Transferable protective disorder

As featured Jan. 7, 2011 on cnjonline.com
I expected barking when I knocked.
And I wasn’t surprised to see his nose help push the door open.
What did catch me a little off guard was when the snarling continued, even after he saw it was me.
“Hey Rusty,” I said, thinking perhaps he needed to hear my voice, but his lip still curled, quivering above his teeth.
“Take your hat off,” his owner said from behind the door.
“Good idea,” I replied. He probably didn’t recognize me in the hat.
Nope, the snarling continued and — even though I might have snarled too if I could have seen my hair defying gravity once loosed from its coif — no amount of sweet-talk was getting me past that dog.
And I have no problem picking my battles.
“Ok, I’m not coming in until he’s outside,” I said, backing away from the door.
Once they safely moved Rusty to the backyard, I was finally able to step inside.
His owner said it was probably the knocking that set him off and that made sense enough.
I have to admit I was a little hurt that Rusty didn’t welcome me, but it’s OK, because that’s just Rusty.
You see, Rusty has transferable protective disorder (Yes, I made that up).
He’s one of those dogs who is loyal to the household he’s with at the time.
It’s really kind of neat actually as long as you understand it.
And it’s not that rare, evidenced by the Crosby, Stills & Nash song, which I’ve come to think of as Rusty’s anthem.
“... If you’re down and confused and you don’t remember who you’re talking too... And if you can’t be with the one you love honey, love the one you’re with.”
That’s pretty much Rusty in a nutshell.
It works like this: His owner is “A” number-one top dog, who Rusty will protect to the death. But when his owner is away, he transfers that protection to his caretaker.
I remember the first time I had the pleasure of dog-sitting Rusty. After all the stories I had heard about his protective nature, I almost didn’t do it.
“Are you sure he isn’t going to eat us as soon as you’re gone?” I asked.
His owner assured me not only would he not hurt us, he would take care of us and accept us into “the circle” so to speak.
Boy that was an understatement — Rusty quickly learned who belonged to the house and who didn’t.
And the most interesting part to me was he doesn’t evaluate threat level. For him it’s cut and dry, black and white —either you belong to the house or you don’t.
We discovered this when one of the boys was goofing around with a girl who had come to have dinner.
Even though the my son clearly had the size and strength advantage, when the girl playfully wrestled him for something in his hand Rusty snuck up behind her and started nipping at her backside.
Thankfully he didn’t break skin though he did leave a series of bruises and there were tear stained cheeks for a couple of hours.
I didn’t hold it against Rusty, and neither did she. I’ve always thought of dogs a little like guns — know what it’s capable of, assume it’s loaded and pull the trigger knowing someone’s going to get hurt.
It didn’t take us long to learn Rusty’s triggers and visitors learned pretty quick that while they were welcome in the house, the quality of their visit was contingent on them keeping their hands off the family, playful or otherwise.
With that understanding, we came to really enjoy having him around and he enjoyed us, rolling around on the floor, roughhousing and dutifully guarding the perimeter.
So I’ll hold no grudges because I have no doubt next time he comes to stay he’ll be doing the full-body wag all the way to the door like normal and I’ll be back in the circle again.