This is a hard story for me to tell. I don't know that I'll do it well. I mention Ivan often enough in my posts, however, that I feel I should put it all out there.
Ivan the Terrible was a bad dog. Awful. He earned that nickname. He was also my best teacher, and a huge piece of my heart is missing, with him gone. In 2005, at the age of 3, Ivan was euthanized for aggression issues. I have never doubted the wisdom of that choice, even though I want to scream at the universe for his death.
It all began with a puppy - Sasha. When Sasha was 6 months old, we decided to add another pup. The shelter had a litter of abadoned puppies that were 7 weeks old. 12 puppies who had been found in a drainage ditch at 5 weeks old. They all looked identical, the only variations being how much black on the muzzle or how much white on the chest.
Ivan was a CUTE puppy.
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From the first day, Ivan was different. I was new to dog ownership, and I didn't see the red flags. Ivan bonded immediately to Sasha.
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He ignored us. Completely. I'd take a treat out of a bag, wave it in front of him to get his attention, and he'd go sit near the bag. It was as if we humans were totally irrelevant. He didn't seek human affection. I hand fed him for a week, until he started acknowledging my existance.
Ivan was extensively socialized, and none of it took. I was riding horses twice a week at a friend's ranch, and she had all sorts of animals. Sasha made friends with the goat and a baby horse. She'd frolic and play with them. Ivan screamed when she did. We had cats, and Ivan never saw them as anything but suspicious and potentially tasty. He was hard to train, but we simply put in the extra hours. He won awards at puppy class. At under a year, he was one test short of passing his CGC test. (He whined and argued during the tie-up and walk away test. He was a noisy boy) At first I thought he was dumb, but our trainer pointed out that he was stubborn, not dumb. He'd work twice as hard to avoid a command as complete it. He might down instead of sit, or do this awkward crouch instead of down.
Still, things were well. The dogs were best friends, and if we had a stubborn hound, so be it. As he grew, he developed a few problem habits. He was a leash puller, and very strong. He'd take off after something (like a neighbor's cat) and I could barely contain him. We bought a prong after he almost dragged me down a hill. The first few times on the prong, he threw fits. Tantrums. He screamed so loudly I was sure neighbors were going top call AC. He spun in mad circles, pulled at our clothes and punctured skin through my husband's pants. He would go nuts.
So we tried head collars. He quickly found a way to brace his head to the side and keep on pulling. Back to the prong, as his dramatics.You'd think by this description he was a dominant dog, but he was also nervous and fearful. He'd scream if he felt threatened - if Sasha corrected him, or a vet gave a shot. Sasha was always the one to step up and assess any outside "threat." He hung back, anxiously. Its as though he wanted to be in charge, but couldn't handle the job.
By 6 months old, he had alienated his former puppy playmates at the dog park. He was too rough. He was vocal and scary sounding when he and Sasha played, but he'd always been loud. I took the general advice not to interfere unless there was blood. The dogs were crate trained, followed house rules, and were exercised every day. From puppyhood, it was pure NILF until you proved you were mature enough to get a little slack. I don't claim to have done everything perfectly. I made mistakes. All the same, we weren't hapless owners without a clue.
When Ivan was 15 months old, he attacked Sasha in the backyard. There was the tiniest bit of posturing, and WHAM he was on her. Luckily I was there, and he hated water, because I was able to get him off and hold him off with the hose. He wanted to come back for more, but I pushed Sasha behind me and got her inside the house. She needed stitches for a bite to the shoulder. We were concerned, but kept an eye on them. Things seemed normal. A month later, he flipped out again. Another trip to the vet, and more stitches. The fights were terrifying, and it was clear both times that he was out for blood. He went off so quickly, and with so little warning.
Our vet referred us to a trainer who specialized in aggressive and dominat dogs. This man was amazing. He came out and did an evaulation of the dogs. He said that Sasha had excellent dog communication, and should have been the dog in charge. As for Ivan, he tongue in cheek remarked, "Ivan makes bad decisions." His advice was that in order to manage Ivan, he needed to be under control 24/7. If he weren't crated, leashed, or confined, he needed to be under a voice command. Ivan was willing to bite the trainer, but the trainer knew what he was doing and it didn't happen. We began private obedience lessons with the trainer, and graduated towards particiaption in his advanced obediance classes. For the next year and a half, we managed Ivan and kept up with training. We had baby, and life was pretty much baby and Ivan. Our house was full of crates, x-pends and cages. It was ugly! He needed to be contained, but we were determined to keep him integrated into the family. Wherever we were, he was there.
Still, as he matured, it was clear he would take any inch he was given. He was a runner, and he'd bolt for the door. There were times he didn't want to obey a command, and he'd give me a steely eyed look that sent shivers down my spine. So much of handling Ivan involved walking on eggshells. You couldn't afford not to pay attention to whatever signals he was throwing.
Then one Weds, just after he turned 3, I noticed he was being slow to respond to commands. It was a small delay, but significant coming from Ivan. I vowed to take extra time for training on Sat., and start going to classes on Sunday again. By Friday, he was refusing commands outright. I don't know how to describe it, and how scary it was. If you've never seen a dog look at you with that look - the one that means he is 5-10 seconds away from tearing off your face - I'm not sure I can explain. In two days, two days of careful management and extra attention, he had gone absolutely out of control. Terrifying. It wasn't that he wouldn't listen at all, or that he running amuck. It was just that it was clear our word was no longer final, and that itself was highly dangerous.
We knew we couldn't keep him safely - that it was a matter of WHEN he hurt or killed something or someone, not IF. We might even have managed to go years without a serious incident, but sooner or later someone would make a mistake. Something as simple as a door opened by accident. If we had been childless and free of other pets, we would have kept him until he died of old ag, even if it cramped our social life. But we aren't. I had a friend involved on the sidelines of rescue, and she was sure there was a home for him out there. A friend of hers who worked in rescue told her what we already knew - with his history, Ivan wasn't adoptable. He hated strange people, he hated all dogs except Sasha. He hated large livestock, and saw anything medium to small as a possible lunch. In short, Ivan hated everyone but his immediate family, and he was willing to hurt us.
Saturday morning, my husband and I did the hardest thing we've ever done in our lives. We had our baby killed. I had to go on antidepressants, and tears are flowing as I type this. I loved that dog, and I still miss him. He had wonderful qualities. He was a terrible dog, but lovable and even loving.
I miss you, you ***.
My handsome boy -
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Vicious baby eater -
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Vicious baby kisser -
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Cuddle bunny -
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I still love you Sasha, sorry about the stitches -
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Practicing his sit on his last morning -
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And his down -
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