Our father wanted a dog. Our mother didn't. Dad wanted an Alaskan Malamute. Mom didn't.
Dad bought a Malamute puppy. And he wouldn't train her, period. How to eat, how to be housebroken. Mom refused to let the dog live in our house.
So Dad had an enclosure built outside. It had a cement floor, a dog house, wooden stakes with wire across, and a door for access.
Why am I telling you this? Because though I was eight, I recognized animal abuse and was helpless to do anything. The dog was fed dog food from a can, more or less thrown into the cage. The dog lived outside despite low, low temperatures, snow, rain, heat. Never brushed or groomed. Not even walked. Like a zoo animal.
Mom was fine with it; the dog wasn't living indoors with her or us. Dad had the satisfaction of owning a (neglected) dog.
The dog would occasionally howl, an unearthly howl. I knew she was miserable.
My siblings and I couldn't play with her as she instinctively turned wild under confinement. She could be vicious.
Fortunately, about four years later, either someone made Dad an offer to sell the dog or he was convinced to find another home. In either case, I quietly celebrated that the dog would no longer be living in misery during the winter. (Dad never believed she was in misery. After all, she was an Alaskan Malamute and bred to live outdoors during extreme winter weather.)
The video in the OP brought back a lot of sad memories. That dog suffered. Not that Dad was abusive as much as he was extremely negligent, perhaps reckless -- and he never should have been allowed to have a dog -- EVER.
= new reply since forum marked as read
