My puppy Scott – the start of a career

Childhood puppy – good idea?

I’ve always loved pets. I remember watching Lassie and Rin Tin Tin on TV, enthralled with the loyal bond between these dogs and their children. By age 8, I just had to have one of my own. Making it happen was a long shot.

My father was not an approachable man but I somehow mustered the courage to ask if I could have a puppy. He intoned, with stark clarity, that I alone would be responsible for all dog-related chores: feeding, training, exercising, and clean-up. I was committed – more than ready, although I had no idea. The stars must have aligned. To my astonishment, he consented.

I was quietly delighted a couple of days later when he arrived home with a copy of the Complete Dog Book from the American Kennel Club. I opened this tome to a random page. Staring back at me was the most gorgeous creature I had ever seen, a Brittany spaniel. Isn’t childhood great? Sadly, my magical thinking did not include house soiling and woodwork chewing. Those lurking landmines were unknown unknowns. A lifetime later, having raised a couple of human puppies, I’ve learned that platitudes accomplish nothing without kindness and patience from an adult who guides healthy learning. It also helps if the grownup in charge wants to share the well-loved pet.

I read that dog book voraciously, hanging on every word. Brittany spaniels were loyal, affectionate, easily trained, and great with families. What could go wrong? We checked the newspaper (remember classified ads?) and there, across the vast Detroit metropolis, a litter of Brittany puppies awaited. My anticipation was almost unbearable.

That limited one-page research had my third grade brain convinced that all members of my suddenly favorite breed would carry the same lofty traits. It turns out that dogs are nothing like identical appliances rolling off an assembly line and boxed with instructions. They are complex creatures, each with a genetically unique brain. Who was that fuzzy cuddle bug who rode home in my lap? I only thought I knew.

Puppy picking – a life choice

Father and son trundled off in the family station wagon to a somewhat dilapidated quasi-farm. In the corner of an ancient barn sat a plywood enclosure of delightful Britanny puppies scampering around their haggard-looking mama. Looking back, it’s clear how badly she needed a break from the unrelenting demands of puppy production.

Because I was a boy it somehow made sense to me that a male puppy would be a good choice. The first cuddler to hop into my lap was my immediate BFF. My father’s childhood cocker spaniel was named Scott; my dog would be his namesake. I was the luckiest kid on the planet. I am a whole lot older now, somewhat wiser and a bit battle scarred, but still lucky.

Now it was time for Responsibility. No more fun and games. Vaccinations for puppies, a concept in its infancy at the time, got my attention next. I read about distemper. We didn’t want that.

Grownups often asked me, as they do most kids, what I wanted to be when I grew up. Really? Should I have known my destiny by third grade? I loved animal shows on TV but Westerns glorified aggression so, of course, my plan was to become a gunslinger, interspersed with my sheriff and fireman phases. That kid stuff was about to change. An appointment was made.

When young Scott and I arrived at the Harper Woods Veterinary Hospital we were met by a young Dr. Lyle Tuck. I remember him to this day. He was kind to me and my new puppy. He performed a thorough exam and carefully explained the vaccination procedure. I listened intently while silently marveling at this medical setting. Science, medicine, working with pets and nice people? OMG!

Dr. Tuck encouraged us to administer the relatively new distemper vaccine to Scott. We could reduce my puppy’s risk of contracting this nasty disease but there would be no guarantee. My father bought-in so, of course, I did too. As I walked away, leash in-hand, my mind was turning. Could I be an animal doctor too, helping pets and their people?

Home politics & infectious disease

It was with gravitas that I began young Scott’s feeding regimen. I knew I was up to the task. Controlling his other end was a horse of a different color. His very first indoor deposit resulted in my mother issuing an executive order: “The dog” would be strictly outdoors. I somehow softened her stance to allowing him on the linoleum floor of the now gated-off kitchen. Management of my new best friend was quickly becoming tough sledding.

I prefer adopting a puppy so I can nurture a trusting relationship right from the get-go. Revulsion at the seemingly herculean task of house training drives many people to consider adult dogs only. I get it. Teaching a canine baby what you don’t want can have you feeling more like Sisyphus than Hercules. Take two steps, slip back three.

At age 8, I had no idea what to do. We know better now. Forget corrections; set puppies up for success instead. Have them spend their nights in a crate, covered on all sides. During the day, tether the little squirt to your belt for a week or two. Lead or carry him to the yard for hourly opportunities to earn the essential canine reinforcer of a jaunt off-territory to sniff and investigate. Repeat hundreds of times. Patience always. Punish never.

Young Scott’s life was fraught. His first distemper vaccination might have cut his infection off at the pass but it turned out that he’d already been exposed to the virus before I even met him and brought him home. Dr. Tuck diagnosed his dried nose and eye discharge, along with his diarrhea, as hard pad disease, aka distemper. This gentle doctor inspired compassion, carefully instructing me on Scott’s at-home supportive care.

I hand-fed my puppy, carried him outside often, and mopped up after him. He did not develop the dreaded seizures or “chomping fits” of viral encephalitis. Had his immune system failed to mount an aggressive response fast enough his condition would have worsened and he might very likely have died. Scott and I were lucky; he got well.

Child canine leadership

As Scott slowly recovered from distemper he began to eat on his own and even play. It was a huge relief; my best friend was going to be OK. To my parents, though, he was “a dog.” Actually, they were right.

We love our pets like little people in furry suits, so shouldn’t they comport themselves like good children? Canine brains are hard-wired differently. Scott was genetically programmed to point and retrieve birds with mental focus, along with a generous helping of physical stamina. Confined to the kitchen, only allowed outside on-leash to prevent damage to the suburban landscaping, he was a fish out of water. Maybe I should have raised guppies instead. Not!

I was clueless and, sadly, so were my parents. Scott’s house soiling and woodwork chewing were “bad behaviors.” I did my best. We tugged on chew toys together and played ball outside but none of that was a substitute of the work he required.

Unwanted behaviors certainly need to change but like any disorder, it’s the underlying cause that merits serious attention. Corrections and aversive punishments don’t solve confusion, especially for a pet floundering in a barren environment. Our 3 bedroom, 1 ½ bath house in the burbs didn’t feel contrived to us but it wasn’t a great fit for a dog who would have thrived in open fields working for a bird hunter.

I did what I could to bring out the best. I gave Scott scrap lumber to chew. I told him he was good when he relieved himself outside. But the poor guy was not set up to succeed. His child leader wasn’t either.

Well-intentioned pet lovers shouldn’t feel guilty for their mistakes. We do what we can with what we know at the time. Frustration and anger lead nowhere; there is almost always a path to wellbeing. Back in the dark ages of my youth there was no credible research yet; veterinary behavior medicine didn’t exist. But even then Scott’s intensity could have been shifted to “junior handler” obedience classes with the boy who loved him, and even competition. It’s 2025 now. We’ve learned a lot. You are welcome to search my website, drjeffnichol.com, for help.