Late yesterday, after I had completed most of my work assignments for the day, I returned home with the best of intentions. I figured I had enough time to take the dogs out for a while before I had to return and do my last couple of pet visits for the day around 5 pm. But I got home and realized I was starving as an Americano, while having the desired effect of making me a coherent and functioning human, does nothing to actually fuel my stomach, especially after walking nine miles. As I was preparing to nuke some leftovers, I realized I really didn’t have that much daylight to play with the dogs and sitting down to eat was helping to make that time dwindle rapidly. So I sat on my couch for “a few minutes” to look through social media.
Instantly all four of the dogs, eager for attention, accosted me. So we had a petting and cuddle fest for a few minutes. I soon realized I was really physically tired and sank back into the couch cushions. Youke and Rhys took advantage and decided to lay down on the couch with me.
At that point I decided that staying home for 45 minutes and cuddling with the boys was more important than getting all stressed out by piling them in the Living Room on Wheels and driving somewhere to play for a short time and then having to turn back quickly around in order to get to my last few clients.
Youke stretched himself on top of me and nuzzled his head under my hand. Rhys jumped on top of the couch, but leaned down to place his paws around me in a hug and to nestle his Big Velvet Head on my chest and under my chin.
At first I attempted to look at my phone, but Brady rose from his spot at my feet to try to bump it out of my hands. Camm looked imploringly at me until I placed it to the side and caressed her face and stroked her chest for a while. Rhys edged his head closer for me to softly kiss his nose and whisper how much I loved him. Youke closed his eyes while I petted him, but would flutter them open and pop his head up as soon as I stopped. Therefore, one hand was constantly on him, stroking the top of his head and behind his ears, places that he loves.
For nearly 45 minutes, I talked softly to the dogs on occasion, listened to them breathe, caressed their muscular bodies and stroked their soft fur, soaked up their adoration and looked deeply into their eyes as the waning daylight and the sunset that followed glowed in through the window.
Cue the tire screeching and crashing sound effect please BECAUSE REAL LIFE IS NOT ALL FUCKING RAINBOWS AND UNICORNS!
The above, in fact, did really happen. Well, except for the sunset part. It was rainy and cloudy yesterday.
I decided to take Rhys and Camm with me to my last few pet visits and leave them in the car while I did the visits, which were quick potty breaks, as I figured I could take them for a quick walk afterward. But it started pouring rain once I was done and I was just plain tired, so we just turned around to go home again after I made a quick stop to the store down the street from me.
In my tired and slightly stupefied state, I did not immediately notice that when I returned home there were three dogs in the entry from the garage, not just the two I had let out of the car.
Then I realized that Youke was downstairs. Youke is not supposed to be downstairs. In fact, no dog is presently allowed downstairs as that is where the laundry room is and inside of the laundry room is the cat’s litter box.
None of my dogs are above a bit of kitty rocha if given the chance. Thus, the downstairs is gated off with a baby gate.
Youke has always been the master of improvisation and over the past 10.5 years has shown that if he really puts his mind to it there is no barricade that he cannot figure out.
I often say that Youke is the Perfect Dog. And he is,
98%, okay, 95% of the time. But that 5% kills me.
Like the time he climbed on top of the refrigerator to get to the olive oil and dragged the bottle all over the house, AFTER he had chewed the top off.
He did have an incredibly shiny coat for many months.
Yesterday was not that epic, but it was the third time he’s broken the no dogs downstairs rule in the past month. Plus, when he did not find any tasty kitty rocha (because I’m religious about cleaning the cat’s box), he tossed kitty litter all over the laundry room searching for kitty rocha. When that proved unfruitful, he tore into some cardboard housing some kitty food, creating a cardboard flurry on top of the kitty litter. Unlike Rhys, Youke only shreds cardboard and does not eat it. I apparently arrived home before he could eat the cat food.
Let me also mention that every one of these recent incidents have only happened when I leave him at home and take Rhys and one of the other dogs somewhere. Jealous much?
What happened next wasn’t pretty and I’m not proud. But I’m not gonna sugar coat that I was tired, stressed and and pissed, and exploded into fury. Sometimes shit gets real and despite what some might lead you to believe, life with dogs is not all magical rainbows and unicorns farting sparkles. A lot of the times it is annoying barking, muddy paw prints on your clean pants, snarky growling and throw up on the rug.
“WHAT THE FUCK YOUKE?!”
I grabbed him by the collar and because I seriously wanted to beat him, I hauled his skinny ass to the nearest crate and slammed the door shut. The other three dogs vanished upstairs.
I proceeded into the laundry room to evaluate the damage and clean up the mess. As I started sweeping and cleaning I got more infuriated, swearing like the sailor I must’ve been in a previous life the entire time.
This level of swearing concerns Camm greatly. No stranger to my regular barrage of swear words, she does become very greatly concerned when pretty much every other word is a swear. Concerned as in does she need to act in some way to vanquish the alarmingly erratic and crazy alien being that has overtaken her Human? Usually she does this by tenderly approaching me and jumping up and trying to hug me tightly. Sometimes this works and I hug her back and thank her profusely for being the best natural therapy dog I know. Other times, like last night, I can just give her a warning look to keep her distance and let me have my tantrum.
The tantrum last night included slamming the dryer door shut as I bent down to sweep up cat litter and cardboard bits. That really don’t accomplish much except to make a satisfyingly loud and violent noise that suited my fury at the time. Sort of like punching a wall, but without the physical repercussion and the need to patch up the drywall.
Once I cleaned up the mess I decided to put the clean towels and sheets that were in the washer from that morning into the dryer and then to get the dogs their dinner and calm the fuck down.
Except the dryer door wouldn’t close.
Ah, the perfect moment of karma.
I was in disbelief. Naturally, my first thought was to blame Youke for the door not working properly.
Then, albeit slowly, I realized that a 37-pound dog, so matter how utterly clever, could not break the solid metal door .
Once I apprehended that Youke had nothing to do with the sudden fact that the dryer door wouldn’t latch, I started investigating a bit further. Turns out, one of the latches for the door was broken.
Now, it may surprise you to know, and I fully and somewhat grudgingly acknowledge this, I did not put the obvious together. It took 20 minutes of me trying to figure out how and where the latch was broken, if I could fix it and trying to jimmy it before I finally understood the consequences of slamming that door.
Fast forward to an evening of googling broken dryer latches and watching YouTube videos of how to replace broken dryer door latches. Super easy. Except if you have a door like mine on my particular model.
So, after an evening of spooning with Youke and giving him belly rubs, I called Sears today to ask about my broken dryer door. Good news! I have an extended warranty I didn’t know I had and I didn’t purchase the dryer as long ago as I thought I had. Due to my extended warranty and Sears’ excellent service, I will receive a new latch repair kit in 7-10 days and in this packet will be complete and GUARANTEED instructions on how to do the repair myself, all AT NO CHARGE TO ME.
Wow. Because I researched this and that part costs about $2.99. I’m saving a huge amount of money! And no telling how valuable those instructions are.
It’s possible I might receive the latch repair kit and guaranteed satisfaction instructions in five days, but I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.
In the meantime, laundry will be piling up, which is truly a cosmic kick as doing laundry is about the only household/housekeeping chore I actually do, keep up with and sort of enjoy.
I might’ve, maybe, finally learned my lesson about slamming inanimate objects when I’m pissed.
This picture perfectly captures how I feel the vast majority of the time. How did I get four dogs and why do I have four dogs? Also, in what direction are we going? Youke’s expression perfectly captures how I overcome these questions most of the time. Squeeze your eyes shut tight and hope for the best or for it all to go away.
I decided somewhere between my birthday in 2017 and the beginning of 2018 that this had to change. Although obviously only to a certain point as the above picture was taken in October 2018.
Therefore, while I really intensely despise the whole New Year’s resolutions thing and the accompanying quagmire of overwrought emotions, I decided that I had to set some goals for 2018.
It worked out to so well that I’m doing it again for 2019.
But first – and let me warn you ahead of time that some of this will fall into the TMI category (that’s Too Much Information for those of you not familiar with this ’90s speak) – let me explain my philosophy about goals.
For me, goals are targets really. They are not set in stone, but rather are fluid. While I may target for something to happen or to accomplish a particular something within a certain time-frame, I am never disappointed when that does not happen, because I think of goals as moving targets. I often find I have to stop and reevaluate or analyze. Sometimes I need to see the target more clearly, sometimes I see I need to make it smaller or break it down into more manageable bite-size pieces. Sometimes I realize my target needs to be bigger. Often, I fathom that the target may take a long time, often years, but I keep it in my sights and know when it is within my grasp. Goals, to me, are like lights at the end of a tunnel. Sometimes they are a tiny pinprick and you wonder if you are having a delusion about what it is. Other times the light is huge and bright and right there for you to grab and burn your hand. But they are also fluid and can morph and shape shift like a body of water, be it a small stream or a huge wave.
It was only very recently that I realized this about myself in terms of my philosophy about setting goals and it explained a lot. I’ve always set targets to reach for pretty much as long as I can remember, and certainly since the time I entered high school. And, I always reach my goals. Even if it takes years.
I am a pretty classic Type A personality and have been described by more than a few, including some significant others, as being intense. But I’m not a perfectionist. I also adopted a shift nearly ten years ago to be more mindful of stress in my life and to focus more on quality rather than quantity. More gentleness and less competiveness.
So, although I’ve been enjoying life and launched a business, it dawned on me that some of my focus was actually lacking. I was a bit like a boat at sea with a faulty rudder. Or a captain with a poor sense of direction.
For whatever reason, that changed in 2018. So I set some goal/targets for the year.
1) Attain Youke’s NATCH (NADAC Agility Trial Champion) by 10 years of age.
2) Get closer to Brady’s NATCH (NADAC Agility Trial Champion) to earn it by 2019.
3) Grow my business and achieve $X as a year-end financial goal.
4) Get laid.
That was it. Fairly simple goals that I deemed with a little focus could be reached.
So, let’s review. And remember I said I it worked out pretty well.
Mission accomplished. Youke earned his NATCH in March 2018.
It was my first targeted goal of 2018 that was achieved. Better yet, Youke earned his NATCH before became 10 years old. Okay, so he turned 10 a month later, but damnit! Mission accomplished!
And I had to make good on my promise of a lifetime supply of orange chuckit Balls for him.
Once I established that goal – and let’s not pretend it was for Youke, because he didn’t care one iota, although he did and continues to care deeply about orange chuckit Balls – I wondered why I had not set it with more determination earlier. I’m not gonna lie. I actually set this goal when Youke was a puppy. Somewhere between four and six months old I vowed this dog was going to get his NATCH. But I realized when he was about two years old how much pressure I was putting on him in trials and in training and since I’d already shut Jasmine down and was working to build her back up, I wisely toned down my ambition. When he was injured before he turned three – non-agility related – that helped set the tone even more. So while it was always in the back of my mind, I just didn’t push it. I even stopped entering Chances for nearly two years with him until we could improve our skills for that particular special class. The, I realized in late 2016, after I lost Jasmine, that Youke wasn’t getting younger and it was time to start honing in again. Our countdown began in earnest in 2017 and when I sought some improved training and advice for distance handling.
And it’s sort of weird I suppose, but his NATCH means more to me than the five CATCHes he earned in CPE. Maybe because we worked so long and hard to get it.
Then I took a look at Brady’s points and recognized that he was accumulating points at a faster rate than I had previously thought.
So this ↑ happened in September 2018. Brady’s NATCH and his Versatility NATCH on the most perfect of Chances runs.
I think I sobbed for three days after this. I truly probably will write a book about Brady one day. Suffice it to say that considering that I thought I would never be able to compete with this dog due to his reactivity and environmental sensitivities, this was a gigantic deal to me.
I first knew that Brady could achieve a NATCH about three years ago and established it as a long-term goal. In fact, I joked with The Relationship Counselor that we could go back to trying to teach him how to do a teeter when he either turned 10 years old or got his NATCH, whichever came first. She upped the ante by surprising me with her determination to teach Brady the teeter and have him overcome his fear of that obstacle some 18 months ago. So I decided we needed to ramp up the NATCH target. And man! Once we started focusing, the Chances points started coming fast and furious, although we did have a drought over the summer for the last two we needed. Then, bang! we got the two we needed in one trial.
By the end of September, I was feeling pretty fierce. My horoscope for 2018, if you believe in such things, kept basically saying it was my year. My perfect year where everything was in planetary alignment and the sun and stars were shining on me and I could basically do no wrong.
Not exactly true and there were definitely some significant bumps for my business in 2018, including a really bad few weeks where I almost convinced myself to fold it all in. I’m grateful to have wonderful friends and sisters who listened to my woes and convinced me to keep at it and not let the potholes derail me.
By September I had reached my income target and at year’s end I had crushed it. I’ve gone with a fairly conservative approach in regards to my business and its growth. I’ve tried to be realistic and brutal with myself regarding expectations. I investigated and wrote about failed businesses for too long to be anything but conservative and realistic, things I’m ordinarily not in all honesty. Not gonna lie, the first two years, while according to plan, were uphill and hard. Not saying it isn’t still, but at least I saw some really good things in year three and year four is already dawning fairly brightly.
Which brings me to me fourth goal for the year. That one turned out to be the hardest. Who knew?!
I suppose in this day of Tinder, Zoosk and all the other easy and sleazy dating apps it shouldn’t have been difficult. But I chose a different path. I chose the devil I know rather than some random stranger.
I was inspired to make this a target for three reasons. First, it had been a while. Quite a while. Second, some friends and relatives were hooking up which was vaguely encouraging. Third, I know a guy.
Much like the book about Brady, I’ll probably write at least a chapter about Tex. That’s a code name by the way. And the reason will be in the chapter I someday write. Actually, it will need to be a few chapters because Tex has been and out – often out – of my life for nine years. He reappeared with some more consistency in 2018.
I actually have no present desire for anything resembling a relationship. I’m usually too busy and too stressed and I really don’t want to change my life in some way to make someone fit into it. Plus, let’s look at the fact that I have FOUR DOGS. And let’s be very clear. My dogs come first. Let’s be clearer. Three of them sleep in the bed with me. And let’s make it crystal clear. There’s a lot of dog hair at my house and that’s not about to change.
So while people around me are playing with Tinder, I’m out hiking and playing with my dogs. I rather like it that way. I’m also walking an average of eight miles a day walking other people’s dogs and when I’m not doing all of that, I’m playing dog agility on the weekends or training agility on weeknights. And if none of those things are happening, I’m napping.
Tex and I were texting back and forth for months in 2017. Flirty, silly texts. Then, he disappeared. I wish I could say that was unusual, but it wasn’t. Se la vie. I’d pretty much written him off several years ago. Then he got back in touch in 2018.
I decided I wasn’t playing anymore. I’ve never gained anything in my life by being timid. In fact, I am that uber bitchy aggressive woman that is somehow seen as uber, bitchy and horridly aggressive. I put her on the back shelf for a few years, but in 2018, she made a bit of a comeback. And foreshadowing here, she’s back baby for 2019.
When Tex texted me some sorta sexy, friendly but harmlessly flirtatious message, I sent him a two-word response. Okay, the first word was a contraction of two words and the other word is the most useful four letter word ever devised by humankind and in this case I used it as a verb. It wasn’t exactly a demand, but it went a bit beyond an invitation.
He was a bit shocked and asked if I was the same person. Hell, yes and this woman 1) knew what she wanted, 2) and knew who she wanted it from.
Thus began months of torture.
I am not big on words when it comes to romance or fornication. Actions speak louder than words. I spelled this out a number of times. I am also not into dick pics or sending selfies. What if I ever want to run for public office? It’s like the Internet. Those things are forever. So while I was looking for a big YES, I was also saying a whole lot of NO to the stupid things that seem to define flirtation, dating and sex in today’s world.
I thought I’d get laid finally in July. But Tex being directionally challenged ruined that. In other words, he not know that while he was traveling north on Interstate 5 from a town south of me to get back to Seattle that he could have simply veered off the interstate slightly east and arrived into my freshly bathed and dog hair-free legs. I’d also shaved my legs. He also didn’t take into account the heavy traffic that is every Sunday, coupled with the added morass of a major weekend construction project, despite it having been advertised on television, radio and other media for weeks.
I was furious. I made it obvious that I was furious in some scathing words.
I evaluated and analyzed my goal and my target. The target was proving unsatisfactory and unreliable. Time to adjust my goal. I did just that by opting to refocus and by altering my time-frame.
In October I received a text. “Still mad? There are only 78 days to make your goal for the year.”
I burst out laughing. As in loud, tears streaming down my face laughter. See, the thing about Tex is that he completely gets me. I received regular countdowns until we could finally choose a date that worked for both of our schedules a week and a half later.
I kicked ass on my 2018 goals.
So now it’s 2019 and in the past several weeks between mid-November and now I’ve been thinking about 2019.
Ya’ll be happy to know that I’ve decided to return to blogging. Yup, it’s been a year and a week since my last blog post. I stopped blogging mostly because I just have been so busy. But I also stopped because I really did not have anything particularly nice to say for a lot of the year. Funny and biting, yes. But definitely not nice. Although it was a fantastic year in many respects, I felt just plain black and blue more than I’d like to think about. I did most of my writing in my head while walking and the really good stuff, and the nasty stuff too, just never saw the light of day. I’ve decided to change that.
Of course I have business and financial goals for the year, including eating as much rice and beans as I can and dreaming up new ways to make that interesting in order to dig out of some of my debt associated with starting my business while also being a sparkling personality. Perhaps a bit less sparkle in 2019.
Youke and Brady have done everything I’ve ever asked of them. I’d like to see them both earn their NATCH 2, but that may be in 2020. Youke is also slowly, but surely headed toward some agility retirement as he’ll be 11 this year. It likely won’t happen this year as I’ve decided to cut back on agility competition for financial and sanity reasons, but I’d like to see Brady progress to his first CATCH in CPE, now that he does the previously super scary teeter.
I also think that Camm could possibly get her first CATCH by the end of the year. It would be her first major championship title and possibly her only one. She has everything she needs for a NATCH and a Versatility NATCH, except those pesky Chances qualifications. Ironically, she has great distance, but she also has even bigger opinions. She did turn seven years old though a few months ago and it may have been a magical turning point for us as a team. More on that in the future.
I have zero aspirations for Rhys at present. Rhys had his second birthday two weeks ago. While I had planned to start trialing him regularly this month, I’ve come to recognize that he is simply not ready. He did a soft debut at the end of October in Canada at one of my favorite trials and was surprisingly fairly good. But I entered him in a few more runs here and there and he doesn’t have the skills and maturity yet to cope with a trial atmosphere. I’ve also realized he is a sensitive guy and I do not want to overwhelm him and place him in situations he’s just not ready for .
Hiking with my dogs is big on my list for 2019. I felt I neglected them a lot this past year, particularly in the last quarter. Hiking is also the best therapy for me. So for the sake of all of our collective sanity, I am cutting back on agility to see where the paths in the woods lead us. I’m also going to be just plain nicer to my dogs and not let stress get at me as much.
Perhaps my most significant target though is to summon the return, and foster, my inner tiger. Sounds sorta paradoxical, but I’m looking at a year of laser focus, passion, acceptance and reflection.
And maybe some more of Tex.
It started snowing here in Western Washington last night and when I woke up this morning, there were several inches of soft, dry white powder on the ground.
It was also eerily silent.
Strangely, last night was not quite a silent night as I could hear people trying to get up the hill in front of my house in their cars. Which was a bit weird since I’d already been out visiting cats while their people are on holiday and making a last minute trip to the grocery story for birthday cupcakes.
Why? Because Rhys turned one-year old on Christmas Eve!
I wrote something hugely sappy, but heartfelt, on Facebook about him, that I’m not going to repeat here. No alcohol was involved, unless half of a spiced winter hard cider counts.
This morning’s silence resulted from not a single living soul, at least of the human kind, being out and about in the cold and snow early this morning. Holidays are generally quiet where I live, but this morning was complete and total silence. I guess they were in their houses gulping coffee while the kids frantically tore at their presents or nursing hangovers from too much eggnog and rum. Or maybe the smart people were simply still in bed.
The silence was broken when Camm uttered a small woof.
“Snow! Where all this snow come from??!! Magical! Cammi love snow! Cammi play in snow! Cammi take lot of snow baths!
However, playing in the snow had to wait while I ventured out on my rounds of cat visits.
Once my rounds were accomplished, and a triple Blonde Hawaiian latte consumed from my favorite coffee shop, I headed back home to play with the dogs.
First, let me clarify that I’m pretty sure almost everyday around here is like Christmas for my dogs. I’m sure there are times that they don’t think that, but I know for a fact from observing the everyday doings of many other dogs, that this is true.
So, on Christmas Day this year, as I have another round of cat visits to make later today, we simply stayed home and played in the snow in the yard. With Balls (which makes anytime feel like a sparkly Christmas morning). And then, after we’d done a pretty thorough job of messing up the pure whiteness of the freshly fallen snow, we came inside and I gave them their only Christmas present, some lovely meaty marrow bones.
Now there is silence in my house.
Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s been a while. But let’s jump right into it, so to speak.
When training your dog, be very careful of what it is exactly that you are training.
Camm recently started ducking under jump bars.
Until last month, she had ducked under jump bars perhaps a handful of times. Two of those times were when we first started agility training. The other three were intermittently earlier this year.
In mid-November, I entered a USDAA agility trial with Youke, Brady and Camm. I had been asked to be one of the chief ring stewards for the trial and it seemed like a really good idea a few weeks prior to the trial to do that job and run three dogs. Oh, and it was a two-ring trial. Located in a big arena with no direct path between the two rings. And I don’t generally crate my dogs inside, choosing instead to park in a location on the other side of the building. Lastly, it was raining heavily that weekend.
But enough about me.
Camm ducked under the first jump in most of her runs that weekend. This led to a few laughs from some of the observers in the stands, and a few helpful comments from those that thought I should know. Did you know she went under the first jump?
The behavior wasn’t really something I could fix in a trial setting and I opted to run her and just have fun since USDAA isn’t my main venue anyway and I don’t care about qualifications. Plus, she was jumping at 20 inches, instead of 16 inches, which is her standard height in the two main venues I compete in with her at this time.
Camm was also pretty worked up that weekend.
I’ve decided that worked up is the best way to phrase it. I think there’s an element of stress and being over threshold at certain events for her and I suspect there are times when agility simply isn’t that fun for her. Too many stoopid rules to remember, too many stoopid rude dogs and a stoopid stressed out Human that is acting weird and not playing Ball as much as she would like. This all contributes to Camm’s world being tilted, and not in a good way.
However, she jumped as normal during practices and at the Thanksgiving NADAC trial we went to, although she did duck under one start line jump that weekend.
The weekend after Thanksgiving, I entered Camm and Brady in another USDAA trial.
While the trial was a bit momentous for Brady, it was a disenchanting weekend for Camm.
I’ll get to Brady in a bit.
Camm ducked under every single first jump at the December trial, with one exception. The one exception occurred when I did a slingshot start with her because she was distracted by a friend who was leash running and kept going to say hello to her. I took advantage of her distraction and she actually jumped the first jump standard. However, if I recall correctly, she made up for that by actually ducking under some of the jumps in sequence on the course, which was a completely new phenomenon and one I had not seen before. She then made up for that by clearing by several inches, and with great speed, a line of jumps on the other side of the dog walk while I ran on the outside of the dog walk. That feat earned some oohs and ahhs from onlookers, because while I frequently do stunts like that with my dogs in practices, and even sometimes in NADAC trials, no one does that kind of distance in USDAA apparently.
Did I mention that one of my agility instructors was at this trial and got to watch Camm’s meltdown up close and personal? No start line stay, ducking under jumps and no stopped contacts. In Camm’s defense, she does have gorgeous natural running contacts that many people spend years teaching their dogs to do and I totally get that stopped contacts are STOOPID. Stoopid, but necessary if you are the Human dealing with Camm’s speed.
Thus, off I went to The Relationship Counselor.
First, I discussed the problem with her last week while Rhys had a mini-session with her. (Yes!! RHYS! The puppy! More on him later too.) We came up with a training plan to work on after contemplating the various reasons why this behavior has suddenly emerged.
One of my theories was that perhaps Camm was having some difficulty differentiating between hoops and jumps as a start line obstacle. In NADAC, the first obstacle is often either a hoop or a jump.In CPE, two bars are used on jumps, therefore, while she could do it, the visual created makes it far less tempting to go between or under bars. She also jumps 16 inches in NADAC and in CPE, but 20 inches in USDAA. Perhaps that extra clearance was just too tempting for her? Camm also starts typically in a “down” position, which allows her to scan the obstacle in front of her with ease and perhaps the temptation is just too much? Plus, it’s a venue that I’ve only done with her twice before, and it was six and 12 months ago, respectively.
The thing of it is that Camm is a gorgeous, light-bodied and athletic jumper. Because she jumps generally fine once in flow, the issue seemed to be with the first obstacle, and not a physical problem.
Typical of many dogs, including numerous border collies, Camm scans an agility course when setting foot into the ring. She is making decisions about a course before we get off the start line. Camm is also a dog that likes to do things fast. Very, very fast. Camm is also a dog that is pretty sure that she knows what she’s doing and doesn’t really need a Human to tell her.
The Relationship Counselor surmised that perhaps the first time Camm ducked under a jump it was not exactly intentional – perhaps she really did think it was a hoop and not a jump from her lowered position. However, like many brilliant dogs before her, Camm learned from that experience, and what she learned was that it is much faster and far less physical effort to get to the next thing on an agility course – say that dog walk that she loves so much, if one goes under the jump bar, rather than over it.
Thus, today, The Relationship Counselor and I set about working to change her mind.
Like many things I work on with my dogs with the aid of The Relationship Counselor, today’s session was endlessly fascinating and eye-opening. Not just because of The Counselor’s skill and insight, but also to truly glimpse the innermost workings of my dog’s mind.
All of my dogs learn in their own idiosyncratic way and all see the world in their own unique way. Camm is a dog that learns things extremely quickly. As in two sessions and she has it. By session number three, she’s an expert. And if that’s not what you wanted her to learn, then why the hell did you teach it that way??!!
With The Counselor on one side of a jump armed with treats for rewards and a target plate, and me with Camm on the other side and armed with a clicker to mark the desired behavior, we prepared to change her mind about that start line jump.
Note that I did not say that we set about to correct her behavior or to teach her the right way to do it. In Camm’s mind, this newfound solution was perfectly logical. Really, think about it. You’re a dog lying down in the ground at the start line and you see a ton of super fun stuff to do super fast. It would actually take some effort to look up and jump that thing in front of you. In fact, that would be STOOPID! Far better to get started as quickly as possible and go for the very first thing you see, which is not a jump in front of you because you’re lying on the ground and that thing is above your head.
Instead, we worked on persuading Camm to do things the way we’d like to see it done. She would get paid with a treat for jumping over the bar, while going under it would not result in any payment.
We started with the jump bar at a lowered position, which Camm easily jumped over and was rewarded with a treat. However, once the jump bar was lifted to a height that a 33-pound lithe border collie could run under easily in order to more quickly get to the target plate with the intention of attaining another tasty treat, the real training began. Quickly, Camm learned that going under did not result in treats raining down onto the target plate. As she worked a few times to figure out the solution and what new Stoopid Thing the Humans wanted, she decided that stopping short of the jump might be the solution. Since that’s not what we wanted, The Counselor opted to try a visual cue to help Camm understand.
Enter, the towel.
The Counselor draped a hand towel across the bar. Bingo! Camm started jumping the bar. She naturally earned a treat reward for doing the desired behavior. However, so that she wouldn’t completely rely upon this visual cue, The Relationship Counselor worked to quickly fade it by folding the towel up smaller and smaller and placing it on different parts of the bar. This was so successful, that we moved to a different jump in the practice area. This too was quite successful.
And then we realized what was going on.
Camm was approaching the bar and deliberately positioning herself so that she would jump the part of the bar where the towel was draped. To proof this, The Counselor asked me to deliberately set Camm up in a certain position where she had to approach and jump the bar where the towel, even though folded up smaller, was not draped.
She ducked under the bar, ever hopeful that a treat would be her reward.
We had inadvertently clicked and treated Camm for jumping over a towel.
As much as we laughed about it and as much as I fantasized all day today about creating a custom glitter and sparkle-designed special towel to bring with me to all future trials and to drape across the first jump at every trial, the reality of being allowed to do this seemed more like a hallucination on my part. So, we moved on.
Eventually, we did have a breakthrough with Camm today, but it will likely take a few more sessions to work through.
Camm is a great example of what many people would characterize as stubborn or manipulative. In reality, she is a fantastic example of doing what works. What works for her.
Dog training is so intriguing.
I might’ve mentioned in the past that when I first got Brady, I did not think he’d ever be able to compete in agility due to his reactivity and other issues. I quickly became okay with that because he was such a blast to learn and to train with and made me a better handler already within a short time of working with him. My original intent was for him to be my training dog. As many know, I eventually became convinced by people who I trusted, including The Relationship Counselor, to try competing with him. Those first few competitions were scary as hell, and not because of trial or obstacle performance issues. In time, we overcame a lot of things – well, Brady overcame a lot of things and with my help and by me proving that I had his back at all times. However, Brady could not overcome his incredible fear of the teeter. After nearly a year of trying to train teeter performance, and making little headway but to make him even more fearful of it, I asked my instructors to not pursue it any longer. NADAC doesn’t allow the teeter in competition and in CPE I could avoid it by never doing Standard courses and just ignoring it in games classes. The few USDAA or ASCA trials I did I would only enter Jumpers or Gamblers. I joked with The Counselor that I would attempt to train him on teeter again once he reached 10 years old.
So imagine my surprise, when at the age of 7.5 years, The Counselor announced this past summer that we were going to working on training the teeter again for Brady. I adore and admire The Counselor and clearly the inability to convince Brady that the teeter was a worthwhile obstacle had been more of a thorn in her side than I had known. I decided to humour her, quite sure that Brady had other ideas.
I was wrong.
This past fall, Brady became adept at the teeter, and, in fact, did his first successful teeter in competition at a CPE trial in September to the cheers and cries of his adoring aunties.
I decided at the December USDAA trial to enter Brady in Grand Prix. Brady has only done a handful of USDAA trials over the years and is still at the Starters level in the titling classes, but he runs at the Elite level in other venues. Plus, he’d absolutely rocked a Grand Prix course offered by one of our instructors a few weeks before in a practice session.
The run was a thing of beauty. He was fast and accurate, and he performed the teeter like he’d been doing it for years, instead of only since about August. We did not qualify because he ended up blowing a dog walk contact by a toenail, or three. Nevertheless, it was the highlight of the trial for me. The icing on the cake was when he earned qualifications in his standard runs.
But even better, was that for the first time in a two-ring, amped up USDAA crowd full of hyper, pent-up dogs and uber competitive types, Brady was loose and relaxed and just plain happy to be playing one of his favorite games with his person.
Those are the moments I think of when I suggest to people to relax and be patient in the journey with their dogs and that hard times and obstacles can be overcome with time, expertise, understanding and lots and lots of patience. I know of which I speak.
Rhys turns one year old in a little over a week. Back in February I could hardly wait for his first year to pass. Now, it seems as it has gone far to quickly and in such a blur.
I’ll devote far more blog time to his next year of life and to the start of our agility training journey.
I stuck to my guns and opted not to do any agility training with him in his first year. No obstacle training that is. I did a tiny bit of footwork foundation with him, and of course he has a foundation on skills that will come in handy should he and I decided to play agility together. I’ve tentatively enrolled him in an agility foundation class to start in January, and of course he has already made the acquaintance of two of my agility instructors, including The Relationship Counselor. I’m excited to see what’s ahead, but determined to be slow and steady. I’m in no rush to get into a ring and compete with him. Mostly, I look forward to the start of more formal learning and training. To me, that is often the best part of playing agility.
And, as Youke, Brady and Camm continually teach me, it is an ongoing journey.
I wore an obscenely short skirt this weekend. I’m pretty sure I’ve not worn a skirt this short in public since about 1997 when I wore an obscenely short skirt to the office on Election Day to make a point.
In 1997 I weighed about 122 pounds and wore a size 2. (A real size 2. Not today’s size 2. Nowadays that would probably be a minus size 4).) I am no longer a size 2 and am pretty sure that ship has sailed.
In 1997 I was also 20 years younger. (Funny how that math works, right?)
It was a skort actually this past weekend, so I’m sure that makes it okay.
Here’s the thing. I’m nearing my mid-50s, my legs are fairly toned from lots of dog-walking and hiking, it was nearly 90 degrees this weekend and I don’t give a fuck anymore.
Life is short people. Wear the damned short skirt.
But I do apologize to anyone I might have flashed this weekend. There’s a lot of bending over in agility trials.
My agility mojo continues to flutter like a lackluster flame. I’ve found it pretty hard to give a fuck about agility competition for most of the summer. This is probably why Youke and Brady are both close to a championship title in one of the venues we compete in, but we haven’t received qualifying runs in the one event we need to get a few more qualifying scores in. Ordinarily I’d say that I’m trying too hard, but really I’m not trying hard enough.
I’ll arrive on the agility field or the agility arena and, although I start out excited, I get there and already don’t care or as the day goes on I find myself caring less. The heat has a way of doing that to me.
Youke has made it very clear since CPE Nationals in May, where it was 90+ degrees and hit 100 degrees one day, that he does not give a fuck about agility in the summer. Cruelly, I keep making him try to care by entering him in only one or two runs. Youke has declared that is far too many. Yet Youke has also declared that we need to play Ball and go hiking no matter how high the mercury climbs. Because running fast, as long as it doesn’t involve some stupid pre-ordained obstacle course, is awesome.
Brady and Camm just wish their Human would run a lot better.
Running for me has been super hard, especially agility outdoors on grass, due to a gimpy foot that I’m pretty sure actually stems from a sciatica issue. Allow me to translate that a little better. I’m nearing my mid-50s and stuff that I’ve taken for granted my entire life up until now is breaking down.
I was trial secretary for an agility show that my agility club puts on around Labor Day each year this past weekend. Somehow, I thought it would be a good idea to enter a lot of runs with Youke, Brady and Camm.
It wasn’t actually a bad idea. Unlike when I’m a trial chair, I find it fairly easy to do my job as trial secretary and still run my dogs. Unfortunately, there’s also a certain amount of brainpower involved in running agility. I used most of this brainpower on trial secretary duties and not so much on memorizing courses.
So between not remembering exactly how a course was supposed to be run, not remembering what my handling plan was and not being able to run into certain positions fast enough, I was a bit of a hot mess.
It probably doesn’t help that in addition to the three competition dogs, I also had an eight-month old puppy to think about.
In reality, all four dogs were wonderful. It was hot and uncomfortable, their Human was occupied most of the time, they were often very bored and the venue didn’t have a place for them to really run and stretch out their legs.
Despite this, they were even-tempered, forgiving and sweet. Rhys made a new friend close to his age, played with other friends, explored the park with his own tribe and saw many of his people friends, as well as made new people friends.
I’m having a really hard time calling him a naughty puppy lately. I’m pretty sure an eight-month old dog isn’t supposed to be this wonderful.
As far as agility weekends goes, it was a nice one in terms of the location, the relaxed vibe and the people. In terms of competition and how my dogs fared, it wasn’t super great.
Brady took a giant nosedive into the grass on Saturday morning by slipping on wet grass. Ironically, we set the start time at 9 am to avoid dew in the grass for just that reason. There was still dew in the grass. It was a Jumpers course and he just couldn’t collect himself or adjust his striding. Of course this was completely my fault and he let me know it. He could not forgive me about it for the entire day. He also could not forgive me for bad handling or my gimpy foot. Things were better on Sunday, but with the exception of one run, I had handling bobbles.
Camm was either higher than a kite, stressed about flies buzzing around her, distracted by the presence of her former foster Human or certain other people that she adores or she was near perfect. We had some brilliant moments coupled with some brilliantly bad moments. We had some brilliantly bad runs, some not half-bad runs and two near perfect runs.
Youke was just hot and not into doing the agility thing. He did humour me in his first run of Saturday by running a steady and sane pace and surprisingly qualifying in Jumpers whereas Brady and Camm did not because they couldn’t collect well enough.
As if often the case, the last run of the weekend was Tunnelers.
I love Tunnelers. Mostly I love it because my dogs love it. It is often an opportunity for full-out, balls-to-the-walls running.
This past weekend’s trial was a fairly small one. Brady was one of two or three dogs in his height class all weekend and Youke and Camm both run in the same height class and just below Brady. As is often the case at small trials when I run all three dogs in the same class, there is very little time to breathe between running a dog, running to get the next dog and then running another dog.
That sounds like it might be stressful. Honestly, I find it exhilarating. I love it.
Sunday’s Tunnelers course had several tricky off-course options, as well as some opportunities to use some distance if that was in your tool kit. I walked the course and quickly devised a handling plan.
I ran to get Brady and since there was only a dog or two between him and Youke, I grabbed Youke too. I asked someone to hold Youke while I stepped into the ring with Brady, but not before cautioning them that Youke would probably start screaming.
Youke is ordinarily a very quiet dog. That is, until one of his family members is running agility in front of him.
Brady was the first dog on the line to run the course. I stood at the start line with him, softly petting the top of his head and surveyed the course quickly again. “I’m gonna run it like I stole it,” I thought to myself. I could feel my energy level rising. Brady felt it too. I could see that as we briefly connected once I got out to my start position and gave him his release cue.
Suddenly, I cared about agility. My agility mojo fairly screamed as my adrenaline level revved into place.
It was a screaming fast and nearly flawless run. Brady did briefly woof at one cue that he deemed was a bit late, but it was a minor singular woof, not a bark per se, and his silence on a run is the best performance gauge. When we connected again at the end of the run, we mentally sent each other a high-five.
I ran back to the start to hand off Brady and to get Youke, who by then was pumped up from knowing I’d just run Brady. It helped that his half-brother, who is also a fast dog, was the dog right in front of Youke. Suddenly, Youke’s agility mojo was also back.
After a great run with Youke, I ran back to get Brady and ran back with both boys to where I had crated Camm to switch them out and grab her.
By this time I was the one higher than a kite. It’s possible I was higher than Camm. In fact, I know I was because she held her start line until I quickly gave her a release cue because I just wanted to get at that course and pummel it.
It was one of those runs where I felt like if you squinted your eyes just right, you’d seen the afterburn following Camm.
Suddenly, I could barely remember what happened in any of our previous runs. I just knew I’d run three perfect runs with three fast dogs and that it felt freaking fantastic.
And I did it in a very short skirt.
The world as we know it might have ended.
And no, I’m not talking about me finally breaking down and getting a smart phone and giving up my beloved flip phone. Besides, that happened in May and despite a slight tremor in the Earth’s atmosphere, it appears we all survived fairly intact.
I’m talking about, of course, my puppy.
Rhys put himself to bed tonight.
Let me repeat that. Rhys put himself to bed.
And, as if he had to make a point of it, he did it twice.
This is the very same puppy that less than a month ago I had to persuade, sometimes with a few bits of kibble in my hand, sometimes with a leash attached to his collar, that it was time for bed, and that no we could not stay up playing until all hours of the night.
I has just finished folding a load of freshly laundered towels. I piled them into my arms and headed upstairs to place them in my linen closet. Brady was already upstairs as he’s still recovering from a full day of sensory input at an agility trial yesterday. Youke had just gone upstairs as he had a full tummy from dinner and had seen that I wasn’t sharing the salad I made myself for supper, nor the apricot and blackberry cobbler I had for dessert. Camm and Rhys trailed up the stairs behind me. Nothing unusual in that as Camm follows my every footstep and Rhys is her shadow.
I placed the clean towels in the closet and went into the bedroom to retrieve the comforter that I had taken off the bed this morning when I changed the bedsheets. The comforter needed to go into the laundry. I have several light comforters that I rotate and launder on a regular basis. This is a necessity when you sleep with dogs.
I noticed that Rhys has flung himself up on top of the bed. As I busied myself around the bedroom, picking up a few things, I noticed that instead of watching me, he spread himself out his full length on top of the bed and that his eyes were at half mast. I went over and gently brushed his ruff and kissed the top of his head. His eyes opened, but he continued to lay there. I scooped up the comforter and headed back downstairs, curious as to what he would do. Camm followed me down the stairs. Rhys did not.
After loading the washing machine, I started back up the stairs and peeked back into the bedroom. Rhys was still on the bed. His eyes opened and he looked at me, but made no move to get down.
It was about 8:45 pm. That’s early in my house.
Wondrous, I headed into the office to chronicle this miraculous development.
Rhys wandered, er, staggered, into the office and looked at me.
Ah, I thought, it was simply too good to be true. I prepared for another round of bitey-face between him and Camm as I turned my head away to sift through some notes on my desk.
A couple of minutes later I realized it seemed extremely quiet and became aware that Rhys was no longer in the office. I peered around the corner to the bedroom. There he was, spread out full length on my bed again, Youke curled into a ball on his side of the bed.
I think my puppy might be growing up.
Ever since he made the decision late in July that he is no longer sleeping in his crate at night, Rhys has been experimenting with exactly where it is he is going to sleep. Like many decisions my dogs make, I’m on board with the basic decision and with a certain amount of experimentation, but I do set some perimeters. In Rhys’s bedtime decision case, I was on board with no more crate, but ruled that he did have to settle somewhere in the bedroom itself and could not have free reign of the house. This seemed fair to us both.
For a week, Rhys tried out various spots. The first night he was on the bed. The second night he was on the floor in a dog bed under the main window. The next night he was back on the bed. The following evening, he was back on the floor, but at the foot of the bed. And so it went for about a week. Then he spent two nights in a row on top of the bed. When it became three nights in a row, and with his body pressed tightly into my own, I knew he had made a decision.
Rhys sleeps on the bed now.
One of the great benefits to this decision is that I no longer have to cajole him into coming upstairs for bedtime. Rhys now voluntarily comes upstairs, even on the nights when he’d rather stay up later. On those nights, he might linger downstairs for a little bit, playing with a toy or gnawing on an already clean bone, but I no longer call him or go get him. He thinks about it some and within minutes, he’s upstairs too.
Gotta love when it’s their own decision.
So, I, as the Human, have a small sliver of the bed, in the bedroom of the house that I pay the mortgage on, while Youke sleeps on his side of the bed, Camm sleeps across my feet, and Rhys sleeps diagonally between them and with the full length of his body – which at seven months is quite lengthy – pressed into me.
This actually would be an ideal and sweet set-up for the dark and cold rainy winter months. However, it is presently August. Presently, we are experiencing a bit of a heat wave here in the Pacific Northwest. This heat wave translates into temperatures in the high 80s and into the 90s. Days of that stuff, and even my normally temperate house becomes uncomfortably warm, especially the bedroom.
One would think that the dogs would prefer not to be touching my 98.6 degree body that I’m quite sure heats up even more at night. One would be wrong. Instead, I find myself enveloped by warm, heaving dog bodies that seem convinced that it is vitally important to keep me as close as is physically possible without actually laying on top of me.
Although, on second thought, a paw across my back or a head across my feet can’t really hurt.
Sam and Lisa headed toward the park for a little stroll. It was hot and Lisa was eager to get onto the trail by the lake as it was heavily shaded. The shrill voices of children raked the still, hot air. Most of the shrieks came from the public pool area off to the right and behind some dense shrubbery and didn’t bother Sam and Lisa as they navigated the footpath beyond the pool toward the playground. The cool and shady path Lisa wanted to show Sam was to the left of the playground. Suddenly, the children playing on the playground equipment stopped and looked in Sam and Lisa’s direction. As if tuned in to the same radio frequency, the children, at least a dozen, but perhaps more, stopped and descended from the ladders and swings, their eyes boring into Sam and Lisa. Lisa began to feel a bit uncomfortable, but Sam didn’t seem bothered. But then the children started marching purposefully and relentlessly toward them, arms outstretched, their eyes singularly focused on Sam. Sam glanced at Lisa nervously. Sam was a big, handsome and friendly guy and was not easily intimidated, especially by kids. But the sheer force of their numbers and all of those outstretched arms, open mouths and glazed eyes was disconcerting. Sam slowed down, his own eyes darting back and forth, and nervously licked his lips. Lisa wondered if the children had been infected by some sort of zombie strain. Still, she knew what she had to do in order to save Sam, who was beginning to look scared. This was not a good look for a big, black dude.
“Stop!” Lisa called out as she expertly stepped in front of the uncertain Sam and held her hand up.
I made a bunch of grade school children sad today. And I’m not one bit sorry.
You may be wondering what the story above has to do with me making children sad and unhappy. Let me relate what happened and then think about the story I just told.
I was walking one of my regular daily clients today. We went to a local park that has a lovely, mostly shaded trail that wraps around a small lake. I chose the location because today was really, really hot and Bud is a big black Labrador retriever that easily overheats.
As we headed toward the trail, we were suddenly accosted by a large group of children. I’d seen them disembark from a school bus and I’m guessing they were on some kind of summer camp outing. One minute they were playing on the playground equipment, and the next they were all headed for Bud.
I’ll admit I expected a couple of the children to head toward us. I did not anticipate the entire group would do so. Strangely, they headed toward us in unison, with a couple of the larger boys leading the charge. I heard a few mumbled “pet the dog, pet the dog,” before I took action.
“Stop,” I said firmly, planting myself in front of Bud and serving as a shield between him and the advancing children.
Shocked, they actually stopped. “You may not approach a dog like that,” I stated calmly and quietly. Yet there was no mistaking the fire in my voice. Nor from my eyes.
The children’s faces fell, but with the exception of one, they all backed away. One little girl, also a budding fierce sort, stepped up to me. “But why? Is he jumpy?”
I suspect she was asking if he would jump on them. While it’s difficult to condense a topic that can be difficult for many adults to grasp in an entire conversation into a concise tidbit, much less into a tidbit for a child, I did my best.
“It’s super scary for him to suddenly be approached by all of these people like that. How would you feel if a bunch of strange people you didn’t know all wanted to come up and touch you on the head?” I asked her.
Much like most adults I sometimes try to briefly educate, I received a confounded and dazed look.
I didn’t have time to explain further, nor did I have any inclination to offer any apologies to the confused, dumbfounded and slightly offended looks I received from the crowd of youngsters.
But before I took off to continue my walk, uninterrupted by strangers, I made eye contact with the adult that was allegedly supervising the kids. Allegedly being a key word and eye contact being more like a stare of recrimination for their total lack of supervision.
I know a lot of people feel badly about saying no to other people. I am not one. I am my dog’s advocate and I am a fierce advocate. Luckily for my client dogs, I’m just as fierce an advocate for them as I am for my own dogs.
In today’s example – written in the beginning of this post as a story that seemingly involved two humans to provide a better perspective on how the dog might see things – Bud probably would not have done anything to the kids. He loves people and he likes kids a lot, but the sheer number of kids and all the outstretched arms probably would’ve made him very, very uncomfortable as evidenced by the fact that he was already seeking an escape route as told by his darting eyes that were already showing the whites and by his nervous telltale lip licking. And probably is not anything I ever want to take a chance with when it comes to children and dogs.
After I exited the scene with Bud today, I could not help but think how that very same scenario might have played out with my dog Camm. Camm is cute and petite. Lots of people, including kids, want to pet her. Camm is very selective about humans (this may come as a surprise to my own friends and to agility folk I know, but it’s the truth) and she intensely distrusts and dislikes children. I don’t need Camm to ever nip a kid to know that she would nip a kid in a heartbeat. What Bud very nearly experienced today would’ve been Camm’s worse nightmare.
I wish I could say that what happened today in an anomaly. It isn’t. Except it is usually adults I am dealing with.
“We’re not saying hi today, ” I sing out on a regular basis as someone with a dog pulling on the end of its flexi-leash and yapping its head off tries to convince me that my charge should meet cute little FiFi. Meanwhile the dog I’m walking has its hackles raised.
“Call your dog!” I regularly yell to the person who has chosen to exercise their own dog off-leash in a small neighborhood park and who has sighted the dog I’m walking with on the adjacent sidewalk. I do a quick one-eighty, looking over my shoulder to see if the dog has decided to go back to its owner yet or not. More often than not, the dog is slowly trotting behind us as the owner uselessly calls it and throws me dirty looks. I feel no shame when I tell you my own eyes get hard, very hard, as I meet that dirty look and raise it.
Recently, I stopped on a street in a neighborhood where I was walking and asked a man with an off-leash dog to leash his dog up. The man was deeply offended. This scenario probably happens at least once a week, but on that particular day, that particular man chose to take it up a notch. He proceeded to try to lecture me that dogs should be in their “natural state” (whatever the hell that was supposed to mean – clearly to him it meant unleashed) and that all dogs would prefer to say hello to one another. He then attempted to demonstrate how his dog would like to do just that. But instead of a more proper nose to butt dog greeting, he seemed to think the greeting should be nose to nose, despite the fact that both dogs were stiff and erect in their front end carriages and that the hair was raised on the back of the dog I was trying to walk and keep away from him. He then tried to greet the dog I was walking himself.
“No, ” I said.
“What? I’m just trying to be friendly,” he countered.
“No means no!” And with that I turned on my heel and got out of there. Just in time too from the hard eyes and stiff expression on Tommy’s face.
“Geez, what a bitch,” I heard the man say.
Asshole, I said out loud. And I made no pretense at muttering it.
I don’t know when saying no became something to be apologetic about. But it’s about time it stopped.
Rhys turned seven months old earlier this week. While he is still very much a puppy and will be for a while, it’s often hard for me to think of him on such immature terms. For several months now he so often seems like a Big Dog. Of course then he’ll go and do something that quickly brings me to my senses, but he has this amazing aura about him.
On the evening that he became seven months old, Rhys made a decision.
Before I tell you about that decision, I’m going to relate that I am fond of encouraging my dogs to make decisions. They are not always decisions I am fond of and sometimes we battle a bit about those decisions. There are quite frankly times when I do not like their decisions and they are told so. However, in encouraging some independent decision-making I often find that good choices can be made. It helps that I am fond of herding dogs, a breed-type that was selectively bred for years prior to confirmation types mucking them up for good decision-making abilities. Besides, they are still dogs and I am still a Human and there is still a whole lot of their lives that I control.
That particular night, Rhys came upstairs when I called for the dogs and informed them that it was “time for bed.” The three Big Dogs understand this routine and willingly come upstairs – if they aren’t already – settle into their respective spots and prepare for slumber. Rhys also understands what this phrase means, but more often than not, he’d rather stay up late. Since my days of staying up past 11 pm, much less past midnight, are generally far and few between now, I often find I have to encourage Rhys to come upstairs by either grabbing his collar and marching him upstairs and into his crate or enticing him upstairs with a few bits of kibble and then tossing the bits into his crate.
When he willingly came upstairs this night, Rhys jumped up onto my bed with Youke and Camm. Brady prefers to sleep either in his dog bed in my bedroom or beside the bed on the floor. He’ll sometimes come up for a while, but he never stays. The only exception is if we’re experiencing a thunderstorm or fireworks are going off. Then he is mashed as tightly as he can get into my body, preferably with his head tucked under my chin or resting cheek to cheek until the cacophony is over.
I figured I’d let Rhys stay on the bed while I washed my face and brushed my teeth. He’s proven of late that he can often be quiet while I perform this nighttime ritual, instead of trying to keep the party going as he attempted to do only a few short months before – by chewing on pillows, the bedspread or my slippers, or engaging Camm in some frisky play on top of the bed while Youke glared at the two of them and did a low growl. Not that Youke’s clear communication of offense was heeded.
When I emerged from the bathroom, I did not see a bright-eyed seven month old puppy pleading with me to stay up a bit longer. Instead, I saw a 35-pound dog sprawled out on the bed, snoring away and fast asleep.
I was amazed. We’d had a fairly uneventful day and while we’d gone out in early evening as we often do, our walk had been relatively short, 45 to 60 minutes only and to a less than exciting place.
I padded to the bed to take the pillow shams off and to set my alarm. He did not move.
Rhys was also in the exact same spot of the bed where Jasmine always slept and was in the identical position as the one she assumed when she went to bed.
I figured there was some sort of cosmic message in that and decided to let him stay on the bed. I thought that he could stay at least until he became restless and naughty, at which point he’d need to go into his bedtime crate, which has been in my bedroom and has been the same crate he’s slept in since I brought him home.
I eased into bed, configured my legs between Rhys and Camm, Youke in his spot against my side and slept with three dogs again for the first time since Jasmine died.
Here’s the thing. Rhys did not become restless and naughty. Rather, he slept deeply and soundly all night long, snoring softly – because he does and has since he was eight weeks old. Sometimes he feels like a cat purring with his soft snoring.
My alarm woke us all up, including Rhys, when it went off at 8 am.
Instead of the frantic and annoying barking he does when in his crate when I awaken in the morning, Rhys stood up and plopped himself across my body, licking and kissing me a good morning message.
I wondered if it was a fluke and what he’d do on the following evening.
Last night, he again came upstairs, jumped on the bed and made it pretty clear he was not going to sleep in his crate. Message received.
However, after turning of the lights and crawling into bed, I could feel Rhys get up. I made out his shadowy form, with his head cocked and listening to the sounds coming in through the open window. I listened too, especially when he started a low, soft growl. His growl was answered by Brady’s similar low and soft growl. Often Brady expresses his displeasure about things – nighttime things being restless movement or loud noises – with low growls. But while it at first sounded like Brady was warning Rhys to keep his opinions to himself, Brady’s tone changed and it seemed apparent to me that they were both perturbed by 1) a distant dog barking, 2) a distant coyote howling, 3) a car slowly driving by, and 4) a faint fluttering coming from a tree.
I asked Rhys to be quiet and to lie down. He did become quiet, but he chose to jump down from the bed. Ah, this is it, I thought. It was too good to be true. He’s going to grab some tissue from the bathroom wastebasket or start mauling my slipper, I guessed.
Rhys settled into another of the dog beds in the bedroom, actually underneath the window, and fell asleep. I soon heard his soft snoring.
I am theorizing that Rhys is experimenting with what will work for him in terms of bedtime positioning.
I’m fine with that and with what his ultimate decision will be. Regardless, it does not appear that the crate will be among the options.
I spoke earlier about Rhys’s aura. Maybe that’s not quite the right word, but he has an amazing calm and confident demeanor about him, especially for one so young. He is also very good about reading other dogs and adapting appropriately. I’ve been surprised and pleased with how he adapts his play and greetings between puppies younger and smaller than himself, small dogs, big dogs, adult dogs, playful adult dogs and not so playful adult dogs.
Even with Big Grumpy BrotherUncle Brady, Rhys knows when to stay away from him, when to playfully shoulder check him and when to offer some gesture of appeasement.
Brady was being a huge grump the other night, grousing at the other dogs, while at the same time continually shoving his head into my armpit for reassurance. Rhys was feeling very affectionate as well and decided to hop onto the couch with me. Brady sneered at him. Rhys pulled back, but then tenderly and very sweetly dipped his head and barely touched his nose to Brady’s head. Brady seemed surprised, Rhys did it again. Brady laid down on the floor beside me after that and relaxed.
Then, Rhys pulled something similar with me. I really didn’t want a wiggly 35-pound behemoth on top of my chest as I was trying to chill and watch TV, the first time in weeks it felt like. He turned his head to my face, looked at me with an expression that was at the same time sweet, but also inscrutable, and pressed his paws around my neck. Before I knew it, I was laying down on the couch, with an adolescent border collie spread across me and softly vibrating with his soft snore. I have no idea what was on TV. All I knew was that I was smiling and gazing down on the sleek head of an adolescent border collie that had magically lulled my spinning and overactive mind.
And yet, Rhys is still an adolescent. Not just an adolescent, but an outright Heathen. Yes. With a capital H.
And honestly, there is no one to fault for this but myself.
I’ve mentioned a few seemingly innocuous actions such as Rhys jumping on the bed or jumping on the couch. But he jumps on other things as well.
For instance. I indulged and bought myself a nice lounge chair for my deck this summer. Correction. I bought Rhys a nice lounge chair.
This is tame though. He also discovered that garbage cans make lovely perches.
And if one stands on the garbage can, they can also peer over the top of the six-foot fence.
The garbage can has been moved
I do not have photographic evidence though of Rhys running into the kitchen at a recent agility club event and launching himself onto a table to help himself of some tasty culinary items. An observant, and surprised, friend caught him before he could make off with any tasty items.
No one caught him though when he launched himself onto a picnic table some 30 minutes later and snatched an unattended cheeseburger.
Some people at the event seemed very offended.
I’ll admit to a slight moment of shame at the heathen I am raising. But it was quickly overcome by giggles.
I suppose I should train this dog.
So, unlike with Youke where I went full out helicopter mom and had him doing umpteen tricks before a year old and had enrolled him in several classes and could barely contain myself before he started agility lessons (at least I did wait until he was a year old before I started him on anything resembling agility) and then entered him in his first real agility competition at 18 months old – because he was going to be my agility champion, damnit Jim! – I vowed to take the super laid back approach with my next puppy when the time came. So the time is here and I’m sticking to that vow.
Rhys did attend one puppy kindergarten class, but I think we missed half of the session due to my prior engagements. I really didn’t care. I can teach, and have taught to some degree, the basics of “sit” and “down. ” I’ve worked on recall with him intensely since day one as something told me that was going to be super important with Mr. Independent. And I always teach a “wait” behavior and work on impulse control stuff just as a form of play or through play. I even taught Rhys a trick. He knows how to “shake paw.” We started working on “roll over” and spinning left and spinning right, but then I sort of forgot about it.
At the urging of one of my agility instructors I enrolled Rhys in a foundation class after she promised me I did not have to show him any equipment. I’m sticking to my guns and this dog is not doing anything with any agility equipment until he’s a year old at the very least. The foundation class has been fun and focuses more on handling exercises and flatwork for both me and for Rhys. My main goal though was to have Rhys in a setting where he had to “work” when and where other dogs were working as well.
And on that note, I recently enrolled Rhys in a Control Unleashed class. I loved doing Control Unleashed with Youke some eight years ago. The stuff I learned in that class I still employ with all of my dogs today.
We’ve had two classes so far and I think both of us have thoroughly enjoyed them. Rhys of course gets massive amounts of treats – kibble and bits of cheese mostly, but some Cheerios-type things from Trader Joe’s and bites of dried rabbit or bison as well. And I get to play with him, while also strengthening some of the stuff he’s already learned through everyday life with me and adding some new skills.
In the next several months I’ll probably do some more Control Unleashed classes with him just to keep him working around other dogs, but if the present holds, he understands being in “work mode” and that being able to perform tasks around other dogs, even highly aroused ones, isn’t a major deal. Such is the wonder of the well bred working dog.
I’m not sure if there are special classes for table jumping, food grabbing opportunistic dogs though. I might have to actually work on that myself.
And while on the subject of training and competition, I’ve also vowed that Rhys will not enter a competition for real until he is at the very least two years old. Youke was, and is, an old soul in many ways, but he was too young and too ill-prepared to have entered competition at 18 months old. That was completely my fault and a mistake I’ve vowed not to repeat.
Mostly, I want Rhys to spend his first year learning about becoming a solid canine citizen while also having a grand time playing and exploring his world. And if that means he jumps on a few picnic tables, well, physical ability and fearlessness are valued in canine performance sports, right?
Oops. I guess that maybe I do encourage the picnic table jumping thing …
- My apologies for the lack of any blog updates of late. Ironically, it’s not as if I had nothing to say, but more like too much to say. My brain has been spinning of late. Unlike writers’ block though, in my case, too many ideas or too much to say creates a logjam. I also have a puppy, which is pretty much my excuse for everything that does and doesn’t happen in 2017. I’ve been releasing some of the day-to-day stuff in personal Facebook posts and by posting a plethora of pictures, but I promise to get back to more regular blog updates, now that I’ve done a bit of tweaking and have re-named the blog.
Rhys is not really a puppy any longer. Overnight it seems, he became a dog.
A very handsome dog.
I love his manly and serious profile.
Of course, he is only 19 weeks old, so he’s still technically a puppy.
But so much leg. And grown-up dog coat.
But he’s becoming more like A Big Dog every day.
I recently got a new camera. Mainly I purchased a new one because my older digital camera wasn’t cutting it in terms of capturing images of Rhys as he’s constantly in motion. Hard to document the changes and the growth when all the camera captured was a blur.
Although I purchased the camera about a month ago, I haven’t really had time to learn how to use it. The fact that the sun came out this week and we had temperatures above the 50-something degree mark for the first time in almost 200 days was an excuse to get to know my camera. I took it out and played with it on Wednesday afternoon when we had some lovely late day sunshine. And I took it out again late today – even though we were back to rain and 50-something degrees.
I love how I am able to get lovely and clear head shots now.
Camm is such a beautiful dog. She is also the perfect supermodel. Apparently getting paid with Balls guarantees a perfect shot every time.
Brady is a hunk.
Youke is still speck-tacular.
Camm is still a Ball hoarder.
Oh look – a sort of family portrait. Hard to capture them not in motion, especially when there is so much to explore in this world.
Rhys has made a bit of progress with Youke too in convincing him that they are really going to be the best of friends. This morning, they rolled together in a wormy dirt hole. If that’s not bonding, I don’t know what is. Sadly, no camera around when it is really needed. But I did get a tiny bit of the brotherly love later today.
Okay, I guess the love is more on Rhys’s part.
There is no love for being leashed up.
But really, I have mad dog-walking skillz. So professional.
On his way to being a dog, but still a bit of a puppy.
I don’t cook much these days. I find it hard to cook for just myself most of the time and I’m far too impatient, and hungry, most of the time to actually go through the preparation process. That said, I do, mostly, enjoy cooking.
Of course, my cooking may horrify some. Remember That’s Just a Suggestion, Right?
However, my dogs find cooking endlessly fascinating.
The kitchen is the central point of my house, both literally and figuratively. So very many good things happen in that room.
The dogs have always been excellent about laying down quietly while I go about my business. Underfoot, but quiet. I have just learned to navigate around them. I figure it’s good for my agility and spacial awareness skills.
The young newcomer to the tribe, Rhys, did not understand this remaining quiet, still, and ever hopeful, bit at first. Youke, Brady and Camm have learned that by remaining quiet and still, and yet underfoot, I’m sure to eventually manage to drop something. Better yet, they’ve found I’m usually pretty generous.
This is one of the many, many things that my dogs have learned that I did not actively set out to teach them. They discovered that if they were annoying or jumping at me or being rude by attempting to grab something, they got banished to a crate or to another room.
It did not take long for Rhys to learn to lay on the floor quietly during any food preparation. Well, except when it involves his own.
Much to Youke’s continuing dismay and disgust on all things that involve Rhys, Rhys has chosen as his quiet watching spot in the kitchen, the exact same rug as what Youke lies upon. In fact, Rhys has decided that laying down right next to Youke is his ideal spot.
This infuriates Youke.
However, he has decided to tolerate it, barely, because, well, food could be dropped and he is way faster and more experienced than that rude little interloper.
So, there I was this afternoon, home a bit early from work and I was seized with the desire to make a meal.
Okay, really, I just had some stew meat that I bought a little over a week ago that really needed to be cooked.
Don’t be alarmed. It was still good. Besides, that shit gets cooked.
I decided to make a beef stew. But I didn’t want to mess with the slow cooker. I realize many find this a handy and convenient kitchen aid. I rarely use mine, because, well, Youke is a counter surfer in my absence from the house.
I dredged the stew meat in some flour, salt and a lot of pepper and opted to add a half bottle of oregano I found hanging around in the cupboard. I find dried oregano fairly useless, so not sure why I had it. I’d much rather use fresh herbs.
Once I had placed the beef into the cast iron pot to brown, I realized I might not have all of the proper ingredients for a beef stew. But then I thought that maybe I should look a recipe up. Then I thought about how long that would take. Then I decided I’d just wing it.
As that thought process was occurring, I realized I’d used way too much flour. My beef was sort of browning, but the roux was seriously thick.
Time to add some liquid to the pot.
I found a half-used bottle of white balsamic vinegar on the shelf by the stove and poured that in. I also saw a half-full bottle of white cooking wine on the shelf. So I poured that in too.
The beef mixture was still too thick and flour-y looking. So I poured in a can of chicken broth. Because of course I had no beef broth.
Now the mixture was looking better, but I realized it probably had no taste. So I added a can of tomato paste. That resulted in a surprisingly decent flavor.
But something was still missing.
I shuffled around in the refrigerator, looking for perhaps a bottle of beer to add. All I found though was hard ciders, apple and pineapple. Neither appealed to me.
Then I spotted a can of ginger ale. Ah, inspiration! I poured in half of the can and sipped on the remainder.
I decided that trekking again downstairs for some potatoes was too much of a task, so I opted to peel and cut up some parsnips I had for the corned beef dinner I never made last month instead. Ditto for some carrots.
I still thought I was missing a vegetable product though. Inspired, I ended up trekking downstairs into the garage anyway to get a can of diced tomatoes to add.
After tasting it, I thought it was good, but could still use a little oomph. I looked to my right and saw the cans of coconut milk I’d purchased when I was seized by the urge to make Thai curry one day while shopping at Trader Joe’s. The moment had passed by the time I arrived home and hasn’t made a comeback. I added a can of coconut milk.
But I’d thrown this all together in the space of about 35 minutes, it wasn’t ready to eat. The vegetables had to soften and the meat had to cook a but more in the liquid, which was now of an appealing texture and no longer gloppy.
So I took the dogs for a game of Ball and a short hike.
When I returned home two hours later, my stew was ready.
It was delicious. The dogs confirmed this when they licked my serving spoon and bowl after I ate.
Feeling pleased with myself this evening, I rummaged through the refrigerator looking for space to place my pot of stew. In the process, I realized I had an open and half-used carton of milk in there. Thinking it’d be nice to a glass of milk to wash the stew taste down, I grabbed the carton …
… and simultaneously realized as I opened it that the contents were spoiled (sorta green actually) and that it had an alleged expiration date of sometime in January.
Hmmm. I didn’t think it had been that long since I’d bought milk.