What's a Spitz?

When my dog Blondie and I were finally called into the small examination room, she continued to shake until Dr. Winters, or Doc as I fondly called him, touched her. That calmed her down immediately. My new vet didn’t look like a doctor at all, wearing jeans and a polo shirt. But his knowledge and way with my dog said he was a true professional. Doc gave her the necessary vaccination shots for dogs just rescued from the pound while distracting her with strokes and praise.

“I’ve seen the nicest dogs come from the pound,” he informed me, taking a close look inside Blondie’s mouth, touching her gums and examining her teeth. “She looks healthy. I’d say she’s about five years old.” 

"What breed do you think she is," I asked.

"I believe she's a Spitz, although they're usually pure white in color," Doc explained. "She probably has some Golden Retriever mixed in."

 “I’ve never heard of a Spitz,” I said.

“They’re part of the working breed,” Doc told me, “originally from Switzerland.”

What a coincidence, I thought—my heritage was also Swiss. An ancestor on my father’s side, Jacob Hertzler, migrated from Swiss Germany and became the first Amish bishop to colonize the Americas in 1749.

Quickly I learned that Blondie was already housebroken and extremely well trained. Too well trained for my taste. In the beginning, she showed signs of abuse by cowering with her tail between her legs when I came near, cringing at sudden hand movements, and basically living in fear of something traumatic happening at any moment. For some reason, bathrooms and tile or linoleum floors were especially terrifying to her. I couldn’t get her to step one foot in a bathroom or kitchen, even with a leash on, she would pull back as if these were torture chambers. Her tail would immediately go in-between her legs, her ears flat on her head and her legs would hit the breaks.

Quickly I learned that the best way to train her was by loving her. That and giving her lots and lots of turkey. I saw how well Blondie responded when I gave her lots of praise, hugs, and kisses, keeping my voice low so I wouldn’t startle her. Obviously, she had not been taken on many car rides because she continued to throw up in my new Ford Mustang every time I took her out. I had to give her special human medicine prescribed by Doc about an hour before I took her in the car until she got used to the motion and didn’t vomit. In no time, she was happily traveling everywhere with me.