I had received an email from Christy that Katya was looking for a temp foster for two weeks for a dog her husband had found a couple of weeks earlier. Katya would be in and out of town, but didn't want the poor girl being bounced around; she wanted one foster for two weeks. I told Christy she would probably find someone, but if not, I was free for one week.
Well, no one came through, so Gilda, named after Gilda Radner (Katya is still the queen of nomenclature), has come to stay with me.
"She has no issues," Katya said of the dog who was found wandering around a studio lot with a collar on, but no one claimed to be her guardian. "She's housetrained, she's quiet, and she's a dogpark dog, she's great with dogs and with people. She's a little shy at first, but then once she trusts you, she's so funny!" (Hence, the name Gilda.)
It takes a bit of physical adjustment to go from a seventy pound canine companion to under thirty in only 24 hours. But the culture shock is going from seventy pounds of uninhibited love and snuggle who can't think of a better place to sleep than directly on you, to less than a couple stone's worth of shy napping at the other end of the room.
Last night I stopped by a neighbor's yard who had a beautiful pit bull named Gunner. We were chatting, and I said, "It's so different to have a pit one day and a little terrier the next."
"Well, he is a..."
Der. "..an American Staffordshire Terrier," I finished with a smile. I forget that they are technically terriers.
Meanwhile, the dog at the end of my leash, the one not just ignoring my existence but secretly hoping I'm not really there, is not a terrier at all despite being labeled a Tibetan Terrier.
Here's my feeling on Am Staff's versus other terriers: Pit Bulls are driven by emotion. They do things for you because they love you. They have intelligence, don't get me wrong, but when it comes down to a big decision, they're going with their gut, with their heart, not their logic. Which is why you hear stories about pit bulls running through fires to get their guardians, and pit bulls head-on lunging at an attacker of their guardian and being shot to death. Granted, many are total wusses; I'm not saying they're all glorious heroes, but in general, pits will go with their passion.
Terriers, the little ones that is, are more logic than love driven. They'll consider the consequences first. Where Gretchen would try to manipulate me with a snuggle and cuddle and look on her face; this one appears to be sizing me up to find out whether or not I will intrude on her plans to take over the world.
I feel like if I ask her if she wants to play a game, she'll respond with, "Would you prefer Chess or Global Thermonuclear Warfare?"
Gilda doesn't like toys. Katya already mentioned that up front. And so, I wonder, how do I entertain this canine? I asked her if she thought Backgammon would be appropriate, but even that seemed far too simple a game for her superior intellect.
She's a stubborn one. Unlike Gretchen who pulled this way and that, Gilda will walk to the end of the parking lot and stand. Just stand. Not moving. I thought perhaps it was the harness throwing her off, so I resorted to using the Martingale collar she has been wearing for two weeks. That didn't work either.
Once she gets going, however, she trucks along at a quick pace, pulling the leash with all of her 26 pounds.
She hasn't warmed up to me yet, but given her more left-brained thought process, I don't think her feelings toward me are going to affect her level of respect and command acceptance. She's stubborn, and won't be tempted with a warm heart.
So, universe, you got me. Emotional manipulation and big dog hugs are no longer part of the equation; now I just have to win one battle of wits after another... patiently.
Game on.
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