"Dogo Argentino."
"Excuse me?"
"Dogo Argentino," said the man’s voice on the phone, "The national dog of Argentina, very rare in the U.S."
I agreed, amazed that there was a king of dog I hadn’t heard of. Always a bookworm, I had numerous books on dog care and behavior including several large colorful volumes with photos and descriptions of each breed. I had no problem identifying a Cane Corso, a Hartz Polski, or a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, but a Dogo Argentino? This I had to see.
The door opened and I was almost knocked over by something very large and white. "King, no, bad dog!" I recognized the voice of John, the dog’s owner, from our phone conversation the previous day, but I could see nothing past the wriggling mass of white. Pushing my way in the door and closing it behind me, I got a look at the creature who was loving me to death; it looked very much like a pit bull, with muscular body, big shoulders, small waist, and a great jowly maw that was wide open in a pink smile. The only difference between it and a pit bull was size ... this animal was about the height and weight of a Great Dane.
I sat on the couch with King, who attempted to crawl into my lap, and John, who said, "Sorry about that, he’s still a puppy." Wondering how large this animal would be as an adult, I managed to squeeze my arms out from under his bulk to hand John the paperwork, and we started to discuss the service I would be providing. I was to walk King five days a week while John was at work. King was confined in the kitchen when John was away, and there was no yard so he would have to be leashed and walked down several flights of stairs to the street to relieve himself. Because he was not neutered, King would lift his leg all over the house if left to his own devices. When I inquired why he was not neutered, his owner indicated an interest in going to special breed shows and get-togethers. I would find a leash, treats, payment, and anything else I might need on the kitchen counter. While we were talking, another man came into the apartment, said not a word, and went into one of the bedrooms. John looked uncomfortable. "One of my roommates," he said. Roommates? The small San Mateo, CA apartment was hardly large enough for one human and one 100-lb dog. As if to answer my unspoken question, John quietly said, "Um, you might see my roommates when they are at home. They don’t handle King." It wasn’t long before I discovered why the roomies did not want to handle the adorable creature...
I had a couple of days before the service started, so I visited my favorite library in Burlingame (no internet in those days!) to learn more about the Dogo Argentino; the results were not encouraging. I sat on the floor, legs cramping, always too involved in the books to make it to the table and sit in a chair like a civilized person. According to the books, the breed’s most notable characteristic was its aggression, "So aggressive they will attack each other while mating." Yikes. In the pictures, they all looked the same: large and white with cropped ears and a baleful expression. Oh well, I sighed, I do enjoy those difficult cases after all, this should be no different than my other successes.
I walked up the stairs to John’s apartment and listened with a smile to the whining and thunking of a great tail against the wall as I unlocked and opened the door. There was King, as immense and white as I remembered, doing the happy dance. Piece of cake, I thought as I reached for the leash. I was surprised to note its flimsiness, and that of the attached choke chain which was small and thin; the rig looked more appropriate for a chihuahua. Oh well, I thought, that’s what the owner uses, so it must work. After reading the note that read, "King is happy to meet you, have a nice walk!" I slipped the choke chain over the big white jowls and stepped out the door. I was immediately catapulted down the stairs by an excited mass of dog and almost lost my footing. "Easy!" I shouted, pulling on the leash. King slowed down a bit, but this display of self-control was tempered by the pee that started dribbling out of him. I walked as fast as I could down the crumbling staircase, stepping in the urine which was splashing everywhere. We finally reached the bottom where King released a flood of water, then looked very much relieved. Regrouping, I started to walk and was pleased to find that my new friend stayed pretty much by my side. We explored the neighborhood and stayed out long enough for him to get exercise and do his personal business, then we headed back towards the apartment building; I didn’t want to wander too far, as this was an area known for drug and gang activity. Rounding the corner , we suddenly came face to face with a pit bull, an unneutered male, tied in the bed of a pickup truck by a stout rope. The words, "So aggressive they will attack each other while mating" rang in my ears as I was yanked off my feet. I looked down and saw that my sweet friend had transformed into a snarling, lunging beast who not only wanted to kill the other dog, he wanted to eat him and pick his teeth with his bones. I quickly regained my footing and used every leash-pulling technique I remembered from dog training class to get control. I damn near had to drag King the entire length of the block and into the apartment before his fury subsided. I closed the door behind me and collapsed on the couch, with King soon in my lap. "What," I asked, scratching his white head, "am I going to do with you?"
"Excuse me?"
"Dogo Argentino," said the man’s voice on the phone, "The national dog of Argentina, very rare in the U.S."
I agreed, amazed that there was a king of dog I hadn’t heard of. Always a bookworm, I had numerous books on dog care and behavior including several large colorful volumes with photos and descriptions of each breed. I had no problem identifying a Cane Corso, a Hartz Polski, or a Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, but a Dogo Argentino? This I had to see.
The door opened and I was almost knocked over by something very large and white. "King, no, bad dog!" I recognized the voice of John, the dog’s owner, from our phone conversation the previous day, but I could see nothing past the wriggling mass of white. Pushing my way in the door and closing it behind me, I got a look at the creature who was loving me to death; it looked very much like a pit bull, with muscular body, big shoulders, small waist, and a great jowly maw that was wide open in a pink smile. The only difference between it and a pit bull was size ... this animal was about the height and weight of a Great Dane.
I sat on the couch with King, who attempted to crawl into my lap, and John, who said, "Sorry about that, he’s still a puppy." Wondering how large this animal would be as an adult, I managed to squeeze my arms out from under his bulk to hand John the paperwork, and we started to discuss the service I would be providing. I was to walk King five days a week while John was at work. King was confined in the kitchen when John was away, and there was no yard so he would have to be leashed and walked down several flights of stairs to the street to relieve himself. Because he was not neutered, King would lift his leg all over the house if left to his own devices. When I inquired why he was not neutered, his owner indicated an interest in going to special breed shows and get-togethers. I would find a leash, treats, payment, and anything else I might need on the kitchen counter. While we were talking, another man came into the apartment, said not a word, and went into one of the bedrooms. John looked uncomfortable. "One of my roommates," he said. Roommates? The small San Mateo, CA apartment was hardly large enough for one human and one 100-lb dog. As if to answer my unspoken question, John quietly said, "Um, you might see my roommates when they are at home. They don’t handle King." It wasn’t long before I discovered why the roomies did not want to handle the adorable creature...
I had a couple of days before the service started, so I visited my favorite library in Burlingame (no internet in those days!) to learn more about the Dogo Argentino; the results were not encouraging. I sat on the floor, legs cramping, always too involved in the books to make it to the table and sit in a chair like a civilized person. According to the books, the breed’s most notable characteristic was its aggression, "So aggressive they will attack each other while mating." Yikes. In the pictures, they all looked the same: large and white with cropped ears and a baleful expression. Oh well, I sighed, I do enjoy those difficult cases after all, this should be no different than my other successes.
I walked up the stairs to John’s apartment and listened with a smile to the whining and thunking of a great tail against the wall as I unlocked and opened the door. There was King, as immense and white as I remembered, doing the happy dance. Piece of cake, I thought as I reached for the leash. I was surprised to note its flimsiness, and that of the attached choke chain which was small and thin; the rig looked more appropriate for a chihuahua. Oh well, I thought, that’s what the owner uses, so it must work. After reading the note that read, "King is happy to meet you, have a nice walk!" I slipped the choke chain over the big white jowls and stepped out the door. I was immediately catapulted down the stairs by an excited mass of dog and almost lost my footing. "Easy!" I shouted, pulling on the leash. King slowed down a bit, but this display of self-control was tempered by the pee that started dribbling out of him. I walked as fast as I could down the crumbling staircase, stepping in the urine which was splashing everywhere. We finally reached the bottom where King released a flood of water, then looked very much relieved. Regrouping, I started to walk and was pleased to find that my new friend stayed pretty much by my side. We explored the neighborhood and stayed out long enough for him to get exercise and do his personal business, then we headed back towards the apartment building; I didn’t want to wander too far, as this was an area known for drug and gang activity. Rounding the corner , we suddenly came face to face with a pit bull, an unneutered male, tied in the bed of a pickup truck by a stout rope. The words, "So aggressive they will attack each other while mating" rang in my ears as I was yanked off my feet. I looked down and saw that my sweet friend had transformed into a snarling, lunging beast who not only wanted to kill the other dog, he wanted to eat him and pick his teeth with his bones. I quickly regained my footing and used every leash-pulling technique I remembered from dog training class to get control. I damn near had to drag King the entire length of the block and into the apartment before his fury subsided. I closed the door behind me and collapsed on the couch, with King soon in my lap. "What," I asked, scratching his white head, "am I going to do with you?"
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