Aggression in gulching dogs, cont'd

Hm. Y'know, I just took that a few minutes ago, and it was supposed to be a cute puppy picture. I think of him as my cute li'l furball, and he really is a sweetheart. But sometimes I see a picture I've taken of him and am reminded that his mother is a shepherd/doberman mix and his most likely father looks like he could kick Roddy Piper's ass with three paws tied behind his back. Even at seven months old, I don't think I'd want this dog mad at me.

Which is, of course, the point of the exercise. The thought of turning Little Bear into some sort of slavering killer beast is repugnant. But to live freely out here, not confined to fences and walls for his own safety, he does need to find his inner beast and make it his outer beast. Also, to do his job as a watchdog he has to start viewing strangers with enough suspicion that he'll at least loudly announce their presence. This business of slithering up to them to see if they've got food or a friendly hand, tail a-wagging, really has got to stop.

I remind myself that he isn't even lifting his leg to pee yet, and that I need to show more patience. He is starting to assert himself in small ways, as with the bone episode a few days ago. It'll likely be a while before he starts pushing back to raise his status in the pack. In all likelihood he will become quite aggressive, both with his packmates and with strangers and interlopers. He has the genes for it, and the older dogs are giving him the education. Probably he'll spend the bulk of his days as a genuine object of fear and loathing. That's the plan, anyway.

Now that I brood over it, I realize that when he does, I'm gonna miss my happy-go-lucky little furball.