Reuben, Oz, and the Universe

We met Reuben yesterday. Reuben is a half grown Springer Spaniel, and cute as a button. Oz and I met him when we went out for the morning W.

Oz works on a simple premise that is charming but kinda dim: everything in the world is her friend, put there for her to greet, smell, and play with. That's fine if a dog is friendly, like Reuben very much was, but gets dicey when the dog is aggressive. More than once we've been charged by a dog while Oz stood there grinning and wagging her tail. It got closer and closer, and Oz got friendlier and friendlier. The dog's jaws went for her throat, sometimes closing with an audible snap!

Oz would stay friendly, sometimes licking the recently closed in greeting. The dog would snap again. Oz would dodge the jaws, and counter with a friendly lick. Only if the dog actually landed a bite would Oz counterattack, and even then, it was treated as a kind of one time mistake. The dog would bite, Oz would bite back—and then go back to being friendly. This has meant several things.
First, it means when a dog charges us, it's my job to do the threat assessment. Should fighting other dogs become necessary, that's my job. Oz stands and watches, waiting to be friends with the winner and the loser alike. As a side note, that means she runs towards danger, not away.

Second, it means that all those comments from people about pack order and dominance go right out the window. Oz doesn't dominate, but she doesn't submit much either. It's play time, baby. Oz is a democratic dog.

Third, it means when we meet a dog like Reuben, it's a joy. Reuben was friendly, and soft as only puppies can be. He danced on Oz's head, licked me, and helped get their leashes joyously tangled. Ah!

Greg