Here’s an Idea
Dare I say it’s a radical idea?
How about we consider NOT taking our reactive dogs to places where they will encounter so many of the things that trigger them?
OMG! What? Not go to certain places? Avoid the dog park you say?
Yup. So if my dog is scared of large groups of people or a lot of kids running around, how about I NOT take her to large group gatherings or walk by that playground full of screaming children?
How about instead of blaming that fuck-tard for letting his off-leash dog run up to my leashed dog, I not be a fuck-tard myself and insist on walking my dog on that trail on the weekends where it seems everyone and his brother takes their dog to walk, and most of them are not leashed up?
Again. Radical ideas here.
Let me clarify that I used to be that fuck-tard that insisted on taking her dog to the parks or the popular trails even though it was very clear that she was a bully and was approaching other dogs inappropriately. I quashed the suggestion that maybe my dog’s crouching behavior and then sudden explosion from a crouch into a full-fledged frontal affront accompanied by frantic barking on an approaching dog was somehow wrong. She’s just being playful, I thought.
Nope. She was being an asshole. And it was completely unfair. Unfair not only to the other dogs and their owners that had to deal with it, but also unfair to my dog to keep putting her in that setting and allowing her to practice this behavior, then to scold her for doing it.
Finally, one day a woman scolded me and confronted my response that my dog was simply being playful (even though in my heart I knew she wasn’t) and told me that that my dog was being a bully. The exchange rattled me. But it also brought me to my senses. Although Jasmine was perfectly appropriate in certain environments, she was most definitely not within others.
Furthermore, I finally realized why Jasmine was behaving so inappropriately. She was afraid. And doing what a lot of fearful dogs do, she was going on the offense to alert other dogs that she didn’t want them in her face. After I put the pattern together, I realized she acted this way only with certain breeds and dogs that were her size or larger. She never did it to small dogs, most of whom she was sweet and gentle with. Upon further retrospection, I recalled the time she was chased down by a pair of German Shepherds at the dog park.
She’d been trying to tell me something for a long time.
So when I got Brady, I was a lot wiser. But I still had lessons to learn. Luckily, I caught on a lot faster.
With Brady, I developed the philosophy I presently live by.
My philosophy is a bit different. Instead of blaming others for their dog’s behavior, and ranting that other people are not controlling their dogs, I acknowledge fully that my dog is, or in the case of plural, my dogs can be, a complete jerk or jerks and that John Q. Public and Susie Q. Public do not in general possess nearly the same knowledge about dog behavior that I do. Therefore, it is my responsibility to assure that my dog or dogs behave appropriately. If I cannot assure that to be the case, especially when I have all four together at the same time, then we do not go to places where we may encounter others.
It is simple. My dog, my responsibility.
Of course I wish others would take the same position, but the reality is that they do not. Ignorance may not be a defense under the eyes of the law, but in life, ignorance really is often bliss. Maybe it’s my tendency to see things from so many perspectives, but is it really so wrong for John and Suzie Q. Public to be so offended when they see me trying to control my knashing beast because we are in the presence of their uber friendly clueless retriever and I yell at them to get their dog away from mine? Is it really fair for me to be so pissed off at someone who just has absolutely no idea?
In addition to not wanting to take the fall for the potential behavior of my own dogs, I also do not want them rehearsing certain behaviors. Nor do I want them feeling threatened because I – the being with the allegedly larger brain – put them in a position where they have no choice but to react in a potentially inappropriate way.
I know that my dog snarling at an approaching off-leash friendly dog is not entirely inappropriate. Especially when said friendly dog is bounding up to within a few inches of my dog’s nose. My dog is communicating that he/she does not wish to make a new friend, especially a new friend that is such a close talker. You know, like that person at a party that you just met who squeezes into your personal space and insists on speaking at you within inches of your eyes. And you can smell what they had for lunch. Yeah, dogs don’t like it either.
I just don’t want to put my dogs in the position of having to throw the first punch. It’s not fair to them.
Therefore, I do not insist on take my quartet on packed park trails on summer weekends and on sunny weekends the rest of the year. That way, I don’t place my dogs in a stressful position, or stress myself out, with the expectation that we’re going to be on a level playing field. The issue is quite simple really. Most of the public just has no clue.
Of course it’s not right and of course those with knowledge should continue to try to enlighten those without. But really – is you taking your fear-aggressive dog out to the park and expecting others to abide by a 20-, 40-, 100-foot bubble of space really fair? To your dog? To other people? Especially when you know that there is a high likelihood of the presence of off-leash dogs? What are you trying to prove? That you are the superior asshole?
Is it fair to your dog and to other people and dogs to continue to insist you can take your barking, snapping fearful dog on a run through a public park?
So that’s my rant. My apologies for those that this may offend, and I expect that could be many. I admit I’ve thought about this for a very long time as I know so many people with dogs that don’t necessarily play well with others. I’ve sympathized and gotten angry with you. I get the frustration of dealing with the sudden appearance of an off-leash dog when you are out minding your business with your own dog. I also get the frustration of walking peaceably with your own dog in an area that is signed for dogs to be on leash at all times, when some asswipe shouts how friendly their dog is as he runs into your dog’s face and pays no hither to the calls of his owner to come back.
I’ve been there too. I’ve been shaken as well by those moments. But here’s where my philosophy differs. I don’t keep putting myself, and my dog(s), in those situations and expect a different outcome.
Being righteous doesn’t make you any less of a prick. And it doesn’t do your dog any favors.
Management is key, as is practiced behavior. Brady for instance, never went out, except in my yard, before 6 pm for an entire spring, summer and fall, and often it was much later. That was a very deliberate action on my part, prompted when I realized that being righteous could actually endanger my dog, and others.
When I got to the point where I was comfortable practicing some of the protocol for reactive dogs that we’d learned, I deliberately chose a place that is actively patrolled by state park officers for off-leash dogs to assure I could manage the space Brady needed and proactively work with him and have positive experiences. Very gradually, and I mean very slowly – as in over a year – we worked our way up to more unpredictable places.
I credit that slow, steady and solid foundation, as well as the trust built up over a long period of time, to Brady not taking a huge slide backwards after last year’s dog attack. And even after the attack, because I was worried about the impact on him, I started right back at the beginning, taking him only to well-controlled environments during precise times of the day for the sake of a predictable and managed outcome. The good news is that as we’d built such a good foundation that he demonstrated his ability to handle our normal life – which is still well managed – with no negative consequences from the attack.
So, I’ll continue to abide by my philosophy. But because responsibility is often such a heavy load to carry, and sometimes I want to be carefree, I walk secluded trails, don’t usually go to the pretty places and often walk or hike with my dogs during off-hours, such as moonlit nights.
Oh the Things I Would Do
I did NOT get another new vehicle. But the dogs thought I did.
There was much excitement and cavorting about when JaYoBaCa saw a Chevy Malibu in their driveway Tuesday morning. Camm, especially, was beside herself with excitement and curiosity. And in a telling sign that I’ve driven an SUV for a very long time, all four went to the back of the sedan and looked at me to let them in. That’d be the trunk – or boot for those of you in foreign places. Somehow, I don’t think cramming four dogs into the dark confines of a sedan’s cargo area would be particularly amusing to them once they actually experienced it.
I laughed when I saw their ridiculously excited and eager faces. And I vowed right then and there that if I win the Powerball lottery I will purchase an assortment of vehicles. For them. My dogs.
I like motorized transportation, but I don’t aspire to have a collection like Jay Leno. I just want a few extra to tease my dogs with. I think it would be great to see their faces every time I brought a new vehicle into the driveway.
Of course, that also begs the question of the driveway itself. I’d have to purchase a larger estate in order to house my many more vehicles, all of which would probably be large, since it’s not kosher to drive around with four dogs in a sporty little convertible.
Not that I really want a sporty little convertible. Driving this Malibu reminds me that I’ve driven a SUV for over 15 years. I like being just a little bit higher.
Make what you will of that last sentence.
Seriously though. I like the visibility I get with being in a vehicle further off the ground. Not to mention that I don’t feel quite as vulnerable as when driving a sedan. I see those tiny little Smart cars and cringe. You couldn’t pay me to drive one. Okay, maybe if you bequeathed me your winnings from the Powerball lottery.
Driving this Malibu also made me think of my mother today. She used to complain about sedans made post-1990s as most have curved windshields. It’s an engineering design thing. Aerodynamic and all. She, like me, drove a Jeep for a long time. You cannot get a windshield much flatter than on a Jeep. Then, she moved to a larger SUV, but also with a pretty flat windshield, and one made prior to the more modern and rounded designs in the 2000s. My mother would complain when I came to visit and took her out and about in whatever rental I had at the time that looking out the windshield ahead made her dizzy and feel sick.
At the time, I put it down to another rather eccentric oddity from my mother. But today, as I drove this Malibu on a fast and curvy road back to my house, I finally understood what she was talking about. One more step in my progression toward becoming my mother.
Chalk that one up as yet another crazy thing my mother was actually right about.
So back to my estate. Obviously if I win the Powerball I’ll have to purchase an estate. But not the kind with a McMansion. That would only mean more rooms to vacuum and I think by now I’ve made it pretty clear how I feel about vacuuming. Of course I could hire staff to clean and probably will, but even with millions to my name, I’d still opt for more land over more house.
This land would be for the dogs. I’d love for my dogs to have their own private estate to play in, complete with lots of woods to run in, trails to wander and critters to gaze upon. It would have to be fully fenced because of Brady’s propensity for lengthy walkabouts. The fencing alone will use up a good chunk of my winnings.
Maybe I’d even build an agility arena and invite friends to come play, train and compete. But it’d have to be in a corner of the estate, because some days I don’t feel like talking to anyone.
Naturally, I’ll also have to purchase a private plane. Or I guess I could just have one on call. Despite the vastness of my anticipated estate, I’d still like to go on the occasional vacation somewhere. Preferably to my vacation estates in the mountains and on the ocean. The mountain retreat would also have a large private lake. My dogs like to swim.
Oh, I guess you thought I’d say I’d take a European vacation. Not likely, unless it’s to a property I own in Scotland. But let’s face it, if I’m gonna dabble with sheep, I’d prefer New Zealand.
Hmm… that may mean a couple more dogs now that I think about it.
As you can see, I’ve put a lot of thought in this.
However, step one is, buy a lottery ticket on Wednesday.
New Year
… it has since disintegrated into pretty much boring and mundane. At least according to JaYoBaCa.
Youke earned his second championship title over the weekend. C-ATCH 2 to be precise. Yup, he’s absolutely thrilled.
Okay, well he was pretty happy when he got it. Because I was thrilled when he got it. We got to do a nice silly happy dance around some jumps ‘cuz that’s what you do in agility when something big happens. Oh, there’s cheering and clapping, and usually someone’s barking. I heard and saw none of it. I only saw the most best little spotty dog in the world that I adore so much that sometimes I think I can’t breath from the crush of the weight of my love for him.
Camm and Brady were pretty awesome too. In fact, the entire weekend was super special. I really don’t think I’ve had such a successful weekend in terms of performance and in terms of liking how I handled courses with my dogs since October 2014.
Everything was just consistently good. I have my relationship therapist to thank for much of this confidence. We worked a short and tricky sequence with Brady a couple of weeks ago that actually turned up in this past weekend’s jumpers course. I saw it, felt the confidence rise and then just killed it. And not just once, but with all three dogs.
I told her about it and thanked her for teaching me those mad skills. Mostly I think she’s just glad that all that trying to knock stuff into my head finally worked. To some extent.
But mostly the dogs thought the snow, and playing Ball between runs was super fun.
Good thing I was feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, because it was brutally cold all weekend. Cold as in my nipples got chapped kinda cold. Yes, that’s a thing and it can happen.
While the weekend was a blast, the week leading up to it was crazy insane busy and slightly stressful. I probably felt great because I essentially slept all day New Year’s Eve and much of New Year’s Day.
Youke is also a champ at napping with me. Really, there’s nothing this dog can’t do.
The two weeks that encompassed Christmas and New Year’s were full of dog walking and pet vacation visits – all good for my newly launched business, and hikes with my own dogs, including a couple of nice long ones. This time of year, especially since I’ve returned to earning money to pay my mortgage and for premium dog food and agility entry fees, the limits of daylight mean I can get the dogs out for an hour or two at the most, most of the time. Therefore it was really nice to stretch our legs and go for some nice long jaunts.
And my new crates for The Living Room on Wheels arrived. It was good they arrived on a day that wasn’t raining. It was bad for the dogs because I’d designated the day as a hiking day, but took the window of opportunity instead to put together my new crates.
Three hours later I had my new crates put together and inside the spacious confines of The Living Room on Wheels. Then it was dark. Sad day for the puppies.
So I bought the highly rated and expensive Gunner crates because they were allegedly fairly easy to construct. I deliberately chose not to purchase the Variocage kennel once I watched the video on how to put them together and saw that the average time to construct them is 45 minutes, allegedly. I know myself and my skill set and realized that was an average and someone (me) would be on the outermost point of that spectrum. After watching the video for the Gunner kennels, I figured I had a good shot.
First off, let me say that I was super impressed that I not only own several different types of screwdrivers, but apparently also an Allen wrench set. I did not know about this latter. I found it while searching for the screwdriver I needed. What a win for me!
And that was pretty much the extent of the joy of putting together those things. I spent three hours in 40-degree weather on my deck – at least it was sunny – crawling around inside large plastic boxes and continually lifting, then rolling said boxes.
At least crate number two took half the time to put together as crate number one.
The issue wasn’t the putting together part, that was really actually fairly easy. It was the properly fitting together part and lining up the holes part then inserting the various bolts and screws without losing those pieces underneath my deck part that was hard.
I think I did a fairly decent job. One has a door that rattles a tiny bit and they’re not supposed to, but they seem really solid. I’m tempted to take that one apart and do it over. Just not right away.
After all that, I then had to carry the kennels down the stairs of my deck, onto the slope of my driveway and lift, against the gravity of the driveway slope, up and into the Living Room on Wheels. They weigh close to 50 pounds apiece.
Good thing I possess superhuman strength.
Then I had to nap for nearly two days.
Despite observing a deflating tire on The LRoW New Year’s Eve, I slept. On New Year’s Day, it looked more deflated. Since nothing was open, and I was convinced I had a slow leak, I instead opted to deck out The LRoW and strap down the new crates.
The LRoW is now adorned with crates, as well as a large dog bed and blankets for the front seats for when we arrive at agility destinations. I figure that Youke and Camm will still desire to curl up in the front seats between runs and playing with Ball and Brady can stretch out on the bed, as can Jasmine when she joins us on road trips.
Since I now have a second vehicle, I’ve also realized that I had to outfit it with all the necessary equipment – leashes, balls, poop bags, reading glasses, spare towels, tug toys, etc. – so I don’t have to switch back and forth. While that was easily done due to the plethora of dog-related stuff, and extra reading glasses, that I possess, I still had to think about things that I just automatically take for granted. Plus, I had to arrange it. That’s how I spent the first day of 2016.
I thought The LRoW would be making its maiden voyage to this weekend’s trial, but I decided not to risk a possible flat. Besides, the smaller interior of the Jeep holds the heat of three dogs a lot better and I figured they’d stay warmer in the smaller vehicle.
Found out today that nothing, thankfully, is wrong with any of the tires on The LRoW, they just all had terribly low air pressure. Whew.
So now, life is back to normal. A new normal. A normal that will likely morph several times as the next 12 months unfold. I’m excited about developing my business, and a tad bit nervous. Luckily, mostly excited as so far it’s progressing faster and better than I had anticipated.
And while I deliberately decided to embark upon a path that allows me time with my dogs, I’m still gone for several hours a day. This is new for JaYoBaCa. I informed them today that it still beats being gone for 12 hours a day due to working at an office job downtown and dealing with a hellacious commute. Plus, when I do get back home I reach for a Ball or tug toy instead of an alcoholic beverage.
Dogs don’t care. They just want to have fun.
Muddy Christmas!
I took JaYoBaCa on our annual Christmas Eve hike and we found snow!
We also found a whole lot of mud, but it was close to 4 pm so the pictures didn’t come out that great. Luckily though, the snow washed away most of the mud.
Ironic that it’s colder here and we found snow within an hour of us when back east it’s practically tropical.
I suspect tonight that when my sugarplums are snug in their beds that while visions of something will fill their heads – like maybe the pork chops they had for dinner tonight, the rabbits they got to chase today or the balls they like to chase, they won’t feel like getting up too early.
Merry Christmas to me!
And Merry Christmas to you!
Living Room on Wheels
I bought my dogs a car on Monday.
It’s fancy. At least fancy for me. I’ve never owned a vehicle that told me what was playing on the radio or that had so many controls that I need to figure out. It’s like a freakin’ spaceship. Or a jetliner. Or something.
It took about 10 minutes to figure it out, but I love the seat warming feature. Especially important when sitting on leather when it’s cold outside. The seats are more comfortable than my couch. I see long road trips ahead in our future.
So spacious. This will be good in case my new pet sitting business tanks and I become homeless. Plenty of room for me and the dogs and a hot plate. I’ll just convert the ginormous middle console feature to a ‘fridge.
The third row seats come out entirely, and they will after tomorrow, probably to never be seen again. The second row folds down completely.
So, while the dogs now think it’s a playground and they can ride without touching one another after years of so much touching, I have a surprise in store for them.
Crates.
No more stressful sights of school buses, tractor trailers and white panel vans for Brady. No more yips from Camm about how someone is on her tail and she needs all of the space. No more pained looks from Youke that Camm insists a dog as small as she is should take up so much room. No more aggrieved pleadings from Jasmine as to why can’t everyone just get along. Now everyone will get their own room.
Surprisingly, they do get along very well, despite having been cramped up in a small space in the back of the Jeep. It’s always been especially sweet on long road trips or when coming back from hours in the woods that they all just curl up against each other and ride it out in the back without a peep.
But that’s a lot to expect of four medium to larger sized dogs with outsized personalities and I feel I’ve pushed it.
The plan for a Living Room on Wheels has been in effect for a number of years; even before I got Camm, although I became more serious about it when she arrived. Now, with the recent launch of my business and a specific plan to expand the offerings, I decided it was time to invest in a larger vehicle, both for the business and for personal use.
I’d had my eye on a couple of options, but was most concerned about the simple fact that I needed larger. I’d long coveted the rides of friends in the agility community, but also long ago decided a minivan was not my thing. While I like how many of the crossovers drive and handle, I dislike the slope shape of most of them and didn’t see that they’d really offer the additional room I was looking for. Now, you can laugh as the Jeep is fairly tiny and almost anything would provide more room, but I like the idea of camping out in my vehicle should an opportunity arise. I also like the idea of perhaps someday being able to tow something. That’s not in the immediate future any time soon, but I like to keep options open. Mostly, I wanted room for the dogs, dog crates and the paraphernalia that comes with attending agility trials.
I also wanted something high that I could see out of easily, that had good visibility all the way around, was comfortable for road trips, but easy to drive around everyday in and in which I felt safe.
For me, the choice became simple – an SUV. Eventually it came down to Chevy versus Ford and how big I was gonna go.
I was bored late last week and just randomly started searching for Tahoes. Surprisingly, I found several that fit my general criteria in terms of how much I wanted to spend and mileage. I made calls on two. One of them though I almost immediately dismissed after I made the call as although it had incredibly low mileage, I still thought the asking price was too high.
Obviously I know I can negotiate that, but I hate car shopping and the day spent at the dealer when I bought my Jeep several years ago only furthered my disgust. In the end, I had my sights set on the one I ended up buying.
However, I had stuff going on Friday, Saturday and Sunday and couldn’t go see it. In much the same way I handle so many other things in life, I simply decided that if it was meant to be, the vehicle would be there still when I went to see it – despite the sales guy telling me that a vehicle like that would go fast.
Yeah right, buddy.
Sure enough, it was there when I arrived Monday afternoon. I got to do a nice long test drive, unaccompanied by a dealer representative and started to fall in love a little.
At 4:30 pm, I walked back into the showroom after my test drive and told the guy I was interested. Of course, then the fun and games began.
Except they didn’t ‘cuz homey don’t play that.
They guy told me he’d worked down the numbers and showed me his new offering price. Only I couldn’t see it because I’d left my reading glasses in my Jeep. I told him I’d be back.
I returned, saw the price and told him no. He then countered. I saw where this was going and told him I wanted it for my price and that I wasn’t going to budge because “although I liked it, I don’t like it that much.”
Clearly he thought it was game on. Except I then stood up, told him I was going to use the bathroom and that he could think about it while I was gone.
I think that maybe he was a little stunned.
I had a little chuckle in the bathroom, but also vowed not to compromise. My price was fair and I knew he’d still make something off it. In fact, I’d decided on the price when I looked at the vehicle on the dealer’s web site days earlier. And I wasn’t moving.
I came back out, walked over to the sales guy, silently communicating I was not going to play games, and he stood up, shook my hand and said we had a deal.
Of course, now I wished I’d been more of a hard ass and gone lower.
Whatever. I’m now the proud owner of a 10-year-old Chevy Tahoe with less miles on it than my 2009 Jeep.
It was dark by the time I got home Tuesday after running errands, thus I have no video of the dogs seeing their Christmas/Birthday/Best Dogs Ever present. Really, it should’ve been on video, because it was FREAKIN’ HILARIOUS. So much jumping up and down. So many smiles and doggie laughter. So much checking out of the spacious roominess. So much jockeying for the best spots. Jasmine was so excited she jumped in and out three times, despite it being parked on the steep incline of my driveway.
And they haven’t even gone for a ride yet.
Over the next week or so I’ll remove the seats, play some Tetris with crate spacing and sizes and get a barrier so Youke will not feel compelled to utilize the heated leather seat on the passenger side. I know that dog, and he will totally think that’s a special feature just for him.
I’ll also be spending the next week trying to figure out all the bells and whistles and poring over the owner’s manual. This thing is tricked out. Fittingly, the manual is about the thickness of a dictionary.
Responsibility
There’s nothing like a loud crashing thunderstorm and my dogs trembling beside me in bed to remind me that I’m utterly responsible for their welfare.
After a day-long deluge of steady pounding rain and gradually stronger winds, in the wee hours of the morning some of us calling the upper left-hand corner of the U.S. home were treated to a sudden winter thunderstorm.
In the dim recesses of my mind I fathomed that something was approaching. I think it was the sudden quickening of the wind. I’m a light sleeper anyway, but the wind was roaring. You know that saying about sounding like a freight train? Well, it actually did sound like that.
The noise was made worse by the rain that changed from a steady patter to tiny meteorites flinging themselves against my bedroom window. I didn’t realize it until it was light outside and I got up to let the dogs out, but the sound was caused by the rain changing to hail.
I’ll confess that windstorms here make me very uncomfortable. I’ve never been a fan of high winds, but at least growing up we didn’t have a lot of trees around the house and the only things that ended up being blown about was the shit us kids had left outside or stuff we forgot to batten down, like barbecue grills or ladders. Usually we didn’t even notice something was missing because it was promptly covered up in snow. We’d wonderingly re-discover the missing item months later after the snow melted off.
The main reason why I hated the wind growing up was something called windchill. The windchill factor is a fun little phenomenon whereby a balmy winter day in the 20s (Fahrenheit because I’m an American dammit) would actual feel like it was below zero. I learned as a kid to pay far more attention to the windchill temperature than to the real air temperature, because that was what YOU ACTUALLY FELT. Not just cold, but mind-numbingly “why the hell do I live in this state” freezing your ass off cold. And while I do not actually know anyone whose ass has literally frozen off, I can tell you from personal experience that one’s ass can become mind-numbingly cold to the point where you don’t even know you have one anymore and it take hours, yes hours, to feel it again.
This is one of the reasons why I love the Pacific Northwest. The weather forecasters here do not devote nine out of the 10 allotted minutes for the weather forecast discussing the windchill factor. In fact, it doesn’t even seem they use 10 minutes to discuss the weather forecast. Puzzling as actually the weather here is more interesting and querulous as it comes directly off the ocean and often gets stuck between two mountain ranges. Mostly they just talk about what it’s going to be like in Seattle and allude to a mysterious thing called The Convergent Zone. But since no one actually knows what’s going on or what will happen in The Convergent Zone, they just flap their hands about, shrug and state that something different will happen in this Convergent Zone. They just aren’t sure of what.
Fun factoid. I actually dated a man who lived smack dab in the center of The Convergent Zone. All I can tell you is that I always dressed warmly while visiting and didn’t stay too long because it was depressingly dark and rainy.
I digress. Back to this morning’s storm.
My nervousness about the wind, as always, translated down to the dogs. Because three of them sleep with me, I could feel their growing restlessness. Youke, who sleeps to the side of me, huddled in closer.
Then there was a sudden and very loud BOOM! Now I had four dogs on the bed with me.
Brady is fairly well terrified of thunderstorms. Thankfully, we don’t get an awful lot here, but I spend the duration of each and everyone with Brady in my arms. And in recent years, Youke has grown more sound-sensitive.
Sound-sensitivity is a very common trait among a lot of dogs, but is especially prevalent among Border Collies. While I think Brady’s sensitivity has contributed to Youke’s decision that some loud noises are very scary, it’s also fairly common for the phobia to develop later in life for dogs. Sylvie didn’t fear thunderstorms until she was around five years of age. Unfortunately, that coincided with my move to South Florida (or maybe it contributed to it). Not real fun having a thunder-phobic dog in a place where there are thunderstorms nearly every afternoon for eight months of the year. We were both very glad when we moved to the Pacific Northwest.
Youke was shaking with fear beside me and trying to burrow his way closer into my body. Jasmine and Camm, while neither is thunder-phobic (crossing my fingers on Camm, but resigned to possible fate), where nervous, mostly because I was already apprehensive about the wind and because Youke and Brady were so scared.
However, it became impossible to offer comfort to them because Brady chose to lay on my head.
To be fair, there really wasn’t a lot of room on the bed and because I had been trying to offer comfort to Youke, I hadn’t left open the usual safe spot on the other side of my body for Brady.
In most cases, Brady jumps onto the bed and settles himself against my chest, allowing me to wrap my arms tightly around him. Thus, in full spoon position we ride out a storm with me holding him and caressing his fur while whispering into his ears.
And yes, I’ll confess that I take full advantage of these scary moments for him and run my hands up and down his lovely muscular body and feel the silkiness of his flowing fur. It’s sort of like a Harlequin romance-Fabio-meets-Disney movie moment.
But this morning, due to the lack of availability of his usual spot, Brady chose to plop himself on my head and to press his cheek tightly against my own. I think he may have been laying on top of Youke too. At least Youke’s trembling stopped, so there was that.
So although I wasn’t able to offer Brady the usual comfort, that close contact was apparently very reassuring. He laid like that through the duration of the storm.
With my head smothered and basically unable to move due to the bodies surrounding me, I thought about how touching – sweet, yet sad – it was that these critters view me as their safe place, their literal harbor from the storm.
I also thought about how humbling it is to be trusted with such a responsibility.
Youke enjoying a bed at a hotel during a non-scary time.
A Ball for the Win
While out for a walk with the dogs today, a truck suddenly appeared from around a bend and headed our way. This is the hazard of often using service roads and Department of Natural Resource land. It doesn’t happen very often, but I’ve learned to be prepared.
All four dogs were up ahead of me and on various sides of the road exploring. As soon as I saw the truck, I yelled out “Come Dogs, Come.”
There wasn’t the slightest hesitation among the foursome. I got four whiplash turns, although Brady did quickly whip his head back to see what I was calling him from. Yup, there’s always one in the crowd.
Instantly I had four dogs at my feet and all at a sit. I reached for collars on the squirmy ones – Youke, Camm and Brady, while Jasmine held a lovely “sit, stay.” No time really to latch the leashes on and I’m an expert now at holding more than two at a time, despite only possessing two hands. Yup, I’ve got mad skillz.
The truck rolled on by. I would’ve waved back at the driver, but my hands were full.
Once the truck was at a bit of a distance I released all four dogs. But then I had a light bulb moment. I realized how incredibly awesome it was that ALL FOUR instantly came back to me like that with barely any question.
So I rewarded them with a game of Ball right there on the road.
As awesome as that moment was, it’s far from the first time it’s ever happened and that’s because I’ve trained it.
Initially I train recalls with food and at easy places, such as at home. I try very hard not to compete with something else in the environment at the beginning and reward with food 100% each time. In other words, I make sure I don’t work in an environment that is too distracting at first and reward heavily for the right outcome. It’s basic Dog Training 101. But because I have three dogs that actually place a very high, if not higher, value on toys as rewards, I quickly incorporated the use of balls or tug toys as rewards for coming when called too. In fact, I make the whole experience very much a game.
As time goes on and my recalls get 100%, I move to more difficult areas and reward, reward, reward. Over time, I phase out the frequency of the reward, but it never goes away altogether. I’m lucky enough to have a longstanding and solid relationship with dogs that also seem to place some value on being right and liking when their human notices and confirms their rightness. That’s called praise. However, praise is valuable because it’s been linked over time with a reward of some nature.
Because I hike a fair amount, often in areas where there are bears about and other critters. I just don’t carry food on me for a causal outing. Call me crazy, but bringing a baggie full of hot dogs to reward coming when called when out in the woods seems unwise.
Therefore, I carry a Ball.
Ball is useful in many, many ways, most especially to play fun games like “find it” where I throw it into the underbrush and the dogs see who can uncover and bring it back to me the fastest. Of course, that game sometimes has drawbacks, such as when the human has to step in and help to “find it.”
The cool thing I’ve found about carrying a ball around is that I pretty much have an instant high value reward at all times without fear that a bear might also find it fascinating.
Which is why sometimes I just randomly call the dogs to me to play a game of Ball.
So in those few seconds after I had released them and after they all came back so quickly, I chose to reward with a game of Ball.
One can argue that they might not have made the connection between the desired behavior of coming when called and the reward due to the many seconds in between being held and then being released, but I’d argue otherwise. First of all, the game’s been played many times before, and secondly, I have brilliant dogs.
Youke and Brady are just blurs in this picture because 1) they are running fast, and 2) I don’t have a stop motion feature on my cheap little camera.
* This picture is also not from today as clearly a truck could not drive down this trail and I did not have my cheap, but beloved little camera on me.
** It is also my experience that issuing a recall command in a somewhat shrill, but not yet panicky voice works most effectively, but should only be used in the face of a fast oncoming vehicle, a deer racing across a road, a skunk in the yard, a not-so-friendly kitty of the feral kind, a raccoon cleaning its dinner creekside, a trail runner or when another dog who seems intriguing really is not.
This is Your Captain Speaking
Nothing like a little rum and eggnog to take the edge off the holiday stress. Okay, make that a lot of rum and a little eggnog.
True confessions. I hardly ever drink, and when I do I’m a social drinker. Basically that means I really only drink when in the company of others. Don’t get me wrong. I enjoy the occasional libation and pretty much every single inhibition I have falls away under the influence of alcohol. Which explains so very many questionable decisions of the past. Plus, I’m hysterically funny and my sense of humour is even drier in the presence of alcohol, but I guess every drunk pretty much thinks that.
I found The Captain staring at me from a store shelf today. I think there’s still a bit of some old Captain in my pantry. (Yup, there is, I checked). But this Captain is special. Reserved and private and all. As in exclusive. Very appealing to my inner snob.
Also very appealing to my pissed off self. I was feeling pretty pissy due to the very poor driving continually exhibited here in Washington State.
I find it quite ironic how Washingtonians get all pissed off about California drivers and continually badmouth them. Oh, is that because they’re better drivers?!! Seriously, sometimes I think the worse drivers in the country reside here. I don’t know how most of these people get their driving licenses. Hardly a day goes by when I don’t see some idiot making a left hand turn, from the far right lane and crossing at least one lane of traffic to do so. Or the ever present slow driver who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to drive 50 mph in the fast lane on a three- or four-lane major interstate. I always want to slow down and yell out the window asking if they think they bought that real estate.
But lately my pet peeve is merging behavior. I swear no one here understands how to properly merge into traffic.
And it was such an incident that set me off today. Some stupid woman driving 35 mph on I-90 trying to maneuver into the exit lane onto an interstate road. And I happened to be stuck behind her.
She had plenty of opportunities to merge into the lane for the exit, but apparently, for the sake of being that many more cars ahead, she opted to continually move ahead, at a whopping 35 mph, to try to get a better position ahead. Meanwhile, I could not move out from behind her as the other cars of on the highway were doing the legal 70 mph.
So that pretty much set the tone for my trip to the grocery store to pick up some last minute ingredients.
I wrote on Facebook early this week that the best time to go to the grocery store on Thanksgiving week was 9 pm. And it was. The store was practically empty. Silly me though for not making an actual list as I found myself needing to go back. I’m here to tell you that 3 pm on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is not a good time to grocery shop.
Especially amusing to me, snarky, sly bitch that I am, was the trip down the baking ingredients aisle. I love this time of year, watching those who clearly have absolutely no knowledge about baking and cooking perusing the shelves and maneuvering their way through. I think this may have been the first year ever in which someone didn’t stop me and ask a question about something. Perhaps my lingering road rage face warned them off?
Anyway, I had a very specific list that I did not intend to deviate from. But then I saw The Special Reserve Captain and right next to him was eggnog.
Once I made it through the checkout lane and then drove the agonizing half-mile back to my house, the first thing I did – after of course unloading the dogs from the jeep and bringing in grocery bags, was to uncork The Captain and pour his velvety smoothness into a glass.
I admit it. I drank pretty much a shot straight from the glass. Fuck the eggnog part. Perhaps it’s because I hadn’t eaten anything but a cup of yogurt in the morning or because my blood pressure was up, but The Captain slunk down into my throat like liquid gold and burned into the the pit of my stomach. It took about 3.2 seconds to feel the glow that is the magic of The Captain.
Instantly I forgot about that stupid woman in I-90, forgot about dissing all those faux bakers at the grocery store and even forgot the dude staring at me and the four dogs on our romp-about earlier.
Most conveniently, The Captain has helped to inform me that while I should be prepping cranberry sauce and baking a couple of pies, despite the impending darkness, I really have all evening to accomplish those things and should instead be thinking creatively, and looking at cute dog pictures.
Like this:
JaYoBaCa wishes everyone a Happy Thanksgiving!
November
November. The month when it feels like it’s 4:30 pm all the time.
For example. I was sitting in front of my computer at 10:30 am this morning drinking coffee and I glanced outside and thought to myself, it looks like it’s 4:30 already. Then later today, I had just finished vacuuming the house, glanced at the clock thinking that surely it must by 4:30, and it was 2 pm.
This is what it looked like at 4 pm today. It looked like this at 9:30 am too. Wet. And very damp.
When I was a kid I used to bemoan the fact that I was born in November. What a dreary month, no matter where you live. Except for South Florida. That’s pretty much the nicest month in South Florida. I used to wish I was a June baby or more exciting, July or August. But then I got a bit older and had friends born in those months. Not really all that great either. Kids born in those months either end up going to school really young or a year later than everyone else. Also, everyone misses their birthdays and not that many, at least in my circle, opted for cool pool/birthday parties. I did go to one once. Wasn’t really all that fun. No one else I knew had pools. The fact that it was Northern New England probably played a factor in that.
While today I’m opting for staying in and hibernating of sorts, yesterday I braved the rain and the blustery winds and took the dogs out.
We returned looking like drowned rats. 
This was even after the dogs had shaken a considerable amount of water out of their coats. I know it’s bad, even for the dogs, when after a couple of hours of splashing in puddles and running through streams with grandiose plans to become rivers, they look up at me blinking the steadily growing rain from their eyes and eagerly gather at the car, vying to become the first to jump in.
Still, once I’m actually out in it, I’m fine. I have rain gear and once you’re wet, it’s not like you can really get any wetter. Plus, it’s only in November here in the Pacific Northwest that we really see anything resembling actual rain. Most of the time it’s just a soaking mist or steady drizzle in the winter months. I also like to bear in mind that it could be snow.
November is also the time of year when all my fun agility travels end.
Now our weekends look like this:
A lot of naps. A lot of sleep and late mornings.
I’ve told myself I’m not doing any real agility in November and December. I am signing up to do a couple of fun runs and I did enter a UKI trial in late December, but all are purely for the purpose of training. I figure I’ll use the hyped up atmosphere to work with Brady and Camm on stuff. Mainly contact zone criteria. I’ll let Youke continue to nap.
I usually enter a trial over Thanksgiving weekend and this will be the first year since 2008 that I haven’t entered it. All bets are off as to whether I break down and do some day-of runs, but since I launched my new business and hope for some holiday bookings, and the fact that I’ve not been gainfully employed since May, my less-instant gratification self has taken over.
So, when me and the dogs aren’t napping, we’re out exploring. Got Youke and Camm out on an excellent adventure earlier in the week.
Went up one of my favorite trails and coincidentally, the first trail Youke ever hiked. Youke is my best hiking partner. He is steady, well-tempered in that he’s friendly, but not too friendly, doesn’t get too far ahead, isn’t really interested in chasing critters and he listens well. Camm would be a really good hiking partner if 1) she wasn’t so freaked out about fast-moving people (i.e. trail runners), 2) appreciated strangers who are dying to pet her because she’s cute, and 3) she liked kids. For those reasons, Camm is watched very closely. I’ve also discovered that simply handing her A Ball to carry around works well. It sort of like the device that the fictional Hannibal Lecter had stuffed into his face, only her ball is voluntary and is not strapped on. Like Hannibal Lecter’s safety device, A Ball prevents unwarranted nipping activity.
Camm would prefer to be the only one with A Ball.
For a few days, the Chariot to Adventure was out of commission and unable to whisk JaYoBaCa off to their preferred fun in the woods and on trails.
It was bound to happen eventually and I consider myself quite fortunate that it took this long to happen. I came back from a short romp where I took the dogs to go field mice hunting to find the passenger side window of my jeep smashed. Several creative swear words later, I discovered that I had a lot to be grateful for. Despite some obvious rummaging, my wallet was not taken.
I’m really not stupid enough to leave my wallet in my car, especially unlocked, but on this occasion it was. Usually I just carry what I need in my cargo pants. Hence the reason I usually wear cargo pants.
But on Sunday I brought my wallet because I was going someplace afterward and stuffed it in the center console of my vehicle and promptly forgot to lock it. I think the only reason it wasn’t taken is that either the dickwad was discouraged by all the dog paraphernalia in my jeep or, and far more likely, he spotted the dogs and we unknowingly interrupted him. Also, I’m guessing that despite what Youke may think, used orange Chuck-it balls don’t fetch a premium on the black market.
A day and half of driving around without a window though made the inside of the jeep smell fresher.
Speaking of fresh, I purchased a new vacuum. My metamorphosis into my mother is now nearly complete.
For a more defined understanding of this, please know that at my mother’s funeral service my siblings and I brought her favorite Miele vacuum and posed it alongside her urn. The vacuum, along with the wreaths of flowers, made a lovely focal point.
I too own a Miele, but 17 years of trying to pull dog and cat hair from wall-to-wall carpeting at two different houses in two different states with their own special brands of dirt and fauna has taken its toll. The Miele is dying a loud, croaking, sputtering death.
The good news is that my new Shark vacuum is a freaking bad-ass beast.
I assembled it today, carefully matching the alphabet diagrams with the numbered diagrams and utilizing a little good old-fashioned puzzle-solving intuition when the diagrams started jumbling together in my brain. One would think that reading agility course maps would prepare you for this, but really, not so much.
Unbeknownst to me, besides the four dogs and one cat that I live with, I was apparently also living with another critter. This critter was large and hairy and able to flatten itself to all the walking surfaces of my residence. It was also really scary.
Because really scared was how I felt when I dumped it into the trash can. Also, really awed. Poor ailing Miele hadn’t been able to contend with this furry thing for some time from the size of it.
I’d show you a picture, but then I’d have to censor it. It’s best that I leave it up to your imagination.
However, I am showing you this.
I recently did some purging and found these dainty, and matching, things. Instead of tossing them into bags for Goodwill, I looked them over and decided to keep them. Perhaps for a special occasion.
A special occasion has not recently returned my call, so since I decided earlier today I was not venturing any further than up and down my stairs, I thought it’d be nice to wear a matching and pretty bra and panty set. Sometimes, I just feel it’d be nice to not wear a sports bra and throw on cargo pants and a hoody. Plus, it’s dreary and depressing today and I thought wearing these would make me feel special.
They did not. What they did do was make me feel slightly itchy – all that lace, and very unsupported. I also didn’t really feel like me. Apparently me is not delicate underthings any longer, and is more like architectural and functional.
I realized that’s just fine with me. It’s good to know oneself and to like that person. Just as I eventually became okay with being born in the dreariest month of the year, I am also good with being a person who doesn’t really like lacy undergarments, is both fascinated and satisfied with a powerful vacuum cleaner and doesn’t mind getting wet as long as pups frolicking in puddles is involved.
Not So Crazy, Marker Dogs and Other Deep Thoughts
I really need to enter more ASCA (Australian Shepherd Cub of America) agility trials. They make me realize my dogs are really not as crazy as I often think they are.
Prior to this weekend, I’d attended a CPE trial and a NADAC trial. There were definitely moments of craziness with one or the other of my dogs at each trial. The picture above is from the CPE trial. My apparently poorly executed cross resulted in sending Camm to the dog walk instead of to the much closer jump. She realized the mistake and chose to quickly negate the error by jumping off the dog walk and getting back to the proper spot.
The photographer at the trial shot the entire episode. I purchased it. It’s actually pretty amazing to watch and to see how much Camm used her plume-like appendage, also known as a tail, to balance herself throughout to leap and to stick her landing. It was actually very cat-like and super athletic. Not recommended though. Not matter how light and supremely athletic the dog is. Ahem, Camm!
At the NADAC trial in Canada, Brady refused to stick contacts and engaged in numerous arguments with me about it. Even taking the eliminations and working with him to encourage a proper “two-on, two-off” landing did not sway his point of view, which was that leaping the contacts was faster (it is) and far more fun than my dumb-ass way (I’m not sure I can argue that).
It seems as if one of my dogs, usually Brady or Camm, pulls some crazy, memorable move at every trial. Therefore, I’ve really started to think of my dogs as being fruitcakes. At least sometimes.
After this weekend, my point of view has shifted. Nothing like being a Border Collie in a sea of Australian Shepherds to gather perspective. Also nothing like seeing an 18-month old border collie run to make one appreciate her more seasoned dogs, even the one that’s only been trialing for a year and jumps off dog walks.
There’s an interesting preference among some humans. It seems that some humans have a very strong preference for Australian Shepherds and would rather slit their throats rather than to have a Border Collie, while the opposite is true of those that prefer Border Collies. I’m among those people, but the opinions have always amused me given that the general public pretty much sees the two breed types as the same or at least very similar.
The most common thing I hear from Australian Shepherd people is that they love the sense of humour from their Aussies and that Border Collies are “too intense.” Being a human that would be rich if she’d received a nickel for every time she was told she was “too intense,” I guess I appreciate the way of the Border Collie.
As border collies are tremendously popular in the sport of dog agility, it was a little odd to have my dogs considered as the “marker dogs” for the Aussies running. In other words, Brady and Camm were among a literal handful of border collies at this past weekend’s trial. I also have a renewed appreciation for when people tell me they can’t tell all those border collies apart because they all look the same. Hmmm, all those Aussies look the same to me.
I’ve written many times about Brady’s predisposition to raging at me when running agility. Contacts are actually the least of our arguments. He barks, and sometimes screams, at me if my handling is not perfect.
A friend this weekend mentioned that she’s advised her own dogs to “just get over it,” meaning the imperfect handling. While I’ve suggested this to Brady, he’s not having it. That attitude has made him an excellent, if not Nazi-like, coach and has literally forced me to become a better handler. Not a perfect handler, much to his disappointment, but somewhat better anyway.
Nonetheless, our arguments on course, some of which have become legendary in my memory, fall short of some of what I saw with the Aussie crowd.
And it’s not like this is new information for me. There are also a lot of Australian Shepherds that compete in agility and I see many over any weekend and have numerous friends that run Aussies. I’ve also entered ASCA trials before, although it’d been probably 18 months or more since my last one.
But there’s nothing like being in an ocean of Aussies to drive home an appreciation and fondness for one’s Border Collies. Even ones that think they’re Superman. Ahem, Brady!
- Photo credits to Nina Sage
YoBaCaRy 