We saw the signs of abuse and trauma the first day we brought Buddy home, but we never imagined those demons would keep him from flourishing in his new home. I was sure I could fix him over time and gain his trust completely, but in the end he couldn't overcome those fears and anxieties that controlled his actions. In a series of escalating, aggressive incidents over a 15 month period, Buddy eventually lashed out in devastating fashion, causing me severe facial trauma that signaled the end of our time together.
After we picked Buddy up from the shelter in August of 2017, we introduced him to his new home and I immediately saw the first signs of past abuse. I let him run through the front door and he instinctively lifted his leg and began marking the couch. I lunged for his collar to direct him outside and he immediately flopped to the floor in a motionless heap, scared and anxious. I was able to get him outside with the use of treats, but that incident stayed with me for the rest of our time together.
As we got to know him better, we noticed he had multiple nicks and scars on his face, likely the result of being a hunting dog, or at least trained to be one. As we explored his neck, we noticed the unmistakeable puncture wounds of a prong collar, little circles equally spaced. Although we can only speculate, this certainly pointed towards being tied up for long periods of time with the collar around his neck, or excessive use of force in trying to train a physically strong and stubborn dog.
Buddy first showed signs of aggression in our bedroom, when I entered the room long after my wife and Buddy were asleep. As I walked through the door, he sprung to a crouched position, ready to lunge, and gave me the full hound wall of sound. Treeing Walker Coonhounds are bred to hunt, among other things, bears and mountain lions. They are fearless, relentless, focused creatures and getting the full treatment from Buddy was alarming. I had to stand still and wait for my wife to talk him down because any talking or movement from me agitated him even further. Although terrifying, I wasn't overly concerned about this incident because I startled him while he was sleeping and the term "let a sleeping dog lie" was coined for a reason. This same scenario played out several more times, in several different places. It was always directed at me and indicated he had a genuine fear of males.
After this incident, we moved both dog beds into our spare bedroom to avoid this stimulus. One of the most difficult things about adopting a dog is the need to treat both of them the same. Although Olive didn't have problems, she had to sleep in the spare bedroom with Buddy. He enjoyed this new solitary space, but we noticed over time that Olive was apprehensive about entering the room when Buddy was already asleep, although he never directed his aggression at her. As a result, we moved both beds down to the living room where there was lots of space and we could still contain them in one area. The downside is that I had to walk on eggshells for the rest of our time together while walking past his bed to get to the couch.
The first physical contact incident occurred around October 2018 after my wife and I returned from a weekend trip and picked up Buddy and Olive from our friend's house. When we got home we all laid on the floor for a love-fest that quickly turned ugly. When I adjusted my position, I nudged Buddy's leg, and he sprung on top of me, mouthed my skull, and then assumed the crouched position I described above. The speed with which he moved was awe inspiring. He was on the floor next to me, then he was on top of me. It was instantaneous. Thankfully, during this incident, he modulated his bite. I shudder to think what might have happened if he didn't.
The next physical incident occurred in April 2019 when Buddy lashed out and bit my arm after a rainy walk, leaving bruises and bite marks, but not breaking the skin. When we returned home from the walk, I took him to the garage and as I began toweling his right hind leg, he whipped around to bite. Fortunately, I was able to use my arm as a shield. Again, he modulated his bite. For the last time.
In June of 2019 I was getting Buddy prepared for a walk and couldn't get his collar secured. As I fumbled around his neck, hovering over his face, he sprung upwards and bit my face, breaking the skin for the first time. Although he modulated his bite to some degree, he clearly clamped down, causing a laceration below my eye and two puncture wounds.
During this time we worked with a trainer and a behaviorist, and based on their recommendation, we did an X-ray in August 2019 to determine if he had any physical ailments. The scan showed he had hip dysplasia in his right hind leg and arthritis in his back. We put him on a regimen of chondroitin, turmeric, and occasional pain killers, when required. Though not great news, it gave us hope because at least we understood pain was a part of the equation to Buddy's reactions. It certainly helped explain the leg toweling incident.
Over the next several months, we noticed a decline in Buddy's activity level. Sometimes he asked to go home, other times he limped around the house after a walk, and in Lake Tahoe in December, he couldn't lift himself off the floor all day after vigorous exercise. Managing his pain was a challenge because the only thing he truly loved in life was off leash running in the hills.
The final and devastating incident happened on the morning of April 2nd 2020. Olive and Buddy had just eaten and we were having our morning love fest of scratches and rubs. I long ago learned to only touch Buddy when he came to me voluntarily, without prompting, so I could be sure there was no fear on his side. Buddy put himself in the "rub my belly" position on the floor, with a goofy, playful face, and when I bent down to rub him (as I have many times), he lunged upwards and bit my face. There was clearly no modulation, he clamped down and tore my lip and cheek to shreds.
Besides the physical devastation, the bite was shocking because I felt I hadn't broken any rules of engagement and approached him at his beckoning. This bite was completely unpredictable and there was no way we could live like this anymore. I can speculate about hovering over him, or touching his back, or 100 other things, but this response was completely irrational. We subsequently made the decision to euthanize Buddy with absolute clarity and peace of mind.
The decision is never easy of course, but Buddy was suffering physically and mentally. Much of his time in the house was spent alone and withdrawn and he was often unsure of himself and anxious. Running in the hills was the only thing that seemed to bring him true joy, and that was causing him more and more pain. We could have surrendered him to the shelter, but he would have languished in a crate while they made a determination if he was adoptable, which didn't seem likely. Even if it were possible, I'm certain he would have bit the next person.
I'll always look back on my time with Buddy fondly. He was a spectacular physical specimen and I was completely fascinated watching him climb trees and hunt coyotes and be a hound. I'll miss his incessant howling and giant, floppy ears. He was a genuinely sweet soul, but he couldn't overcome the trauma he experienced before we adopted him. I'll always be sad that I couldn't fix him like I thought I could, with love and trust. I'm not mad at Buddy, I loved our time together roaming the hills. He was extraordinary.
Good night, sweet boy.
