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"Baby Bubba"by ©Willow MirandaWho is Bubba? He's a Golden Retriever, a 3-year-old product of backyard breeding, and from what I was told by our Vet's technician, Bubba was from (at least) the 14th litter of an 8-year-old momma who could no longer perform natural birth; hence, a caesarean section. The momma was unable to nurse the three puppies in this last (and final) litter and the owner (a real JERK) told the Vet to put them down because he didn't have time to hand raise any puppies. The on-duty technicians asked, and received permission to take the three puppies and try to raise them. When the puppies were about a week and a half old, I took one of my dogs to the Vet's for a regular checkup. Vickie, who worked there, told me she had something to show me. She left the room and returned cradling a tiny brown ball of fur. My hands reached out on their own to accept the tiny puppy as Vickie explained his history. I asked her what was going to happen to the puppies and she said that she and Jennifer (who was helping Vickie raise the puppies) were compiling a list of people who wanted a puppy. I immediately asked to have my name placed on the list. That evening, Vickie phoned to tell me that my name had been placed at the top of the list to receive "pick of the litter." After deciding which puppy would be joining our family, I returned to the Vet's office almost every day to hold the puppy so his scent would be on me and my clothes. Back at home, I let my two adult dogs, AJ (Golden Ret.) and Bernie (Border Collie) sniff my hands and clothes as I told them it was their new "baby brother." I felt that it would, hopefully, allow them to become used to the scent of the new puppy and maybe they would be more accepting of it. One day, as I was mulling over a name for the new baby brother, my hubby said, "Call him Bubba." It was perfect, and from then on, the puppy was known as Bubba.
Bubba was integrated into our dog family with no problems. He was bottle-fed a special blend of powdered milk and slept in the play pen next to my work table. A large stuffed toy was his surrogate momma and Bubba "nursed" on it even when he outgrew the playpen and was eating solid food. Eventually, the stuffed toy started coming apart at the seams. It was laundered and repaired many times until it was unrecognizable and needed to be discarded. Little did we know just how much that old stuffed toy meant to Bubba. He whined, pawed at us, chewed up and ate socks (which were "recycled" out in the yard) and was a general pest, not only to us, but to our other dogs. AJ "babysat" him, Bernie tolerated him and to keep peace in the house, I bought more stuffed toys for Bubba. When he was tired, bored, sleepy, in trouble, etc., he would then turn all of his attention to either one of the stuffed toys or mouthed/nursed at AJ's ear (which we have never been able to discourage him from doing). His stuffed toys became what we called "Bubba's suckies" and they did serve one good purpose because Bubba never chewed on any furniture, he always hunted for one of his suckies when a "need" arose. (I've found that large, stuffed, fleece football toys last longest and are easiest to launder.) Bubba is different from any other dog that I've ever known. He is clownish, pushy and figures out how to get my attention in unusual ways. One night, I was kicking back in my chair and really getting into reading the daily newspaper. Bubba was playing in the floor with a tennis ball in such a way that I could tell he was REALLY bored. After awhile, he began pacing back and forth, back and forth. I ignored him. He walked over to me and stuck his nose into my face. I ignored him. Things got quiet for a while and then SUDDENLY, WHACK!!!!! Right into the back of my newspaper! It startled the heck out of me, and there was Bubba, standing tall, with his front feet on the foot stool, staring at me with a very steady and firm look. Hubby was laughing like crazy and said that he had watched Bubba sneak over to the footstool, gently place his front feet on it and then, lifting a front paw, he slammed it into the back of my newspaper! Needless to say, I got up from my chair and followed Bubba to the front door. When I opened it, out he shot, straight over to his suckie toy that was lying on the deck. He picked it up, turned and re-entered the house, plopped down into middle of the living room floor and proceeded to "nurse" on his suckie toy. Puppies raised by humans are frequently much different in attitudes from those raised by their own kind. Along with assertiveness, food aggression is a problem and Bubba was "first in line" when that trait was handed out! Then there is the alpha mentality from being hand raised and spoiled rotten. In November of last year, both of these traits reared up in a most ugly fashion. Suddenly, our sweet (soon to be 3-years-old) Golden was starting bloody fights with 6-years-old, AJ. (Bern had been the alpha dog, and had passed on the year before, leaving an "opening" for top dog.) I was shocked at the change in Bubba and especially on one occasion in which I was attempting to force the (now) timorous AJ into the yard and up the stairs past Bubba. Poor AJ didn't want to be anywhere near his former buddy. I reached out to Bubba to shove him out of the way from where he was standing on the stairs at eye level with me and blocking AJ's path. Bubba suddenly growled furiously and directly into my face. I reacted immediately and shouted "NO!" right back into his face while taking a swing at him, which, by the time my hand reached him, all I connected with were the hairs on the end of his tail as he turned to flee up the stairs. I was right behind him, yanking off my shoe, which I threw at him, missing (of course) and sailing it over the porch railing. By the time I reached the top step, Bubba was at the back door, trying to get into the house. We had a "stare down" as I explained in no uncertain terms that what he had done was NOT acceptable! When he finally averted his eyes from mine, I turned and went into the house, taking AJ with me. The next day, we took a trip to the Vet's office for a checkup on Bubba to rule out any physical problems. The Vet studied Bubba carefully, and observed him for about a half hour, She offered three suggestions: contact a behavior consultant, make changes in feeding habits and our actions with Bubba, or find a new home for him where he would be the only dog. We couldn't give up Bubba, so we began immediately in making changes, which were: feeding both dogs out of eyesight of one another, both in "sit" positions before entering or exiting house, and no more dog treats tossed into the air for the dogs to catch... oh yes, and absolutely no more tossing goodies to dogs from our dinner plates. Bubba made a complete turnaround! It was amazing how quickly he "agreed" to the changes! Life was once again easygoing until this past December, when late one night, Bubba began throwing up. I stayed up all night with him, rubbing his tummy and holding him close after each upchuck (and sometimes, during an unannounced upheaval). I called our Vet and left a message that I was bringing in Bubba early that morning. X-rays showed a blockage in Bubba's intestines which meant immediate surgery (with an incision from "stem to stern"). A man's very large sock was removed, along with 6 inches of Bubba's infected intestine. Bubba recovered completely, has not reverted to his former aggressive and obnoxious behavior, and AJ is no longer fearful of being in the same room (or on the same planet) with Bubba.
Resource by Willow Miranda, WilloWorld
- Wonderful Poetry, definitely worth a visit. |
When
Bubba was three weeks old, Vickie asked me if I thought I could take
over his care. I jumped at the chance, and so Bubba arrived at his new
home with a goodly supply of bottles, baby formula, plastic potty cloths,
stuffed toys and what became one of the best puppy raising tools of
all time, a child's play pen! What a life saver, not to mention a pacifier
for me when Bubba needed one of his frequent "time-outs!" 
