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.
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. 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 actively 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, fed her sardines and sat with her in the garage, assuring 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 those that show her big green eyes peering out. And, I have spoken with an animal communicator who has told me that Cleo is alive and well – somewhere. I’ve asked her to convey back to Cleo that despite the upset and confusion, the place for her 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. Cleo had shown up at her house the day before, starved for food and attention. I learned from another neighbor, whose yard borders the first, that Cleo had awakened him the night before wailing at his window (not meowing but wailing in the most mournful way). Cleo clearly wants to live with this kind-hearted gentleman. He has indicated she can stay put at his place, the place she has chosen. As I wrote some weeks ago – you don’t choose a cat, a cat chooses you.
Click here for Butte Humane Society: http://www.buttehumane.org/. There are many wonderful cats and dogs there in need of loving homes. Please consider the adoption option for your next animal companion.
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 dog’s 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 dog’s dad is patient, kind and forgiving. “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 dog’s 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 dog’s 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 dog’s 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 dog’s dad says “yes”.
Postscript: My dog’s dad, Mike, is now home and recovering! Thank you for all your positive thoughts and prayers.
A year or so ago I had a moment of truth. I looked at my beloved Lenny and realized his eyebrows had turned a distinguished shade of silver grey – or had they – weren’t they always this color? After all, he is a grey dog! I rushed to find a photo of Lenny from his younger days to compare with his current features, hoping it would confirm that Lenny’s blue merle fur was not showing signs of age. I found a photo and a youthful Lenny looked out from it. No silver eyebrows there. I realized his once boldly mottled coat had become muted as time had floated by.
Lenny has always been an “old soul” – one of those dogs who seems to intuitively understand what’s going on and has an air of calmness about him. He has been my number one sidekick for almost twelve years. He showed up as a spindly, teenage stray, so thin and lithe that at first glance I thought he was a little doe, not a dog. As I look back on his adolescence, a time when many dogs are abandoned or rehomed because of unruly behavior, I remember Lenny as being near perfect. Of course, the chewed corner of my coffee table attests to a few transgressions here and there, but those are long past, and are a small price to pay for the privilege of having my now old dog.
Old dogs are treasures. Their soft eyes are windows to their gentle souls. Their graying muzzles are testaments to their success in learning how to navigate the human world. Their slower gait allows them, and us, to relax and breathe just a bit more deeply. I believe it is our greatest privilege to be able to care for old dogs in the special, senior years.
I have often said that if I win the lottery or inherit riches from a long lost relative, I would build a sanctuary for homeless, older dogs. It is a tragedy that our world is full of senior dogs who are left to complete their lives alone. So many people bypass older dogs when looking for a furry friend, yet older dogs are the most faithful, gentle, and calm. Old dogs are champions.
As I look at my beloved Lenny, his silver eyebrows remind me how quickly time flies and how precious each and every day is with my loving, loved, and loyal friend. The past is full of wonderful moments defined by more youthful zest, but today – this day with my old dog – is the best gift of all.
Pixie died today. She was not my dog, but I loved her as if she was my dog. She belonged to my friend, Chris, but in a way she belonged to everyone who met her. She had a spirit so happy and huge that it was impossible to meet Pixie and not feel lighter and brighter for it. Pixie exuded joy. She was “Princess of Meet and Greets”, introducing hundreds of people to the magic of retired racing greyhounds. Chris knew Pixie was a very special dog, a greyhound ambassador supreme, and she so generously shared her with others.
I’ll never forget the first time I met Pixie. Chris had enrolled her in a dog training class and Pixie pranced her way in with her long slender tail helicopter-wagging behind – a sign of a truly happy dog. We taught her to bow and she would stretch her long steely blue body out as if she was born to be a ballerina. Her little sister dressed her in pink, and Pixie sported beautiful collars and accessories, right down to the gorgeous handmade tag that adorned her collar. Pixie was truly beautiful in shape and soul.
When I received Chris’ message, I cried – for Chris, and Pixie, and every dog I’ve lost and every person who has felt the pain that Chris felt today when she let Pixie go. The solace is knowing that greyhound heaven is a little brighter for my beloved Zorro now that Pixie has arrived.
My life is full of dogs — really, really full. I live with my own energetic pack of five dogs and interact with dozens more each week through dog classes and day care at the Canine Connection. When I don’t have a dog in front of me (or beside me or draped around me) I have dogs on the brain. I am responding to emails about dogs, reading about dogs, speaking about dogs, and thinking about dogs. Indeed, my life is so full of dogs that on those extremely rare occasions when I go a day or two without dog contact I feel disconnected, sort of like I’m in a foreign country without my familiar landmarks–the thump of tail wags here, a splash of dog fur and slobber there.
So much has been written and said about our love affair with dogs. Perhaps the most often cited reason for our love of dogs is that these innocent creatures who are so forgiving of our imperfections provide us with unconditional love. They, in turn, allow–no, require us to care for them and this nurturing seems to make us more human.
But I believe there is another reason we love and need our dogs so. They help us play. And in play we are our most natural, creative, and spontaneous selves. Play is truly a universal activity that all species need, enjoy, and understand and play comes so naturally to dogs. Just watch the dance of play bows, wiggles, and happy faces that is part of their language of play. But play comes less naturally to humans as we leave our childhood behind and engage in the serious business of adulthood. True play becomes elusive in our busy, over-stressed lives.
Dogs open the doors to spontaneity, laughter, and fun. We experience that when we watch our dogs play, vicariously entering their world of total engagement with a toy, playmate or environment. So many people tell me how much they love to watch their dogs play! It’s as if we are observing pure, concentrated joy. And when we play with our dogs, it’s as if we hit the pause button on the everyday stresses of life. We and our dogs are partners in that which is intrinsically joyful and rewarding to all species.
An activity I love is to dance with my dog. No, we don’t tango or salsa, we just move to the music with circles and spins. My dogs love music with a happy beat and so do I. For you, it might be a Frisbee or ball that brings on the play. Whatever your style, play with your dog. For in play, we become more human, our dogs become more canine, and together we become more connected.
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 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.
A year or so ago I had a moment of truth. I look
Pixie died today. She was not my dog, but I loved her as if she was my dog. She belonged to my friend, Chris, but in a way she belonged to everyone who met her. She had a spirit so happy and huge that it was impossible to meet Pixie and not feel lighter and brighter for it. Pixie exuded joy. She was “Princess of Meet and Greets”, introducing hundreds of people to the magic of retired racing greyhounds. Chris knew Pixie was a very special dog, a greyhound ambassador supreme, and she so generously shared her with others.
