There are people out there who have a mark on their forehead
that is only visible to dogs, at least this is what I’ve heard. Some say the mark says ‘Sucker’ or ‘Gives
Treats’. For my mom, I’m certain she has
such a mark that says ‘Big heart, lots of love.’ This is evident from my
childhood on the ranch, watching her struggle to care for a new born calf
abandoned by its mother, as well as seeing how she still grieves over the
passing of a grand puppy years after the fact. Yes, my mom has a soft spot for
animals. Anyone who has met her knows
how sweet she is, but few realize that this same woman raised four boys on a
ranch and could bring the wrath of God on any disobedient child when required. As for the dogs, well, she was and still is a
little more understanding when naughtiness occurs.
A classic example of this was when she met Belle for the
first time. Belle was a Rottweiler whose
owner was killed in a car wreck in Wyoming.
For two years Belle was kept in a kennel by the woman’s mother, never having
been let out because the elderly woman couldn’t handle her. Having been in rescue since 1997, I know that
such situations are more common than you might believe. What made Belle unique was that she had been
protection trained. What this meant is
that this beautiful ninety five pound dog was not only fearless but she had a
middle finger the size of Wyoming with teeth to back it up. If you looked up the term ‘Alpha Bitch’,
Belle’s picture would certainly be there as an example.
After my girl Mickey died, I arranged to have Belle
transported up to the shelter in Bozeman so I could start working with her and
hopefully integrate her into my home. I clearly
remember the day she arrived. A good
friend and dog trainer, Angie, was there with her husband John as Belle was
unloaded. Jumping out of the crate that
was in the back of the pickup truck that transported her, Belle landed on the
ground as if she owned everything she saw, head high, dominant stare, with a
body that looked as if she had been a former member of the East German Woman’s
track team. The girl was a beast.
“Dear God Troy, she’s built like a brick sh*t house!” Angie
exclaimed.
I just nodded in agreement. Now, Belle was smaller than my
last female but the confidence that this dog exuded easily added another twenty
pounds. Unlike many dogs, Belle made no effort to greet people, instead
focusing on exploring her surroundings and giving everyone an investigatory
gaze for a moment, sizing us up I suppose.
So began our introduction and the process of working with Belle.
After a couple months of getting to know Belle at the
shelter and learning, purely by accident, that all her commands were in German,
my mom informed me that she wanted to come to the shelter and meet Belle. I wasn’t sure about this because by that time
Belle had a powerful reputation at the shelter.
Either she liked someone or she hated them. The common factor for those she hated was
that they were afraid of her even before meeting her or they were people that
could be described as having a more passive nature. My concern was that Belle was a dominant dog,
so much so that she would challenge you on a regular basis simply to see if you
were the alpha dog that day. If you were
she was a great dog to work with. If you
weren’t, well, let’s just say that she could be a temperamental challenge whose
bite was just as bad as her bark.
Relenting to my mom’s request, I had her come to the shelter
and brought Belle out to the ‘Get to know you zone’, a large pen with benches
and toys that allowed people to interact with a prospective pet without the
distractions of all the activity in the shelter. As usual, Belle explored the area, lifting
her leg to mark in multiple spots instead of using the typical female squat. At one point Belle walked over to my mom who
was sitting on a bench. Leaning against
my mom’s leg in typical Rottweiler fashion, Belle looked up at her with pitiful
brown eyes. Mom started petting her and
commented, “I don’t know what your concern is Troy, she just needs some love.”
I shook my head, knowing that Belle had read mom like a
cheap paperback and knew she could work this human well. I didn’t bother to explain how Belle had already
tried to eat two of the staff members. Seeing how much mom was enjoying petting
Belle I knew it wouldn’t have mattered.
Though I had planned on adopting Belle, another person fell
in love with her and adopted her, knowing, full-well, her issues. About a year later, through a series of events,
I ended up taking ownership of Belle and it was then that the adventure really
started. Once in my home, Belle was a mischievous,
intelligent opponent but also a loving, loyal protector. During that time I
focused on honing her obedience training so I could control her aggressive
drives. She really was a joy to train
when she was in work mode, and over the two years I had her she was a regular
demonstration dog at classes I taught.
When she wasn’t in work mode, she was a bit of a test. If she jumped up on the bed and didn’t want
to get down or if she got in the truck wanting a ride she wouldn’t budge. Any attempt at moving her unleashed a barrage
of aggressive barks and snapping teeth.
These were the alpha tests.
Having worked with a lot of psychotic dogs over the years, I know the
difference between an alpha challenge and full blown intent to kill. Belle was all about the challenge. It was a assessment to see if I would cower
and retreat as a submissive pack member or if I would be willing to take the
alpha position. I picked my battles and always won but had to be smart about
it. Sometimes it involved a catch pole
and other times it required grabbing a pillow and knocking her off the bed or
the couch when she got aggressive after refusing to get down when commanded. For the record, of all the dogs I've worked with over the years, Belle was the only one that required such drastic methods.
I know, I can hear some people screaming now. Some saying that she should have been
euthanized and others that I should never hit a dog with anything. In my defense, nothing I ever did hurt Belle,
other than her pride, so can keep the condemnation to yourself. These incidents were few, with the majority
of her challenges being that of giving me the bird and ignoring a command when
she was in a pissy mood.
Not long after I had Belle I needed to leave her at my mom’s
house for a few hours. Belle had been
there many times, but this would be the first time she would be alone with my
mom and step-dad. As I was leaving I felt I should give mom a warning.
“Mom, Belle will likely challenge you. If she does, don’t reach for her.” I added,
half-joking, “Just grab something and hit her with it. Preferably something soft.”
“Oh we’ll be fine.” Mom insisted as she petted Belle and my
other dog, Griz.
Before you freak out about me leaving a dog like Belle with
my mom let me explain something. Belle
never charged when being defiant. I knew her challenges were about holding
ground and not attacking anyone. The
risk was always if you reached for her or infringed in the area she was guarding.
I knew Belle, and more importantly, I knew my mom and step-dad. They had been around me and my various
rescues over the years and had become rather dog savvy, so I had confidence
that they could take care of themselves.
Sure enough, not five minutes after I had left, Belle jumped
up onto my step-dad’s living room chair. The height gave her the dominance she
was wanting. Mom told her to get down
and, to my mom’s surprise, Belle barked and lunged at her with a snap of her
teeth. The sweet, animal-loving woman
who raised me quickly reverted back to the woman who survived raising four boys
on a ranch, a mighty feat if you ever get to know us boys.
Once more the command was given and Belle responded with the
same defiance. Mom, heeding my advice,
didn’t dare reach for the beast on the hassock, instead she grabbed a hefty
throw pillow from the couch and gave Belle one more chance to obey. With a big middle finger and a few angry
barks, Belle replied. The first hit was
by no means hard and Belle didn’t budge but again challenged. The second hit with the command was with more
authority. Belle stood defiantly, teeth bared.
Apparently, with a hyper dominant, protection-trained Rottweiler, the
third time is the charm. The impact of
the pillow motivated Belle to obey and jump down. From that day on, Belle never challenged my
mom again and, for the record, Belle came to adore my mom, the woman who Belle,
after that day, truly felt was alpha.
My mom and Belle
I only had Belle for a couple years before bone cancer took
her. During that time she traveled all
over the state helping me teach animal control and law enforcement officers how
to safely deal with dogs. To this day, she ranks up there as one of my favorite
dogs. Perhaps it was because her loyalty
was not freely given but had to be earned and maintained. I know that my mom, too, achieved dominance
with Belle and held it till Belle’s final day.
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