Sheba is in the Dog House!

Sheba is in the Dog House!

Pit bulls will be pit bulls! I have written about Sheba and her three puppies that my daughter, Jane rescued. A truck had hit Sheba and her right front leg was mangled. Jane spared no effort to drag the doomed dog out from under an abandoned trailer. Then she took her to a vet and spent at least $2000 for operating and subsequent visits to care for her for the last six months. The wound on the dog’s leg is still not quite healed, but Sheba has surprised us all by regaining the use of her injured leg to a great degree. We have become very attached to Sheba and her female pup, Bebe. The male pups are harder to handle. One, Acey, is good with people, but aggressive with other dogs. Bob Barker, won’t even allow himself to be touched. Jane is going to have to resort to a mobile vet who will use a dart gun on him so he can be taken to the regular vet for neutering and shots.

This morning, while I was deeply engrossed in writing a pioneer article for Gather, I became aware that one of Sheba’s puppies was howling mournfully.  There had been a coyote chorus earlier, but, suddenly, even my deaf ears recognized the clamor of a dogfight at some distance away. I threw on my boots and bathrobe, grabbed a hoe, and took off as fast as I could go toward the screams, barks, and savage growls.

Jane had taken Sheba and the pups along, with two other non-aggressive dogs, all on a walk together, with only Sheba on a leash. I didn’t know Jane was going to do this, and had left my black lab/Newfoundland Smoky outside. Well, when I came upon the scene, I could see that the source of the fighting noises was from Sheba’s two 50 pound pups attacking my good natured, fat and furry, Smoky! One had him at the head, and the other by a hind leg. Jane said Sheba did have him by the throat, but she pulled her off, and was holding her down up the hill where the fight started. Thank goodness Bebe was locked up, or she would probably have had her teeth in Smoky, too.

 The pups saw me coming at them with a hoe, yelling as fiercely as I could, and they backed off, darting back in to attack again and again. But Smoky hobbled home and into the trailer. Rocky was already inside. If she had been out, the fight would have been between Sheba and her, and Rocky would have given a good account of herself. I think she may have some wolf blood in her, and has an aggressive streak that Smoky doesn’t have. At least Rocky could outrun Sheba, which my seven-year-old, fat Smoky cannot.

Smoky is safe inside now, and the only injury I can find in his thick fur, is on his leg. I think he is hurting all over, but the most damage is to his spirit. He looks to be shocked and depressed, to have been attacked so savagely by dogs he thought he could trust. He has never in his life been in a dogfight before. When he meets a strange dog, it is usually an instant friendship, and they are romping together in no tme.

Sheba and Bebe live in a kennel not ten feet from our trailer door. I feed them and clean up their kennel to save Jane time away from her on-line job as medical transcriptionist.  I would have thought Sheba would recognize Smoky’s predominant position in dog hierarchy around here. Maybe he only ranks high in my esteem.

Since finding refuge in the trailer, Smoky hasn’t moved from his position on a rug beside my bed. I brought him water twice, and he lapped it all up, so I guess his throat is not injured. I think his pride and confidsence will be a lot harder to restore.  I have to leave it to Jane to do something about the pit bulls, but I will insist they be moved away from my yard, kennel and all if necessary, and I will see if I can put a moveable chain link fence around my yard.