HomeSpunHealers

“There is nothing good or bad, but thinking makes it so.”

~ William Shakespeare

When events happen, there really is no good or bad in them; it’s our own interpretation that puts the spin on it. So, yesterday, when Elvis killed my betta fish, I chose to see it for what it was: a pug happening.

My betta fish, Blue Manchu, was one of a succession of such fish. I can’t even tell you how many I’ve had over the past five years, but so many that I stopped naming them, and each subsequent fish became a replacement for the previous, more of a decoration than a pet. I guess I could say that besides feeding him, cleaning his environment, and saying good morning to him each morning and good night each night before I turned the lights out, I didn’t have much to do with him. I was attached to my second betta fish. He came when I called him, and he had a lot of personality, sashaying around the fish bowl, and building endless bubble nests in the hopes that a female fish would one day appear. I used to talk to him a lot and watch him swim, so when I found him floating upside down in the fish bowl, I actually grieved for him a little. But this most recent fish, and come to think of it, he was the one I’d probably had the longest, held no emotional ties for me. Still, I hated that he had such a tumultuous death.

When I came home from work yesterday, I petted Elvis and Kojak and spent a few minutes with them before I headed to the computer to check my email. They followed me, right on my heels, as usual. They were content to sit and watch me for a few minutes, but then Kojak curled up on his bed by the computer to nap and Elvis went exploring. Sometimes Elvis is akin to my boys when they were much younger, who would decide to drink bleach or carve something with the butcher knife every time I got into a conversation on the phone. They would do things they would never have considered doing when I was with them, watching them. But just let me take a few minutes of rest for a conversation with a friend, and all heck would break loose. Elvis is like that when I’m on the computer for any length of time. I think it’s mostly to get my attention.

So, yesterday as I typed and Kojak napped, Elvis found a ballpoint pen to munch on. When I replaced that with his chewbone, he was only content for a few seconds, and he decided to explore the coffee table in the den. Now, I can see into the den from where I sit at the computer. I saw him get the ballpoint pen from the end table, so it was easy enough to get that from him before any real damage was done to pen or pug. I can see the end of the coffee table, but not the full table. First, I saw him dig the remote control off onto the floor, and I said in my warning voice, “Elvis.” He looked at me for a second and turned back to the table. I heard a spoon clank in a bowl and remembered that Jim had left his ice cream bowl and spoon on the table the night before. Again, in my warning voice, “Elvis.” He didn’t turn around this time, and I heard the bowl thud to the carpeted floor. I figured he’d spend a few minutes licking the empty bowl, so I continued to type, but I didn’t hear any licking noises, just a pawing noise, and only the curled tail of Elvis in sight. He was on his hind legs, which gave him both front paws to explore with, and I decided that he couldn’t really get anything that he could hurt or that could hurt him. Then I remembered the fish.

Blue Manchu’s fish bowl sat in the center of the coffee table on a woven cloth table covering. That fish bowl had sat there for five years, and Kojak never acknowledged that he was even aware there was a fish there at all. Nothing gets by Elvis, though, and the first few days he was with us, he had spotted that fish and leapt onto the coffee table with him, staring pug eye to fish eye. Blue Manchu flared up, and I jumped up and grabbed the fish bowl and yelled, “Elvis! No!” Elvis just looked at me with that pug look and cocked his head to one side. Pugs are so adorable even when they’re being bad. After that first time, he had not bothered the fish again. My first instinct was to move the fish to another location, and if I had only acted on that first instinct, Blue Manchu would be swimming in his bowl in the gated community of the living room where no pugs are allowed. But I don’t always act on my first instinct, though I probably should.

By the time I remembered the fish and rushed to the den, shouting now, “Elvis! No!” he had the corner of the mat in his mouth and was attempting the tablecloth magic trick that I have seen on TV so many times. I should have been able to get there and prevent the accident. I was only three feet away, but as in dreams, everything seemed to start happening in slow motion. I reached out my hands and Elvis pulled the mat, and the fish bowl went over the side of the coffee table, not with a thud as the ice cream bowl had done, but with an explosion! Shattered glass and colored marbles and plastic fish plant and water were scattered on the carpet, but I didn’t see Blue Manchu anywhere. I was on my knees carefully flipping through the debris when I finally saw him lying motionless, but I picked him up by his tail, causing him to flinch and jiggle a little, and I was hopeful as I rushed him to the kitchen and into a glass with some of his bottled spring water over the top of him. He jolted straight to the top of the water. I thought I had saved his life, but I had to rush back to the den to get the glass up before pugs were harmed because pugs will try to eat anything, especially fishy smelling marbles. The pugs had both already tromped through the dangerous mess on my heels on the way into the kitchen, and I warned them back as I began to pick up the largest pieces of the fish bowl and deposit them into the garbage can that I had hauled in from the kitchen. Kojak was standing well back from me and the glass shards, but Elvis was zeroing in on the plastic fish plant, so I barricaded myself from them with Kojak’s little ramp that he uses to get into his favorite chair in the den. That would hold Kojak back permanently, but it did not dissuade Elvis, so I found myself just talking calmy and gently to him, “Elvis, stay back, Baby. This is dangerous. This could hurt you.” And Elvis moved backand stayed clear while he watched me working. I only managed two small cuts on my fingers before I got all except the tiniest pieces of glass into the trash. Then I got the vacuum and got the rest up as well as humanly possible. I searched for any glint of anything that could harm my babies, and satisfied that they couldn’t be further endangered, I examined eight pug paws to make sure they hadn’t been cut. Fortunately, they had successfully avoided any injury.

Back to the kitchen we went to check on Blue Manchu, and we found him lying motionless on the bottom of the glass of water. I could see that one of his fins was almost completely severed, and he had obviously sustained as much damage as the fish bowl. I just quietly and unceremoniously gave him his burial at sea via the commode in the bathroom off the kitchen. Pugs were present, too, paying their final respects, except that they had no idea what I was pouring into the commode and flushing away. All events are equally interesting to a pug because there might be food involved, especially when events happen in or near the kitchen.

All in all, except for the turbulent death of Blue Manchu, no major harm was done. Things could always be worse than what they are, and I was just grateful that I wasn’t making a trip to the vet with pug cuts or ingested shards of glass or marbles. Jim probably put the best spin of all on the event when I informed him that I would need him to help me move the heavy oak coffee table today for another event that will transpire in the den. He just said, “Well, it’ll be easier to move now.”

The sound of a swollen
Mountain stream rapidly rushing
Makes one know
How very quickly life itself
Is pressed along its course.

~Saigyo (1118-1190)

When Elvis came to us, we realized that he was troubled.  Outward appearances are often a clue about things out of kilter within.  Elvis’ fur was a mess.  He was clean; that was not the problem.  He just had too much fur, too thick, making him look akin to a Siberian Husky who is having a bad hair day.  And his coat felt course, not soft and smooth like Kojak’s.  He had tufts of fur sticking out in odd places all over that we soon realized would pull right off when he was stroked.  His transporter said she had been working on him, trying to get some of those tufts off.  I have heard that stress can make a person’s hair fall out, so why not a pug’s?  We also noticed he had a bare spot on one of his ears as is something had hurt him there,  and he had a scab on his nose, evidence of another injury.  I don’t know what caused all of this on Elvis; we couldn’t ask him.  So, we just accepted that this is how he was.

We knew he had some issues:  he had growled at his foster mom a couple of times when she tried to pick him up to take him outside, and he couldn’t be fed with his foster brothers and sisters because he had food aggression.  Everyone had been upfront with us about these things, giving us every opportunity to back out of the adoption if we wanted to.  We still wanted him, so we figured that these were things that could be overcome with time and patience and trust.

In the second week that we had him, he bit our daughter on the arm when she tried to block him from getting a cookie that she dropped on the floor by accident.  It wasn’t a horrible bite, but he broke the skin and left his impression on her.  He also spent a long time later licking the wound that he had made on her; she forgave him totally.  Then a couple of weeks later, he bit the vet assistant when he went for grooming.  This time he bit at her face, and although not a bad wound, it hurt and bled a lot as facial wounds do.  Our little Kojak had never even growled at anyone before, much less bitten anyone, and we couldn’t understand Elvis’ behavior.  But each bite was related to his issues, the one at the vet because the girl was putting his harness on, and he didn’t want to put it on.  Kojak loves to put his harness on because it means he’s getting to go home with us again.  What could putting the harness on possibly mean to Elvis?  Again, we didn’t know; we just knew that was the way he was.

The second month he was with us, one cold February morning, he had a meltdown while my husband was trying to put his harness on to take him out to walk before he left to go to school.  We tried to leave the harness on Elvis as much as possible because he really didn’t like to put it on, and we didn’t like to put it on him, either.  But this particular morning, he didn’t have it on, and it had to be put on.  Jim was running late and was a little brusque with Elvis when he wasn’t cooperating, and I, trying to help, yelled at Elvis, “No!” as he was growling at Jim.  Things escalated rather quickly, in just a matter of seconds, and Jim was holding his mouth and screaming, “He bit me! Help!  He bit me!”  Blood was pouring between his fingers as he held his hand over his mouth until I could get a wet wash cloth.  The blood continued to pour, dark red puddles forming on the rug in the hallway where JIm was sitting, the front of his shirt and tie soaked in maroon.  I told Jim that he needed to go to the hospital, and so as quickly as I could get dressed, I drove him to the emergency room.  Elvis and Kojak didn’t get to go out that morning, but I did feed them before we left, knowing how long things usually take at the hospital.

On the way there, Jim, still soaking another washcloth with blood, said, “He’s got to go.  This is it.  He can’t stay here anymore.”  I just said, “I know.  I’ll take care of it.”  And I tried to.  I contacted the pug rescue and told them what had happened and explained that we couldn’t keep Elvis any longer.  They understood and apologized over and over.  It wasn’t their fault.  It wasn’t our fault.  It wasn’t Elvis’ fault.  It just was a bad situation.  They said they’d work on it and call me back.  In the meantime, we got Jim 15 stitches and some pain pills and a course of antibiotics.  It took all morning to accomplish all this.  Jim was in a lot of pain and in shock.  I was concerned first and foremost about him.  I sat with him and held his hand while the doctor first cleaned the nasty wound and then stitched and stitched.  But I could not stop thinking about Elvis and having to let him go.  We hadn’t had him long, but we both loved him.  Jim admitted that he was depressed on many levels about the situation, but he had to go.  That was it.  I began to cry.  But what else could we do?  Elvis was dangerous.

That day seemed much longer than it actually was.  Jim’s bottom lip was horrible and he had trouble drinking and eating and talking.  Elvis acted as if nothing had happened.  He met us at the back door with his usual gusto, his tail wagging fiercely, just as fiercely as the bite he had delivered earlier that morning.  He tried to get next to Jim to comfort him, but Jim was rightly scared of Elvis and couldn’t let him up on the couch.  All I could do was nurse Jim and pet Elvis and cry.  In the afternoon, I got a call from the pug rescue, telling me that they were having trouble getting someone to take Elvis.  They asked if we could possibly keep him until the weekend when someone could drive some distance to pick him up.  Of course we could.  Elvis was his sweet self.  It didn’t even make sense that this loving dog was the same one who had so viciously attacked Jim.  But we weren’t sure when he might attack again.  I knew we had to get the harness on him to take him outside, and I knew I had to get it on him right away when the Animal Control officer called and said the hospital had reported the bite, and she was coming over to investigate.  As afraid as Jim was, he helped me distract Elvis with treats while I put the harness on him.  He growled a little, but allowed me to do it.  I had horrible visions of the animal control officer taking him away from us, and I was relieved to find out that she had no problem with him staying with us as long as we agreed to keep him on our property and let no one come in and be around him but us for ten full days.  Elvis was on house arrest!

Still later in the afternoon, we heard from the pug rescue again, assuring us that they were working on a plan to come get him.  They were most concerned that we get him on some kind of medication first, though.  So, I called my vet and told him what the situation was and how Elvis was quarantined, and he called in a prescription for amitryptoline for him.  He said he used it with dogs who were obsessive-compulsive with good results, and he thought it would work fine for Elvis to take the edge off and maybe be more relaxed, so he wouldn’t be aggressive when he was transported.  He told me that it would take a few days for it to take effect, but it should have some effect by the weekend when the transport was to take place.  He was concerned about how I was going to get Elvis to take the pill, and so was I, but I found out that Elvis took it really easily in a small piece of cheese.

Jim and I went back to work the next day with him still in pain and looking as if he’d been in a prize fight and me an emotional wreck.  Every time I tried to say Elvis’ name, I choked up and cried.  I did not want to have to give him back, but Jim, even though he had started to pet Elvis again, was still terrified of him, and I could see how uneasy he was around him.  We both got through the day and returned home to each other and our pugs.  Jim was exhausted and went to bed before I did.  We had heard nothing from the pug rescue since the late afternoon before, but when I checked my email before heading to bed, there was a message for me about Elvis.  The bottom line was the rescue could not find a foster home willing to take him.  They admitted finally that they could not adopt him out again, knowing that he was a biter, and if they could not eventually find a foster home that would not just take him, but agree to foster him permanently, they were going to have to pick him up from us and have him euthanized.  There it was.  I calmly got up and went in to talk with Jim.  As bravely as I could, I told him about the email.  I didn’t say anything else.  I just waited, and JIm quickly replied, “Then we’ll keep him and hope that the meds work for him.”  I asked if he was sure, and he said he was.  I felt so much relief, and I knew that the meds would just have to work.  That’s all that there was to it.  They just would have to.

Three months have passed and Elvis has mellowed out a lot.  We still leave the harness on him as much as we can.  And when it has to come off and be put back on, I do it.  Except for the time that Jim had to do it at the vet when he went to pick him up after his grooming, and the vet assistant refused to do it.  Jim was so brave that day, and Elvis was so cooperative.  Jim has mostly lost his fear of Elvis, even putting his face down against Elvis’ when he pets him, but sometimes, when Elvis does not want to let Jim hook the leash to the harness, so he flips over on his back so he can’t reach the hook, Jim will just hand me the leash, and I’ll hook it.  I’m not sure why Elvis does that.  I don’t think he’s afraid of Jim, not as he was that almost fatal day when he nearly took Jim’s lower lip off; he’s just a little hesitant or he’s teasing him if pugs can tease.  And Elvis has bitten one more time, a little nip on the chin of an overzealous teenage girl, who temporarily forgot that we are careful about trying to pick Elvis up.  But for the most part and nearly all of the time, you’d never know that we’d ever had any problem at all with Elvis.  The medication does take the compulsive edge off him without ruining his wonderfully exuberant personality.  And his fur is sleek and soft and such a pleasure to stroke.  His outside matches his much calmer inside.

There is a Zen saying that sums up this whole situation:  “Life is weaker than death, and death is weaker than love.”  It took unabashed love for Elvis to survive this incident.  He was a goner.  Almost.  But Jim had enough love for Elvis and especially for me that he was willing to pardon Elvis and give him another chance.  Jim has a scar on his lower lip.  It’s not as noticeable as it once was, though, and no one notices it except those who know to look for it.  He has some of the feeling back in it, and hopefully with time and full healing, he will have full sensation back.  With more time, the scar will be less and less noticeable.  And one day, Jim’s lip will match his loving, caring, calmer heart.

When facing a single tree, if you look at a single one of its red leaves, you will not see all the others. When the eye is not set on one leaf, and you face the tree with nothing at all in mind, any number of leaves are visible to the eye without limit. But if a single leaf holds the eye, it will be as if the remaining leaves were not there.  ~Takuan Soto

Elvis and Kojak have an everchanging and growing relationship.  They are really becoming like buddies, which is what I hoped would happen when we decided to adopt another pug.  Their rapport did not happen right away, and it is not complete, I hope.  They could still improve.

When Elvis first came to live with us, Kojak acted as if he had lost his last friend on earth.  We have pictures of him with Elvis, and he is either as far away from Elvis as possible, or he’s nearby, but not happy about Elvis’ presence, his head hanging low.  The pictures are funny now, but I was really worried about Kojak at first.  He was terrified of Elvis and ran every time Elvis galloped by.  Elvis caused part of the fright because he asserted himself as the alpha dog in that pack.  And Kojak just let him.  Part of the fear came from Kojak being mostly deaf.  He couldn’t always hear the little tingling of Elvis’ harness the way I can, and sometimes Elvis would just be right by him without any notification.  Being constantly startled in that way would make anyone terrified.

Kojak and Elvis are bonding in spite of their distinct personalities.  Although they are both pugs through and through, thus sharing a love of food and naps, Kojak is more laid back than Elvis most of the time.  Kojak is sweet.  That’s what everyone says when they first meet him.  He looks up at people with huge brown pools of eyes and can change his expression from innocent Bambi to wise old Yoda.  He has a petite face with delicate features, particularly with his steadily graying mask.  Elvis, on the other hand, is big and boisterous in his manner and about twice the size of Kojak.  While he is beginning to gray, he still has that youthful athleticism about him.  He bounds from place to place and barks with a startling vigor.  Kojak hardly ever barks unless he’s begging (yes, I have taught him to beg by giving him food from the table, and my mother taught him to “speak” for human food; thanks, Mother) or when he wants Jim to lie down on the sofa, so he can lie down on his belly and nap.  He also will bark when he wants help getting up his ramp to his chair.  Kojak’s little yipping bark can be just as annoying as Elvis’ “big dog” bark can scare the daylights out of me when I’m not expecting it.   Elvis, conversely, is very still and quiet when he wants human food.  He sits there with his eyes trained on us to see if we make any move to hand something down to him.  He seems to ignore Kojak’s incessant yipping and just bides his time because he knows if one pug gets a morsel, the other pug gets one, too.  And Elvis doesn’t have to yelp to get up on the sofa or chair or bed with us.  Elvis just leaps and whumps into us with quite an impact.

Having pugs of different personality makes me appreciate each of them even more.  I’m always noticing something else special about Kojak or Elvis, and I compliment them on their attributes.  Sometimes they’re so much alike in their intent, they get the universal comment from me and from Jim, “You are such a pug!”  For example, when I finish getting dressed for work in the morning, they quickly line up for our processional to the kitchen to get their food.  If I’m not moving fast enough or if I take a detour, Kojak circles me to herd me along, and Elvis bumps his nose against the backs of my legs to hurry me.  Pugs must have some kind of herding instinct in their lineage because they’re very good at rounding up humans.

This very processional to the kitchen shows how far Elvis and Kojak have come along in their relationship.  At first, Elvis led the way every time.  After a day or two, though, he let me go first and then he followed, and little Kojak trailed along at the rear.  Now, Elvis will often let Kojak go ahead of him in the line as if he’s being courteous and letting the elder pug go first.  Kojak will be so excited to take the lead, that he sometimes forgets and runs ahead of me into the kitchen.  If he does that, Elvis is bumping me along with his nose to make sure we get there as quickly as we can.  Another instance of Elvis and Kojak getting along better is when Elvis will let Kojak go first when I’m indulging them with bits of table food.  Elvis used to run towards the food and knock Kojak right out of the way.  Now, he starts to lunge, but will hold himself back if he sees my hand moving toward Kojak.  I guess he just trusts me enough now to know that he’s next and his portion will be equal.  This just thrills me to watch them interact with each other.

One thing we had a little problem with, though, was Elvis’ reaction to Kojak’s diaper.  Kojak only started wearing the diaper in the past couple of months.  It’s actually a belly band that holds a pad to absorb urine that leaks from Kojak.  At first, Kojak only leaked a little when he got excited while his bladder was full, such as when I first got home from work before he could be taken outside.  Those dribbles were easy enough to clean up on the kitchen floor, but then I began to notice that his blanket he sleeps on during the day was wet when I got home.  So, when he slept, he would urinate without even realizing it.  The same thing began to happen during the night when he was in bed with us.  So, that’s why we got the diaper.

Elvis really showed no interest in the belly band on Kojak until it got wet enough that he could smell it.  Dogs love stinky smells.  I don’t know why; I just know they do.  And they’re particularly attuned to the smell of another dog’s urine.  Even after Kojak’s pad was changed, he could still smell the urine and became obsessed with Kojak’s diaper.  Every time I looked, Elvis would be sniffing Kojak mercilessly.  And Kojak would try to run away, but Elvis is faster, and he would track him down and sniff and sniff.  He even tried to hold Kojak down with his paw so he could sniff better.  Of course, I scolded Elvis for doing that.  I thought, sooner or later, he would just get tired of it or used to it and leave poor little Kojak alone as he finally had with the persistent butt sniffing when he first came to live with us.  But Elvis wasn’t giving up on that diaper, and one day I heard Elvis shaking something and looked to see him with Kojak’s diaper in his mouth, shaking it as if to kill it!  Kojak was just standing there in awe watching him.  I had to wrestle the diaper away from Elvis and put it back on Kojak.  He had obviously gotten it in his mouth and jerked it loose from Kojak’s body.  This whole situation was irritating to me and to Kojak.  Fortunately, since I learned to sprinkle baby powder on the pad before putting it in the belly band and on Kojak, Kojak’s fur doesn’t absorb the odor as much, and Elvis isn’t as fascinated by the smell.   But the other morning when we were in the kitchen, I turned around and saw Elvis licking the backs of Kojak’s rear legs.  I assume he was trying to clean him up.  And Kojak wasn’t running or looking upset in the least.  I told Elvis to stop it, and he did, but both the pugs looked at me as if to say, “What’s your problem?  I was just trying to help a guy out.”

I’m glad we got the diaper situation under control because Kojak is obviously going to have to wear it the rest of his days.  Elvis is probably much happier too because he doesn’t have to constantly track that diaper and try to kill it.  And settling the diaper issue has allowed Kojak and Elvis to get even closer.  After all, if you’ve been licked by someone, who wouldn’t be closer?  As Elvis becomes more attuned to Kojak and Kojak to him, Kojak isn’t frightened of him anymore.  He still maintains a healthy distance if Elvis breezes by him, so he doesn’t get knocked over.  And just this morning when I gave Elvis a chewbone, Kojak went right over to him as he lay chewing on the kitchen rug and sniffed the bone in his mouth.  Kojak doesn’t like chewbones, but he wanted to make sure it wasn’t something that he might be interested in.  Elvis didn’t even growl as he once would have;  he just spun around to the reverse side where Kojak couldn’t get the bone.  Brave Kojak.  Patient Elvis.  They are such pugs!

If you would like to help support a fundraiser for the Mid-Atlantic Pug Rescue, the organization from which we adopted Elvis, please follow this link and shop for wonderfully scented candles.  We hope the purchase of these candles will bring good karma to your home and to this worthy organization.

http://www.theuncommongarden.com/Pugs.htm

Do away with your old habits and start fresh.
Wash away your old opinions,
And new ideas come in.

~ Xue Xuan (1389-1464)

Everyone has baggage of some kind. It’s hard to go through this world and not pick up some kind of issues involving previous situations. I have my own, and so does my husband. We have been married for only six years, each of us coming from a previous marriage, so in a way, we’re still getting to know each other and finding out about issues that we didn’t previously know about. The good news about baggage is that we don’t have to constantly carry it around with us. We can check it and go back and go through it occasionally when we want to or leave it and never return to it. At least that’s possible for humans. I’m not so sure about animals. Sometimes humans need a lot of therapy before we can get rid of the baggage. At the very least, we can talk to each other and work it out together. Animals don’t speak in our way. Animals speak naturally through their actions and emotions. Body language is important in all communication, but particularly in communicating with animals. And it’s important to know how to read an animal and how an animal is reading us.

We were warned about a couple of Elvis’ issues before we agreed to adopt him. We knew he had food issues. In his foster home, there were six other dogs, and they quickly learned that Elvis not only does not like to share food, but also he likes to eat others’ food, and he is not shy about taking it away from the meeker ones who will let him. Kojak the Meek will let Elvis take his food with no fight at all, but then he looks pitifully at me as if to say, “Did you see what he did? Aren’t you going to do anything about this?” In the foster home, his foster mom just put his dish into a large, open crate, and Elvis followed the dish right in, hungrily gulped his food down, and then waited to be let out again after all the other dogs had eaten. I don’t have a large crate like that, but I was prepared to shut Elvis away from Kojak if I couldn’t work out another solution. At first, I was appalled and a little frightened by the gusto with which Elvis ate his dry food. He ate it so fast and furiously that he sounded as if he was choking on it. I was used to Kojak, who could be a little finicky at times, nibbling at his food, leaving some to come back to later. All that changed when Elvis arrived. Kojak has learned to get really busy eating his dish of Caesar wet food after Elvis’ dish has been set down. If I set Kojak’s dish down first, Elvis makes a beeline for it, and can have it scarfed down in a few seconds. So, Elvis gets his dish first, and then Kojak gets his dish on the opposite side of the kitchen table next. At first, Elvis would eat his food much faster than Kojak could eat his, so when he finished, he headed straight for Kojak’s dish, knocking Kojak out of the way and finishing his food, too. Elvis is on a different, prescription food that prevents kidney and bladder stones from forming since he had to have surgery in the past to remove those stones, and when I asked the vet about the speed with which Elvis plowed through his food, he told me to just add some water to it, and that would slow him down some. It was a perfect solution. Kojak learned to eat a little faster and lose the finicky routine, and Elvis slowed down enough to let Kojak finish first, so I don’t have to separate them when I feed them. I just have to respect Elvis’ issues and all goes well. And we have a standing rule: if any food falls on the floor, and Elvis goes after it, let him have it. Our daughter learned when she tried to block Elvis with her outstretched arm from a cookie she dropped on her bedroom floor that Elvis will bite the arm that blocks him.

Another of Elvis’ issues that we were warned about before the adoption is that for some reason, Elvis does not always like to be lifted up. His foster mom told me that twice when she had tried to pick him up to take him outside, he growled at her and tried to nip at her hands. Elvis is perfectly healthy and strong, and since he can jump up on everything he needs to jump up on, and we take him out on a leash hooked to a harness that he always wears, we didn’t really have to lift Elvis for any reason. We are used to lifting Kojak up on the bed at night to sleep with us, and we’re used to lifting him up onto the couch if one of us is sitting there, and he wants to sit with us. He has a little carpeted ramp that he can still run up to get to “his” chair where he often sleeps during the day when there is no one home to lift him. But sometimes when he gets tired, his hind legs aren’t strong enough to support him, so I will lift him into his chair or carry him to the bedroom at night when we go to bed. I thought I’d try to lift Elvis the first week he was with us just to see if he’d growl or nip at me. He didn’t nip, but he did growl. I tried it one other time and got the same result, so I quit trying. The first time we took him to the vet, though, for his grooming, I knew I better warn them about this issue. As it turned out, he didn’t even growl at them when they lifted him in and out of the tub, but he did growl when they held him to trim his nails. There is something about having arms wrapped around his midsection in a holding position that he just doesn’t like. I don’t think it hurts him, but it seems to scare him. A growl is a warning. If a dog growls, back away.

Another major issue that we discovered about Elvis is probably related to the arms around the middle fear. The first time we met Elvis, he growled when Jim put on his harness. Since pugs have no neck to speak of, a collar doesn’t work all that well to walk them on a leash. It can choke them, and if they back away from you while you’re holding the leash, the collar can come right off, and you’re left with a free-roaming pug. Kojak has a red harness and leash, and we got Elvis a purple one. He didn’t mind when Jim put the harness over his head, or when Jim got his leg through one side, but he growled and nipped at Jim’s hands when he reached around him to secure the harness. Jim just let him growl and nip, and since he wasn’t biting hard, he talked to him to calm him down and proceeded to fasten it. We thought it might only be because he didn’t know us well yet, but after having him growl at us each time we put the harness on him, we decided to simply leave the harness on him all the time. He didn’t mind wearing the harness; it was only putting it on him that seemed to upset him. The first time Elvis went to the vet, he didn’t growl when they lifted him, but he did when they held him to trim his nails, and then when the vet assistant tried to put the harness back on him, he growled first and then he bit her right on the nose. It really hurt her, and there was a lot of blood as there always is with a facial wound, but he barely left marks on either side of the bridge of her nose. We found out because of that incident that not only does Elvis not like having anyone’s arms around his middle, but he also especially doesn’t like anyone leaning over him and doing that to him. There is a rather graphic story to be told about Jim and Elvis’ harness, but I will save that for another time. Just let it suffice to say that we are very cautious when we put Elvis’ harness on. When I have to do it, I get him sitting beside me where I am on his level and do it from the side. He doesn’t mind that. It doesn’t seem to scare him.

I have no clue about why Elvis has food issues and issues about being lifted or held firmly around the middle. I think the harness being put on is related to the issue concerning his middle, but I can’t even be sure of that. I have a theory, though, but I don’t know how we can ever prove it. Here is my theory: I believe that Elvis was abused in his first home, the one he lived in for six and a half years. I don’t think he was beaten or hit because Elvis never flinches or backs away when a hand is extended toward him, and he relishes being petted and scratched and having his belly rubbed. Usually if a dog has been hit a lot, he will shy away from a human hand. And I don’t think he was neglected medically or starved because he came to us so very healthy, and he had that surgery, too, so they were very willing to get him adequate health care. He definitely got plenty to eat, so I don’t know where the food issues come from. I do know that the reason he was surrendered was he was kept locked in a much too small crate a good portion of the time, and his family no longer had any time for him. His owner admitted that she felt it was cruel to him to do that, and she was convinced that finding another home for him was best. Crating a pug for long amounts of time where he has no human contact is unthinkable. Pugs are bred to be companions to humans. That is what they are all about. So, I guess there was that kind of neglect. I also know that he does not like that crate, so he was probably forced to go in there. Maybe someone lifted him by a harness and roughly put him in there. Maybe he associates being forced into the crate with pain of some kind, and maybe that association carries over to being lifted around the middle and having the harness secured on him. It makes a certain amount of sense to me when I have nothing to go on. I can’t ask his former owner, and I can’t ask Elvis. Well, I can ask him and I have asked him, but all I get is a trusting look and a wagging tail. My theory is just conjecture on my part. But I know something awful happened to Elvis. That is obvious. Pugs don’t have it in their nature to fear things that aren’t harmful to them. And when we want to pick him up or put on his harness or hold him securely in place, we only have his best interests at heart and the outcomes are always good for him. So, I guess this fear he has is actually a phobia. I think we’ve probably discovered all of Elvis’ issues by now after four months of intimate contact and communication with him. But just in case we haven’t, we treat him with a little bit of extra precaution, and we watch carefully how he responds to us. If he growls, or worse, bites, indicating that he fears something, we don’t try that again. We respect his issues and know that he’s not ready to check that baggage yet. Maybe he never will be. But perhaps as he gets further away from whatever caused the issues to begin with, he may be less afraid. Until then, we help him carry the baggage because we choose to.