Sighthound, Scent Hound

Sammy and Zorro both like to hunt.  It's what they're bred to do, and they're both fairly good at it. Zorro has quite an impressive nose, and Sammy has both the speed and stamina to keep up the chase for miles.  Unfortunately for them, neither is actually a hunting dog by trade, and unfortunately for me, their definition of "hunting" is fairly loose. For example, I don't personally feel that the kitchen trash can is the best place for Zorro to follow his nose, but Zorro would tell you that every time he's "hunted" there, he's found some plentiful and delicious game. Location, location, location. Likewise, I frequently remind Samantha that chasing my nephew's go-kart is not a good reason to run through her electric fence, and the barn cats probably don't want to play tag either.  She chases the vacuum cleaner, too, but don't get me started.  We're all driven and gifted in unique ways, but context is important. Like Zorro, I als...

Zorro is not my dog. I mean, he does live in a house with my husband and I, we pay for his food and medicine, and we feed him every day.  I take him for walks, buy him special treats, and even hold the flashlight while my EMS-trained husband cleans the crud out of his hound-ears.  So, he is my dog, but he's not really my dog. Zorro is and is not my dog in the same way that Heath never was but always will be my horse. I used to work on a big farm that raised Standardbred racehorses.  I first met Heath when he was about 6 months old.  He was out in a 50 acre pasture with his mom and several other mares and foals.   After he was weaned, he lived in that first stall off the main aisle, and I was one of the first to brush him, teach him to lead, and pick up his feet.  He was very shy, hard to catch, and had a fear of hay being thrown into his stall.  I watched him play in the paddock, studied his build and gait, and even memorized the number freeze-bra...

 Samantha is afraid of the rain.  Yeah, I know a lot of dogs are afraid of storms and thunder and lightning, but Sammy's fears go a lot further than that.  It's understandable when you consider her history.  She came to the shelter after someone found her tied behind a trailer, forgotten and emaciated. She was three years old. I knew her story when we brought her home, but I didn't really understand what that would mean going forward.  See, things like that don't just go away.  Entering into a loving future didn't "fix" her right away.  She had to learn how things worked in the present, and I had to learn how things had worked in the past. We didn't have a fenced in yard.  Our house was a rental, so we couldn't build a fence either.  I tried to tether Sammy to a tree, but being tied completely shut her down.  Even if I sat out with her in my lawn chair, she would just sit and quiver with frightened eyes until I brought her back in. ...