The dog emerged from the aspen grove with straw on her face. At least, that’s what my husband Dave first thought when he saw Molly reappear on the trail he was running with a couple of friends. But it turned out that those weren’t threads of straw. They were porcupine quills, protruding from her lips and ears. Before she could object, he grabbed her and pulled the quills out. She yipped — porcupine quills have backward-pointing barbs that grab and scratch when they’re pulled out — but there weren’t too many, and he had two running companions to help restrain my naughty dog. (Dave always refers to her as my dog when she’s misbehaving, which is often).
The first porcupine encounter was unpleasant for everyone, and I hoped that it had taught Molly Dog that porcupines are not her friend, and they’re no fun to chase either. Dave wasn’t buying it. You probably already know what happened next.
A few weeks later, Molly and I were out running my favorite mountain trail when we came upon a hiker stopped with his binoculars pointed into the woods. Oh please be watching a bird, I thought. At the exact moment that Molly took off in the direction he was looking, he uttered a fearsome word: porcupine.
No!
“MOLLY, COME!” I shouted. Moments later, she did return — with five porcupine quills protruding from her nose.
I grabbed her head and pulled two quills out with one stroke, and that’s when I discovered that she had learned something — that removing porcupine quills hurts like hell. She would be having no more of that nonsense. Mr. Hiker, a remarkably friendly and patient man, offered to hold Molly while I tried to remove the remaining three quills, but she was in fight mode now, snarling and curling her lips to show her teeth. I somehow managed to remove one more quill, but she came way too close to biting the good samaritan in the process.
It was time for strategy two — just go ahead and let her keep those quills in her nose for a little while. Because surely she’d realize that she actually did want them out.
Or maybe she didn’t. As we ran back to the truck, Molly seemed totally unfazed by the needles protruding from her nose. She wore them with pride, as if they were some sort of stylish animal jewelry.
With the vet clinic closing in 15 minutes, I decided that two quills weren’t worth a big vet bill. Dave was out of town, but I figured I’d just get my neighbor to help. What happened next was a comedy of errors too embarrassing to recount in public, but suffice it to say that it took nearly two hours, three people, and some blood (ours) to remove those damn quills. By the end, Molly was so agitated and uncomfortable that I almost had to remind myself that I wasn’t torturing her. I was merely trying to fix the damn mess she’d gotten herself into. The cuddly affection that she showered me with that evening seemed like a message — I love you so much for getting me out of that awful jam, and I promise I’ll never do it again.
Yeah right.
Porcupine encounter number three happened this past weekend. We were out wandering the Grand Mesa with our much more sensible dog, Oskar, a couple of friends and their two corgis when Molly once again ran out of the trees with a quiver of quills. This time, they protruded from her shoulder area. Quick, before Molly could realize what was happening, we pulled the first ones out. When we got home, we put a nuzzle over her head (not possible when the quills are in the face) and removed the rest without incident.
It turns out that Molly’s multiple encounters aren’t that unusual. “Owners should be warned that dogs do not ‘learn from their mistake’ and that repeat quill injury episodes are common,” researchers write in this paper describing 296 cases of porcupine quill injuries in dogs. One of the dogs in their study had been to the vet six times for porcupine quill removal.
So what now? A guy in Montana runs a porcupine avoidance clinic, “Much like a rattlesnake avoidance clinic but with a caged live porcupine and of course, no direct contact,” and I’d love to know his methods (hopefully they’re humane to both animals). For now though, I’m re-reading Karen Pryor’s book, Don’t Shoot the Dog!, thinking about ways to reinforce the behavior I want Molly to engage in, and keeping her leashed in areas where she’s most likely to encounter her nemesis. When I find myself tempted to scold Molly for her inability to learn from her mistakes, I remember the (far too many) stupid things I’ve done more than once, and instantly feel more sympathetic.
-Top photo (of a most unhappy dog) by Elaine Moore. Porcupine photo by Keith Williams. Photos of Molly Bad Dog by Christie Aschwanden.
Porcupine or skunk? Tough call.
Yes, I’m dreading the day she finds a skunk.
Porcupine quills or sock consumption?
PS. 1,347 quills must be the sum total of what a porcupine has on its body, no?
I have a friend whose dog has had no less than four unfortunate encounters with skunks (but no porcupines at least). She has bemoaned more than once that her dog just doesn’t learn! I wonder if it would make her feel better to know it isn’t just her beloved pet.
My dog was, fortunately, a fast learner. My husband helped her learning process along by pulling over when he saw a roadkill porcupine, and getting very dramatically excited about attacking it *himself* – only to even more dramatically get “injured” by the dead porcupine and warning her — stay back, stay back – this thing is TERRIFYING!!.
This seems to have worked. First porcupine encounter, about 100 quills and a trip to the vet. Second encounter, one quill. Third encounter, zero. Maybe she would have learned anyway, but he had fun hamming it up.