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Originally Posted by Hitch
Oh, yes. I cringe when city-dwellers with small yards or worse, none, adopt dogs like Wiemers, German Shorts or Labs. Weimers get downright neurotic without boatloads of outdoor BOUNDING time, and Labs can get very antsy without adequate exercise, as well and BONDING time with their owners. Very few people are willing to do the 2 miles of roadwork (at a trot, mind you) that a large dog needs daily. And I'm not even talking really large dogs--I'm talking dogs in the hunting group. Want to see how an Afghan Hound or other large sitehound turns bad? Lock them up in a party-girl (or guy's) 1BR apartment in NYC.
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My SO had a Weimer when she was a kid, but the family lived in a house on LI with an actual yard. By all accounts, Sam was
smart. They quickly learned to spell various words around him so he wouldn't understand what was being said.
When we first got together, she had a Collie/Shepard mix named George (who was actually female.) George joined us in NYC, but was older and getting a bit blind by that point. She was happy to be a couch potato and get a walk every night.
Dizzy was still with me at the time. He first met George at my SOs home in LI when I brought him for a visit. I was holding him, George came over to sniff curiously, and Dizzy shit himself in my arms and had to be cleaned up. He was mortified by the experience. He did get used to George and they lived together reasonably well.
Friends in the Bronx had a Golden Retriever named Scooter, that came along with his person Wren when she moved up from DE to join Keith. Keith would take Scooter to the local park for exercise , and was deeply amused. Scooter was a working breed, and he'd spot something, point, then look back at Keith with a "Hey! We're a team here! I point it out, you shoot it, and I go retrieve it for you. I'm doing
my part of the job! Do yours!" expression.
Scooter died earlier of old age. 12 is ancient for a Golden. Scooter was 15 when he passed. He'd had a very long and happy life with loving people who understood how to care for him.
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I'm proud to say that Mr. Hitch's nephew has adopted any number of unadoptable critters from the pound. Dogs that nobody else wanted. One blind in one eye and deaf (a Chihuahua); a dog with advanced arthritis and cancer, that needs meds (but was young), and a host of others. All have gone on to have happy lives with him, for as long as they lived.
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It's the "as long as they lived" that can be heart wrenching.
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We've done similar things with cats, (cats that weren't easy to home, cats with IBS, cats that don't love kids [come on in, the water's fine here, kitty]) as I haven't had dogs in decades. That's, mostly because I have always worked so many hours that I couldn't be certain to be home to walk, water, feed, etc. at a given time. And I won't do that to a dog. I don't even like the cats being alone for many hours each day, but as they are indoor kitties, with GIGANTIC kitty trees (7' tall and many feet wide), Ripple rugs, and every other sort of cat exercise device at their instant disposal, I feel less guilty.
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We are in no hurry to acquire another animal. There are various reasons it wouldn't be fair to us or the animal if we tried.
The last animal here was Bugsy. Technically, Bugsy belonged to another tenant in the building. He was an older fixed male, but had been fixed well after puberty, and maintained tomcat instincts (like prowling the neighbourhood getting into fights with other toms.) He became sort of a floor cat, making rounds and accepting snacks. But he wasn't a mooch. The building has mice, and he was a champion mouser. The other tenants were happy to accept his services and provide treats in return.
Bugsy apparently decided we were his preferred people. (Given his nominal owner, I could see that as a rational move...) He'd sleep here. When we traveled, our elderly gay neighbor down the hall has a key and would let him in. The first time we were away for a few days, he showed his displeasure by leaving a turd on the bed. But he soon learned that while we went away, we came back. We'd come in to find him on the bed, and he'd give us a "Oh, you're back. About time. Food and attention, if you please." look.
He developed a growth on his abdomen. The vet said "If he were younger, I'd open him up and look, but he's old enough now it might kill him." (Our best guess was that he was about 14.) "Give him lots of attention and his favorite food, and when he declines too much, bring him in and I'll put him to sleep." A week before he was euthanized, he caught his last mouse.
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Dennis