A Rogue By Any Other Name...

When I took Half Pint in, even though it was only as a foster, I knew his stay would be a long one. I also knew he needed a real name. In the mean time I called him "HP." HP challenged me on EVERYTHING, puppies are a lot of work, but he was something different. HP and I struggled and butted heads constantly. He was very much a feral animal having spent his entire first 9 weeks of life confined to a wire cage without human interaction.

HP did not know how to trust, how to accept love, or kindness. He preferred the company of my two adult Havanese, he felt safe with them, safe enough to challenge them. I can't explain to you the sight of a 2 pound puppy taking on a 17 pound dog, but know it was equally frustrating, terrifying, and comical. I sought the advice of a dog behaviorist, and was able to teach HP proper behavior if not with me, with my adult dogs. As he learned proper behavior, and his position within my pack, my boys took on a very nurturing role with him, and accepted him as one of their own.

HP's attitude, and behavioral issues earned him his new name, Rogue...

Rogue rōɡ/ noun

1. a dishonest or unprincipled man.

   
   

   • a person whose behavior one disapproves of but who is nonetheless likable or attractive (often used as a playful term of reproof).
     

     
     
2. an elephant or other large wild animal driven away or living apart from the herd and having savage or destructive tendencies.

   • a person or thing that behaves in an aberrant, faulty, or unpredictable way.

     verb

 
And somewhere in the space of that first month, in the hundreds of dollars spent to liberate, heal, and provide for him... somewhere in the endless battles, in the attempt to teach love and security, this little Rogue one found his way into my heart. Not gradually, or with love, and affection, but all at once by force... His plight overwhelmed me, and I knew that there was no way I could ever entrust his care to another human. Rogue's needs far exceeded his physical ones.

Eight months later, we still butt heads, my little Rogue Warrior and me... Knowing what I now do, facing the battle before us, I know my boy isn't just this way because he had to fight to live for the first 9 weeks of his life... I know he is this way because he is built for the battle he must endure, and I am grateful that in spite of all of my attempts to "reform" him, he has retained his fight! When I gave him the name Rogue, I never knew how fitting it would be... I have gone Rogue, gone against the status quo, all for the love of a two pound (now 10lb), sickly, crippled puppy mill runt...