Having a pet that enjoys spending time in the garden requires a two-pronged security strategy: on the one hand, the garden needs protecting from the pet, but your pet will also need to be protected from the garden. Some plants and fertilizers, for example, can be poisonous – with the latter, it’s best to check the label, but also to cross-reference the contents online. In general, organic fertilizers such as manure, compost, or seaweed are safer, non-toxic options. See this nifty infographic for more dog proofing garden tips.

How to Pet-Proof Your Garden – An infographic by HomeAdvisor

This inforgraphic is a good reminder that we should consider our dogs when picking plants for both inside and out. According the ASPCA, their poison control hotline receives around 150,000 calls annually from pet owners needing assistance with possible poison-related emergencies. This inforgraphic is based on a list of toxic plants from UC Davis School of Veterinary Medicine's most common causes of emergency calls and Texas A&M ’s “Common Poisonous Plants and Plant Parts ”. The infographic gives you a break down of the risks to your dog (and cat!) and warning signs to look out for.

My dog likes to dig. I watch her toss a chunk of wood—she barks, howls; she furiously claws, daring the evil stick to make a run for it. Dig dig dig, deeper it goes. Bite the stick—chew the stick—now she’s proud. I think she’s also proud of the hole she’s made. I think my dog wants to garden with me. I have a friend who’s done a study on dogs digging holes. She asserts that her dogs have more tendencies to dig up the lawn and garden once they’ve watched her dig. Doggy see, doggy do is her theory. I have doubts. I have no doubts, however, that dogs like to dig. They dig to hunt prey, such as mice and gophers. They dig to bury bones, and then dig them up again. They dig because it’s a fun, completely normal canine activity. The challenge is in protecting your garden from this fun.

Protecting the Garden
I once had the joy of tending a large expansive vegetable garden in rural France. Roomy rows for walking among manicured beds of luxuriant foliage permitted one to feel like the Master of the Manor inspecting one’s domain. In that garden, there was room for a dog to walk at my side without damaging any vegetation. Alas, my pocket-size urban garden in San Francisco barely has space for plants. Keeping such a plot a canine-free zone requires ingenuity.

Raised beds are one solution. Dogs can be taught where they’re permitted and where they are not. The more obvious the physical distinction between these areas, the easier the training. Architectural railroad ties, stacked two or three deep at the garden perimeter, are affordable and available from lumber yards and landscape supply companies. They are attractive, sturdy and free of the toxic compounds present in recycled real railroad ties. A raised bed garden requires extra soil and amendments the first year or two, but the results are well worth the effort and initial expense. You dog will understand not to jump into the garden (with a bit of training), while your back will learn to appreciate gardening at elevated levels.

Fences seem to be an obvious choice when total exclusion is desired. Bur quality, attractive fences are expensive, time-consuming to install and can block sunlight. Instead of fencing in your garden, consider fencing in your dog. Before you get upset, realize we’re not talking about abandoning your dog to a concrete fenced-in kennel. We’re giving him his own garden. It’s called a digging pit and is the secret for coexistence between a backyard garden and your dog. Set aside a small area and dig it up like a garden; a patch three by six feet is sufficient. Bury your dog’s favorite toys and treats while he watches, then encourage him to dig them up. As he does, praise and reward. During the exercise, chant “Dig in your pit, dig in your pit.” Dogs learn the trick quickly. Combine positive reinforcement with verbal discouragement when your dog wanders into a forbidden zone. You can speed the training process by being a bit devious. Drip some tasty food or meat broth in an area you wish him to avoid. When he explores and starts to dig, it is your opportunity to shoo him back to his pit and praise him for digging in his own garden.

Protecting the Garden
If you and your dog are going to share gardening experiences, it’s only fair to grow things you both enjoy. As you plan your landscaping, if you have room, consider planting a tree. In answer to the ever-popular questions “How do I keep my male dog from killing a young tree with his own ‘watering’ efforts?” I offer two approaches. Frequent rinsing of the trunk and soil with fresh water helps dilute excessive fertilization. Or, secure a copper or galvanized splash guard of appropriate height and circumference around the developing tree the first couple of years to divert unwelcome attention. Once established (preferably near your dog’s play pit), the tree will provide blissful shade for those days when your dog is busy watching you weed and sweat in the sunshine and heat.

There are trees to avoid (noted at the end of this article), but you can’t go wrong with an apple tree. A bit of apple, crushed and mixed with other fresh foods, is a delightful addition to the diet of a dog who appreciates homemade cuisine. So too can boring dog food be enlivened by judicious supplementation with a touch of fresh, home-grown parsley, ginger or mint. It might even improve your dog’s breath. Check with your vet to make sure fresh herbs and vegetables are appropriate for your pet.

Most things that you like from the garden will also appeal to dogs. Incorporate carrots, squash, potatoes, peas and other vegetables into meals or treats. Remember that the items you must cook before eating yourself, such as potatoes, require the same treatment for canine consumption.

Protecting Your Dog
Having protected your garden from your dog, you must now protect your dog from the garden. Within those forbidden walls many dangers lurk. Chemical fertilizers and toxic pesticides head the list. Avoid them. With vegetable gardening, going organic makes great sense. If you want to freely graze in your garden (and not panic if your dog does the same) organic is the only way. Particularly troublesome chemicals used in non-organic gardens are worth of mention. The active ingredient in most snail baits (metaldehyde) is terribly poisonous—causing tremors, convulsions or death—and formulated in a way that attracts dogs. Gopher and mole poisons are quite nasty and should also be avoided. Most fungicides, herbicides and pest killers when first applied, even organic and relatively safe varieties, can be toxic if ingested or contacted by your pets. Always seal and safely store such products. Keep your dog away from sprayed areas until they dry. When watering, prevent excess run-off from drifting toward your dog’s favorite spot. You don’t want your pup lapping from puddles of dissolved garden chemicals.

Carefully consider plant selection. Many ornamentals and some vegetables can poison a dog who consumes vegetation. Foxglove (Digitalis purpurea), Deadly Nightshade (Atropa belladonna), Larkspur (Delphinium ajacis) and even potato foliage (Solanum tuberosum) have toxic effects on the heart and circulation. When dogs eat large amounts of onions, they may suffer red blood cell destruction. Rhubarb leaves (Rheum rhabarbaram) contain oxalic acid. In quantity, it damages kidneys.

If you dog loves to chew wood, avoid trees with toxic bark, such as cherry (contains cyanide-like components). Some nut trees are risky (walnut is notorious) when dogs consume rotting shells, which contain fungal organisms that produce nasty toxins. Depending on your dog’s dietary tendencies (and digestive tract), stone fruit trees (apricots, plums) can provide raw material for obstruction by indigestible pits.

I’ve lately noticed that my dog has more fun digging in her garden than I do in mine. Of course, she keeps finding those bones I’ve buried for her. Perhaps when the carrots are ready to pull, we’ll be on even terms. Maybe I’ll even share one with her.
 

"Here,” my friend Jeanette said, shoving a plastic grocery bag at me. Limp daffodil foliage flopped out of the top. “They’re a gift from Pepper. She dug them up—again!—in the flowerbed by the back porch and I didn’t have the energy to plug them back in for the third time.”

Those of us who love gardening and love dogs have days like this. It’s tough to find a good garden dog, one who will hang out with you without trashing the tulips. Cats, spectators to the core, are better suited to the job. They can lie there for hours utterly content to simply be, occasionally exchanging a look with you that says: “Isn’t this the life?”

Not dogs. Dogs are participants. Idleness is anathema. If you don’t give them a job, they’ll find one on their own. Though I’d lived with dogs for years, I still didn’t really get that fact when Else, our German Shepherd, arrived. At six weeks old, she was little more than a ball of fluff with two big eyes and two big ears, one of which flopped sideways as though its crinoline stiffener had gotten wet. Since she was so young, I assumed I could mold her into the garden dog of my dreams, teach her to hang out with me, lazing about the place companionably. I didn’t suspect that she would view hanging out as dereliction of duty.

She was four months old that first spring when I gathered my tools and the two of us went out together. She trotted alongside with a relaxed, loose-jointed gait that made her look as though she had been put together with rubber bands. But her attitude, eager at first, grew alert as we went into the fencedin vegetable garden. When I stopped to survey the place, she sat down as though programmed to a perfect heel-and-sit. While trying to decide what to do first, I absently reached down to grab out a clump of errant timothy grass, self-seeded from the surrounding fields. Like furred lightning, Else clamped down firmly on my hand (gloved, thank goodness) and began to pull. I corrected her.

“No, Else. Leave it.”

She looked puzzled, slightly hurt. I reached for another weed; she chomped down on me again.

“No, Else. Leave it!” I insisted.

She sat down again, mystified. She was a team player. She was helping. It’s what German Shepherds do. They protect and serve—even in the garden. And it was obvious that as she looked around, she could see a lot of opportunities to serve. A vermin population needed keeping in check. Barn swallows needed discipline, accomplished through a series of deep-chested woofs during what looked like a game of quiddich played back and forth across the yard. And the compost pile clearly needed regular excavations. She saw her duty then and over the past eight years, she has done it assiduously.

But while she has plenty of jobs to occupy her, she remains convinced that she was born to weed. That’s probably because at heart, like most working dogs, she likes to work in tandem. I get that now. Fortunately, she has matured. She no longer grabs my hand the minute I go for a weed. She stands by quivering in anticipation, but not doing anything until given the order.

So when my daughter, Abby, and I revamped the weed-filled raspberry patch, we recruited Else. The patch was a mess. In addition to monster pokeweed and a miserable tangle of bindweed, we were dealing with saplings of invasive white mulberry that had sprung up.

We were a little daunted by the prospect before us, but Else, now part of our response team, was in her element. In the course of the morning, she helped yank out wads of bindweed and taught the pokeweed who was boss, but her favorite part of the project was getting rid of the mulberries. This was major weeding; the trees are deep-rooted even when young, and require digging. At each tree, Abby and I dug down to loosen the dirt and expose a length of long yellow taproot while Else waited, big ears erect and twitching, eyes riveted on the growing hole. When we reckoned there was enough root to grip, Abby deployed her.

“Okay, get it, Else!”

Legs splayed out like the platform on a drill rig, Else went at the root with gusto, growling as she yanked and yanked and yanked that thing out of its lair. After wresting it free, she brought it to Abby and spat it out at her feet, clearly pleased. Score one for the team. We did everything but high-five her.

Else will probably never be the garden dog of my dreams. She will never just hang out from morning to evening. She’s too committed to participation. But over the years, I’ve adjusted my expectations and methods. I make sure she’s had plenty of exercise and has done some kind of satisfying (to her) duty—ferreting out a mouse or rabbit, aerating the compost, playing another game of quiddich with the barn swallows, maybe doing a little more excavation behind the honeysuckle in her on-going quest to reach China. After a day spent participating, she’s learned to relax. Although she remains on standby, ready for deployment, she’s content to lie on the path at my feet while I sip a gin and tonic, the two of us watching the bees together companionably.