The Bow Wow Board

Stove Top Dog Food

2010-07-04T15:40:00.005-05:00

Some dogs will eat anything and all that you can give them. My current six dogs are like that. Nothing pleases them more than a bowl full of whatever I put in it. They sit with quivering haunches and drooling lips (the drool extends to the floor) while I scoop it up. They wait wide-eyed as I place it on the floor in front of them, then dive in when I say, "okay." In seconds the meal is over, the bowls are licked, tails are wagging and noses are snorfling all over the floor for crumbs. This is very satisfying to me. I like feeding dogs, who, unlike my human children, actually seem grateful for my efforts to feed them nutritious meals.

And rarely are dogs problem eaters. There are some, and when you have a problem eater it is worrisome and expensive. We have had only one dog who didn't or couldn't eat what we provided, and he died very young. We are still sad about that. Some of the dogs at the shelter are problem eaters, even when we entice them with canned food, or hand feed them. But dogs in a shelter can be scared, nervous, stressed out, anxious, depressed, bored or lonely. Or all of the above. And unlike people, who tend to want to stuff their faces with food when we are depressed, sad dogs simple lose their appetites.

I had a dog in my young adulthood whom I remember with great affection for many reasons. Feeding him was just one of them.

Cisco was not a problem eater, but early on he noticed that we were eating more interesting food than he was. So one night he abandoned his bowl of boring kibble and came to me and waited patiently for his portion of food from the stove top. I am a soft touch for an imploring doggy face and so I scraped some leftovers out of a pot and stirred them into his food. This quickly became a habit. I poured kibble into Cisco's bowl. Cisco would sniff, sigh, then walk over to the stove and sit and stare at the stove top. One night there was no pot on the stove and there were no leftovers. In a moment of inspiration, I put an empty pot on the stove, stirred up nothing with a wooden spoon, then scraped the invisible gravy over his kibble. Cisco wagged his tail, strolled over to his bowl and scarfed all the kibble down.

Well, it worked once, I thought, but it won't work again. But it did. Every time. I still smile when I think about it.

A Fatal Case of Littering

2010-01-17T12:52:00.002-06:00

Two little pups, Luke and Layla, were brought to one of our shelter volunteers last week. Layla is all black, Luke is black with a white blaze on his face and white toes. They look like maybe Lab/Pit mixes. They're about 8 weeks old and adorable. They're puppies, of course they are adorable. But not adorable enough.

There used to be five pups. But sometime last week, their owner decided he didn't want the pups and he dumped them on a roadside. In Iowa, in January, in bitter cold weather, snow and ice and wind chills approaching 25 degrees below zero.

Imagine these 5 little puppies, babies, huddling together in the snow, whimpering for their mother, growing colder, getting hungry, scared, lost and alone. Eventually one puppy stops whimpering as he succumbs to the freezing temperatures. Another grows quiet and still. And a third one lapses into silence.

A car drives by, slows, then stops. A woman gets out to investigate. Can it be? A pile of puppies in the snow? She approaches them, three are already dead, poor little things. Two are cold, so cold, but still alive. She puts the live pups in the car, then gathers the little bodies left in the snow and puts them in her car too. It's just too sad to leave them alone and unloved in the snow.

And so two of the unfortunate family are saved, and soon will be at the shelter awaiting adoption.

Two crimes were committed, both are crimes of littering.

In the first case of littering, the owner neglected to get his dog spayed. So she mated randomly and produced a litter of puppies that the owner didn't want.

In the second case of littering, the owner dumped the pups by the side of the road, like so much trash. This is not only illegal, it is immoral, particularly when the weather is so brutally cold the puppies didn't have a chance of survival.

I wonder what this person told his family and friends when they asked, "Where are the puppies?"
Perhaps he took them to a nice farm in the country.

Jax : In Memoriam

2009-12-12T13:28:00.005-06:00

My daughter wrote this poem.

Jax

A mist in your eyes,
You're only sleeping.
A thoughtful look on your face,
Your memory is for my keeping.

A memory is not enough,
A memory gets faded.
A memory is sad and rough,
Your memory is for my keeping.

I remember you so soft and sweet,
I remember how you cried, so lonesome.
Your memory is for my keeping.

I can see you now, white and black,
You were so slender and frail
And now all I know is I want you back...
Your memory is for my keeping.

Now you're gone, and I'm alone.
I know you aren't just sleeping.
I know you're gone and part of me is, too
Your memory is for my keeping.

((I miss you Jax))

Merry McDonald

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Goodbye Jax, Jan. 2008 - Aug. 2009

2009-08-16T16:19:00.003-05:00

And everyday will be a good day

2009-08-09T14:19:00.003-05:00

Each morning for the past week I have awakened with dread. First I think, "my puppy is gone."
Then, "I killed my puppy. I miss my puppy." Each night before I fall asleep I think, "my puppy is gone. I miss my puppy. Did I do the right thing? Could I have done something differently? Did I do everything I could to make him better?"

I torture myself with these thoughts. Last week my husband and I made the dreadful decision to euthanize our dog. And now, afterward, our hearts are completely broken.

Jax was fear aggressive, a label which doesn't describe how delightful and joyful and wonderful he was when he was feeling safe. We adored him. Bright and beautiful and lively, scary smart, and so full of himself when he did something well. When he felt safe, he melted blissfully under our touch, stretched out on the floor and sighing deeply as we stroked his silky fur and scratched his ears. He was sweet and affectionate and completely bonded to my husband. Patrick was Jax's safe place, his sanctuary, his protector, and Jax loved him.

But when he was scared, and we never knew precisely what might scare him, he was a different animal. A touch on the wrong place (and why was it the wrong place - a small painful bruise or wound, some phantom memory of an earlier injury?), a loud noise, or successive loud noises like fireworks, a clumsy grasp on his collar - and Jax would transform into a desperate wild animal. His eyes glazed, his snout wrinkled to expose the full length of his teeth, he would dart and snap, run away, snarl, dart back, snap. Sometimes his teeth would chatter uncontrollably, sometimes he would circle around me, leaping at my hands and snapping. He missed, maybe on purpose, some sane part of him inhibiting his bite, or maybe because I kept whirling and holding my hands up high. Jax was swifter and had better reflexes than I do, so probably the former. Even in his extreme fear and wildness, he inhibited his reactions to the panic chemicals flooding his brain.

I couldn't trust him. I loved him dearly, but each time we experienced one of these fear episodes, my fear of him increased. I couldn't handle him with confidence. It became a vicious circle - the more fear I felt, the less reliable he was, either because he intuited my fear as submission and he became more dominant, or because he felt the fear too, and that made him more fearful, and increased the liklihood of a biting episode.

I couldn't see how we could take him to the vet for regular check ups - he would be terrified of the strangers there and try to bite them. On our last few walks together, we encountered young children who saw a beautiful, cute, very appealing dog and came too close. Jax's reaction to children was frightful : vicious snarling, lunging, and snapping. I couldn't groom him - what if he had a small injury that I accidently hurt when brushing him? What if I hurt him while trying to clip his nails?

With the other dogs in the house, he became obnoxious and dominant, mounting them, getting into small very noisy quarrrels, nips and lunges. Any kind of excitement - dogs entering the house, someone at the door, threw Jax into a whirlwind of arousal, snarling, leaping - this in turn had caused fights to break out among the dogs which was terrifying.

Jax always, always, wore a leash, and generally I held the leash to take him outside. But the leash had recently worn down, and broken, so what was left was just a short tab. Trying to put a new leash on his collar had resulted in a fear episode that left us both shaking, so we were left with the short leash. Sometimes attempting to grab hold of this short leash was difficult when Jax was excited - he'd dash and dart away, protect his head and neck by ducking under my hands. And sometimes he'd snap at me. Our daily life together had become a tentative walking around each other, questioning myself, wondering if it was okay to touch his collar, lift his leash, stroke him. One morning I let him out as usual - but I didn't want to risk an attempt at reaching for his leash, so I let him out without holding onto to him. On every other morning, Jax had run to the gate and waited until we opened it so he could enter the back yard. On this morning he ran the opposite direction, toward the street, toward the sidewalk. Oh, God, I thought, he'll get hit by a car, or he'll collide with someone walking on the sidewalk and he'll bite them, or he'll just dash away to roam through the yards and how will I catch him? What if the police try to pick him up? All these fears burst through my mind in a flash, as I walked slowly to the end of the driveway toward him. He had paused in his dashing to pee on a bush. I knelt down and stretched my arms out, waiting. He watched me. When he was done with the bush, he rushed into my grateful arms. But it was a close call. It could have gone any other way. How could I risk it anymore? How could I risk someone, a child perhaps, getting bitten? How could I risk my puppy being shot by the police? Or captured, terrified, and taken to the vet clinic to be euthanized by strangers?

When I first met Jax at the shelter, he was about 6 months old, timid, submissive. At seven months he had been deemed fear aggressive, he had attempted to bite several people, had lightly bitten a couple of others. A decision to euthanize had been put into consideration. What I saw was a highly misunderstood young dog, whose spirit had been beaten down, literally, by a very rough start in life. I thought he deserved another chance, he was so young.

Later I learned from his previous owner and a person who had known him then, that he had been taken from his mother and littermates when he was just 4 weeks old - an extremely careless and uncaring decison on the part of his breeder, a stupid, ignorant decision on the part of his adoptive family. A puppy's healthy brain development and social development depends on his inclusion in his canine family until he is at least 7 weeks old - it is then that he learns that he is a DOG, it is then that he learns how to function as part of a pack, he learns canine manners and language and culture. A puppy who is deprived of this essential learning is stunted in his brain development and will almost never develop in a normal, healthy way. He may look like a dog, and smell like a dog, and behave from a human perspective like a dog - but he doesn't know he's a dog - he doesn't understand how to behave, he doesn't relate to other dogs, and he will never
reach his full potential no matter how smart he is.

THEN, his new owners for whatever reasons, decided to employ extremely harsh training with this little baby animal. I don't know the details, I know from the conversation I had with a person who witnessed it, that the behavior of the human toward the baby dog was brutal.

Jax, for the first 7 months of his life, lived in a world dominated by fear, confusion, loss, betrayal and pain.

When my husband and I decided to bring him home, to try to rehabilitate to him, to save him, it was perhaps not the best decision we ever made. In the end, it broke our hearts.

But it may have been the kindest decision anybody ever made for Jax. For 12 months, in our home, Jax knew love for the first time in his life. He experienced pleasure, fun, positive training, a healthy routine. He played and was petted and cared for. That he couldn't overcome the fear he had learned first was not his fault. Once the young dog brain is organized, whether it is a healthy organization, or an unhealthy one, it is nearly impossible to reorganize it. Jax may have wanted to trust us, but he couldn't, not always. We may have wanted to heal him, but we couldn't completely.

In the end we decided we would make this hard decision and have him put down by our trusted veterinarian. We would be with him in the end, he would feel our gentle hands, hear our voices. We would all be scared and haunted and horrified, but we would do this one last thing together.

We drugged him first to help him relax, then the vet drugged him so he would fall asleep. It wasn't that simple. When he felt the strange sensations he panicked, he ran and tried to hide, his legs were wobbly and he staggered. My husband, behind me, said, "oh no, oh no," and started to sob. My daughter next to me was sobbing. Jax collapsed in an awkward heap in front of me, his nose and front paws facing one way, his hind legs facing the other. I held his precious head in my hands, kissed him and whispered, "It'll be okay, it'll be okay. You'll have fields to run in forever, you can herd the sheep, there will be forest trails to explore, and squirrels to chase and streams of clear running water. You can play in the snow and pounce on the snowballs. You'll be free. And we will meet you there someday, and we'll be together again, forever. You will be brave, you'll be the Big Dog. And everyday will be a good day. I love you so much, I love you so much."

The vet administered the overdose, and our dog was gone. Our beautiful puppy was gone.

Jumping Jack Flash, my baby boy, our good little guy, was gone forever.

Jax: a dangerous stranger

2009-07-05T16:06:00.012-05:00

A few nights ago I came home and let Jax out of his crate. This is usually a joyful reunion for us. His brushy tail wags, he prances out with his head down and presses himself against my knees. I caress him and he melts under my touch and we spend a few sweet minutes greeting each other before I take him outside.

But a few nights ago - he came slowly out of his crate, let me rub his ears, then looked up in shock at my face and ran back into his crate. I was astonished at first, it was such strange behavior for him. I talked to him but then thought, "well, it's late, maybe he's tired." I sat at my desk for awhile, and Jax watched me from his crate - like he had to keep his eyes on me in case, in case, I don't know, in case I decided to hurt him?

The next morning I released him from his crate and he pranced out like normal. I rubbed his ears. He came to me and let me caress him, then suddenly he bit my hand and his teeth started chattering. His eyes were wild. He ran back to his crate and stared at me. When I approached the crate, talking to him, he scrunched himself up against the back wall of the crate, lifted his nose high in the air and stared at me, eyes rolling. Then he slid down onto his back and lifted his leg, exposing his belly.

I asked my husband for help. He brought Jax out of the crate and Jax behaved normally, pushing his nose against my husband's hand, asking for a pet. Then Jax wandered over to me, put his front paws on my lap and let me rub his ears. Suddenly, his head shot up and he started snapping at me again, his eyes wild. He ran back to my husband and pressed himself against Patrick's legs, staring back at me as if I were a dangerous stranger.

Patrick and I tried to reason through this weird behavior. It was the 4th of July, maybe the sounds of firecrackers and fireworkers had scared the dog?

This morning Jax came quietly out of his crate, and has been avoiding me most of the day. Once or twice he has solicited my attention, but quickly reverts to his wild, terrified behavior, snapping the air repeatedly around me, then slinking away to watch me warily from a corner of the room.

Patrick gets down on the floor and plays with Jax - throwing a ball, playing tug with a rag, roughhousing, and Jax loves it. If I call his name, he doesn't even look at me.

It sounds weird, but my feelings are so hurt by his behavior. I love this dog. For nearly a year now, I have lived with this dog, walked this dog, trained this dog, played with him, massaged him, cuddled with him, watched him learn and grow and change. He was so placid and trusting with me, he would lay on the floor while I massaged his whole body. I could play with his toes, and tussle with him, pull him along the tile by his back feet and roll him around. He would often press his face into my lap and sigh with pleasure while I rubbed his silky ears and stroked his fur and massaged his scrawny little body. If I took my hands off him, he'd prod my hands with his nose.

Now he thinks I'm a dangerous stranger, and he has become a dangerous stranger to me.

I think of him, as an innocent 4 week old puppy, stolen from his mother and siblings, taken to a home where he was hurt and isolated and scared. He didn't have to be damaged this way. I don't think he was born damaged. People made him that way. Because of this damage he can't live with people. Because of this damage he probably cannot live with me anymore. And there is no place else for him. There is only one way out, and it's breaking my heart.

postscript July 11 - After 4 days of almost constant firecrackers and fireworks in the neighborhood and town, we believe Jax was terrified out of his mind. He didn't feel safe, and when he tried to hide, and I tried to connect with him, he snapped at me to tell me to leave him alone. Once the holiday weekend was over, and the noises stopped, Jax became his normal self. "Normal" being sweet with the members of our family and fearful of everyone outside the family. I am so relieved to have my sweet dog back, even though I know he's still damaged and a risk. To have him prance daintily up to me and slide down on the floor while I rub his ears does both of our hearts good.

Jax : Healing the broken dog

2009-05-03T17:11:00.005-05:00

When Jax first came to live with us in August, taking him for a walk was a telling experience. I had to drag him outside. Sometimes he scrambled back toward the house. Finally outdoors, his whole body tensed up and he walked straight ahead with his head down and his eyes focused on the sidewalk under his nose. Squirrels, rabbits, birds, other dogs went unnoticed. He was like a demoralized prisoner on a death march. He had given up, there was no joy in him.

After about a month, I rejoiced one day when he stopped to sniff at a tuft of grass, and shortly after that his ears perked up when he saw a rabbit.

Today, Jax loves walks. He bounds gaily toward the front door, and quivers with excitement until he is given permission to pass through to the yard.

Some days he walks brightly and politely next to me on a loose leash. I have to remind him occasionally to stay with me. At curbs he sits and waits until he has permission to cross the street. (On leash - I wouldn't trust him not to run into the street off leash. We'll attempt that training soon.)

Other days, like this morning, he is so excited about the great big wonderful world of smells and sounds, he cannot contain himself. He bounds and leaps on the end of the leash. He is interested in everything. When corrected, he will come back to my side, but in the next instant he sees something he just has to investigate and off he flies.

He is learning and he is healing. We still have some major behavior issues to cope with, but his future looks better, and we are hopeful that he will someday be the loving, trustworthy, smart and joyful dog he was born to be.

A Lost Dog Network

2009-04-26T16:34:00.004-05:00

We came home from the animal shelter last night, pulled into the driveway and saw a small dog peering into our backyard. He skittered away as we got out of the car, but came right back when we smooched and sweet-talked him. He was drenched - it had been raining all evening. He was a cute little thing, a spaniel mix we guessed, and he was wearing a really cute blue polka-dot collar. The collar told me somebody loved him.

Since it was late we decided to keep him overnight and look for his owners in the morning.

Sunday morning I called the police station to report that I'd found a dog. My husband took the dog out for a potty break and showed him to our neighbor Gailanne. Then I took the dog for a walk around the block, hoping he'd recognize his house and show me where he lived, better than that, I was hoping we'd encounter his owners who might be out looking for him.

During the walk, some fellow shelter volunteers passed by me. We discussed the dog, then went our own ways. I took him to my friend Michelle's house and asked her if she recognized him. Nope.

When I got home the phone rang. It was one of the volunteers I'd met during the walk, Jessa. She told me the dog belonged to her friend, Callie, who had just posted a comment on Facebook about her lost dog. The dog's name is Scamp, Jessa said, and they just adopted him a couple of days ago. Callie's phone number wasn't listed, but Jessa said she'd try to contact Callie through Facebook. So I waited for Callie's family to contact us...

Meanwhile, Callie's family was at church, and they asked for prayers to help find their lost dog. Our neighbor, Gailanne, is a member of the same church, and she
immediately answered their prayer by saying, "I know where your dog is!"
Hallelujah!

Callie's family had also called the police department, and the officer there gave them our phone number. My husband answered the phone when they called, and said, "Are you Scamp's owners?"

Callie's mom said, "How do you know his name?"

"We know all," Patrick replied in a deep voice.

And so the family came over, and with many smiles and tail wags, the dog and the family were reunited.

Don't you love happy endings?

Clicker training for teenagers?

2009-04-05T17:18:00.003-05:00

My 17 year old son recently complained to me about the dogs pooping on the sidewalk that leads to our kitchen door.
"You should train the dogs not to poop on the sidewalk," he grumbled. "It's really annoying to have to watch where I walk."
I was about to reply that maybe he should join me in cleaning up the poop on a regular basis, so he wouldn't have to walk over the poop on the sidewalk, but I thought better of it. He's probably right. It probably would be easier to train the family dogs to not poop on the sidewalk, then to train the family teenagers to clean up the poop.

Diary of a broken dog, September: games

2009-01-28T13:46:00.003-06:00

Jax loves to play. We don't play a lot of tug of war with him yet, because it brings out the wild beast in him. While tugging, his eyes will suddenly change, and he will become extremely aggressive and start jumping around and biting at us.

Pat bought him a frisbee, and Jax loves it, leaping into the air and chasing it. Occasionally he catches it in the air and then prances around with it in his jaws, quite pleased with himself.

On a recent walk he saw some college students playing frisbee - he instantly became alert, and tried to head over to their play area. I let him watch for a minute, his whole body was vibrating with excitment. The frisbee! the frisbee - you could practically see the little wheels turning in his head. "I could get that frisbee!" This was one of the first times he responded to a group of people without fear - he was so distracted by the frisbee. I wondered what he might have done if I had let go of him? Might be worth setting up such a scene with some agreeable people.

He chases tennis balls and sticks, almost anything we throw for him. He doesn't give back, unless we "trade" for the item - offer a different toy or small treat. Then he drops quickly and snatches at the new item. Not very polite, but he'll learn.

We are teaching "wait" - hold an item in front of him, but remove it quickly if he snatches at it. He gets the item when I want to give it to him.

Diary of a broken dog - September

2009-01-22T13:47:00.003-06:00

We continued to introduce Jax to each of the dogs with not much success. Jax lunged and snarled.
Each dog responded in a different way, but generally with curiosity, friendliness and tolerance.

Pat was in favor of just throwing Jax into the whole pack, as he had seen on Cesar Millan's show.
Finally he talked me into it. All six dogs were let into the yard, and Jax was led into the mix. For the most part our dogs simple wanted to sniff Jax, which he did not allow (whirling and snarling). The big dogs got bored with him in a few minutes and wandered off to take care of business or play with each other. Jax stood in the middle of all this, alarmed, worried looking.

At one point Beau trotted to Jax and did a play bow. Jax just stared. Beau bowed again, and again, and again, finally sinking into a hugely exaggerated deep play bow. "Do you hear me now?"
But Jax just stared...he didn't understand. I thought, "he doesn't speak 'dog'."Beau gave up and trotted away.

Jax trotted stealthily up to one dog after another to sniff and check each one out. Our dogs were patient, standing still for inspection, as soon as they turned to sniff Jax, he would dart away growling. I thought, "he has no dog manners."

During this month I took Jax for long walks 3 or 4 times a day. I tried clicker training, at first he was terrified of the clicker and would run from the room when he heard it. Finally outside on a leash, I clicked the clicker and dropped a greasy treat. Jax couldn't run because of the leash - after 3 or 4 greasy treats he figured it out and immediately lost his fear of the clicker.
Clicker= yum!

He was starting to enjoy walks, now he was pulling to go places. He was starting to sniff and inspect things he encountered, starting to behave like a real dog. I needed to change the pulling habit, so I used the clicker - clicking everytime he walked quietly next to me - but this turned into, "run ahead, fall behind, get a treat, run ahead fall behind get a treat." I felt clumsy with the clicker and I wasn't teaching what I intended.

I tried the "be a tree" method - if the dog pulls, the handler stands still until the dog returns to the handlers side. I spent a lot of time standing still in the middle of the sidewalk while Jax flipped and jumped and leaped and lunged and ran in circles around me.

I tried "turn and walk in the opposite direction". Everytime Jax lunged ahead of me I turned around and walked in the other direction. This was a little bit more successful. Still. We never got much farther than the sidewalk in front of our house. All that turning back.

I tried Cesar's method, with the leash up close behind the ears - that was better - but what really made the difference was ME. I remembered what Janice Wolfe (dog whisperer NJ) looked like when she walked dogs - confident & happy. And I remember her saying, "don't look at that dog!"
So I adopted her posture, looked up and strode forward, and Jax trotted alongside me.

But not every time. Not always. But it does say a lot about the human part of the equation.

Diary of a broken dog, week 2 (8/5 - 8/12/08)

2008-08-26T08:24:00.003-05:00

I've noticed that Jax is considerably calmer during walks taken at night. Less stimuli? Don't know.

Have been using a Halti on him to give me more control. Applying the halti is a trick. He doesn't like his face handled and resists with his teeth. I hold a treat in my right hand, slip the nose loop over my treat-bearing fingers. As he takes the treat, I slip the loop over his snout. Then maybe a struggle to get it latched behind his ears.

According to Cesar, long walks are supposed to drain his energy, but taking Jax on a long walk only makes him tense. He is so relieved to be indoors again, he goes into ballistic play. How to drain his energy??

Behaving a teeny bit better about us going in and out of the door, and also eating more regularly. Handbook of Applied Dog Behavior recommends a low protein, high carb diet. Read this somewhere else too, dog food should be no more than 21% protein. Hi-protein encourages aggression in dogs.

Pat plays with him on the front lawn, and he's getting more comfortable outside. A little too aggressive during play, sometimes gets too excited and will start jumping up and biting. When that happens I hold the leash firmly and make him sit, then rub him behind the ears until he relaxes. It's like he suddenly turns into a wild fox or coyote and is quite disturbed to be so close to humans, so he starts biting. But he relaxes very quickly when massaged - almost melting into the ground.

Barks himself into a frenzy at the cats.

8/8 Friday Introduction to Mina, 2 year old spayed Lab/Dal mix. She was extraordinarily patient with him.

8/9 Saturday Walk for 45 minutes downtown and back. Saw Pat at Main Street, as soon as Jax recognized he rushed up to him and started snuggling and exposing his belly, tail wagging low. Then Daryl came out and he met Daryl - went okay, not exactly calm, but not so anxious

Sunday 8/10 Went for walk 1 1/2 hours across town to cemetery and back. Jax nervous and pulling the entire time. I think I'm calm. On the way back we encounter 2 small dogs, a corgi puppy and a terrier in their yard - they chase us along the fence yapping madly and Jax is terrified, trying to get away and manages to pull the halti off his nose. (Big advantage of halti over gentle leader halter - the halti has a safety loop that attaches the halter to the collar. So even if the halti slides off, the leash is still connected to the collar.) Anyway, a struggle with a panicky dog trying to put the dreaded halti back on, but managed. Finally reached home, me worn out, Jax relieved and playful and energetic.
Days later it comes to me: being quiet is not the same as being calm. In fact, I was not calm on that walk, I was grim, which is entirely different. I was worrying about all the different problems in my life and feeling anxious myself. Of course it wasn't a fun walk! How could it have been for him? I was all gloomy and angry, even though I was quiet, I'm sure he felt my mood.

Diary of a broken dog: the first week (July 29 - Aug 4, 2008)

2008-08-17T14:15:00.005-05:00

7 month old male, neutered border collie

Situationally aggressive: when attempting to close into kennel; handling mouth/neck to apply collar or leash; on being restrained when excited. Will jump, bare teeth, mouth hands, bite hands (and hold teeth on hands with progressively more pressure).

Fearful: of outdoors (just the wide open space?), traffic sounds, other dogs, cats, people jogging, walking, bicycling, talking, wind, rain, thunder. Fearful of being alone in fenced yard. Symptoms exhibited: panting, pulling frantically on leash, cowering.

Indoors hyperactive but cheerful and playful. But rough or excited play incites aggressive, biting behavior.

Easily aroused to hyper-excited state.

Hyperactive: paces and pants continuously, barks excitedly, impulsive, cannot calm self. Cannot ignore external stimuli, when fed cannot pause long enough to eat meal - will take a bite, then dash off to check out noise or some other thing he's anxious about.

Uncertain around people, but if left alone will approach and behave submissively - low tail wag, sit, slouch down to back and expose belly. Enjoys being petted.

---------------------------------------------
First 3 days walks were very stressful. Jax pulled on leash and panted, trying hard to ignore all the sights, sounds, smells around him. Walks did not seem to tire him out physically, even though they must be very mentally challenging. At home he raced toward the door eager to be inside. Indoors he relaxed somewhat and became playful, until he encountered a cat, which terrified him. By the second day he was barking at cats and getting overexcited. Not met dogs yet, but certainly can hear and smell them.

Sleeping in Mary's room. Hard to leave him in room, he leaps to rush out, and will jump up and bite your hand as you attempt to open or close door.

4th day walk: Sniffed some bushes! Progress. He was able to ignore scary stimuli long enough to behave like a real dog. Learning to sit calmly when I stop at curb. Not so noticeably nervous as trucks roar by.

Met woman who knows him - her father used to own him. Dog and I were standing at a curb, he was sitting calmly, just received a treat for calm behavior, when woman pulled up in truck, got out and approached us. Jax sunk to sidewalk flat on his belly, ears drooping, whale-eyed, as she talked to me. When she tried to get close to him to pet him, his lips curled and he snapped the air. Don't know if he remembers her (sight, voice, scent?) or if she was intruding - but change in his posture was dramatic and behavior more extreme than I've seen before when he met the people in our family (he was sweet and submissive to each of us).

Started car trip to Texas - car too small for crate. Jax very excited, dashing back and forth in back seat. Figured he would calm down after an hour or so. Five hours later, still dashing back and forth occasionally barking. Very distracting and aggravating to us humans!
Had to put tags on collar - very mouthy, biting. Finally took collar off, attached tags, then Mary held him by slip leash, while I put collar on - very mouthy, biting.

Moods swing back and forth - from snotty bratty bitey behavior to sweet little puppy and back again.

Day 5
Very afraid of outdoors, new place (Missouri). Difficult to go in and out of door to pack car - he keeps trying to slip out. Eager to get back into car and out of scary outdoors. Somewhat calmer in car - dashing and barking only at cars going north, while southbound cars pass by without him reacting. At rest stops have to drag him out of car, he pees quickly and leaps back into car.

In Texas met 2 new people, my aunt and young cousin. Jax wary. Snout wrinkled when Tristan approached too quickly - I corrected with a gruff no, Jax looked up at me, then rolled onto his side, exposing his belly to me. Later we try again, I tell Tristan the no touch, no talk, no looking at the dog rule (Cesar Millan and Mark German), and this works better. Tristan and I talk, while Jax approaches, sniffs and calms down.

Jax must stay in family room, gets jumpy and mouthy whenever we attempt to leave him in the room.

----------------------------------------
Remember:

Practice makes progress.
Be realistic - don't expect miracles.
Remain calm-assertive at all times.
Work toward a little progress each day - and quit while you're ahead, when the dog has successfully completed an exercise and can be praised for it.
Expect setbacks - don't be discouraged. View setbacks as opportunities to learn.
Be kind to yourself as well as to the dog.
Be patient - it took seven months to get him in this condition, it may take at least that long to recondition him, to modify behavior and develop new neural pathways in his brain.
Be positive.

Diary of a Broken Dog

2008-08-10T18:12:00.002-05:00

Jax is a 7 month old border collie who is a ward of the Poweshiek Animal League Shelter. For most of his life he has lived confined in a crate. His previous owners claim that he is hyperactive. He was adopted once for a very short time, and was returned because of aggression and biting - he attacked a veterinarian who then recommended the dog be euthanized. Because of his bite history he was not accepted into a Border Collie Rescue group. At the PALS shelter he tried to bite at least two of the volunteers.

I didn't know any of this when I met Jax. The dog I met was a very sweet, submissive puppy, whom I had to coax out of his crate. When he finally was brave enough to venture out, he sidled up to me nose down, ears pinned back, with his tail brushing the floor between his legs, and rolled over, exposing his belly. On walks he lunged on the leash, tail down, panting, panicking at every sound, every rustle of a leaf, at the sight of cows, at the other dogs. Occasionally he would stop walking, sit, lean against my leg and point his nose toward my face with the most pleading expression in his eyes. I thought, "this is one scared puppy."

When I learned that Jax might be euthanized, I protested. I was not impressed by the pronouncement that a 7 month old border collie is hyperactive. To me, that's redundant. Border collies are one of the most active breeds of dogs, bred for stamina and agility and energy. One source I read described them as "high voltage." And a 7 month old puppy of almost any breed of canine is going to be active both because it is young and because it is canine. If you don't want an active, energetic pet, then don't buy a young dog. Get a turtle.
Or if you just want something that looks cute, then get a frickin' plush toy, but don't force your unrealistic wants on a living being.

As far as being aggressive - I confess I had only dealt with Jax three or four times, but I hadn't seen anything I'd label aggressive. Mark German, Arizona dog whisperer, told me that people are way too quick to label a dog aggressive, and it's unfair to the dog, because many of them end up dead as a result of one person's erroneous opinion. Dogs that look like they're acting aggressively are often in reality trying to defend themselves because they are afraid, he said, and it's up to humans to correct that behavior, to let the dog know it doesn't need to be afraid, that it can depend on a human pack leader for protection. Shelter dogs don't usually have a pack leader - they live in separate quarters, not in a pack, and I suspect many of them often feel threatened by the situation they're in, so they act out. Jax certainly was living in a state of fear. If he was biting, I wondered, could it be because he is afraid and trying to protect himself? I was told that his biting didn't resemble fear-biting, but was unpredictable and "mean".

I was distressed for this pup. He'd had a rough start and was coping in the only way he knew how, and that coping behavior was leading him toward death. On Tuesday, July 29, I took Jax from the shelter and brought him home. Though my skills and education about rehabilitating a damaged dog are limited, I thought I'd give him a chance.

For the next several posts, this blog will consist of a journal about my experiences working with this dog. May we all learn something, and may Jax learn to be whole again.

A bucket of kittens

2008-07-04T14:39:00.011-05:00

A few weeks ago we offered to foster a litter of five newborn kittens. The animal shelter worker who was caring for them also had several other dependent animals in her care and was feeling overwhelmed. My daughter Catherine had the time and ability and desire to help, so she took the kitties.

For the first few days all seemed to be going well. Catherine loved the kittens and took great pleasure in feeding them, helping them to eliminate and keeping them warm and dry. She successfully transferred them from syringe feeding to bottle feeding. They were so cute, their little round ears twitching as they suckled at the bottle.

But then one of the smaller kittens began to fail. We had trouble feeding him and he cried piteously - this heartbreaking descending wail. His little face was bony, not round and cute. I took him to our vet, who thought he could still make it, and told me to continue to care for him. But he warned me, things could change very quickly. That night the kitty died as I held him in my hands.

By this time the other kittens were experiencing trouble too. They were constantly wet and dirty with feces. It was nearly impossible to keep them clean and dry and warm. One by one they stopped nursing at the bottle. We fed them with syringes, but they did not thrive, they grew weaker, frailer. Within a few days, all the kitties had died.

We were devastated, traumatized. Our little babies suffered and died. Why?

A little backstory: these tiny, fragile, babies were found inside a plastic bucket at the edge of a lake. Who knows how long they had lain in that bucket in the sun? Had somebody planned to drown them in the lake? Lost their nerve or been interrupted? What happened to the mother cat? Is she still alive? Pregnant again? We don't know. But we feel pretty certain that these kittens were treated with hideous disdain for their little lives.

What we've learned. We managed the care of the kittens poorly. People have said, You did your best, you don't need to feel guilty. But we made some very serious mistakes, and those kittens suffered for it. And yes, we do feel guilty, we feel responsible. Here is what we now know, maybe it will help someone in the future.

We already knew about kitten formula and feeding with syringes and bottles. We knew that very young kittens need to be stimulated to eliminate urine and feces (gently wash their genitals with a warm damp cloth). We knew kittens needed to be kept warm, clean and dry.
We had already raised one newborn kitten, and he thrived. But raising one kitten is not the same as raising more than one. Tommy, our bottle kitten, was easy to keep dry and warm.

How to care for motherless newborn kittens

Many, many thanks to my friends at the Ask the Vet Techs and Cat Lovers Group at Care2.com. From these wonderful people I learned so much about handraising orphaned kittens, unfortunately I learned too late to save my babies.

Keep the kittens separate from one another. This is counter-intuitive, but very important to understand. Our motherless kittens were always wet and dirty, which kept them cold - it took us way too long to figure out they were peeing and pooping on each other. We didn't understand how this was happening: if kittens need stimulation to eliminate waste, how were these kittens managing to pee and poop on each other constantly? Kittens, like all mammal babies, have a strong instinct to suckle, and will spend much time suckling on their mother. Motherless kittens who are kept together will suckle on each other - generally on each other's genitals which are nipple-like to the touch. When they suckle on each other's genitals they stimulate elimination, which means they end up peeing and pooping on each other. The kittens will get wet and dirty, then they will get cold. When they get cold, their systems begin to shut down, they lose their energy and strength, they will not suckle properly, they will not digest food properly.
So: Wrap each kitten in a warmed piece of flannel or fleece, tuck it into a small box. Put all the small boxes in a larger box (a styrofoam cooler or other insulated box if you have one). Tuck blankets or towels or quilt batting in between all the small boxes. Loosely cover the big box with a towel or light blanket.

2. Keep the kittens warm. We kept our kittens together, thinking they would keep each other warm. BUT a newborn kitten does not have the ability to keep itself warm, therefore newborn kittens cannot keep each other warm. (And as stated above, if kept together, they will suckle on each other, and make each other wet from urine & feces, which will make them cold.) They depend entirely on external sources to keep warm: a mother cat, a light bulb, a heating pad, a very warm room (90 degrees).

Put the big box with the small individual boxes in a small room - a laundry room, bathroom or closet, and keep that room heated to 90 degrees with a space heater. Or position a desk lamp with a 25 watt bulb over the box. For temporary heat you can also use socks filled with raw rice and heated in the dryer or microwave, and tucked between the boxes. (You can also buy pet beds that contain heating pads.)

3. Feed the kittens a commercial kitten formula like KMR. This is available at most pet stores, Wal-mart or your local veterinary clinic. Dilute the formula by adding about 1/3 water to 2/3 formula. You don't want the formula to be so dense that it causes diarrhea, or so weak that the kittens aren't getting nutrition. You may have to adjust the dilution over a few days until the kittens are eliminating properly. Add a drop of corn syrup or molasses to the formula in the bottle and shake it up. This will help keep the baby from getting constipated. Feed with either a syringe (ask your veterinarian for a couple, usually free) or a baby bottle for pets (available at same place you buy formula). You have to make your own hole in the nipple - this is the most difficult thing to do. Too small and the kitten has to work too hard to get a small amount of food. Too large, and the kitten will choke on the fast flow. Buy a few extra nipples if you can, to experiment. Then you have to practice patience and perseverance as the kitten learns to suckle from the bottle. Once the kitten figures it out, feeding is easy. A healthy kitten will stop eating when it is full - you can tell the kitten has enough formula if it drops off the bottle, its mouth relaxed and almost smiling, it's tummy round and full, and its body relaxed. The kitten will look drunk and happy.
An unhealthy kitten will struggle at the bottle and may never seem to get enough. If necessary, go back to feeding with a syringe. This takes practice!
Feed healthy kittens about every four hours. Weak kittens may need to be fed every two hours.

4. Help the kittens to eliminate waste. After the kitten has eaten enough you must wash its genital area with a warm damp cloth or cotton ball. The kitten will pee and poop. Healthy poop will be soft and mustard yellow. Tiny kittens may experience diarrhea or blood in their stool due to the formula not being perfect like mother's milk. (Occasional diarrhea or blood is not a cause for concern. If the kitten has constant diarrhea or bloody stool, take it to you veterinarian.) Clean and dry the kitten and wrap it up in a warmed piece of flannel and deposit it back into it's little box. If you have extra help, have someone else warm up some flannels in the clothes dryer, so you have them ready as each kitten is done eating.

5. Weigh the kittens. Determine your own schedule, but weigh the kittens at a consistent point at each feeding - either before or after you feed them. Use a small kitchen scale.
Keep a record for each kitten, at least for the first couple of weeks until you know they are thriving. Kittens should gain weight rapidly, and may show weight gain at each feeding. A kitten who is losing weight is in dire trouble.

6. Troubleshooting. Consult your veterinarian for constant diarrhea or bloody stool. If an otherwise healthy kitten is struggling with a bottle, check the size of the hole in the nipple - try different nipples. Eye infections are common in kittens. Gently wipe the the kitten's eyes with cotton balls dipped in saline solution or boric acid solution (in the pharmacy with contact lens solutions). You can also buy eye ointment from your veterinarian.

7. Love. Snuggle the kitten and stroke it gently (as it's mother would lick it). I tucked Tommy inside my bra and carried him around next to my chest. Tommy craved affection, as I'm sure our little motherless litter of kittens would have if we had been able to get past desperately trying to feed and warm them. Tactile stimulation is important, touch, hold, pet, nuzzle.

This is just the basics. For more information:
Raising Orphan Kittens
Orphaned Kittens
Hand raising the orphaned kitten

There are a lot of other websites - just key word "orphaned kittens".
And a book: Hand-raising the orphaned kitten, by Myrna L. Papurt, DVM

To finish up - I think most or all of our kittens would have survived if we had kept them separated from each other - they would have stayed warm and dry and would have eaten better as a result. I can't tell you how awful we feel about this.

Leading cause of death in healthy young dogs and cats

2008-04-20T16:42:00.006-05:00

According to the 1996 Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, the leading cause of death in healthy young dogs and cats in the U.S. was intentional killing in shelters.

In 1996, 4 million dogs were handled by U.S. shelters, of those 2 million were killed.

4 million cats were killed.

People who choose to work in animal shelters love animals. Imagine the toll on their hearts and spirits when they have to do society's dirty work.

Help prevent these needless deaths.
SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR DOGS AND CATS.

Dog is my copilot

2008-03-12T10:51:00.005-05:00

Yesterday I was in a hurry, running late, just needed two items at the grocery store. I rush into the old building with its narrow aisles and am immediately blocked by a very fat, slow, shuffling man.

I danced in place behind him, fuming, anxious, checking the clock above our heads. Finally there was room to squeeze around him and as I did so, I glanced at his face. He was not good looking.
For some reason this annoyed me too. I dashed through the store, picked up my items and headed to the checkout line, only to find this same man in front of me. Aaargh. Slowly, slowly, he fingered through his wallet, found his debit card, slowly, slowly he lingered over the little keypad trying to figure it out. He was friendly to the checker, let her help him. But mostly he was huge and slow and in my way, and as I said, not attractive. Why did that bug me so?

But for some reason, my irrational, critical, judgmental brain noticed it and filed it away as "unworthy person blocking my path".

Finally (finally!), he was done, and shuffled out the door. I paid for my items and hurried out the door. As I reached my car I noticed the man opening his car door. Inside his car, a dog waited. A big yellow labrador, its tail wagging furiously, greeted the man as he climbed laboriously into the seat. A big yellow lab, all smiles and love. The man laughed and stroked the dog's head. The dog's mouth opened in a huge grin.

And my heart softened and all the judgment went out of me.

What the dog noticed about the man is this: he is worthy of being loved.

Bye bye Lulu

2008-02-24T18:18:00.006-06:00

So I had to say goodbye to Lulu last week. She got adopted by a good family, I hope.

For the last few months I have been volunteering at our new local animal shelter, and for as long as I have worked there, Lulu has been a resident. She was in foster care before the shelter building opened in the fall, and she's only 11 months old. I fell in love with her the first time I saw her, her beautiful red and white markings, her long floppy, silky ears, her lithe, bouncy body and her sweet nature.

Lulu is an English coonhound and she is beautiful. None of her pictures really captured her eager, friendly, bright spirit. I could never understand why she lingered so long in the shelter. Hunters didn't want her because she'd been spayed. "If the dog's a good hunter, you want to breed it," they said. Families didn't want her because she's a hound dog, and apparently hounds don't make good pets..?

Well, finally someone did want her, and he wanted her so much that he drove over a hundred miles to get her - okay so that doesn't sound like a lot, but he drove the miles the day after a blizzard, in which travel was not advised. The 2+ hour trip took about 4 hours. Nasty, icy, slippery, snow covered, ground blizzards, cars and trucks in the ditch type travel. For a dog. So that's a comfort to me. He really wanted this dog. My Lulu.

So I am happy for Lulu, but also a little sad for me. If I hadn't already had 6 dogs, I would have seriously considered adding Lulu to my family. There was just something about her that went straight to my heart. Now when I drive out to the shelter, and I see the dogs bouncing around in their kennels and my eyes immediately start to search for that little red and white, floppy-eared form, I have to stop and remind myself: she's not there. She's home now. She's home.

Bye bye Lulu. Be a good girl and have a wonderful life.

(be sure to click the link on Lulu's name, and watch the video of this happy girl.)

The Vomiterrier

2008-02-06T13:07:00.000-06:00

One of the lovely things about mutts is that you can make up breed names for them. Yogi, formerly known as the Boxspringer (Boxer/Springer Spaniel mix), has become the Vomiterrier.

Dogs barf. This is pretty common behavior for dogs, probably because dogs are eager to put pretty much anything into their mouths. (Occasionally when a dog vomits, it's because he is actually ill or poisoned, as we learned to our dismay a few years ago, and lost one of our dogs.)

Yogi is the champion of putting bizarre things into his mouth, getting a tummy upset, and then trying to quell his nausea by, are you ready? - licking the carpet. Lick, lick, lick, lick. He will also lick upholstery. He cannot be stopped in his licking. Eventually, he vomits. Sometimes, he vomits while people are awake and can take instant action to remove him from the interior of the house. But usually, he waits until the wee hours of the morning, and then ...

Well, if you're lucky, he's not in the bed beside you. I have not been very lucky in this regard.

Or, you stumble around in the morning in stocking feet and - squash- step into something.

That something is often an incredible and unusual collection of really weird stuff that Yogi has managed to ingest. Dogs are just pretty damn weird, not unlike sharks in their ingestion habits.
If it fits, it's in. If it doesn't fit, I'll just chew it up into small enough pieces until it does fit. Plastic toys and cups, stockings, blankets, beanie babies, leather, plants, rugs, cardboard, rope, crayons, markers, pencils, pens, wooden and plastic spoons, well, the list is endless.

So for now, when we see Yogi licking the carpet, he's off to the basement for the night. Actually,
he's off to the top of the stairs next to the basement door to cry and whimper and whine all night. Except when he's licking the basement floor or vomiting.

The Dog's Mind, by Bruce Fogle, DVM

2008-01-06T10:42:00.001-06:00

So I'm doing everything wrong. I read about dog-on-dog aggression in Bruce Fogle's book, "A Dog's Mind" last night and catering to the submissive dog is a big No-No. Well, I suspected that, but it's so hard to overcome my soft-hearted human impulses.

So for now:

no squeaky talk - dogs think you're a puppy, and low in the heirarchy
speak in a soft, low, authoritative voice
no greeting them when I come home - ignore them until they calm down - the human initiates the contact
greet the dominant dog first - commanding officer to subordinate officer, leave the NCOs and privates till later (I'm a military brat)
make them work for their affection - sit, down, stay

This is supposed to help re-establish the heirarchy, with me as pack leader

I need to always remember that dogs are dogs, they are not human children, and even though my dogs live in America, they are not "free". They live in Dog World, and it's not a democracy.

Peering into Dog World

2008-01-05T19:12:00.001-06:00

For the last few months we've had a problem with our dogs. We always have little problems, but this is a big problem. Fighting.

Beau, our big 90 lb. black lab, attacks the other dogs. Mainly, he attacks Tipper, but he has attacked each of them one time or another. But when he attacks Tipper, he is ferocious and wild. Beau lunges and knocks Tipper down, Tipper shrieking in fear, Beau's jaws around Tipper's neck. Often Rocky and REO will jump in and attack Tipper too. The dogs are all in such a state of arousal, that we humans are nothing to them, we don't exist. And Beau won't quit. It's not enough to knock Tipper down - Beau acts like he wants to kill him.

Tipper is the oddball, the social outcast. I cannot decipher why - it's a different culture and language - in Dog World. The other dogs have never liked Tipper. Sometimes when they are playing, he gets excited and forgets himself. He dashes to them and does a play-bow, then the others stop playing and stare at him, "Who invited you?" It's painful to watch. He's the weird kid on the playground, and he tries so hard to fit in. But my human feelings can't transform the other dogs. "Come on guys, play nice!" Dog rule may be fair in its canine way, but it's not the Golden Rule.

But generally the other dogs don't attack him. They just ignore him. Except for Beau. Beau hates Tipper. A human word, but it's the only way to describe what I witness. It's possible that Beau is jealous of Tipper - because I feel sorry for Tipper and I play with him when the other dogs won't. I give him attention, I tell him he's a good boy, even if the other dogs don't like him. I feel sorry for him. And there's Beau, watching this - trying to figure out why I don't get it, why is the human fussing over this dog-retard? In Dog World it doesn't make sense. On the other hand, I am supposed to be the leader of this pack. Beau's behavior makes me feel like he doesn't believe I'm the boss. Doesn't the leader decide who's worthy and who's not?

We have talked about "getting rid of" Tipper, or "getting rid of" Beau - both should probably be in one-dog households. But what does "getting rid of" mean? Finding a new home for each of them? I volunteer at a shelter - there are not enough people who want homeless dogs. How can I add two more? Our shelter is full of very nice dogs that nobody seems to want.

Just thinking about this is giving me a headache. I have to figure this out. I have to go read some Cesar Millan now.

Last night I lost Yogi

2007-11-14T20:16:00.000-06:00

I let the dogs out about 11:30 for a bedtime pee and when I let them back in and counted heads I only counted five dog heads swooshing under my hand. I counted again. No Yogi. I looked in the main part of the house where I thought he had been tucked up under the table where I was reading. Hmmm. Yogi has a bad habit of jumping the fence and going walkabout, but he hasn't done that since June, so I have gotten lax about keeping a keen eye on him.

For the next two hours I walked around the neighborhood, waited and looked and tried to read and worried and fussed. It was late at night, therefore the neighbors probably wouldn't notice him and get mad. It was late at night and I couldn't walk down the sidewalk yelling his name. It was late at night and traffic was light, so chances are he wouldn't get hit by a car. It was late at night and Yogi loves to sleep with me on the bed, surely he will come home to his bed. What if he doesn't come home by morning? What if he comes home mid-morning while I'm at work and he sits on the porch and the mailman comes and Yogi jumps up and chases him? Then we'll get in trouble.

Finally about 1:30 a.m. I gave up trying to worry him home and went to my bedroom. I stumbled through the dark and changed into my pajamas, then I turned around and looked at the bed. There in the darkness, I saw something white glowing on the blanket. A large solid donut-shaped object. I reached out my fingers and touched warm fur. "Yogi?" He lifted his head a fraction as if to say, "Dude, it's 1:30 in the morning, let me sleep," then tucked his nose under his tail again.

I started to laugh and had to leave the bedroom lest I wake up my husband. I laughed for a good long time, snorting included, then I went back to bed, I had to work in the morning.

Beau : Chapter 2 : A Cat-Herding Dog

2007-10-21T11:31:00.000-05:00

Late one night I let the dogs out for one last romp and pee in the back yard. The light was dim from the house and I could just make out their black shapes moving about in the darkness, except for Yogi of course, who is mostly white. Then I heard a meow behind me. I turned and there he was, Tommy the tubby gray tiger cat, strolling out of the basement door. At this time, the cats were restricted to the indoors. We had just moved to this house, on a busy highway, and we didn't want to risk losing our cats to tire treads.

Anyway, here I am in the dark back yard at midnight with 6 busy dogs and 1 loose cat. One wily loose cat. I scooted over to pick him up, but he darted away, with more speed and agility than his rotund body might suggest, his dainty paws scurrying under his fluffy round self. I called his name, hoping he'd come to me, but he just kept moving into the darkness, tail held high, rear end winking back at me.

I called the dogs in and they all came swooping by me and into the basement and I counted tails, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, while I tried to keep an eye on the cat in the yard. I would have to stumble out into the darkness and try to catch him. "Tommy!" I yelled, then remembered it was midnight, and I had neighbors who already disapproved of my menagerie. I would have to try to outstealth a cat. "Tommy," I sang, hoping to lure him to me. This was stupid, and I knew it, the cat would come or he would not come, but only the cat would decide. Stupid human. Beau had ambled back out of the basement and paused next to me while I called softly a few more times and grumbled to myself, "damn cat, stupid Tommy." At those words Beau looked straight up at me, then out into the dark yard, then back at me. "Oh, you want that cat? Why didn't you say so?" And off he loped into the darkness, heading straight for a murky gray shape at the base of a tree. "BEAU!" I yelled, then shut myself up. Shaking my head and picturing Beau chasing Tommy clear over the fence, I quickly closed the basement door before the rest of the pack came tumbling out, then turned to look for Beau and Tommy.

The yard was murky, I couldn't see anything. Then Beau's form took shape again, loping along the back fence, then stopping suddenly. I could just make out his fur gleaming in the dim light. He was standing still and pointing his nose at a fuzzy gray shape on the ground. The fuzzy gray shape bobbed away, and Beau bounded after it, made an end run around it, and stopped again, pointing. Then he swung his big head up toward me again and I could see his white teeth smiling. Beau was herding the cat! Holding him for me. Good Beau! I grinned.

I made my way carefully across the dark yard. I'm clumsy in the daylight, walking on smooth surfaces, walking across a sloping yard pitted with dog-dug holes and branches and dog toys was intimidating. But Tommy still squatted, obviously annoyed, and Beau still held the cat in his gaze. I approached Tommy, and he scooted quickly right by me. Just as quickly Beau loped around me and the cat, turned and held him with his eyes. The cat's ears pressed back against his skull and he turned and ran the other way, in his ridiculous little mincing steps, followed immediately by Beau, with his great long strides.

After a few more turns, Tommy gave up and allowed me to heft his fatness up into my arms.
"Good dog, Beau!" I whispered, "what a good boy!" Beau bounced merrily at my side, bounce, bounce, bounce! What a good dog, a cat herding dog.

Beau : Chapter 1: The Adoption

2007-09-03T11:13:00.000-05:00

We already had two dogs, REO the black lab, and Rocky the lab mix. We didn't need another dog. We weren't looking for another dog. But we were volunteering at an animal shelter, walking and playing with dogs. And we met Beau, a rangy black lab, who looked remarkably like REO. He was two years old, had reached his full height, the tallest lab we'd ever seen, and he weighed 47 pounds. He was a skeleton covered with hide. Every bone stuck out, hips, ribs, cheekbones, eyesockets. My kids and I sucked in our breath. "Omigod, he looks just like REO! Omigod, he's been starved!"

Apparently his first owner, like many people who buy lab puppies, was astonished at how fast and how big he'd grown. And astonished at how much energy labradors exert. He was unmanageable, a jumping, bouncing, boisterous, enthusiastic, rambunctious puppy inside the body of a full grown, very large dog. On a leash, he bounded and dragged the human on the other end. He required copious amounts of food. Too much dog, not enough human sense. So he was shut inside a chain link kennel and ignored. He got just enough food to keep him alive. Someone noticed, and talked the owner into surrendering him to the shelter.

It didn't take us but a few minutes to considering adopting him. We brought REO and Rocky to the shelter to meet him - they wagged tails and sniffed hind ends. He was already neutered, so we paid our cash, signed the papers and took him home and began feeding him.

When I first brought him home, I tried to put him in our chain link kennel for a short period - he stood up on his hind legs and stretched his front legs out on either side of the kennel door and could not be pushed inside. He barked in desperation and even placed his jaws around my wrist, begging, threatening, "Please don't put me in here!" So I didn't.

That night inside he was disoriented and timid. He walked toward a toy and REO growled at him, " All the toys are mine." He walked toward the food dishes and REO growled again, "All the food is mine." He tried to climb on the couch next to me, and Rocky who was already there, growled at him, "The spot next to Mom is mine." For awhile Beau stood in the middle of the living room swinging his head from point to point looking cautiously around, not sure where he fit in.

Then REO picked up a tug toy and trotted over to Beau and dropped the toy in front of him. Beau glanced at the toy, then glanced back up at REO. REO wagged his tail. Beau gazed at him. REO barked. Beau stood still. REO nudged the toy with his nose, pushing it toward Beau, then swooped down into a play bow and barked again. This time Beau didn't hesitate, he scooped the toy up in his mouth and bounded away, REO hot on his trail. They played for several minutes then flopped down on the floor panting and smiling. Beau was part of the pack.

It's been two years now, and Beau is still tall and rangy, but he's filled out. I'm not sure how much he weighs, but it's probably around 90 pounds. He's not beautiful as his name suggests, but he's impressive in his size and bearing. He is unmanageable in many respects - walking him on a leash requires a bold, daring spirit, I've fallen and been dragged more than a couple of times, and that's after working hard to train him to walk politely. He's just so boisterous and strong. He still thinks he's a baby dog and will climb into my husband's lap and try to curl up - it's a sight to behold, his big front end and his big hind end hanging over on both sides. He still jumps on people - and he's so tall he can put his front paws on your shoulders and look you in the face. He often has muddy paws so many of my shirts are decorated with his paw prints. We have tried and tried to break him of this bad habit, but Beau can't contain himself. He must jump!

If there is one word, really, to describe Beau's attitude it would be grateful. Everyday with him, he lets me know that he's grateful: grateful for his food, for his big yard to play in, grateful for affection, and a soft place to sleep near us. There's just an expression on his big face,
a way of his being, an aura, that glows with gratitude. When all the dogs are out in the yard, running and playing, it's Beau who is most likely to be by my side, gazing up at me with a grin on his face. When he sees me he bounds straight up in the air like Tigger - he just jumps for joy. He romps in circles around me, then comes quietly to my side and sits and gazes at me.

I love my Beau.

Too many friends, too much love

2007-07-08T10:27:00.000-05:00

I was walking REO a few days ago and met a girl walking her cocker spaniel. The dogs greeted each other and the girl was very friendly and talkative. She asked me how many dogs I had, "two?" she guessed.

"No," I admitted, "I have six dogs. Too many. I don't recommend it."

"Well, why don't you just get rid of some of them," she said.

How can I? I tried to explain to her. How can I get rid of "some" of my dogs? They aren't just "dogs" to me, they're my friends, my buddies, my packmates, my kids. They trust me, they depend on me, they love me. What am I supposed to do? Say, Sorry Tipper, but there are too many of you, so you've got to go back to the cage at the shelter. Maybe someone else will want you. Or maybe not. Sorry, Beau, you too, back to the dog pound. You're awfully big and hyperactive, but maybe someone will want you. Maybe. Sorry Yogi, Mina, Rocky - you're too much to take care of, I just don't want to be bothered anymore. Off to the dog pound with you, maybe somebody will want you. Maybe. If not, at least you will be humanely killed. You'll be dead, you won't pee on my floor anymore. You won't chew my blankets or shoes. You won't eat my couch, or shed hair on my food. You won't drag me down the sidewalk, or run away, or play or romp, or lick my face, or wag your tail, or cuddle with anyone anymore.

How can I do that?

Lay down with dogs....

2007-07-02T20:37:00.000-05:00

The other night I prepared for bed by washing my face and slathering on a lavender scented lotion, known for its light, sleep-inducing fragrance. I snuggled into the bed next to my husband, feeling all sweetly scented and sleepy. Mina, our pup, curled up in a ball between us. My husband rolled over and mumbled, "What's that smell? Did you put that flea goop on the dogs again?"

Urine in trouble now!

2007-06-29T18:22:00.000-05:00

It’s morning, I’m late, as usual, and hopping around trying to brush my shoes and tie my teeth and round up the books I need to return to the library (where I work) when I notice something. A noise. Something drumming softly in another room. It’s an odd noise, and out of place in my morning routine. It sounds like...water running, no, splattering.

I cock my head trying to place the location of the noise. I creep from doorway to doorway and follow the sound into the dining room. Liquid is splashing onto the dining room table. From the table it bounces up and flies in thousands of tiny droplets out into the room, spraying the floor, the walls, the piano, me. My eyes follow the stream of liquid up, up, up to the ceiling where it is pouring through the exposed lath. My brain is exceedingly slow to puzzle this out. Why is there liquid up there? Above this area of the dining room, there is only the hallway and my bedroom door. No plumbing. No pipes.

A dog brushes against my legs. A lightbulb goes off in my head – it’s one of those jarring, noisy warning bulbs that lights up and honks when nuclear power plant protocol has been breached. Wonk! Wonk! Wonk!

I race up the stairs, all six dogs scrambling up with me, bumping into me, nearly knocking me all the way down the stairs again. I turn the corner at the hallway and slide to a stop in front of my bedroom door. Where there is a rapidly disappearing pool of dog pee. Rapidly disappearing because it is draining through the cracks of the old wood floor and through the broken plaster and exposed lath of the dining room ceiling and onto the dining room table (did I mention that this is a dining room table – people eat food from this table!)

Cursing at the dogs, I slosh a mop through the mess and finish it off with a towel – a towel, I might add, that I had just laundered the night before. A clean towel that has been folded on the bathroom shelf for a mere 8 hours, before being used to wipe up dog piss.

Downstairs (where each dog is now cowering in its own corner, trying to look small and vulnerable and innocent), I rapidly clean up the table, chairs, floor, piano, then realize I need to change my clothes as well. I am late for work.

This is my morning. This is not an unusual morning.

I have six dogs, obviously untrained, and every morning when I wake up I have six dogs with full bladders. My own bladder is also full. I used to drag myself out of bed and to the back door to let dogs out to pee before I had used the bathroom myself. But since our yard is not fenced, and there is a leash law, I can only let one dog out at a time. Have you ever watched a dog choose a spot to pee? They can be interminably slow. Sniff the rock, hmm, no, maybe the garbage can, hmm, no, not there, oh, a stick of wood. Nope. “Just go potty, damn you!” I yell, startling some early morning joggers passing by the house. Times that by six, and you can see my problem. After I’d peed in my pajamas a few times, I made an executive decision: the one who buys the dog food gets to pee first.

But a dog whose bladder has been filling up all night long is a worried dog and an anxious dog. There are mornings I can hear the dogs milling about outside the bathroom door, almost hear their fretting, almost see them squeezing their furry legs together, pinching their doggy lips together in an attempt to tighten all bodily sphincter muscles. Some mornings, such as this one, somebody failed. Or, I suspect, somebody didn’t try hard enough.

My life is clearly out of control. I am not living up to my potential. And I am late to work again, thinking, how did I get here? Why do I have so many dogs? Why are there holes in my ceiling? How do I sanitize the dining room table? How do I get the odor of dog pee out of my unfinished wood floors? And how do I escape?? But then I arrive at work, and must think about other things, like earning enough money to feed my dogs, repair my ceiling, buy a new table, finish my floors and book a one way ticket to Tahiti.

Dog Scents

2007-06-27T18:22:00.000-05:00

I swept and mopped my house today, no small feat, with six dogs insisting that the floor is their toilet. But finally, I had gotten ahead of the pee puddles. I started to make dinner, then had to stop to kick the dogs out of the kitchen, since they can't be trusted not to steal food from the counter every time I turn to another part of the kitchen. For some reason, I let Rocky stay in the kitchen with me. He was off in a corner on a dog bed, minding his own business and not bothering me.

I turned back to the pizza dough I was kneading, but soon became aware of a very non-bread like odor. Ewwwww. Smelled like cat musk. Ewwww. The odor was stronger next to the refrigerator. I stuck my nose in various places around the fridge, but couldn't figure it out. Had the cats peed on the floor? Guess I didn't mop very well, I told myself, and figured I'd be in for another bout of mopping after dinner.

Soon kids started wandering into the kitchen drawn by the lovely aroma of pizza dough on the griddle. Their noses quickly wrinkled after a couple of good sniffs. "Ewwww," they said, "why does it smell like cat piss?" My 18 year old daughter lit a coffee scented candle, but it just added coffee scent to the aroma of cat.

Eventually, overcome by hunger, we all ate. As she was putting her plate in the sink, my daughter stopped to pet Rocky, and then screeched, "It's him! It's Rocky!!
He stinks!! Aaaaaagggghhhh - my hands!! I touched him!! My hands stink!!!"

Ahhhhhh - the source of the stink. The famous dog roll in smelly stuff outside. Apparently Rocky had found an outdoor cat toilet and had enjoyed a good romp in it.

I gave Rocky a bath - a rare event in his life. My dogs don't usually stink. I stick my nose in their fur all the time, and honest, they don't stink. They smell like dogs, but a clean dog does not have an unpleasant smell. Which leads me to the question - why do dogs roll in disgusting, smelly junk? Donkey doo, cat mounds, dead birds and squirrels, rotting fish - it's all yummy and irresistible to a dog.

The popular wisdom is that the dog is trying to disguise his smell so he can sneak up on prey. And that makes sense, sort of, except when you remember that dogs don't generally stalk their prey, they run it down. I think it was dog trainer and writer Patricia McConnell who offered an alternative reason. Dogs immerse themselves in strong aromas for the same reason humans do - it's perfume to them. They simply like the way it smells. She goes on to write that most of the things that dogs roll in are food-like for a dog - rotten meat, and the feces of prey animals, which often smell like the animals themselves (after all, you are what you eat). We humans, she reminds us, use plant-based scents, fruity, flowery, herbal scents - also things we like to eat. When she encouraged one of her dogs to sniff her perfumed wrist, the dog wrinkled its nose and turned its head ---"Ewwwww, why does my human roll in such stinky stuff?!"

For whatever reason, dogs will occasionally shock our senses with fragrances repugnant to us. What's great about dogs is that they forgive us so readily after we have bathed them with a shampoo they find equally repugnant.

Woof!

Are you Hungary?

2007-06-13T13:26:00.000-05:00

Recently my husband & I were relaxing in the living room with Reo the black lab nestled on the floor at my feet, and my daughter came in asking about Gypsies and Transylvania. "Where is Transylvania?" she wanted to know. "I think it's in Hungary," I said. All of a sudden Reo's big head popped up, his eyes huge with hope, his ears pricked up. We looked at Reo, wondering what had excited him so. He leapt to his feet and dashed off into the kitchen, prancing back a few seconds later carrying his food bowl in his mouth. We all started laughing - "oh, he heard the word Hungary!" (At every meal time I ask my dogs, "Are you hungry?") Reo danced around the living room, smacking each of us in turn with his happy tail, swaying like a shark, weaving his big, glossy black body around chairs and legs, & jerking the bowl away from us as we pretended to try to snatch it from him.

Reo knows several English words, but "hungry" is his favorite. "Walk" and "ride" are up high on his list too. "Sit", "down", "wait" and "bye-bye", are way down at the bottom, as shown by his drooping ears, head and tail. And the eyebrows - the expressive eyebrows- that twitch and rise and fall with his moods.

PS - since I posted this my 18 year old daughter has informed me that "Transylvania is in Romania" (rolling her eyes).

Being adopted by a dog

2007-05-18T20:48:00.000-05:00

1974
I had wanted a dog for a while. I went to an animal shelter called Pets Unlimited, in San Francisco and walked past many kennels. All of the kennels contained big black dogs and all of the big black dogs were throwing themselves against the kennel doors and barking ferociously. I continued walking. Close to the end of my tour I stopped in front of a kennel with a quiet dog inside. He was sitting very politely and with very good posture, one ear up and one ear down. He was smiling. He was white with big brown patches, like a pinto pony. "Hello," I said. He wagged his tail. I looked at his info card. His name was Cisco. He was 9 months old. He was a Shepherd X. I started to walk on to look at the next dog, when something touched my arm. I looked back. Cisco had reached a paw through the chain link and placed it on my arm. He was still smiling, still wagging his tail. "All right," I said, "you've got me."

How did your dog choose you?

PS - Cynthia has left a comment about the needs of big black dogs. When I picked out Cisco in 1974 , I was a novice with dogs, and not aware of the bias against big black dogs. In recent years, especially after REO, our black lab, joined our family, I have learned a lot more. Five big black dogs now are part of our family (& one non-black dog, too!) Big black dogs are the least likely dogs to be adopted from a shelter - they need our help. Check out this very cool website about Big Black Dogs: http://www.blackpearldogs.com/ to learn what you can do.

Something smells good....

2007-05-13T17:22:00.000-05:00

Our dog Rocky doesn't beg at the table. Instead, he just snatches the food from the fork as it travels from the plate to your mouth. It's like a frog or lizard snapping up a fly - zap!

What's the most spectacular act of food thievery your dog has committed?
(In dog-speak, that would be a "bold and clever survival tactic".)

Dog names

2007-05-11T20:35:00.000-05:00

I once read a short story about a vicar who, when he was drunk, told stories about his previous life as a dog. He had a dog friend, and every night the two dogs would go roaming. The two dogs had names of course, names their humans had bestowed on them, but dogs have their own names, names they give themselves. These two dogs had named themselves Moon Chaser and Lion Hunter (or was it Moon Hunter and Lion Chaser?)

What name do you think your dog would call himself or herself, and why?

(and has anybody else ever read this story and remember the title or author?)