January 2009 Archives

The above picture is of Juneau pleading with me not to go to work on Thursday morning.
Two big events in the young life of Juneau will unfold over the
next few days. More accurately, these will qualify as two big events
in what my life has become; a life altered irreversibly
by one cold nose and two frightened eyes.
On Saturday, Juneau will get her first bath in the Pevear house. On
Monday, Juneau begins classes at Canine University in Malden -- though
from what I understand, these classes really are more for my benefit
than for Juneau’s. (As it turned out, the first class was for dog owners only. Juneau shows up to begin clicker training on Feb. 9. I have my clicker and bag of cheese bits all set to go.)
During these major events, I will take pictures on a scale comparable
to my children’s christenings and graduations.
The bath is daunting, since I turned my previous dog’s first soapy
experience into something so terrifying, Hayley barely would
drink water after that.
Baths became operations requiring weeks of planning. I had the
energy for only two or three a year. Because Hayley was even more
terrified of trash barrels (don’t ask) than of the hose, I would line up
barrels to corral her in the driveway within range of a soapy bucket
and hose.
Hayley died clean. I had bathed her only the week before. She
succumbed quickly to lymphoma. One day she seemed fine. Five days
later I was crying all the way to Foxboro to cover the NFL Draft.
Anyway, I don’t want a smelly dog on my lap during Super Sunday.
Juneau will be deposited in the upstairs bathtub on Saturday. I have
it on good authority she on Sunday will be watching Puppy Bowl V on
Animal Planet and then rooting for the Steelers. She knows of her
master’s admiration for Hines Ward.

Juneau is doing fine after our hilly 3-mile run through Breakheart
Reservation in Wakefield/Saugus on Sunday. Eight-hundred milligrams
of Ibuprofen later, I still am limping around like Joe Namath. The
old knee injury I forgot I had since giving up running two
years ago, re-introduced itself. The pain was worth it for one
restful night. Juneau slept like in hibernation. Yet unless I hire
Haile Gebrselassie as my dog-walker, I don’t see this pace of
fatiguing Juneau into sweet slumber continuing.
Back in the house, Juneau continues avoiding most human contact not
tied to table scraps, skittering about to chew up household items
before retreating to her crate. (She vomited in her crate the other
night after eating candles in the living room, necessitating moving up the
scheduled date of her first bath. Once the
swelling in my knee subsides enough so I can climb the stairs,
Juneau will be introduced to the upstairs bathtub.)
The debate now raging within the Pevear household is how many hours
Juneau can be locked in her crate during the day before we find
ourselves on that slippery slope to being locked up with Michael Vick. The
hectic comings and goings of the household usually has
somebody there with her, but occasionally our meager lives beyond Juneau do call.
The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals says that a four- to six-month-old puppy — which Juneau is —
“shouldn’t be crated for longer than a two- to three-hour period.”
Yet a link on the ASPCA's Web site connects to a story saying a dog can be
crated for one hour per each month of age, up to a maximum of nine to
ten hours.
Juneau is not wanting for exercise. Most of my time not working is
spent walking her. When people are home, she stays in her crate
anyway. So what's the big deal?
A friend of mine who is a friend of animals explained that a dog’s
short-term memory is different than ours. Their sense of being
crated for lengthy (yet reasonable) stretches is not as
agonizing as from the human perspective. Today the plan called for crating Juneau for only 2 1/2 hours, so we could keep enough candles in case power goes out in the next storm. So why these feelings of guilt?

A setback Thursday had the Pevears battling major discouragement
While I was at work, Juneau made a BIG mess of the house. This being
a family blog, I will not get into all the smelly details. I also do
not want to involve the EPA.
I had been walking Juneau 2.5 miles each night, then rising early
each morning and walking her a mile before work. The routine was
catching on. No mess-ups. Until Thursday. Home alone for 2 1/2 hours
out of her crate, Juneau made herself less adorable.
A lingering problem is Juneau has become attached to me. Truly I am
flattered, but this makes it difficult for other family members to
help me out. Juneau sits trembling in her crate and has to be dragged
out. This is not conducive to frequent walks.
Even with me, Juneau must be strategically cornered to get her leash
on. Last night I applied Joshua Chamberlain’s swinging-gate flank
attack from Little Round Top. My energy is waning.
Once outside, Juneau is a totally different animal. She interacts
well with other dogs. She walks well on a leash. Her tail even
occasionally wags. She is also indefatigable.
When my wife Maura left a message on my cell phone Friday afternoon,
I sensed it was about Juneau, and feared it was a dog-or-me
ultimatum. Juneau seems especially terrified of my wife, since she is
the one who mans the vacuum cleaner.
After a half-hour of ignoring the message, I finally summoned the
courage to listen.
“Juneau and I just went five miles running,” my wife excitedly said.
“She did great!”
Looks like Juneau remains a keeper.
Good dog, Juneau.
Next is the decision whether to cut back on cable and buy pet health
insurance. Expert advice is welcome.

This is one of the dogs up for adoption at the Northeast Animal Shelter. I recall "Sam" being there on Dec. 28 when I wound up adopting Juneau (or "Shely" as she was then known). I was tempted to adopt "Sam" or "Red Snake," another greyhound sleeping there at the time. I had checked out from the library a large picture book on greyhounds. The size of them and uncertainty about how they would deal with our cats pushed me toward "Juneau," who has a scaled-down greyhound look to her. A part of me wanted a greyhound.
This is the description of "Sam" from the Northeast Animal Shelter Web site.

Sam
Age: 2 1/2 years
Weight: 62 lbs
Breed: Greyhound
Gender: Male
Been with us since: 11/7/08
Status: available
12/2/08- Our fenced in yard is finally in place out in the back yard. I had a blast this morning playing with the staff. I almost felt like I was back on the track. Boy did it feel good to run like that! I was totally exhausted after about twenty minutes.. ( guess I'm not as young as I thought ) but it was a lot of fun! I can't wait to have another turn!

Juneau grows bolder by the hour. On Tuesday she chewed a zipper off a pillow on the living-room sofa. Me and my daughter Annie were scheming to blame it on the cats, so to keep Juneau in my wife’s good graces. But on Wednesday, Juneau chewed a candle to bits and a leaf off a plant, so the Juneaugate coverup is unraveling.
Factoring in above-mentioned domestic destruction, the cost of owning Juneau is approaching $1,000 in 24 days since she melted us with her frightened eyes.
A rundown:
$425 — Cost of adopting Juneau from the Northeast Animal Shelter
$77 — Crate for Juneau to hide and sleep in
$20 - Pink sweater to keep Juneau from shivering when we take her outside
$29 — Blue jacket to put over pink sweater because Juneau still was shivering when we took her outside (perhaps it was related to fright, not Fahrenheit).
$14.99 - Musher's Secret wax to protect Juneau's paws from road salt
$21 — Big bag of dog food. Juneau only eats if nobody is watching, but she does eat.
$85.25 — Juneau’s first checkup at the vet. The vet's first words, “Hmmm. What do we have here?” The doc thought Juneau looked like an Italian greyhound/beagle mix. We suspect Jack Russell Terrier.
$94.25 — My share of the cost to have Juneau spayed. We opted not to inject the $90 ID chip into Juneau. But I am having second thoughts. She looks capable of running away fast.
$160 — Cost to enroll Juneau in Canine University. Her first class is Feb. 2. I’ll keep you posted.
Total cost: $926.49, plus damages.
Pet ownership is a huge responsibility.
Thankfully, Juneau is cute. The new tires for my car will just have to wait.

I adopted "Juneau" from the Northeast Animal Shelter only because of its proximity to my house. The Lowell Humane Society is there to rescue animals in this area and offer them for adoption. Please check it out.

JUNEAU

Age: 5 months (estimated on 1/5/09). Weight: 22 pounds. Breed: Mutt (Terrier mix).
Last October I was rescued by Save a Sato, a non-profit organization "dedicated
to improving the quality of life for homeless and abused animals" in Puerto Rico.
Sato is slang for "street dog." I was first taken to Albergue Los Milagros (Miracles
Shelter), where I was named “Shely." I arrived at the Northeast
Animal Shelter in Salem, Mass., skinny and scared on Dec. 12, 2008. On Dec.
28, the Pevears adopted me. They renamed me "Juneau," which they tell me is in
Alaska. The Pevears seem like nice people. I already have them wrapped around
my claw. Their daily existence revolves around MY schedule. They don’t seem to
mind.

Dave


Age: 51. Weight: 173. Breed: French Huguenot/Russian mix. Juneau is my fourth dog.
Her immediate predecessor, Hayley, died last April. Hayley also was a mutt adopted
from the Northeast Animal Shelter. She died the same day the Patriots drafted
Jerod Mayo. I covered the Patriots for The Sun for 22 years before moving to
news last June. In addition to Juneau, I have a wife and five children. One of
those children has two cats that we also adopted from the shelter. Being a bird
watcher, I am not a cat person. They do not get along with the starlings.

No story of mine sparked this much mail since I long ago applauded Raymond Berry’s decision to start Tony Eason over Doug Flutie.
As I recall, the word “dog” showed up in many of those growling missives as well.
This time the mail flew in via cyberspace and was all kind and supportive. Several e-mails were heart-tuggers. All encouraged my sleepless efforts to soothe a terrified pound puppy my family adopted on Dec. 28. “Juneau” loves to snuggle and go for long walks on the beach, only you first have to run her down like you are Ray Lewis as she skitters between the security of her crate in the kitchen and the living-room sofa.
Juneau still has not wagged her tail, and still only eats if nobody is looking. But cherished readers and dog-lovers have inspired my patience.
One woman e-mailed me about a 3-month-old Shiba Inu mix with “a curled-up tail and long bat-like ears” and emotional issues that melted her daughter’s heart during her visit to the Lowell Humane Society. The woman’s daughter, a 15-year-old diagnosed last September with a serious liver disease, now has a companion who curls up with her in bed at night.
“... And it all makes sense,” the girl’s mother writes. “I am not really a dog person. (But) I can’t even remember what it was like before he was here ... Good luck in your adventures with your new little girl.”
One woman wrote me about a blind dog she and her husband adopted after she underwent surgery for breast cancer and was about to start radiation treatments. “We decided that we needed to focus in on something else ...” the woman wrote.
They kept the name given the dog at the pound, “Jose Feliciano.”
That was 10 years ago.
“We have learned a lot from Jose,” the woman wrote. “You can’t let your disabilities hold you back. You still have to climb those stairs in life ... Don’t give up on Juneau. The ride will be worth it.”
Another woman e-mailed me pictures of her dog, Erik, suggesting he might be Juneau’s cousin. Like Juneau, Erik was rescued roaming the streets of Puerto Rico and was adopted from the Northeast Animal Shelter in Salem. He came home skinny and frightened and still prefers that his head not be patted from above.
“All the other little quirks he had from being abused are pretty much gone,” the woman wrote. “I thought you would like to know that.
“I am in a wheelchair, and he is great company and protection for me.”
Another woman, a former dog trainer, suggested “clicker training” to help Juneau overcome her timidness and provided links to articles about shy dogs. Juneau, I am proud to say, will soon attend “Canine University.”
Since Juneau was rescued in Puerto Rico, a highly practical e-mailer suggested I learn Spanish. “Dave, your dog doesn’t understand English,” the e-mailer wrote.
Which is precisely why I am sending Juneau to college.
Posted By David Pevear, Sun Staff

After three sleepless nights, Dave Pevear found himself on the kitchen floor next to Juneau.

The building once housed a Honda dealership. Four years ago, I bought a Civic there. It has run for 85,000 miles without requiring a trip to the vet. This I saw as a healthy sign for a 4-month-old terrier-mix too frightened to take one step toward us.

We took Juneau home from the Northeast Animal Shelter in Salem on Sunday and I've had 12 hours sleep since. "Terrier" mix was written on the yellow card taped to her cage. But the Northeast Animal Shelter is not the Mayflower Society Home. Juneau's genealogy is anyone's creative guess.

"Shelly" (her dog-pound name) was rescued while roaming Puerto Rico in October, we were told. She had been at the shelter two weeks. I sensed the kind woman at the shelter subtlety trying to

After three sleepless nights, Dave Pevear found himself on the kitchen floor next to Juneau.

discourage us. She wanted to be certain we could withstand the psychological strain of adopting the black-and-white bundle of bones trembling before us. Five other puppies at the shelter were playful and cute, their eyes smiling "Take me home." Juneau only had cute going for her. Her terrified eyes said, "Kindly let me be." There is a good chance this dog will never be anything but terrified, the woman told us. She assured us that if nobody took the dog, one of the workers or volunteers at the shelter would adopt her.

Juneau was the sorriest sight at the shelter that day. Unless you count the cat without hind feet. Or the sight of me, my wife and youngest son undertaking interaction with Juneau after the panic-eyed puppy was

dragged from her cage to meet us. Our torrent of charm and doggie talk evoked more trembles.
But she was cute.

My wife Maura named our new puppy Juneau, after the city in Alaska, for no other reason than she likes the name. My wife is no passionate pet person, but is an oncology nurse, possessor of abundant compassion, except when vacuuming dog hairs out of the living-room rug. She then gets that look Patton got while sweeping across France.

Our previous dog, Hayley, a long-haired mutt people thought looked like a Rhodesian ridgeback, died of lymphoma last April. Her brownish hair is still embedded in our hearts and rugs.

"My heart goes out to this dog," my wife told the woman at the shelter as we pointed at Juneau trying to hide in her cage. "I feel she is unleashing my nursing instincts."

Being short-haired no doubt helped Juneau shiver into my wife's heart.

I carried Juneau into our house and steadied her skinny legs on the kitchen floor. Juneau took two quick steps. Right into a corner by the breezeway door and the refrigerator. There she trembled.

We could not open the refrigerator door with Juneau sitting there, so she had to move or the Pevears would starve.

Juneau was nudged deeper into the house. She soon ran away ... to behind the Christmas tree in the living room. When we left the room, she jumped on the couch. A football fan! I knew this dog was a keeper.

My younger daughter, Annie, the one who had pleaded for a new dog and offered to quit school to care for it, took off on a ski trip to New Hampshire. My wife on Tuesday drove to Philadelphia with my youngest son, Matt, to visit our granddaughter. On New Year's Eve it was pretty much Juneau and me and C-SPAN's reruns of Barack Obama's campaign speeches.

I had not slept on the floor early New Year's morning since being single and drunk. But there I was on the kitchen floor trying to sleep next to the crate in which Juneau sat not sleeping. Whenever I quietly left the room, she howled.

I know. You're not supposed to give in. Establish your dominance. Be a pack leader. Let the beast howl until it realizes its howling does no good. But for such an adorable puppy that remains silent until the lights go out, Juneau is capable of summoning a screech from the darkest corner of hell.

After three sleepless nights interrupted by cleaning Juneau's messes in her crate, I felt like I had been water-boarded. I surrendered. When I became too cold on the floor, I released the hound from her crate and let her lie on my bed. My older daughter, Marybeth, has already sent an e-mail to Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer.

Juneau is still a frightened pup. But she is going to be a great dog. I don't think we are just imagining this. A few gentle tugs on her leash and she now walks a few laps of the yard. On New Year's Day she finally peed outside. That night, following perfunctory whines and howls, she slept five hours in her crate.

She has made me totally pathetic and I love it. Just before leaving for work yesterday morning, I screamed with the same joy as when each of my five children was born. Yes, Juneau finally pooped outside!