Animals are Animals

Our dog, Everly.

There is something special about having a dog. Bonding with another species that evolved to cohabitate with ours is unlike any other relationship. Dog ownership has been immensely gratifying to my family, and millions of families over tens of thousand of years. I have come to view this dog-human relationship as fundamental to the human experience. But I have never lost sight of the fact that a dog is still an animal. And animals are unpredictable.

Anything with a mouth can bite you

In my mid-twenties I volunteered at the San Francisco Zoo. Between jobs and recently settled in the Bay Area, I was without kids or a career. I suddenly had time to fulfill a dream born while attending Zoo Camp at the Santa Ana Zoo as a child: work with wild animals.

I volunteered in the Animal Resource Center, or ARC, where a variety of animals are used in a mobile zoo for education and outreach. As an ARC volunteer, I cleaned cages, prepared food (which involved everything from chopping carrots to euthanizing mice), and provided enrichment for the animals.

I learned a lot during my brief time there. Opossums smell weird. Chinchillas bathe in volcanic ash. Snakes rarely poop. Bobcats purr.

I saw a North American porcupine run in an adorable gambol across the floor. I held a Kinkajou who hugged me and peed on me. I once put a tortoise in a wallaby’s enclosure, on orders from an ARC staff member, to give both animals some company. It was an inter-species playdate. When I went back into the cage to retrieve the tortoise, the wallaby bounded toward me in three enormous hops with its powerful hind legs. I grasped the tortoise and quickly exited the enclosure.

“That could have been dangerous,” a fellow volunteer, my partner for the day, told me.

I agreed. We should have asked the staff before removing the tortoise from its playdate. Google “wallaby attack” to see just how that wallaby might have reacted if it decided my presence was a problem.

I learned a saying at the ARC that I’ve found myself repeat a thousand times since: anything with a mouth can bite you. That was the mantra at the ARC. The staff made sure we knew that any creature there, from the mice to the eagles, could be dangerous.

Years later, when my nature-obsessed daughter wanted to pet every dog that crossed her path, there were rules for engagement. 1. Ask the owner. 2. Offer your hand so the dog can get to know your scent. 3. Pet under the chin. They were not to ask “Does your dog bite?” because anything with a mouth can bite you.

After a concerted multi-year long campaign, my daughter convinced us to get a dog. My husband and I then spent many months researching breeds with the intensity of a law grad prepping for the bar. We asked everyone we could about every aspect of dog care. Eventually, we settled on the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel as the breed we wanted for its sweet countenance, small stature, and low energy level. We wanted a dog to watch TV on the couch with us and Cavaliers seemed to be the breed best suited to that activity.

We adopted Twinkle, a five-year-old Cav, and she was a TV watching champion. She could sit on a lap like it was her job. And, in a sense, it was her job.

Twinkle and her granddaughter, Everly

Three years later, we adopted Twinkle’s granddaughter, Everly. Everly was not only gifted at lap sitting, but also at giving others comfort. She became a therapy dog through Mariner’s Church, where foster kids and senior assisted living facility residents could pet her soft coat and marvel at her stuffed animal-like appearance.

We would occasionally joke about how these sweet fluff balls are technically wolves, so close genetically as to be virtually indistinguishable from wolves. It is not always evident, but deep inside each dog’s DNA are the traits and instincts that protected his wolf ancestors. Dog owners are likely familiar with their dogs taking a beloved toy and shaking it violently back and forth. This “death shake” is an efficient way for predators like wolves to render a prey animal harmless by snapping its neck.

Twinkle passed of a known and, for Cavalier owners, all too expected heart condition in October. We decided Everly needed a companion. In January, we proudly welcomed Cleo to our family. Everly knew it was her job to instruct Cleo in all things: bark at the gardeners, pee in the side yard, sit on an owner’s lap during TV time. She was a magnificent role model to Cleo.

Animals are unpredictable

On Saturday, at five in the afternoon, I took both Everly and Cleo on a quick walk around our neighborhood. For their physical and mental health, dogs need regular outdoor exercise. We take that responsibility seriously.

Halfway through my route, I passed a woman with a German Shepherd on a retractable leash. She stepped aside to let us pass at a COVID safe distance. We said “hi” to one another.

Silently, swiftly, and entirely unprovoked, her dog grabbed Everly in its powerful jaws. There was no warning. No bark or growl. It began to shake her the way my dogs shake their toys. I started to kick this dog. I could never bring myself to hurt an animal, but at this moment, it was the only thing I could think of in order to stop the attack.

When the dog finally released Everly, I shouted something at the woman holding the leash. “How dare you” or “shame on you” came out of my mouth as I turned to find Everly immobile on the ground and Cleo half way up the street. I started to scream.

I read somewhere that yelling “help” makes bystanders frightened but yelling “fire” paradoxically brings people running to you. This did not cross my mind when I started screaming “help” repeatedly. But my neighbors helped anyway.

As I sat on a curb with Everly bleeding onto my jeans and called my husband, someone picked up little Cleo. This neighbor held her until we could drive Everly to a veterinary hospital (thank you to everyone at Irvine Valley Vet Hospital). Someone called Animal Control. Someone brought me tissues and a towel.

Neighbors are the reason I created The Vine. The people who helped me live close to me but do not know me. And yet they saw me in a moment of need and leapt forward to assist me.

It is the people of Irvine that make our city thrive. While you may consider your neighbors only when they forget to prune a tree or take in their trash cans, these people will play a major role when we experience a catastrophe. When (not if, but when) there is a large earthquake, a wildfire, or a personal tragedy, the people who live around us will be our first responders. They will come to our aid and help heal our pain.

I implore you to do the following: if you come across an unleashed dog, call Animal Control. In fact, add the number (949-724-7092) to your contacts before you read on. Calling Animal Control may feel unneighborly, but it is the opposite -- you are protecting the people and animals around you from illegal behavior.

If you own a dog and use a retractable leash, go find it and throw it away. They are not effective for controlling a dog. A retractable leash did not control the dog who attacked and killed Everly.

Finally, if you own a large, powerful dog, you have taken on an enormous responsibility. While this best friend of yours may seem completely safe and utterly in your control, it is an animal. Animals are unpredictable. The owner of the German Shepherd who took Everly’s life says her dog never attacked another dog before killing mine.

Please take the training of your large dog with the seriousness of being trained in mortal combat or using a firearm. Know that your dog training is never done. There will never be a point at which your dog is completely trustworthy because your dog is, and will always be, an animal.

For the safety of your friends, family, and neighbors, please embrace this responsibility so that you can enjoy your furry family member in peace.

If you are considering adopting a dog, the Irvine Animal Care Center can help.