"Lack of Any Useful Purpose"

The use of rubber hands and creepy dead-eyed dolls and other witchdoctory in the process of "temperament testing" dogs in pounds and shelters is, shall we say, controversial.

I mention that right out, because those who have infected the nation's animal shelters with a strange and unsupported dogma about "safety" and "prediction" like to pretend that their religious faith is a done deal -- that it represents an established standard of practice, and that failure to meet same is a invitation to charges of negligence.

My first personal goal in flying to Montana to help with Operation New Beginnings in January 2009 was to do what I could to ensure that the dogs weren't signed over to an organization that would summarily kill them without any evaluation or attempt at rehab, as the HSUS had done to the Kapsa Shelties, their predecessors in the Ballantine puppymill, some years before.

My second personal goal was to prevent anyone terrorizing these animals with hoodoo "temperament tests" while the cart with the syringes waited out in the corridor.

Fortunately I was not the only person who thought this way, and the universe was spared the spectacle of Barry White, Curly, Suri, Sparky, et. al. being chased into a corner by Bride of Chuckie and then declared irredeemable dangerous.

No matter. Let us, for the sake of argument, assume that there is some validity to the Poke-It-Till-It-Bites school of "temperament testing." Let's play make-believe that these tests are predictive, and that animals who "fail" by biting a rubber toy or showing "aggression" to a dolly are dangerous and unsalvageable, and those who "pass" by declining to do so are uniformly idiot-proof.

If we do that, can we agree on what an unequivocal "pass" looks like? I would have thought that we could. That, say, if a dog is in the top 1% of wonderfulness when confronted by insanity, that reasonable observers -- including "experts" -- would agree that such a dog is worthy of life.

Consider this four minute evaluation of a dog being held in a shelter in Michigan after being seized in a raid on a "dog fighting operation."




Here's the same girlie on her "dog aggression" (aka, "let's see if we can set up a dog fight") test:



What do y'all think of how this plain brown dog did on her test?

How would your family pet fare under the same circumstances?

I think that, based on Dusty's performance on this "test," I'd take her as a foster in a New York minute. If, after a few weeks of evaluation (and of course, obedience training, because isn't she just begging for direction?) she proved herself to consistently be the dog I think I see in the videos, I'd especially recommend her for a home with kids.

Here's what VMD, PhD, tenured "behaviorist" Katherine Albro Houpt of Cornell University saw. (She is the person in the khaki trousers who is taking notes and doing most of the poking and chasing.)

Dog 206 in cage 33 brown female with white markings Dusty

Wiggled at approach, stare and squat. Bit hand when petted and when eating.

avoided witch

Snarled at doll

jumped but no aggression to male or female dogs

The results of the testing indicates that the following animals: the two males Monroe 207 Reilly 212 that both demonstrated aggression to other dogs and one female Dusty 206 who snarled at the doll should be humanely euthanized because of their lack of any useful purpose and the public safety threat they pose." MCL 750.49(18) aggressive whereas Dog 210 Razzle --- may be safe

Katherine Albro Houpt VMD PhD

Professor emeritus
Cornell University

Thus leading to the order for Dusty, Monroe, and Riley's deaths.

A judge this afternoon ordered three of the four pit bulls seized during a dog-fighting raid in March to be euthanized.

First District Judge Jack Vitale made his decision following hours of testimony from several witnesses over a three-day period.

No action will be taken for the next three weeks, the time permitted for attorneys to decide if they want to file an appeal. Tracy Thomas, who has represented the organization fighting to save the dogs, said after the decision that he is undecided if he will appeal the judge's ruling to a higher court.

The one dog that was deemed safe has been named "Razzle." Judge Vitale said based on the evidence, the dog is not dangerous and can be released to the Buster Foundation after the 21-day rule. However, the other three -- called "Monroe," "Riley" and "Dusty" -- were determined to show aggressiveness and pose a danger to the public, so they must be put down.

That order dates from July 14. Dusty, Monroe, and Rily's advocates have until the 4th of August to appeal this ruling. I'm trying to find out more about the legal process, and will update here or in the comments.

There's a petition on Change.org asking Herr Doktor Professor Houpt to retract her recommendation that these dogs be killed. Not sure what good it would do if she did. I have no faith that a multi-degreed authority who sees a "public safety threat" in the supernatural forbearance of a sweet, wiggly, peaceful, lovey dog can ever be expected to act rationally or with regard to the facts or the truth. But I signed, on the principle that doing so adds my name to the record, to the thousands of gobsmacked animal lovers who have eyes with which to see.

As a cynic, I'm inclined to think that the epitaph "Lack of any useful purpose" could be appropriately scribed on any number of gravestones. There are days when people seem to line up for the honor. I can think of some candidates right here.

But it is not the authoritative coda to the life of a wiggle-butt pit bull who has been sentenced to die for the offense of being a crime victim.

Comments on this post are invited. Anonymous comments that call for retribution against Ms. Houpt will not be posted. Alas, few receive what they deserve in life, one way or the other, and it is not up to the anonymouse internetz to provide it.

___________

More Blog Posts

For the Pit Bulls

KC Dog Blog

Yes!Biscuit

Petbulls

Web and News

Buster Foundation

Monroe News

Welcome, Roseannadannas

Twenty-one hours of stage I labor, four hours of delivery.

Three girls, four boys. Sable boy is a genuine runt who won't take no for an answer, but I'm still considering him touch and go. Two brothers who did not take a breath -- Rosie and I tried.

Mother went from a confused princess to a highly competent coyote dam in a matter of minutes.

I have been dismissed for the moment. Coyotes don't have the same staffing requirements as do princesses.

If your impulse this morning is to the pick up the phone to convey congratulations, don't.

Macro Monday: Dog Eat Dog World

As I was showering this morning, I noticed two of the delicate, elegant spiders who typically occupy the corners and edges of the bathroom ceiling cautiously approaching one another.

Through the steam, they appeared to be the same species. Was I about to be a voyeur at the mating dance?

Alas, no. That was not a kiss that the victrix kept planting on the less fortunate arthropod as she systematically folded and wrapped eight now-ungainly legs.

By the time I got a camera and a chair, it was all over but for the dessication.

When we arrived home tonight, there was no sign there had ever been more than one spider.

Photo Phriday: Commensal

She hops up onto the back deck -- three steps up -- nearly every night, and stations herself by the glass door. There she picks off the bugs that hit the window and drop. I leave a light on in the kitchen for her, and try to remember to close the door so that she has maximum dinner-collection area, and also so I don't step in toad shit in the kitchen.

I bring her stinkbugs and Junebugs -- but never fireflies -- and she now hops towards me when she sees me coming out.

She's the only being I've ever seen who will eat a second stink bug.

The dogs have been lounging on the deck late nights in the heat. They politely give her a couple feet of space near the door, and she pays them no mind.

Everyone should have a porch toad.

Not Your Stick

Ernie about to be introduced to a
hitherto obscure Law of Nature

Cole has taken on our latest foster, young Ernie, as an interesting project.

There wasn't much for him to do in the first week Ernie was with us. The New Guy was living a very restricted life -- tied to me, on a long line on walks, kenneled, in a crate, or gated into a room with me where my eyeballs were always on him. This is how it normally starts with fosters here.

Ernie got opportunities to play outdoors a bit, after dark, when the poultry had gone to bed. He and Cole played keepaway in the front, running round the landscaping bed that is overgrown with mint. In our house, only fosters wear jingly tags -- helps me keep track of them.

Without a sound cue, Ernie appeared to believe that every time Cole disappeared around the other end of the mint island and froze, he had disappeared off the face of the earth. He'd stand and whine until Cole would sneak around into sight and recommence the game.

On Friday, I took the leash off during daylight for the first time. All the dogs were hanging around near the two big maple trees above the house. No poultry close by, so I was confident I would have time to intervene if Ernie forgot the chicken manners he'd been learning while on the long line.

After a short romp, Cole settled down to enjoy chewing a stick.

Or so it would appear to the casual observer.

What he was actually doing was writing and executing a lesson plan, conceptualized in the form a game.

The name of the game is Not Your Stick. The rules of Not Your Stick are simple: That stick? Not yours. That other stick over there? Also, not yours. The stick so small you think I can't see it? Nope, not yours. (Click the little speech-balloon icon lower left for captions.)



To a decontextualized observer, what this looks like is just Cole being a little shit. And he is certainly capable of being just that.

Since Ernie landed in foster largely due to his previous failure to appreciate the twin principles of Not Yours and Keep Your Mouth off of Not Yours, I was more interested in seeing where this would go. I'd had several opportunities to correct Ernie for putting his mouth on things that did not belong to him in the house, and he'd taken the correction well, seeming to contemplate this new information without being overly worried or sensitive. And Cole not only stopped short of overt bullying; he gave the impression of conscientiousness in his titration of timing, pressure, and display.

After Cole explained the Not Yours principles to Ernie using four or five sticks in order to achieve generalization, he allowed Ernie to pick up a stick and retired a short distance away, and benignly observed him enjoying a good chew.

This lasted only a few minutes. All the during the lesson, my flock of curious, friendly, and exceedingly naive turkey poults had been working their way towards the field of play. This would be Ernie's first off-leash encounter with poultry.

He took the bait.

Just as I opened my mouth to correct him, Cole ran forward, blocked him, and sent him in the other direction. Cole is my turkey hound -- he not only herds the turkeys, drives the turkeys away from forbidden areas, plays a silly game with the adult toms, and brings the turkeys home when they stray, he protects the turkeys from predators, cars, and their own suicidal stupidity. Turkeys are his special responsibility.

Cole decided that young turkeys needed to stay in the shrubberies and were not to come out and mingle with dogs in the mowed area. He trotted the boundary until the turkeys relented and moved back into the weeds.

Ernie did not challenge the rule that these were emphatically Not Your Turkeys. He came back towards me and fawned on Pip and Rosie while Cole moved the flock.

He not only absorbed the lesson, he passed the pop quiz at the end of class.

Coming Soon

Bear with us. It's hot out, there are many projects to complete, and quite a few things, including posts, are gestating on their own schedule, not ours.

I ... don't understand the difference

What Michael Vick and his apologists, including Nike and Subway, don't get.

Putting on a nice sweater is not the same thing as being nice.

Casa Bonita
Tags: SOUTH
PARKmore...

Being sorry that you were caught is not the same thing as being sorry.

"Letting down the fans" is not the problem.

"Letting myself down" is not the problem.

Fearing just punishment is not the same thing as knowing what you are doing is wrong.

Enduring punishment is not the same thing as redemption.

It's not all about you. Has nothing to do with "nobody's perfect." It's not a "mistake."

And you will never get it.