This isn't to say he is perfect. No dog is perfect. He chews. He is Death Incarnate to cardboard boxes, even when provided with appropriate chew toys. He pesters Ariel in the way that only a little brother can - "Hi! Hi! Hi! Can you play with me? Can I play with you? What are you doing? Can I do it, too?" (Ariel's one word answer: "NO.") He barks at other dogs we meet when we're out walking. Loudly. Fiercely. For extensive amounts of time, if the other owner and I strike up a conversation. I'm not sure if this is fear aggression, leash reactivity, or something else entirely.
And he apparently wants to eat our cat.
This is potentially a Very Large Problem for us. We love Skimble, our two year old male tabby cat. He chose me at the shelter, leaping into my arms and purring like a motorboat. Skimble has always been a brave, bold cat who got along well with Ariel and tolerated our occasional canine visitor, like my sister in law's large, boisterously affectionate dog Bindi. Though I've sometimes half-jokingly told friends that Skimble is a bit of a jerk sometimes - he likes to scoot up behind Ariel and swat her on the rear - Skimble isn't just a pet. He's family.
ALL our pets are family.
When we first brought Milo home, we carefully introduced him to Skimble on leash. Milo approached slowly, tail wagging, to sniff. Skimble poofed out his tail, but stood his ground. For several days, the two maintained a truce - no more poofing on Skimble's part, and he was warily willing to tolerate this new dog who stole his napping spot on my lap and commandeered the spare cat bed. Milo, for his part, wanted to sniff the cat, but did nothing that would make us concerned.
Until he did.
We don't know exactly what happened. All we know is that there was suddenly a flurry of barking and hissing and claws scrabbling on floor, and the cat flew into the dining room, pursued by Milo, back fur up, teeth bared and snapping. The cat got backed into a corner. We screamed and grabbed Milo's dragging leash. Skimble managed to careen around the corner and down into the basement. Milo, back fur still raised, whined and tugged at the leash.
We kept a much closer watch on Milo and Skimble after that. We kept the leash on Milo, and tried to keep hold of it so he couldn't roam around the house like he wanted to. Skimble, frightened out of one of his nine lives, took up residence in the basement or outside, refusing to come in so long as Milo was in the living area of the house. He only ate after dark, when everyone was asleep. By dawn, he had vanished again. We weren't happy, but we knew that things take time to settle... dogs and cats need to establish their own understandings. And Milo is very, very new to our family.
Then it happened again. It was our fault, and we know it... we got careless, we dropped our guard, and again Milo went after Skimble with every evidence of wanting to eat him, or at the very least get his teeth into the cat's fur. Again, we grabbed the dog. Again, the cat fled. This time, I very nearly cried. It wasn't quite a week into our new life with Milo; why was this happening?
We had adopted Milo believing he was good with cats. It was one of my non-negotiable points in searching for a new dog; I had turned down countless possibilities because the shelter or rescue couldn't tell me the dog's disposition towards cats. Thinking back to how he had been with Skimble at first, I can see how Milo would have passed a CPR cat test. I don't feel misled at all, only confused, and anxious; what had happened that flipped a switch in Milo's doggy brain?
I know that cat-chasing is a habit that can be retrained. It takes time, and patience, and often the guidance of a skilled trainer. But cat chasing is also not necessarily a simple black-and-white thing; if Milo is aggressive, TRULY aggressive, he will never, ever be safe around our cat. We have enrolled him in a puppy class, which I hope will help. I've emailed my adoption counselor at CPR and the trainer who teaches the class, hoping for some guidance. And I've prayed. I'm a spiritual person at heart, and believe that prayer can't hurt in a situation like this.
The fact that remains, kapwinging around in my head like a rabid ping pong ball, is that the two week "trial period" Companion Pet Rescue gave us with Milo is trickling away. After two weeks, while CPR will likely accept Milo back if we decide he isn't a fit with our family, particularly under these circumstances, we don't get a refund of our $600 adoption fee. It's not an insignificant chunk of change. It won't break the bank, not getting it back, but between the adoption fee, the vet appointment, the training classes, the supplies and toys, the DNA kit I bought so impulsively, we've already spent well over a thousand dollars on our little rescue guy. I feel small and petty, even thinking about the money, but when you're a family of moderate means, you have to.
But... when it comes right down to it, I really, REALLY don't want to give Milo up. We've bonded, this little dog and me. I don't want to believe he really wants to hurt my beloved cat. I don't want to believe he's not retrainable. I definitely do not want any harm to come to Skimble, and rehoming Skimble is out of the question, off the table, not even a possibility, but in that same way, I believe that Milo's place is here now, with us. Even though he's only been with us for a week and a handful of days, we're his family, and I don't want to give up on him.
A cat-loving friend of mine has generously gifted me money to get a personal training session with a trainer my adoption counselor recommended. Group training classes start on Thursday. At home, we're taking every necessary precaution to prevent a third incident between our canine and feline "children." I'm reading everything I can get my hands on about cat and dog cohabitation, aggression, and introductions.
And I'm doing a lot - a LOT - of praying.
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