My Dog Isn’t A Rescue Dog

He isn’t a rescue dog, and there is no such thing as a rescue dog.

Every single dog you see in a dog pound, in foster, behind bars and looking sad isn’t a rescue dog. This term puzzles me completely.

Most dogs in dog pounds are there through no fault of their own. Whether old lady down the road can’t look after her dog any more, or a crap owner deemed their dog too much hard work and dumped it somewhere, they aren’t ‘rescue dogs’ and they don’t walk around with a great big badge on their chests, proudly proclaiming they are different. That’s where my issue with the term ‘rescue’ lies. A rescue dog is still a dog, first and foremost. Every single dog in that dog pound down the road once lived in a home. Very rarely will you have a dog that has never been in a house before. Every single dog is still a pet, and still a loved pet, just waiting for new humans. It’s kind of like an interlude in their lives where they stay in kennels and wait, and this makes them no less ‘dog’. Is a child in an orphanage any less human because of where they are? No. So a dog is no less dog, and attributing a label like ‘rescue’ to it doesn’t actually mean anything. The only way I can explain this any clearer is to ask whether a homeless person once they have recovered from a bad part of their lives, should still be labeled as such?

Trevor came from a home, and when people find out they invariably ask me ‘oh, was he abused?’. This question bugs me endlessly, mostly because what does that even mean? He spins, he is an anxious dog, If I raise my hand he flinches and he squeals and runs backwards if he hears a car revving. This must mean he was beaten, right? I must have saved him from evil humans and their raised hands? Not necessarily. Every dog has an individual personality. In my dog training class there is a Spaniel who hates strangers and if someone approaches him he will duck and hide and shake, however he has been raised from a puppy in the same home, never beaten and never abused. He is just a bit shy and that is okay.

So take a look at these photos of Angel, Beau and Pepper. All of them are real ‘rescues’ at Cardiff Dogs Home currently. Which one was abused do you think? (Click on their pictures to go to their forum threads where you can see more pics and read all about them #shamelessplug)

        

Ok so Angel undoubtably came to us in the worst state, but does it matter if she was abused or not? Should she be treated with anything else other than love, kindness and care? Same goes for beautiful giant Beau, and even teeny tiny Pepper. They are all dogs, have all lived in a home and have all found themselves homeless, and that doesn’t make them any less important, or even more important than any other dog. Angel is a gorgeous crossbreed (and thankfully considerably fatter now!), Beau is a huge Akita and Pepper is a tiny and friendly King Charles Spaniel. Dogs homes aren’t full of scruffy crossbreeds and vicious bullbreeds…! Two of these dogs that have found themselves homeless are purebred Kennel Club pedigrees!

I am not making light of those that have had horrific pasts. Thankfully those are few and far between, and the fantastic staff and volunteers at Friends of the Dogs, Wales make sure that they get the best care they need. When a dog arrives in a dogs home it is purely because he needs somewhere new to live. They get a fresh start the second they set foot in those kennels, and yes some are waiting longer than others, and some may find it harder to settle than others, but they are loved pets, waiting for the right person for them.
This leads me onto my final point. People that proudly declare their dog is a ‘rescue’ and that they ‘saved’ it. I am guilty of this certainly (just look at my blog name!) but I do not deem my dog to be better than others as he is a ‘rescue’. Nor do I think he is different to any other dog because of that accolade. Yes, he has some issues, but just like that shy spaniel in my dog classes, we work through them. I am not an altruistic human of immeasurable value because I chose the sad staffy at the dogs home. I didn’t ‘save’ him. I rehomed him for selfish reasons actually, I wanted a dog! My first and foremost reasoning for getting a dog was not to ‘save his life’ and nor should I, or anyone else, walk around being pious and arrogant about their supposed philanthropic nature.

That said, I would always advocate the saying if ‘Adopt don’t shop’. I know my journey so far with Trevor has been rather fraught at times, but Trevor has been a little harder work than most! I keep seeing photos lately of dogs that got taken to their new forever homes on sofas flat out asleep within hours of arriving, and I am envious of you!

Enjoy your dogs, whether bought, ‘rescued’ or bred at home. No matter where they came from they are wonderful, and you should love them with every bit of you.

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Seeing as that was all a bit serious, have a video of my lunatic boy getting the zoomies on Penarth beach today 🙂

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Going To The Dogs – Channel4 Documentary

I have just watched the controversial ‘Going To The Dogs’ documentary on 4od. Made by award winning Penny Woolcock for Cutting Edge, it is a startling expose on the world of dog fighting. However the one thing I have to stress is that what I have just seen, I can NEVER unsee. I chose to watch it on the grounds that ignorance is not necessarily always bliss. If there is something in the mainstream media that references my breed of dog, then I’d rather know all about it so I can react accordingly in the best interests of myself, my dog and my home.

I am the owner of a ‘bullbreed’ dog. My Staffordshire Bull Terrier is one of the most commonly used breeds used in the world of dog fighting and I am well aware that after seeing this documentary I should probably jump on the bandwagon of ‘Say no to breed specific legislation’ etc etc. Maybe it’s my education and my recent graduation from a university where we were trained to look at and write about things objectively, but I am going to attempt to write something in response to this Cutting Edge documentary in an objective manner, though as an advocate of not judging breeds based on their history or misleading information this may be a challenge!

The first thing that shocked me was the dogs in the films eyes. They had the same eyes as my Trevor. They looked eager to please, happy and ever so slightly excitable. Physique wise, they were actually quite different to my dog who is actually a bit on the small side for his type. They were big dogs, all muscle bound and toned. They are certainly an example of a fit and healthy dog! However their training techniques for building up the dog’s physique were not ones I would employ on a family pet such as letting them hang off ropes tied in trees and getting them to pull bikes up hills. The dog was certainly enjoying itself while training, but my dog enjoys playing tug with his rope and occasionally enjoys pulling me around a bit too much! It seems like the traits of a SBT are taken advantage of. A typical SBT in my experience just wants to play, please and bounce. I honestly think that if I asked my dog to fight, he would. It is NOT in a dog’s nature to put itself in danger of it’s own accord, however it IS in a dog’s nature to want to please it’s human. Taking advantage of this nature is where my issue lies.

I find the notion of the dog ‘enjoying’ the fight utterly surreal too. Sure, the dog may enjoy leaping about and biting, but there is always a loser, and surely the loser can’t be enjoying it? At what point does a fight stop being fun for the dog and start being painful? In which case, who actually enjoys it?

I think this screenshot sums up who enjoys it. Certainly not the little Staff having blood mopped out of its fur.

The final part of the film shows the main dog fighter talking about euthanasia. He vehemently condemns those who use ‘inhumane’ methods of putting a dog to sleep, telling the camera of those who drown, electrocute, shoot and hit their dogs with hammers. When asked why anyone should have to kill a dog, he says that sometimes a dog will be too broken to live any more. If the dog has had it’s ‘stomach wall’ or throat ripped out, then it cannot live. He advocates chemical euthanasia as the ‘humane’ option. What is gut wrenching about this is how he is the one that allows another dog to rip his dog’s intestines out, to break his dog’s legs and to tear at its skin and muscle, and it’s how they kill the dog following that trauma that is the point of contention for him?

Aside from the characters and actions shown within the film, it seems it has been produced from an entirely uneducated point of view as far as the dog world is concerned. In particular, the word ‘Pitbull’ was banded around. Now unless I am very much mistaken it is illegal to own a purebred Pitbull in the UK. At one point in the film one of the main dogs that was gearing up for a big fight was seized by the police. It was explained that they suspected it was because the dog was to be used for dog fighting, however it was supposedly a banned breed? I am confused as to whether it was misnamed and actually a Staff of some sort, or whether the filmmakers chose not to explain the real reasoning behind the seized dog.

My second issue in regards to the production of the film was with the clips of Animal Equality shown. Horses being shot in the head, slaughterhouses, chickens in battery farms etc. This stuck me as reminiscent of an act earlier in the film whereby a young female Staff type dog was encouraged to fight as people goaded her. They smacked her around the behind and head in an attempt at aggravating the poor dog, and the clips of animal cruelty brazenly shown without any relevance was a direct mirror of this. I can only assume that the film makers used the images to add to the atmosphere of their film, and to this I say; bravo film makers, you have taken horrific scenes of death and destruction to ramp up the feelings of unease and detachment from the situation. It is certainly a clever technique, however it is also a disgusting one.

Dog owners all over the country will watch this, and no doubt my blog is only prodding the fire, however I hope that no one watches it, decides my dog is dangerous and my dog has to suffer the fallout of such a vicious portrayal of his breed heritage. I don’t know my dog’s past. He has a split ear, is afraid of sticks, cowers if I raise my hand for any reason and has scars across his nose. I hope that he has never seen anything like what I saw in this film.

I also hope I will one day be able to write a properly unbiased blog response to a dog related documentary!

My Dog Is The Smartest In The Class

Ok he isn’t. He is actually a bit thick, but I find myself in doggy training feeling like a proud parent when he gets something right and when he behaves.

For the last two weeks I have been attending Cardiff Canine Citizens Bronze training in Barry with Trevor the dog, and it has been really fun! 3 of the 5 attending dogs are rescue dogs, and they are learning just as fast as the dogs from breeders. The teacher, Caroline Cowan, is simply fabulous. She makes it fun, exciting and educational, and I know that sounds fairly obvious, but it really makes the difference. It’s all about understanding what the dog is thinking and learning through playing. So far I have attended two of the six sessions and both myself and Trevor have loved every second of our time there.

On the first day (which I was late for… oops!) we practiced simple things like politely waiting while his human walks through the door first, sitting and basic staying. Of course Trevor was absolutely excellent at ‘sit’, ‘stay’ and ‘down’. I was feeling really smug about being sat in the corner with my well behaved little dog as the Labrador next to me barked it’s head off and the beautiful crossbreed (Jake) barked back while another rescue puppy (Luna) bounced and joined in with the barking too! Just as all the other dogs calmed down though however, Trevor produced a noise that I have never heard come out of a dog in my life. Ladies and gentleman, my dog has learnt to screech. A high pitched cross between a howl and a bark that is earsplitting and shocking in equal measure. Needless to say everyone turned to stare at me and Trevor and my smugness quickly evaporated! On top of this, he fell over twice and did what I now understand to be a ‘stress fart’. I learnt a lesson that day, my dog needs a lot of work before he becomes a ‘Good Citizen’!

The second training session was last night, and as thoroughly enjoyable as the last. This time I turned up early and gave Trevor some chance to run around (on the long lead!) and have a play with Jake and Luna. He did another screech but thankfully this time it was a bit less surprising and we knew it had emitted from my dog at least!

All of the last week before this session I have been stumped for ideas on how to expand on Trevors training. He learns fast and I was struggling to think of useful new things I could teach him. When Caroline asked if I could get him to ‘leave’, I proudly showed off his skills (he is actually rather good at this bit) and she suggested I bring some movement into the game. Rather than placing a treat on the floor and making him wait until I give him permission to eat it, I am to practice throwing the treat to the side and not letting him get carried away with the movement and dive at it, but to sit and wait patiently. 8 times out of 10 he stays put, but we are going to keep working on it! I am also going to expand on it so he has a command to ‘Catch’ and ‘Leave’. The idea behind teaching ‘leave’ is wonderfully sensible. If Trevor was to find a big smelly dead bird or to try and take an aggressive dog’s toy, I will be able to tell him to leave it alone, potentially saving his life.

The next bit of the session was where we struggled. Grooming and examination! He doesn’t give a crap about me rummaging around in his ears ( I learnt last night that some people think dog ears smell wonderful. Thoughts?) and isn’t bothered about me looking at his eyes. He doesn’t however like being touched on his feet or in his mouth. It’s not so much that he doesn’t like it as he thinks it’s a big game, and the name of that game is ‘CHEW MY HUMAN’S LIMBS’. I have the little toothmark sized bruises to prove it. I felt a little disheartened leaving last night. What if my dog bites people? What if he never stops? I guess practicing not chewing my arms is the order of the week. I think as a puppy he was never taught NOT to mouth and chew, so it’s a case of breaking the habit which will probably take time.

To cheer myself up while waiting for the bus home we found a field and I took my shoes off, walked barefoot on the grass (dangerous move in Barry?) and practiced recall training. My dog may have chewed the dog trainer, but his recall is getting better!

My Dog Believes In Magic

One thing that has become very apparent is that my dog completely and wholeheartedly believes in magic.

This is particularly evident through the way he approaches daily life. A typical (weekend) morning goes very much like this:
His human magically appears from the top of the stairs. She is usually yawning and in pants, but he doesn’t care, she just appeared TOTALLY OUT OF NOWHERE. This usually prompts a lot of wiggling (which is utterly adorable) and we proceed into the kitchen, at which point his human finds MAGIC FOOD. His human normally disappears for a bit (to find trousers etc, try explaining this to your dog?) and then returns, looking for coffee.

Before the day has even really started he is utterly in awe of all the amazing things that have happened already. I think we could all learn a thing or two from my dog! Even if like me, you struggle to function before 8am or coffee (whichever comes first) it really pays to appreciate the little things that happen before you have even scratched the sleep out of your eyes. He is already blissfully happy and you haven’t even found your trousers, that says a lot about you and when I realised it it was quite a shock!

Normally at around middayish I will venture out, and as it is the weekend, I will take Trevor with me. Whether I am visiting friends, or just want to go and enjoy the sun, he comes with me. I think it’s really important that he gets out to experience as much as he can. (Socialisation with people, dogs and smells is incredibly important.) I am lucky in as much as he is an entirely fearless dog. I didn’t realise how lucky I was until I was stood on Cardiff Central station with Trevor on his lead waiting to board a train to Newport and a woman commented on how well behaved he was and how impressed she was that he wasn’t freaking out in such a chaotic environment! This was the moment that I realised also that my dog believes in magic.

So, as I was saying, I take him everywhere. I do not drive however so a lot of our adventures start with public transport. Fortunately Cardiff Bus seem to be okay with dogs and I have never had any issues with them (dog related anyway, but that’s another rant). We wait for the bus and when it arrives I normally have to apologise as he butts people out of the way. My go to line is currently; ‘I’m sorry, he doesn’t know how to queue!’. He is very funny indeed to watch on the bus as each time the bus stops his ears go up and he expectantly awaits people to get on! One thing that he finds fascinating (and I find embarassing) is ladies that sit behind us wearing sandals. Magic tasty feet to lick! I do seem to spend most of my public time with Trevor apologising to strangers on behalf of my wiggling, licking and farting dog… I can also only assume he thinks of the bus as a magical portal whereby we get on, lots of strangers get on, everything smells really interesting and we wobble around a lot until we eventually get off somewhere entirely new. He has a constant look of utter awe on his face.

Another time that I genuinely think he believes in magic is not for the sensitive stomached… As most dogs do, he quite often throws up, however if he has only just eaten and if I know the reason behind it, I usually (please don’t judge me!) let him eat it. For example he grabbed a dropped piece of hot pasta straight after eating his dinner last week and the heat caused him to barf everything up. He looked momentarily distressed, then utterly overjoyed at the prospect of getting to eat his dinner twice. The reason I think he thinks it’s magic is again back to MAGIC FOOD. He eats food, throws up, and creates more magic food!! Utterly revolting yet oddly profound to live in such an instantaneous moment.

Going to the field down the road from me causes a similar sense of awe. He is just happy to BE. Whether its been a rubbish day or not, whether he has already had a run that day or not, he is just happy to be there with me. I take him on a 30 metre long training lead at the moment as his recall isn’t great, but the simple joy of a happy dog in a field doesn’t escape me. Yesterday he managed to pull me off my feet (serves me right for texting and not watching him) and he thought this was BRILLIANT and proceeded to have what my Mum describes as ‘A Zoomy’ where he tucked his tail under and ran REALLY FAST backwards and forwards being utterly loopy with a crazed look in his eyes, jumping over me each time he passed me as I lay flat on my back in a field in the arse end of Cardiff giggling like an idiot.

All of these things (and many more that I cannot think of now) make me think that my dog completely and utterly believes in magic, and why shouldn’t he? More to the point, maybe we should learn a lesson from little barf eating Trevor. He takes such joy in everything that he does, and sharing that joy with him is one of my favourite things in life. Apart from the barf, he can keep that…

‘A Dog Will Change Your Life’

One thing I have to write about is how a dog can change your life. No, I am not talking about ‘you will become a morning person’ and ‘love will enrich your life’. While these are true (well the former, rather begrudgingly so) they are the things you expect. What about the things you DIDN’T expect? In no particular order, here are a few of the major differences I have noticed in my life since adopting Trevor:

1. I am worried that everything, including me, will accidentally kill or harm my dog. Broken glass on the floor makes me irrationally cross, all rubbish and food on the floor makes me cross. If I see him eating something I rush over and claw it out of his mouth, usually to find its some grass or a biscuit he found and I now have a mildly surprised and disgruntled dog on my hands. Supposedly new mothers often dream about accidentally harming their babies, and I keep having these dreams too. While I realise that Trevor is not my child and I resent it when my boyfriend tells the dog to ‘Go back to Mum’ or something of a similar ilk, I can certainly see some similarities in the situation.

It has got to the point eventually when if I couldn’t hear or see him, I thought immediately that he was dead. Solved this problem by attaching the bell from a Lindt Bunny to his collar. Now it sounds like Christmas every day but I can hear him mooching about and know he isn’t (probably) dead.

2. I get carsick now. I spend more time looking at him than out of the window and inevitably end up feeling rather ill.

3. My life is not reduced or limited in any way because of my dog. It is positively enriched. I had an endless torrent of people asking if I was sure that I knew what a commitment I was making, how I would never be able to go out again, how I would be housebound, tied down and limited in everything I did? Well I accepted that was the case, then I realised that none of these things are a bad thing, and are only half truths.

The main issue I have is the concept of the world not being very dog friendly. Look a little harder and you will find lovely places like The Cricketers in Pontcanna that is very dog friendly and serves relatively cheap wine. Cardiff buses allow dogs, as do the trains. The only way my life has been ‘limited’ is that occasionally he does get left at home, but usually he is a great excuse for me to leave an awful event early. ‘Sorry I have to feed the dog’ is so much better than ‘Sorry I have to wash my hair’, don’t you think?

Instead of being limited, I am in fact going out more! I rarely leave him at home alone if I can help it. If I am visiting a friend, I simply take him with me! I love walking and exploring, however finding reason to go out for a walk is sometimes hard when the couch is calling. My little dog forces me to go out in the rain, sun and (probably) snow, and while sometimes I really don’t want to, I inevitably end up loving it which is very odd seeing as he actually hates the rain and gets steadily more grumpy the more we are out in it.

4. How ANNOYING he can be. Sometimes I just want to sit down and he wants to chase his tail, bark and leap about. Sometimes he doesn’t understand what I am asking. Sometimes he jumps up when he shouldn’t and tries to eat his lead. The frustrations are short lived however and few and far between. I am sure he gets frustrated with me when I want to sit where he is sitting and I want to go home when he doesn’t yet.

5. Everything got a little more comical. The way he lies down is hilarious, he just leans to one side and collapses in a heap! The snorts he makes constantly, the snorts he makes when looking for tasty things. The barks he does at next doors dog (a staffie twice the size that literally couldn’t care less about my idiot dog). How excited he gets when I get up in the morning or come home in the evening, he just wiggles and wiggles and wiggles. How often he falls over. How truly rubbish he is at catching and playing fetch. The list goes on and on but every day he makes me giggle!

6. How utterly rewarding he is. He couldn’t sit, stay, lie down, give paw or leave when I got him. Now he can and impeccably so. His off lead recall is rubbish but other than that he is turning into a model citizen! And you know what? I did that! A little dog that got abandoned, who no one wanted, who was bouncy, unruly and idiotic is learning to calm down and behave, and he is looking happier and more and content every day. I did that. He is mine, I am his. It’s all rather lovely really!

First #Selfie Attempt (And Fail)

Please Squeeze My Dog

So what is Trevor like?

First and foremost, he is simply the happiest dog ever. Google ‘Staffie Smile’ and you will see what I mean. Some people perceive those huge jaw muscles as intimidating and scary, however those that are more used to the way of the Staff will see it as squashy cheeks and a big grin. He needs to be as close to me as possible at all times, even if that means sitting on my feet or leaning against me while I cook dinner. Drop to your knees and put your face at his height and expect his tongue to be in your nostrils and mouth before you can say ‘uunnnffftttt gross!’.

A wonderful testament to the temperament of the Staffie is an experience had on the bus this week (the same day as the rushing to the orchestra debacle). I was stood up near the front of the bus with dog sat next to me when a woman and her small child walked down the centre aisle to get off the bus. The child in question let go of his Mum’s hand, dropped to his knees and grabbed my dog around his neck in a huge bear hug. The atmosphere on the bus immediately tensed along with a few sharp intakes of breath. A tiny child had grabbed a ‘bully breed’ dog around the neck in a confined space, surely this was his time to die? This child would surely be shredded in front of these commuters very eyes???

My dog couldn’t have given less of a crap. His response at being grabbed by a stranger was to lick said strange child’s face all over and nuzzle him under the armpits. Way to go, Trev! The entire bus proceeded to go ‘Awwwww!’ in unison and children then appeared from under seats and laps of parents to join in with the dog squeezing frenzy, which Trevor lapped up and just enjoyed with a big Staffie smile on his face through the whole thing.

The children in the house next door to me always squeal ‘Clever Trevor!’ and run over to him to give him hugs and squeezes and he simply adores them. I have never seen a dog be so placid with children in my life! He can play a bit to boisterously with me, however if a small person comes anywhere near him, he immediately tones down the bounciness and noticeably turns into a caring, soft dog. It’s actually a bit weird!

The only negative side to his persistent happiness it seems is with some other dogs. He can be very bouncy!! He is a teenage boy after all… If he spots a dog anywhere near us when we are out walking, I have a hard job holding onto him as he drags me across roads and fields! He simply wants to play but is a bit obsessed with meeting every dog he sees. I took him to Fonmon Charity Dog Show in the hope of socialising him with loads of dogs and making him chill out a bit to no avail. Any advice on this is welcome! He simply wants to meet them and play and is in no way dog aggressive, just a bit overexcited and boisterous!

Anyway, I digress… The internet it seems is divided into two main camps. Those that think Staffs are dangerous and should be banned, and those who get cross at those who think that. Admittedly, any dog can be dangerous and I would never leave my dog unattended with children, however as cliche as it is, it’s how you bring them up. Though in my case, I didn’t bring my dog up! Maybe we are bucking the trend? At least in my city I can take my chavvy Staffie for a walk and know that everyone who crosses the road to avoid is simply wrong about him and meanwhile, anyone that wants to can squeeze my dog as much as they like because he will be all the happier for each hug and squeeze. It helps that I refuse to put him in a black leather collar with studs and a choke chain. He wears a harness with little stars on it and sometimes a fetching bandana. Sure, he looks camp as hell sometimes, but if it means my little camp dog can change one persons opinion of the breed, it’s worth it!

You Can’t Rush A Dog

It seems that owning a dog is actually just a big long string of life lessons punctuated with farts, dog barf and running through wet fields.

This week I learnt another important lesson, you cannot rush a dog! Whether you need to convince him to go for a wee or need to get his harness on and get out of the door in under 3 minutes so we don’t miss the bus, you CANNOT rush a dog!

It is truly amazing how a dog can sense your mood. I had been in work and knew that I had approximately 2 hours to get home, put dog in harness, get out of the door and onto a bus, go to the vets, go back home, feed the dog, feed myself, get changed and get out of the door for a night at the Orchestra courtesy of the boyfriend. I had spent all afternoon meticulously planning how I was going to do it all and arrive at the Symphony Hall not covered in grass, poo and saliva.

Trevor must have sensed my slightly agitated mood as soon as I entered the house as he immediately started leaping about and snorting in a typical Staffie fashion, which was fine, but when it came to putting his harness on, everyone was so wound up that it had become a huge and slightly stressful game. Getting both feet into harness and doing up a clip should NOT have taken me half an hour. Dog was wiggling and saw this harness as a brilliant chew toy and I was getting more and more frustrated and forgetting my rules about staying calm, this in turn led to me feeling like I was losing my temper and Trevor losing all ability to concentrate and sit still.

If I had simply taken a deep breath and stepped back from the situation, taken a minute to calm the dog down and myself down then no doubt it would have been nowhere near as traumatic.

Needless to say, I wasn’t late to the Orchestra but the boyfriend was. Something about ‘no parking spaces’. Hmph.

The Dog You Need

In case you hadn’t already worked it out, I adopted Trevor. I phoned the Dogs Home every day for a week, pestering them for information and how the adoption process was going. Eventually I got a phone call to say that he was mine and I could go and pick him up.

Now at this point I expected to pick up my new dog, go home, have a lovely play and then a bonding nap. I also expected to immediately fall in love with my new best friend and live happily ever after. This didn’t happen, at least not immediately!

We bundled into the car and drove home, as soon as I opened the door to the house, my newly acquired dog was in EVERYTHING. Some dogs are shy, mine is not. He was haring up and down the stairs, knocking things over and chasing his tail. Panic set in a little bit at this point but my housemate kept reminding me ‘he will settle down soon’, so I took a deep breath and continued with letting him explore my home, and indeed, his new home!

The first ‘problem’ to raise its head was his tail chasing. As a Staff, he is prone to obsessive behaviours and spinning in particular. The tail chasing itself isn’t so bad, it’s the barking that comes with it. Initially it was funny, but then he kept going… and going… and going… and I proceeded to get worried and more worried… and more worried. What had I done?? I now had a little lunatic in my house that didn’t know his own name, didn’t know any commands and was utterly out of control. The only way to stop him from spinning was to physically grab and restrain him. We put the dog in the garden and I went to have a sit down and a think.

In hindsight I think expecting the perfect dog to land in my house on the first night and for us to become instant partners in crime was incredibly naiive of me. If I am honest, within a few hours I thought I had made the biggest mistake of my life. I kept imagining the shame of having to take this little dog back to the Dogs Home and admit that I couldn’t cope. This was so overwhelming that every time he started spinning, I burst into tears! A ridiculous reaction but I was so frightened for both myself and this little dog. My housemate on more than one occasion found me clutching at his collar and holding onto a wall unable to breathe or compose myself. I was SO embarrassed! I couldn’t cope!

My mum has a theory. You don’t get the dog that you want, you get the dog that you need! My mum isn’t a  fan of people, and she ended up with a Labrador that is obsessed with people! Her dog is making her more sociable whether she likes it or not. Now this does have a point… I am an anxious person. I have had panic attacks, I have had a bit of a rubbish time in regards to anxiety, and along has come this little dog that has an anxiety issue himself. He evidently spins when he is excited, scared, anxious or just unsure/overstimulated, the only way to stop his spinning I learnt, was to calm him down and create a calm, anxiety free environment for him. My dog is teaching me to not be anxious.

I am learning from him every day. He teaches me to be patient when he doesn’t understand, he is patient with me when I don’t understand and we are working together. Sometimes he poos inside and he still occasionally chases his tail, but we are both learning not to freak out as much.

What dog?

This is SUCH a personal question that I don’t think I will ever be able to answer on behalf of anyone else, however I can tell you about why I chose to adopt the breed I chose and how I went about choosing the individual dog itself.

Firstly I considered what I knew about dogs. This seems like a remarkably daft question, but if you don’t know much and have always lived with cats, then you’re probably not going to get on with a Mastiff or a high energy Collie. Likewise if you have always lived with dogs, don’t assume that a ‘difficult’ breed is going to be easy to care for because you know it all. I had five rules I wanted to follow while choosing;

1. Kind eyes – a LOT can be said about a dog by the eyes. Does it look you in the eyes and is it attentive?
2. Short hair – I am rubbish at hoovering
3. No ‘slipper’ dogs – you know those small fluffy yappy things? Not a proper dog to me! (No offence intended to those who own small or ‘toy’ dogs)
4. Likewise, no enormous dogs! – I am inherently unstable in both my job and my rented home. Moving a smallish dog would be easier than convincing a new landlord to let me keep my bear of a Newfoundland in a betsit in a city centre…
5. Smart, but not so smart he/she would get bored – Helped here by the fact my Mum trains dogs impeccably and I’d have loads of on hand advice whenever needed.

The final unmentioned rule I had. Adopt not buy. This isn’t a rant about puppy farming or bad breeders. I just knew that I wasn’t fussed on ‘pedigree’ or anything like that, and I didn’t want a puppy (read; didn’t want to housetrain!).

So I wanted a nice dog, not too big or too small that is smart but not easily bored, housetrained and preferably 1 or 2 years old so still ‘mouldable’. Not too much to ask???
Actually no. There is one type of dog that fills all of these criterea (usually) in every rescue centre in the country. Hundreds and thousands of them in fact. The Staffordshire Bull Terrier. With it’s adorable face and bad reputation, it’s well worth forgetting everything you know about this dog and visiting one.

In my (albeit short) experience, Staffs are;
Happy, gentle, full of beans, smart, caring, clumsy, clownish, chatty and loving dogs.

I started in the most obvious place. Online of course! Just google any combination of ‘rescue’, ‘staffie’ and ‘adoption’ and you will find thousands of Staffs needing homes. The problem is that they were at one point a popular ‘status’ dog that looks strong and imposing, led around by young men in particular to help them increase their street-cred (do I sound like a ranting old woman yet?). This popularity of the breed in certain areas combined with lax breeding laws in the UK has prompted a massive surge in the overbreeding of this type of dog, resulting in poorly cared for dogs, strays, untrained dogs and abandoned dogs. They are a headstrong dog that is smart, and will therefore always be a challenge. My guess is that people often expect their dogs to come ‘trained’ and therefore are shocked when they have an unruly lump of a dog on their hands that they cannot control.

The one thing I was not so prepared for was the overwhelming response I had from people regarding the BREED I chose. This was firmly divided into two categories;
1. Thank you for overlooking the tabloid headlines and choosing a Staffie
2. DANGEROUS DOG. IT WILL EAT YOU.

I am going to make a strong statement now. Hold on to your seats, kids…
Not once has my ‘dangerous’ Staffie ever ripped my face off or killed me or any of my neighbours children. He once ripped a hole in my tights and he did a poo downstairs though…

So with a moderate amount of research done and my mind made up on what breed I wanted, I started looking around and discovered Friends of the Dogs, Wales, a charity that operates out of the Cardiff Dogs Home (council run pound). The general system they operate is choose a dog > walk the dog > apply for dog > maybe get chosen for dog. You have to fill out a host of forms and a maximum of three people can apply for any dog, then the best match for the dog is chosen and they get to live happily ever after. It’s a system that is evidently working and ensures that no unsavory characters adopt a dog for the wrong reasons.

After checking their website most weeks for over a year, I made the plunge and took my best friend and boyfriend down to Cardiff Dogs Home promising them we could look at loads of lovely cute dogs. This much was true but we also wanted to take ALL of them home. As we drove in through the gates I saw one little brown and ginger Staff that I had had an eye on walking out of the gates with a family, I assumed he was rehomed, felt a little sad but nevertheless ploughed onwards.

We were guided into a noisy warehouse full of cages, barking and whining. This is NOT a nice environment for a dog, however Cardiff Dogs Home appears to be clean and the dogs that are there are cared for by their staff and volunteers. We walked up and down the alleys of dogs and I picked out a few cage numbers, went to the main desk to ask if I could walk them. One of them had been adopted, one of them had a bad limp and couldn’t go on a walk and the other one was Ben.

Ben is a brindle Staffie with ears that made me think of Dobby from Harry Potter. He barrelled out of the doors and I was warned he pulls on the lead. Not a problem, I thought. I took Ben confidently by the lead and was promptly walked by him up the road and back. Now Ben is a lovely dog, full of energy and a bit of an idiot, however I just didn’t ‘feel it’. I know how ridiculous this sounds but I didn’t feel connected to this dog. He wasn’t mine.

Disheartened I returned to the dogs home and handed him back. I thought while I was there I would ask about their other dogs and ask for a ‘recommendation’ so to speak. Understandably they can’t tell you what a dog is like as they have limited experience, but they mentioned a dog and brought him out. It was the little brown and ginger Staff I thought I saw leaving with a family! His name is Trevor and he was found (twice) as a stray in Cardiff. We didn’t walk very far, but I immediately knew he was mine. Sure, he pulled on the lead and did an enormous poo and even fell over once, but he kept looking at me to check I was there and was ever so gentle when I gave him a treat.

When we got back to the home, I sat on the floor with him and when the time came for him to go inside, he simply would not budge. He had chosen me. Eventually we persuaded him back inside and I filled out an application form. Only one other person had applied for him… So now I had to wait!