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Once we brought Linus
home, our first challenge was getting him used to the idea that we wanted him to be with us, just like the rest of the family—in
addition to Shwea, we had two older cats, Butler and Oatmeal (for more on them, click here). Linus seemed unsure about where he fit in his new home, but eventually he did realize that he had a place, just like everybody
else. We had to coax him to join us wherever we were in the house, and we considered it a major victory when he plunked down
near us when we were watching TV.
It also took some time to get him to accept affection. He was very, very shy at first—he
avoided coming near us, and flinched when he was touched. Slowly but surely, we gained his trust, and we were able to pet
him more and more often. Eventually, he even came to enjoy being touched, and with a few people, he even solicited attention.
If you were one of “his” people, he had a very effective technique for getting your attention: He’d come
up to you and lean his considerable weight into your leg. We never saw anybody resist that overture—how could they? Linus would often "reward" his people by plunking his very bony butt down on one of their
feet. It wasn't comfortable, but it was sweet.
It is also no small thing that Linus let his pet sitter Melanie practice her dog massage technique on him. He loved it!
Even so, until the day he died, he often flinched when he was touched, and it’s sad
to contemplate why that may have been. Still, he was never mean—if he was uncomfortable with a person or situation,
he moved away from it. He never growled or showed his teeth, except at people and dogs who were a safe distance away—or
on the other side of a house or car window (with the postal carrier and paper boy, for example, he was as butch a ticket as
you’ll ever meet).
Neighborhood Watch. On the topic of paper boys, we once had
a substitute paper boy who seemed a sweet kid, but he did not appreciate Linus’ vigorous “protection” of
our home from the library table in my office. He usually just glowered at Linus, but I once saw him give our dear boy the
finger—what a hoot!
This table also allowed Linus to keep an eye on our next-door neighbors in Florence, Ann and
Dee Dee, and they enjoyed his rousing welcomes and send-offs.
What about training, you may well ask? Like any responsible set of dog owners,
one of our first "jobs" was to get our guy into school. In fact, Linus is a graduate of a basic dog obedience class,
but it took two tries to get him his cap and gown. His first attempt was with Pam Bock, the trainer who tested him before
we made him part of the family. Problem was, Linus remembered all of the things she did to him, so he wouldn't let her
walk behind him--he was afraid she was going to try something else! (That made practicing "sits" and "stays"
almost impossible, as Pam walked around her students while they did such things.)
His second attempt was with Beth O-P, and he only "graduated" from her class because she made allowances for what can only be called his learning disabilities.
(She had met with him before class and assessed him beautifully.) More than once during our training, she would instruct the
class to do something, but say something to the effect of, "Right now, I'd like everyone but Linus to ..." What
a sweetheart!
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