Back story

Okay, so here's the deal about Daisy. We had been hunting for a Saint for some time, hoping we might find one that had been abandoned by a family. It happens a lot. They're so cute and fuzzy and soft when they're little. Then they grow up into big creatures with muddy feet and huge tails that knock stuff over.

It seemed like all the little rescue puppies got whisked away before we could act. Guess that's a good thing -- afterall, they all found homes. But then we heard about Daisy. We drove up to Sacramento to see her, and what a beauty! She was really thin and her fur was rough and scraggly, but you could see that she was a great dog and had a sweet personality. She was almost two years old. I was a little worried that she might have hip problems, because she leaned forward all the time and seemed to walk oddly.

That should have been a clue -- but not having to do with her health. Turns out that Daisy was in her natural stance at the time. That is, poised to run.

We were told that her previous owners had left her at the shelter because she had run away from home so many times. Why? Nobody knew. And nobody knew exactly where she had lived -- "somewhere in the Valley" -- or what animal shelter, or what kind of family. All they could tell us was that she was good with kids. They had taken her to the local McDonald's as a test, apparently.

Anyway, the day after we got home we realized we had a spring-loaded, very athletic dog on our hands. First she ran up and down the fenceline, looking for a way to jump over. Then we left her for a half hour alone in the house and she punched her way through the screen and jumped out the window. Tom chased her all the way down to the beach, where she seemed surprised at his concern.

That could all be explained by the history of running away. But when we took her on her first walk. The first two dogs she met growled at her and one bit. The third dog she saw, she took the initiative and scared the little black lab into screeching flight. "So that's why someone dumped that beautiful dog," its owner said knowingly. I was mortified. We've had three Saints, two that we had walked every day in this same rural neighborhood. Even the yippiest, most aggressive little dogs couldn't bully them into a fight. Perry, who weighed 165 pounds at his prime, would just look down at the animal, confounded.

So what to do? We were really confused. The day we picked up Daisy, she was staying at a house with not just one other dog, but five Saint Bernards of all ages. But here we had a 31-inch tall, 115-pound unpredictable animal who seemed very unclear on how to interact with other dogs, or perhaps worse.