An American Dingo--Carolina Dog

Taz

Of all the pets I have, I think Taz is the one that is most like me. She’s not living in the world in which she was born. The world she understand is far away and now she is changed so much she can’t function any longer in her old world.

I was interested in finding a companion for Dixie Belle when I saw her picture on a bulletin board at the veterinarian’s office. There was this brown face with just a bit of white along the nose. What really caught my attention were those big eyes and the coward-down face. I couldn’t get her out of my mind and asked the veterinarian to see the dog.

This animal, about the size of a terrier, acted just as skittish as she looked in the picture. I made three more visits to the animal hospital; alone, with my son, and with Dixie Belle. The brown dog liked Dixie Belle, but was clearly unsure about my son and me.

The little dog spent the last six months in a cage and didn't know what to think about the world outside. Her defense was to frighten away anyone who wanted to adopt her. She had no idea that time at the animal hospital was not without limits.

Moving our new dog from the familiar environment to my backyard inflamed all her insecurities. We decided to name her Taz. Like the Tasmanian devil, she had a fierce growl and went into attack mode whenever we neared her.

Concerned about safety, I went on the Internet to see if anyone had advice. On my favorite message board, a friend sent me links to Internet sites with information about Carolina Dogs, also known as American dingoes. This is a pariah breed of wild American dogs. The pictures on one site were of a pack of dogs that could have been Taz’s brothers and sisters. They all possessed the big pointed ears and patches of white on their chests, paws and tips of their up-turned tails.

Now I understood. I adopted a wild animal that probably wandered into a subdivision the same way a raccoon might. She was separated from her pack and spent the last six months in a world where her instincts were of little help.

Dixie Belle was the key to taming Taz. With ears standing up and alert, Taz observed and later mimicked Dixie’s every activity—especially regarding her interactions with humans. I let Dixie Belle eat from my hand as I hugged and petted her. After six days, Taz timidly approached me, licked my hand and ran to the end of the deck to safely observe my response.

Though Taz has become an affectionate pet, she is still a wild animal who finds humans quite confusing. She often watches her world from a snug spot between the couch arm and a wall, where she feels quite safe.

Sometimes, as I try to figure out the world I live in, I am convinced that I know just how Taz feels. I was raised in one subculture, live in another, and often work in a third. Sometimes I do what I think is right, but everything seems to go wrong. Then I am tempted to find a safe place to hide until things are okay again.

Maybe someday I will understand “office politics” or how “things” work. Yes, Taz and I have a lot in common.