Relationships

"I don't read your blog," a friend told me bluntly, but with a hint of apology in the tone. "I'm just not interested in dogs."

"It's not really about dogs," I told her. "It's about how people interact because of dogs, and how dogs affect your life."

"Oh," she said. She's still not going to read my blog.

Once upon a time you were bound to your family and friends by ties of blood and proximity. If you were lucky, these people shared your hobbies, interests, and values. If they didn't, you pursued them alone. Our metropolitan world and the Internet have allowed us to expand our lives to include people who, in a different time, we could never have met. Thus we form many social communities, with various purposes and payoffs. Though it clearly has many benefits, sometimes it leads to a fractured sense of self.

It should be clear by now that I don't just go to the dog park for Our Best Friend. And it's not really in my best interest either; I get more benefit actually walking the dog than standing around chatting. But I love meeting people who have no expectation of who I should be. No one at the park worries about my parenting, wonders about the depth of my religious commitment, or cares what I do for a living. I'm just another dog owner, one with a beautiful dog who attracts looks, questions, and admiration because he comes when called.

We had a nice day last week. I think it was Thursday. As a result, there were actually people at the park, instead of just icy wind, and better yet, people (and dogs) I know. Four of us, including Ronnie, chatted about dogs, dog sitters, the weather. Ronnie mentioned someone not present. "You all know Bob, right?" The three of us shook our heads. "You don't know Bob? He has a lab cross, Happy."

Our frowny faces immediately cleared. "Oh, of course I know him!" I said. Happy is one my favourite dogs. "His name is Bob?" I looked at the other two people standing there. "Let's be honest. Who here knows the names of more dogs than owners?" And all three of us raised our hands. Even funnier, we didn't ask if we knew each other's names. I'm pretty sure we avoided that 'cause none of us do. Ronnie, on the other hand, probably does. That's why he's Ronnie.

Such is the convoluted nature of relationships in the modern age. People whose names I don't know care more about my dog than people related to me by blood. They've watched him grow, offered advice, and encouraged me to persevere in spite of Our Best Friend's on-going issues. Likewise, most of my friends don't read my blog; strangers do. Strangers whom I'm getting to know through commenting back and forth through cyberspace. My best friend is running a marathon, but it's a blogger across the continent who successfully guilted me into walking my dog more regularly, in spite of the weather.

But friends from cyberspace or the dog park don't pick my kids up from school when I can't make it. They don't meet me for lunch, come over and cut my bangs to save me a trip to the salon, or listen to my personal woes on demand. We don't share holidays and life cycle events. Saying "We're on a first-name basis" usually connotes intimacy; at the dog park it's just one step above a no-name basis. At the end of the day, they are still strangers whom I know nothing about except what kind of dog they have. We have little in common except a love of dogs; my friends and I have much in common except a love of dogs. It all balances out.

I am grateful to live in a time when I have the opportunity to meet different people with whom I can share different parts of myself-- my kids, my dog, my writing, my neuroses. (Maybe no one else is happy about that, but some people put up with it.) To my friends and family in the here and now, who aren't reading this (and to the half-a-dozen that are): Thanks for being part of my life. I hope I’ve been a good friend back. To the subscribers, who read and leave the occasional comment: Thanks for keeping me from shouting in the wind. It motivates me to keep writing (and to walk the dog). And to my dog park friends, the focus of all this effort, and who have no idea I keep this blog: I'll see you later at the park.

The "Perks" of Dog Ownership #5

Warning: If you are at all squeamish, stop reading right now and come back on a less vulgar day. Life can be messy; this is one of those times.


On Sunday the girls took Our Best Friend outside to play. He got a little over-excited and lost his lunch in the snow, so the girls brought him back in.

Fast forward two days. The Middle Child took OBF out for a bathroom break, but returned almost immediately. "Mommy, OBF was being VILE! He dug up his barf and wanted to eat it! It was SO GROSS! So I made him come in."

Later it was the Oldest's turn. She, too, came back in almost immediately. "OBF is SO DISGUSTING!!! He found his vomit, it's all frozen, and I couldn't make him leave it alone! So I brought him back."
Well, the dog still hadn't done what he'd gone out to do. So even though it was colder out than I can stand, I bundled up and took him out. And damn if those girls weren't right. There was no separating him from his leftover waste. It was completely frozen-- a barfsicle, if you will-- no amount of tugging on the leash could make him come, and nothing would make him drop it. I tried burying it under the snow again, kicking pieces across the yard... he went after every single chunk like it was the most tender bits of steak. Unlike the girls, I was determined to stay out until did his rightful business. As a result, I think the whole disgusting mess ended up right back inside him. And in the end I don't think he even did what I wanted him to do. I'm with the girls-- ew, gross, vile, disgusting. And he better not kiss me with that mouth.

The Winding Path to Dog Ownership, Part VI(b): Our Best Friend and the Trainer

After Trainer #1 Jason quoted us $500 to whip Our Best Friend into shape, I immediately contacted Marisa to put OBF back up on her Petfinder site. I was willing to foster/adopt a different dog, if Marisa would just get this anxious, aggressive mutt off my hands.

Placing him, with all his issues, would be tricky. There was one nibble of interest, but the potential fosters already had a dog, and that ruled out OBF. So Marisa asked,

Is there anyway you would be willing to work with his behaviours to keep him? Perhaps I can find someone to help you? pls let me know what you think thanks.

Meeting with a free trainer was a no-brainer. Even if we didn't keep OBF, better behaviour would make him more adoptable. Marisa introduced us to Jared via e-mail, and we all met in person at the City Centre park.

Because OBF was so impossible to walk, this was the first time we had taken him to the park, which is a very popular spot for walkers, joggers, bike riders, in-line skaters, and of course, their dogs. OBF started barking the minute we took him out of the car. It was mortifying. He wasn't just barking, he was yelping and jumping and basically behaving like a wild animal instead of a domesticated dog. It was clear we had no control over his behaviour, and I really wondered how wise this outing was.

Jared had two dogs of his own-- Brooklyn, a Staffordshire terrier mix who covered our girls in kisses, and Duke, a Boston terrier loaded with character. Both were rehabilitated rescue dogs, but you'd never know it. Neither showed the slightest sign of aggression, and OBF's insane barking didn't faze them in the slightest. Obviously Jared was good at what he did.

Jared took the leash from the Spouse, and forced OBF to walk right beside him. OBF whined and tugged, but Jared didn't give an inch. Finally, OBF lost it, and tried to bite Jared on the foot. Jared immediately grabbed OBF by the collar and neatly flipped him on his back, with his arm against OBF's throat. OBF struggled a bit, then went limp. As soon as he stopped resisting, Jared let him back up. OBF jumped to his feet, wagging his tail and once again tugging at the leash, eager to be off. Clearly he held no grudge against Jared for pinning him to the ground and trying to strangle him.

The girls took turns walking Brooklyn and Duke, who were so obedient a toddler could have controlled them. The Spouse and I took turns with Jared, learning how to use the leash and choke chain to control his pulling. Every time another dog passed us, he barked and tugged; every time the girls got too far ahead, he really went nuts. He was most calm when all five us (or eight, with Jared and his dogs) walked together as a pack.

At the end of an hour and a half, we came back to where we had started and all sat down on the grass. OBF wasn't barking anymore, and he lay companionably beside the other two dogs. Just that alone was progress. Jared was confident that with a little more work, OBF would be a terrific dog. "If I didn't already have two dogs," he told us, "I would take him myself."

We took OBF home, buoyed with hope that all would be well. It just took a firm hand and a lack of fear, I told myself. So when OBF ignored a direct command, I decided I would show him who was in charge. Flush with over-confidence, I grabbed him by the collar and pulled. He snarled and snapped at my hand. I released him immediately, walked out of the house, and called the Spouse on his cel. "I want that dog out NOW," I told him. "He just tried to bite me."

"We'll get rid of him," he answered.

I didn't speak to OBF for days. OBF doesn't harbour grudges; he kept putting his chin on my bed and raising his eyebrows, looking at me with puzzled eyes, and then lying down with a big sigh. Clearly I was mad at him, he didn't know why, and it made him sad. Meanwhile, the girls and the Spouse continued to bond with him, and his protective nature became more and more evident.

Of course I couldn't stay mad at him forever. When he's calm, when his anxieties aren't triggered, he's a fun, loving, and loyal dog. We decided to meet with Jared again, and it was amazing what an improvement we saw. There was less barking and yelping, and it was much more controllable. When we passed other dogs, he didn't always bark, and we were able to refocus his attention to us and the walk. A few days after our second session with Jared, the Spouse and I took OBF for a walk ourselves. The pulling and tugging had decreased; we were even able to divert his attention when we crossed paths with another dog. We were thrilled.

I still didn't want to keep him though. His aggression and anxiety made me too nervous. If we used a tone of voice he didn't like, or pulled him by the collar, he growled and showed his teeth. I couldn't run the risk that one day the girls would have a friend over, and OBF would mistake rough-housing for violence and "protect" his girls by biting someone. I love dogs, I want to help them, but I'm not a professional trainer, and owning a dog that might bite is not a risk I'm willing to take. People like Jared who work with these dogs are amazing and brave, but I have small children to worry about.

So we left Our Best Friend's picture on Petfinder, and waited for someone who would be captivated by his beauty and know what do with a dog with "issues."

Getting Out and About

I had lunch with a dear friend yesterday, and, as is my wont, complained about the weather. "It's too cold to walk the dog, even," I whined, then shut right up at the look she gave me. She's training for a half-marathon, and prior to our lunch had run 6.5 km (about 4 miles) and walked another 6.5. The wind whipped and the snow came down, but she ran, and her two dogs ran with her. I picked the wrong person to complain to.


I have to walk dog more. Not just for him, but for me as well. I was diagnosed a few years ago with osteopenia, the precursor to osteoporosis, and I know walking is the best way to add bone density to the hips.

I did walk him to the park last Thursday and this past Monday, but the weather was decent both days. In spite of being born in a city with a climate similar to Moscow (but worse), in my middle age I've come to loathe the cold. It gets into my bones and makes me miserable. Exercise is supposed to improve mood, not worsen it.

Still, it's embarrassing to be such a wussy-pants, especially when your best friend runs marathons. So I compromised. Today I took Our Best Friend to the park, but I drove there. Once there, I walked back and forth at the north end of the park, on an east-west path. I faced south the entire time; the one time I went a bit south and turned back north, my glasses got frostbite.

And I'm not the only wussy-pants, I guess. There were only five people there, including me. Three came with big, husky dogs, like OBF, but one was a woman who has a very cute Scottish terrier. We are nodding and smiling acquaintances, but a language barrier prevents much communication. I watched in amazement as she marched resolutely the whole circuit of the park, wind in her face and all, and the little terrier marched right along at her heels. They do get snow in the Scottish Highlands, so I guess the breed is hardier than it looks, and he had a lovely little red jacket on. Still, he didn't have booties and he's so small, I got colder just watching him.

Our Best Friend had a wonderful time. And I see his social skills improve day by day. For his sake (and my bone's sake) I'll endure it as best I can. But forgive me if I still whimper, "When is it spring again?"

The Magical Mystery Mutt Tour

Today I am joining a "blog hop." Participating bloggers submit pictures and a write-up of their mixed-breed dogs, so we can all play the game, "Guess Which Breeds?"

We play this game at the dog park all the time. I woke up Thursday morning to blinding sunshine reflecting off Wednesday's big snow dump. To my surprise it wasn't nearly as cold outside as it looked, and in order to ease the ever-present guilt, I walked Our Best Friend to the park.

OBF ran around like a rocket, so happy to be outdoors. Then he tried to play with the most interesting looking dog: big ears, long thin tail with a slight curl, and a black coat with an orange brindle barely showing through. With the "Magical Mystery Mutt Tour" in the back of my mind, I asked the owner what kind of dog she was. "SPCA special," he answered. According to them, she was a black lab/shepherd mix. I shook my head. Not with those ears or that body type. If I'd brought my camera, her picture would be here as well.

Then another woman came up to me, pointed at OBF, and said, "Your dog looks just like mine, only brown!" And he did. Her dog was all shades of grey instead of brown, with the same curly tail and collie-like features around the face. The SPCA labelled him a husky/shepherd mix, just like OBF. Two dogs, with a variety of similarities and differences, yet believed to be the same blend. A mutt is, indeed, a mystery.

Here's a picture of our boy. The muzzle is shepherd. You'll have to take my word for the plumy malamute tail. The eyes are husky. The colouring is Australian shepherd (one chow owner at the park thinks the tail and colouring are chow, of course). And once, looking at calendar with a different collie for each month, we realized that OBF has a collie "mole" on each side of his face, and a collie-like ruff under the chin. He weighs in at about 65-70 pounds, but he's slightly smaller than the average shepherd. And next to a collie, he doesn't look collie at all.

When we walk as a family, he goes insane if the girls walk ahead where he can't protect them. He gallops around them in circles at the park. He's overprotective to an extreme, of us and other dogs he likes, and he's super-intelligent (except when it comes to playing with other dogs). I say he's German shepherd all summer and husky all winter.

Any opinions?