Need to Believe - Christmas 2014

Need to Believe

Christmas, 2014

We need to believe in a better world, where people cherish family, love and raise their own small passel of children, where everyone can be educated who wishes it, where major illnesses are cared for without financially destroying people, where men and women, children and animals, are supported in their right to live freely, breathe pure air, drink clean and plentiful water, and be free of oppression and suffering perpetrated on them by mankind itself.

Somehow we have been sold the idea that peace is wimpy and violence is not only the essence of manhood, but fun - entertainment. Yet it is peace, love and healing which lie at the core of all joy, wisdom and prosperity - the soul in civilization itself. Only in peace can the human mind be deeply creative; only in peace can we raise children who will be kind, responsible, humane and hopeful; only in peace can we do lasting good in the world. Only with love can we see beauty, experience it in our souls, cherish it and make it grow. Only by healing, ourselves and our planet, can we even hope to survive.

So say a prayer, whisper a good word, think a good thought, touch someone you love, look into the eyes of your friends, hold a child's hand, embrace your lover, pat your dog. Write a letter. Sign a petition. Save the planet. Pay it forward, and love back.

A Day in the Life: Yanqui's sire

Soft sunshine today, after days and days of rain, overcast and drizzle. However, the moisture has been more than welcome. At last, our Labradoodle, Yanqui, can get a bike run. He has been trying so hard to hold himself in and not be Crazy Boy. He's fine until I try to play with him, then he gets so excited he stomps on my feet and keeps bumping me with his nose, so he really needs this run. When my sisters visited over Thanksgiving, the weather was fine and we biked most days and also walked. Since Thanksgiving it's been rain, rain rain. 

Last night, we got out under the stars. Poppi was snoozing, but the dogs and I walked beneath a blue moon. There was a bit of mud, but - according to the dogs - everything smelled delightful. The frogs are back, singing in the vineyard ponds. Tonight is the Christmas Parade and I am hoping we can make it into town to see it. The parade is a very "small town" event, with some floats but mostly regular cars, lit with strands of bulbs and carrying hometown revelers. There are always families with dogs in the parade: dogs in antlers; dogs in Santa hats.

We met Yanqui's Sir-to-be at the first Christmas Parade we attended here. It was so cold, and, after introductions, I "asked" the Standard Poodle next to me to keep me warm. During most of the Parade, he either leaned on me or sat on my feet, despite having a loving owner on the other end of the leash. He was also a very well set-up dog with excellent bone and a nice solid head. So I asked his owner about him and she said he was going to be at stud, but not for Standards. She was going to raise Doodles. Mikey, having had a long term love affair with Labradoodles wherever we met them, got her name and number. Two years later, Yanqui was born. I had just had surgery and didn't feel I was yet ready for a pup, having only the use of one arm at the time. But we went to see the last pup left from the litter, also the biggest, and I took him for a walk. At 14 weeks, and with little previous experience, he responded perfectly to leash pressure, and had a very nice, easygoing yet friendly and chummy way about him. Mike was sold when he went back to the car to get something and the pup ran after him, as if to say, "Aren't you taking me home, Mister?" 

We had to leave Yanqui (then "Samwise") with the breeder that afternoon, but were back the very next morning to pick him up. On the first day in his new home, Yanqui donned his "Raksha collar" (made from her fur). We hoped that his being a pup, plus smelling like her, might encourage or fool her into accepting him as one of her own. With a slow, 2-day introduction, they met and were comfortable together from the beginning. He wanted to play, but she wanted him to be a good boy, and stand back a bit - puhleeze! Now they are a team - a weird team, admittedly, but a team nonetheless. If he hears her bark, he runs to back her up (while staying out of her way - very diplomatically!) If she notices that he hears something she can't hear, or sees something she hasn't seen, she responds to his cue. Yanqui is the only creature, besides myself and Poppi, who is allowed in Rocky's sacred Laundry Room space (which contains the food bins and a well-used and well-loved orthopedic dog bed). Rocky won't even allow our cats in there. Due to her advanced age, we permit her this small grudge. 

Below is the Dynamic Duo. Who says opposites can't attract?

KAZBEK and the ATM

KAZBEK STOPS A ROBBERY

Kazbek and I loved to wander at night. We would hop in the van around 8:00 p.m., take off to the burger stand (I admit to a one-time addiction to the Inn-n-Out Double-Double burger). After a feast, we would head off to a park, or to the wilderness of Vasquez Rocks, a desert recreation area which was a vast and magical terrain under the full blue moon.

One evening, around 11 p.m., I realized my purse was empty and decided to stop by the sidewalk ATM outside the bank. This particular machine was next to a large grocery that stayed open until midnight. When we drew up to the well-lit parking lot, I noticed a decent number of shoppers were still out and about - a comforting sight.

Like so many women, I cannot just park and get out of the car. I have to rummage in my purse first, maybe put on some lipstick, check to see if I have my keys, and so forth. Kazbek, a very relaxed and pleasant passenger in the car, laid low in the back seat while I was doing all this.

While fumbling through the before-I-exit routine, I saw some young people horsing around. The "game" didn't seem to make much sense but I couldn't help notice it. It went like this: an older teenage girl stood next to her car with her cell phone, making a call. Down another part of the parking lot, away from the grocery and not well lit because the surrounding stores were closed, stood a young man - also on a cell. In the meantime, a teenage boy on a banana bike rode up and down in the same general area. Gestures and eye contact made it apparent that the girl on the phone and the guy in the shadows were talking to each other. Why the kid was bicycling at 11:00 p.m., I did not know. None of it made much sense to me. "Kids!" I thought.

I got out the bank card and started to exit but hesitated; on a whim, I decided to walk Kazbek over to the ATM with me. He walked wonderfully on a leash and you would never believe such a huge animal could be like a feather on leather! I loved going places with him and seldom thought of his built-in utility factor.

We were about 10 car lengths and a driveway distant from the ATM, so it took a minute to get there. The card buzzed in its slot while I waited for the cash.  Just as I took the money out, bicycle boy came riding fast, straight at us. Kazbek immediately charged the boy on the bike - a full frontal assault. The youth hit the brakes hard, skidded and fell sideways but didn't crash. I took my time putting the cash in my wallet, allowing Kazbek to posture and growl while I continued to look into the boy's eyes, letting him see that I understood what he was about and had no fear of him.

As I returned to the car with Kazbek, the youth followed at a distance. He asked me if I could "spare some change" and I said, No. He asked me if the dog would bite him, and I said, Yes. He then asked if he could "borrow" some money!

I told him to ask the dog.

Of course, after the event I could see the whole ploy: the innocent looking girl in the visible area of the parking lot uses her cell to tell the guy in the shadows she has spotted a likely target. That man then alerts the boy on the bicycle; they watch for the right time, give a signal and the boy rides in to grab the purse, or the cash, or whatever, from the intended victim.

Victim profile: woman - with wallet - alone in the  night. But not so alone as they thought.

Dogs of My Life - Wolfgang (Covy Tucker Hill's Wolfgang)

Wolfgang

I purchased Wolfgang, a handsome six month old German Shepherd, from a famous show kennel. I had done my homework - or thought I had - but did not realize that there might be a difference between a "reputable kennel" and a kennel "with a big reputation."

Wolfgang was beautiful, brilliant, devoted, kind, and an excellent watchdog. He seemed generally healthy until he was almost two, when he began to develop seizures. These seizures were controllable, with medication, for about a year and a half. Then even with medication, the seizures became uncontrollable and Wolfgang lost his fight for survival before he was six years old.

At one time, I thought that his seizures were related to his breeding, and while they may have been (the breeders became incommunicado even before I had the opportunity to ask questions as to what was happening), I now believe that his epilepsy resulted when my vet started him on the first oral medication for flea control. The medication was withdrawn from the market within a short time, but this was before the Internet and easy access to information about dangerous drugs. Even today, the oral anti-flea medications on the market are still causing epilepsy in some dogs, as well as other dangerous side effects, up to and including death.

However, from his first months with me and until he was well into his fourth year, Wolf was the most brilliant dog! He learned so many words - some via training, others from the natural conditioning of repeated speech. Sometimes I would sit in a chair and tell him "dog" stories. They went something like this: "Cookie, Wolfy? Ball? Go for a walk? Let's eat. Where's the car?" and so on. He would look into my eyes. then cock his head, first to the right, then to the left, his ears erect, trying to figure out what the story of words might mean in his world. 

Wolfgang, Wolfgang, you were a joy to me. 

Wolf was my first school-trained dog. We attended many formal classes and spent a lot of time on the homework. A typical GSD, Wolfy ate that obedience stuff up, and he was a very mannerly guy. I could take him anywhere; he was always the gentleman.

Until the day, setting up for an event, I was in a public building with Wolfgang at my side, off-leash: a kind, naturally calm and attentive German Shepherd just hanging out with his gal. Involved in and distracted by my tasks, I suddenly realized Wolf had left my side, growling under his breath. I turned to look and saw two young men I'd never seen before, standing in the doorway. One sported an arm sling and seemed to be mumbling; the other was staring at me intently, but changed to a fake smile and asked if he might have some coffee. Now my dog was circling the room, herding them away from me.

I don't remember what my response to the request for coffee was, but the two guys began to come in closer, the man with the simper maneuvering position while the other guy continued to avoid eye contact and mumble. I should say, they "tried" to come into the room because now Wolfgang, a good 100-pound animal, began to bark loudly, pacing in front of them, back and forth, making that eye contact. The mutterer finally looked up, stared straight at me and made some creepy, carnal remarks - I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was unprintable and included sex and knives. I froze for a moment, relying on Wolfgang to keep the peace while I plotted an exit. Just as the tension built to the point where either the dog was going to do something or the weird guys were, several invitees showed up, most of them men. The mumbler turned on the new guys and began to threaten them. The normals immediately perceived that the other two were very strange, but tried at first to be nice about it, telling the odd fellows the event was private and they had to go. From this point, the situation deteriorated completely and a wrestling match ensued. Gents won hands down, and the two weirdos were forced to leave and firmly advised not to return. I later heard that those peculiar boys had both been released that very day from a nearby mental facility! So Wolfgang was right on, and acted appropriately on his instincts. 

Wolf was also my first trial dog. Thus far, I had only managed to mangle training on the bull terrier years earlier. I wanted to be a great dog handler but had NO IDEA what I was doing. There are many things one learns if one wishes to achieve those AKC obedience certificates, but, as is typical in the dog training world, while the realities of what the dog is expected to do are clearly laid out by your instructors (he will heel on lead, sit, down, sit-stay, down-stay, recall, and then you will leave), the human side of handling is largely ignored. There are many books written on the subject of how to train a dog for obedience trials, but the fact that you, especially if you are a newbie, are going to probably be out of your mind with stage fright before you begin your first trial is seldom addressed. To be honest, other than what I just said there, I never read a thing about it! Human stage fright is, in my opinion, the number one reason why, when it comes time for the ring, the dog that performed well in class or at home turns into "the thing that cannot be controlled." 

Fortunately, Wolfgang was totally bonded to me - more than I deserved, I assure you. Although as far as lifestyle went, I was an outdoor girl, and with good vet care, good food, training classes that he loved, and lots of hiking, I think Wolf had a pretty good life and was fulfilled in his basic needs. Be that as it may, he was wonderful in trials. His lowest score was a 195 and the only reason he was in the ring that day was because I didn't want to lose the entry fee and the event was very close by.

As I said, Wolfgang had all the diseases of the German Shepherd breed, except those that exhibit late in life because he didn't have a long life. One of his problems was panosteitis, which plagued his youth for about a year. So, even though I had entered him in a trial, he was a bit feverish and lame for about a month before the trial, and we did not have an opportunity to practice. However, the day of the event, Wolf suddenly recovered completely, so we jumped in the car at the last minute and went. We actually missed our call-up but they let us in as the last to compete, and we drew a 195 and 3rd highest in trial that day. Wolf's other scores on other days (there were no 4-show weekends back then) were a 196 and a 197. As a result, we were invited to the Gaines Regional Obedience Trial in Oregon. I don't believe that event exists anymore but it was a thrill to be invited and it was all due to Wolfgang because, frankly, I barely knew what I was doing much of the time. 

However, as noted, Wolfgang was not a healthy animal. And I was a poor young secretary living on my own, spending hundreds of dollars, almost monthly, from the time he was barely two years old until he was six years old, trying to cure him. In particular, I wanted to cure or control his epilepsy, but within a few years, no drug or combination of drugs available could assuage his condition. By the time he was six, the pills had left him in a kind of eternal stupor, with skin sores and weakness, condemned to a half-life of anxiety and medication as his daily portion. 

It broke my heart to let him go. Our own vet, having worked with us for years trying to save the dog, told me it would be more than his professional reserve could support for him to come put the dog down so I called around for a vet who would come out to the house. This kind gentleman gave Wolfy a tranquilizer first, then gave us our moments to say goodbye. Somehow the tranquilizer seemed to relieve the dog's mind and body and for the first time in years, Wolfgang and I looked into each other's eyes with complete recognition. There was his intelligence; there was his heart. He was quiet for the final injection, no struggle. And then he was gone. 

If you lose your mother, your brother, your spouse, your best friend, the world sympathizes with you. People bring cake. Speeches are made. Flowers are sent. But when you lose your best friend, and it's a dog, few people are truly sympathetic. "Get another dog," they say, "that will cheer you up." Some folks look at you - your sadness, your tears - as if you are soft in the head. Even dog lovers sometimes avoid the friend who's lost their dog because they haven't the strength to share the pain, having been through it themselves. You are lonely because the one who shared every day with you, and added fun, safety, exercise and activity - the special one, the beautiful one - is gone. And you are made lonelier by the fact that there is nowhere to go with your pain - a sadness that disturbs you and separates you from others. 

Several months after Wolfgang's passing, I mentioned to a friend how badly I felt about letting him go. His body could have kept moving for a few more weeks or months, although his mind was not really there. Should I have stayed my hand and kept him longer? Did I do the right things by him, or was I all wrong in everything? My friend told me to try this: Go somewhere quiet and call up memories of my Wolfgang. See him sitting beside me and look into his eyes, look deeply - what do you see? She said that if I did this it would relieve me. 

One evening, alone in my little house, I did as my friend suggested.  Taking a few deep breaths, I closed my lids, and brought Wolfgang to me. I looked into his deep, dark eyes - so wise and benign. There was nothing of the parent there, with the "you should have's", nothing of the sibling with the, "she loved you best" rivalries, there was only the soul of a dog, and it said to me: I see you. I know who you are. I don't see what you are fearing and what is searing your soul with grief and self-doubt. I know about it, but I don't see it. I see inside you to the golden light that is your soul and is your connection to the gods themselves. I have always seen it. That is what I was devoted to. That is what I loved. That is what I came to when you called me today. I saw it then. I see it now. I will always see it. And when you return to us one day, to we who have loved you so, you will see it too. 

Thank you, Wolfgang, for loving me. For loving me even when I could not love myself. You are ever in my heart.

BILLY, THE TAME BLUE JAY

This is the story of my friend, a California blue jay, whom I called Billy.

One afternoon I was in the living room, which was on the 2nd floor of our upside-down house. We had a huge sliding door onto a balcony deck, and also a fireplace with a big mirror above. There were several windows adorned with white shades left up for sunlight.

The sliding door was partially opened to let in the pleasant afternoon air. I was poking around with a dust rag in my hand when, all of a sudden, a blue jay swooped into the room. Very disoriented by finding itself indoors, it bumped into a wall, then a mirror, and then it fluttered into the large mirror above the fireplace. At last, it landed on the mantle, it's little chest going up and down with its fast heart beat.

With no practice or preparation for such an event, I followed my instincts and began to move slowly about the room, closing curtains and speaking gently to the bird, quietly telling him to calm down and hold still  - that I would see him safely out. He sat there, staring at me with his black bead eyes, his little heart still beating so fast it was visible. But he stayed still.

After I pulled each curtain (there were four), I stretched the slider curtain over the solid glass pane, leaving only the door itself uncovered. Then I hauled the slider open to its full width, and gestured to the little fellow. He immediately flew outside via the opening provided, and so to freedom.

After this event, the blue jay returned to the porch, and sat on the balcony railing several times, as if visiting, so I bought some peanuts for him. He watched when I brought the bag of peanuts upstairs and when I set a few out, he immediately dropped down onto the railing and ate some. He was so cheeky and confident that I put some peanuts in my hand, and he came right over and took them from my outstretched palm.

From that day forward, we were close friends and I continued to feed and interact with him several times a day for two years. If he was hungry, he would come to the porch and look in the windows until I came out. He did seem to disappear for a few months each year, late in the season - maybe December-January. I'm not sure what months. For some reason, I began to call him Billy, and he answered to the name. I could call him to me by saying "Billy Billy Billy" in a singsong voice. He was usually nearby (apparently we were part of his territory) and would fly up very fast, looking for peanuts.

The following spring after the original rescue, Billy had a mate. She would sit on the phone wire but I only once saw her come down and grab a peanut. When Spring began, Billy, looking fat and sassy, very bright blue, worked hard to feed his family. As weeks passed, his feathers began to look disarrayed and he lost weight. I knew it was all part of his hard work as a family man. He was not ill and he continued to visit.

At the end of that nesting season, Billy did the most amazing thing. One day I was out on the balcony with the peanut bag and Billy showed up with two juvenile blue jays. The mother jay still would have nothing to do with me, but the juveniles, following their papa's lead, began to come for food as well. By the end of summer, Billy chased his boys away, but they continued to hang around and grab peanuts when they could. Eventually, only one son remained (they seemed like males) - and Billy, who was obviously the bigger boss bird, also remained as king of the territory.

The following year, the same thing happened exactly the same way. Although I am not sure if the fledglings from the second nesting stayed in the area or not because all Billy's children began to look the same to me. Only Billy was completely tame, and very cheeky; he was also much bigger than the younger birds.

The next year, the third year, Billy no longer came. I imagine he had lived out his blue jay years but I missed him. However, his son did come and I have video of that. I still called "Billy Billy Billy" to get the blue jays to come; you can hear that on the video.

The jay on film is one of Billy's first group of sons which he introduced to me; thus, it is a pretty tame bird. Interestingly, the next (4th) year, a new group of fledglings was born from Billy's tame son, but these birds, although they stayed in the territory, showed no tameness whatsoever and did not come for food, although they did hang around the house - probably because they were born to the territory and stayed in it. I was fine with the change from tame back to wild, as it isn't wise to make unfettered wildlife dependent. However, Billy the first, the impudent, intelligent, beautiful little fellow, chose to be my friend; and as a result of his actions, two of his sons were also tame with me. These events were gifts from the gods - all I did was help Billy escape the terrors of an upstairs living room on one long ago, sunny afternoon.

(The video (on YouTube) is a 1-2 sequence showing the tame 2nd generation blue jay).

See: Part 1

http://youtu.be/j931KOa5CoE

See: Part 2

http://youtu.be/u_hR6jvsAaY

Photos of Billy

The Intuitive Dog

Intuition: the ability to understand something immediately, without the need for conscious reasoning.

Wisdom in miniature, Baby Kaz

Kazbek and I had many unusual experiences together - unusual in the manner in which Kaz understood and responded to what was going on at times when I had no viable way to explain the situation or requirement to him. 

The following are two examples of Kazbek's intuition:

KAZBEK WORRIES

At one time, my sister and I were roommates. She worked an evening shift, but - being a night person myself - I was often awake when she got home, usually around 9 p.m.

Kazbek was friendly with my sister, but not really bonded since she had her own dogs and spent most of her moments with them or at work. The times she spent with Kazbek were shared between the three of us, and I was the Chosen One - the person to whom he deeply and permanently bonded.

One evening, I was home alone, relaxing and watching television in the bedroom. My sister was due home but running late - not an unusual event. Kazbek had been resting, stretched out on the floor nearby, when he suddenly awoke, came over to me, sat down in front of me and bumped me with his nose. Kaz was not a nervous or demanding indoor guy, so I casually gave him a pat on the head, expecting him to go back and lie down, which he did not do. Instead, he remained seated in front of me, staring fixedly at me. He was not receptive to the usual blandishments; he was not relieved by petting nor did he go chew his bone, so I took him outdoors, thinking perhaps he needed to go out and use the bushes. Outside, he continued to stay close, nose-bumping or staring at me. Now I began to feel uncomfortable. In California, animals often know when an earthquake is coming, and because Kaz was acting so strange, I began to worry about that. However, none of the several other animals were showing any signs of unusual or anxious behavior.

Kazbek continued to stay near me, continued to make eye contact, as a hungry dog might do for his dinner; however, he was obviously uneasy, yet unable to make his needs apparent. This behavior carried on for about an hour, then the peculiar performance abruptly ceased. He left me, laid down and slept.

About an hour later - two hours later than her usual time - my sister arrives home at last, with a story to tell. She explained that when she left work - around the time Kazbek began to "talk" to me - she discovered to her dismay that her car had been stolen! After looking for it (thinking as one does that perhaps she had forgotten where she parked), she returned to her workplace to get help. One of her co-workers then drove her to the nearest police station to make a report. When she had done everything she could, the friend drove her home. The discovery of the theft, the contact with work friends and the subsequent police report, during which time my sister was obviously very upset, anxious, and worried, took about an hour. Afterward, she was able to calm down and accept a ride home, knowing that she had done all she could for the evening. 

The timing of all this was exact to Kazbek's becoming anxious, notifying me as best he could of "trouble in the pack." His subsequent release of anxiety also correlated to my sister's acceptance of the events of the evening and her realization she had done all she could, which had naturally brought her back to a calmer state of mind.

Nothing else worrisome had occurred that night to explain the dog's behavior. Kazbek's health and appetite were fine. There were no earthquakes. No one, other than my upset sister, was sick or suffering. That was the only time during his life that Kazbek behaved in such a peculiar way. The whole event sequence was so unusual that it has always remained in my mind.

KAZBEK IN THE SNOW

It was a beautiful winter day in sunny southern California. White clouds drifted on the pale blue background of the sky. The afternoon was chilly for that area, in the 50s, but it was a wonderful day to walk a dog.

I packed up a few provisions and the Caucasian Ovcharka, Kazbek, and we drove to the Angeles Crest Highway, which meanders 60+ miles - a 2-way road through the mountain pass that separates the northeastern deserts from the busy southeastern freeways and populations. Because the route passes through the protected Angeles National Forest (which comprises tens of thousands of acres), development is very limited. The Angeles Crest is also a popular "body dumping" area and the scene of many peculiar crimes, but what can you expect a few miles outside of the vast metropolis known as Los Angeles?

With a C.O. at your side, you tend to be brave and hike and travel where and when you please, and so it was with us that winter day.

Kazbek, a dog with hundreds of generations of mountain dogs behind him, never seemed happier or more at peace than when we roamed high trails and barren places. As I drove, I stopped here and there to photograph the area and the dog as well.

Kazbek plays St. Bernard while Mrs. flops in the snow off Angeles Crest.

Eventually, about an hour into the drive, I decided it was time to take the big guy for a stroll. We found an off-road area with a trail and parked in the almost frozen mud. I leashed up the dog and off we went, wandering on a trail surrounded by a maze of high brush and dead weeds. The bright cold air and the spectacular views made me forget that the sun sets early in the winter. During the last ten minutes, we had also been experiencing light snow flurry, which - since snow is seldom seen in Los Angeles itself - was delightful as the flakes made the air sparkle and dance with life.

However, when I turned around to go back, I suddenly realized that all that delightful snow had begun to cover the dirt trail, which was more of a deer track than a hiking path. An unpleasant feeling of panic began to build in my chest. We were at least half an hour from the car, but, I realized, I had been that Fool in the Wilderness - I had in no way marked our trail, nor had I mapped it out in my head. With the sun setting and dark coming on, all I could do was turn and trek toward the sunset as I knew we had been going east on the trail, and, of course, the sun sets in the west. However, in a very few minutes, there was no trail. There was no road. There was no car. And it continued to snow more heavily.

I teach all my dogs a "get in the car" cue, which I use consistently. They also learn "find it" games, but these relate to hidden treats not lost cars. But all I could think of to do, as white flakes continued to drown all landmarks, was to utilize our get-in-the-car cue and hope that somehow Kazbek would figure it all out. So I told him, "Find the car." And, dropping the leash so I couldn't unintentionally pull him the wrong way, I encouraged him again to "find the car." Kazbek immediately put his head down and took off at a light trot. He only stopped once to sniff a bush and I reminded him, "no, FIND THE CAR! Within about 15 minutes, me following and he trotting along, all business, we came out at the trail head, exactly where I had parked. Long sighs of relief from me and an ordinary, "let's get in the car Mrs." look from him, and we were off - back to the lights, back to warmth and safety. Back to ordinary.

While many dogs are taught to be wonderfully adept at tracking and finding (as in Search & Rescue work), Kazbek was never really trained for any of those skills. Thus, his ability to understand what I wanted and deliver it was ever a source of amazement and curiosity. Perhaps the happy result of his finding the car was simply because we turned back on the trail rather than continuing forward, and he therefore assumed the walk must end in a return to the car. Perhaps. However, Kazbek was an intact male set off-leash in an area populated by small rodents, medium-sized predators, deer, and occasional human hikers with their dogs. He nonetheless ignored all extraneous scent and just trotted back to the car through the snow, on an invisible trail. Because I needed him to - what can you call that but intuition?

Dogs of My Life - Kazbek, Part 3 - Kazbek and the Rattlesnakes

"Kazbek and the Rattlesnakes

In the summer of '98, when Kazbek was only six months old, two days of dog vs. rattlesnake encounters followed, one upon the other. Here is that story.

Rattlesnake: Day 1:

The big Caucasian pup was meandering about the yard when he suddenly alerted, and ran to a shed at the back of the property. Near the shed, his whole body stiffened, and he began to bark in a reverberating tone I had never head before. In reply, a loud and angry buzzing emerged from the shallow black hole beneath the shed's foundation. Rattlesnake!

Our unwanted visitor, though dangerous where he lay, could not be rousted in the dark. So I rounded up all the dogs, locking them indoors for the night, and praised Kazbek heartily for his cleverness. Indeed, only Kaz, of all the dogs in the yard that evening, had sensed the hidden reptile, and it was only Kazbek's immediate and aggressive alarm that had forced the creature to make its presence known. One thing about rattlesnakes: like all wild creatures, they have a territory. While one might deter a rattler with an unpleasant-to-it encounter (such as hearing the dog bark and feeling the vibrations of the dog's pounding feet), the snakes are guaranteed to eventually return. On the property in question, we had an ancient barn which housed mice and rats, lizards, and birds, and we were surrounded on the outer perimeter (outside the fence) by a ground squirrel infestation.

Rattlesnakes from the yard in the desert circa 2000

Rattlesnake: Day 2:

After Kazbek's first encounter with an unseen (but definitely heard) rattler under the storage shed last night...in fact, exactly 24 hours later...we had another exciting evening with reptilian wildlife. It was twilight. My sister had just gotten home from work, and day was rapidly fading. When the dogs in the yard began yapping, we couldn't see anything through the screen door.

Kaz suddenly added his heavy baying bark to the commotion of the pack that was currently in the yard. He followed up his barks by body-slamming the closed kitchen screen door. I then squeezed opened the door to see what was going on, and was greeted with the threatening HISSSSS, sounding like a broken gas main. In the desert, that sound means but one thing: an angry rattlesnake.

I slammed the heavy, security screen that stood between the rattler on the doorstep and the yellow light of our little kitchen where I, my sister, and a livid Kazbek, peered out. To my horror, as we looked out, our little white Akbash-Lab mix rescue, Lily, emboldened by what she assumed was her humans joining the assault, rushed forward to pitch battle with the very large, very dark, rattler that had settled itself on the welcome mat. I shouted for her back to back off. Fortunately, she recognized the distress in my voice, and moved away, still barking. (Later that year, Lily was bitten by a different rattler, same yard, because while she wanted to defend her yard (good girl!) she did not have the native savvy to do it as Kazbek did.)

Our Lily

The incessant throb and hum of the pit viper's rattles drove Kazbek, still a baby at six months, into a fury. His bark was relentless as he positioned himself strategically between his humans' bodies and the threat at the door. In the now pitch dark, it was impossible to see or locate the exact position of the snake, but the buzz of its tail indicated it was near or right on top of the porch. When the motion detector finally blinked into action, under the cool, white, moth-littered light a huge Western Diamondback lay coiled on the welcome mat. Creepy to note that my sister had just stepped over that mat a scant 15 minutes before!

We called Emergency-911 and firemen were dispatched to our address immediately. In the meanwhile, three other dogs - loose, anxious and barking - were stranded in the yard. In response to their plight, my sister jumped out the kitchen window - still in her business suit and heels - and hurried round the house to a separate entrance where, with some difficulty, she cajoled the loose dogs into the barn.

Meanwhile, Kazbek's constant threat roar kept the snake coiled on the porch, ready to strike; when threatened, rattlers coil, thus, it was unable to slither into the night from whence it surely would have returned to the yard the next day.

After what seemed like an hour - but was only minutes - the firemen arrived to dispatch the snake, which measured more than three feet in length and thick as a woman's arm.
We thanked the firemen; but Kaz got the biggest portion of praise. Not only had he recognized and dealt appropriately with the threat posed by the rattler, but he was also courageous in his response and full of fortitude: Kazbek did not quit his threat to the rattler until all danger was gone. His primitive instincts gave him a sense of the spatial range from which to keep his body in front of us while also giving threat to the snake. The screen door had no meaning to his dog's mind; therefore, in his defense reaction, he had looked within for instinct and courage, and was not found wanting.

At last, with the snake dispatched and firemen gone, all was quiet on the western front. Now it was time to retrieve the sequestered dogs from the barn. I grabbed a flashlight and, nervous as a 10-cup a day coffee drinker, cautiously stepped into the backyard. In and out of the shadows, my weak flashlight (the kind that horror movie virgins always use to check out suspicious noises) was proving useless. After all the excitement, my nerves were shot, so - unlike the horror movie virgin! - I turned back to get some company, the Kaz. As we neared the barn, Kazbek began to bark thunderously. There was something about that bark that frightened me, and I froze. Then I shone the light ahead and in its beam, saw Kazbek leap straight into the air like a cat. And - HISSSS - he had found another rattler! Invisible in the gloom, the snake had apparently curled up right in front of the dog kennels - exactly where I was heading in my unwisely chosen, open-toed flip-flops. I shouted for Kaz, he came, and we ran together back to the house.

Soon Emergency-911 dispatched another fire truck. While waiting for the firemen, I grabbed a better light and went back to scout the area where Kaz had spotted the snake; however, in the short time it took to use the phone, the rattler had already escaped. Trusting completely now in Kaz' 6th (and other) senses, I brought him to the spot where the latest rattler had lain, and gave him the familiar cue, "find it." The young CO put his nose to earth and began tracking a line from the barn to the fence. He was resolute in his task but also jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof. Underneath the fence, the trail disappeared. Still engaged, Kaz was sniffing up and down the length of the fence, and I felt certain the snake must have escaped that way.

When the firemen arrived, I dared not confess that only my DOG had seen the last rattler (I had only heard it), and that the six month old puppy had then "tracked" the snake along the fence-line. Therefore, I simply stated that the rattler had slipped through the fence, and then showed them the route of escape Kazbek had actually indicated to me. The firemen searched inside the yard carefully, finding nothing. Another group went outside the fence to take a look and within moments, near the outer fence perimeter, they found the second rattlesnake - and then a third - exactly where Kaz had indicated. One was a two-footer; the other was small, a dangerous baby rattler. Unfortunately, these two reptiles were compelled to join the first in snake heaven that night.

All in all, a busy night for a six-month old Caucasian Ovcharka!

"Kazbek and the Moon"

Dogs of My Life - Part 2 - KAZBEK

KAZBEK, THE KING

Kazbek was born in 1998, and came into my life when he was 9 weeks old. Although he was born in the good old U.S. of A., his sire was from Hungary and his dam was from Georgia (the Asian country, not the state). He was an old-fashioned type of dog, very athletic, very peppery in character, noble, violent, devoted, of high intelligence and an even higher intuition. He also spoke to me, not only with his body language, his eyes, his signals, but also heart-to-heart. Straight across - like an arrow.

Kazbek was in my life at a time of great change for me, more mental than physical. I had moved to the high desert at the northeastern tip of greater Los Angeles County - an area then of few people, and much wildlife - coyotes, snakes of all types including about five kinds of rattlesnake, many small desert creatures on endangered lists. There were great deep canyons and miles of hills where the only human you might see would be an occasional horseback rider, a wandering sheepherder, an off-road motorcyclist (though they were only permitted in certain areas), and a very occasional hiker.

It was wonderful to have the big dog to wander with, night or day, under the sun and under the moon, a bodyguard, a friend, a faithful companion in adventures and in peace. At that time, my sister and I were roommates. She had her own pack, two dogs and a cat, and I had mine, which at times numbered 8, 9, 10 dogs and several cats. Due to road traffic and coyotes, the cats remained indoors at all times. The dogs had a huge fenced yard and a barn. Kazbek was part of all this noise, fun, and fur.

But some of our best times were spent alone, or with one of the two top females in our pack: Zoe, my German Shepherd, and Raksha, a second C.O., young and female.

ZOE & KAZBEK - night time

RAKSHA (fore)
KAZBEK (back)

During my years with Kazbek, I wrote many little stories - diary entries really - about our days and nights together. All  my dogs have been my teachers - they have taught patience, humanity, responsibility, acceptance, and what unconditional love means. But they also taught me about one of my favorite subjects in the world: dogs.

Below I offer one of my older Kaz Tales.

KAZBEK at freedom's gate

A Walk on the Wild Side

The van shudders along the muddy, rutted track that leads to our secluded hiking area.
Few enter this isolated area of California national forest, and today it is completely deserted. Low scrub and sage roll west and north, where mist partially obscures the snow-ridged mountain peaks. The air, damp from the rain that has been our constant companion for weeks, is fresh and fragrant - sometimes so chill it makes the ears and nose sting.

We park off-track on a frozen, red mud shoulder. I release the German Shepherd, Zoe, from the confines of the van, sure that she will stay close and come when called. The Russian Sheepdog, Kazbek, eagerly awaits his own invitation to fly from the van side door. I give the nod, and, free at last, the two friends dash up a crumbling fire trail and out of sight. Zoe gallops in long, liquid bounds, easily outdistancing the bigger dog. But Kazbek flattens out to run down his smaller companion who, feeling him closing in, leaps lightly aside at the last moment to avoid collision.

Coyote, rabbit, deer and squirrel wander these hills under cover of darkness, as does the occasional bobcat or mountain lion; but the wild creatures have learned to remain hidden during daylight. Only their scat betrays their presence. The caw of a wheeling raven taps the sky like a crystal bell. Below, the silence of the land is broken only by a dancing wind that plays across these canyons like a harp.

Our hiking trail falls away on either side where barely visible game trails meander amid the blue, green and gray of new growth. For a hiker, the descent is treacherous in gravel soaked mud, so I call Kazbek to me. He returns to patiently pace beside me and I lean on him to navigate the steep and deeply eroded trail. We eventually arrive at Bat Rock where white guano stripes the ledges and caverns dot the stony face. The bats that ride warm summer updrafts, chirping and swooping in the June twilight, live here. They are at rest now, and, although lovely to watch in the scented evenings to come, the idea of their leathery little bodies hanging upside down asleep is not attractive. I won t go in the caves. The dogs, of course, have different ideas and dash forward noses to the ground, to the rock, to the sky, and back again.

I call out to them, but my voice echoes, careening off the rock and the dogs cock their heads, listening to the sound bounce back and forth. Zoe is overcome with curiosity and takes off into the black holes that riddle the granite. Kazbek quickly follows.

I shout and wave my arms to catch their attention, to call them back. But my voice continues to bounce and they move outward, the wrong way. They can no longer hear me so I start away, up the path, confident that my back will call to them in a way my voice cannot. Zoe dashes toward then past me, always leading out and then rushing back to herd us forward. The Ovcharka waits until the last minute, then with deceptive speed, sprints toward us, leaping over 2-foot high brush as if it wasn t there. He is beautiful in a collected trot, and suddenly aware of a deep cleft in the road, he hurdles it and descends at last to a huge granite outcrop. Despite the inclement weather, we hike down. The dogs slake their eager thirst in potholes, which gleam with fresh rainwater.

Our ascent back is steep and I decide to take a rest halfway up to enjoy the view while the dogs reconnoiter. The rubbery outer shell of my rain gear makes a great ground cover and I lie back on it, the well drained gravel beneath is not uncomfortable on my back. I cross my arms beneath my head, and fall upwards into the gray clouds that skitter across the tumultuous spring sky. The dogs, concerned to see me down, gallop over to check on me. I hear the thud of their paws and cover my face while dirt kicks up around me. Zoe gives me a sniff, realizes I am fine, and wanders back into the brush to explore. But Kazbek, vigilant and quiet, sits upright beside me where I rest. Eventually, he becomes restive and I get up, using his collar and back as a kind of safety railing; then he totes me back up the hill, making the rough terrain easy to negotiate.

Zoe follows immediately, then dashes in advance of us, then falls behind again. Kazbek remains at my side, a kind of large, furry hiking stick. When we are safely back on the high trail, I release him to play and he finds a fresh ground squirrel hole, which he begins to dig into furiously. For the squirrels'  peace of mind, I tell him to leave it and he does, trotting after Zoe instead. The two dogs jog down the path before me. I let them go. When they realize they have let me fall behind, they will return.

Soon our van becomes visible in the distance. The sun has now sunk deep in the west, where bright pink clouds fade. We hike on down to the car and climb in, tired, happy, content. For once, Zoe is quiet, relaxing into a cat-tight curl on the sheepskins that line her little crate. Kazbek's head is visible in the rear view mirror. He has taken up his back seat vigil over us all and will remain on duty  until we are home.

The key turns in the ignition, the engine fires, and three travelers leave these darkening purple hills to the tender embrace of the new moon.


by Deborah O Brien
©2014

Cesar Live - An evening with Cesar Millan

In April 2014, I went to see the Cesar Millan show in Thousand Oaks.

The first half of the show revolved around explanations of dog behavior and around Cesar himself, where he came from, how he developed his handling skills, and how and why he uses the techniques he does use. Having watched every TV show he's done (most of them more than once) I was familiar with the information in the first part of the show - a spritely monologue about the origins of Cesar's "best trainer in the world" dreams. His sense of humor and fun is evident on TV, but I was surprised at how funny he really is - especially so if you are a dog fancier, since his rap is naturally dog related.

When he first stepped onstage, he was accompanied by his take-everywhere dog pack: the blue pit bull, Junior, the brown Chihuahua - Cocoa, and one or two assorted small fluffers. They all tumbled onto the dais behind him, playing and wrestling gently. After a few minutes, Cesar asked the helpers to take the dogs off, which they did by calling them; but - while Junior left with the others - he soon returned and made himself at home on the sofa that stood at stage-rear. So while Cesar talked, Junior was behind him, rolling on the sofa, sticking his head under the pillows, lying back with his legs in the air. Eventually, Cesar released him from the boards as the dog was upstaging the man.

It was funny; but, later on, I began to realize maybe this was "a bit" and the dogs were doing what they had been conditioned to do. Either way: nature or nurture - it was adorable.

Second half of show, post intermission, the problem dogs were brought out.  I believe they were all from one adoption center, but they were definitely all rescues. Each dog had its new owner in tow (really - in tow!)  And each owner stated the one problem about their new pal which either bugged or confounded them.  Not surprisingly, 3 of the 4 dogs were pits or pit mixes. Cesar is working to reshape the image of pit bulls, as you probably know. But they are also the dogs that most often line shelters today due to overbreeding, lack of understanding of what you are getting into when you adopt a pit, and all the large and small irresponsibilities of a small number of pet owners.

The behavior problems included: too focussed on food; pulling on leash; jumping; and over-protective of owner.

It was interesting watching the change as Cesar took one dog at a time, removing the weird gear people get their dogs into (harnesses, flexies, giant prongs on little dogs, etc.) He used his usual "$ store" cotton leash (as he said, "Mexican guys with their rope leashes").

I know the owners were nervous for many reasons: concern for their dogs, yes, but being on stage in front of a packed audience, seeing Cesar have no problem with their dogs (which might make them feel foolish collaterally), and so forth. But it was interesting to see Cesar show and explain the easy changes he  made which immediately accomplished a general improvement in the dogs' behavior - and noting that, when he handed back the leash, none of his suggestions were complied with until he repeated and re-demonstrated each activity at least 3 times! The perils of being a "trainer of people"!

In fact, it was watching Cesar's first TV show, "the Dog Whisperer" that  made me realize why I stopped group training with dogs. People don't seem to listen. Perhaps they believe the problem is "the bad dog," but we know better: 99% of the time, dog problems are people problems. But Cesar seems to have the understanding, patience and tolerance for this peculiarity of human understanding and behavior that many of us lack.

Also, it is apparent that English is Cesar's third language - Spanish being first, Dog being second! Dogs speak in many ways, mostly via body language and signals. When we learn the rudiments of "Dog" we realize that all dogs are making the same or similar signals, breed aside, and that they have been signaling us, the dog lovers, our entire lives. We say: COME SIT STAY DOWN, but seldom notice their rhythms, never hearing their music. Cesar hears that music, and the boy can tango!

The controversy:

If you want to know about the trainer, look at the dog. When you watch Cesar handling dogs, it is obvious that the rumors about "abusive methods" are unfounded. I have seen too many dogs being trained by inept or brutal trainers, with the resulting timidity and lack of confidence engendered in the dog, or, conversely, the unpredictable jumping and savaging that results. When Cesar handles, you can see that look on the dog's face - the expression in the eyes - as the dog relaxes from the inside out and says: I get it. I know where I am now. All that stress and consequent negative behavior just washes off the dog. Cruelty and abuse cannot accomplish this - ever.

A second controversy is this idea that Cesar "kicks" dogs. He does not. However, he occasionally utilizes a foot tap to get the dog's attention.  It is just a light tap, given with the insole of the foot (not the toe or heel).

The foot tap works especially well with dogs that are inured to the collar or dogs that are overstimulated in the moment. The essence of the foot tap is to create a startle response allowing the handler to recapture the dog's focus. It occurs in the "tickle space" right below the short rib and is a sensation dogs are not accustomed to, which makes it quite effective. During the show, we saw it used once or twice and, as a technique, it is significantly less aversive than a leash yank.

Each of the rescue dogs in the show entered stage left, out of control in the hands of their new owners. Within seconds, literally seconds, the dogs behavior altered in Cesar's hands. He took the leash, seemed to settle for a moment, then took each animal through a redirection phase, then let them relax into understanding and acceptance of the new order. Consequently, the dogs acted as if they had been to obedience school and passed with flying colors. It was a real pleasure to watch someone work an animal with such patience and precision.

I enjoyed the show very much and found it well worth the money spent. I would love to add a class with Cesar to my CV, but for now, this small window into his world will have to do.

Take a bow - wow!

Dogs of my Life - Sir Bounce-a-Lot of La Mirada (aka Shark) and Winnie the stray

Sir Bounce-a-Lot of La Mirada: aka Sharky

Our family kept Springer Spaniels until my dad passed away.  After his death, our family moved from the east to the west coast, and when the remaining spaniel passed away, we kept no more dogs. This was in the 1950's, when owners of rental property could deny housing to people with children, people of different nationalities, and, certainly, people with pets!

When I was 18, I decided it was time to get my own dog. I wanted a collie, but the boyfriend wanted a terrier, and thus came Sharky - sir Bounce-a-Lot of La Mirada - the white bull terrier. A bull terrier is a fun-loving dog, always ready, as the saying goes, "for a fight or a frolic." We named him "Shark" because, as a pup, he had a habit of biting anything that moved and would climb up an object (even if it was your arm) with his sharp little teeth. I didn't know much then about puppy rearing or dog training, and a Bull Terrier is not an easy starter dog! However, Sharky taught me book loads about managing and training dogs, and - as dogs are wont to do - about myself.

Folks didn't neuter male dogs in the '50's and '60's unless there was a medical reason to do it. So Sharky was a handful. I tried to train him using the popular methods of the day, which, unfortunately, were very coercive (choke chains, leash jerks, loud commands, etc.). Most dogs have mixed reactions to coercive training methods, but I imagine that of all dogs, terriers are least likely to develop consistent positive behaviors when forceful training methods are used. And bull-and-terrier breeds are probably even less likely to follow that kind of malarkey than another dog. It's also true that Sharky would have had a more comfortable life as a neutered male as he was very -- hmmm, how shall I say it? He was very ROMANTIC. Fortunately, we were young and active, and that did suit him. He got out to see the world, had lots and lots of walks, playing ball, fetch sticks, happy car rides - the whole nine yards.

Somehow that sweet and funny boy survived our well-intentioned stupidities, and, as I look back, I recall how well-behaved he was as an adult. The memory of Sharky and how patiently he waited in the world for me to learn how to be a leader eventually sent me down a long road of trial, error, and discovery, in search of methods whereby a dog could learn good manners in a human world and could develop reliable responses to cues, without harming the dog or creating distrust or fear.

Sharky taught me that we can and should condition the dog - and the relationship - with soul.

Shark loved to fetch anything. He even tried to fetch truck tires at the beach. He was one of those dogs that would pick up something way bigger than his head and try to get it through a door straight on, then get stuck there. Bullys typically go straight forward, not around, and they expect their power to get them through.

One day, a friend and I were walking Shark in the woods, tossing a stick for him to chase. This "stick" was actually a tree branch about four inches thick and at least a yard long. As we ambled along, the path began to narrow and the elevation mounted above a dry creek bed that ran beside the trail. Sharky fetched his branch and my friend gave it a mighty toss, but misjudged the distance and the stick flew over the side. Without a thought, the mighty bull terrier dove after it. Fortunately, my friend, fast on his feet, grabbed the dog by the tail before it could toss itself blindly into the ravine below.

Sharky White Knees, we called him. A brave boy, a funny boy, a true "party animal." A dog I have always wanted to call back from the paradise where he waits for us, and tell him, "Thank you for being patient with me, for teaching me, for letting me live with you, and remember you." I see him there, right across the bridge, waiting for those who loved him to join him and toss those golden sticks.

Winnie

Winnie was a mixed breed dog I found at the beach, a stray. She was very beautiful, possibly a German Shepherd/Australian Shepherd cross with her slim legs and plush coat of black-merle, white, buff and tan. Although I didn't keep Winnie, she was a part of my life for many years.

I already had a dog when I found Winnie, and with my mom, my sister, and a bull terrier sharing our apartment, there was no room for another pup. I offered the young stray to my married sister and her two little girls, but Winnie was a natural herder and chased the little girls all around the house, nipping their feet. As luck would have it, my boyfriend did not have a dog of his own and he was delighted to keep her. She was brilliant, sensitive, beautiful and totally bonded and faithful to the boy who took her in and kept her all her life. She was also the love of our bull terrier's life. She was neutered, so that doggy love affair involved only running, playing and snuggling - no puppies. Winnie lived a long and happy life and lived to be about 14 years old.

Older Dogs - Keeping it Golden: Part 2

Beauty is as beauty does: Grooming

to groom or not to groom, that is the question

Most of us have attended a dog show or two and been wowed by the appearance of the dogs there. While it is true that some of them go through a lot of tape-and-feather to achieve super long coats, the majority do not require this type of overachievement in order to look just wonderful. Rather than rubber bands and curl papers, most show dogs undergo a daily brushing, a weekly trim of nails and a cleaning of ears, and are bathed regularly.

Although in the natural world, canids (dogs, foxes, wolves, coyotes and others) live happily without formal grooming, all social animals groom one another to some extent. At the same time, their fur sheds annually, gets pulled out by brush, enters and exits water, and falls out due to changes in light and heat.

Your dog is not likely to have access to a wilderness that allows a natural trim of the coat, and if he is, then bringing the wilderness back in the house with him as mud and brambles probably won't be welcome. He may expect his pack to groom him, however, and - tag, Pack Leader! - you are it.

For many of us just the idea of setting out the shampoo, towels, and water source (don't even mention the toothbrush), and having the dog stay put rather than take off for the farthest reaches of the property, is agony enough. Then to grab Rover up, hold him down, pull out the mats, and dunk him and shampoo him requires a raincoat, a chain, and a pair of scissors at the least. Sounds like something from "Saw II," doesn't it.

But grooming a dog can be easy, fun, and profitable. I am not talking about making money (that is for professional groomers), I am talking about the more valuable but less visible profit of enhancing your relationship with your dog while fulfilling one of his needs.

Everything we do or have to do with a dog is an opportunity to create a bonding experience; therefore, the first consideration in dog grooming is to develop trust between handler and animal. Avoid all harshness and impatience when introducing a dog to any grooming tool. Introductions require patience, patience, patience. (sometimes more patience than that). But the end result, a dog that sits quietly for grooming, or falls asleep while you are primping toenails, or snuggles up to have its head piece brushed out, is so worth the effort.

When grooming dogs, we seek three primary responses: first, that the dog relax to hand, loosening its muscles; second, that the dog becomes so relaxed that it rolls to its side or its back, awaiting the next touch; third, that the dog leave the situation looking good and feeling well.

A number of grooming tools feel harsh and look scary (e.g., dematters, guillotine nail clippers) so we like to start with a simple, gentle brush. Depending on the coat, a boar-bristle (or other  natural bristle) brush and/or a curry brush for horses work wonders. A curry brush has wide teeth and is excellent on a thick coat or a hair coat, without giving discomfort to the animal. Even if there are mats underlying, the curry will run over the top of the coat and allow the animal to get used to the way it feels to be brushed without any pain.  

When developing a grooming habit in yourself and acceptance in the dog, it is essential to go slow. Try to feel what the animal is feeling by observing its responses. You are seeking relaxation of the musculature, especially around the  shoulders, head and neck. The dog should become MORE relaxed as you work with it. If Pal is becoming tense, stop and review what you are doing. Are you being and feeling patient? Do you have time to do this or just a little time (in which case, just plan to do "a little" grooming). Small increments of grooming mount up to a groomed dog in the end, so no worries!

With a boar bristle brush you can do the whole body, cause no discomfort, and get the head piece, especially around the eyes, ears and jowls, without any negative response from the dog. Natural bristle brushes are effective and typically well tolerated by short haired and long haired dogs, as well as many cats.

Again, YOU and how you feel about what you are doing are the most important part of the grooming equation. This is one of those, "it's not where you are going but how you get there" situations. Hands-on time with your dog is an opportune time for you to practice relaxation for yourself as well as the dog. You might want to practice yoga breathing, or just breathing slowly and deeply while you work. If you like to, you can sing softly or hum under your breath, listen to pleasant music (not loud or raucous) or even an audio book while you work. I have noticed that both dogs and cats love a good "OOOOOMMMMMM" (ohm sound) and find it relaxing.

As you develop this grooming habit with your dog, the introduction of the dematting comb, scissors, and any other items that may feel a little less comfortable to the dog, is accomplished in the same way: slowly, patiently, with lots of gentle hands-on. Always allow the mind-body to achieve relaxation before the next step begins. 

When you and your dog unwind together while sharing an activity, the opportunity for your spirits to blend and a deeper understanding to develop is open to you. Pay attention to yourself (you are calm, you are content, you are breathing) and pay attention to the dog! 

Living in the Moment: Dogs as Gurus

LIVING IN THE MOMENT: DOG AS GURU

Dogs live now. For dogs it is always now. "Time," as we understand it, is a fiction of the human brain; it does not exist for dogs or other animals. Dogs do not experience themselves as living short lives, nor do they perceive us as living long lives. They live every day maximally, for better or worse (therefore, pity those that survive in grievous conditions, as they live that fully as well). A dog's day might be said to be a week, while a man's day might be said to be 16 hours, plus the unconsciousness of sleep. A man's life might be seen as the race of a rat in a wheel, while a dog's life is a slow breeze on a tranquil pond. These differences actually work for us both, man and dog, adding value to the partnership. You cannot sit quietly, contented, with a dog at your side, without feeling your own heart beat a little less fast, your own mind becoming more still. 

Dogs are truly Zen - always in the moment and aware. Changes in air pressure have meaning to them; changes in your heart rate, the smell of your perspiration, have  meaning to them. Sounds you cannot hear, they can. Light and movement you do not notice, they do. Vibrations in the earth, they are aware of them. 

Take note of your dog's eyes and expression, the way he holds his body, the set of the ears, the twitch of the nose and the set of the muzzle. When you pay attention to their signals, you can learn from them and perhaps apply some of their fine understanding to your own way of seeing the world.