Theorizing

I am working on a horse post. It's about collection. It's really haaaaaard (can you hear the whine?).
In the meantime, a theory about how Brockle has offered some of his behaviors has wriggled through my mind.

This is pure speculation on my part. It does come from the knowledge I've been absorbing since I decided to study dog training and behavior. I would love some feedback.

While learning to read dog body language, I came across a  stern warning again and again, from many different sources.

"A dog who looks directly at you, actually staring at you with a tense facial expression, is another matter indeed. A direct stare is much more likely to be a threat, and if you’re in close proximity to such a dog, it’s wise to slowly look away." PetMD

Recently, I keep finding articles telling me that people and their dogs both get a surge of oxytocin when they look into each others eyes. 

When I met Brockle, I hadn't studied any of this stuff. He stood tall, didn't give ground or cower, his mouth was tight, his ears were erect and his tail hung at half mast, with no welcoming wag. He looked straight into my eyes.

He made direct eye contact again and again.

I'm glad I was ignorant about what his body was saying.

If I go by my beginning book learning, this tense, tight-mouthed dog was challenging me, or even thinking about biting me.

His eye contact was unsettling. It felt like he was desperately trying to tell me something. I decided he was asking me to bust him out. So I did.

Obviously, I'm glad I made the decision. I have learned that I have a tense, nervous dog. He was almost paralyzed with anxiety when we met. I've had to get used to the eye contact, he's either got it or is seeking it almost 24/7. 

Since I was his fourth owner in the first 11 months of his life, he had good reasons for being wound a little tight. 

He is much calmer now even if he still likes to look deep into my eyes. I could humanize him by saying he's looking into my soul, but I have a sneaky suspicion he's an oxcytocin whore.

The training I've been taught to use with Brockle, is to essentially convince him I'm the biggest and best party in town. Hanging with me is better than anything else in the world, and listening to me is better than that. 

This approach has been working just fine, but how does it explain his offered behaviors to assist me? What reward does he get from bugging me to sit down when my blood pressure is dropping? What inspired him to help me get up off the floor, steady me when my balance goes and walk me up and down stairs?

Again, I could say it's because he looooooves me, and I'm not saying he doesn't, but that's too simplistic.

Here's what I'm thinking. Brockle is insecure. He guards me like a peanut butter filled Kong. He also has one of the pokier noses I've ever dealt with. He sniffs me often. Not a dainty little sniff mind you, but a deep, kind of damp snorfling, breaking all personal space boundaries. 

He's obsessed with pits. Not just crotches, but arm pits, elbow pits, ears, nostrils and knee pits. He wants to check my breath several times a day. He's finally quit crotch-diving every person he meets, but has perfected the drive by whiff.

He goes crazy with any kind of wound, on any person, dog or horse. He wants to lick it until it's healed. He chased the kidlet for days trying to get at a semi-infected oozy scrape on her achilles. She kinda hates him, I'm not going to lie.

I'm pretty sure my scent changes when I'm feeling poorly. 

I think the offered behaviors started with Brockle just wanting a snootful of the new odor. He was obnoxious enough to make me sit down. Once I sat, his reward was being able to sniff.

I realized he did this when I was going to crash and began rewarding him with food when he helped me out. It became an established behavior.

He becomes frightened when I'm not steady on my feet. Even more so if I fall. His first instinct was to crowd as close as he could. I think it was more of a "Hold me, I'm scared," than an offer for me to lean on him. 

I re-balanced myself by grabbing his ruff. He was happy because I got back on course and I reinforced him with praise and treats.  

In return, Brockle has made these behaviors his job. It has made him more confident. Is it because he knows what to do to stop situations that used to frighten him? I don't know.

His rude sniffing may be annoying, but I have a better understanding of why he does it. My pits are still off limits, but I have decided he gets all the oxytocin he wants.  

So there's my theory. 

Remember When?

I am buried in dogs. Not just the four we live with, but books, trainer brain picking, videos, FB pages and websites.

My hyper-focus (some call it OCD, but hey, shut up) is in high drive, much as it was aimed at horses during my training years. It's a good thing. I have something to think about, a puzzle to piece together, a place for my mind to explore that takes me away from the tough stuff.

The information makes my head spin. Positive training, clickers, shock collars, treats, rally, good citizens, red zones, and breed bans. I'm researching and studying ALL of it. Concepts, tools and definitions I had never considered before I jumped into this morass of education, tradition and opinion.

When it comes to opinions, I spook like Madonna at a loose hay tarp blowing across the pasture. My time training horses taught me to watch, listen and keep my yap shut. I know for a fact that opinions shift as education progresses, and it's best to keep mine to myself for now. If I don't shout, write or assert myself publicly, I don't end up clinging to a wheelbarrow full of shit, just because I thought it was gold a month ago.

Horses still swirl through every step I take in my canine education. They have to, my moral code, thought process, and ability to learn and teach all come from horses. Even my personal relationships are based on what horses have taught me. Treat me fair, make things clear, be consistent, and I'll stick with you. If not, well, I'll buck you off, kick you in the face and trot off with my nose in the air.

I've been remembering back when I was a kid. I pay attention when these thoughts surface, because I learned through the horses, as a kid, some of my basic instincts were spot on. After I started to understand all the training folderol I realized I had some solid natural instincts, and some good basics pounded into me by the old-timers who helped me with Mort, my first horse. Same with the dogs.

So here we go. These aren't opinions... just thoughts.

I was a kid, oh, 47 years ago...yes, that would be the  1960's.

Dogs were dogs, not fur-kids, not "people too," and definitely not allowed on the furniture.
As a child, I was allowed to think our Samoyed, Linus, was my brother or my best friend, but that was kid stuff.

Children were not supposed to be bitten by dogs. If they were bitten once, they knew to stay away from that dog. If they didn't, and were bitten again, they were stupid and apt to get in trouble.

Owners with mean dogs kept them chained or behind fences. They were honest about the dog being mean. A BEWARE of DOG sign meant what it said. That way, everybody but the stupid kids, stayed away from them.

If we drove up to a property that had loose dogs, we waited in the car until someone called them. Not only was it polite to wait until invited out of our car, we knew that loose dogs would guard their property and we might get bit.

Dogs got in fights sometimes. If they did, the kids backed up and let them fight, because they knew that they could get bit and there was that "get in trouble for being stupid" deal. There were some horrific fights, but nobody died.

There were no dog parks.There were no leash laws, but dogs were all on leashes, because it kept them safe. If a dog was the kind who could be let loose to join in a game of kickball (we didn't play soccer) then it was, if it would wander or fight, it was tied to a tree. The tied dogs just sat there and hung out, because nobody cared if they barked or cried. They were dogs.

When a person got a dog, they got the breed of dog that would do the job they needed done. Because dogs weren't children, they were dogs. If you got the right kind of dog, it would do the job you needed. Dogs were way better than kids.

Setters, Pointers and Spaniels were used to field hunt. Retrievers went to water. Some breeds crossed over to both. Setters, Spaniels, Labs and Goldens were known to be good with kids. Pointers were high strung and could be iffy. Chesapeakes and Weimeraners were not good with kids. Nobody called them mean, but they were called tough, or all business.

Many hunters believed kids shouldn't play with their hunting dogs. Specific breeds could survive a crossover, but Cocker Spaniels and Irish Setters were held up as an example of a good dog ruined by becoming popular family dogs. My Dad go a Golden Retriever for that very reason. They were excellent family dogs, but could still be counted on in the field. He would, however, point out the ruined mess that is the modern Golden to back up the old-timers wisdom.

If you lived in an apartment you got a little dog. You still walked them.

I had a friend, Mary, who lived with her mom. They moved a lot and rented, so she had a Japanese Chin. It was my first intro to a small dog. She was sweet and loving and slept with Mary in her bed. I made fun of her dogs flat face because I was jealous. Sorry Mary, I was such a punk.

Dobermans and GSD were guard dogs. If you needed guarding you got one. Old people had Pugs, Bulldogs and Pekingese because they walked slow. Non-hunting families had poodles, cock-a-poos (they were a new thing), mutts, the occasional Dalmation and Dachshunds. There were huskies. They belonged to families with lots of kids who spent lots of time outside. They were yard dogs, not farm dogs, because they were runners and ate stuff.

Most families had one dog. Hunters often had multiples.

I never saw a Pitt Bull and rarely saw a hound. There was a cool Boxer, Rocky, on our street. When I asked my Dad if Boxers were good dogs, he said, "They're the gentlest of the bull dog kind of dogs. If you play with him he'll be rough, but he won't hurt you."

Dad was right, Rocky was fun, but I came home covered with red lines all over me, his frigging claws were like rakes.

It was pretty simple. People got the dog they thought they needed. Most of the time it worked out. I knew a lot of old dogs. I knew good ones and bad ones. People didn't automatically get "rid of," the bad ones. They did however hold themselves personally responsible for their dogs behavior. People didn't get turned into the police or the humane society unless a dog was truly a danger and was never contained. People didn't sue and paid for their own stitches.

We didn't understand how dogs thought, we didn't use clickers, we spanked them when they were bad. Of course children were spanked too.

Dad trained his dogs to hunt with hand signals and his voice. He didn't use shock collars or treats. He didn't want to make his dogs afraid of him, but he didn't want a dog to associate ducks with food either.

I'm not saying any of this is right or wrong, it's just how it was. I still think about it though.

Brockle Grows Up.

I was given a surprise hour of freedom yesterday.

There wasn't enough time to run errands, besides, the dogs were with me and it was too hot for them to wait in the car.

Instead, I took my unplanned gift and stopped at a city park, thick with shade trees and quiet. I leashed up Charlie and Brockle, grabbed my bag and headed for the trail along Fountain Creek. It's narrow and rutted, and weaves in and out of the thick willows and gnarled cotton woods that hold the creek.  The trail is not officially part of the park, it's a highway for urban wildlife, an efficient cross-city path for those who prefer to travel on foot and out of the cities eye, and a great unofficial off-leash area.

We settled on a sunny bank dotted with boulders. I gathered a small pile of sticks, found a comfortable perch and pulled my Kindle out of my bag. I was lost in my latest read, throwing sticks out into the current for Brockle, keeping half an eye on Charlie as he hunted through the rocks, and still just about wiggling in the delight of the day. Talk about your multi-tasking.

The dogs were in high spirits. Brockle would abandon his stick to the current and jump on Charlie, teasing him into a rage. Charlie would snarl, go for his throat and within seconds, they were rolling around in the shallow water, putting on a dog reenactment of a battle to the death.

Charlie tried to stay properly outraged, but once they broke apart and stood panting in the cool water, he couldn't hide his grin.

The dogs and I looked north at the exact same moment. Two men were approaching. They had the unsteady gait of the drunk or high, and the wind-burned, dusty look of our local homeless. I called the dogs and leashed them, then calculated the steep embankment between me and the jogging path above me. I figured a surge of adrenalin would could me get up there if needed and relaxed.

They picked up their pace as they drew close. There was no communication between them  that I could see, but they moved with a sudden fluidity and purpose. There is a look that men on the hunt share, a certain stillness, a mutual gleam of mischief and excitement.

They had zeroed in on my bag. I knew better. Normally, I never bring it with me when I'm out walking. But I had needed my phone, my Kindle, my water bottle and treats for the dogs. I had set aside my own rule of never carrying something worth stealing when I was out on the trail and here we were.  Son of a bitch.

I stood and got ready to run.

Before I had slung the offending bag over my shoulder Brockle stepped in front of me. I barely had time to get my feet planted before he hit the end of the leash. He barked once at the men and when they kept coming he strained against the leash and cut loose with a volley of deep, cadenced barks. There was no yelping, no high pitched yaps, just a booming bass of serious warning while he lunged across the arc created by my restraint.

Charlie joined in, all twenty pounds of him ready to take those bastards on.

"Good dog, Brockle, good dog."

I could feel his tension through the leash and see strings of slobber slinging from his jaws. I would have loved to see his face, it must have been awesome, because the men turned in unison and bolted back the way they came.

 Brockle watched  until they were a hundred yards away, then snorted, peed and kicked up a small dust storm  with his hind feet.

I settled him with a few obedience reps and then threw a stick in the water. He ran to it, picked it up and faced the direction the men had gone. His eyes were sharp and I could hear him growling. The stick fell into the water and escaped downstream.

On the way back to the car Brockle stayed close, his shoulder at my thigh, and touched my hand with his nose every few feet.

New Breeds?

There is an interesting rumor flying around about a certain type of dog breeder. I guess it isn't a rumor, since I found this website:

Blue Cedar Kennels

http://www.bcsportdogs.com/index.htm

This is an example of the dogs they breed.





Envy is a "sport dog mix"...her dam, My-My is a Border x Border Jack and her sire, Pilot, is a Border Jack.

Then I found this one:
http://www.paintedstarsfarm.com/sport-mixes-others

I've been looking up the breeders of these dogs because I keep hearing of a sport dog breeder out here in my neck of the woods. It started when I met a family while hiking with my dogs. The Dad was all over my dogs. He asked if I hunted them, I said, " Er, no."

"Why not?" he asked. "What a beautiful team you have!"

I was pretty confused. I was out with Brockle and Charlie. They were doing this:

This is what Brockle and Charlie do on walks, they don't strike me exactly as hunting team material, in looks or technique.

After a bit more conversation, I came to understand things a little better. The family was visiting from another country. At their home, dogs very similar to Brockle were used to drive prey across open ground, straight into the jaws of fierce little murderers like Charlie. This was a sport, as well as a standard hunting practice. He loooooved Brockle. I finally came up with, "Is he like a lurcher?"

"Yes! Lurcher!"

Not that he had lurchers back home, but it was as close as we could come to a description.

Then I met a woman walking a dog that could easily be a Brockle litter mate. Naturally we stopped and compared notes. She told me her dog was called a "Sport Dog," carefully bred here in the state for performance sports like flyball, agility, that thing where they jump of docks, frisbee, any competition where an agile, fired up dog does stuff really fast.

Her dog's breeder was trying for dogs that would succeed at the above and also in lure coursing, an event that's quite big out on the prairie. She crossed Lurchers, imported from England, with breeds known for their high prey drive, Border Collies, Dutch, and German Shepherds and the Australian herding breeds.

"This is serious? This person sells these dogs?" I asked.

I must have had an inappropriate look on my face. I was informed that her dog was winning like hotcakes in three events and there was a waiting list for pups at $800 a pop.

When I told her I got my dog off the clearance rack at the Humane Society she quit talking to me.

I haven't been able to find this breeder. I'll be honest, I haven't tried too hard. I did a bit of research into lurchers though.

I learned that Lurchers are sight hounds crossed with not sight hounds for different kinds of hunting. They're pretty common in Europe. They are a type, not a breed, come in different sizes, colors and hunting abilities. Historically, they were a poor man's dog, bred by a poor man's standards. If they were up for the task at hand, they lived and if not, well....

In Britain, Lurchers are hunted over different kinds of terrain: stubble field, smooth flat grassland, or rugged moorlands. So the dogs are chosen with both the quarry and the environment in mind. 
For these reasons, a useful working lurcher are bred from similarly useful working parents. Its not just a matter of breeding any old greyhound to the collie round the corner. Any responsible person wishing to breed a litter of lurchers  picks parents with a proven ability to work, and rules out the breeds no longer used for their original purpose. So, technically, while a cross such as a Borzoi/Old English Sheepdog is a lurcher, you'll be hard pressed to find one, at least on the other side of the pond.

Greyhounds, Deerhounds, Salukis, Whippets and Wolfhounds seem to be the primary sight hound influence, with crosses to collies, terriers and bull breeds (and mixes of those) to create what's desired. 

The thing is, these dogs have been bred forever. Not by crossing a collie and a greyhound, then adding in some pit or JRT the next generation.

They are bred to work. They are tweaked with fresh blood to improve performance. More like rat terriers were before AKC glommed onto them. Everybody knew there was a bunch of breeds in there, but a rat was still a rat, and was considered an all around barn, farm and ranch dog that fit in your lap.

On the flip side, breeds have to start somewhere, right? My interest was piqued. I haven't found this sport dog breeder yet. If by some obscure chance of fate Brockle did come from this program, he would be a dismal failure. He is too easily amped up to handle the intensity of agility, too dog aggressive to stay on track for fly ball (This is MY BALL, and SO IS YOURS!!!), and while he loves to chase stuff, and he's fast enough and agile enough to run neck and neck with a rabbit, his reaction is to bounce around and look really dopey.
"Aw....hi little bunny!" Brockle says.
"Send it over here! Bite it! Do something! Anything! Aw Jeez, you're killing me here!" Charlie screams.

And then, this morning, I see this.

She's a Malinois Greyhound cross at our local Humane Society. Is she a random mutt or a "Sport Dog" failure? Whatever she is, things haven't been going her way, that's for damn sure. My guess is she's sensitive, protective, insanely fast and smarter than her breeder. If I had the room, energy and time to take on another one, I'd go get her faster than Tess the Border Collie whips through the weave poles. Thing is, Brockle is a tough dog. Hard, reactive, insecure, full of beans, pushy, wary, and definitely smarter than me, the scars from his first months on the planet run deep. I can't imagine where this poor girl's head is at. 

This post is about questions more than opinions, at least for me. It's got me thinking about lots of things, but I'll be honest, mainly I'm thinking about that starved, frightened dog. 



P.S. Just so you don't think I'm totally nuts on the Brockle/lurcher thing...

image a and b are lurchers
         c and d are Brockle.

You Can't Make This Stuff Up, But I Have A Solution

"San Francisco is in the midst of a rat problem, and one woman's rodent obsession might be partly to blame.

"Authorities say a woman living in a residential hotel has been breeding them. And then releasing them into the public. Police say when they last checked she was living with 300 rats in deplorable living conditions." (Via KNTV)

KTVU obtained this 2011 footage of a rat-infested hotel room, which was formerly occupied by a 43-year-old woman known as "Erica J." or informally, "Rat Girl." San Francisco's animal control department says Erica compulsively breeds the rats, which then infest wherever she lives.

The city's Public Safety Department ultimately had to exterminate over one thousand rats in that hotel. Since then, animal control officers have been confiscating Erica's rats when they can, but they say she always seems to find more.

Since just one breeding pair of rats can produce up to 15,000 descendants in a year, according to National Geographic, Rat Girl's furry friends are causing a major headache for the city.

An animal control official told KTVU prosecuting Erica is unlikely to solve the problem.

"I believe that there's a serious underlying mental health issue that needs to be addressed. ... I can only imagine that this situation is probably going to continue wherever she lives until she gets the help that she needs."

Attempts to intervene on the woman have been futile, according to NBC Bay Area: "Authorities say the woman moves when she is confronted about the problem."

And in case you need a reminder of why Rat Girl's hobby is a dangerous public health issue, the CDC has a comprehensive list of all the nasty diseases rats can carry. Ick.

Animal control has been able to adopt out some of Erica's confiscated rats which had already been domesticated - feral or diseased rats were euthanized."

...and here is the solution

By COREY KILGANNON

Published: November 21, 201

It was well after nightfall. The pack of dogs was split into two groups and was led to opposite ends of a desolate alley in downtown Manhattan

A man collecting recyclable cans from the trash slipped out just before the owners unleashed the dogs.

The rat hunt was on.

The dogs raced toward a pile of trash bags in the middle of the alley, with the smaller dogs combing through the bags and chasing rats out toward the larger dogs.

Ernie, a 3-year-old hunt terrier, snapped up a fleeing rat in his jaws and gave him a hard shake. The rat quickly went limp. Ernie’s owner rejoiced over the kill — it was Ernie’s first, after just a few outings of hunting vermin.

This was another occasional outing for a group of dog owners who take their pets to downtown Manhattan to kill rats.

The hunts are conducted something like a country fox hunt, but in an urban setting. Members say it allows their dogs — mostly breeds known for chasing small game and vermin — to indulge in basic instinctual drives by killing a dozen or two dozen rats each time they are let loose.

“We don’t make a huge difference in the rat population, but the dogs have a lot of fun,” said Richard Reynolds, a main organizer of the group, which, in an effort to form the acronym RATS, he semiseriously calls the Ryders Alley Trencher-fed Society (Ryders Alley was once a rat-infested lane downtown, and trencher-fed refers to the keeping of hounds to hunt). The group, which includes some members who travel from the suburbs, has been meeting for 15 years, mostly in downtown Manhattan in areas where trash is abundant.

“We love garbage — if there’s food around, there are rats,” said Mr. Reynolds, a dog breeder from Tenafly, N.J.

Just before the recent alley hunt, the group had met in City Hall Park, with the energetic little dogs straining their leashes toward the bushes and assuming pointing positions. A local resident who was walking his 12-year-old Jack Russell terrier, Chloe, stopped to chat, and was incredulous when told what the group was doing: using their dogs to find, catch and kill rats in the streets.

“You guys can do that?” asked Chloe’s owner, Andrew Luan, 42. “I mean, you won’t get tickets, the city’s O.K. with that?”

In fact, it would appear that the rat hunters are not violating any laws or health codes, and the plight of rats, at least those living on and below New York’s streets, does not generate the same level of passion as the plight of, say, the city’s carriage horses.

“The city loves us,” claimed Mr. Reynolds, casting his group as a free extermination force. He was wearing a tweed cap and gripping a spike-tipped walking stick, for poking garbage bags and for protection from the rodents.

Soon the hunting group entered the alley — Theater Alley, a deserted narrow lane just off Park Row — and they invited Mr. Luan to come. He accepted.

“Looks like we got a new member,” said Jimmy Hoffman, 37, who held Mighty, his 3-year-old Patterdale terrier, on a leash.

“Hopefully you’ll get some food tonight, huh Mighty?” said Mr. Hoffman, of Bellerose, Queens.

In the alley, Ernie’s owner said she was a veterinarian from Manhattan on her third hunt who asked that her name not be published because “it wouldn’t go over well with some of my clients.”

“Once he got a taste for it, he has not stopped looking” for rats, she said, adding the hunt “provides mental stimulation” for the dogs.

“They are using their brain,” she said. “It’s in their nature, it’s what they want to do, but in the city, it’s hard for them to do it.”

Hunting rats does pose risks, since they are known to carry diseases, including leptospirosis, a bacterial disease that often affects animals, but the veterinarian said it was not the season for it.

Mr. Reynolds said there had been a few lacerations to the dogs from rat bites and other mishaps, but nothing serious. Still, he said, he carries “a traveling field hospital” in his truck, just in case, and a staple gun in his pocket, to mend wounds.

The group sometimes gets tips from homeless people or police officers, Mr. Reynolds said. In fact, he said, some officers have gone from initially being suspicious of what they were doing to suggesting rat locations and wishing them luck.

In Theater Alley, he said, he had a homeless tipster who repaired old computers discarded by the J&R electronics store nearby and used the store’s Wi-Fi to go online.

“I used to bring him a turkey sandwich and a six-pack and he’d email me reports on the rats here,” Mr. Reynolds said.

Still, not everyone supports the rat hunts. Brian Shapiro, the New York State director for the Humane Society of the United States, said there were numerous cases of dogs biting rats and ingesting poison consumed by the rat.

This type of activity exposes dogs to the “likelihood of eventual toxic exposure,” he said, adding, “The more times the owners send them out, they are repeatedly exposing them to that risk — it’s not good guardianship for a dog.”

“They don’t choose to go into the alley — they are sent in,” he said of the dogs, and added, “This is not an effective means of pest control because they are not getting any significant number of rats.”

As for the rats, he said, “You want to address them in a manner that causes the least amount of suffering.”

A spokeswoman for the New York City Police Department said there was no information available on the legality of using dogs to hunt rats in the city.

Mr. Reynolds said he hated animal cruelty, but he argued that no harm had ever come to any of the dogs, and added that rat poison causes a slow, painful death, compared with a quick death in a dog’s jaws.

Mr. Hoffman, a veterinary technician, said he was not insensitive to the plight of the rat; in fact, he treats pet rats in his work as a veterinary technician in Queens.

“I got no prejudices, but hunting is hunting,” he said.

Another stop during a recent hunt was an outdoor plaza at the Seward Park Extension on Allen Street. A resident standing outside, Dolly Laureano, greeted the group and said that her mother had posted a note about the plaza on the hunting group’s Facebook page.

Next to the plaza, the group put a small dog inside a Dumpster behind the Seventh Precinct station house, at Delancey and Ridge Streets, and the rats came shooting out a single hole at the bottom, with the dogs in hot pursuit.

One darted under a parked Lexus and was cornered by Paco, a feisty dog belonging to Bill Reyna, from Wayne, N.J. Finally, the rat streaked out, and Paco chomped down on it and left it at the base of a No Parking sign. Mr. Reyna photographed the encounter and showed it to Mr. Hoffman.

“Whoa, that’s mid-shake,” Mr. Hoffman exclaimed. “That’s got to get framed on the wall.”

Having two vermin killing maniacs in my employ for many years lets me honestly get behind this idea. It also gives me some thoughts for a great post (about time!) ...stay tuned - Mugs

Dinah

Dinah was the epitome of a family dog.

We worked together every day and she was a shadow within my shadow each step of the way.

The only time she left her place at my heels was to follow my daughter; she took the job as companion, playmate and guardian of what was most precious to me with the grave intensity that was her way.

At night, after a long hard day, she spent her evenings dozing with my husband in the recliner, with her head in his hand while he methodically scratched her ears.

Her relationship was unique to each of us, and of her own design, because Dinah was not a dog who took kindly to being told what to do.

She did things as she saw fit, lucky for us, she also had an unflagging loyalty and the deep rooted sense of duty that goes hand in hand with devotion. Dinah had lived with us for many years before I realized I never actually trained her to do anything. I could not take credit for my well behaved little dog. She would see a gap and fill it, meet a friend and keep them, and was polite to everyone else, while making it clear they weren't members of her inner circle. She came because she was interested in what I had to say, heeled because that was the spot she chose for travel, and accepted my guidance as long as it was practical.

I rarely had to find her, if she was gone, she was busy, and never felt a moment's remorse when I tracked her down. At best, she might run to me and then back to the hole she was working, inviting me to help dig the varmint out, normally, she would pull her head from the ground, her white muzzle and paws covered with dirt, and look at me with clear annoyance. Obedience wasn't in her vocabulary, she was a good dog because she chose to be.

Dinah made an art form of totally dissing those beneath her yet still left them desperately vying for her attention, a talent I always envied.

She was a Jack Russell Corgi mix, a small, stout dog. She carried twenty pounds of hard muscle on her sturdy frame. She looked like a tiny Corgi, with maybe an extra inch or so of leg, a rounder face, shorter back and larger eye. In her prime she could leap from a stand still and look you in the eye. "Every Corgi's fantasy," was how our vet described the springs in her legs.

She got me over, forever and a day, my unfounded prejudice against small dogs. The thought of a sixty pound Dinah was a terrifying one.

She developed her hunting skills on her own, mousing in the barn and basement, then moving on to ground squirrels, water rats and the occasional prairie dog. It wasn't uncommon to see Dinah and a few  barn cats waiting patiently around a mouse hole.

It wasn't until we paired her with Charlie, out Rat Terrier, that she became a master. Between the two of them they became murdering machines. Dinah would wait by a burrow or hidey hole deep in the scrub oak, and Charlie would drive the hapless rabbit or squirrel into her waiting jaws.

She would lie quiet next to a pallet loaded with grain bags while Charlie dug and barked on the other side, so still, the panicked mice would bolt right across her paws to their doom.

She knew to lie upwind of a prairie dog colony while Charlie barked and played the fool for the chattering group. The sentinels would shriek the alarm and they would all pop up and down, cursing and taunting Charlie.  On a good day she could take two or three before they ever knew she was behind them. Prairie dogs aren't the sharpest tool in the shed, my dog team could wipe out a small colony in a matter of days.

Pigeons were controlled during nesting season, they would haunt the barns as the peeps of the fledglings grew stronger. Dinah and Charlie rarely missed first flight day and the pigeon casualties were always high.

My dog were a valuable vermin control team, it made them welcome every where we worked.

Dinah traveled the show circuit with us. She slept curled next to Clare on the road and never grew tired of travel.
She never wandered and would wait patiently at the gate while we competed. She comforted the kidlette while she learned the art of sportsmanship and kept me company while I waited for my midnight go. She was content to sleep with us in the nest built into the nose of our trailer, but happiest when we smuggled her into a motel.

Nothing made Dinah happier than the words, "Let's go to the horse show!"

She was my child's closest friend. Raising your kid at the barn is a fantastic gift, but it can be lonely. The kidlette and Dinah made forts, climbed trees (I'm serious), played horses and a crazy version of Agility. Dinah would perform like a circus monkey for my daughter, because it was part of the game. They swam together at friends pools, rode crammed together in the saddle and spooned for naps in the sun.

When Dinah was 10-years-old, she suddenly, without warning, retired from being a barn dog. One morning, she simply didn't want to leave the house. She hung her head and half crouched instead of doing her happy dog dance at the door. I let her stay home and the performance was repeated the next day, and then the next.

A trip to the vet found nothing wrong. For whatever reason, Dinah had retired. Less than a year later, my own illness forced me to follow her.

As my writing career progressed, I spent more time on the computer. Dinah made a bed under my chair and became my official chair troll. She has been under my chair as I wrote for the last six years.

I write this today with the understanding that Dinah was with me through the best years of my life. Not the easiest, not the smoothest, in many ways, the most painful, but still the best.

I am so grateful to have shared these years with her. Although there is a bittersweet emptiness under my chair, I still can feel her steady trot at my heels, her shadow within my shadow. We had a great run, Dinah and I.

R.I.P. Dinah
1998-2014
My good, good, dog.

Dogs - Observations and Questions

At the moment I am dealing with some interesting dog situations. I currently have six of the mangy bastards most interesting mix of dogs you could hope for.

I have my four, Brockle, the big hairy beast who is 2, Charlie, the rat terrier, 11, Dinah, a corgi/JRT, 16, and Snocone, a clinically insane, puppy mill surviving, Maltese, 10.

Then, I also have the, um, joy, of fostering my daughter's 1-year-old Greater Swiss Mountain dog, Bianca and 6-year-old sociopathic Italian Grayhound/Min Pin, Dobby.

I AM NOT A HOARDER.

I know this because I shout it at my neighbors every morning.

In order to function, I struck a deal with the Kidlette. She deals with her dogs and I deal with mine. I don't train, walk or take on their emotional health. In return, she does the same.

This avoids battles between us about training, exercise, or manners, and stops me from trying to pet six dogs at once.

It's not ideal, but it keeps things manageable.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not mean to her dogs, I feed them, make them part of our regular treks outside to pee and have cookies and tell them they are good when they offer behaviors I'm happy to see. I don't walk them, train them or snuggle them.

I tell myself this is a great opportunity to observe pack behavior and hierarchy, and am studying and thinking instead of sitting in a corner staring off into space. Besides, that's Snocone's job.

I'll write about the pack stuff at a later date, today, I'm hoping some of the dog people out there will help me understand a few things that confuse me and hopefully give me some insight on a few training issues.

One surprising thing I've learned -- if you completely ignore a dog it will go out of it's mind trying to figure out what you want and try to do it. Well, except Dobby, he will only take so much ignoring, then he starts to shake and pee on stuff. Afterwards he sits with Jim and glares at me.

Bianca has cut back on mindless barking because she gets a rare scritch on the butt and a "Good quiet!" when she stops. She has learned to lay down quietly and quit ravaging visitors (she's torn between barking with her hackles up and insane wiggling, wagging, mauling) just to get my approval. She has stopped counter surfing --when I'm home. She no longer walks across the smaller dogs, knocks them over to beat them out the door or sits on them to get their spot. Her general anxiety has dropped. This has all come from her watching what earns approval for my dogs and then emulating them.

Dobby has learned to poop outside, unless it's cold, windy, snowing or wet. He will sometimes make an effort  if I have the good gooey treats. He has learned to stop snarling and snapping when it's suggested he move out of a chair by getting dumped on the floor. His preferred method of coping is to hang with Jim because he lets him eat off his plate.

So. On to my questions. 

First, let's tackle Brockle.

Brockle likes to line stuff up.

Weird huh?

Does anybody have a clue what this is about?

He did this quite a bit during the first few months I had him. He would take shoes, toys, sticks, towels, the TV remote, garden stuff I had left out...and line them up. As you can see, we're talking a pretty straight line, and the spaces in between are close to equal.

Then, he stopped.

Over the last month or so, things have been intense around here and my stress levels are high. He started making lines again. Except now, it's only things of mine, or things I handle and a few sticks to fill things in. So, he takes my shoes, bath towel, socks, the remote, my phone, the spatula, things like that.

Also, during periods when my illness is really beating the crap out of me, he has started making a line along the length of my bed while I sleep. Except then, it's all his toys.

It seems to be a reaction to stress.

He guards his lines ferociously from the other dogs. You can see from the photo he wasn't pleased I was looking at it. He knew I was going to take my stuff back.

He doesn't chew anything up. I never get upset with him.

The conversation usually goes like this:

"Brockle? Do you have my shoe? Whoa, dude, now that's a work of art. Sorry buddy, I need my stuff back."

Brockle, looking miserable, follows me while I get my stuff. Then he sniffs each item as I put them away or on.

The lines aren't always in the same place in the yard, but they are always very straight and even. I've never seen him build one, but I have watched him fill in gaps and move things to make them straight. He lays in the yard, head between his paws, and watches it. Then periodically gets up and moves stuff. He makes them anywhere from ten days apart to twice on a slow afternoon.

I don't know if this is connected, but the other night, Charlie was running around the house with something gray, floppy and about 3 inches square. The other dogs were really interested, he was doing a cross between making sure they all knew he had it, and trying to find a safe place to chew on it. 

I went to see what he had. It was a very old, recently dug up piece of rawhide. Since I quit giving my dogs rawhides two years ago, it was pretty gross. Unlike my other dogs, when I tell Charlie, "Drop it" he thinks it means "Clench the gross thing between my teeth and run like hell," which is what he did.

I was tired, he had disappeared out the dog door, and well, I was tired. So I went to bed. I heard some running, growling and complaining from the dogs during the night, but no actual murders. The next morning, the rawhide was laying on the floor next to my bed. 

Charlie was pacing and upset. Brockle kept staring him down to keep him off, the other dogs were staying clear.

Charlie doesn't share, so Brockle must have put it by me.

Was he taking care of me or did he give it to me to stop the arguments? Or is all of this some weird dog ritual sacrifice? Any ideas?

My next Brockle question.

He guards me. Not violently, but diligently. If someone is at the door, he runs and leans against/between me and the door. He gets between me and any person or dog who is focused on me. He blocks my access to all major appliances and the kitchen sink (but not the bathroom) when I'm too tired to be working.

He won't eat unless I'm actively engaged in an activity that tells him I'm not leaving the house.

There was some minor aggression to a friends dog, at her house, when her dog crossed his perceived line of protection. Not cool.

I need him to curtail it. But, I don't want to stop his need to care for me. He is becoming a crackerjack assistance dog, and I don't want him to question his role. He helps me up stairs, to get out of bed, leans into me to help me balance when I'm off, and some other stuff I haven't decided to write about yet.He can tell my BP is dropping before I can, and I'm just now learning to read him and listen. 

So, how do I get control of his overzealous side, ease his anxiety, but keep developing and benefiting from  the positives?

I've been debating using the "place" command. Then I could park him and he could be relieved of his job as my shadow. 

Would that help control the misplaced aggression?

Except, from  what I understand, once a dog is parked, they have to stay that way until released. I need him to make executive decisions. When I'm tired or overdo  I don't always think clearly. Brockle will nuzzle and push until I stop and either sit or lay down. 

Any thoughts?

Next question.

Snocone.

She is still emerging from her internal tangled ball of yarn brain, 2 1/2 years after we adopted her. She just offered her first communication cue. 

I have learned that when Snocone makes tiny little circles (like a dog about to lay down), she needs to go outside NOW.

A few months ago, she began coming within five feet or so to make her circles. She was actually coming to find me when she needed to go out.

When I take her out, I pick her up and carry her, we don't have enough time for her to robot walk out, plus, she forgets she's following and wanders, anyway, I always take the opportunity to give or get a snuggle from her on the way out the door.

Recently, like in the past two weeks or so, Snocone started to come within five feet, do her circle, then, when I picked her up, just melt in and give me the coveted Maltese hug. She started using the "I gotta pee" cue as a "I need attention" cue too. Trust me, this is huge. 

Then, just last week, she has started whining when she's hungry, or when she wants me to come find her.

We are communicating!

My question is, how do get her to expand the cues? It would be great if she could actually approach us in a straight line when she wants attention. 

We play "Find it." I'll make a trail of tiny little bites of food and let her follow it to her dinner bowl, or a treat. She doesn't respond to the command, but she love, love, loves playing it. She will follow the food trail everywhere, and it doesn't have to be food she even likes. I think she's just having a blast following her nose. That is her only game.

Can I use it to get her to come to me without the circle?

Does it matter?

I would say no, but I can't explain how excited she becomes over each breakthrough. I'd like to get more.

So, there's my questions. Please, please, give me your thoughts, training tips, anything.

Thanks.

What I Look For In A Dog

First and foremost, I think those of you who stick with my dog musing will realize, I like dogs. Period.  All of them. The dogs pictured above are my pack. It's my daughter's fault there are six of them, by May we should be back to four, but for the moment, this is the gang. They are the barking, pooping, shedding testament that I am neither a breed snob or a rabid rescuer.

Most of my dogs have simply shown up. When there is a great big hole in my life only a dog can fill, one appears. I have learned to quit making deposits on the breed I've decided to own, because a stray, the polar opposite of the dog I researched, agonized over and saved up for, will show up within 24 hours after my deposit becomes non-refundable.

I am not a sucker for every dog who floats by, no matter what my dad, sibs, kid or husband tells you. I help them all, they don't all stay. Almost every one of my friends has been graced with at least one of my strays, to the point where if they hear me say, "I found this dog," they start screaming, plug their ears and run home.

Now that we're clear on things, I'll tell you the dogs I look for.

They are not breeds, although I have no problem if I end up with a specific breed, they are types.

There is a certain shape I am drawn to, a physical balance I like and specific man-made features I avoid. There are conformation faults I watch for. None of these (always remember Snocone) are deal breakers, but I make informed, conscious decisions when I say, "Oh well, welcome."

I like pretty, fluffy dogs.

I like terriers and herding dogs.

These are not must haves, but they are where I lean.

This is the SHAPE of dog I look for.

I was going to go to photoshop and make silhouettes out of them, in order to avoid weird arguments, but I figured, shoot, we're all grown-ups here. So I'm taking a huge chance at misinterpretation and showing examples of the dog shape I  look for.

First off, I completely throw away the breed descriptions offered by shelters or owners. I ask after I've chosen.

There are specifics I avoid, for health reasons.

tightly coiled tails can cause all kinds of health issues

Dogs that sit funny. I look for a correct, comfortable sitting position, like on the terrier. The  spaniel's soft, floppy sit warns me there could be hip problems on the way. 

crooked legs of any kind warn me of future vet bills

Smashed in faces. If it snores, wheezes and gasps, I don't want one.

Any dog that can fit a six-year-old child's head in it's mouth is more than I want to handle.

long backed dogs

Extreme sizes - shortened life spans make me sad

Stupid crosses. 

Now I have a list of dogs who visually appeal to me. They are clean limbed, nicely proportioned dogs. Next, I evaluate who the dog is.

I look for polite, friendly dogs. I don't mind wariness or reserve, but I want the dog to be eager to get to know me without knocking me around. I avoid too much shyness or aggression.

This free video series from 3 Lost Dogs gives the easiest to understand insight to quickly evaluating a shelter dog that I've ever seen. Here's the link to the first video, I strongly suggest watching all three and reading the article they came from. http://youtu.be/ancU4GR6Gk0



Now I've got a much smaller list and I've done everything in my power to keep my impulses at bay. Until now, this is where I would let emotion take over and choose my favorite.

Now however, I have played with temperament evaluations and become a fan.

I'm sure there are others, but these have worked for me. These evaluations hold pretty much true, no matter what the breed.

The Volhard puppy test

http://www.volhard.com/pages/pat.php

and the B.A.R.C. test for teen and adult dogs.

http://www.boundangels.org/wp-content/uploads/BARC-guide.pdf

I did a quick internet cruise through the Colorado Shelter Dog list and then added a few Petfinder faves. If I was dog hunting, here is a smattering of the dogs I would evaluate.

If I was BUYING a dog...which I would do if I had a reason. Even if the reason is only I really want one...
It would be one of these: