I don’t know how we managed to separate them, but it wasn’t to be their last fight. It was a strange greeting---”Welcome to the neighborhood--Here’s a cake---And, Here is my killer-dog!!”
The Rynicks loved all animals and were very understanding. They knew their St. Bernard had the upper hand as he was probably 1 ½ times larger than Claude. But within a few months, Patches had his turn. He swaggered over and initiated a fight with Claude, getting him pinned down, with Patches mighty jaws clamped around his neck before we got them apart by dosing them with water…. George having come over to help.
Claude was one bad seed. All I could see was trouble ahead. And I was right.
posted by Cranberry Jo @ 11/20/2007 11:12:00 AM
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