And Then...There Was Jolie!!!

For a long time I wanted a second dog, but when Jackson was diagnosed with cancer that put things on hold. Once I knew he was going to be okay, I also knew that I needed a second dog. "Needed" is a strong word, but Jackson's illness made me realize he wouldn't be around forever, and well, when something did finally happen to him, having nothing else to take care of and love would be my demise.

Anything but another Boxer was never a consideration, but this time around I knew I did NOT want a puppy. They are fun and all, but if I thought time was an issue before, it was really a problem now. I was working two jobs full time (teaching and bartending). Furthermore, there was no way the timing of things was going to work out like before with regards to me finding a puppy just the right age to bring home at the start of the summer. With Jackson being seven years old, a male was out of the question as the "Battle of the Alphas" was bound to eventually erupt. I had never had a Boxer with brindle markings, so I was leaning that direction. And lastly, though I love Jackson dearly, and for him he was worth it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat, I will NEVER pay that kind of money for a pet ever again.

This made the decision to rescue or adopt a dog the obvious answer. In Houston we have a wonderful organization called Lone Star Boxer Rescue. Adopting a dog was like adopting a child. There were applications and forms to fill out, visits made to my home to check out its "dog preparedness" and my interaction with Jackson, and meetings for Jackson and I both to get to know other dogs in an effort to find the one "just right" for us. Every weekend for six or seven weeks we drove from place to place looking for the "perfect fit." It was heart-wrenching because needless to say, I wanted to save every dog. There were always more males to chose from than females, and many of the dogs had health issues. Normally I wouldn't have cared about the latter problem, but since I already had one dog with a serious illness, it was unrealistic to bring another one into the household.

That's when I started looking at breeders. I talked with several of them and looked at their pups, but I just was not getting good vibes. AND, I did NOT want a puppy anyway! By now it was the first of March and I was growing frustrated, so while I was out on my Saturday morning run, I decide that the litters Jackson and I were going to look at that morning would be our last for awhile. At peace with that decision, I made the final turn for home ready to sprint the last quarter mile. It was trash pick up day in the neighborhood, and wouldn't you know, propped up against the curb was a wire puppy crate. I froze because I am a firm believer in fate and I knew this was God's message that today was the day. I was coming back with a puppy.

You already know how this turns out. Just know there were two litters and after meticulously running through my "Selection Process Checklist," I came away with Jolie. The name choice was spur of the moment; I was still sticking with a "J" name, but it had to be different, so I took the "J-o" from my brother's name, Joel, and the "l-i" from my sister's name, Juli. The "e" was thrown on for good measure in hopes that people would pronounce her name correctly, (pronounced Joe - Lee, not like Angelina Jolie). It was also a clever name choice because now I got to wave it over my siblings' heads that I named my "kid" after them, yet they never named their kids after me! :)

So other than the fact that Jolie was a puppy, I had just what I wanted. That first week I would run home on my conference period and let her out of the crate. The following week was Spring Break, and bless her heart, every day she was kept in a different room because my house was being repainted after storm damage from Hurricane Ike that previous September. And the schedule never got any better after that. She was unexpectedly boarded for almost a week and a half after the sudden deaths of a friend and a family member. I fault the lack of routine the first six months as to why she was so difficult. Don't get me wrong. She mastered the basics, "sit," "shake," and "lay down" in a timely fashion, and she never really tore anything up. But whereas Jackson had never had to be told more than three times to do/learn anything, Jolie was an entirely different story.

The third time I would tell her to do anything, she started barking at me and she would run and hide under my bed. And the bark was not the "Big Dog" bark you'd expect from a Boxer. It was a yippy Poodle bark. I'm pretty sure if I could translate what she was telling me, I'd learn her little a$$ was back-talking me! She was a nightmare on a leash, breaking loose repeatedly and stopping for nothing. She was vicious at meal time, scaring poor Jackson into submission. She gutted my backyard, running like she was possessed when I let her out (hence the early nickname of "Taz" for the Tasmanian Devil). She knocked holes in the fence trying to get to the dog next door. She hated to be petted. She had an affinity for paper, be it plain paper, toilet paper, or even greenback paper. She once ate four five dollar bills. When she pooped them out later, I thought I had my own personal ATM machine until I realized I was missing $20. But probably the most annoying habit was her potty tendencies. I couldn't get her to stop relieving herself in the crate. And this wasn't something that was a result of being in there too long and unable to hold it. She would purposely go into the crate to do her business. By July I'd had it. I called my vet and told him I just didn't think I could do it. Honestly, I was ready to go stand on the street corner and give her to the first person that showed interest. The vet told me to "hang in there," and "not give up yet. She'd come around." He and a friend convinced me to board both dogs for a few days and get away.

I did. It had been a rough year, loosing my roof during Ike, suffering the loss of two loved ones, and repairing my big screen TV when it went out only to have the AC go out the following week. The break helped and when I returned, my head had cleared enough to start again with Jolie.

And slowly but surely, she made progress. I approached her training differently and she got it. Most of the aforementioned issues resolved themselves. By November, she no longer needed to stay in the crate at night and she was only nine months old! But the one habit I couldn't break was the defecating in the crate. In the middle of the night she'd even go in there to use the bathroom. She continued to have no fewer than two "accidents" when I left her there during the day. So once again I returned to the vet, but even he was at a loss on this one. "Dogs didn't usually soil the area where they slept." Okay, let's get serious here. Nothing about Jolie had been "usual," at least by my standards. He was going to contact a behavioral specialist for dogs, but I in the mean time had another problem.

Jackson still had not adjusted to having another dog in the house and he was beginning to mark his territory, usually in the middle of my living room floor. That was the final straw! It was now the first of May (I'd had Jolie for fourteen months), and while it was bad enough cleaning up the crate after her two or three times a day and constantly bathing her, this with Jackson was totally ridiculous. I brought in the second crate, and for the first time in five years, I started crating Jackson too when I left. I positioned the crates side-by-side (with no more than an inch between them) because being a teacher, my rationale was that of "cooperative grouping." The higher level kid, in this case dog, would teach the lower level kid/dog. When Jolie saw that Jackson would "hold it" when he was in the crate, they'd talk in whatever their dog language was, and she'd learn to "hold it" too.

Now if you're done laughing you can pick yourself up off the floor, and I'll tell you that this actually worked. However, not for the reasons I had hoped it would. "Dogs," the vet told me, "do not understand 'cooperative grouping.'" Rather, what he suspects is that Jolie suffered from separation anxiety. Because I had her for five months before there was really any set routine/schedule, he thinks she was scared. Yes, Jackson had always been in the same room as Jolie whenever I left, but he usually laid across the room. The vet thinks Jolie felt alone and abandoned. Placing Jackson right next to her reassured her that was not the case. I am happy to say that it has been two and half months and both dogs seem secure. Jackson has stopped his marking, and while I was typing this, Jolie sprinted into the room, bolted to the back door, and came barreling back down the hall to let me know she needed to go out, NOW!

I can't believe Jolie is the same dog I wanted to get rid of twelve months ago. Yes, she was definitely more difficult than Jackson in the beginning, but she really opened my eyes. She made me realize that her "not getting it" when I first tried to teach her something was not a reason for me to quit or give up. It simply meant I needed to find a new approach. Now she loves to cuddle and play "fetch" with anything. Her favorite place to sleep is under my bed. Since she is as tall as Jackson, I'm not too sure how she fits under there, but hey, it's her "safe" spot and I always get a chuckle when I walk in and see just that nose and a paw sticking out! She is the sweetest, most loving dog I've ever owned.

And oh yeah. I no longer call her "Taz." Now, she's "Momma's Angel."