slowpoke & joe - adrift in seattle

Unripe plums and cherry pits

2006-07-11T22:43:00.000-07:00

The weather's nice and Joe's been dallying outside more, now at an age where he's content not to be hanging about under the desk.

The cherry tree has tons of red if a bit bitter cherries, the squirrels, crows and other birds are making short work of them and drop the pits on our deck, with shreds of fruit still clinging to them. Joe's never been food motivated (although perhaps that too is changing) but he must have been gobbling them down, with a chaser of rock hard plums.

The effect on his digestive system can be imagined and he had to be rushed outdoors on the hour every hour starting at 3 a.m. After a day of white rice he seems to be on the mend, but unlike the teenager after a bout with Tequila, he hasn't lost his taste for cherry pits so I can't let him out alone.

It's funny because he's been out there for weeks with the cherries, leaving them largely alone and then suddenly they're as irresistible as crack.

He's a few days from breaking the one year mark, so maybe lots will change as this landmark birthday is passed. I'll let you know.

Joe is lost and found

2006-06-24T13:21:00.000-07:00

Joe loves water, as much water as his webbed feet can have at. We usually walk up and over the hill to Lake Washington to tiny little coves. This little ribbon beaches are a few feet of pebble beach where it's possible to throw a ball for Joe to retrieve.

On a beautiful sunny day, there is a lot of competition for lakeshore and all our usual spots were taken. We headed further down the lakeshore where the coves are cut away by cliffside. At that point, there is a boulder retaining wall. From above it looked to be only 2 feet (less than a meter) high, an easy leap up or down for Joe. So down he leapt and I stood above and threw the ball. He jumped out into the rolling surface of the lake intent on the ball, his shoulders rolling heavily with every stroke. This always amuses me, the way his shoulders pull at the water.

And he nabbed the ball and swam back. His paws dug into the dirt capping the boulder wall, and it became slick and muddy. His paws didn't find purchase and slid back onto the boulder. This for some reason frightened Joe and he wouldn't try to jump up from the lake onto the boulder wall. His eyes were wide with alarm. He circled whining and pacing in front of the wall but couldn't be coaxed into making another attempt to jump up. At over 75 pounds, he weighs too much for me to pull up, even a couple of feet. He was out of his head with fear. And suddenly I was too, as there was no way for me to get him.

I grabbed my coat and started to run down the trail to where the boulder wall was shorter. As I ran away from Joe his whining turning to whimpers and heart-wrenching cries, I couldn't see him but I could hear him crashing around in the water. Roughly 75 feet away, I found a place to get down, there was no choice but to jump from the wall into the snowmelt of Lake Washington.

I waded 10 feet from shore into the Lake calling to him before he noticed me through his panic. When he finally espied me, he was the very picture of joy as he bounded through the waves to me. I was soaked to the hips in icy water, my sneakers filled, my hands covered with mud as we clambered out of the lake. But I did have my puppy again and all the horrible scenarios that had run through my mind in the minutes I'd run down the trail were now receding.

On a brief hiatus, back next week. Sorry.

2006-05-31T22:43:00.000-07:00

Thanks for coming -

Sometimes I wish I was my own dog

2006-05-23T11:49:00.000-07:00

Joe, like all dogs, lives in the present moment. His life is good: lots of exercise, healthy food, yummy bones, two people who love him and play with him. And except for the times when he doesn't get what he wants, he is happy.

Often he's joyously happy. And sometimes I'm a wee bit envious; it's hard for me to enjoy things as much as Joe does; it's hard for me to not live (mentally) in the past and the future; it's hard to relax as completely and sleep as soundly.

It seems like a pretty excellent deal, the dog's life in relatively prosperous countries.

Eau de great stinking corpse lily

2006-05-15T14:51:00.000-07:00

Joe is so consistently well-behaved that we've not been faced with a disaster that demands he go to obedience school. B. doesn't really believe in them anyway.

However, Joe is now 10 months old and strong - very strong. With a hop to grab an especially delicious looking stick, I can be nearly pulled over. It's infrequent that he becomes oblivious of my presence at the other end of the leash, but it does happen. And I hate to be lurched off my feet, as if at sea, while only walking my puppy.

This is Joe's first spring and he is very charmingly attracted to flowers and plants he's never seen before. It's hard not to melt at the sight of your puppy breathing in the fragrance of Iris. Even after you've been yanked 3 feet to give him the pleasure.

It's sad too to realize that this is simply 'cataloging' for him, now that he recognizes that 'that' flower has 'that' smell, he'll never do it again. Because in some sad silly species-chauvinistic way, I'd like him to enjoy the scent of flowers.

And perhaps if I can find a great stinking corpse lily, he would.

In a month, though, flower-appreciating or not, off we go to Obedience School.

Swimming Lessons 2

2006-05-08T12:57:00.000-07:00

Joe is nearly 10 months old now, and he's taken to swimming. He's fascinated with water but thus far will only really swim in Lake Washington as he can run and hop into the little waves before having to swim. And he's achieved a mean dog-paddle.

Marymoor Park offers 4 different dog coves but he'd have to jump off a rock to actually do any swimming. For months, we've been trying to coax him off the rocks and into the stream but no dice.

He'd clamber around on the rocks, longingly watching other dogs leap into the stream and set out against the current. Whimpering with frustration, he'd dance on the rocks and slide into the drink, claws and neck outstretched.

But finally he tentatively set his nose into the current and set out a few feet after a stick. He turned back towards the shore and saw me n' B. cheering him on - after reassuring himself that he could get out of the water and back in on his own, he was off! He saw probably 21' into the stream which has a current strong enough to drift a fishing boat past relatively quickly.

His delight and dog pride were obvious and visible for about 3 minutes. And then he found a particularly interesting puddle of dog pee and all was forgotten.

(Now that the rains have stopped, I'll bring my camera out again)

The destructive omnivore

2006-05-02T14:31:00.000-07:00

Joe, has suddenly and inexplicably developed a taste for generally unconsumable items: my rugby coat, my baseball cap, a tire tread, plastic grocery bags.

This comes essentially without warning. He's been able to safely be with household items up until this week. Nothing's changed except he's older, 9 months and 3 weeks. His schedule remains the same, he's home alone never longer than 5 hours and usually only 2-4 hours.

Nonetheless, his palate has evolved from bones, rawhide chews and kongs to more exotic fare - my clothing and tires.

And he doesn't seem to connect his stomach and excetory woes to his new eating habits. Everyday I've done a quick patrol to make sure no items are available for consumption, but like a gourmand, he simply expands his range.

Today, he pulled the plastic grocery bag out of the garbage, simply to enjoy it's delicate texture and for the frisson of ripping it into miniscule shreds. (Making it very hard to know exactly how much he ingested).

That mystery will, no doubt, be solved with tomorrow's yard work.

Puppy Swimming Lesson 1

2006-04-27T00:20:00.000-07:00

Now, I would have guessed that swimming, especially the 'dog paddle' would come naturally, instinctively to dogs.

Unless my dog is unusually odd, I guess that's not the case.

As he learned to swim, he'd set out into the water, his front legs stiff as boards, stretched in front of him. As he'd get excited, his rigid legs chopped through the water creating quite a commotion of water in his face. Then he bit at the water, chomping away and proceeding to swim frantically, in a tight circle, snapping at the water madly.

Only after he tired did he notice I was calling to him, well, after laughing at him for a while.

Lake Washington is now snow melt, and so very cold, but that does not much deter Joe, who truly can hardly bear not to be in the water, despite having no idea what to do with it.

He gallumps about, splashes and churns and then bounds onto the shore to quiver, tongue hanging out, smiling and shivering.

Tearing off the Easter Bunny’s face

2006-04-19T19:22:00.000-07:00

I bought B. an Easter Bunny as a present, despite the fact that Easter is an uninteresting mystery to him. The Bunny was remarkably cute, soft long lop ears, a sweet face with big eyes and a soft heavy body.

I left it on my desk and then let Joe the pup outside to take care of business. It was a rare, fine day here and so the door stayed open as I worked at the computer. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Joe dash past. Dangling from his mouth were the lop ears of B’s Easter Bunny. I jumped up, yelling and gave chase. This convinced Joe that an exciting game had just begun so he hurled the bunny in the air and then pounced on it in the muddy grass.

The Easter Bunny’s face had been ripped off and he was smudged with mud. I gave it to B. anyway.

There was no way to be angry at Joe, the only stuffed animals he’d ever seen were his puppy companions, the last of which lasted 3 minutes. I’d forgotten about this but Joe remembered as soon as he espied the Easter Bunny on my desk.

Joe’s got a bone

2006-04-14T12:36:00.000-07:00

Whenever I give Joe a fresh, meaty bone he is delighted. He dances about, his eyes alight in a way that no other object causes, not even dog food.

Then after he’s worked on getting the bits of meat and sinew off the thing, whenever I come near he hovers anxiously over the bone. He looks worried, as if I might realize that I’ve given away the most wonderful thing and reclaim it.

Every time I look over, I can’t help but to laugh at his greedy fearful expression. It reminds me of Gollum hissing about his precious. It’s the only time my easygoing, friendly puppy evinces any negativity. And it cracks me up.

The Dog of War

2006-04-04T13:53:00.000-07:00

Well, the title is an exaggeration, but my relationship with B has suffered more conflict after Joe than pre-Joe.

A dog is another relationship, with it's own demands, discomforts and joys. As an unrepentant dog-lover it’s easier for me to simply accept all the changes that come with a dog in the house. I grew up with dogs, so I know that Joe is easy-as-pie, even as a puppy.

(Actually, in a fit of pique I had wished Joe was more difficult as it would make it easier to construct “Marley, the bad dog” narratives.)

That’s not our lot, though, if Joe were more well behaved he’d be an ottoman. Well, except for the excessive energy. But a run and an hour’s walk deal with that relatively well.

I love his dog smell, the active awareness in his speckled brown eyes, the softness of his fur and his devoted nature. When we leave for a few hours, he nudges open the bedroom door and retrieves the stinkiest piece of clothing he can find from each of us. Then gently carries and lays them in front of the door, and sleeps on them ‘til we come home. How can you not love that?? He doesn’t chew them to pieces, he just loves our dirty socks. It’s touching to be that well loved, in that ineffable dog way.

So, long story short he’s a source of conflict, but I would choose even the conflict as the price of ownership.

Will be taking a break - back on April Fools!!

2006-03-14T13:01:00.000-08:00

Thanks for coming - Please come back in lovely April

Dancing Paws

2006-03-02T20:30:00.000-08:00

Today after a long day Joe tried to tempt me into playing with him by tap dancing, sliding, wiggling, waggling and shimmying down the length of the living room and back, laughing all the while.

This is why I have a puppy - no other thing can radiate as much pure, inviting joy as a dancing dog.

The Ideals of Lassie

2006-03-01T21:39:00.000-08:00

I've been a bit under the weather which involved days of (prescription) drug-induced lassitude. B. took care of Joe's needs while I lay flopped on a couch in a twilight state for a couple of days, as per doctor's orders.

Sadly, I have to admit I expected Joe to notice that I wasn't well and to respond Lassie-like with sympathy and quiet attendance.

Not really a smart expectation of a puppy, as he did come and lay nearby only to whine, whistle and hoot his dismay at my refusal to chase him about.

He's a puppy, with puppy needs and I'm a girl with unrealistic Hollywood ideals..."What is it, Joe? Ahh, you're worried about me! Put down my slippers, that's a good boy. Oh, you've brought flowers? That's so sweet!"

And once again, I am humbled by what I learn when I examine what I expect from my dog.

Yeeps. If I was 6 years old it'd be less embarrassing.

Face snuffles

2006-02-11T13:42:00.000-08:00

In the morning I often drape a folded T-shirt over my eyes, creating a little tent of darkness so I can catch a few more minutes of blissful sleep.

Today Joe stuck his snout under the tented fabric and gave my face a wet snuffle, shocking me awake and cutting short that period of drifting between sleep and wakefulness. When I sat up, startled, he had a very winning 'dog smile' that made it impossible to be angry at the rude awakening.

The Animal Lessons

2006-02-11T13:21:00.000-08:00

One of the things I learned to appreciate this week, as I was alone with Joe, is how much I sort of forget that I'm an animal. In the past few days as my worktime and social time has to be include breaks to race home and take Joe for a walk and feed him. It put me back in touch with the idiotic realization of how much I am an animal-being too.

When I tend to Joe's needs, physical and emotional it's obvious how basic simple happiness in human's comes from the same things - nutritious food, ample exercise, social play, affection.

I think it's something that gets forgotten as our day's get busy and we take care of every detail except the animal needs that can be shunted aside to 'save time' - play, nutritious food, enjoyable exercise.

Joe constantly reminds me of the ineffable joy even from a sunbeam.

Puppy-eyed

2006-01-29T13:05:00.001-08:00

I sometimes look into Joe's eyes, trying to fathom what he's thinking - always unsuccessfully.

The only time I can deduce what he's thinking is when he isn't - when he simply needs something: to go out, to go for a walk, to play.

But sometimes, usually when I've just come home, or awoken, or have a rawhide bone in hand - sometimes, he looks at me with such adoration.

I wish I could live a life as simple, joy-filled and direct as my puppy, instead I'm grateful for joy he brings into my life by being a happy, happy puppy.

Trainer's Verdict

2006-01-21T10:53:00.000-08:00

Joe had two sessions with a wonderful trainer, Cora at the Downtown Dog Lounge. In her professional opinion, he's very energetic, perhaps excessively playful but not aggressive in the least.

This however does not mean that he doesn't need to be under firm control at the dog park. And I confess, I did (up and to a point) let him make his own decisions while there.

She taught him to drop whatever he was doing with a stern, "Leave It." And he's much better on leash now too.

I am very relieved and look forward to going to the dog park again.

Dog Days

2006-01-16T18:48:00.000-08:00

One thing I didn’t, perhaps, spend enough time considering was how getting a puppy would affect our relationship. B. works long and arduous hours; often he is too tired and too drained to spend time caring for Joe. This usually falls to me, as we both knew it would, and this is fine with all of us.

It has though had an unexpected effect, that I am far more involved with the pup than he is, and as such, it seems that I am over-involved with Joe’s welfare – the words used to describe me in this regard are over-protective and maternal. I don’t think of Joe as a child but when I’ve been monitoring how other dog owners circumscribe the ‘rules’ for dog-play at the dog park; it does break down awfully neatly on gender lines.

The women, myself included, seem to be very nervous about play that involves chomping down on the neck or legs, pinning, or anything that ends in squealing. The men, in contrast, stand back with arms crossed and murmur gnomically, “Let ‘em figure it out, when someone yips or bleeds, then it’s time to pull ‘em apart.”

The women, it could be said seem to be having emotional experiences with their dogs and the men seem to be more like farmers, not uninvolved but not emotionally involved in the same way, somehow.

But in the long and the short of it, B. feels I need to spend less time with Joe, and that we as a couple need to spend more time without Joe. I hear the faint resemblance to his tone to similar statements made by friends to their wives about a new baby – and have observed how my female friends do, without noticing, become enveloped in their relationship with the baby. I’m happy to be with someone that wants to ensure that we have enough ‘couple-time’ alone, but bemused that I had gotten so wrapped up in a puppy, especially without really noticing it.

I did notice that before I climbed into bed to cuddle with B. I’d always give Joe a little soft pat ‘Good-night’ – usually while B. was reaching for me… but I guess things creep up on you and you lose a bit of perspective, fairly quickly.

Dog Dominance Advice?

2006-01-11T18:13:00.000-08:00

A Call for Advice –

As I’ve written many times before, Joe loves to play with much larger dogs. When he goes to daycare he has always insisted on being with dogs that outweigh him by as much as 80 pounds – he’s never met a 130 pound dog he didn’t like. He is also insistent about playing, if a dog is uninterested Joe will do his level best to engage him, he’ll bat at him, leaping about and land in a play bow, dancing and barking. And he’ll do this until I pull him away or until the other dog snaps at him.

He’s never hurt another dog, although he does like to grab the loose fur around their neck and hold on. He’ll wrestle another dog to the ground but lets them up pretty quickly because he doesn’t seem to want the game to stop.

Last weekend at the dog park, Joe had found a 100 pound, 8 month old Rottweiler to play with, but the Rotti was far more shy and submissive than Joe. Joe raced around the Rotti and the dog parried and boxed with him but without much enthusiasm.

His owner said to me, “Your dog is really aggressive.”

“Oh, he’s just a puppy. He’s still learning how to play.”

“No, he’s really aggressive.” She was very insistent about this.

I said that I’d do some research on it. She recommended obedience classes (which I do intend to do, once our out of town visitors have gone).

I have never perceived Joe as aggressive, dominant certainly, with Alpha aspirations definitely. Now, it may be a question of semantics, but it seems that ‘aggressive dog’ has a specific and important legal definition, a dog that poses a threat to people or animals.

I’ve seen Joe be wrestled to the ground again and again, I’ve seen him play with other pups, but I’ve never seen him look intent, look angry, never seen him actually hurt any dog, never had any reports of anything like that at daycare either. Nonetheless, he’s my responsibility, I want to always protect him. I don’t want to find out later that I’d been in denial about a problem, when something’s gone terribly wrong.

B. (my boyfriend) feels that this woman doesn’t understand the difference between ‘dominant’ and ‘aggressive’ – but I wonder what you all think? Any advice?

Greenies & Health Issues

2006-01-05T11:50:00.000-08:00

Joe, like most dogs, loves Greenies.

Our vet asked how much of them Joe ate and how often. Apparently, vets all over the country are seeing life-threatening bowel-obstruction problems with them. Owners should take care to feed their dog the appropriate size treat, and limit the number.

Here's an article about the Greenies and other risky dog treats (for readability on this page the website address takes 2 lines), http://www.detnews.com/apps/pbcs.dll/
article?AID=/20051225/LIFESTYLE/512250364/1005

I think it's a good product, but going forward Joe is only going to get the tiniest sized Greenie for puppies, and I'm watching him with those pig ears, too.

Panty Thief

2006-01-03T00:17:00.000-08:00

(Sorry for the long break. Hope everyone had a good holiday.)

Joe was at a Doggie Daycare for a week, and he’s so grown that I honestly didn’t think he was our dog when he came into the lobby. After I looked in his face I recognized him, but in that one week it was as if he’d aged a year.

He looked like a dog, not a puppy. He’s taller and chunkier, longer and stronger. The little puppy that could be cradled in arms is entirely gone.

Yet, he’s still essentially the same, sweet, curious, active – just bigger. Suddenly, there’s a whole ‘nother layer of the house that will have to be puppy-proofed. He came home suddenly able to snatch things off counters and tables that he was absolutely stymied by only days ago.

Joe is, thus far, not at all destructive. We’ve gone through his puppyhood without anything destroyed – shoes, belts and garments all intact. He does love to grab something belonging to me when I’ve been working too long (in his estimation) and then come dancing into my office with it dangling from his teeth.

Unlike dogs I’d had growing up, he never secrets away things to gnaw to pieces. Any contraband he finds he dances out a clear Morse code telegraphing its discovery. Even from 20 feet away I can tell when Joe’s nabbed one of my socks or shoes from the “Gotta Dance! Gotta Dance! frenetic tippy-tapping of his nails on the hardwood.

He’ll let the shoe dangle seductively from his teeth, waving it gently back and forth, tossing it in the air until he’s caught my attention. His eyes are round with delighted mischief. As I give chase, he looks over his shoulder with a demented glee.

But never does he do any damage to the kidnapped item. It’s purely a stratagem to get me away from my desk.

When B. is home, the technique is the same but the items are nearly always B’s rather than mine. He can clearly smell the difference between my socks and B’s. Joe chooses an item most likely to get a reaction – never a rag or a sponge - always clothing, shoes or reading material. If nothing of B’s is within reach, he’ll dance in with something of mine, but his preference is always to bring something belonging to the party he wants to interrupt.

This morning I was still in bed and B. was downstairs online. I heard Joe tap dancing up a storm, dancing his little heart out and leaping about. Then I heard B. laugh and Joe’s paws drumming all the way up the stairs. B. managed to easily snag his boxers from Joe’s teeth as Joe cavorted, wiggling around with joy.

If only for the laughter he creates, he’s worth every second of work it takes to keep him healthy and happy.

Mysterious Kung Fu Fighting Technique

2005-12-20T15:22:00.000-08:00

(photos clockwise from left; Joe attempting to engage an opponent; Joe receiving a bite; Joe maneuvering into the Blob Move)

Joe is stubborn in his own way, refusing to fight like a puppy, preferring sparring partners far older and bigger, and is absolutely relentless – whether ‘winning’ or losing.

Many of the venerated Kung Fu fighting styles have names revealing the source of their inspiration: Black Crane, Praying Mantis, Monkey, Southern Wolf.

Today, I tried to discern what fighting technique Joe employed. His strategy was absolutely consistent. He would approach the opponent with his head ducked, his eyes eagerly up, grinning a puppy-smile. He would then be sent spinning unceremoniously to the ground, pinned and held down by the scruff of his neck while he wiggled with uncontained glee. As he spent much of his time pinned on his back, I had ample opportunity to reflect upon his method.

It was obvious, even to Joe, that his opponents had quicker reflexes. The Masters among them possessed explosive moves that launched them skyward, blocks that sent Joe flying and leaps that rocketed them to safety. One able opponent, a two year old, red, Doberman bitch possessed the ‘Red Eagle’ style, where she would descend upon Joe from on high and pinion him to the ground. Later, a lighting-quick, 4 month old Vizsla pup demonstrated the ‘Twirling Chinese Acrobat’ style, whirling out of Joe’s reach and then flipping him onto his back.

Clearly Joe had to develop a new style based on his abilities:

- His paw technique is focused, he feints and parries, striking solidly in the air – long after the target has disappeared.
- Joe is bursting with puppy energy, yet he’s slow. Very slow. Slower than dogs 10 years older, so slower than Grandma Mabel at 72.
- Joe lacks balance, economy or elegance in his movement. It is fair to say he trundles along in the best of circumstances and plows through in the scrum.
- He cannot catch even a Pug, nor can he escape from anyone. He lacks quickness and can only execute 1 move to another dog’s 4.
- As far as form, when he runs all his momentum is transferred into flopping and bobbling, as if he’s part Jello. This squid-like undulation underlies most of his movements.

So his strengths are equivocal, except perhaps for courage and persistence. He also demonstrates an unshakeable amiability. Even when he’s getting the very worst of it, Joe doesn’t lose his good humor; when he’s driven another dog to murderous rage Joe doesn’t lose his sense of supreme enjoyment; even when bitten with the dreaded Cobra Move, Joe loses none of his enthusiasm.

With his only strengths being relentless, somewhat strong and excessively single-minded, Joe forged a new technique.

On his low-slung, little legs, Joe learnt to lower his head nearly to the ground, thus situating his sharp, new teeth in perfect position to fasten around an ankle, the rear ankle being preferred as it is far from the opponent’s fangs. Joe has learned to slither around ankles, wresting one in his grasp, throwing his weight into the dog’s leg, sometimes bringing it down. This Black Land Shark Technique both distracts and irritates the opponent, forcing them to fight with Joe.

If the opponent dog ends up on the ground, then Joe then launches the Blob Move. With the other dog down, Joe just heaves his bulk on top of them. He can’t pin, or straddle – but he can lay over the other dog using his weight to keep them down. Since he often chooses larger opponents this ‘dead weight’ method is hilariously ineffective. He is shaken off like a pillow from a Hippo’s back.

It is always an honor to be present at the birth of a new Kung Fu Fighting Style, The Black Land Shark Technique with its signature Blob Move.

It is impossible for me not to admire Joe’s cheerful optimism, so foreign to me, even as it reveals an inability to perceive reality.

The Loves of a Pup

2005-12-15T18:19:00.000-08:00

Things Joe loves beyond measure:

A leaf traced with frost crystals
A big pile of dirt – yumm!
Small pillows of moss
Rediscovering a buried bone
Chunks of cedar
Scrubby tufts of English ivy to rub his face in and then slide over on his belly
A lace fern to shred
Any empty water bottle
A pile of woodchips or leaves
Bear grass
Obese squirrels
Children – especially the fireplug shape of a bundled-up toddler
My boyfriend, B.
Very, very big dogs
Snow
Anything new, especially if he can fit it in his mouth
Waking up late and getting up slowly (I adore this about him, he’s not a morning pup)

Things Joe hates:

His Halti (a head halter for dogs)
Being left alone at home
Being left outside the coffee shop

Joe’s deep attentiveness to stimuli has made me notice things that register only in terms of irritation. Joe sees the elegance of frost, the delicious crunch of a frost-gilded leaf under a paw, the intriguing way it melts when he takes it in his mouth, its slipperiness underfoot as he pads across the deck, the sharpness of cold air in his nose. While my first reaction was, ‘Damn, now I’ll have to scrape the windshield. I’ll need to leave 5 minutes earlier.’

After watching Joe so fully absorbed by the frost (which is relatively unusual in Seattle) I saw it differently. As we walked along I began to notice how the frost outlined stems and twigs, yet fanned across some leaves and only edged others. How it lay like a sheen of vellum over the moss, how the thinnest layer of ice lay over the dark pool of water.

It was a beautiful, clear day, once I stopped to notice.

Shock Collars & Temper! Temper!

2005-12-13T21:50:00.000-08:00

While walking Joe along the river in the dog park, we came across a 3 people kneeling on the ground, huddled over a white dog. The dog was a thin, young pointer, she was trembling, her eyes blank with fear, cowering against the ground as if to disappear. I asked if the dog was hurt and one of the women, a strong, blond woman in her 50’s (most likely from NYC) told us that the dog had been repeatedly shocked. I looked around but didn’t see an electrical fence. The women told me that she’d just removed the dog’s shock collar.

This poor dog had an owner who had been repeatedly shocking the animal, so repeatedly that the dog could only cling to the ground. There was a phone number on the collar and one of the appalled women had called the owner. He was now on his way to recover his animal and had explained that he’d been shocking the dog because she had run away.

Smart dog, that.

But the owner defies all logic. ‘Hmm,’ a hairy knuckle scratches an underslung forehead. ‘The dog’s gotten away. I know! I’ll shock it until it comes back.’ Such logic is not unknown in the monkey-world, nor sadly in the “missing links” still walking amongst us. So, our Neanderthal friend satisfied his anger at having lost his dog by torturing the animal. I wish only that the dog had run further, too far to be caught and returned to him.

Anger began to well up through my every pore and B. wisely steered me away. I thanked the women for taking matters in hand and removing the shock collar. I said, “I’d like to see that guy myself” but B tricked me by pointing out that Joe was trotting away ahead. I can’t stand to lose sight of Joe, so I was off.

Once I rounded the bend and could see Joe gamboling safely among the dogs who were belly flopping into the river, my mind returned to its anger, like a tongue to a sore tooth. Worrying it. Increasing it.

I wheeled round and said to B., “I’m going back. I want to take his picture. I’m going to post it on my site.”

I wanted to take his picture but even more I wanted to yell at him. I wanted to shame him. No, what I really wanted to do was to hold him down, attach the collar around his neck and teach him not to run away. Then to cool him off, I wanted to sink him in the river amongst the salmon spawn.

My chin jutted out involuntarily and I started off, only to be caught by the elbow by B. “No. Those women took the collar off. It’s their situation and they are dealing with it.”

I sighed and turned around to see where Joe had gone. He was trying to engage a Bernese Mountain dog in play while she was focused on playing with another Bernese.

Poor Joe loves to find much larger dogs, who are uninterested in him, and do everything in his meager power to get them to notice him. He twirled. He danced, and laughed his best dog-smile. He snaked figure eights between the two dogs’ legs. And for naught, he might as well have been a fly buzzing past their tails. Never one to leave unrequited love to a dignified end, he ran under his love object’s belly, grabbed an ankle and kept pace with the running animal above him. Not to be outdone, the Bernese simply bounded to her partner, pretending not to notice Joe’s 50 pounds on her foreleg. After he slipped in the mud along the river, Joe let go.

His big eyes followed the Bernese as she pranced before her partner. The two Bernese reared up on their legs facing each other like Lipizzaner stallions before twirling off. She leapt over Joe, as if he were a stump, in her haste to catch her mate.

Joe watched them race off and then shifted his attention towards a tiny, perfectly groomed, fluffy, cream colored Pomerian puppy wrapped in a hot pink jacket with black piping. This dog couldn’t have measured more than 6 inches in height. Joe reached out his paw and the tiny thing sank whining into the mud, elicting a shriek of dismay from its equally overdone owner.

I called to Joe. The woman circled Joe nervously in her glove-leather boots
snatching in the air at her dog to wrest it away from Joe’s muddy bulk. Fortunately, Joe lost interest quickly.

And as we continued on our way, I rekindled my rage at Mr. Dog Torture. I announced to B., “I’m going back. I want to see that man for myself.”

B. responded patiently, “No. You know what happens when you get that Irish anger. You’ll end up in jail.” Now, B has never seen me get my Irish up, but he’s heard about it and I’ve never ended up in jail or anything remotely close. Recognizing the wisdom in his take, and not wanting to horn in on the situation, which was ably handled by the angry New York women, I followed B to the car, still stewing.

As we prepared to leave, I saw the blond New Yorker and asked what had happened. Mr. Dog Torture was angry to have been confronted as he had spent thousands on training his dog. He said how he dealt with his dog was none of her business. His treatment of his dog was perfectly legal.”

Maybe it shouldn’t be legal. Maybe remote operated shock collars should be made illegal. I guess I can understand invisible fences, although I wouldn’t have the heart to get one. Joe would have to be shocked quite a few times before he understood it.

Anyway, on the drive back I was absorbed in rumination of what I’d have liked to have said, how much I would have loved to have gotten in the man’s face. How I’d loved to spoken the ugly, hard truth – surgical, dissecting words, words that would haunt Mr. Dog Torture for the rest of his life.

I, sadly for the state of my soul, have the peculiar ability to see almost instantly people’s hidden sore points. When I was a teen it was an evil super-power I sometimes made cruel use of – and disappointingly there’s a part of me that still thrills to the power of saying painful truths when roused in righteous anger.

(The only good thing about this is it has only happened when an animal is being ill-used, never if I feel I am being mis-treated. It’s very specific to animals as they little protection against people and no choice about their involvement with them).

B. made the mistake of trying to have a conversation with me while I was absorbed in my furious fantasies and had to tell me to lay off. Without the slightest awareness I had redirected my anger at a situation he described about his doctor.

I am still angry at Mr. Dog Torture. I would love to mete out some commensurate punishment and it galls me to no end that he can legally treat his dog that way.

And in the final analysis it put me back in touch with a dormant, ugly part of myself. It’s no excuse to say it’s genetic, yet(as I remember, probably inaccurately, from my reading) the Irish in the Middle Ages would crown a country fair with a Shillelagh fight. The entertainment wouldn’t be complete until the turf lay crushed and stained with blood, and keening trailed fallen fighters off the field. To the dismay, disgust and disbelief of foreign visitors, not all the fighters were men.

I’m afraid if I were a man, a young man. I’d have spent nights fighting nasty jerks simply because it felt good to smash in their faces. It is easy to say that as the only fights I ever had were with my brothers and I am ridiculously small. So, it would be my face that got the worst of it, I suppose.

I’ve got myself well trained now. I very, very rarely get even annoyed in traffic anymore, and am generally regarded as even-tempered, but today it is ever so clear that the layer of civilization on me lies thin.

Joe v. Miami & Me v. Me

2005-12-05T16:17:00.000-08:00

This photo does not show Miami.

We met a comely woman and her dog ‘Miami’ at Marymoor Dog Park. Miami was sporting a glitzy, bejeweled collar in a shade of salmon pink. Her owner was perfectly turned out in lean-legged casual pants, a cropped cream trench coat, stylish wool cap with a coiled scarf under her narrow jaw line.

She wasn’t French (her accented ‘aboat’ for ‘about’ pegged her as Canadian) yet she reminded me of French women I’ve known. These women take great care with their appearance, without adornment they’d be quite plain. Miami's owner created a fetching air with her short, perfectly shorn haircut that accentuated her lovely skin, strong nose and the angular plane of her jaw line. She cut a lithe, dancer’s figure, accentuated by the flattering lines of her clothes, and her demeanor was winning.

I liked her, as she had a sweet child-like voice and an affecting friendliness yet found myself being a bit critical. I noticed myself thinking – ‘why, such a little girl voice in a woman of roughly 35? Why so perfectly styled for the dog park?’ Now, this most probably had to do with the fact that I do nothing with whatever I’ve been given. Clearly, I also direct my discomfort about this onto others. So I was mentally admiring the effect of her efforts while simultaneously slighting her.

I guess, though, in my heart of hearts I’d like to be nicely done whenever I go out. I’d like to be the kind of girl/woman that buys well, that takes the time to look ‘just so’ – that revels in such things.

I know I don’t adorn myself because I simply don’t feel up to it. I’d like to confidently make the most of what I have, rather than squandering whatever I do have.

Anyway, Joe and Miami began to play – Miami has 8 months and a good 3 inches in height on Joe. She is quick with an aggressive bite, clamping down solidly on the scruff around Joe's neck. Her teeth dug into his neck, thus positioned they’d trot side by side for long stretches of time. Time that no doubt seemed as long to me as to Joe. He tried to twist his head away but was pinioned in place; Miami had her face so buried in Joe’s neck that her eyes were barely visible. This went on for quite a while, she’d grab him, and then Joe would eventually maneuver his way out. He’d dance away and she’d quickly get him by the neck again. I hovered over them waiting for Joe to protest so I could separate them.

Joe never gave a squeak, never gave any sign that rough trade was unappealing. He would wiggle out of her grasp, block her, chase her, be caught by her – and endure another solid bite on the neck, again and again. Miami is without mercy; she snarled and growled as she played. Joe just good-naturedly batted at her head with his big, inarticulate paws. He danced along and seemed to be enjoying the tangling, the crush, the action.

Five minutes later her attacks grew more insistent. Meanwhile Joe had turned his attentions to a fascinating smell that ran along the fence keeping him away from the riverstream. He cantered alongside the fence, nose delving into the grass, his breath coming in short, happy huffs. Miami raked her teeth into his neck again and bit down hard. Without warning, Joe let out a deep growl and showed his new white teeth. Miami stopped short, her mouth agape, her legs braced in front of her like a mule. Joe fixed her with a hard, direct stare. She turned tail and raced off. And she didn’t come back.

He made his point. I was impressed. He’s only patient up to a certain point.

Throughout the Joe v. Miami bout while poised to intervene, I was also examined my reactions, my judgments about Miami’s owner. It is, I know, typical of women dealing with women. There's a hard-wired competitiveness that always saddens me when I see it in myself and others. When I really pay attention to what I’m thinking, and why I'm thinking it, I’m abashed, at best.

Joe and Snow

2005-12-02T13:25:00.000-08:00

Today brought an unusual pleasure – snow in Seattle. This happens so rarely that even a trace of snow is a delight, bringing with it fond memories of frosty winters in New York, Nebraska and Massachusetts.

Even better, Joe the Pup had never seen snow before. The snow was gorgeous – wet, heavy flakes like silver dollars were drifting slowly groundward. It’s improbable looking snow, sloppy, clumpy and lumpy not like snow I’ve ever seen anywhere before. In Seattle snow rarely sticks and even more rarely lasts overnight.

Joe stepped out onto the deck and into the inch of accumulated soggy snow with surprise. He eyed it, snuffled his nose into it, and then scooted down the length of the deck snowplowing the bits of snow onto his nose. He raised his nose, tongue covered with sparkling slush and gulped it down. It was good, so he gnawed the deck boards for more. And more. Then he raced along the deck again, shoveling and ‘snoveling’ snow into his mouth using his black snout as a bulldozer. And then he stopped dead, and peed. On the deck.

This is a new behavior but I guess he had his reasons.

Next he leapt down the stairs into the yard, noticing that the snow was falling in front of his nose. He snapped at snowflakes, running in a tight circle, snapping away. This unhinged him to such a degree that he spun high in the air, and then raced the length of the lawn and skidded, coming to a halt just in front of the fence. He looked with amazement at the snow piled on his front feet, then twirled around. Dashing back the length of the yard, his legs stiffly extended as brakes, only to slide into the poor lace fern, his brakes failed.

(The poor fern is the unhappy recipient of many of Joe’s attentions – he tunnels through it, he snaps off fronds or tears at them with his teeth. In the early morning he greets it with a steaming stream of urine. Why this plant receives such special attentions, I don’t understand. I imagine it sees Joe coming with nothing but dread. It’s still a pretty plant, if bedraggled since we adopted Joe. I hope it survives his puppyhood.)

Anyway, skidding too was a new experience. He loped off, gaining speed and then lowering himself onto his forelegs like a makeshift dogsled. His mouth was wide in a dog-smile, his new teeth shone and his breath huffed out before him. All of this so transported him that he gave a hop of pure pleasure before churning off again. He swung to a stop in front of his digging hole, clawed up a bit of tasty clay and gobbled it down. His palate thus satisfied, the race circuit continued through the yard.

With the cold, it didn’t take long for him to tire and we went inside. It was a good day. Joe enjoys a snowday even more than I do, giving me someone to share the sweet, ephemeral lift that only swirling flakes of snow can bring.

Teething to Distraction

2005-11-25T16:24:00.000-08:00

I’ve been trying to distract him with ice cubes in toys, frozen Kong treats, a frosty string knot. For a half an hour or so, each of these distracts but these new teeth are causing bleeding, pink stains on the toys. Joe whimpers, plops down on a pillow only to jump up and pace, flop down with a breathy huff next to me, then in seconds is up and pacing again. The whimpers are so plaintive and unanswerable that it hurts to hear. I stop to pet and comfort him periodically but I've got work to finish. I can't help feeling in equal measure sympathy, concern and frustration. It's as difficult for me to concentrate as it is for him to rest.

Joe is too miserable to be ignored. I took him for a long walk thinking that afterwards he'd be able to slump into sleep. Once home he headed out of my office and I thought he'd begun his paces again. Instead he began scouring the house for contraband – stuff belonging to B or to me.

Hearing an unfamiliar sound in the kitchen I slipped in to see Joe trying to get a toy off a table. Two points of a quilted toy star hung just over the edge of the tabletop. He lifted himself up on his hind legs like a circus dog, a feat of motor coordination I would have thought beyond him at this puppy stage. He gently bobbled it with his nose on one side then the other, moving it gently and methodically. You could almost see the little wheels spinning as he observed, acted and recalculated how to move it within reach. He seemed to be enjoying the problem solving. Next, he grabbed his prize in mouth and then gave a hop of pure joy. Noticing me with an expression of mild guilt and hopefulness he shot away. He ran away looking over his shoulder clearly inviting me to chase him.

I would have but for the amount of work still on my desk.

After racing down and back the length of the house for a while, Joe finally collapsed into a fitful slumber next to my deskchair. Once he awoke I took him in the yard for an intense throwing and chasing session, hoping to tire and distract him. Yet he seemed even more energized and was not happy when I sank back into my deskchair.

So Joe took to a new but effective technique – springing up in the air a good couple of feet, woofing loudly. Then having gotten my attention he sprang from side to side like a deranged Texan skier slaloming out of control. I'd never seen him do anything like this before so I got up to try and calm him. He exploded into a run, hell bent for leather, down the length of the house. He was galloping so fast that his back was pulled into an arch, like an egg. His legs were going so rapidly as to be practically invisible. I've never seen him go so quickly before. Then he was back in the office still running at full speed in a tight circle in the center of the room. He circled and circled, his nails digging deeply into the rug. His eyes were wide and intense, yet unreadable. It was almost as if he'd been possessed by the ghost of an Egyptian coursing hound

He’s usually active, he’s a puppy, but nothing like this ever before. Nothing, not jet fuel, not a gallon of caffeine, nor a hit of speed could have made him move faster –

The wild-eyed look was intense enough that I got out of the way because I was afraid he’d accidentally bite or slam into me. Deranged by pain, I guess. When he finally flopped down to rest, I checked his mouth and the upper canines are just about to break the surface. No wonder he’s in a tizzy. Those will be big teeth.

Joy and Dogs

2005-11-21T22:34:00.000-08:00

I am very fortunate to work at home so I fit taking care of Joe’s with my schedule. Sometimes I get so busy that I have to admit Joe gets cursory care – two short walks of ten minutes each, two meals and one 15 minute play session. The door to the backyard is only steps away from my desk so he goes outside whenever he likes.

I try to feel ok about this because I know most people would kill to be able to give their dog the cursory care I give on my busiest days. But deep down I know I could do a lot more and a lot more often. I love the guy but I’m still entrenched in my own habits. I’ve made room for a puppy in my life, have made many adjustments, but I know I come nowhere near the spiritual attentiveness and devotion of those monks in New Skete. And not just where taking care of dogs are concerned.

Today after finishing my project I set about some garden work; I’d promised B I’d get to it. He’d bought some bags of cedar chips for the area where Joe likes to take a squat. This area is covered with stringy, uneven, trailing Buttercup, which makes poo patrol messier than it needs to be. With the even surface of the cedar and it’s odor fighting properties it should be better for all involved.

Joe bounced along by my side as I first cleared the area. Fortunately, he’s uninterested in his poo so there were no ugly accidents. Afterwards, I grabbed the heavy and ungainly bag of cedar and dragged it behind me. I’m small but the bag was not, so it was slow going even though the bag wasn’t heavy.

Something about this took Joe’s fancy and he burst into a gallop, coursing around the yard like he was on fire. As I was pulled the bag into place - Wham! - Joe threw himself at the bag at full speed. The cedar bag absorbed much of the force and neither of us was hurt. I turned around to see him spinning away at top speed. As I dumped the fragrant, rich red cedar onto the lawn Joe reappeared and dove into the pile headfirst. Then with a snort he tunneled through it. This continued with all 5 bags, in more or less the same order.

With the last bag, I stopped to wipe my forehead and here came Joe hurtling pell-mell towards me. His wide eyes, doggy-laugh, and frenzied paws all came churning at me. I realized he was in an absolute spasm of joy – unadulterated, unmodulated, unmediated joy.

There are other things I could do with him, equally novel from his point of view just to elicit this joy. Although it wouldn’t always work because what strikes his fancy is known to him alone. I don’t really try to find out what would send him into paroxysms of rapture – and I pretty easily could.

This made me think about how often I experience joy. I wonder if most of us by adulthood spend much of our time in a low frequency contentment. How much of joy is the decision to dive into the silly beauty of ordinary moments? Why don’t we make joy a priority when nothing is more refreshing or gives daily life more flavor, and even perhaps meaning.

So, now I am trying to find ways to give Joe and myself a bit of the ineffable beauty of stupid joy.

Puppies as Children

2005-11-19T18:44:00.000-08:00

Personally, I don’t support the idea that pets should be substitute people, whether children, friends or spouses. It doesn’t seem fair to the animal, who may be wonderful but will never be a person. Ideally, pets shouldn’t have to carry the burden of human need.

But that’s my opinion, my judgment, for myself alone. If someone has a service animal, or is elderly or otherwise removed from mainstream society, a relationship with a dog is far better than no relationships.

So, that being my ‘philosophical’ position, I was a bit horrified to note my reaction to leaving Joe at Doggy Day Care for the first time. It’s a wonderful place, well laid out, well run, and well staffed; yet I only brought him there to prepare him emotionally for being boarded there during the holidays. I want him to have happy associations with the place there so being left there will be as pleasant as possible.

And he had a grand old time; he seemed reluctant to leave. When I brought him in, he wouldn’t go back to the dog areas without my trotting in ahead. The handlers jogged away in front of me, with Joe bouncily following their steps. Then he noticed that he was behind a gate without me and he tried to return to me. The handlers distracted him, he loped off, only to return again to the gate and press his little head against it. Again, they caught his attention and this time I made my escape.

I went home to work and missed his presence in my office. As soon as my work was finished, I went back to pick him up. Since he’s always reluctant to leave me, and seemingly heart-wrenched when I leave him alone at home; I expected a joy-filled reunion scene. I imagined symphonic strings swelling, a close-up on his delighted dogface, then cut to Joe scrambling madly to reach me, with a final shot of him charging into my legs. Exactly like a most obvious and sentimental television commercial.

I was more disappointed then I ever would have guessed when he actually seemed to be torn about leaving. No ecstatic reaction when he saw me, he seemed happy, not overjoyed. I was a bit crestfallen.

And in the car on the way home I realized that having a dog is more like being a parent than I wanted it to be, especially the part when you love and miss them, while they just want to be with their friends. I thought I was getting a puppy, but in this sense I got a teenager.

It is disconcerting at times to realize how needful I am, as I don’t think of myself that way.

Oh, well. If you pay attention there are a hundred ways to appall yourself.

Buffalo Bones & Pups

2005-11-18T17:06:00.000-08:00

We’ve been giving him buffalo bones, which are huge and filled with marrow. This morning Joe was restless and whimpering for no apparent reason. Then he threw up 4 times, was drooling in thick strings. The final effluvia was clear mucous drainage from his posterior. On my carpet.

So, off he went to the vet. They stated emphatically that raw marrow bones and small pups are an E-coli-bonanza. Also the pups can ingest bone chips that can irritate their stomach lining and intestines. If they get E-coli, they need a full course of antibiotics.

So much for pet store advice. We were told these frozen bones were perfect for teething pups – but they neglected to mention the potential for infection. And this is a high-end boutique ‘health food’ pet store.

When he got his vet ordered dietary meal – plain boiled white rice, his expression was exactly like a child served Lima beans. Two bland, tasteless mini-meals later, he seems to be back in his normal form.

There is perhaps no more helpless feeling than having a dog or a loved one sick; especially when you don’t know how serious it is. With my Irish talent for melancholy there is no such thing as a best-case scenario. I remain visibly stoic but deep inside I expect the very worst. And the fact that this is rarely the case doesn’t dissuade me from silent, secret dire predictions in every event.

Joe’s first Dog Park Excursion – a perverse display

2005-11-16T11:24:00.000-08:00

We have been waiting for Joe to finish his series of puppy vaccinations before allowing him to play with other dogs. Given how much energy he has, taking him to the dog park has been long anticipated.

Finally, we were given the clear by the vet and off we went to Marymoor Park in Redmond. I’d never been there before either; it's a massive amount of acreage. The park is bordered by a salmon-run creek with multiple stepped wading pools; cedar chip paths, dirt paths that wind and meander through blackberry bushes and broad meadow-like expanses for racing and chasing.

Joe trotted eagerly towards the loosely organized packs of coursing dogs with not a sign of timidity or fear. He headed into the frolics without trepidation at the number of dogs, nor at their size.

He’d never been off leash before and the sheer size of the park scared me far more than it did Joe or B. Actually, if B hadn’t been urging Joe on I might have kept Joe on the leash. The park is large enough that he could gallop out of sight pretty quickly. And that made me anxious.

Joe’s social technique (while hilarious to watch) was a bit less charming to his canine compatriots. He’d lope over shyly and disarmingly with his loose, sloppy, puppy gait, holding his head low. Then he’d nose his target, rolling his eyes coyly up at this chosen playmate. They’d sniff each other and Joe would cuff at the playmate’s head and let himself be tumbled over. He’d be rolled onto his back over and over again, (scaring the hell out of me). His eyes shone with a worrying delight and fear. Having convincingly demonstrated his submissiveness, he would then catch the playmate at a distracted moment. Up he’d clamber onto his playmate’s shoulders to then vigorously hump him in the face.

This never went over well.

But the furious reaction did not deter Joe in the least. His strategy was remarkably consistent; get them to let down their guard and then hump away on the head. This was particularly funny as he chose dogs usually twice his size. So he’d be banging manically, legs dangling over either side of his victim’s head. And then he’d take his punishment without too much protest. As if his rude gesture trumped any possible reaction, no matter the growls of anger, no matter the impressive display of teeth.

Of course, we not only had to separate him from each of his victims, we also had to try and apologize to the owners without laughing. It was funny, if confusing. He’d been fixed at roughly 7 or 8 weeks, so this couldn’t be sexual activity. And his choice of the head indicated that his sexual instincts have gone awry. The only possible explanation is that it is a Napoleonic impulse.

Last night on our walk he visited the same indignity upon a Mastiff, who remained coolly unruffled. The Mastiff just twitched his enormous shoulders and off Joe flew onto the sidewalk. As Joe tried to reassume his mount, the Mastiff blocked him with a meaty paw. The bewildered disappointment in Joe’s eyes was very amusing.

The Mastiff’s owner calmly observed, “He does want to be dominant, doesn’t he? Little guy’s got a lot to learn.”

May he learn it without bodily injury.

Joe in the Shower

2005-11-14T08:56:00.000-08:00

Bathing beauty

2005-11-11T14:50:00.000-08:00

Last weekend B and I decided it was time to give Joe a bath. Except that last time had not gone so well, Joe’s feet kept sliding on the curved side of the tub and he freaked. He struggled, he caterwauled, he dugs his claws into our thighs trying to get out. I’ve never had a dog that liked getting washed; although I had a friend whose Malamute, Bondi, absolutely adored it.

We decided to try the shower instead – it’s big enough for 2 people and a puppy. The door closes securely allowing one person to wash and one to rinse. This is vastly preferable to the WWF tag team moves we had to use to keep him in the tub.

We let the shower get nice and steamy, filled a watering can with warm water, then stepped in together and called to Joe in our friendliest, happiest tone of voice. He trotted in, stood under the stream of steamy water and grinned showing all of his new little front teeth. Soaping and rinsing went easily. The only sticky point was getting him toweled off but once it was turned into a game of ‘Uhh-oh, oh no, towel over my head – Bite, Bite, Bite’ that too went swimmingly.

This morning, days after Joe’s shower adventure he wandered over just as I was about to shower. I opened the shower door. He shot in so quickly I didn’t even see it. I looked down to see him standing proudly and happily under the warm water. I laughed but while I’m happy bathing him, I don’t want to bathe with him. So out he went.

And he pressed his black nose to the glass shower door, making little chuffs of steam as he sung an aria of discontent. So I guess keeping him clean won’t be an ordeal, but keeping him out of the shower as he gets bigger, faster and stronger may be.

Joe the manic pup

2005-11-08T16:56:00.000-08:00

A huzzah for maturity!

2005-11-08T16:26:00.000-08:00

When I was a child I sneaked little treats all the time to my dog, Sweetie, so that she would love me unreservedly and more importantly, exclusively. But, alas! Sweetie was a humanist, a free-love advocate, a democrat of love, and she loved all of us equally.

I'm proud to note that with Joe the pup, I have done everything I can to make sure that Joe is as attached to my partner, B, as possible. I let B feed Joe, I encourage him to chase the pup around the yard (to Joe's wide-eyed, slavering delight). I shove them together like a teen matchmaker at a junior high dance.

It would be easy for me to manipulate Joe's attachment to be largely fixated on me, especially as B has never had a dog before in his life. Looking back at the time that we've 'owned' Joe (about 7 weeks) I noticed that I have wanted B to love Joe and vice versa quite naturally and quite fully.

I am (pathetically) grateful that loving B has helped me evolve from my 6-year-old's possessiveness, at least in this area of my life. Because I can still be appallingly possessive when it comes to my friends falling-in-like with my friends.

Learning to try and regard things before reacting

2005-11-04T15:37:00.000-08:00

Joe decides for no apparent reason to launch himself away from me as I walk him, as the lease is only 10 feet long, there's not anywhere he can really go, so he hangs himself up in the air before spinning back my way. And then he spins and pulls, grabbing the leash in his mouth.

It's both hilarious and frustratingly annoying in equal measure. Today though as I watched him twirling about manically, the whites in his eyes visible setting off the intensity of emotion he was feeling, I realized that this was puppy frustration. He doesn't want to mosey along all the time, some of the time he wants to claw the turf, gallop ragged through leaf piles, and be chased pell mell. He wants to go to the dog park, although he doesn't know what one is yet. For a puppy, no one's more fun than another puppy - and by those lights I guess I can be more understanding of these moments of demonic possession.

He'll get his last round of puppy shots next week, and then we're off to the dog park.

More importantly, though, it made me realize that if I step back from my idea of what a dog walk should look like, and really see what is happening for him as much as for me, the answer is obvious. Being annoyed when he goes briefly crazy may be difficult to avoid as my shoulder gets yanked hither and thither, but I think I've learned something important about being a dog owner from this last experience.

And perhaps in unrelated news, I woke up thinking that everything in my life is fixed only by my attitude to it, shift the attitude and everything else has to shift too. I suppose there are any number of spiritual self-help books that point that out, but to me it was a new realization. And for a moment, I felt a sudden shift, a lifting, a bearable lightness of being.

What to write about...

2005-11-01T18:32:00.000-08:00

I don't have the vaguest idea what to write about, I thought having a blog would Drano-like begin opening a block.

Somehow today Joe looks even bigger as if every time he takes a pup-nap his bones are lengthening. I've been told I need to get him to accept nail trimming and teeth brushing. The nails are impossible. I must have tried 3 times today while he was dozing -- but he's learned to sleep lightly and if his paws are touched he wakes up with this piteous mix of alarm and 'why, why are you trying to hurt me?'

After the 3rd attempt, I simply gave up. All I was doing was training him to sleep like a fugitive, snapping awake at the least sound. I'd handled and held his paws as prescribed to get the dog to accept nail trimming but as soon as he sees the clippers he's determined to flee.

Fortunately, he seems to enjoy tooth brushing perhaps because he's teething. Last night those new razor teeth cut all the way through the leash. When he gets in the leash-pulling mood he goes from sweet to a bit satanic but it never lasts overlong before he returns to his tractable self.

Cruelty Exposed

2005-10-29T19:28:00.000-07:00

I took Joe for what was perhaps an overlong walk. As we headed home, he started pulling relentlessly, yanking my shoulder again and again. He'd been managing a puppy-version of a ‘heel’ for most of the walk but now he was pulling and I was tired.

He stopped to poo. Lately he has developed this odd method of meandering while creating a poo trail. As I bent down to scoop it up, piece by piece, an obese dog on a very long lease lunged out of nowhere.

Joe leapt, plunged and tugged the leash with puppyish enthusiasm, nearly knocking me off my feet. I had the poop now in hand but not secured. As I tried to flip the bag over the poop I shot a dark look at dog’s owner. She was a reed thin, girl in overly tight clothing, prim-princess style, hair and make-up done just so, as were her two cloned companions. I announced with very little patience, "I'm trying to pick up his poop."

The girls giggled and cooed, focused only on the pup and more or less totally ignored me.
Joe continued to lunge while I tried to maintain my balance and tie the bag shut. In frustration, I yanked back hard on the leash - and Joe landed hard on his shoulder on the sidewalk. He yelped and I looked behind me to see him sprawled and looking frightened. I apologized to him and he ran to sit between my feet. This hurt; the little guy was running to me for protection– from me.

The plasticine trio of girls had identical appalled looks on their faces. I felt a hot guilt flash over me. One of them seemed to be silently broadcasting from her pinched little eyes, ‘someone like YOU shouldn't be allowed to have an animal.’ As she seemed to be gathering courage to say just that, I shot her an angry look conveying the fact that I still had in hand a pile of unsecured dog leavings. Our telepathy was successful and they minced off in high dudgeon, murmuring about me.

I waited for them to be a safe distance away before continuing home. I checked Joe over, palpating his shoulders and he didn't wince with pain, in fact, he wiggled with puppy-delight at the attentions.

All the way home my mind argued against my lack of emotional control and railed righteously at the girl’s lack of dog control as being the central reason for this entirely ugly incident.

By the time I got home my face was hot and I was nearly in tears. I have never intended to hurt Joe, or to pull him off his feet, or demonstrate my strength over him. Actually, I had no idea that given our relative strengths that it was even possible.

I sank onto the floor a tired Joe sprawled over my lap, spilling onto the floor on both sides and felt truly awful. I was in that moment really angry, not with Joe, but equally apportioned to myself and to those horrible girls.

It was a difficult walk and it made me really think about how I reacted with frustration... and how I could have dealt with this differently.

2005-10-20T17:51:00.000-07:00

I suppose everyone gets to a point in their life when they realize with uncomfortable surprise that - this is their Life. This life is what they've created, or perhaps destroyed. It's made up of opportunities taken or ducked, bodies touched or shied from, things spoken or left unsaid.

At this juncture, I feel like I've suddenly awoken. Time, a lot of time, has passed. It's not unlike waking from a self-induced coma and struggling to simultaneously live and mourn the unlived, unrecoverable time.

What now? What's left? What hasn't been begun? What is irretrievable? What is still possible?

While I lumber through the world heavily, Joe the puppy rips it up in his milk teeth, wild-eyed with relish.