The Proper Technique for Crocodile Hunter-ing My Dog

Ain’t he a beaut?

Koda will be 12 this February. For a German Shepherd, he’s an old dog. (They live to be 10.5 years old, on average.) That does not mean he’s decrepit. You wouldn’t know his age if you met him. He is a complete beast-mode, full of zest and vibrant life, but that can be a problem, especially when it comes to trimming his nails.

I remember the first time I clipped Koda’s nails. He was an elder statesman, 10 years old, probably (we got him late in his life from my brother). Once Koda realized what was going on, he retreated. When my wife would reach for his paw, he jerked it out of her hand. He knew an amputation was about to occur, probably of his paw or entire leg. Why would anyone stick around for that? Another time, when I was not there, apparently he growled. The exact intent of that growl is debated among the persons involved, and even if it was an actual growl or more like a hearty whimper.

Dude does not like having his nails trimmed!

Peanut butter worked for a New York minute, but he would watch what we were doing out of the corner of his eye while he licked the spoonful of peanut buttery goodness. He got wise to the peanut butter flea-flicker plan, and after that he ignored treats. Challenging, isn’t he?

I thought maybe part of the problem was my nail clippers. We’ve never had a dog as large as Koda (90-100+ pounds). His nails are much thicker than the other dogs we’ve owned. So I bought new clippers in the hopes of reducing the amount of time needed per nail. Brina fed him treats while I moved quickly through his paws.

Snip! One nail. YES!

Snip! Two nails. The new clippers are working! This is it!

By that second nail, Koda stopped eating and jerked his paw away. He never growled. In fact, I’d say he was pleading with his eyes, begging me to stop this HORRIBLE thing I was doing. We like our arms and limbs the way they are, right?

Koda panted. He looked away. I realized he was kinda cornered while we were doing this. He was telling me in every way possible we were stressing this dog out in the worst ways possible. So I moved him out into the middle of the floor. Same jerking away of the paw, but no panting, which was good. I grabbed hold tighter. He pulled tighter. Koda is one strong shepherd!

So the next time, I decided to have Brina push down on him. I reviewed the technique with her, choreographing every detail. I showed her how she should stand over him and push down on his shoulders (but not too hard – just put your weight into it). I wanted him on his belly so that he would have have a harder time pulling away. I was worried that this wouldn’t work, but with my daughter at my side, we were resolved. We were a team.

The next day, we clipped Koda. Brina pushed, and I clipped. I got one or two nails before Koda tossed her off and jumped out of the way. I couldn’t believe it. My daughter is the strongest person in the family next to me, and that old dog, all 12 years of him, tossed her off like a mechanical bull at midnight.

Sigh.

There was nothing more I could do. I mean, I could hold him down, but we’d already established that I was the only one strong enough to hold his paws in place, and I was barely capable of that. So unless there were two of me…how the hell were we going to get this dog’s nails clipped? They were getting bad. Clacking and sliding on the tile all day long.

Brina decided to take him to the vet. She warned the veterinarians about his rabid thrashing. If they needed to, we’d agree to a shot to relax him.

“That would require an exam,” the veterinarian warned.

I crossed my fingers that wouldn’t be necessary. You will have to forgive me, and you will judge me, but I don’t do a lot of health screening on my 12-year-old shepherd. Despite his outward demeaner, every day that dog is alive shocks me. He can’t poop worth a damn, but he is immortal. Methuselah the blockhead.

So the day comes, and my daughter takes Koda in. The vet has problems getting him to stand still, too. So they Crocodile Hunter him. I don’t know the count of the number of vet techs that were on top of Koda that day, but I’d like to think it was more than five. I’d like to think there were five vet techs all under five feet tall in their purple and blue scrubs, all lunging on top of poor Koda. He’s trying to throw them off like a six-foot tall 13-year old kid playing football with his friends and all the other kids on the field are grabbing onto his ankles and legs and the kid just keeps hammering toward a made-up goal line. Furthermore, in my head, the one large vet tech had to be called in to help out, too. He’s the vet tech with hands that could cradle watermelons, right? “Ain’t he a beaut?” the six-foot tall vet tech says in his best Steve Irwin impression. He places his giant hands over Koda’s eyes and lowers his outrageously weighty body on top of Koda, saying “By crickey!” and only then does Koda settle down long enough to get his nails clipped.

They totally Crocodile Huntered him. And when Brina asked how they did it, they said, “We totally Crocodile Huntered him.” Koda isn’t a ten-foot long gator, but he is a German Shepherd who’s decided the last thing he wants to do is allow anybody to clip his nails. Reports can be neither confirmed nor denied whether or not he tried a death roll on the vet techs. (No vet techs were harmed in the clipping of Koda’s nails, I’m told.)

Damn, dog. Just let us trim your nails!