A Disease Called Trust
There is a deadly disease stalking your dog, a hideous, stealthy
thing just waiting its chance to steal your beloved friend. It is
not a new disease, or one for which there is an inocculation. The
disease is called "Trust." You knew before you ever took
your puppy home that it could not be trusted. The breeder who provided
you with this precious animal warned you, drummed it into your head.
Puppies steal off counters, destroy anything expensive chase cats,
take forever to house train, and must never be allowed off lead!!!
When the big day finally arrived, heeding the sage advice of the
breeder, you escorted your puppy to his new home, properly collared
and tagged, the lead held tightly in your hand. At home, the house
was "puppy proofed." Everything of value was stored in
the spare bedroom, garbage stored on top of the refrigerator. Cats
separated, and a gate placed across the living room to keep at least
one part of the house "puddle free." All the windows and
doors had been properly secured, and signs placed in all strategic
points reminding all to "Close the door!"
Soon it becomes second nature to make sure the door closes nine
tenths of a second after it was opened and that it is really latched.
"Don't let the dog out" is your second most verbalized
expression. (The first is "NO!") You worry and fuss constantly,
terrified that your darling will get out and disaster will surely
follow. Your friends comment about who you love most, your family
or the dog. You know that to relax your vigil for a moment might
lose him to you forever.
And so the weeks and months pass, with your puppy becoming more
civilized every day, and the seeds of trust are planted. It seems
that each new day brings less destruction, less breakage. Almost
before you know it, your gangly, slurpy puppy has turned into an
elegant, dignified friend. Now that he is a more reliable, sedate
companion, you take him more places. No longer does he chew the
steering wheel when left in the car. And darn it if that cake wasn't
still on the counter this morning. And, oh yes, wasn't that the
cat he was sleeping with so cozily on your pillow last night? At
this point you are beginning to become infected, the disease is
spreading its roots deep into your mind.
And then one of your friends suggests obedience classes and after
a time, you even let him run loose from the car into the house when
you get home. Why not, he always runs straight to the door, dancing
a frenzy of joy and waits to be let in. And, remember he comes ever
time he is called. You know he is the exception that disproves the
rule.
(And sometimes late at night, you even let him slip out the front
door to go potty and then right back in).
Years pass. It's hard to remember why you ever worried so much
when he was a puppy. He would never think of running out the door
left open while you bring in the packages from the car. It would
be beneath his dignity to jump out the window of the car while you
run into the convenience store. And when you take him for those
wonderful, long walks at dawn, it only takes one whistle to send
him racing back to you in a burst of speed when the walk becomes
too close to the highway. He still gets in the garbage, but nobody
is perfect
This is the time the disease has waited for so patiently. Sometimes
it only has to wait a year or two, but often it takes much longer.
He spies the neighborhood dog across the street and suddenly forgets
everything he ever knew about not slipping outdoors, jumping out
windows or coming when called due to traffic. Perhaps it was only
a paper fluttering in the breeze, oe even just the sheer joy of
running...Stopped in an instant. Stilled forever, your heart is
broken at the sight of his still body.
The disease is trust. The final outcome—hit by a car.
Every morning my dog Shah bounced around off lead exploring.
Every morning for seven years he came back when he was called. He
was perfectly obedient, perfectly trustworthy. He died fourteen
hours after being hit by a car. Please do not risk your friend and
heart. Save the trust for things that do not matter.
© 1988 By Sharon Mathers
Courtesy of Canine Concepts and
Community Animal Control Magazine
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