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Tuco turned one today, so I figured it was finally time for a post about him. I've had Catahoulas for years, but this dog has probably been the biggest learning curve of any puppy I've ever raised.
My other Catahoulas came to me around weaning age, but Tuco was already four months old when we got him. He had spent those first months in another home, and then suddenly he was transported halfway across the country and dropped into a completely different life. Looking back, I don't think I understood how hard that transition would be for him.
Catahoulas are naturally independent working dogs. They're protective, territorial and suspicious of unfamiliar people and situations, and they were bred to think for themselves. Independence isn't a flaw you're supposed to train out of them. It's part of what makes them what they are, and probably part of why I've always loved them so much.
That first week, Tuco bit Jordan badly enough to leave a scar. I don't say that to make him sound aggressive. He had just lost everything familiar to him, and instead of paying attention to his body language and giving him space to decompress, we were trying to shower him with attention. I was basically Elmyra from Tiny Toons, squeezing and loving on an animal that desperately wanted me to leave him alone.
That bite sent Jordan and me in opposite directions. Jordan was scared of him and thought Tuco needed more discipline and to understand who was in charge. I saw a scared puppy and thought I could cuddle, baby and spoil him into trusting me.
We were both making it worse. The more Tuco felt forced, the more he resisted, while every time something scared him, he ran to me and I immediately protected him from it. Jordan and Tuco didn't trust each other, and I was unknowingly teaching Tuco that he needed me to save him whenever he was uncomfortable. Things got bad enough that we started wondering if we needed to rehome him.
Eventually we realized we were creating a lot of the problem ourselves. Tuco didn't need to be dominated, and he didn't need to be babied. He needed space to observe us, learn that we weren't going to hurt him and decide to trust us at his own pace.
Once we changed our behavior, Tuco changed too. Jordan stopped trying to make him submit, and I stopped rescuing him from every uncomfortable situation. The difference in him now is huge. He's more confident, he doesn't need me to protect him from the world, and he and Jordan finally have the relationship we were trying so hard to force in the beginning.
And the funny thing is, he really is the best dog now. He doesn't have a mean bone in his body. He's still a little fearful sometimes, but he's incredibly loyal, and I think part of that comes from knowing I'll be there to protect him when he actually needs me without teaching him that he needs protection from everything. I think everything we went through actually made us love him more because we don't take his affection for granted. He's not one of those dogs who loves everybody. He loves the people he trusts, and knowing how hard we had to work to earn that trust makes it mean a whole lot more.
Somewhere in the middle of figuring out this stubborn dog, I realized I'm probably a lot more like my Catahoula than I thought. Maybe some of that comes from growing up in these mountains, because mountain people have never been particularly famous for blindly trusting outsiders or authority. Tell me I have to do something and I'm probably going to ask why. If the only answer is "because I said so," now I'm definitely going to question it.
Which naturally got me thinking about government. I don't want government dominating me because it supposedly knows what's best for me, but I don't want it babying me either. I don't need protection from every risk, bad decision or consequence of my own choices. There's a point where protecting someone from everything becomes another way of controlling them, and being domineering might force compliance, but it doesn't create trust.
What I want from government isn't that complicated. As long as I'm not harming someone else or destroying something that belongs to them… leave me alone. Let me make my own decisions, take my own risks, make my own mistakes and live with the consequences.
