My Tortoise Ignoring Dog

Ten years ago out beloved dog, Petro, had an aversion to barking-- an aversion he never overcame. Or so we were convinced until the day he found a tortoise in the garden. The tortoise was securely inside a fence that kept Petro on the outside looking in. For an  hour Petro barked incessantly at the tortoise he could not reach, at the tortoise who had safely withdrawn into his shell, at the tortiose who was capable and willing to wait as long as it took. Eventually we rescued Petro, who struggled as we pulled him away from fence and into the house. To his dying day he barked only at tortoises.

SHIFT TO TODAY.

Today Madigan  - who barks at unknown people, at rabbits he cannot reach, at cats crossing his lawn, at flies in the window-  met a tortoise. Secure on his extra heavy leash as I picked blueberries, (heavy leash since the  rabbit chasing escapade a few days ago), he sniffed a tortoise under the blueberry bush.  Sniff--paw--sniff--paw. The tortoise secure in his shell offered no response.

I watched as images of Petro flooded my memories. I could almost hear his relentless barking.

Not Madigan. One last paw at the  rock like immoveable mass. His attention shifted to a chipmunk scurrying from under the shed. His barking suggested a cry to let me loose to chase that critter. I am pleased with my super heavy leash.

My Rabbit Frenzied Dog

My beagle-terrier mix, Madigan, is assuredly more than three quarters beagle. He is a tenacious rabbit chaser.

For fear of losing him before he fully became mine I allowed him out of the house only on a leash. His need to walk and pee and poop has given me more walking time than I've had in the past two or three years.

The benefits of long walks fell prey to a rabbit encounter which was a threat to my very life.  I carefully tethered Madigan on a long leash to a tree near my blueberry bushes where I picked from one of the best crops I've had in years. My berry container was filling fast. In an instant Madigan lunged at a passing rabbit, broke his leash and was gone. He had no identifying tag on his collar and he was off to the gods know where. My heart raced, my spirits sank. I had just lost my dog-- the second in a week.

It was in reality a short time-- though it seemed an eternity -- in the midst of my hiking the fields around my house that I heard a barking-- a low- beagle sounding bark. I hurried toward the sound, to the house down the street where my Madigan was cornered by the owner. I now have a much stronger leash

My friend later posted on my e-mail the following:
                       
                                         Madigan's spree
                                         Whee
                                          Rabbit
                                          Habbit.

Madagin becomes Madagin? Maybe.

My chosen mutt! Without history or name.

I ushered him into the clinic for neutering as required.

His name?" the pert young woman at the desk asked.

"Madigan."

"Cute name." I was prepared to explain that Madigan was old Irish for puppy dog. She addressed my dog. "Madigan."

No response. No recognition of the name 'Madigan'. But Ye Gods he had had that name for less than twelve hours.

Despite the indignity he remained cooperative. He exhibited the same demeanor he exhibited when I walked him at the pound. He heeled beside  the clinic worker, followed her without question to a procedure he could not imagine.

My Life with Madigan

I have been so preoccupied with the death of one dog and the adoption of new one I have been uncreative in trying to write. Thus I have decided to write of this experience.

                                                           My Life with Madigan

My beloved dog, Petro, died unexpectedly.  Or so it seemed.  In retrospect there were signs:  listlessness which I attributed to old age, erratic appetite—only a bit more erratic for my fussy eater, gauntness without weight loss.

A massive stomach tumor explained the symptoms and ended his life.

The emptiness of a house occupied only by Petro and me since my husband’s death last year hung heavy.  Hence my daily treks alternately to the local Humane Society and the County Pound. Two Corgi-mixes proved too rambunctious for a nearly eighty year old widow. A tri-color Sheltie was reunited with its owner. Three mixed beagles in the early puppy stage scared me with their sheer puppiness. Then I saw the one.  A beagle-terrier mix stole my heart the minute I looked on his white coat with sable spots, his long graceful legs, his dangly sable ears framing his white face.

A first day walk around the Pound grounds and  a second  day walk despite the rain. The third day I returned to the Pound with collar and leash in my pocket.  A bank check and scheduled Vet appointment later I began my life with Madigan