puppy socialization (wait?)

Recently with all the new Covid puppies, the myth, and frankly, dangerous, outdated “advice” breeders, rescues and even vets are giving to new owners that puppies can’t go outside until all their vaccines are complete, has reared it ugly head again. (Note: I am not a vet, so perhaps there are rare cases when this applies.). Vets, rescues and breeders who are clinging to the outdated belief that dogs should be prevented from socialization until fully vaccinated are not keeping up with the current research, literature and recommendations from behavior professionals.

Looking at current position statements from organizations like AVSAB (American Veterinary Society of Animal Behavior), who are the leaders on veterinary care and behavior, they are abundantly clear that this outdated belief has no place in current standards. Read their complete position statement here.

“The primary and most important time for puppy socialization is the first three months of life. For this reason, the American Veterinary Society of Animal Behavior believes that it should be the *standard of care* for puppies to receive such socialization before they are fully vaccinated.”

The main point conveyed is puppies as young as 7 WEEKS OLD can begin socialization training, even in group classes, as long as they’ve had one round of vaccines and have been dewormed.  Puppies have a finite, time sensitive window for socialization – for learning the world, novelty, people and places are safe.  This is also the window they have to learn how to appropriately use their mouths and learn bite inhibition.  Once this window closes, it cannot be reopened.

“Veterinarians specializing in behavior recommend that owners take advantage of every safe opportunity to expose young puppies to the great variety of stimuli that they will experience in their lives.”

Behavioral issues, not infectious diseases, are the number one cause of death for dogs under three years of age. We need to shift the focus away from fear mongering that puppies will get sick or die if they go outside and instead focus on socialization as prevention for later behavioral issues, which is a much greater risk of dogs being surrendered or euthanized.

“Because the first three months are the period when sociability outweighs fear, this is the primary window of opportunity for puppies to adapt to new people, animals, and experiences. Incomplete or improper socialization during this important time can increase the risk of behavioral problems later in life including fear, avoidance, and/or aggression. Behavioral problems are the greatest threat to the owner-dog bond. In fact, behavioral problems are the number one cause of relinquishment to shelters.”

This doesn’t mean you should take your unvaccinated puppy to the dog park or a giant pet store where there have been hundreds of unknown, potentially unhealthy dogs traipsing through.  But you can make responsible choices, allowing your puppy to interact with healthy, known dogs, puppies on the same vaccine schedule and neighborhood walks.  Or you can always carry your puppy if you really don’t want feet on the ground.  If you wait until your puppy is full vaccinated, you’ve missed their critical socialization period. Opting to keep your puppy locked in your home, not being socialized during this critical window is the worst decision you can make for your puppy’s future behavioral health. 

-- Kate LaSala

Tank Twitter

What a happy dog can teach us about our own humanity

Twelve years ago I betrayed my husband. It was the best decision I ever made.

The betrayal came in the form of a 12-pound fluff ball named Tank. I got the dog in defiance of my husband’s declaration that our family was not getting a dog — not then, not ever. I adopted Tank behind my husband’s back, enlisting our daughters, then 11 and 13, as co-conspirators. Tank arrived, as I wrote at the time, as a pet accompli, too late for my husband to do anything about it.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he said, except for the expletive I have deleted, when he came home late from work to discover our newest family member. It took about 10 minutes, and as many face licks, for Jon to fall in love.

The rest of us already had, which was the point: Tank joined our family at a time when our lives were too chaotic to accommodate a dog but too stressed to be without one. None of us had ever had a dog before, but we understood, intuitively, that we needed the unconditional love that only a dog can provide.

Tank overperformed. At moments when our family was under stress, the one thing we could always agree on was that Tank was the best, the cutest dog ever. When we were in a better place, he remained at the center of our family unit, no matter how many shoes he destroyed. “Huggee!” we would yell, embracing, and Tank would come running to join. With him, we were a pack.

We lost Tank in the wee hours of Saturday morning — suddenly, unexpectedly, tragically. We stood outside the animal hospital, unable to enter because of COVID-19, holding one another and sobbing until we could say goodbye to our boy in the makeshift space in the parking garage. There is so much sadness in the world right now; there are so many worse and more consequential stories, and yet we are shattered. What we wouldn’t do to slip him one last morsel from the dinner table.

The reason I am writing is not Tank’s death but its aftermath. In the strain of the pandemic, in the heat of police shootings, the social fabric is fraying. You can hear it rip. If there was a communitarian, we’ll-getthrough- this-together ethos at the start of the lockdowns, it has been replaced by a my-way mentality. Thanks to President Donald Trump, mask-wearing has become political statement, not social responsibility.

We spent the summer in Wyoming, and driving home across the country (Tank was never happier than ensconced in the car for long stretches with his people), we encountered instance after instance — at the hotel in North Dakota, the restaurant in Minnesota where we stopped for takeout, the rest stop in Indiana — of behavior that was not only irresponsible but aggressively so.

When I asked a man at the rest stop — a rest stop whose doors proclaimed “Masks Required” — to wear a mask, he said I was free to do so for my health, but he chose not to. And when I pointed out that, actually, his mask-wearing protected me, and vice versa, it didn’t take long for him to start yelling about Joe Biden. I know: stupid, foolhardy me, to try to engage.

And when I tweeted about my experiences, the reaction was not exactly charitable. “Ruth apparently didn’t even end up testing positive after her trip,” wrote one person. “Too bad that she didn’t at least manage to add to the case count.” Nice. Sorry to disappoint.

I took to Twitter again, in the hours after Tank’s death, to share my grief. The platform that can be so ugly and so hate-filled responded this time with overwhelming love. From people I knew, from strangers, offering condolences and sharing their own sad experiences. It was an enormous, unexpected comfort. We looked at the pet pictures they posted and read the stories they shared of their own dog’s passing, and wept.

What does it say that an audience that can be so cruel and ugly can be so generous and compassionate? The more cynical interpretation is that we are a country that tends to care more about pets than people, and there is some unfortunate truth to that. I have a reporter friend who many years ago wrote a Christmas Day story about homeless people living under a bridge with their dogs. His voice mail was filled with offers of help — from people wanting to adopt the dogs.

But I think our capacity to love our pets speaks to a better side of human nature. Perhaps it takes a nonhuman to bring out the humanity in us, but that spark is still present. It requires careful kindling by leaders who summon our better angels; it can be snuffed out by those who fan the flames of hatred and discord.

We are Rest Stop Twitter, angry and vindictive, but we are also Tank Twitter, full of boundless affection, even for strangers. Tank didn’t see either — he saw humans to love, even if part of their attraction was that they might have treats.

If he could, Tank would lick all your faces. Every last one.

— Ruth Marcus writes for The Washington Post.