Shy Pixel and her brother, Landis, were a team. He gave her strength, security, confidence and love.
The heavens are a brighter tonight. Pixel’s earthly light has gone to shine above. She left so suddenly and unexpectedly. Not fair for a dog who thrived on order and predictability. She had such a sense of how things ought to be. Had Pixel had her way, I suspect her departure from this earth would have been highly organized, with instructions and for those she’d leave behind. Instructions like “Give Landis extra hugs and my share of the treats.”
Oh, how my heart aches, for Terri and Wayne, Pixel’s loving, grieving parents, and for Landis, Pixel’s greyhound brother who surely is confused. God knows, I know their shock and pain. Where does that amazing life energy go when our animal friends depart? Tonight, I will look up into the cool, winter sky and know that a brand new star has joined the constellation of dog souls that shine forever bright.
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Pixel and her brother, Landis, were adopted through Greyhound Adoption Center. You can learn more adopting retired racing greyhounds at houndsavers.org.
This post goes out to all my single friends.
God bless us, everyone! 
It’s a jungle out there in dating land.
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Take all the men on online dating sites (tens of thousands),
Remove those who can’t spell (now down to several thousand),
Block the guys whose pics include dead fish (what’s left? A couple thousand?),
And cars or camouflage (about a thousand left),
Select for those within my age range (500, give or take)
(No, I mean actual not wishful age; 400ish)
And those with dogs (352),
Find those who sound intelligent (300), curious (240), playful (180), and fun (138),
With pics that make me take a second look (100, give or take),
Including loving pictures of their dogs (80 or so),
Who also love the music I enjoy (70, or so),
And maybe even play those sounds (around 60),
Or have another artistic /creative side (still around 60),
And a professional career they enjoy that makes a difference (40ish),
Who write in ways that “Wow!” me (20, maybe, probably fewer),
And aren’t staunch conservatives (about a dozen),
And don’t want to procreate (an even 10),
With whom I share a silly sense of humor (around 8),
And point of view (half a dozen),
Who can cook tasty, healthy meals (4 or 5),
And are relatively unencumbered by past issues and relationships (okay, just 3),
Who make my heart go skip, skip, skip (that chemistry thing, ya know; 2),
And are unafraid to take some risks, in love and life,
And of all the men on online dating sites, hell, perhaps anywhere,
I’m left with
Just One.
You.
But -
Who are you?
Where are you?
And will we ever meet?
I’m looking. I’m hoping. I’m waiting.
And my dogs are too.
Late 1996 - January 13, 2011
Lenny’s dead.
Life has fled.
My eyes are red,
Tears flowing.
Soft fur,
Won’t stir.
His last breath,
This morning.
Best friend,
Couldn’t mend.
Had to send
Him soaring.
Stay with me,
Sweet Lenny.
Your spirit is
My mooring.
(January 13, 2011)
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Lenny died a year ago, January 13, 2011, after sharing over 13 and a half years with me. He arrived in my world as a thin, thirsty, teenage stray on a hot Texas day in July 1997. Though his body is gone, his spirit will live in my heart forever. HE CHANGED MY LIFE. He inspired me to become a clicker trainer and a professional dog trainer and to see dogs, myself, and others in whole new ways. He was my teacher, my sidekick, my assistant, my confidant, my soul dog. Finally, a year later, the sadness has subsided enough that I can share some thoughts about him. Thank you, Lenny. I love you. See you again.
If early childhood experience matters, I really shouldn’t be a dog person. After all, one of the first dogs I met, when I was just a young child, a light-colored spaniel type named Abigail, bit me on my arm and turned it black and blue. But, I forgave Abigail. After all, I surprised her from behind. Shortly after Abigail, I met Taugus, a regal German Shepherd, and he and I became fast friends. Even then, as a child of only 4 or 5, I knew that I loved not only Taugus, but all Tauguses, and all Abigails, and every Sammy (a beagle who used to make a daily visit to our home), and every member of their kind.
Today is Thanksgiving and, as with each and every day, I am grateful for so many things, especially my dogs. They help me laugh and play. Their presence makes me smile. And, while their inevitable departures have filled my life with the deepest grief, both joys and sorrows are woven into a rich and beautiful tapestry, the fabric of my life. Each dog, connected to a place, a chapter, a time, a community of friends, a cup of coffee, a glass of wine, a silly moment, a heartfelt conversation with those with dogs, and their own tapestries of connections.
And so I think of Peggy, whose tapestry is filled with new pup hope and old dog grief. Richard, whose tapestry includes defending his maligned pit bull. Shagay, whose tapestry is filled with bold new threads as her dog career unfolds. Gabriela, my longtime friend and last loving hope for many needy dogs.
Woven into my tapestry, adding to it substance, strength, and fiber, are the many dog hairs that adorn the clothes I wear and gather in the nooks and crannies of my home, my car, my life. All that dog hair (and I do mean, ALL that dog hair!) – some short, some long, some black, and brown, and white — and then there were those feather-light greyish whisps from Lenny, the soul dog of them all, that used to float invisibly through the air and up my nose. Gesundheit! “Bless you, Lenny,” I used to say, each time I sneezed. Bless you, Lenny, my beloved angel dog, wherever you now rest. Your blue merle markings and downy soft fur are prominently woven in the fabric my life.
So on this cool and rainy Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful for dogs, those now near and those once here. Happy Thanksgiving to all my dog friends. May the threads of your tapestries be strong, beautiful, and bright.
This morning, I decided to mix up my routine. I needed to take my van to be doctored and instead of accepting the usual courtesy ride home, I brought along Tanner, my beloved German Shepherd Dog, so he and I could enjoy a summer morning walk. My motives were multiple. The beautiful morning air lured me outside. I figured I could use some exercise and natural Vitamin D. And, most importantly, in a household with multiple dogs, I was craving some Tanner time. Alone, just the two of us, a girl and her dog. I figured that the leash and experiences that connected us during this outing would help us forge an even closer bond.
With the van checked in, Tanner and I set out. The route back home is straight and busy, a concrete jungle of commercial buildings, roadways, and traffic. But with Tanner by my side, I chose the road less traveled and found myself meandering through the neighborhoods of South Chico, an area bordered by the main road I travel daily, but with an interior I had never fully explored. Initially, I had planned to walk at a power pace, but when I left the busy corridor, I entered a world of quiet and calm; my pace slowed. As Tanner and I walked along, we both absorbed the new surroundings.
Our journey took us to the back side of a senior-living complex; the front side faces the busy commercial corridor I’d avoided. I had always felt a bit sorry for those who lived within since their neighborhood seemed so cold. But beyond the main street facade I discovered a complex of lovely little units. Instead of an impersonal, multi-resident dwelling, I found a colorful, happy place where individuality was evident in porches adorned with flowers and decorated doors. Tanner was enthralled by the smells of one small tree outside one unit’s porch, a signal, I believe, that a small, cherished dog was living large inside. Behind each porch, each door, I knew was a story of love, loss, and labor-core life elements arranged in ways uniquely personal for those who dwelled inside.
Further down we were startled by a din of cooing from beyond a sturdy wooden fence. Tanner stopped, mesmerized, perplexed, and I joined him in his wonder. He sniffed the air and cocked his head as he cautiously approached the fence. What strange beings could create such a gentle roar? Mourning doves? A flock, I supposed, cooing out their morning greetings as this summer day unfolded.
We passed two houses similar in architecture and color, but there the sameness stopped. In the driveway of one was a set of vintage, dusty cars, a likely product of a poorly attended hobby; perhaps the hobbyist’s life had changed so that he or she no longer had the time. Along the driveway of the other was an arrangement of beautiful potted plants, clear evidence of a labor of flowery love. How interesting to see these contrasts in handicraft and hearth.
And so we wove our way home, Tanner and I. Past the artifacts of people’s lives, along the public corridors that allowed us to journey by their private spaces. I felt part explorer, part voyeur, part proud citizen of my little town, filled with ordinary people doing simple yet extraordinary things to translate bricks and mortar, flora and fauna, into meaningful expressions of person and place.
But for Tanner, I would not have made that trek. But for that trek, I would not have gotten off the beaten path. A girl, her dog, and a morning voyage with an unexpected vantage point on a Chico summer morning.
Jenny and Kobe, therapy dog "Pet Partners", on a Christmas visit to Windchime of Chico.
There has been a dog in my life named Kobe Wan. I first met him several years ago when he came to one of my dog classes with his guardian, Jenny. Jenny and Kobe were an impressive sight – both tall, composed, and dignified in appearance and demeanor. They made for a striking pair. The teamwork between them was remarkable. Jenny taught Kobe an array of behaviors and he responded to her cues as if anything but utmost perfection was beneath him. Jenny and Kobe moved together as if they were seasoned dance partners and together they progressed through advanced training and became a certified therapy team.
But beyond Kobe’s steady demeanor was a serious health problem and anxiety about being alone. Perhaps it was these characteristics that landed Kobe in an animal shelter before Jenny found him and made him hers – and she became his. She adopted him, provided him with the best of care, and set about to develop his mind, sooth his anxieties, and heal his body. To help with his anxiety, Kobe was enrolled in our day care program and over the months he flourished. Initially he would pace and fret about Jenny’s absence and the antics of other dogs. But over time he came to play with his canine friends, relax on our couch, and snooze at our feet while he waited for Jenny at the end of the day. We at the Canine Connection loved him. He was one of our family and we shared Jenny’s sense of privilege for his presence in our lives.
Today we learned the unthinkable. This weekend, Kobe died. It hurts just to write these words. Kobe Wan was larger than life. His presence filled the room. His connection with Jenny seemed almost tangible. Their life together was woven of a common cloth and surrounded by a cloak of love.
Our hearts hurt because we have lost our dear friend, Kobe. And they hurt even more because we know the grief Jenny feels. In this privilege of sharing our lives with dogs, so too is there pain. But there is comfort in knowing that our lives have been forever blessed by Kobe Wan and that his spirit will linger in our hearts forever more.
My friends, Kate and Roger, moved to Mexico, taking their wonderful standard poodle, Tux, with them. As they organized their belongings, they decided what would go and what would stay, what they’d keep and what they’d give away. They presented me with a beautiful gift – four hand blown glass dogs that I know Kate dearly loved and she knew I admired. These small creatures, conceived of glass, talent, and love, convey so much to me – the beauty of dogs, art, and most importantly a longtime friendship born of a common love of dogs.
My friendship with Kate and Roger goes back almost a decade. I remember so vividly the day we met. I was sitting outside at a local coffee house, enjoying sunny fall weather with my foster greyhound, Deveron. Kate and Roger, who were sitting next to me, bounded up and surrounded Deveron, showering him with pets and hugs. “What’s his name?” they asked, “What’s his story?” they inquired, “Can we adopt him?” they mused. And so started a friendship that has grown over the years, a friendship rooted in a deep fascination and respect for dogs and nurtured by a deep caring for one another.
Kate and Roger did not end up adopting Deveron (I did!), but they did adopt me as their friend, and I them. Over the years, as our lives progressed, we have shared much, reflecting on changing relationships, considering jobs and retirement, discussing the balance between reality and dreams, and, most importantly, sharing our endless love of dogs. When Tux came into their lives I felt as if I had a nephew of sorts. My family grew and my life was enriched. When Kate and I lost beloved dogs we knew that the other understood our grief in the ways only a true dog friend can. When Kate and Roger embarked on a new life in Mexico, and asked me to care for their canine glass pack, I felt a tremendous sense of gratitude for my beloved dog friends.
Dog people see the world in ways that only other dog lovers truly understand. To the uninformed, our priorities may seem odd, our clothes hairy, and our conversations absurd. Yet, our friendships are rooted in a feeling of truth – that beyond the fur and flesh there is a common core to all beings – a need to love and be loved, nurture and be nurtured, and connect with other living beings who understand us on our own true terms.
Meet Roadie. He’s a 12 week old Australian Shepherd. He’s sweet, soft and silly and he’s the newest member of our pack. I really didn’t want another dog, let alone a puppy – they are just so much work! But Roadie appeared in my life and, like all pups, he needed a human to step in to provide him a home. “I’ll test drive him for the weekend,” I said, and as this weekend comes to an end it is clear this pup is here to stay.
My years of experience with puppies and their parents have made me alert to the antics and quirks that indicate which puppies will be relatively easy and which will send the frustration index off the charts. Roadie is everything I could want in a pup. He’s a quick study and is eager to learn. He’s respectful of other dogs, plays gently, and understands dog body language as if he wrote the book. He’s naturally curious, appropriately cautious, and bounces back quickly when frightened. His mouthing is soft and his jumping (his only real vice) is rapidly being replaced with sitting as he learns this is the ticket to all good things in life. He hasn’t pottied in the house or chewed a single valued item. Roadie is a diamond in the rough (or is it “ruff”) and I am pleased that he is mine.
As I look at Roadie sleeping at my feet I wonder what adventures are ahead. Will his life be long and healthy? Will his presence be a comfort in Lenny’s final days? What will my animal family be like when he is the senior member of the pack? What will my own life be like? Will he live up to my hopes that he can be my new sidekick, my roadie? What joys, frustrations, sorrows, and celebrations will this new puppy bring? And as he sleeps, Roadie twitches and yips, clearly caught in a dreamstate I can only imagine.
Dreams and life unfolding as our journey together begins.
To return to Sarah Richardson’s Canine Connection web site go to:
www.thecanineconnection.com
Simba
I have a pair of dangling, dancing cat earrings. Someone once looked at me quizzically. “A dog trainer,” she laughed. “wearing cat earrings? It must be your day off!”
Truth be known, I am a closet cat person. Oh yes, I live and breathe dogs. But when I need some real peace and quiet, I tiptoe out to my garage and snuggle with Simba, my beloved cat. Simba introduced me to the mysterious world of cats. He walked up the driveway one day, skinny and flea ridden, bellowing out his meows, and indicated with all he had that he was going to stay. I strongly advised him against it, imploring him to think about the dogs (not all of which are cat friendly) and my allergies to cats. But he was persistent in indicating that our house was his new home, we were his new people, and he was our new cat. We are family. All my furry critters and me.
That was three years ago, and since that time I have grown increasingly intrigued by cats. Dogs, I know well. I can usually anticipate their next move by the slightest muscle twitch, or lack thereof. But cats, they mystify me. They keep so much to themselves. Or maybe its just that they’ve reduced their concerns to the simple basics: a safe place to snooze, some satisfying food and, for those cats like Simba who thrive on human contact, a daily chin scratch and lots of gentle petting. Maybe it’s not so mysterious at all. Maybe cats have just gotten to the core truths.
- Cleo. Please come home!
What I have learned about cats, since that fateful day when Simba walked into my life, is that a cat chooses you. You do not choose a cat. Nothing has made this clearer to me than my recent experience with Cleo, a feline that I tried to adopt into my animal family. Cleo’s family was moving out of state and could not take her along. I, thinking it would be wonderful to expand my cat contingency, agreed to take her in. I brought Cleo home and assured her that I would do all I could to help her feel at home. And then, after several days, Cleo left me. No, she didn’t just casually walk out an open door. She sought out, found and used an escape route leaving me frantic and worried, pondering the endless mysteries of cats.
My search for Cleo is now in its third week. I have posted fliers and hand-delivered nearly 300 more of them by going door-to-door. I have created a Cleo page on my web site, listed her on Craigslist, and run endless newspaper ads, including display ads that show her big green eyes peering out. I have even spoken to an animal communicator and asked her to convey to Cleo that her place is at my home. Here, she’ll find a safe place to snooze, some satisfying food, a daily chin scratch and lots of gentle petting.
But as Simba and Cleo have taught me, you don’t choose a cat, a cat chooses you.
Update – 5/24: A miracle occurred. Yesterday, over a month after Cleo disappeared, my neighbor walked across the street with her in her arms. She told me that Cleo had shown up that morning at the home of her other neighbor, a lovely, older man. Cleo had awakened him the night before wailing at his bedroom window – not meowing but wailing as if to say “I am here. I am home!”. Cleo clearly wants to live with this kind-hearted gentleman and he has indicated she can stay. As I wrote some weeks ago – you don’t choose a cat, a cat chooses you.
To return to Sarah Richardson’s Canine Connection web site, go to:
Note: Since writing this, Mike and I have gone our separate ways but I will always appreciate his connection with our dog family.
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My dogs are lucky dogs. They have an amazing dad. He is their chief caretaker, feeding them, playing with them, and vigorously petting them all every day. They line up for these vigorous rub downs from the “Master Petter” as I like to call him.
He talks to them as if he is absolutely sure they understand, and when they talk to him, using various vocalizations, he seems to always understand. “What does he want?”, I recently asked when Tanner, our teenage German Shepherd, began to whine and dance. “He wants me to go out and watch him play,” Mike explained. “You mean he wants you to play with him?” I asked. “No” Mike responded, “he just wants me to watch him run around.” They make the trek outside together and sure enough, Tanner begins to do laps around the backyard. “Look at me, Dad!” his antics seem to say. Mike watches with amusement and Tanner is happy for the audience. Yes, my dogs have a great dad.
Perhaps the best thing about my dogs’ dad is that he understands that dogs are not machines. They sometimes steal his food, the remote (God forbid!), or his place on the couch. Occasionally, they chew up things they shouldn’t (our 8-year old greyhound has suddenly developed a mid-life penchant for pillows), dig in inconvenient places, and one of them eats poop. But my dogs’ dad is patient, forgiving, and kind. “Human error” he says, when his socks end up in the backyard, recognizing he should have put them in the hamper. Yes, my dogs and I are thankful for their dad.
My dogs’ dad has never met a dog he didn’t like. I sometimes ask him to help me with clients’ dogs who have a fear of men. These dogs will sometimes bark and lunge and look very scary as their adrenaline throws them into “fight or flight”. My dogs’ dad helps them understand that he is friend, not foe, but the process can take time, patience, and sometimes courage. “What do you think of Beau?” I ask after a session with a big, burly, scary looking dog who barked and lunged at him in a ferocious way. “I like Beau.” he says, “I feel bad that he’s so stressed. Beau’s a good dog.” To Mike, every dog is a good dog, even when they do bad things.
As I write this blog, my dogs’ dad is in the ICU, not terribly conscious of all that is going on around him as the tubes and machines maintain and monitor his life. While he can not talk, I have discovered that if I can ask the right question, he can nod to indicate a “yes”. “Do you want me to sneak in Quaid (our large, drapey, greyhound) to snuggle at your feet?” I ask, knowing this is not possible, but wanting to suggest some comfort. Just as my dogs love and need their dad, so their dad loves and needs them. With a clear, deliberate nod, my dogs’ dad says “yes”.
Postscript: My dogs’ dad, Mike, is now home and recovering! Thank you for all your positive thoughts and prayers.
To return to Sarah Richardson’s Canine Connection web site, go to:
www.thecanineconnection.com
Mike is Founder and Executive Director of Club Stairways (www.clubstairways.org).
