Doggy Disobedience

Ask any animal trainer and they’ll tell you dogs don’t fail obedience training; their owners do. In the case of one customer after a ten week course she had to admit that not only did her dog fail the course, but every other dog in the class failed as well; but they were, in the words of the instructor, one very friendly group. All this can be nothing more than amusing if the dog in question is an overly affectionate lapdog; but when the dog is a large, aggressive beast that does not respond when its owner calls it off the situation loses all humour rather quickly. If you’re the object of this animal’s attentions it can get rapidly terrifying. All this is simply another way of saying that there are no bad dogs just bad owners.

In the performance of their duties letter carriers are required to in effect trespass on their customer’s property. It is understood that they have a right of way to take the route necessary to reach their customer’s mail receptacle and if that means opening their porch or veranda to access a mail slot or box inside they have the implied right to so do. If the inside door is open and you aren’t sure about what animals may be present it’s remarkable how fast one can move and how fast that outer door gets closed. If the dog is already present it becomes quite another matter. On my first route I had to enter an enclosed courtyard complete with in-ground pool and walk the gauntlet of two large black standard-bred poodles. No matter that they never attacked, to a neophyte those were two very intimidating dogs. On another route a customer tied their St. Bernard by a short leash to their mailbox. St. Bernard’s are extremely lazy by nature but this one plopped his considerable hind quarters on my feet while I deposited the mail and refused to budge until he was petted—have you ever smelt a wet St. Bernard? Elsewhere I met an Old English Sheepdog on a daily basis. He was so old and arthritic that even wagging his tail hurt so he lay there and growled—he wasn’t vicious, just smart enough to know that if he barked instead he’d have to lift his head.

Not all dog encounters are amusing however. Interposing a mailbag to prevent a very dark-looking German Shepherd from ripping out your throat may work but the experience leaves one rather shaken. One tends not to forget a neighbourhood with a dog such as that—letter carriers have switched routes for less. To say that it heightens one’s powers of observation may be an understatement. Add children to the equation and you have quite another situation. One small bundle of energy named Ginger used to run dizzying circles around me and then go explore the neighbourhood. Another nasty looking dog gave me the willies and when I heard that it actually turned on the children’s nanny and sent her to hospital I felt vindicated in my suspicions.

I can remember one household in particular where the boys came home from school so that their grandmother could make lunch for them. Grandmother may have been nominally in charge but I doubt her charges showed her much respect. They thought it laughable to let the dog out to chase the mailman and even encouraged it to do so. I’ve since met one of the lads in question socially now that he’s reached adulthood and he doesn’t remember these abuses, but he wasn’t the one being chased.

On another occasion I’d walked up to a house by the lake in East Oakville where houses are located on laneways so each can have Lake Frontage. I’d just left the mail and paused briefly to admire the wind-driven 15-foot waves on Lake Ontario when a tall frail-looking octogenarian came out the door to take a very large dog for his walk. The dog took one look at me and took off. To her credit the lady held onto the leash but the dog laid her out flat on her hands and knees dragging her along the walkway and making her knees bleed. There was nothing I could do but take her word that she’d be alright and vacate the premises.

Again in East Oakville I was terrorized by a small beige bundle of spite named Jiggs. Jiggs didn’t have a fenced in backyard so when he got out he was free to roam the neighbourhood and one of his favourite sports appeared to be yapping at my heels and tugging my pant legs. He wasn’t satisfied with just doing it on his own property but insisted on following me for a considerable distance around the corner and down the street. I later learned that I had the misfortune of showing up each day about the same time as the cleaning lady who couldn’t stand him either and therefore let him out.

I don’t appreciate having my heels “dogged”. Some critters seem to be just plain sneaky. They run away when you approach but then come skulking up behind you. I don’t trust a dog who won’t meet me face to face. One such dog had invisible fencing so she couldn’t get off her property but that was small comfort to me. Perhaps it was the splinters, gnaw and teeth marks on the veranda railing but this Schnauzer gave me a bad feeling. In the end I let it be known forthrightly that if that dog was out they weren’t going to get their mail—not a minor thing as they got a lot of mail that then had to be carried with me. Normal procedure would be to find a cheque and endorse the envelope, “Dog Out” with the date and time and one’s initials.