Bye bye Lulu

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.