Tyler, the Prove-It-To-Me Pekingese

Just like humans, dogs vary in open-heartedness – their comfort level with new people and experiences, their trust and ability to bond and live positively. In the last blog entry, I introduced Farley, the open-hearted mutt. Today, I'll introduce Tyler, the prove-it-to-me Pekingese.

Tyler, just about to turn 8, was six months old when I adopted him, and came with his own unique "issues." With family and familiar friends, he is as loveable as can be. Everyone else must prove their goodness to him.

I didn't know much about the breed when Tyler entered my life; I've since heard many stories from folks who "had a neighbor" when they were a child, who "had a Pekingese that was really mean." "I hated that dog," they'd say. Hmpf!

If Farley's motto is Yeat's, "A friend is a stranger you haven't yet met" (paraphrased), Tyler's motto is "Guilty, until proven innocent." As he growls, barks, and paws at the sidelight near our front door at increasingly uncomfortable doorbell ringers, Farley joins in and a debate of happiness and fear ensue, like some odd Welcome Wagon ying/yang. "Enemy!" "Friend!" – repeated until Tyler can be put in his "house" (i.e., "crate") and the person allowed in to meet Friendly Farley.

But, he's changed, grown, mellowed, and learned some manners. He finally understands the fact that the percentage of people at the door who want to play nice is way higher than the percentage who want to murder his mother and take his toys. His guard is coming down, his heart is opening. I don't see this at the front door, but it happens in the living room.

Once someone sits on the couch and enters into conversation with us, Tyler is allowed into the room and checks out the person to see if we've exercised good judgment. The visitor is instructed not to reach at him, as it is the reaching hand toward the googly eyes that sends him barking.

Tyler begins his examination at the shoes, and ends at the ears. Then, standing on the guest's lap, he stares them in the face, and with a snort deems them OK. (Of course, if they aren't comfortable with this, Tyler stays in his "house" (crate). Most guests, though, are willing to help Tyler come to a point of acceptance. Anything to stop the yapping.)

Did something happen to make this little dog skeptical? Is it genetic, particular to the breed? He is a loving dog, crazy about my husband, Mark... so it's not a gender thing. But even with me, he hates being held tight and will growl if restrained by a too-affectionate human.

I don't see a lot of other Pekingese around town when we're out walking. When I solicited pet stories for Open Your Heart with Pets, not one story contained a Peke. Yet, they are great little dogs – brave, strong, playful, and excellent watchdogs.

Before Mark and I married, I lived in a big house, alone. Tyler seemed to take protecting me as his personal responsibility. One time, I was having the roof replaced on the front porch. Unbeknownst to us, the workman climbed into the upstairs bedroom window, and came down the stairs and into the dining room where Tyler and I were. This 16-lb, cute fluff of energy put himself between workman and mom and held the astonished man at bay, his misaligned teeth inches from the poor guy's "manly parts" (as one of the beginning authors I worked with would say).

Tyler is the same dog, though, who opened his heart to other dogs in our home: to a

Golden Retriever, who died of a tumor, a Pomeranian, who died of Cushing's, and a mutt who died of seizures... all three dogs passed within a one-year period, and Tyler opened his heart yet again to a perky Chihuahua, Jackie, whom he chases around the house with happiness.

Tyler also opened his heart to Bailey, a Goffin's cockatoo, who was his best friend for years, until her death at age 7. I have to give credit to Tyler, when he does open his heart, he does it all the way.
Farley is like a happy child, everyone is a friend. Tyler is more like a 15-year-old boy who's a mix of wanting to be liked, not wanting to fall for any trick, and projecting an endearing mix of toughness and need. Time has mellowed him a bit, but not removed his canine scorecard.

When my two sons were very young (4 and 6, or so), we were on our way to the beach. One didn't want to go, "I don't know anyone there," the older one whined. "I do," said his brother. "I know everyone and they're all my friends."

Though dogs can't verbalize their insecurities, that doesn't mean they're not there.