I often take my pit/shepherd mix Rico to Magnuson Park in Seattle, where the city maintains one of the nicest off-leash dog parks around. With a square front field of several acres and a winding, half-mile gravel path down to a doggy beach, it’s a place where most dogs can stretch their legs, work out social issues, have a nice swim or run, and tire themselves out. I love going, not only to tire out the tireless Rico, but to watch dog behavior in action. Unlike some indoor doggy daycares or smaller parks, Magnuson has enough breathing room for most dogs to work out issues, find space, and have fun without feeling pressed, or threatened.

Most dogs, that is.

Last week, while walking back from the beach, Rico and I had the bad fortune to encounter a medium-sized herding mix- maybe a sheltie/border collie cross- who had obviously experienced either very little socialization with other dogs, or else suffered great social trauma early on, perhaps during her first fear imprint stage. She had no idea how to cope with the presence of dozens of free-ranging dogs, most of them eager to walk up and say hello the way dogs do.

From twenty yards off, I could see in the dog’s eyes that she was going to be trouble. But before I could give Rico the recall command, he happily pranced into the buzz saw. The antisocial mix gave no warning growl, no cautionary body posture; she just latched onto Rico’s back skin, and wouldn’t let go.

At first, Rico thought it an odd, new game. But when the dog refused to let go, he suddenly realized that it was in fact no game, and that someone in the world actually did not like him. Basically a mushy scaredy cat, he started whimpering, then broke off and ran into my arms, a sobbing, confused mess.

The owners of the dog, two apologetic, embarrassed women, managed to grab their feral little fear biter before she could latch onto a horse-sized Dane mix floating by- more than likely a fatal mistake avoided. It was apparent to me they were first-time dog owners, who had most likely adopted the cute mix without a clue as to her fear aggression, or her lack of social experience.

Despite his mushy personality, Rico’s made of a material closely resembling reinforced concrete. Amazingly, he had no punctures, and only lost a bit of coat from his back. The two women leashed their attack collie and skulked away, most likely never to return.

So, what’s the lesson here? First, though a big off-leash dog park is a great place to get an uptight dog to loosen up, it definitely isn’t a place to take a dog of proven, obvious, aggressive intent. Though muzzling that kind of dog and letting her interact can eventually help defuse the behavior, it’s still not fair to owners of congenial dogs, there simply to have fun. And it’s a good way to get that fearful, muzzled dog killed, by a large breed type who might not be as understanding, or tolerant.

It also points to a fact that I have been pushing for a long time; shelters nationwide, though admirable in their intentions, often adopt out troubled dogs to clueless, adoring owners, in an attempt to save the problematic dog from euthanasia. Like handing the keys to a Ferrari over to a 15 year-old, some shelters often set the stage for aggressive encounters; long term, they don’t do the dogs any good, and often ensure they will be returned.

The dog who attacked Rico was, to my experienced eye, profoundly antisocial, and dangerous. She given almost no warning cues- just latched onto my poor little blockhead. She’d had that skulking, wolfish look, that edgy, petrified countenance that, trust me, had to have been obvious to shelter personnel, and to anyone looking for a new pet. But a combination of the shelter’s desire to save the dog, and a well-meaning, big-hearted perspective owner’s naiveté, added up to a potential disaster. That dog is just as likely to attack a toddler with the same lack of warning, and with much more dire consequences.

Shelters need to step up and vet their dogs and potential owners in a more objective, pragmatic fashion. Any dog showing aggression of any sort, either toward dogs or humans, must be coolly evaluated. If adopted out, it must go to someone with proven abilities to work on the behavioral issue, and not given to neophyte owners who get guilted into taking the dog.

Potential owners must be able to choose a shelter dog in a pragmatic, unemotional manner, much in the way they do a car, a dishwasher, or a home. If you surrender to the emotion of it, to the heartlessness of homelessness, then you may very well be doing the troubled dog a great disservice. At the very least, know that any dog with even a hint of aggressive behavior must be trained, worked, given routine and rock-solid guidelines, and not consoled or nurtured through its fear or misbehavior.

When the two woman pulled their dog away from Rico, their first reaction, even before leashing up, was to envelop their dog, take it into their arms and caress it. In doing so, I suppose they proved themselves of great character, and heart. But they’d also reinforced the dog’s violent reactions, and guaranteed that it would probably happen again.

Only an objective understanding of dog behavior, and an effort by shelters to effectively temperament-test dogs and vet potential owners will lead to a reduction in aggression. Because, when that little collie mix jumps the wrong dog tomorrow, she’s going to learn a fatal life lesson.