Nature vs. Neuter

Maybe it's because I've heard Bob Barker say it a thousand times at the end of each show, with his charming smile and a boyish glint in his eye, "Help control the pet population; have your pet spayed or neutered."  

With each pet I have loved, 'the fix' was always just a natural practice; it was for their protection and helped to keep animals off the streets.  The Toronto Humane Society alone takes in around 5,000 pets every year.

Well imagine my surprise when I was approached by a stranger while walking Braxton - not uncommon in itself as he is quite handsome if I do say so myself - who asked me if he was available for breeding.

"No, sorry," was my obvious reply.  I distinctly recall the day I brought him home from the vet, still groggy from the anaesthesia, his reproductive abilities disengaged.  Sure, I felt a little bad that he would never be a father or have just 'one night of fun' with some lucky female, but he would never know the difference, right?

The thing that bothered me the most about this encounter was how nonchalant this guy seemed.  He was certainly not an experienced dog breeder, not to mention the fact that due to Ontario law, 'pitbulls' are now required to be fixed.  Any subsequent puppies would, in effect, be illegal.  Was this guy that irresponsible?  Did he honestly think I would offer up my dog to a stranger on the street for breeding?  Who the hell was this guy?

Of course, I scurried off as fast as I could because truthfully, he gave me the creeps.  But seriously, if there are people like this out there, I can't imagine the quality of life the poor

 puppies he may help to produce would ever have.

  

The Cat's Out of the Bag

We brought little four-month-old Frankie home from the Humane Society in January.  I thought I would need more time to get over the untimely departure of Bailey, our five-year-old kitty who unfortunately developed some kind of tumour, but I really missed the adorable purrs and mews of a cuddly creature who could romp around and play with our lonely dog Braxton.  

To see the stacked cages and all the sad looks on so many animal faces was heartbreaking.  Each one vying for your attention, hoping they would be picked for a new forever home.  How do you choose?

But I knew instantly that Frankie was the one.  She was so tiny, but her persistent little meow and the way she rubbed herself against the bars of her cage to flaunt her obvious cuteness demonstrated her feisty character.  We needed a cat that could hold its own against our enormous and playful dog, not give the poor pussy a heart attack.

So we brought her home to introduce to the family.  It took a few days before I was sure that the dog knew she was not meant as a midnight snack, but Frankie knew as soon as she was released from her kitty carrier that this was her turf now.

I was amazed and amused at how she taunted the dog so blatantly, strutting about with sheer arrogance, getting just close enough to Braxton so he would pursue a sniff, moving a little too quickly, so to ensure a scolding.  Frankie relished. 

Now that's she's a few months older, she has taken even further control over our powerless canine.  First thing in the morning, she climbs out of her little bed, down the stairs to the dog and promptly swats him in the face with her razor-like claws.  He lays without moving; he's grown used to her torment.  She persists with some tail biting until he wiggles away and comes to my side for protection.  Sorry big boy, you'll have to handle her yourself. 

 

It's most entertaining when he does get into it and they play fight.  The cat curls around the dog's head and bites all over, jumping back and forth while he tries to pin her down and show her his enormous teeth.  He pushes her belly with his nose and she tries to latch on.  Who needs tv?  I could watch this for hours!

Then when they tire, they curl up together for an impromptu nap - what good pals. 

 

Harbouring an Outlaw

Since August 25, 2005 I have effectively been harbouring an outlaw and I must say that through the the almost 4 years that have passed, it hasn't gotten any easier.  

I am referring of course, to the breed specific legislation passed in Ontario, which is supposedly aimed at making the province safe from 'dangerous' Pitbulls and similar dog breeds.  

And there was poor Braxton, still only but a wee puppy when the dramatic media frenzy began in 2004 that ended in the passing of Bill 132, plucked from low-hanging fruit of fear mongering and diversion, on the steps of the legislature.  

Braxton is now forced endure the scorn of onlookers, to bear the scarlet letter, the Dark Mark of the Death Eaters, the mask of Hannibal Lecter.  

To see his caged face insights fear in small children and sees small-dog walkers running for the opposite side of the street.  It is with shame in his sweet eyes and a somber bowed head that he asks, "Won't you love me?  Won't you play with me?"

Never again will he feel the fresh summer air on his unobstructed face as he frolics free in a field.  He remains forever chained to the leash of injustice, an animal clamped down by the laws of man.  

Welcome

Welcome to Shauna's Dog Blog! 

Allow me to introduce myself: I am a professional editor and writer and avid animal enthusiast.  Now, I'm not one to impose restrictions, so I must clarify that this is not just a blog about dogs per se, but an inclusive and ongoing discussion into the mysterious world of the animal kingdom.  ("Dog Blog" just has such a nice ring to it...) This will also include posts about such topics as the pet industry, animal rights, nature conservation and of course, the entertaining events surrounding my own household "zoo."  

Meet Braxton:

 

and Frankie: