Operation Prozac

Banjo loved our kitten, Poncho

So you have heard me talk about my old dog, Buddy, and our new one, Dolly. We also have a five 1/2 year old farm dog, Banjo. Banjo's mother, Cookie, was a cute sweet little black thing who lived on my grandpa's farm. I loved that dog! She had everything you could want in an animal, sweet disposition, loving eyes, around 25 pounds (the perfect weight).

I had tried numerous times to get my grandpa to give her to me. He had two other dogs that were good with the horses he raised. Admittedly, Cookie wasn't much good with them, too friendly. Every time we were out there I'd say "When you gonna let me take that dog home?" or, "If you ever get tired of that little black one you just let me know." Undoubtedly he would come back with some cowboy type comment that pretty much meant, no. Finally one day I just flat out asked.. "What do you want for that dog? I'll buy her from you." Now, I thought for sure this would work because after all, she didn't preform like a farm dog so I could not understand why a man who saw animals as only a useful tool wouldn't take the offer.

When he said no I realized that deep down he didn't want to give her up because in his own, "old cowboy way," he loved her. Oh, he gave me some speel about her not being happy with city life and a once a farm dog always a farm dog, but I think the truth was he'd come to enjoy her. And who wouldn't?

So, I put my Cookie dreams away. I had Buddy, the love of my life. Buddy fulfilled all my dog needs. He was lovey, smart, even a bit wily, but he was also 12, and starting to slow. I absolutely refused to acknowledge it back then. We went on as if his vision was not fading and his hips weren't weakening.

Then I got a call from someone. It was either my cousin or my brother, but who ever it was said that Cookie had had another batch of puppies. This was her second time around as mommy and we do not know what happen to the first batch, we don't want to know what happened. Whatever it was, the pups never made it past the first week.

I called grandpa:

"I hear you got some new pups."

"Yep"

"Out of Cookie"

"yep"

"Are they...are you, um, will they still... are you keeping them?"

"The damn dog dug an 8ft tunnel under the house, I can't get to them. Yes, she's keeping 'em."

Well I immediately put in my dibs on one of them. I wasn't sure yet how I was going to talk Charlie into it. He was a huge fan of one dog only. In fact, the only dog he would have considered besides Buddy would be Cookie, and only because she was calm and well behaved. A puppy was not going to be an easy sell, especially since besides Buddy we also had a chicken, rabbit and 2 cats. We also may have had a duck or two at the time, I can't recall exactly when they came around. So we were already just this side of white trash. Another dog would put us over the line.

I was correct, Charlie said no, with a bit more cursing on it. I worked on him for a couple of days. By day 3 I was pretty sure I had him. He was willing to make the 1hr drive out to the farm to see them.

There wasn't much to see. We wriggled our way about 3 feet down the tunnel and with a flash light saw a pile of squirming whimpering little bellies. Their eyes were closed and you could not tell where one stared and another began, but you could tell they were mostly white. I was excited, because I'd never had a white dog. Black has somehow always been my color.

Two weeks later Grandpa called to say the dogs had emerged at 4 weeks of age. We went for another visit and to chose the one we wanted. There wound up being 9 of them. All boys, all white with black spots, except one. One was a girl, and was black with tan markings on the legs and chest. She looked like a baby rottweiler.

We played with the pups all afternoon. They were all so sweet and friendly, like their mother. It was impossible not to fall in love with them. As cute as the white males were, that little black pup looked so much like my beloved Cookie, and had these deep whiskey eyes. Charlie and the kids liked her best too. We named her Banjo, and told grandpa we wanted to take her home when she was weened.

"K" he said. "If she's still here." I asked what he meant by that, and he explained that a farm was a dangerous place for a puppy. At least a few out of every litter get stepped on by a horse, or run over by a tractor, killed by another dog around. The list of tragic endings went on and on. Charlie and I looked at each other and we both went a bit pale. Grandpa assured us that there would be some pups to survive, he just couldn't guarantee it would be the black one.

We took her home that day, stopping at Wal-mart (to further embrace the white trash image we had now acheived) and loaded up on little nipples, bottles, dog formula, and a stuffed puppy so she wouldn't miss her litter mates so much. We loved our half pound baby and even though I had never trained a puppy before I was determined to do it right. I rented books and videos from the library. We socialized her with everything from children to chickens, taught her tricks. She was so smart. By 5 wks she was house broke, and by the time she was 6wks (before the other dogs were even weened) she was doing simple tricks.

She took the bottle very well and was a plump cute little bundle of energy. Every time we took her out someone tried to buy her from us. And her and Buddy had become friends, which really shocked us. You see, Buddy did not like dogs, him being a small furry human. Dogs were annoying and smelly and puppies especially got on his nervs, but Banjo wouldn't let up. She looked at Buddy as a hero. She worship the ground he walked on and kept trying to be friends until he eventually gave in.

It looked like everything was going to be great. Banjo was part of our family now. But, she had picked up one bad little habit. She was a growler. It started at probably 8wks. Just a little back talk here and there, and she stopped when you used a firm voice with her. No big deal.

Over the years though it got worse. It wasn't like she was trying to be mean, she just didn't know how to receive praise. Every time you gave her a kiss or told her what a good girl she was you got a growl instead of a kiss. She never ever bit and was very well behaved so we didn't pay too much heed to it. In fact, it was kind of funny. What dog shows teeth when you say "I love you."?

She was still a good girl. very athletic and her and Buddy were best friends. Buddy no longer looked or acted old. He acted like a pup again with Banjo. We loved them! Then, last June our Buddy died. It hit me and Banjo the hardest. For two days we didn't get out of bed. I was sad because my best friend was gone, and she was sad because she didn't know where her best friend was. She looked for him in every room, whined low in her throat at night, and waited by the door for him day after day.

Banjo and Buddy just before Buddy died

Life went on. I got out of bed, Banjo went for her daily swim. The summer continued even with out Buddy. But I noticed Banjo growled more, barked more, and just generally was more annoying. I had never been able to cuddle her. She would sleep next to me, but wouldn't let me give her loves. I missed my dog. Banjo missed her friend.

By late August I couldn't take it. I had to get a new dog, one that would be happy to see me when I got home, and would roll around on the floor with me. Banjo was, and is a sports dog. She likes Frisbee, ball, jogging and swimming. She does not like human interaction unless it involves said human throwing something she can fetch.

The kids and I went to the animal shelter, and came home empty handed. There were lots of dogs, but not the right one. I have no idea what I was looking for, but I never found it. We tried three or four times with no luck. One day I was searching the pound website and saw a 2 year old border collie named Ollie. I absolutely love herding dogs, and I knew that if and when I got another it would be a sheep herder. Buddy was a blue heeler mix so I knew some about the smart and stubborn personalities very smart dogs can have.

When we got to the shelter, another disappointment. Ollie had been adopted. I almost cried. I wanted to just turn around and go home, but the kids convinced me to at lest look at the other dogs. It had been a while since our last visit. We looked all through the cages. Lots, and lots of sweet dogs waiting for a loving home, but none that felt right. Two cages from the last there was a lab mix of some kind and a dirty furry mess. The only reason I looked twice was because the sign on the cage said border collie mix. The hunk of fur in the corner did not look like any border collie I'd ever seen. For one she was tri- colored, not the traditional black and white that I like. Her head was much too round to be Border collie and her fur, well I couldn't see much through the mattes.

MD saw something I didn't and asked if we could get her out. Sometimes when I see a dog that looks so pathetic I take them out for a run in the yard and a brush just so they can get out and have some interaction. I had no intention of adopting this dog, but she looked like she could use a little TLC.

Most dogs bolt out of the cages, they are so full of built up energy. This little dirt ball took her time. The kids and I walked her around the yard, told her a nice family would come for her soon, gave her some water out of the hose, and.... We found ourselves lingering. Playing ball with her, scratching her white tummy. All of us were smiling, and we just couldn't take her back to the cold metal cage.

It was a dumb thing to do, we had know idea what she was like. She had been brought in as a starving stray so there was no information if she was good with other animals. We still had 2 cats and Banjo. Something in me just told me it was right. I threw caution to the wind and brought home a dog I knew nothing about, and Charlie hadn't even seen. In fact, he didn't even know I'd gone to look for a dog.

Dolly fit our house like a blot fits a nut. She was great with the kids, respectful of Banjo's space (she wouldn't even go to the bathroom in the grass because that was Banjos territory.) and even though she herded the cats around, she never tried to hurt them.

I loved her! Once we spent about an hour and a half washing, brushing and cutting all the mattes off her fur she was quite pretty. My soul finally felt at piece again. A feeling only dog lovers understand. You just don't feel whole without that k9 companionship. I was so happy, but Banjo was not!

Where Buddy had been his mentor and hero, Dolly was just some dog that had taken over her house. The first few weeks were tough. Banjo was in a really bad mood. The dogs got in a couple of scuffles, but eventually they called at least some form of truce.

Dolly would love to be friends with Banjo, and occasionally they have some play rounds across the yard, but by in large, Banjo is a grouch since we got Dolly. Since Buddy died really. It is so bad now that if you even give her a small pat on the head you get growled at. She barks non stop if I play with Dolly.

I took her to the vet to make sure she wasn't sick or something. I tied to get the vet to give me some drugs for her that would help her mood, but he wouldn't do it. He said he thought it was a training issue. I tried to explain that she is very well trained, but that she is depressed and has been for months. He still wouldn't give me the drugs.

So, in an effort to bring some piece back to my little farm pup I have issued "Operation Prozac". Banjo will never be the kind of loving dog Buddy was or that Dolly is. I excepted her for who she is years ago, but this angry moody dog isn't her either.

Operation Prozac goes like this. We (humans of the house) will give her no attention when she is being cranky. No one will put their face near hers, as this really upsets her. We also will pet her for no more than 4 seconds at a time. It may sound harsh, but extended touching seems to upset her, and the object is to take away the things that are causing her stress. We will have extra fetch games with just her, and rides in the car. And we will give verbal praise from a distance in short phrases like "good" and "yeah". If she growls at us or Dolly we will immediately leave the room, showing her that growling is a bad way to get attention.

I have my fingers crossed that this will work, or at least improve a little. Banjo is a complicated complex creature. Most people wouldn't keep a dog that growls more than she wags her tail, but I guess I understand her some. I understand that things are different now that Buddy is gone; I feel it too.

Banjo may not be a typical dog, but she gave Buddy back his zest for life when he was languishing. I had five more years with him that I may not have otherwise. How do you repay an animal for giving life to your best friend? For me, I guess I repay her by putting up with her moods, and trying to bring her some of the peace she deserves.