Tippystale1

Tippy's Tale

Tippy started her life with us as a rebound puppy. I'd had a deposit on a yellow female and
unfortunately none were born in that litter. So, being all primed and ready for a pup and having Hudson
progressing well as a started dog 13 months old, I came across an ad for a litter a few towns away
that had a decent enough pedigree and health clearances. I had two females to choose from when I
went to visit the litter and they were identical in every way, from appearance to how they responded to
me. After much going back and forth, I chose one and home we went. It was shortly before Christmas
and the tree was up. Tippy was a very fat, very cute, round ball of chocolate fur and pink trimmings
that even Hudson fell in love with instantly, the only puppy he has ever liked.

Looking back and having the experience that I do now, there were signs as Tippy grew that she had a
shyness problem. Though she never exhibited any signs of shyness when I looked at the litter, she
refused to have anything to do with anyone but myself, my husband and son once I got her home.
Never before having experienced a cute puppy that wouldn't let any of my friends pick her up, I did
nothing about it, figuring she'd grow out of it. How much richer her life might have been had I
recognized the traits for what they were and gotten help for her at an early age. As it was, Tippy grew
into an adult dog with a real fear of anyone not her family, no matter how long she knew them or how
often she saw them, growling and hiding behind me, even refusing treats from anyone non-family. I
knew she had the potential to be a fear-biter as her anxiety was intense if pressured, so she was
confined to a crate or the mudroom when we had visitors. It did not help at all that she tore her first
ACL before she was one and then tore the other within six months, undergoing surgical repair of both,
adding to her neuroses a terror of men in white coats and the smell of a vet clinic.

Tippy lived up to her name right from the start, overturning every bowl of food and water she came
across. She quickly became top dog despite being the youngest and just as quickly demonstrated that
she would not be happily left behind or accept restrictions gracefully. She would plow right through
any child gate we erected to keep her in or out of specific areas, something the older male dogs,
though bigger, never did. Even when she knocked a gate down, they wouldn't go through it knowing it
was a boundary they weren't supposed to cross. She earned the nickname "Boom Boom" because
her tail was a weapon that went booming through the house, knocking over everything it hit. Getting
wacked by Tippy's tale is like being snapped with a wet towel. She has so much power in her tail and
wags it so hard her whole hindquarters leave the ground and now and then she splits the end of her
tail, spraying streaks of blood on cabinets, walls and appliances. She still does this and periodically
gets her tail wrapped in gauze and duct taped, the only thing she hasn't been able to chew off, so it has
a few days to heal.

Ironically, Tippy's fear of strangers does not extend to people with guns in a field. She will hunt with
anyone and acts just fine, as long as they don't cross the boundary of trying to make friends and pet
her. She is one pheasant hunting machine and would go all day if I let her. Unfortunately, her legs only
allow her several hours of hunt time. At the age of five, she has significant arthritis from the ACL
tears/repairs. She is a patient, thorough hunter and uses her brains and nose to hone her bloodline's
instincts. She covers territory other dogs have gone over and will put up birds they missed. Last fall,
she pointed her first rooster, which was hiding in a scrap of nothing that we had been standing right by
and which refused to flush in the strong wind. I will never forget the look on her face as she locked into
a point, the whites of her eyes showing as I looked back to see where she was. She was very clearly
saying there was a bird in there, someone do something about it. The bird broke into a run and she ran
it down, catching it live and undoubtedly saying to herself "I told them so."

Tippy was never trained to do much other than sit, stay and heel, which she does only if she feels like
it. Her hunting ability is pure instinct as is her desire to deliver the bird, which she always does. She
was never force-fetched or properly collar conditioned, though before the arthritis slowed her down,
she wore a collar in the field or she would run birds into the next 40 if the gunner missed them. She's a
natural marker, we watched her on one of her first hunts mark a missed hen pheasant on a game
ranch, run to it, flush it and repeat the process over and over, until we lost her from sight in a far field.
She came back when she either got tired or lost the bird. After that she wore a collar, but it took the
highest level to get her attention if she took off. She never vocalized either, just jumped a little and
stopped, as if it were her idea to do so. Nowadays, the arthritis is her self-limiter, so I know it must
bother her, she is a tough girl with a high threshold. She would have run full tilt the day after either of
her knee surgeries had I let her. Leash walking and being restricted in activities for so many weeks
after each surgery was an ordeal for both of us, though it also bonded us deeply.

Tippy is quite devious and a master of stealth. One of her greatest joys in life is food and the other is
stealing it. Once I poured a glass of milk, set it on the counter next to the fridge, turned away for
something else, came back for my milk and it was gone. I looked on all the counters, no glass.
Thinking I'd only imagined I'd poured one, I got another glass. It wasn't until a little later when I heard a
suspicious noise that I found Tippy under the dining room table, happily drinking the last of the first
glass of milk I'd poured. She'd managed to pick it up by the lip without spilling it, carry it under the table
and drink it, all unnoticed by me or the other dogs, a true stealth operation as their ears are far better
than mine and they are all hyenas when it comes to food. She will steal any food left unguarded
anywhere, pretending to be asleep on the sofa, only to slink slowly and silently over the arm and grab
the tidbit off the end table as soon as the foolish human's attention wanders. As Tippy is quite short
and stout, it is difficult to imagine her being stealthy at anything, but she is adept at climbing and
remarkably silent when surfing the counters, even when surreptitiously cleaning out a metal pan.

Forget discipline. She knows exactly when she's in real trouble and I will come upon her sitting
propped against something, one scarred leg stuck out and her truly Labrador soulful eyes glistening as
if to say you can't possibly get mad at poor, scarred me. And she's right, she never gets more than a
"bad girl", which must mean something different to her than it does my other dogs because she starts
thumping her tail, whereas the others hang their heads in proper Labrador shame.

She's ruthless with the other dogs, no one messes with her, which frustrates her into barking at them
when they, wisely, won't play with her. When they fall for it and try to play with whatever toy she is
guarding and teasing them with, she promptly pummels them. But let one of the them turn the tables,
lose patience with her and give her a taste of her own medicine and she is mortally wounded. She will
walk with her head very pointedly down and averted from the offender, sit on the sofa sighing and
despondent until she feels enough fuss has been made over her, then away she goes again.

Burying rocks is another favorite pastime. One rock will become her favorite target, she will dig a deep
hole under and around it until she loses it then frantically dig it back up, move it over and start all over
again. Our yard was bare sand when we bought our house in Michigan and what a playground that
was for her. Now she has to do it off in the woods unless she can get a good hole started on the
off-limits front lawn. It must not be any fun for her to do it in the fenced, bare ground backyard because
she doesn't. Tippy's teeth are flattened as if filed down from chewing the rocks and her nails never
need trimming from all the digging she does.

Nor does she stay in the fence for that matter. It isn't a high fence nor particularly sturdy as it was only
"temporary" when we moved to Michigan. She will find a weak spot, pull it down low enough she can
get over it, preferably using a snowbank in the winter. One day I was watching this process from the
kitchen window. Tippy had made it over the fence and a black female named Jazz was trying to follow
suit. From the top of the snowbank, Tippy watched Jazz as she struggled to climb over the fence. Just
as Jazz made the top of the fence and was wobbling there, Tippy judged it just right and pounced
forward with her nose, hitting Jazz in the chest just as she was in a forward sway on top of the fence
and Jazz was launched backward as if by a rubber band. She landed on her back in the snow with all
four feet in the air and Tippy went on her way very satisfied.

Not that Tippy, or any of the other dogs that make it over the fence ever actually go anywhere. They
wander around the yard, occasionally into the woods around the house, very rarely into the neighbors'
yards. They are homebodies who don't really like to even be outside for long without me. They stand at
the door and bark for me to come out and throw something, anything, for them. They don't care if it's
dark, cold, raining, snowing or 95 degrees out, they just want to play fetch. Well, Tippy wants to play
get all the toys and keep them away from the other dogs, but she lives by her own rules.

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