Yanqui jumps in the car on the word "auto." We make him wait until invited and he trembles eagerly at the doorway, watching us load the car, put in his rugs and water, and generally prepare. He knows that if his beard and tail are brushed and his collar and tags put around his neck, the end result will be a trip.
He has been taught that holding still or even making a pretense of doing so, will get him what he wants, whereas jumping, flying around, or any other display of skitter, will result in him returning to his bed and being put on a wait. So he pretends that he is a fine and steady boy, just waiting for an invite at the door.
Yanqui is also one of those dogs that understands our human grooming habits. My husband worked all his life, from childhood, and still gets up early, takes his shower and gets dressed for a working day - whether that involves yard work, errands or paid labor. I, on the other hand, poke around, throw on some hideous "doggy" outfit - or worse, wander about in my robe - until the moment strikes when I'm feeling it, and I take a shower and dress for the day. But if I put on my lipstick and good shoes, Yanqui knows that is the signal (for him) that I will be going somewhere interesting, and he sure wants to come along.
However, it has been weird this past year for me to travel alone with a Labradoodle. I have always kept guard dogs and working breeds: terriers, German Shepherds, Caucasian Ovcharka -- dogs that people see and immediately realize might be very difficult to cross. Yanqui, due to his size and the cut we use on his rough coat, fools people, who typically believe him to be a young Irish Wolfhound. But he is really an engaging, unassuming, friendly, sensitive and jolly fellow, who likes almost everyone and would be happy to play with almost any dog. In this, I always say that he is most like my good-natured husband, whereas our old Raksha, the gruff Caucasian Ovcharka, suspicious of everyone and with her "friend wallet" already full, is much more like me.
In the past, with my bearish guard dogs, I have been used to going into the woods, hiking, or tramping off-road tracks with impunity, accompanied by a powerful and watchful companion. With Yanqui, it is I who must look over the area we wish to play in, and assess safety for us both. Are there any large, loose dogs, or dogs that have an unhealthy energy about them? Are there any large, loose men? I feel very protective of our sweet Doodle and know that he depends on me - whether he realizes it or not - to keep us safe.
Raksha would keep us both safe, and next to her, if she could. But at her age, it satisfies me to know that she is home, near her bed and water, near her grassy yards, sleeping soundly by the food bin. Warm, dry and safe. If there is hostility or danger, she is too old to handle it, although her huge and generous, brave and wild heart will always try. She will always try.
Yanqui is very communicative. He has learned a lot of "English" on his own. I tend to be repetitive in the words I speak to the dogs - not only with cue words (for example, one says Sit, not SIT-SITSIT or Sit-Down), but also with everyday conversational phrasing. Phrases the dogs often hear might include: "Are you hungry?"; "Treat [with any verb]"; "Time for bed"; and so on. Yanqui has picked up on repetitive phrasing of with alacrity and holds such phrases in his head without any special training or emphasis from our side. This shows intelligence, of course, but is not extremely unusual for a beloved companion dog. However, Yank also senses things I want from him, without training, and I do not understand how this happens.
For instance, we pick up the yard (poop!) every morning, or whenever we are outside and notice that something needs to be picked up. One day, early in Yanqui's life here, when he was perhaps 7 or 8 months of age, I was walking in the yard and stepped in something nasty. He was nearby and observed me jumping around, as people do, and cussing at myself. I found the scooper, removed the offending waste, and washed off my shoes.
A few days later, I was walking in the yard at twilight and noticed that Yanqui was standing quite still near the trees - stock still and staring at something in the yard. I don't know why or how I knew, but I felt he was identifying a pile of dog waste. And this proved to be true. I praised him for showing it to me, although I was not certain this had been Yanqui's intent. He has a physical habit of going into a freeze (similar to the gundog habit of honoring a point), but it is not always clear why. There are a number of stimuli that seem to cause this reaction in him, but dog poop really shouldn't be one such stiumulus.
However, after that "pointing" event, Yanqui has continued -- where the grass is deep, or the light is failing -- to indicate by freezing and staring that there is an errant pile of dog dung in the yard which lies exactly in the path of my forward motion. I cannot account for his doing this.
Another initiative Yanqui has developed involves cats. We keep three indoor cats and also feed and care for two semi-ferals that moved onto the property after we came here to live. In the beginning, the indoors and outdoors felines did not always get along. In addition, the outdoor cats occasionally attract or quarrel with other outdoor cats living in the neighborhood which attempt to pass through the yard.
When cat quarrels begin, I go and step between the animals and escort the offender off the property. One accomplishes this by ignoring one cat (typically one's own) and gently but firmly herding the other cat off the premises. As with dogs, if one charges into the fray, yelling and waving, a quarrel will escalate quickly and intensely into a full-on fight. The herding approach seems to work better.
As it happened, during one such feline outburst, Yanqui joined me in cat herding. He was merely an interested presence the first time; however, as a dog, his appearance was more disconcerting to the strange cat than was my own. I praised the dog for joining in, and ever since, when that yodeling scream that means cats are getting ready to quarrel is heard in the land, Yanqui will run to the quarrel and vibe both cats until one runs off. If I get there first, he will join me and do his thing. Standing close to the cats, he stiffens slightly, lifts his tail with a stiff little wag and gives them the eye. And off they run. His canine presence stops the fight.
I didn't teach him; he just does it.
Rocky, of course, would chase a strange cat out of the yard if she saw it. But she is fairly deaf now - not completely so, but much of her hearing is impaired. And she loves her naps. So keeping the yard free of kitty quarrels is pretty much up to Yanqui and me.
This habit and ability of the Labradoodle to understand what is vague and untaught, and to act on that understanding is fascinating to me. It also forces me to be quiet, pay attention, be patient, and to avoid all coercion with the dog. It would appear, at least with Yanqui, that acting in any other mode than happy playfulness or quiet patience - i.e., to act out of frustration or annoyance, or to rush the dog with insensitive demand or domination - apparently extinguishes our connection, causing the Doodle to separate from me, both mentally and physically.
For me, the great joy of dogs lies in making that connection to their world and to the individual spirit. Yanqui is proving to be a wonderful teacher in many ways, but particularly in regard to how to connect, how to observe and perceive from my end, and with respect to the social niceties and the language of dogs. Fortunately for us both, I have now advanced through many stages of life and am moving back toward the beginning. And, in the beginning, all healthy humans are open, interested, intuitive, and able to connect and learn in a way they lose during that busy, productive and socially circumscribed time of life we define as adulthood.
No comments:
Post a Comment