Outdoors/Adventure

When introducing a new dog into the pack, presume nothing — and hope puppy love is universal

When I first met an Irish setter named Red, I thought he was the most beautiful dog I had ever seen.

The family that fostered him said he was 7 years old. He weighed just 63 pounds, which gave him supermodel proportions, as he was very tall for an Irish setter. His fur was a royal red, and his long nose, ears that hung like locks of hair, and doe-like eyes gave him the appearance of a noble creature — half horse and half wolf with a dash of red stag thrown into the mix.

“If Winchester doesn’t like him, we won’t bring him home,” Steve said just before letting Winchester out of our truck to meet Red for the first time.

One thing was clear to me right away: Winchester didn’t like him. Next to Red’s statuesque figure, Winchester looked like a horse-herding dog. Red was the horse. But Winchester didn’t corral his livestock.

With pursed lips and a stiff body, he avoided Red with a haughty hint of disgust characteristic of certain high-performing setters in the presence of a bird dog that does not hunt.

“He doesn’t like him,” I said.

We already had five dogs at the time — three chocolate Labs who liked most everyone, a female English setter who liked to lick walls and Winchester, happiest in the mountains and grumpy around the house.

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“He’ll get used to him,” Steve said. Moments later, we were driving home with Red.

I tried to think ahead to how he would meet the other dogs, how I would remain calm and set the tone for introductions and a tour of his new facilities.

My biggest mistake was thinking Red was a timid animal and I would be in charge. Red set the tone, and I’ll never forget the tympanic sound of his bark or its demanding and darling Irishness.

For years, his bark launched me out of my seat to get whatever it was Red wanted. “Outside!” he demanded. Or, “Take me to breakfast!” His favorite thing was going to town with us for Sunday breakfast, of which he received a goodly portion, growing from underweight at 63 pounds to a healthy near-100.

If we did anything wrong in our unplanned adoption of Red, it was our fault, not his. The experts don’t recommend giving a dog the keys to the house, the remote or sending the message, “Everything is yours, and I am at your disposal!”

The fact everything worked out just fine is to the credit of the dogs. The Labs accepted Red as a new member of the family as readily as they met each new day — with an abundance of joy and acceptance. Parker, our female setter who has since passed, fell in love with Red, something she demonstrated in ways that may only be appropriate to mention to dog breeders or farmers.

I don’t mind a dog on the furniture, and Red took up a love seat. He had a delightful way of using his height and long nose to bump your hand hard enough so that it fell in just the right place to scratch his ears.

Red knew what he was doing when he won our hearts. He knew how we adored his demands and were at a loss when he stopped demanding.

Red is not with us anymore. But Steve was right. Winchester got used to him. He continued to ignore him, but with less contempt.

Last week, Rigby, the newest addition to our dog family, weighed 53 pounds at the vet’s office. He is only 4 months old.

He was a fat puppy when we picked him up in November and he weighed more than our Thanksgiving turkey in a matter of weeks. I spend far too much time searching online for what should be — how much should he eat? How much should he weigh? Is my puppy too fat?

At first, most of our house full of setters was horrified by Rigby. Boss ran from him. Hugo gave him a wide berth, and Winchester might have given us an eye roll.

One thing that gave me early consolation was that Rigby was born into a home with several adult dogs. The breeder told us that these dogs, most of them sporting breeds, interacted with the puppies. The big dogs co-parented, helping the mother with her duties in caring for the large litter.

For us, this meant Rigby was already comfortable around big dogs.

“He will find the sweetest one of your dogs and curl up with it,” the breeder said.

For a few days, I watched to find out who our sweetest dog was in Rigby’s opinion. I had my guesses, and they were all wrong. Except, I was sure it wasn’t Winchester.

I had read that one of the most important things about adding another dog is considering the existing dogs’ personalities. I’d heard stories about how a second or third dog had changed things for the worse, and this was my biggest fear.

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Sporting dogs tend to be friendly and accepting, but each dog is unique. I watched as Rigby bulldozed his way into their hearts. On his third night home, he snuggled in next to Purdey, our sole female English setter. Over the next few weeks, she was attentive to Rigby and began to come out of a shell she has been in for most of her six years.

I was grateful to learn who Rigby thought was the sweetest and watch Purdey take care of him despite himself. The setters stopped being so put-off and snobby and began to play with Rigby in the yard.

It’s challenging to take all of the best advice on the subject of dogs without it becoming too limiting — so much depends on what only you know. There’s no template for a perfect family, dog or human. Each is a unique mix of diverse tolerances, gifts and the impossibility of so many events that govern our lives.

You take risks, monitor, adjust and do your best.

Some dogs live to hunt, and some live for breakfast. Some huff off to a personalized dog bed, and some snuggle up on the floor or bed together. Just like any living creature, a dog is changing constantly — one day a bundle of joy, the next a 100-pound dog on your lap.

Each day is a mystery I’m still getting used to.

Christine Cunningham is a lifelong Alaskan who lives in Kenai.

Christine Cunningham

Christine Cunningham of Kenai is a lifetime Alaskan and avid hunter.

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