The Allie Chronicles

Bonding over bananas

2011-01-01T20:47:00.009-05:00

My daughter Julie has been home for the past six weeks, and in that time has singlehandedly turned what had been Allie's mere love for bananas into a full-blown obsession. If Julie decides to sleep in, Allie sits in front of her bedroom door, paws at that door--and at times, even starts to whine. When Julie finally gets up, Allie pastes herself to her side. Then, as Julie slices up a banana to put in Allie's dish, Allie stares at Julie intently--and drools a rather sizable puddle onto the floor that Julie's occasionally had the misfortune to step in.

Until recently, Julie had been a little ambivalent as to what Allie's love for bananas meant with respect to her relationship with Julie. "I don't want Allie to love me just because I give her bananas," she'd say. "I want her to love me for me. I want to know she loves me."

I'm no ethologist, so anything I say about the nature of canine feeling is at least somewhat speculative. But it seems to me that it's a mistake for Julie to say that Allie loves her just because of the bananas. If one individual gives another individual -- regardless of species -- something that's desired by or pleases the recipient, the recipient is likely to regard the giver more favorably than before. And if what the giver bestows to the recipient is really important to the recipient, the recipient's regard for the giver will become even more favorable. So, just imagine how the recipient will regard the giver if that cherished item is given not once, not twice, but almost every day.

The fact that Allie loves those bananas, and that Julie gives them to her, is enough to grow the bond between them. To Allie, bananas clearly are a big deal -- so the person who gives them to her becomes a big deal, too.

In her book Bones Would Rain From the Sky, trainer Suzanne Clothier writes about a dog named Chance, whose relationship with his person, Wendy, was badly damaged as a result of misguided training. Clothier suggested that Wendy start rebuilding her relationship with Chance by tossing him a treat whenever he looked her way. Such a tactic sounds incredibly simple--even simplistic--but as Clothier tells the story, Chance decided on his own to work once more with Wendy after she tossed him several treats.

I love that story. I think of it whenever I see how Julie is building her relationship with Allie just by giving her some fruit in the morning. Because good relationships are more likely to form when we associate another individual with being a giver of good stuff. Those gifts can be time, an email, a smile, a kiss or so many, many other things.

Including bananas.

(Pictured above: Ginger the Golden Retriever, eating her favorite fruit. See the video here.)

Happy Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T18:53:00.000-05:00

Letting go

2010-11-14T19:00:00.001-05:00

The past few days have been, shall we say, tumultuous. Despite taking what I had every eason to believe were appropriate and sufficient precautions, my PC has been beset with 4 viruses over less than two months, each of which forced me to expend some cash to pay a pro to clean them up. Finally, last Wednesday, the boot file/sector got corrupted, leaving my computer and data dead in the water.

Enough already.

I decided to bag PC's and Windows forevermore and get a Mac -- specifically, an iMac. And I love it.

Unfortunately, in making the transition from PC to Mac, I lost some data, including years worth of emails and my virtual address book. At first, this seemed like a huge loss. Those emails included exchanges between Allie's breeder and me, enabling me to relive the whole history of how she came into my life eight years ago. There were plenty of other emails too: notes from my husband and daughter, email interviews, all kinds of history. I didn't refer to that history often, but I liked knowing it was there.

But now it's gone. There's no way of getting it back. I have to let it go.

I'm going to be doing a lot of letting go in the next few months: leaving my home of 20-plus years, watching my daughter graduate from college and make a life of her own, for starters. Further on down the line (I hope), I'll have to let go of Allie, too. What had been light-blonde patches on her face now are starting to look white. Thankfully, she still acts like a puppy while we go on walks; who'd have thought that I'd actually welcome her tendency to use her leash as a tug toy?

I guess life is a series of letting-go events. I've reconciled myself to some of those. I'm actually liking the look and feel of an email in-box that doesn't take forever to load up. I feel proud that I've raised a splendid daughter. I'm stoked about starting a new life chapter in a new place. But even those changes evoke bittersweet feelings. As for the Allie-related eventuality -- well, there's nothing sweet in contemplating that. When it comes to my golden girl, the sweetness is all in the present.

Like dogs? Like movies?

2010-11-04T08:57:00.018-04:00

No, this is not a post waxing nostalgic about Lassie, Old Yeller, or other classic movies of the boy-loves-dog genre. Instead, I'm veering in a somewhat less reverent direction. Specifically, I invite you to check out the Empire Online Dogs Movie Poster Mash-up. It's totally irreverent, occasionally tasteless, and completely hilarious. My personal favorite is poster #5, which I wish I could post on the Northern Virginia Dog Blog. It certainly sends the right message.

(Pictured above: the movie that poster #5 refers to)

What if they COULDN'T swim?

2010-10-27T09:15:00.004-04:00

Like probably a gazillion other animal-loving WaPo readers, I enjoyed reading about the swimming test that the National Zoo gave to four lion cubs that were born in August. The photos of the cubs in both this morning's article and the website photo gallery were suitably aw-inducing.

At least initially, the explanations by zoo officials for the test made some sense: they needed to see if the cubs would be able to swim if those cubs fell into the moat that surrounds the lions' home there. And the test was needed now, before the cubs get too big and dangerous for trainers to handle safely. Lions, like other animals, are born with the ability to swim--but that doesn't mean that some animals don't use that ability better than others. (Among those other animals, by the way, are dogs: some swim just fine, while others tend to flail about. Hence, the need for dogs to wear life jackets when boating.)

But then I started wondering: what if one or more of the cubs hadn't been able to swim? During the test itself, the zoo's trainers would have fished the water-averse cub out of the moat, but what about after that? Would they:

-- Give the cub swimming lessons? This hardly seems likely. If the cubs are almost too big to even test, they undoubtedly soon will also be too big to be taught how to keep themselves from drowning.

-- Outfit the cub with a life jacket? Somehow, I think not. First, the cubs are growing too fast to be outfitted with appropriately-sized life jackets for each stage of growth. Second, if the cubs will soon be too dangerous to be given swim tests or swimming lessons, they certainly will soon be too dangerous to put into life jackets, even if such garments were available for lions.

-- Fence the moat? Then, what about those sea-worthy lions who might want to use it?

-- House the non-swimming cubs somewhere else? Where, pray tell?

-- Hope that they won't fall in the moat until they're fully grown? That won't matter. WaPo says the moat is nine feet deep at its deepest point. That means an adult lion could drown, too.

Soooooo ... since apparently there are no options for dealing with a lion cub who can't swim, what on earth was the point of this test -- other than to perhaps provide a photo op?

Field trip

2010-10-17T17:27:00.007-04:00

Between today's absolutely gorgeous weather and the inspiration offered by today's Washington Post travel section on hitting the road with Fido, Stan and I decided to take Allie on a little field trip. We didn't go nearly as far afield as the WaPo travel crew ventured with their four-legged friends; instead, we headed over to dog-friendly Old Town Alexandria.

First stop on our itinerary was Founder's Park, located at 351 Union Street. This lovely waterfront oasis abounded with people and pooches--no wonder, with temperatures hitting the low 70's. We headed up to the northern end of the park, where we knew we'd find a doggie exercise area. There we tossed Allie a tennis ball several times, got acquainted with a Doberman mix named Joseph and his person, and then headed to our next stop in a roundabout way.

The roundabout way took us on a path along the Potomac, where we stopped occasionally to watch the boats skimming the water. An open gazebo made for especially nice viewing, not to mention a photo op or two. After awhile, though, our appetites got the better of us, and we headed to our next destination.

That next stop was Pat Troy's Ireland's Own, which Stan and I have visited many times, but where Allie was a guest for the very first time. We were welcomed enthusiastically by the hostess, led out to the doggie patio, and ate a tasty lunch while a harpist played some Celtic music. We think Allie appreciated the music, because she wagged her tail enthusiastically whenever the harpist played. Then we meandered back to Founder's Park, where we let Allie run around a little before we headed back home.

I'll be honest: between Allie's car issues and her sometimes over-the-top enthusiasm in greeting strangers, we haven't taken her out and about much lately. Now I regret that. Exploring new places not only deepens the bond between person and dog, but also provides the dog with much- needed physical exercise and mental stimulation. Until today, I hadn't really given Allie much of a chance to show how far she's come. But today she did great in the car, she was polite and mannerly throughout the excursion, and (bonus!) is plenty mellow this evening. I suspect a lot more field trips will be in her future -- which will nice for us all.

The rest of the Post's "have pet, will travel" section is here and here.

(Pictured above: Allie and me at the aforementioned gazebo, overlooking the Potomac. We're both feeling pretty happy. )

Kiss and make up

2010-10-03T19:42:00.006-04:00

I was pretty pissed at Allie earlier today. We'd taken a nice long walk over a couple of briskly covered miles, and were on the last block before reaching home when she got one of her infamous Attacks of the Zoomies. Those aren't a big deal anymore: I either wait her out, keeping the leash limp, or I get her to focus on some cookies and settle her down that way. Today I opted for the latter approach, which she responded to well ...

... until she suddenly hauled me out into the middle of the street.

From what I could tell, she saw an acorn -- a thumbnail-sized acorn, for cryin' out loud -- rolling in the street, and she darted out to investigate it, hauling a caught-off-guard me behind her. Thank God a car wasn't coming. I may espouse positive reinforcement in human-canine interactions, but I most assuredly was not feeling very positive at that moment.

Fortunately, we reached home without further incident. I filled Allie's water dish, and went off to do my thing. Later I fed her dinner, gave her a chewie, and performed the rest of the evening routine, not really paying much attention to my Golden girl beyond what was necessary.

But a little while ago, Allie quietly came into my office. For some reason, instead of calling her over to me, I went and sat down on the floor next to her. I asked her to lie down, which she did, and then she did something most uncharacteristic for her: she put her head in my lap. I stroked her for awhile, then paused, at which point she put her paw atop my hand and gently held it down on my lap. We must have stayed that way for 10 or 15 minutes. I could feel my butt going to sleep, but I didn't want to move.

Finally, Allie lifted her head and sat up. Then, very deliberately, she leaned in and gave me two licks on the cheek.

All is forgiven.

Lend me your ears

2010-09-24T12:47:00.011-04:00

I'm very careful about Allie's ears. They get infected easily--mainly due to allergies, to which Golden Retrievers are notoriously prone. That's why I feed her raw food from this company, and take care that she consume no grain whatsoever. But I've also learned how important it is to keep her ears clean, so I do the job twice a week, without fail.

I didn't realize until yesterday, though, that I must have been saying the same thing to Allie immediately prior to every cleaning: "Allie, time to clean your ears." Yesterday, however, that realization became very clear, because when I uttered those six words, my Golden girl stopped dead in her tracks, looked right at me, then turned around and began trotting away from me.

I never cease to be amazed at how closely our dogs study us and how much of our language they really do understand. While the apparent vocabulary of one dog, Rico the Border Collie, is truly remarkable, I suspect that many of us would be astounded if we took the time to make a list of the words and phrases our dogs know. Allie's list would include such words and phrases as "breakfast", "dinner," "chewie," "brush" and "cocktail" (don't ask).

As for Allie's antipathy to ear cleanings, I'm hoping that this task will be more palatable if I literally appeal to my puppy-girl's palate. So when I say those not-so-magic (to Allie, anyway) words in the future, I'll have a couple of pieces of venison jerky at the ready. Hopefully, those treats will encourage her compliance beforehand, and will certainly reward her for stoicism afterward.

A confession

2010-09-15T13:09:00.004-04:00

(This post also appears on my K9Cuisine.com blog, "The Positively Well-Behaved Dog." I've never before used identical posts for two blogs, but this one's very personal--and also reflects the spirit of the Never Shock a Puppy blog campaign I'm participating in.)

For this week’s post, and in the spirit of the Never Shock a Puppy blogging campaign, I’m going to make a confession. Specifically, if there was ever a day that I might have been tempted to use a choke collar, prong collar, e-collar or otherwise take aversive action with my Golden Retriever, Allie, that day was yesterday.

We were taking a long walk when my normally politely walking Golden girl got an attack of the zoomies. Such “attacks” generally result in her running crazily back and forth, picking up the biggest available stick, inadvertently whacking me on the backs of my legs with that stick and/or attempting to use the leash as a tug toy. I understand why she engages in such behavior: she’s working off excess energy (she hadn’t been for a run for a couple of days) and is also trying to get me to play with her. Most of the time, I can deal with such behavior with total equanimity. She’s seven years old, so I’ve had plenty of time to learn how.

Yesterday, however, was different. I’d had a crown put in at the dentist earlier that morning and by the time Allie and I set out on our walk, the anesthetic had warn off and my jaw was aching. The very thought of needing to deal with Allie’s acrobatics was, shall we say, unwelcome. And I’m only human: just as parents sometimes talk about giving their misbehaving kids a good swift kick (without ever seriously considering following through), at that moment, I was tempted to give Allie a good swift jerk of the leash. Fortunately, I knew I didn’t have to.

I knew that all I had to do was to just stand still—which is exactly what I did.

Just as experts suggest that a person stand still if a dog tries to pull ahead and make like a sled dog on a walk, so is the same non-move a good way to deal with a Golden Retriever’s zoomies. Sure enough, after a minute or two, Allie stopped acting like a crazy girl and settled down. At that point, I quietly asked her to “walk nice.” We then continued on our way, and after a few sedate paces, I gave her a treat. A few more equally sedate paces earned her another treat. We made it home without further incident, and she was dozing next to me under my desk as I typed this post.

I’m glad I didn’t have the equipment that would have allowed me to give in to those aversive impulses. I’m human enough to admit I might have gotten a moment’s satisfaction from ‘teaching her a lesson.’ But I’ve learned enough to realize that in such instances, the best—and certainly most humane—way to respond to a dog’s misbehavior is to not respond at all. Put another way, in order to have a positively well-behaved dog, one has to commit to being a positively well-behaved owner.

A girl and her dog

2010-09-03T12:57:00.023-04:00

When I was a kid, I would get annoyed at what felt to me like a proliferation of stories on print and screen about boys and their dogs, but none about girls. I still do. I've always wondered where there are distaff equivalents of TV shows like Lassie and Rin Tin Tin, not to mention books like Jim Kjeergaard's Red series, Eric Knight's Lassie Come-Home, or even Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's Shiloh series.

Because, make no mistake about it, the bond between girls and their dogs are as powerful as those between those dogs and their brothers. I was crazy about the dogs I grew up with. As an adult, that adoration hasn't diminished. When I went off to college, I worried most not about homesickness, whether I'd get good grades or whether I'd make friends (especially the male kind). I worried most about whether our Dachshund, Casey, would remember me when I came home for Thanksgiving. And on many levels, I missed him more than I missed the human members of my family.

Apparently, I've passed that dog craziness to my daughter. Julie and Allie have always been great friends, but the intensity of that bond has grown exponentially since Julie started college three years ago. Julie's heading back to school for her senior year on Sunday--and she's said more than once how she'll miss Allie most of all.

I don't take offense at that. Unlike me, Allie can't respond to Julie's text messages or emails, and she certainly won't be coming with me when I got to visit Julie in Chicago next month. As close as Julie and I are, the mother-daughter relationship still carries a weight of history that is blessedly absent between a girl and her dog. With Allie, everything can be simple. I get that. It was the same for me--and, in fact, still is.

(Pictured above: Julie and Allie)

Not so shocking news

2010-09-01T14:15:00.004-04:00

As should be abundantly clear by now, I'm all about training using positive reinforcement. That means I favor giving dogs rewards for when they something right over using aversives to stop dogs from doing something wrong.

Not everyone--including people I admire and respect--agrees with me, though. Many people believe that correcting a dog through the use of aversive devices should be part of a trainer's and/or dog owner's tool box. That's why I've joined a number of other dog bloggers on an 8-week campaign called "Never Shock a Puppy." This campaign aims to raise public awareness of humane alternatives to one such device: the electronic collar.

The electronic collar aims to correct unwanted behavior by delivering a shock that can range in intensity from a mild vibration to a truly painful jolt. The idea, of course, is that the dog will associate the behavior being corrected with getting the shock, and thus refrain from repeating that behavior. Over the next few weeks, my fellow bloggers and I will discuss other, more dog-friendly ways to deal with such behaviors. We'll also keep you posted on social media promotions and a boatload of great prizes associated with the campaign.

In the process, we hope to raise $2,500 for the Humane Society of Boulder Colorado's No-Choke Challenge, which will include lots of media outreach and other events in which the gorup will give away humane training tools to people in the Boulder area who relinquich their electronic, choke or prong collars. The donations will enable the organization to buy about 165 of those humane training tools.

For more info, check out the Never Shock A Puppy website. And, in the meantime, enjoy the above YouTube video of this year's Doritos Super Bowl commerical, which went a long way toward articulating the reasoning behind opposition to electronic collars.

Weather or not ...

2010-08-18T16:11:00.002-04:00

... it's been a challenging summer for Allie.

In July alone, 22 of the month's 31 days had temperatures above 90 degrees, and August hasn't seemed any better. Those temperatures are too high for safe, much less comfortable, for our usual long walks, much less our customary fetch sessions up at the local middle school. We've been doing plenty of indoor playing, but still--indoor sessions of fetch, tug or hide-the-toy just aren't the same as chasing a ball in a wide open school field.

And even if the weather had been cooperative, my schedule hasn't been. Between writing two books, doing a goodly number of paid blog posts a week, the usual articles, and some traveling, there haven't been enough hours in the day to get through the items on my to-do list -- including those rousing play sessions. That same schedule has been making it tough for me to write here--going more than a week between posts here is embarrassing.

I'm not complaining for my own sake. I'm grateful to have the work (and will be even more grateful when I'm paid for it), and the heat hasn't bothered me nearly as much as it's bothered a lot of other people. But I feel for my Golden girl. Yes, she's getting older, so she doesn't need as many of those fetch sessions as she used to, and the sessions aren't as long as they once were. Nevertheless, I know that the next time we walk anywhere that approximate our route to the local field she'll try to pull me there--and no matter how legitimate the reason is, I'll still feel bad if I have to say no.

But this won't go on forever -- just another two weeks for the book work, and hopefully not much longer for those steamy days. Hold on, Allie. It won't be much longer.

(And for those who are wondering how I'll handle the heat with Allie when we move to Florida, I can tell you right now: I have no idea.)

A moving experience

2010-08-09T16:06:00.017-04:00

We are going to be moving--not right away, but within the next year. This past weekend, Stan and I traveled to Lakewood Ranch, Florida, to put a deposit down on some land and begin building a house (the finished dwelling will look something like the one pictured above).

To say that we're excited is an understatement. Now that we've put down the deposit, the die is cast--and we're beginning to think about all we need to do to leave the house we've lived in for more than 20 years and begin a new phase of our lives. (And no, Julie probably won't be with us. She's finishing college next spring--how did that happen?--and beginning a new phase of her life.)

But while Stan is focused on crunching numbers, I am focusing on how to make the move dog-friendly--specifically, how to move Allie along with ourselves and our inanimate stuff. This will be no easy matter. Nevertheless, I am somewhat amused that even now I'm thinking about:

where Allie's crate will be located in our new house. Not totally decided on that yet.
how to keep Allie from freaking out when we leave the only place she can remember living in.
how to find pet-friendly hotels/motels for two nights on the road when we drive from northern Virginia to southwestern Florida--and making sure that pet-friendliness extends to include a 70-pound Golden Retriever.
where Allie will be when we do our final walk-through of the house.

That's just for starters. Am I a planner or what?

Poor Polly

2010-07-28T16:03:00.002-04:00

Last night I watched the season premiere of AMC's Mad Men (thank God for DVR's)--and while there was much in that episode to sadden any viewer, dog lovers like me were most likely to focus on what's happened to the Drapers' Golden Retriever, Polly, since Betty divorced Don and married Henry Francis.

Apparently Henry doesn't like dogs, and Polly--who'd been very much a part of the family and had actually prompted Betty to shoot some pigeons in Season 1--has been banished to the basement. No protest from Betty, of course, but when Don brings the kids back from their weekend with their dad, he lets Polly out of solitary. The dog is lying at Don's feet when Betty and Henry arrive home. After Don leaves, Polly is returned to the basement once more, at Henry's insistence.

Seeing Polly exiled broke my heart, and not just because my Allie is a Golden Retriever, too. Forcing a social animal like a dog to endure prolonged solitary confinement is, quite simply, cruel. And yet, such practices were probably pretty common in the 1960's. I remember several families who kept their dogs in their garages. Other dogs were let out to roam the neighborhood all day, and when they didn't come back, the parents simply shrugged. One dog I remember especially well was driven to a field one day by the dad in his house, and dumped in a field--the guy actually congratulated himself because he was "setting Skipper free."

These days, many people consider dogs to be members of their families--and the growth of the pet industry reflects that status. That said, pockets of old-school laissez-faire attitudes about our best friends still persist. Still, I'd like to think that the dogs of today are more likely to be understood as the social animals they are than was the case a half-century ago.

(And yes, I know Polly's not the only dog who hasn't fared well on Mad Men. )

Four-legged meds, no side effects

2010-07-27T11:53:00.002-04:00

Most of us who have the privilege of living with a companion animal know that doing so is just that: a privilege. But in this past weekend's edition of USA Weekend, my good friend and colleague Steve Dale has a terrific article on exactly why having a pet is good for the person who cares for that pet.

I am not going to muck this up by adding my two cents. The article says it all. Read and enjoy.

Who knew?

2010-07-21T12:26:00.003-04:00

Apparently I write like Cory Doctorow -- at least according to this website. That said, I would never name a child Poesy, much less add Nautilus as a middle name.

Many thanks to The Poodle (and Dog) Blog for sharing this.

Ta-da!

2010-07-15T12:01:00.004-04:00

Coming to a bookstore near you on August 30 (or around that date, anyway)!!!

And baby makes four

2010-07-13T16:57:00.003-04:00

I've become a great fan of Bethenny Getting Married, the Bravo TV show that chronicles the life and times of Bravo-lebrity/chef/author/entrepreneur Bethenny Frankel. The woman is flat-out funny, not to mention fearless. I mean, how many women would allow TV cameras to capture her peeing into a bucket on her wedding day? Not many, I would imagine. Certainly not I.

And yet, as much as Frankel's adventures seem way beyond any I would ever/have ever experienced, there's one area in which I can identify: her joy in becoming a mother in her late 30's. That happened with me, too -- and like Frankel, I worried about everything. One of Frankel's worries was how her 10-year-old dog, Cookie, would cope with having baby Bryn join the household, and she tweeted as much not long after Bryn was born.

As a new mother, I had a similar worry: how my 10-year-old mixed poodle, Molly, would handle having a new baby (that would be my now 21-year-old daughter) in the house. More specifically, I wondered how Molly would cope with having to share me with the baby, given that just a couple of years earlier I'd made our twosome a trio when I married Stan.

Unlike Frankel, I didn't get a boatload of responses to a tweet, but I did have one of the earliest editions of What to Expect When You're Expecting. That book contained some great suggestions for baby-prepping a dog: sending home a T-shirt with the baby's scent home from the hospital, greeting the dog separately when returning from the hospital, carefully introducing baby and dog. I followed all those suggestions to the letter, and Molly did fine. In fact, she seemed to consider herself Julie's protector, especially when the latter began walking.

Although Frankel's baby only about eight weeks old right now--and thus a long way from walking--People magazine reports that Cookie has taken on a role with Bryn that's similar to Molly's with Julie, and the new family is doing great. That warms my heart the same way that Molly did when she made it clear that she was cool with any new additions to our little pack. As long as I was happy, she was happy.

That said, if Frankel runs into any problems in the future managing Bryn and Cookie, I can recommend a terrific book: Colleen Pelar's wonderful Living with Kids and Dogs ... Without Losing Your Mind. Pelar's not only a terrific dog trainer; she's also the mother of three sons and the caregiver to two dogs. She's written a pragmatic, compassionate guide that, in my opinion, no dog-owning family should be without.

Apropos of absolutely nothing

2010-07-07T12:06:00.002-04:00

Exercising restraint

2010-07-04T08:27:00.003-04:00

Allie adores bananas, and usually we're very generous about sharing the ones we eat with her. But this morning Julie (who's the most generous of us all) left a banana out on the kitchen counter, in preparation for packing it for a snack to take to work.

Of course, Allie saw the banana. While Julie was in her room and I was in the kitchen, our golden girl spied the coveted fruit, looked at me expectantly, and offered a very polite sit. "No can do, girl," I told her. "Go to Julie."

"I'm taking it to work," called Julie, who had overheard me. "She can't have it this time."

Allie continued to sit and continued to gaze at the banana. I got diverted by something else and went into the dining room.

When I came back, Allie had broken her sit but was still looking at the banana. But amazingly, this dog--who generally will countersurf to retrieve plastic containers and knives from the kitchen sink, much less anything edible--made absolutely no attempt to reach up to the counter to grab the fruit that had literally prompted her to drool.

Wow. What a good girl.

The four-foot fence

2010-06-28T17:36:00.003-04:00

Yesterday I saw what looked like a brindle-coated Greyhound mix channel her inner sled-dog by pulling her very young owner (maybe he was 7 or 8?) down the street in an effort to reach her destination: the two Labs with whom she apparently had a scheduled play date. (Why are some parents so idiotic about the capacity of children to walk dogs?). This morning, I saw the same dog head over to the same house for another play date -- but this time she was by herself.

Uh oh.

A car pulled up along side the house and a harried-looking woman stepped out. The dog took one look at the woman and took off up the street behind our house.

I grabbed some treats, went outside and talked to the woman. She told me that the family had had the dog for a month, during which time the dog had accomplished several escapes. "And just after we spent $1,000 putting in a 4-foot fence!" the woman lamented.

I probably should have kept my mouth shut completely--although in my defense, I did refrain from saying, "Are you freakin' kidding me? That fence would be a piece of cake to that dog." Instead I said, as mildly as possible, "You might want to consider getting a six-foot fence."

The woman shook her head. "That's not happening," she said in a tone that brooked no further discussion.

She got back into her car and drove in the direction the dog had run. Meanwhile, I headed back into my house--but a few minutes later I saw the dog head back to the house where the two Labs lived. Once again, I grabbed the leash and raced outside. The dog was lying at the gate, and the two Labs were on the other side. I held out some treats, the dog came to me immediately, and rolled over onto her back when I attached the leash. As I did so, I saw a young boy fill two buckets with water for the Labs, and I asked him to get his mom. The mom suggested that I put the dog in the yard with her two dogs, and promised to call the dog's owner.

So all ended well--this time. But I know, I just know that today's escape won't be the last, which makes the dog's future uncertain--and all because a family tried to get away with fencing their dog on the cheap.

So frustrating.

My latest gig

2010-06-21T11:16:00.003-04:00

Sigh ... no, my latest gig does not directly involve Hugh Jackman (pictured above), but does involve the activity in which he is engaging.

I've started a new assignment as the lead blogger for the Northern Virginia Dog Blog, a project that's being sponsored by the Northern Virginia Regional Council and the Metropolitan Council of Governments. The local governments that make up both of these groups are also sponsoring three other blogs--one on parenting, one on gardening and one infrastructure--as part of an environmental quality public outreach campaign. The underlying message of my blog is that it's important to be a good neighbor and pick up your dog's poop (just like Hugh is), but eventually the topics I cover will relate to all things dogs, both inside and outside the Beltway.

Come take a look and leave a comment or three!

Once a mom, always a mom

2010-06-16T15:05:00.004-04:00

I remember how, when my daughter was younger, I'd worry about how she'd stack up with other kids in this, that, or the other endeavor. I don't know if I was being inappropriately competitive, investing too much of my ego in whatever she was doing, or just being a garden-variety worrywart mom. In any case, though, I thought those days were long behind me, now that Julie has become an adult in whom her dad and I take inordinate pride.

I was wrong.

This time, though, my maternal worry wasn't about Julie; it was about Allie. Let me explain.

Julie, Stan and I are planning to go on a short vacation later this summer, so yesterday I made reservations to board Allie at her usual home-away-from-home. The place is great, because Allie gets to participate in doggie day care during the day, and eat food brought from home. Most important of all, though, is that someone is on the premises 24/7--which is not the case with many boarding facilities for pets.

The problem was that because Allie hadn't been there for nearly two years (we've been staying pretty close to home lately), she needed to have a new behavioral evaluation to make sure she still behaved appropriately with the other dogs. This prospect worried me, because while Allie loved frolicking with doggie buddies when she was younger, she's become much less interested in canine companionship as she's aged. And in fact, if she decides that another dog has breached doggie etiquette, she lets the other dog know that's the case in no uncertain terms.

So, I approached Allie's impending evaluation with a certain amount of trepidation. I even talked to her about it. Please, I implored her, be patient with the other puppies. Cut them a little slack; after all, older dogs did the same for you when you were a gangly pup.

We got to the boarding facility, and the young woman in charge welcomed Allie enthusiastically. She told me the procedure wouldn't take long, because Allie was already in their records. At her suggestion, I unclipped Allie's leash, and the girl brought out another Golden Retriever: a bouncy 10-month-old named Lucy.

I held my breath.

Lucy dashed madly around Allie, trying to encourage her to play--and, hallelujah, Allie deigned to play with the youngster. "Oh wow," said the young woman. "She's so much more tolerant than other dogs her age are. She's absolutely awesome."

I was so proud.

Allie rebels

2010-06-10T18:59:00.003-04:00

The irony is unmistakable: the busier I am writing about dog care and maintaining the human-canine bond, the less time I have to spend tending to the bond between me and my own canine.

And these days, I'm plenty busy. I'm writing two books, one of which is due in 3 weeks, and a 2,000-word article that's due early next week. I've got another article due the week after that, and I haven't even begun to write that sucker. Meanwhile, I'm also doing a weekly blog for this company, and starting next week will take on a new, twice-weekly blogging gig for another organization (more about that new gig in future posts here).

I am not complaining--quite the opposite. These are challenging times for writers, and I feel incredibly fortunate to have this much work right now. Yes, the workload is testing my sanity, not to mention my ability to organize and prioritize. But I'll do it all and I will do it well. I always do. That's just how I roll.

But while I'm not complaining, Allie certainly is. And she's got reason to. Our daily mid-afternoon walk to the local park or school field for a vigorous game of fetch, followed by her triumphantly carrying her ball home, has been reduced to a quick potty break in the back yard and -- maybe -- an equally quick tug-of-war session inside afterward. Sometimes, there isn't even enough time for tugging. This change in routine upsets Allie mightily and she lets me know it. Among her modes of expression are:

-- Barking repeatedly in short, sharp, loud vocalizations that, to my anthropomorphic ears and guilt-ridden heart, sound highly indignant.

-- Checking to see if I've left a bathroom door open so that she can unroll and chew the toilet paper -- actions which, when I hear them, will prompt me to dash upstairs and offer her a cookie to lure her away from the toilet paper.

-- Seeing if she can pry open the kitchen garbage can (yes, those wars continue). Actually, she succeeded in getting that garbage can open yesterday. I'd forgotten to barricade it behind some bar stools, and so she simply got behind the garbage can and tipped it over. The nifty little gizmo that I'd used to keep the lid shut popped open, and by the time I got upstairs there was garbage strewn all over the kitchen floor.

I really can't blame Allie and I certainly can't get mad at her. I get it: I'm her best pal, the giver of all good things, and I've been less available to her lately. She doesn't understand why I'm less available; she could care less that my current embarassment of writing riches is necessary to offset the dearth of assignments that afflicted me (and apparently a whole bunch of other writers) earlier in the year.

I want to tell her I'm sorry. I want to tell her that the irony of this situation is not lost on me.

Right now she's lying under my desk. I reach down to give her a scritch, in the hopes that my loving touch will be worth a thousand words -- or at least a whole bunch of apologies.

A new look at an old favorite

2010-06-06T11:24:00.004-04:00

Normally, my daughter writes much more about movies (and sometimes television) than I do. My desire to write about movies has long since given way to a desire -- which I've happily been fulfilling for well over a decade -- to write about dogs and other animals. Sometimes, though, my old passion for cinema intersects with my newer passion for writing about the non-humans we live with. Last night, when I watched one of my all-time favorite movies for the first time in quite a few years, was a case in point.

The movie was Far From the Madding Crowd, the 1967 cinematic opus that's based on the Thomas Hardy novel of the same title. In the 40-plus years (yikes!) since I first saw this movie, and in the many times I've seen it since, I've never stopped loving the opening titles--both the gorgeous vistas and the sublimely pastoral music by Richard Rodney Bennett--and the fact that the movie is quite faithful to Hardy's work. Last night, however, I was struck by an aspect of the movie that I'd never considered before: the roles of animals in the story, and how those roles were depicted on film.

Much of the movie takes place on farms, so it's natural that animals would at least be part of the scenery. But this story gives non-human individuals some pivotal roles that really propel the story forward. Since the movie was made long before CGI or animatronics were available to filmmakers, I couldn't help wondering last night how on earth those who created this movie achieved the animal-related effects they did. Specifically (warning: spoilers ahead), how did the filmmakers:

-- create the scene near the beginning of the movie, where Gabriel Oak's young Border Collie leaps into a sheep pen, herds the sheep to one end of the pen so that they topple the fence surrounding the pen, and then literally herds those sheep over a cliff where they fall to their deaths (I'm assuming that the carcasses that we see on the beach below are puppets of some sort)?

-- create the scene where the sheep on one farm come down with an apparent case of bloat, forcing Bathsheba to beg Gabriel (whom she had fired in a previous scene) to come and cure them? Specifically, how did they get all those sheep to stagger, fall over onto their sides, and do that fast, shallow breathing (I'm assuming, again, that puppets were what Oak sticks that great big needle into)?

-- create the cock-fighting scene that irrevocably establishes Frank Troy as a ne'er-do-well (for anyone who'd had doubts up to that point) whose marriage with Bathsheba was doomed as surely as Gabriel's first flock of sheep were?

I wonder, too -- particularly regarding that cock-fighting scene -- whether anyone monitored the animal action. Although American Humane's Film and TV Unit has been around for more than 65 years, the organization's "no animals were harmed" tag line didn't begin to appear in movies until 1972. And American Humane itself acknowledges that "achieving wide-scale compliance [with its guidelines] was complicated even then by the number of films shot overseas." Far From the Madding Crowd, which was helmed by the British director John Schlesinger, and shot on location in England, would certainly have fallen in the problem category.

Were any animals harmed by the making of one of my favorite works of cinema? At the very least, that cock-fighting scene looked unnervingly authentic; however, I'll probably never know what actually occurred. But the thought that harm might have occurred in the name of art casts one of my favorite movies in a different light than before.

P.S. Please excuse the shameless maternal brag that I probably not-so-artfully slipped into my lede sentence. I probably shouldn't have, but I just can't help myself.

A sign of peace

2010-05-31T12:05:00.003-04:00

I was raised as a Catholic, but am no longer practicing. Nevertheless, when I visit my mom--as Stan, Allie and I did this past weekend--I occasionally attend Mass with her. Masses at my mom's church actually can be somewhat enjoyable, even to me, because one of the frequent attendees is a visually impaired woman with her service dog, a male Golden Retriever who looks a lot like Allie.

The woman and her dog were there yesterday, and a gesture she made actually brought tears to my eyes. There is a point in the Mass where the priest directs the members of the congregation to offer "a sign of peace" to each other. Generally this consists of shaking the hands of the people of surrounding you in your pew and saying something like "peace be with you." The woman, however, chose to take that moment to bend down, give her dog some strokes and whisper something in his ear. I have no idea what she actually said, of course, but I'd like to think that she was thanking him for his service to her.

And speaking of thanks and service and peace: today is Memorial Day, so it's a good time to thank those who serve our country overseas--be they servicemen, service women, or military service dogs.

Lost and found, or the morning after

2010-05-24T08:17:00.015-04:00

Until recently, Allie hasn't been much of a literal couch potato. When I watch TV, she's usually nearby on the floor at my feet or on a little fleece rug next to the fireplace. But lately, she's been hopping up onto the couch where I'm sitting, with my permission. Once she's on the couch, she'll generally curl up in one of the corners and snooze awhile--unless she needs a potty break or thinks it's time for her dinner, in which case she'll paw me and/or stare at me.

But last night was different.

Last night, I gave myself over to the finale of that sci-fi/spirituality mash-up known as Lost, which certainly lived up to the hype that had preceded it (rare for a series finale. Case in point: The Sopranos.) Not everything about Lost's denouement was perfect, but at a number of intervals, I certainly cried. The whole thing was very emotional--and, on an emotional level, was wholly satisfying. And part of that emotional satisfaction was that during a good chunk of the two-and-a-half finale, Allie was not only on the couch but was stretched out next to me with her head in my lap.

I've always loved the Jungian idea of animals serving as spiritual guides--and while I'm not ready to say that watching Lost last night was a spiritual experience, it was really good to have Allie there with me while I was undergoing my various stages of emotional catharsis.

By the time the episode was over, Allie had gone upstairs to bed. But I was still very happy from having had her there with me like that for awhile. That happiness doubled when I saw the final scenes of the episode: our hero Jack finally letting go, finally able to cross over to the other side, looking skyward to see the plane carry his friends away--and with Vincent the dog by his side. That's the image staying with me now, the morning after.

Pictured above: Madison, the dog who portrayed Vincent on Lost.

The $1,600 dog

2010-05-18T11:29:00.004-04:00

Today's "44" blog on the The Washington Post's website contains an interesting bit of information from President Obama's financial disclosure forms: that the value of Bo, the Portuguese Water Dog given to the Obama family by the late Sen. Edward M. Kennedy (D-Mass.) and his wife, was $1,600.

My first reaction was that Bo's reported monetary value makes an interesting parallel to his current street address. My second reaction was, "Oh God, people are gonna be bellyaching about this." The comments to the article have borne out my prediction, although the range of idiocy in the comments is breathtaking. Some examples:

-- "This is a white man's dog. It's a Kennedy dog ... Obama thinks he's white."

-- "Remember how the Washington Post dutifully reported that Obama was getting a "rescue dog ? Yeah, right. This is just standard operating procedure for Obama."

-- "Obama didn't really need a dog. He already had a lap dog in the White House press corps."

-- "I wonder why O would claim 1600 for the dog when it was a gift? Why would the taxpayers pay for the dogs food, if in fact that is where the 1600 comes from? "

-- "Obama couldn't find an animal shelter with a map, much less adopt an animal in need of a home. Instead his buddies went to a breeder for one of their 'genetically pure' dogs. "

You get the idea. That said, I was also pleasantly surprised by the intelligence of some of the other comments:

-- "There's nothing wrong with adopting a purebred dog, people ... I have no problem with people who adopt from shelters. I think that's great. But simply put, a lot of people aren't comfortable adopting a dog when they have no idea what kind of personality or temperament it will have. Never mind all of the different kinds of psychological or emotional baggage the dog might have as a result of previous owners/living in a shelter."

-- "The Obamas' daughters are allergic. Portugese Water Dogs are virtually hypoallergenic. They don't shed. A rescue dog really wasn't an option. "

I don't know which is worse: the unbelievable degree of ignorance among the naysayers, or the fact that I'm surprised that not all of the comments reflect such ignorance.

And for the record, my family and I paid $1,000 for Allie back in 2002. An inflation calculator would put that amount at about $1,185 today. For that amount, we got a healthy puppy with a sound temperament whose parents had passed screenings for genetic diseases, and who'd had the very best of care during those crucial first eight weeks of her life. She was (and even more so today is) worth every penny. But the best defense of buying a dog from a reputable breeder I've ever seen is here.

Time passages

2010-05-12T18:31:00.007-04:00

(Apologies to Al Stewart)

Lately I've been feeling my age. I can't run on a treadmill anymore without my knees hurting like hell, so I walk very fast and gulp down my Osteo-BiFlex every morning. Running up and down stairs is a thing of the past. And staying up late on Saturday nights to watch SNL is out of the question, even when someone as awesome as Betty White is hosting. (Thank God for Hulu.) How on earth she caroused till 3 a.m. at the afterparty is beyond me.

So I guess it shouldn't surprise me that Allie, who in dog years is about the same age I am, is slowing up a little bit, too. Just as I take my anti-achey meds, so does she also take hers. A couple of years ago, when I took her for a run, she'd be good for at least 10 or 15 strenuous retrievals of her beloved tennies or Orbee balls. Now, she's more apt to run that hard for 4 or 5 tosses, after which she insists on resting and gumming the ball for awhile before going for a couple more high-speed fetches. Plus, she has far fewer zoomie attacks and, consequently, has become much better at walking on leash. I've longed for the latter ever since she was a puppy -- but now that she's mature enough to actually be a good walking companion, I find myself feeling a little sad.

Garbage can wars

2010-05-10T14:26:00.007-04:00

For almost as long as Allie's been with us, she's been an accomplished, not to mention enthusiastic, garbage-can raider.

Our kitchen doesn't have any doors that we can shut to keep her out of that room and away from the garbage can, which is a flip-top. Therefore the only way to keep her out of the garbage can was to put it a corner and turn the front of the can to the wall. That worked for awhile, but then she figured out how wedge her nose into the corner and push the can out from the wall. So we took two barstools and placed them in front of the garbage can, which we then returned to the corner. Soon, thereafter, we saw her easing her head between the legs of the barstool and edging the garbage can out from the corner. Plus, Stan really hated having to remember to position the garbage can and haul out the barstools.

So I came up with what I thought was a genius solution: find something to hold the garbage can lid shut. A month or two ago, I drove to a local toy store and found this nifty device. It's designed to keep refrigerator doors shut and the contents therein out of the reach of curious toddlers, but I figured it would hold a garbage can shut, too.

For awhile I was right. But twice today, I caught Allie wedging her nose underneath the area where the strap goes from the vertical side of the can up and on to the horizontal lid of the can, and then pushing the strap loose. She didn't totally dislodge the strap, but she came close. So at least for now I have:
-- reattached the strap
-- put the garbage can back in the corner and turned it to the wall
-- blocked it off with barstools

On a certain level I admire Allie's ingenuity, not to mention her determination. On the other hand, though, this is getting really old.

Enough, already!

2010-05-06T13:39:00.004-04:00

This week, both the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times have featured articles about dealing with canine cancers, and possible ways to prevent their occurrence. The articles center on the WSJ reporter's late, great Golden Retriever, who died of cancer recently. She (the reporter) noted, as did I a few posts back, that Goldens are especially susceptible to cancer, but also points out that other breeds have health issues, too. Examples include Dachshunds, who are vulnerable to back problems; Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, who are at risk for mitral valve disease; and short-nosed breeds like Bulldogs, who may have breathing problems. The authors go on to share suggestions for at least partially counteracting some of the environmental factors that can increase a dog's risk for becoming a cancer statistic.

Not surprisingly, both articles drew a lot of reader comments. Unfortunately, more than a few commenters suggested that people eschew purebred dogs in favor of adopting mixed breeds from animal shelters. These commenters seem to think that by adopting a mixed breed dog, an adopter will dodge the canine cancer bullet.

Don't get me wrong: I think adopting a shelter dog can be wonderful. I've done so myself: my first dog as an adult was a wonderful mixed Poodle named Molly, who lived with me for over 16 years. I have dearly loved every dog I've ever had the privilege of living with, but I speak of Molly as the dog of my soul.

And she died of cancer: specifically, mast cell cancer, one of the most common canine malignancies.

Aside from the fact that mixed breed dogs are certainly vulnerable to cancer and at least some of the other canine ills that beset purebred dogs, I am getting so tired of the contention that opening one's heart and home to a purebred dog denies a home to a shelter dog. I'm sick of the assertion that this is an either/or proposition. I'm as weary of these "dog wars" as I was of the so-called "mommy wars" that raged when my daughter was little.

A woman can be a good mother whether she works outside the home, devotes herself to full-time at-home parenting, or -- as I did -- split the difference by running a home-based business. Similarly, a person can be a committed dog guardian no matter where she acquired her dog: from a reputable breeder, from a rescue group, from a shelter or -- as I did -- split the difference by acquiring a dog from more than one of these sources. (No, I'm not saying that people who buy dogs in pet stores are bad owners -- but, for the purposes of this post, I just don't want to go there).

Rather than focus on the differences in how we got our dogs, can't we simply agree that we want our dogs -- no matter what their breed or mixes -- to live longer, healthier lives? Can't we agree that a discovery regarding cancer in Golden Retrievers holds promise not only for Goldens but for all dogs? Can't we please call a cease-fire to this purebred-vs-mutt conflict and focus more on how we can work together?

Please?

The return of the reader

2010-05-02T16:56:00.005-04:00

A paradox of my life as a writer is that I go through periods where I don't want to read any books at all. These periods usually occur when I'm writing a book. Apparently the act of creating a book renders me too spazzed, tired, and/or drained to read, much less appreciate anyone else's literary creation. Instead I turn to Facebook or Twitter or whatever I'm currently obsessed with on television (my current obsession is this show).

So for the next couple of months, when it turns out I'll be writing not one but two books simultaenously, I would have expected to be unable to read more than a short magazine or newspaper article, much less a book. And, in fact, reading's been tough for me over the past several weeks, ever since I started writing my book about Dachshunds. But strangely enough, even though I've agreed to do this second book project even while I'm immersed in all things Doxie, I'm actually emerging from my latest can't-read-a-book phase.

The vehicle for that emergence is a newly compiled collection of short stories by Charlaine Harris that focus on that intrepid barmaid from Bon Temps, Louisiana, Sookie Stackhouse. I love HBO's True Blood, the TV show that's based upon the full-length Sookie novels, and had pretty much devoured (please excuse the poor verb choice here. The books deal with vampires) those novels while I was recovering from surgery last year. But the short stories are a special treat. Harris is an easy writer to read, and short stories, by their very nature, are much more easily digestible to the reading-averse than a full-length novel, much less a work of non-fiction.

Hence, this May-masquerading-as-August Sunday found me in a happy place: ensconced on our living room sofa reading about Sookie's initial encounter with the Queen of Louisiana. Allie lay at my feet, sitting up occasionally to collect some ear scritches and back-of-the-neck strokes. Meanwhile, the chicken I'd put in the oven to roast an hour earlier was starting to smell very good. Contentment abounded.

I know now that I'll be ready to dive into the next novel-length installment of Sookie's adventures, which should arrive here in a couple of days. And the pile of books on my night stand doesn't look so intimidating anymore, which makes me feel very happy. That's not to say, though, that I'm swearing off TV. Not by a long shot.

The art of listening

2010-04-27T14:52:00.006-04:00

Allie's not big into leisurely jaunts. All too often, when I take her for a walk, she gets a funny (evil?) glint in her eye and proceeds to grab her leash with her mouth. Occasionally, she simply holds it as we walk along together. More often, though, she pulls in the direction opposite the way we're traveling in an effort to start a game of sidewalk tug-of-war.

Because I consider a tranquil walk with one's dog to be one of life's greatest joys, Allie's efforts to pump up the volume during our walks used to really bug me. I'd get impatient, I'd get angry, I'd try to get her to let go of the leash by giving her the "drop it" cue (which she would ignore) -- all of which seemed to spur her into holding onto the leash, shaking it and otherwise working harder to get me to play with her.

The funny thing is, for the longest time I didn't realize her desire to play was what was prompting her leash-grabbing. She wasn't trying to be obnoxious. She wasn't trying to be difficult. She simply wanted me to play her favorite game with her, and was suggesting that we do so in the only way she knew how. Unfortunately, I was too busy being annoyed with her to listen, much less respond appropriately.

How often do our dogs try to tell us something, only to find that we don't understand what they're trying to communicate--or worse, that we don't even try to understand? How often, conversely, do we shove own agendas down their throats without even realizing that we're doing so? How often do we miss opportunities to really connect with our dogs because we're too busy doing something else? How often do we really pay attention? How often are our relationships with our dogs more like one-way streets in which we set the agenda? How often do we give them a chance to do so?

These days, when Allie plays the leash-grabbing game, I respond very differently from the way I used to. If I'm not in the mood to play, I just keep the leash slack, and refrain from looking at her. When I do that, she understands pretty quickly that tug is not going to happen right now, drops the leash, and we continue on our way. Other times, though, I'll use my special Allie voice (sort of like baby-talk, but not really) and ask her, "Allie, are you feeling evil? Are you The Evil One?" and let her pull the leash a little bit. Sometimes we both stand still while she tugs; other times we continue walking while we play.

In any case, there's no more negativity or impatience from me when Allie asks to play sidewalk tug. That said, I'm glad we've got a durable leather leash.

Miles apart

2010-04-22T15:12:00.005-04:00

Every time Allie and I go to Dunn Loring Park, we see her: a young, energetic Golden Retriever who's all alone in her yard. Her name is Sophie, and when I see her, my heart goes out to her. She's not physically mistreated -- she's just always out there, all by herself. Usually she starts barking wildly and dashing madly around the yard when she sees us passing by her house. When she does, her owner -- an older gentleman -- comes out to tell her to shush. Then he goes back inside, without her. I've never seen him bring her inside.

Why does he have a dog if he doesn't want her companionship? If she's too rowdy, why doesn't he play with her and train her (or hire someone to do it)? If he can't be bothered, why doesn't he find her a home where someone can and wants to be bothered?

I feel the same way when I see people walking their dogs up the street with the leash in one hand and cell phone in the other. They're yakking away to God-knows-who while their dog walks on ahead with nary a backward glance. The person and dog are walking together--but, in a sense, they're miles apart. Neither really enjoys the companionship of the other. And if they don't have that companionship, what's the point of it all?

Today, when Allie and I passed by Sophie's house, she engaged in her usual manic barking and racing. But there was a difference today: she came back to her fence with a tennis ball in her mouth, and emitting what sounded to me like play growls. Meanwhile, Allie--who'd just had a bracing fetch session with me in the park--was walking serenely beside me, carrying her prized Orbee ball. I gave her ears a little scritch and thought, you're a lucky dog, Allie.

Too many dogs are relegated to the back yard or are ignored during their walks with their people. Either way, it's a lonely life for all concerned--but it's a particularly sad fate for an animal that's hard-wired to not just be social, but to bond with people.

I'm so excited!

2010-04-20T14:58:00.002-04:00

My very good friend, Victoria Schade, is the cover person ("cover girl" sounds so retro!) and subject of a profile in Bucks County Woman magazine.

Here it is!

Taking our lumps

2010-04-17T12:33:00.012-04:00

One not-so-great aspect of writing about dogs and other companion animals is that you learn just enough about canine training and health to make yourself crazy. If you find a lump on your dog, for example, you immediately conclude that it's got to be cancer, and you put your considerable research skills to work scoping out symptoms, treatments and prognoses.

So when Allie began sporting a lump on her tail earlier this week -- well, you can guess what I was doing.

I've had two other dogs who succumbed to cancer, and I fully expect that some variation of this scourge will claim Allie one day. Golden Retrievers are notoriously susceptible to malignant tumors. According to Golden Retriever health expert Rhonda Hovan, 60 percent of Goldens die from cancer--not quite double the rate for all other dogs. (The full text of Hovan's excellent white paper, "Understanding Cancer in Golden Retrievers," is here.) I knew this, and acquired Allie with my eyes wide open. That doesn't mean, however, that I'm truly prepared for that eventuality -- especially since Allie is only 7. I do know that cancer strikes younger dogs, such as this one, and I myself lost a 7-year-old Sheltie to cancer several years ago. But when I found that lump on Allie, my thoughts coagulated around one plea: "Not yet. Not yet. Not this soon."

Yes, I know that a cancer diagnosis is not necessarily a death sentence for a dog. I'm thrilled that just in the last year a new drug has been developed specifically for treating mast cell cancer (which killed my first dog back in 1994). I'm excited that a simple blood test could be used to diagnose cancer in dogs. I'm intrigued by the idea that canine saliva could hold the key to treating cancer. I also know full well that lumps don't necessarily mean The Big C. Allie herself has acquired a couple of non-cancerous lipomas and has dealt with sebaceous cysts.

So often, though, fear trumps knowledge--so it was with fear that I brought Allie to her vet earlier today.

The verdict: an infected oil gland, probably brought on by an insect bite. The treatment: warm compresses and antibiotics twice daily for the next week or so, then another visit to the vet.

Needless to say, I am greatly relieved. I feel like Allie and I have dodged a bullet. Whatever happens, it's not happening yet. But if and when cancer does strike my Golden girl, it's good to know that there probably will be a lot more treatment options available than was the case the last time I heard that diagnosis about a beloved dog. And in the meantime, I'll cherish each day with Allie, and try very hard not to make myself crazy the next time something unwelcome pops up.

Cluelessness, parental version

2010-04-15T11:40:00.004-04:00

I love seeing kids and dogs together. The dogs I grew up with highlighted my childhood, and to this day I am a total sucker for sentimental kids-and-dogs movies, and have been known to watch reruns of Timmy and Lassie well into adulthood. But even I, as sentimental as I am, know that kids and dogs together can also be disasters waiting to happen. Generally, that's not the fault of either the kids or the dogs. The blame lies squarely with their clueless parents.

Take the two little girls I saw yesterday afternoon while Allie and I were walking. They couldn't have been older than early grade school -- seven years old at most -- but they were walking a bouncy puppy who was at least two-thirds their size, with nary an adult in sight. As I watched them, I was imagining all kinds of worst case scenarios in which they could lose control of that puppy, such as:

-- the puppy getting *really* bouncy and knocking one or both of them over.
-- the puppy seeing a squirrel cross its path and deciding to give chase, dragging one of the little girls behind him.
-- the puppy reacting -- strenuously -- to the barking of either the two dogs whose house they were passing or crossing the street and running afoul of the dog who charges at her fence whenever she sees another canine passing.

I could just see the parents opining that the little girls needed to learn about being responsible, which is why they'd gotten the dog in the first place, yadda yadda yadda. But I found myself hoping that those little girls wouldn't learn instead about what it's like to see their dog die because their parents had no idea what responsibilities to lay on their children and when.

Hortas and dragons

2010-04-03T09:16:00.004-04:00

I was a Star Trek fan from the original show's beginnings in 1966, and one of my favorite episodes of all time was The Devil in the Dark, from that show's very first season. The episode focuses on a distant planet that's home to a strange and frightening creature called the Horta. The creature is killing miners who are unearthing an ore called pergium and, in the process, destroying silicon nodules. The miners, naturally, want to kill the Horta. Enter Kirk and his team, who swoop onto the planet, ready to do battle with the creature, only to find that the situation is not what it appears to be. Everything they've thought about the Horta, not to mention those silicon nodules, turns out to be wrong.

Without giving anything away on this blog, it's fair to say that I kept thinking of that Star Trek episode when I went to see the movie How to Train Your Dragon yesterday afternoon. There, too, humans are attempting to fight creatures -- in this case, fire-breathing dragons -- without having any real knowledge of why those dragons are doing what they're doing. This failure of understanding threatens to have tragic consequences, until a hiccup (of sorts) intervenes.

We do it all the time: jump to conclusions without having any idea of what's really happening. But if a 43-year-old TV show and the latest animated kiddie movie can show us another way to look at potential confrontations, I'm all for it. Plus, the animation in said movie is very cool.

Recall redux

2010-04-01T21:13:00.002-04:00

Just last week, I wrote about how a near mis-adventure in Allie's youth illustrated the importance of teaching one's dog a rock-solid recall.

Today, nearly six years later, she had another one.

On this glorious April-masquerading-as-June day, Allie and I took a long walk around our subdivision, then headed to a nearby school field for a rousing fetch session. Generally, we head halfway up a path that leads from the sidewalk to the field, at which point I let go of her leash and let her run the rest of the way onto the field. I did that today, only to hear the sound of a distant lawn mower immediately afterward. A moment later I saw that the lawn mower was right on the field--not, as I'd thought, in one of the enclosed yards bordering it--and that it was coming closer. My stomach lurched as I called, "Allie! here!"

Thankfully, my Golden girl turned around right away and came racing back to me. I picked up her leash, praised her extravagantly, gave her a ball to carry (a reward that she really values), and we went home.

I'm supremely grateful that Allie heeded my call, but not entirely surprised. That's because she and I have been practicing that maneuver in other locations. For example, at another park we like to frequent, I let her dash up a path ahead of me--but quite often, I'll then call her back to me. The sooner she comes back, the sooner she gets the reward she knows is coming, be it a treat or the chance to carry a ball. It's a win-win situation for both of us.

Certainly we both won today. Practice not only makes perfect; practice also saves lives.

Allie the therapist

2010-03-23T08:28:00.002-04:00

Some people have suggested to me that Allie would make a wonderful therapy dog. And I see their point. Allie adores any and all human beings. Sometimes, though, she adores them just a little too much.

A case in point is our mail carrier: if Allie sees a Postal Service truck and/or the mail carrier making his deliveries, her overriding goal becomes getting to that mail carrier, even if she has to drag me halfway down the street to reach him. I can just see her wanting to reach a patient in a hospital or nursing home and knocking over another patient's walker in order to arrive at her destination. Note, too, that Allie already has earned her Canine Good Citizen certification, which contains 10 of the 11 elements needed to receive certification with Therapy Dogs International. That 11th element, saying hello without going bonkers, would be tough for her.

For that reason, I don't see formal therapy work in Allie's future. That's not to say, however, that she doesn't serve a therapeutic role for some people. Two of those people will have a chance to benefit from her talents over the next couple of weeks.

One of those people is my daughter. She's a 21-year-old third-year college student, consistently on the dean's list, happy and self-sufficient. That said, she's missed Allie more since she's been in college than I think she expected, and got a chance to explain why when she was interviewed for this article. So tomorrow evening, when Julie comes home for spring break, it's a safe bet to assume that the first family member she'll look for will be Allie, and that Allie will be wagging her tail so hard that the entire back half of her body will be in motion. Then, for the next few days, Julie and Allie will be best buds--until Julie hauls out her suitcase to pack for the trip back to school, and Allie performs her usual you're-leaving-me-again body wilt.

The other person is my mom. She loves dogs, but hasn't had one for more than seven years; after that dog (an unforgettable Dachshund named Mimi) passed away, she and my Dad decided that they could no longer handle taking care of a dog. My dad had just been diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, and they both worried that a dog would be lost in the shuffle of caring for my dad as his illness progressed. My father succumbed to complications of Parkinson's a year and a half ago -- but at this point in her life, my 82-year-old mom is unwilling to take on the responsibility of caring for a dog.

That's where Allie comes in. My mom will be visiting here for nine days or so starting just after Julie leaves -- and with Allie here, Mom will get her dog fix. Allie will pay plenty of attention to her: cuddling, paw nudging, nose bopping and, if all else fails, amping up her usual level of doggie antics. Mom will get to re-live all the joys of living with dogs, but not have to deal with any of the hassles, such as taking the dog out on a rainy day for a potty break. I guess having a grand-dog is like having grandchildren: you can enjoy their company, but when it comes time for nitty-gritty care, you can hand the dog or child back to the parents.

And that's just fine with me. Allie probably won't ever be a certified therapy dog, but she provides the best kind of canine therapy to two people who are among those I love best. I can live with that.

The bond, redefined?

2010-03-17T20:50:00.004-04:00

Allie is very food motivated. This characteristic is often a good thing, because she's easily rewarded when I teach her new cues. But the same characteristic can also be a bad thing, because she will do just about anything to score an edible goodie. At times I have felt that Allie only loves me for the treats that I offer. Say what you will about behavioral science. I am human, and I want her to love me just because I'm me.

So what happened last night really amazed me.

Stan (a.k.a. Dear Husband) and I were eating dinner in our family room so that we could watch TV. I was trying out a new dish (which, by the way, was amazing). Just as we were about to sit down, though, I needed to use the bathroom. I asked Stan to watch my food, so that our canine food opportunist extraordinaire -- I mean, this dog once snatched a piece of Indian bread right out of my hand -- wouldn't scarf down my dinner before I could even taste it.

But to my amazement, Allie paid no attention to my food. Instead, with wrinkled brow, she followed me to the bathroom. Yes, I'm anthropomorphizing, but I had the feeling she was worried about me. (I was fine.)

So, could a definition of a strong human-canine bond be that the canine eschews tasty food to check up on the human? I should put that question to the author of this book.

Dachshund delights

2010-03-13T14:22:00.004-05:00

These days I'm all about Golden Retrievers, due in no small measure to the fact that Allie is a stellar representative of that breed. But my childhood dog was an unforgettable Dachshund named Casey, and my parents shared their lives with two successive Dachshunds after Casey died. Consequently, I've got a real affection for the breed, not to mention experience in living day to day with these inimitable canine characters. Whenever I have the opportunity to write about wiener dogs, I jump at it.

That's why I'm now thrilled to be writing my second book for TFH Publications: an opus called Dog Life: Dachshund. I just finished the first chapter -- which actually will probably be one of my favorites, because I got to look up all kinds of breed-related trivia. That's because I needed to include information about notable Dachshunds and their people. During the course of my research I discovered that:

-- Tough guys like Marlon Brando and Napoleon had soft spots for Dachshunds.
-- Newspaper magnate William Randolph Hearst eulogized his late, great Dachshund in a newspaper column.
-- Despite the breed being out of favor due to its Germanic origins, General George S. Patton enjoyed the company of a Dachshund named Ryan during World War II.
-- Although they're small in size, Dachshunds have big-dog attitudes, and have been known to alert their people to fires and intruders.

When I get to ferret out stuff like that, I really love my job. And just so you know: Casey, Lola and Mimi -- this book's gonna be for you.

Clueing in the clueless

2010-03-08T18:28:00.007-05:00

On this gorgeous day, with temps around 60, I decided to take Allie for a long walk. We both were having a good time -- me enjoying not having to avoid snowpiles and Allie checking out the new pee-mail --until we encountered an elderly gentleman and his dog.

Allie generally isn't thrilled with meeting other dogs when she's on leash. And even if she were, I'm hesitant to permit such encounters because unknown dogs, leashes and social mis-cues can lead to spontaneous canine combustion way too quickly. That's why, when we first saw the gentleman and his dog from across the street, Allie and I kept moving and I had treats at the ready. (A little vension jerky seems to keep my girl mellow -- or at least diverted -- when other dogs make the scene). We all moved on, and all seemed to be well.

But a little while later, we saw the pair again, and this time they made straight for us. The dog was barking and giving Allie the eye. Allie and I backed away, but Mr. Clueless either didn't understand or chose to ignore the signals we were attempting to send. He and the dog just kept right on coming. Finally I said, "Keep your dog away from my dog, please."

Mr C looked at me blankly and kept coming. I repeated my request in a louder voice. "Oh -- okay," he said. He looked a little puzzled, but he and the dog moved away from us. Allie and I walked a few more blocks; all the while I was inwardly composing yet another rant for this blog about idiotic dog owners.

And then we saw Mr. C and his dog a third time, again across the street. The dog resumed his staring behavior, so I started orienting Allie to me with more venison jerky. As I did so, Mr. C watched us with apparent interest. Then he spoke.

"Why are you afraid of my dog?" he asked. "He's friendly."

Huh. At least he's asking a question, I thought. "That may be," I said. "And I'm not afraid of your dog. But he *was* barking and staring at my dog, and my dog doesn't react well to such behavior. I just didn't want any trouble."

He nodded, slowly. I decided to push my luck, and added, "It's usually a good idea to ask the other person if they're okay with your dog approaching their dog."

He nodded again. "Okay," he said. "I didn't know that."

Will he act on his new knowledge in the future? I hope so.

A hero passes

2010-03-03T13:47:00.005-05:00

Riley, the Golden Retriever whose calm demeanor while being ferried across the ruins of the World Trade Center epitomized the heroism of search-and-rescue (SAR) dogs, died on February 26. He was 13.

His owner and handler, Chris Selfridge, says that while Riley had aced a physical this past December, a mass was found in his abdomen on February 20. Surgery to remove the mass took place on February 24, but Riley died two days later.

Chris and I exchanged email last fall when I was writing my book about Golden Retrievers and wanted to feature Riley as a representative of the breed. At that point, Riley was still enjoying chasing Frisbees and had helped to welcome a new puppy into the family. He clearly was enjoying his retirement from SAR work -- and, as seen in the video below, which was shot two days after the twin towers collapsed, few dogs have done more to earn that retirement.

Confession time

2010-03-01T16:26:00.006-05:00

A recent essay by Susan Orlean in the The New Yorker really resonated with me. She confessed that, despite her belief that people have no business capturing orcas for their own entertainment (the validity of which became abundantly clear after an orca at Sea World killed a trainer last week), she loved seeing orcas perform there. She also acknowledged that she'd begged for the opportunity to pet another orca, Keiko, while researching a story about him a few years ago.

I can relate -- because ever since I can remember, I've wanted to meet dolphins. Every time I hear of a program that offers an opportunity to even just sit on a platform and see a dolphin up close and personal, I consider signing up. My most recent fantasizing in this regard took place only a week ago, when my family and I booked a short trip to Bermuda for later this year. At the island is a facility called Dolphin Quest that I've known about for years, so after we flexed some plastic for our plane tickets and hotel, I logged over to the Dolphin Quest website. There I read the description of the program and decided that I could somehow justify paying a few hundred bucks for one of the cheaper packages. Then I read the guest reviews.

Oh, dear.

Some people raved about the experience, but plenty of others complained. Some simply said that they didn't get much dolphin contact for their money. But others reported that the dolphins are kept in very small tanks. I could just see myself plunking down the money, getting to the facility, bursting into tears when I saw those tanks, and high-tailing it out of there. I've had a similar reaction every time I've considered doing such a program. If the size of the tanks doesn't worry me, it's my thinking that I can choose to see the dolphins but the dolphins have no choice with regard to seeing me. Either way, I'd be setting myself up to feel guilty, all to satisfy a selfish fantasy.

That's why my efforts to find a guilt-free dolphin encounter program for the masses are at an end. For me, I don't think there is such a program. On the other hand, I'd love to do this.

Susan Orlean's article is here.

What my friend sent me

2010-02-25T16:07:00.004-05:00

A couple of days ago, a friend sent me a link to a website for a person who sells, ahem, miniature Golden Retrievers. Upon viewing the site, "I thought of your blog," she said.

Oh, how well she knows me.

She knows, for example, that I will be wanting to tear out my admittedly very short locks over not only the fact that this individual appears to have at least five different litters of Golden Retriever mixes available now, but also takes deposits before any "matings" even occur. As for training advice, this individual not only highly recommends that buyers acquaint themselves with the videos of this trainer, but also goes out of their way to differentiate that trainer from this trainer, who is probably far more knowledgeable.

But, in the interest of maintaining my coiffure, I'm going to keep my hands off my head. Instead I would pose the following questions to this individual -- and, in fact, to any individual who engages in similar enterprises:

1. What steps have you taken to guarantee the health of your puppies? Have the parents' hips and elbows been certified by the Orthopedic Foundation for Animals? Have their eyes been checked by the Canine Eye Registration Foundation? Since Goldens are involved in your breedings, have you had a veterinary cardiologist evaluate the parents' hearts? (Goldens are subject to an often deadly condition called subaortic stenosis.)

2. Have you stopped to consider whether a trainer who specializes in what appear (at least on TV) to be abusive dog handling techniques -- is suitable for any dog, much less a fragile, impressionable puppy? Have you also considered whether a trainer whose techniques are opposed by many in the scientific community is the best choice for those who purchase your dogs?

3) Have you actually investigated the work of the trainer whom you seek to differentiate your preferred trainer from?

4) Although you say that some of your dogs are registered with the American Kennel Club, would you perhaps care to elaborate on why you are now using this registry instead? (I can guess, but your explanation would be interesting.)

Just wonderin' ....

Dialogue? Maybe. Transparency? Absolutely!

2010-02-18T13:20:00.005-05:00

I'm all for establishing a dialogue between disagreeing parties, if such a dialogue can be truly constructive. Living in the Washington DC area, I haven't seen too much of that lately. Sometimes I wonder if civility, bipartisanship, and commonality are concepts that will sooned be labeled "archaic" by most dictionaries.

Which is why I sat up and took notice when I got an email from my good friend and colleague, Steve Dale, about an upcoming symposium between American Humane and "Dog Whisperer" Cesar Millan. The idea of such a symposium is surprising, given the brouhaha that resulted when Millan incorrectly stated last December that American Humane representatives had visited the set of NatGeo's The Dog Whisperer and, consequently, had endorsed his methods. (Later, a spokesman for Millan amended that assertion to say that the ASPCA, not American Humane, had visited the set.)

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm no fan of Cesar Millan. I don't doubt that he's sincere in his desire to help dogs. But, with the exception of his oft-stated belief that dogs don't get enough exercise, I find his pronouncements and methods to be anachronistic and potentially dangerous. I'm certainly not alone in that assessment; here is just one trainer's eloquent explanation of why she believes his methods don't work.

So, is a true dialogue possible? I honestly don't know. I would, however, urge American Humane to be as transparent as possible regarding the preparations for the symposium and to open that symposium to the press and public. Let journos and dog lovers alike know where and when the symposium will be and who will be speaking, in addition to Millan. Let anyone who wishes to attend hear for themselves what all the speakers have to say. And, above all, let those who attend serve as a reality check if, for some reason, any speaker later attempts to spin the proceedings in a manner that doesn't accurately reflect what actually occurred.

Pleasure amid predictability

2010-02-17T12:10:00.004-05:00

To nobody's surprise, Sadie the Scottish Terrier won Best in Show at the 134th Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show last night. But while Sadie's victory seemed pretty much a foregone conclusion -- despite the valiant efforts of David Frei and his colleague to inject some suspense into the proceedings -- I found plenty of pleasure amid the predictability.

For one thing, I did get a real charge out of finding out that my Allie and the Golden Retriever BOS winner, a dog named Chaos, share a grand-sire. Speaking of which, similarly star-struck Golden and Lab owners should check out a great website called K9data.com. Just type in the name of the dog you're interested in and voila! if the dog's been entered into the site's database, you can see a pedigree that extends back five generations. You can even search the database by call name instead of registered name. That said, using a common call name may bring you more results than you care to deal with. For example, when I typed in "Allie," I got 77 hits. Some of the AKC registered names for all these Allies are unforgettable, though. There's:

-- Ducat's Tin Pan Allie;
-- Malagold's Tornado Allie;
-- Summit Heritage C U Later Alligator; and
-- Sweet Allie Oop

to name just a few. I can only imagine how these dogs' owners arrived at some of these names (is there an article here?).

Not so surprising but still incredibly enjoyable was watching Westminster BIS judge Elliott Weiss do his thing last night. I first saw Weiss about 10 years ago, when I was covering Westminster for a couple of publications. He was serving as the judge for a preliminary Junior Showmanship competition. I was impressed with how very patient he was with the kids, some of whom were visibly and understandably nervous, and how gentle he was in pointing out their mistakes.

Later, when I wrote a profile of English Setters for the AKC Gazette, I had the good fortune to encounter Weiss via email. He not only is a devotee of English Setters, but has also judged them in the show ring. Here's how he described to me his experience with a legendary English Setter named Hadji:

"He possessed attributes not worded in the breed standard. Not only was he a wonderful example of the breed, but he had a persona no words could capture. He would carry himself into a show ring and defy you not to look at him. He was one of those rare creatures that indeed seemed to command the world around him. He was above all else a great statesman for the breed of English Setters."

When someone speaks of a dog who's not his own with that kind of eloquence and affection, those who are listening can't help but take pleasure in the person's description. And in Weiss's case, one can not only forgive him making a predictable judgment (I really did like this dog better, but what do I know?); one can even concede that maybe, just maybe, he made the right call.

Happy Valentine's Day

2010-02-14T18:25:00.002-05:00

Thanks to Rochelle Lesser of Land of Pure Gold Foundation for finding this highly appropriate video:

To re-cap ...

2010-02-11T17:52:00.006-05:00

On this extremely snowy day (three feet of the white stuff, to be exact --in northern Virginia!), I want to talk about something that has everything to do with writing but nothing to do with dogs: the art of writing re-caps of television episodes.

A good television re-cap should inspire you to forward it to your friends with a spew alert warning -- as in if you read this while drinking anything you will spew out the beverage and short out your computer keyboard. A re-cap should elicit loud, guffawing laughter from the reader. And if it's really good, it'll make the reader think -- or at least see the episode in question in a whole new way.

Good re-caps come from independent sources: we're not talking here about the episode summaries you see on the networks' websites for their own shows. One can, for example, learn what's happened on last night's episode of "24" by reading the recounting of said episode on Fox's website. But such recaps don't cause you to chortle, nor are they thought-provoking. They play it completely straight and, as such, lack two elements that are crucial togreat TV episode re-capping: snarkiness and good comic riffing.

Snarkiness is especially important. Take, for example, Jeff Jensen's discussion on Entertainment Weekly of how the character of Kate on Lost has grown on him:

"Now, to be clear, I've grown to appreciate Kate over the years. In the beginning, I couldn't quite reconcile the young ingénue with the shampoo commercial hair with the scrappy fugitive/jungle cat tomboy Lost wanted her to be ... . But over time, as the character gained detail and damage, and as the actress grew in confidence and experience, Kate has become credible and compelling. ''What Kate Does'' — evenly divided between its Sideways vision of an early Kate that struggled to capture my imagination and the Island Kate I've grown to respect — only reminded me of my ambivalence for her. Especially when she was in shampoo commercial mode."

Jensen's sniping about Kate's hair not only is wonderfully catty/snarky but also is a sideways reference to the fact that the actress who portrays her, Evangeline Lilly, has moved from starring on a hit TV series to shucking for drugstore cosmetics mainstay L'Oreal. (and no, I'm not knocking L'Oreal. It just seems a step downward from Lilly's been doing.)

Then, there's comic riffing. Such writing in re-caps looks easy; the reader feels as though she's having a good gab-fest with a very funny friend. But in truth, such writing is difficult, because you can't always count on your inner humor machine to supply you with funny stuff, particularly when you need it the most. Good re-capping somehow always comes up with perfect comic riffs and tangents or at least humorous one-sentence asides, such as in this Television Without Pity re-cap of a recent episode of Shear Genius:

"Time for the rulings: Kim's bottom three are Adee's dated look, April's no real change, and Brian's nearly blinded client. His top three are Jon, Matthew, and Janine. Kim needs to get better at giving some positive feedback so that we could predict these things, but those three girls do all look good. The winner turns out to be Matthew, and while I'm not a big Brig fan, I will give her credit for smiling and totally admitting that her plan backfired completely. "

In short, good re-capping is snarky, laugh-out-loud funny, and sometimes even thought-provoking. Here are some recapping sites that consistently meet those standards:

Television Without Pity
Entertainment Weekly
Celebritology (for Jen Cheney and Liz Kelly's great dueling analyses of Lost)
What Alan's Watching (recaps from Alan Sepinwall of the Newark Star-Ledger)
The TV Column (for recaps of American Idol by Washington Post TV columnist Lisa deMoraes. No one, but no one does snark as well as she does.)

We now return to our regularly scheduled dog-related programming.

A credibility problem

2010-02-06T16:48:00.011-05:00

I'm always happy to see a company at least try to be responsive to the needs of those of us who love and live with dogs, cats, and other pets. So I applaud Bissell, a manufacturer of floor and carpet cleaning products, for attempting to spread the word about its wares to those of us who want not only to live with animals, but to do so in reasonably clean surroundings.

That said, I think the company needs to have a conversation with its ad agency about establishing credibility within its target demographic. Specifically, the company might want to gently explain that a doggie day care is waaaay different from an in-home day care for human infants and toddlers.

Take a look at this commercial:

I rest my case.

And either way, I can't imagine either a human day care or a doggie day care located in a single room with light beige carpets. I don't care how good a carpet cleaning product the operator has -- those carpets will be the color of mud in a matter of months. Trust me.

Making a list, checking it twice

2010-02-05T15:41:00.005-05:00

Full gas tanks in all cars: check.
Nine days worth of groceries stashed away: check.
Husband safely at home and not on the roads: check.
Plentiful supply of beverages: check.
Netflix movie delivered: check.
Stack of new books on my nightstand: check.
Roaring fire in the fireplace: check.
Golden Retriever curled up at my feet: check.

I can deal with snow now -- even 30 inches. Maybe yesterday's Snowmageddon forecast induced this reaction in some Washingtonians, but today we're hunkered down, calm and cozy.

Snow days

2010-02-03T17:27:00.002-05:00

About this time seven years ago (give or take a week or so), northern Virginia and the rest of the DC metro area got hammered by a monster snowstorm that shut the schools down for approximately a week. Snow plows were no-shows, and the NoVA 'burbs were in a state of not-so-splendid snowed-in isolation. This was the environment in which I was raising and attempting to housetrain Allie, who was then about 3 months old.

We went on walks -- long, long walks in which we clambered over snow piles, scrambled up snow-covered embankments, and played a little fetch on a deserted tennis court from which at least some snow had melted, thanks to a daily dose of morning sunlight. I was desperate to get my active puppy some consistent exercise, if only to calm her down enough to be receptive to my teaching her some basic good manners. Housetraining was also slow going, because neither Allie nor I was all that keen on going outside to do her business. Even though I knew better, there were times when I was sure that neither that winter nor her puppyhood would ever end.

Now, Allie is a relatively dignified seven-year-old -- a fact for which I've been particularly grateful this winter. That's because we've had one pre-Christmas blizzard, two moderate snowstorms, and are forecast to get another whopper this coming weekend. The snow and accompanying cold have kept Allie and me from our usual outdoor haunts and strenuous activity. But unlike seven years ago or even a year or two ago, Allie's not going crazy over the lack of such exercise and outdoor adventures, and her bathroom manners have long been impeccable. My puppy-girl has grown up.

That doesn't mean Allie's content to snooze away these snow days, or any other days. But instead of trekking around outdoors as we did when she was a puppy, she's happy when we play indoors. Our indoor shenanigans include fetch-the-treat games that require her to run up and down the stairs, tug-of-war and ladylike wrestling. And lately, I've been teaching Allie to "say her prayers." (Those of you who know my religious views--or, more accurately, my lack thereof -- have my permission to laugh or at least appreciate the irony of this effort.) This maneuver consists of Allie sitting on the floor and placing her front legs atop the seat of a chair. We're coming along well with this, and I love how she instantly materializes at my side when I pick up the clicker.

Every snowy foot we trudged, every snow pile we negotiated, every undignified spill I took ... they were all worth it to get to this point: of everyday enjoyment, of two-way communication, of love and appreciation and laughter. And yes, I'll still think that when we take a walk tomorrow or the next day and she reverts to puppy-like behavior, such as trying to play tug-of-war with her leash. These days I don't fight her on that; I laugh. Because not only has Allie grown up -- I have, too.

Bond-age

2010-01-31T17:53:00.003-05:00

Interesting title, huh? But no, I'm not referring to anything kinky. What's on my mind right now is an essay that appeared in today's New York Times magazine.

In a nutshell, a writer named John Moe says that his dog, a Yorkie, doesn't like him. The dog cowers and growls at the sight of him. Such behavior understandably hurts the guy's feelings, especially since he's the one "providing the income to make the house function." Long story short, they really don't have the sort of human-canine bond that motivates people to add dogs to their lives.

I can relate to this. For quite awhile, I didn't think Allie liked me much--and frankly, I wasn't all that crazy about her. During her puppyhood and adolescence, she never chose to be near me, and I didn't like her rough play style or her propensity for using her leash as a tug toy while we were walking. I seriously questioned whether we were a good fit. We muddled through, time passed, I let go of certain expectations, and we both came to appreciate each other. Now, I can't imagine life without her. God help me when she truly enters seniorhood.

But back to Moe and his dog, Dave. (love the name. So *not* the typical cutesy-poo name given to a toy dog.) I decided to ask some trainers what they would suggest to help the two. One respondent noted that Moe likes to wrestle with his kids and that perhaps Dave was reacting to that practice. Her prescription: have Moe feed Dave all his meals, tone down the rough play, and invite the Dave to have a belly rub at the same time Moe is snuggling with one of the kids. Another suggested that Moe be responsible for all of Dave's care (assuming that Dave was okay with that) so that the dog would realize all good things come from him.

Those are good starts. But maybe Moe is already doing some of those things. If that's the case, my suggestion would be that he pick up a copy of my good friend Victoria Schade's book, Bonding With Your Dog: A Trainer's Secrets for Building a Better Relationship. Vic's book has all kinds of great ideas for improving the relationship between dog and person. And I should know, because she worked with Allie and me. She told me then, as she says in her book, "The love between dog and guardian should happen naturally. Developing a bond takes time and attention."

I hope, both for his sake and his dog's, that Moe is willing to expend some of both. Because no one should have to live with, as he describes, an individual "in which one partner ... will scream at the other ... for no apparent reason."

Dear Duke

2010-01-27T10:50:00.004-05:00

I am the Golden Retriever to whom you charged down the street this morning after your people somehow let you out of your house. I know you're just a puppy, which is why I merely barked sharply at you to keep your distance, and why I raised no objections when you proceeded to sniff my butt without my permission.

But dude, your people need educating. This isn't the first time they've shown deficient dog care skills. Heck, just a month ago, my person (that would be Susan) intercepted you when you went racing down the street the day after the big blizzard. And Susan's lost count of the number of times your doggie sister has made a break from your yard and/or *your* person has walked your sis around the block without a leash.

I think Susan is still too p.o.'d at your person to engage with him directly. That being the case, I have some suggestions for you, which I hope (wish) you'll pass on to your person:

1. Have him tell the rest of your family to check and see where you and your sister are before they open the front door.

2. Have them teach you a cue such as "wait" or "stay" to use whenever you *are* at the front door at the same time that they're exiting said door.

3. Don't go charging down the street to meet another dog. The next dog you meet might not be as nice as I am -- especially if that dog leashed and you're not.

4. Tell your person that yelling at you from up the street to come back is not going to work. Why should you go back when you're busy trying to get acquainted with me?

5. Tell your person that yelling your name in his best drill sergeant voice isn't going to get you to pay attention to him when, again, you're busy trying to get acquainted with me.

6. Finally, tell your person that the common courtesy of apologizing is the very least that he can do when this sort of situation occurs.

Your neighbor,
Allie

Playing around

2010-01-22T14:33:00.004-05:00

Allie doesn't always have the best timing when it comes to asking me to play. I have never, for example, been able to understand why my unloading the previous night's dishes prompts her to bring me her tug toy. Sometimes I get frustrated because, all too often, the times that she wants to play are times when I can't or don't want to. She certainly isn't a neglected dog by my standards (anyone who knows me knows I dote on the dogs I live with), but sometimes I've wondered if she thinks she's neglected.

Only in the last day or two have I begun to suspect that at issue here is not a feeling of neglect on her part but, rather, a desire to build the bond she already has with me -- or, at least, to reaffirm it.

I developed this suspicion while watching a video of dolphins and people surfing together off the coast of South Africa. Both the footage of human-cetacean wave-catching and the music accompanying the footage are mesmerizing, as evidenced by the fact that I've watched the video at least a dozen times since coming across it yesterday. But in his commentary, naturalist David Attenborough notes that "scientists think that for dolphins, play might have a crucial role in strengthening the social bonds within a group."

Allie, of course, is no dolphin. But like all dolphins, she's an intensely social individual. When she brings me her tug toy or drops a ball at my feet, she may not just want to play with me. She may need to play with me.

Right now she's napping across the room on my 30-year-old couch -- but, judging by the clock, she'll soon be letting me know that it's time for a potty break, after which she'll let me know she wants to play. This time, I won't say no.

Dominance, schnominance

2010-01-20T17:33:00.004-05:00

Before I married my husband 23 years ago, I slept with my dog. Molly would start the night in her bed, and I'd be in mine. But invariably, I'd wake up in the middle of the night to find my little 25-pound mixed poodle snuggled up beside me. Just as invariably, I'd smile and go back to sleep.

Flash forward a few years, to when I did marry Stan. He loved Molly, and she returned his affection. Most times we were a happy threesome, but Stan drew the line at bedtime. He did not want Molly in bed with us. I understood--after all, it was his bed, too. Fortunately, teaching Molly to stay in her own bed wasn't a problem, nor was it a problem with either Cory the Sheltie or the Divine Miss Allie, the two dogs we've had since Molly went to the Rainbow Bridge.

But today I read this post by my good friend and colleague Roxanne Hawn, and felt a twinge of envy. And while Allie has always been very good about not attempting to share Stan's and my bed, I know she'd love to be offered an invitation to do so. How do I know? Because years ago, when she and I vacationed at Camp Gone to the Dogs, Allie made it abundantly clear from the get-go that she would not be relegated to a crate or even a bed on the floor. The very first night we were there, she hopped up onto the college-dorm sized bed with me. There she stayed, and we were both blissfully content.

Yes, I love my husband. If he were not here, I would profoundly miss his presence in our bed and everyplace else. But every now and then, like today, I miss having a canine presence in my bed, too.

And to those who say that dogs don't belong in people's beds because it will give them delusions of dominance over those people, I say dominance, schnominance. There are some circumstances in which human-canine co-sleeping might not be a good idea: if the dog isn't housetrained, is a resource guarder (the bed could be a resource), or is a teeny-tiny thing that would be crushed if you rolled over. But for other canines and their people, I say let them sleep together.

Dilemmas

2010-01-16T14:34:00.003-05:00

A few minutes ago, while I was idly looking out my living room window, I saw a youngish guy attempt to teach two terriers to heel on leash. We're not talking simply polite walking here; those two little dogs clearly were supposed to walk on each side of the guy, right at his heel.

One of the dogs clearly didn't get it. He was certainly walking politely, but if he ventured more than a foot in front of Nazi Trainer Dude, NTD would stop, back up several steps and wield the leash to yank the errant terrier back to him. He yanked hard, too; more than once, at least two of the dog's feet left the sidewalk. I winced at each yank.

I was too far away from NTD to do anything about this--but even if I'd been closer, I don't know that I would have. Certainly I would have wanted to. But NTD looked young and fit, and I don't know whether he'd have appreciated my attempts to help him or his dogs. A lack of appreciation could easily have turned ugly. And at 5'3" and only about 100 pounds, I'd have been no match for him.

One time, I did try to help in a similar situation. Allie and I were out walking when a leashed Great Pyrenees who was standing across the street with his owner began to bark at us. The Pyr's barking was understandable: We were across the street from his owner's property. But the owner, an elderly man, didn't appreciate the Pyr's attempts to sound the alarm. Instead, he began swatting the dog with the leash, yelling at him to be quiet. Allie, not to be outdone, barked back at the Pyr, at which point the man started swatting the dog even more. I yelled across the street, asking him to please not hit his dog, to which he responded that I should mind my own business. I got out of the area pronto (in tears as I vamoosed), but called Animal Control when I got home. Much to my surprise, Animal Control visited the man that evening and told him that he needed to find another way to discipline his dog. But for a solid year, I avoided walking by that man's house.

It's awful to see a dog being mistreated, and you want to do what you can to help. But figuring out when to interfere--and when not to--is a perpetually shifting target. I wish I had a better idea of how to score bulls-eyes.

Hope amid the horror?

2010-01-13T17:06:00.002-05:00

Among those who are traveling to Haiti to help that beleaguered nation cope with the aftermath of yesterday's earthquake are 72 members of Virginia Task Force 1 (VATF-1), the urban search and rescue (SAR) team of Fairfax County, VA, where I live. The team includes 6 SAR dogs and their human handlers.

I had the privilege of interacting with some of these incredible individuals during the fall of 2001, just after the September 11 attacks, for an article I wrote for The Washington Post. And when I say interact, I mean just that. At one point, I served as a "live find": I had to hide in a dirty plastic pipe so that one of the dogs could practice searching for and finding me (which he did in less than a minute, after which he proceeded to drag me out of the pipe). I'll never forget seeing that German Shepherd's huge head appear at the pipe opening, much less feeling him grab my coat sleeve and pull me out of the pipe to 'safety'.

It's hard to feel any kind of hope amid the horror of a natural disaster that may have left tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of people dead. But when I remember the courage and competence of the human and canine members of the VATF-1--which departed this morning for Haiti--I do hope that some lives will be saved that might otherwise have been lost.

Why, Jim, why?

2010-01-10T13:21:00.005-05:00

My husband and I have just come back from seeing Avatar, the new James Cameron cleaning-up-at-the-box-office spectacle. There's good reason why this movie may break the financial record set by Cameron's previous epic, Titanic: the special effects are beyond incredible and the story is timely in more ways than one. For the most part, Stan and I liked it a lot. However, there was one sequence that, at least to me, made no sense whatsoever.

(Spoiler alert: stop now if you're still planning to see the movie)

The sequence involves Sam Worthington's Avatar character choosing which giant winged dragon-like creature will be his mount when he performs aerial hunts with the rest of the Navi tribe. His Navi companion and mentor, played by Zoe Saldana, explains that the choice must be mutual; in other words, the creature he chooses must choose him, too. How, asks Worthington's character, will I know if a creature has chosen me? "He will try to kill you," responds Saldana's character.

Huh? Even a female praying mantis gets it on with her chosen male before she kills him. What possible sense would it make to kill one's chosen companion before one gets to enjoy that companionship? In fact, why kill at all? Killing is incompatible with friendship, if you know what I mean. Trying to off someone isn't exactly a bond builder.

But wait, it gets worse. To tame the creature, not to mention keep from getting killed, Worthington's character must wrestle the creature to the ground in a decidedly violent fashion. The whole sequence reminded me of the bad old days in which alpha rolls were the order of the day with all dog trainers, and horses were broken rather than gentled to force their subservience to human riders. How on earth do such practices build bonds with other creatures, and what possible place do they have in a movie that purports to be all about being one with nature?

C'mon, Jim. You could have done better.

Attention, please

2010-01-06T16:08:00.009-05:00

When contemplating the latest stunt by People for the Ethical Treatment for Animals (PETA), I found myself thinking about how the standard advice for dealing with jumping dogs has changed.

Bear with me here.

Once upon a time, not so long ago, trainers advised people to curb their canines' liftoffs by doing nasty things such as kneeing them in the chest, putting pressure on their front paws, or stepping on their hind feet. Now, of course, we know better: the most effective way to deal with doggie jumping is to not give the dog the attention he's seeking. Turning away or walking away from a helicopter dog is far more effective than those old-fashioned responses. Not only are those tactics at least borderline abusive, but they also require the person to interact with the dog--which is exactly what the dog wants. And from the dog's point of view, any interaction is better than no interaction.

PETA seems to be in constant need of attention and interaction, too, as evidenced by ads that include sky-high shots of nude celebrities proclaiming they'd rather be unclothed than wear fur. But the group's latest stunt doesn't deal with nudity; instead, it involves appropriating celebrities' images without the permission of those celebrities. Among those whose images have been hijacked is First Lady Michelle Obama, as explained here.

Some folks, notably my good buddy Steve Dale, ask whether we're inadvertently helping PETA by paying attention to the group's sleazy tactics. It's a legitimate question. If one follows the withdraw-attention-from-the-jumping-dog credo, one might reasonably conclude that we should just ignore PETA's slimy end-justifies-the-means way of promoting its cause. By ignoring PETA, we'll render the group irrelevant -- or so such thinking might go.

But here's the thing. The jumping dog does so in all innocence. He has no awareness that he's doing something wrong. He just wants to get closer to the person he's jumping on. After all, when he was a puppy, his people loved to pick him up and snuggle their faces close to his, right? Why wouldn't those people want to engage in similar snuggling now? And why not make it easier by meeting those people face to face, so to speak?

PETA, however, is not so innocent. The group knows full well what it's doing. In his blog, Steve notes that PETA prez Ingrid Newkirk admitted to appropriating Obama's image without her permission, and said that Obama's consent wasn't sought "because they know she can't make such an endorsement." (emphasis mine) If PETA knows Obama can't do so, why are they pretending that she can? Why are they deliberately misleading people? And, given that the group is misleading people, shouldn't they be called on it?

I think so. Sleaziness for a cause one believes in is still, well, sleazy. In order for PETA to become irrelevant, people need to know that the group employs misleading, slimy, unethical tactics. Only when enough people understand that will there be the critical mass needed to consign PETA to the dustbin of irrelevance. If Steve and I and other writers can help bring about the latter outcome, then let the typing begin -- or, rather, continue.

Meanwhile, keep turning and/or walking away from your helicopter dog. Sooner or later, if you're consistent, he'll come in for a landing. I promise.

Update: Apparently PETA's not alone in its White House image hijacking. Weatherproof, an outerwear company, commandeered the President's image for a Times Square ad. More here.

What if the dog says no?

2010-01-04T11:57:00.002-05:00

In the current issue of the APDT (Association of Pet Dog Trainers) Chronicle of the Dog magazine, renowned trainer and animal advocate Sue Sternberg contends that most dogs really don't like being in dog parks and would benefit greatly from becoming involved in organized dog sports such as agility, rally obedience, tracking, and dog-powered activities (e.g. weight-pulling). I almost completely agree with her.

Unfortunately, Allie doesn't -- at least the part about dog sports.

Allie's been exposed to doggie day cares, dog parks and dog sports. She appeared to enjoy the first two activities when she was younger, but as she's matured she repeatedly expresses a preference for the company of humans over the company of canines. And since she's no longer a rowdy puppy who keeps me from getting any work done, I don't need to take her to day care, and I'm glad not to have to run her over to the dog park. Plus, like Sternberg, I've got some substantial concerns about the way many people supervise their dogs (or, more accurately, fail to supervise their dogs) when they're at the dog park.

But Allie doesn't seem to like dog sports any more than she likes dog parks and day cares. We've tried several such activities: agility, rally obedience, competitive obedience. Although she proved physically adept at these activities, she didn't seem to really enjoy learning about them. After she'd take her turn performing in class, she'd bark at me and just generally act up. I'd be so busy trying to keep her attention and keep her from disturbing the other students that half the time I missed what the instructor was saying. Eventually, I concluded that this wasn't for her and I gave up. But every now and then I feel guilty: here is this gorgeous Golden with a pedigree full of dogs that have not only conformation but also performance titles and the best I could do with Allie was to help her earn a CGC.

The attitudes of some trainers don't help ease such guilt, either. Prime example: a few months ago, I heard a trainer say with more than a little derision that people who don't engage in organized activities with their dogs "aren't as committed to their dogs" as those who do. Because I was a guest at the event where this remark was made, I kept my mouth shut. But I've been more than a little annoyed about it ever since.

Fortunately, though, I've recently read a rash of articles and blog posts that help me feel better about my decision to respect Allie's role in deciding whether we would pursue organized dog activities. I offer these missives now for your reading pleasure:

-- "A Decision That Two Must Make" by JoAnn Turnbull;

-- "The Right Stuff: Every Dog Has Her Place" by Patricia McConnell

-- My friend and colleague Roxanne Hawn's blog, Champion of My Heart, which is all about the adventures of Roxanne and her Border Collie, Lilly: a dog with not only talent that could enable her to excel in performance but also issues that prevent her from realizing her talent, but who is clearly also taking both herself and Roxanne on a journey that may prove far more satisfying in the long run.

To those who do compete successfully with their dogs, you have my admiration. But to my own Golden girl, who's currently snoozing under my desk, I offer my gratitude for being the dog I've needed, even though I didn't know that was the case.

2009 was not so fine. However ...

2009-12-31T12:49:00.004-05:00

Does anyone think that this year's been a good one? Everywhere I look, pundits and prognosticators seem united in their agreement that 2009 was The Year That Sucked. Most people I know concur--and I guess I do, too. After all, I dealt with this and this, along with a couple of additional huge disappointments that for now, at least, I won't elaborate on. And that's just this year. No less an authority than Time Magazine has called this decade "the decade from hell." My husband says that instead of calling it the "Aughts" we should call it the "Uh-Oh's."

But even as I type this, some workmen in the room next door to this one are putting the finishing touches on a new gas fireplace that was the solution Stan (my husband) and I came up with to deal with a leaning chimney that was, we feared, jeopardizing the structural integrity of our entire house. The job's taken longer than expected, and our family room has resembled a nuclear wasteland since Monday. Poor Allie hasn't known quite what to make of it all. But when the job is done, we'll have a fireplace that will heat the family room and my office with a tap to a remote control device. A fire while I work: how nice that will be?

And what, you may ask, does this project have to do with The Year That Sucked and the Uh-Oh Decade? Simple. Just as the Chappell-McCullough household has been dealing with crappy conditions within our home, so have many of the rest of us been dealing with crappy conditions in our lives. But, not to sound too glib or Pollyanna-ish, they'll eventually be fixed. And just like a broken bone that heals to become stronger than it was before it was broken, maybe we will emerge from all this being stronger and better than who we were before. Meanwhile, we're still here to cheer each other on. That's something in and of itself: we are still here. And after the events of this year, I no longer take that for granted.

Happy New Year to all, and may you enjoy bidding 2009 a not-so-fond farewell.

Keeping it clean

2009-12-30T12:54:00.003-05:00

Normally, I don't think of myself as a pack rat. When it comes to getting clothing ready for the year-end donation to the Salvation Army, I'm ruthless; if I haven't worn it in a year, it goes (wedding dress excepted). Same with books: if I haven't referred to a book for a year or so, it goes to the public library. Magazines and other home-related paraphernalia must pass the same weeding-out criterion. My husband says he looks to me help him sort through all his stuff as we get ready for the next phase of our lives, which will involve leaving this house and moving to a new one.

But when it comes to writing, I may just be a pack rat after all.

I've reached this tenative conclusion after two-plus days of solid cleaning and discarding. Last night I carted 10 garbage bags to our dumpster. Among the items I found as I conducted The Great Purge:
-- Copies of invoices to clients that I printed on a dot-matrix printer in mid-1989;
-- Phone directories from 2002;
-- The official papers that confirm my separation from Federal Government service in 1981 and allow me to re-enter Federal service if I should ever want another job with the Feds (I don't anticipate that, but you never know, right? Uh-huh.);
-- Bank statements from an account I closed a decade ago;
-- An article called "Unrealized Ambitions" that I wrote for The Washington Post in 1998 (I'm keeping that one. After all, it led to a "Quotable Quote" in Reader's Digest. I'm not keeping another piece, "Slumber Party Survival," though).
-- The very first query I sent for a pet article. I'm keeping that one, too, for totally sentimental reasons.
-- Magazines that go back as far as 10 years.

Why did I hold onto all this stuff? In part it's because, in the early years of my freelance writing career, I had to. Those were the days when you had to snail-mail hard copy clips to editors so that they could see you actually had the stuff to write the article you were proposing. And I kept invoices -- back when I still sent them snail mail -- just so that I had an indisputable record of who was supposed to pay me when.

Those days, of course (and thankfully), are long gone. I bless the day that email became the communication method of choice and the day that one could simply link to one's clips on the web and email those links to an editor. The flip side of such convenience, of course, is that the editor I'm pitching may well expect me to allow such online re-publication without paying me any extra money. Writers fought against that practice, but that fight was lost long ago.

But now, my office is clean and clutter-free for the first time in God-knows-how-many years. I'd forgotten how big my desk actually is until I removed the piles of papers and books that covered it. Heck, I'd forgotten how big my entire office is. It's become a haven again, a room of my own, a place where I can dive anew into what I do best: writing.

I just gotta keep it clean.

An update

2009-12-29T08:23:00.006-05:00

A couple of days ago, I posted a link to a Washington Post photo essay about the Caisson Platoon Equine-Assisted Riding Program, in which Arlington Cemetery's caisson horses double as equine therapists for disabled veterans. Today, WaPo reports that one of those veterans, Capt. Mariah Kochavi, died the day before the photo essay ran. The cause of death was complications of the stroke that had prompted her to seek equine therapy in the first place.

Capt. Kocahvi was just 29 years old, and clearly led an active life. Her stroke occurred while she was hiking near Machu Pichu in Peru. She'd joined the army to pay for veterinary school at Tufts University, from which she graduated in 2006. After she finished at Tufts, she worked as a veterinarian at Fort Meade, MD, where she not only cared for a variety of animals (iguanas, anyone?) but also helped to establish an adoption program for animals whose human companions were being deployed overseas.

The Post reports that "Kochavi's parents said they would ask Army officials to bury their to bury their daughter at Arlington Cemetery, carried to her resting place by the horses she once rode."

The rest of the story is here.

Digging

2009-12-28T15:17:00.008-05:00

Now that I've finished the Golden Retriever book (a marathon that had to be run--I mean, written--at the pace of a sprint), I'm keeping a promise I made to myself at the beginning of the project: to clean up my office when the project was done. This office purge would be a daunting enterprise; I wasn't totally kidding when I said on Facebook that the room should be declared a Federal disaster area.

Today, Day #1, I made a lot of progress. I cleared oodles of irrelevant junk from my desktop, above-the-desk shelves, book bins, and desk drawers. But not all of what I cleared was junk. Some was good stuff I'd simply forgotten about, including an article that meant a lot to me at the time I wrote it.

The piece was about a team of rescued Shelties that competed in a team obedience event at the American Shetland Sheepdog Association National Specialty Show in King of Prussia, PA, probably in March 2000. The story was for a magazine that went under before the story could be published, but I was paid for the piece. However, the magazine bought all rights to the story, so I couldn't resell it elsewhere (and still can't).

But oh, how I loved writing that story. I interviewed each of the handlers and learned about the traumatic backgrounds of each dog before being rescued. One had lived in a cage 23 hours a day; another had been tied to a tree and kicked occasionally by her not-so-loving owner. Still another had a facial deformity and had been afraid of anything that moved. The fourth and final member of the team had been found on the street of a Long Island town, near death from malnutrition and pancreatitis. Each handler had adopted one of the dogs, helped each to regain his or her health, and trained them to compete in dog sports such as obedience and agility. Now, these former rejects were competing on a national stage against dogs who had far more experience than they did, not to mention far fewer issues.

I met and interacted with each dog (including the one with the deformed face, who showed no fear of me whatsoever), and I watched, heart in mouth, as they competed. No, they didn't win a blue ribbon. They came in third, just missing second place, among seven or eight teams. But they were winners in the eyes of everyone who saw them.

I just reread the hard copy of that story, and it brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes (judging by my previous post, I wouldn't blame anyone for thinking I've got the weepies lately. What can I say?). I wasn't reacting to my fabulous prose, although that prose wasn't bad at all. I was reacting to the story itself : to the bravery of those dogs, to the commitment of their people, and to the passion with which I wrote that story.

When I realized a decade ago that that story would never see print, I was pretty disappointed. But now, ten years later, I'm wondering whether it will serve a different purpose -- as a reminder that the best writing comes from passion for one's subject. Sometimes, as in the case of this story, the passion just flows from the heart through the fingers to the keyboard to the computer screen. Other times, one has to dig inside to find that intensity and bring it to whatever one is writing. That image of excavation powers one of my favorite poems, which is here (skip the poet's initial introduction and just go to the quote by Jonathan Galassi).

Lump in throat. Tears in eyes.

2009-12-27T17:46:00.002-05:00

I dare anyone to view this and not have a similar reaction.

What bullies do

2009-12-22T11:09:00.004-05:00

It had to happen. I'm just surprised it didn't happen sooner.

Last week, a group of animal behavior organizations issued a statement that criticized the use of aversives in dog training--specifically citing trainer Cesar Millan as a proponent of such use--and invited him to comment on the statement. Mr. Millan's "comment" came the very next day: his representatives demanded immediate retraction of the statement. They also warned the organizations that failure to do so would put those organizations at risk for being sued by Mr. Millan for libel and for threatening his business.

With the money he's earned from his books, magazine, DVD's and other enterprises, Mr. Millan probably has unlimited funds--or at least very deep pockets--with which to wage a legal battle. And because the organizations' statement originated from a United Kingdom website, he's also got the advantage of waging such a battle where the laws heavily favor libel complainants.

As far as I know, none of the organizations has publicly revealed how they will respond. Some, particularly those with healthy treasuries, may choose to call the Dog Whisperer's bluff. Others, especially those who lack such resources, may choose to exit the battlefield. Those in the latter category may feel as though they've been blackmailed into keeping silent, even though they have the expertise and scientific research to clearly demonstrate that they are in the right. They may feel they have no choice to do anything but withdraw, because to do otherwise would jeopardize their very survival.

This is what bullies do. They threaten people or groups in ways that jeopardize the well-being of those people or groups. The fact that those who are threatened--in other words, the defendants--are in the right doesn't matter. Even if those defendants were ultimately exonerated in a court of law, many would understandably decide that bankruptcy is too high a price to pay for such exoneration. And that's not even taking into account the emotional stress involved when a plaintiff with unlimited funds decides to take aim at one or more defendants that lack such resources.

I've seen first hand--and on more than one occasion--how well-heeled bullies get their way with those who are attempting to do the right thing. I've witnessed the anguish that objects of such bullying tactics endure. Where once I'd have urged those defendants to fight, now I know better. If my only weapon were a water pistol and someone aimed a cannon at me, I wouldn't bother firing my water pistol. I'd get off the field of battle pronto. Anyone who says they'd do otherwise either has more weaponry than the bully does, or simply doesn't understand.

It's hard to walk away from a battle when you know you're in the right. Sometimes, though, walking away is a matter of self-preservation. Sometimes it's better to retreat and regroup--and do so with the knowledge that there's always another day, another time and another place.

Tomorrow ...

2009-12-18T19:20:00.002-05:00

... we are supposed to get at least a foot of snow (rare for NoVA). And while we do, Allie the Snow Lover and I are going to frolic in our backyard and throughout our subdivision.

I hate cold weather, and as I age I am less than thrilled with snow. That said, I love the way a really big snowstorm turns busy streets and the world in general into a wonderful dog-friendly playground. Allie and I intend to make the most of it.

A confession

2009-12-17T11:19:00.002-05:00

For the past seven years, I've felt like a bit of a hypocrite as Christmas time. Every time I read an article beseeching readers not to get add a pet to the family at this particular time of year, I'm uncomfortably aware that my family and I did get a pet at Christmas. More specifically, Allie joined our family on December 26, 2002.

We didn't plan it that way. Our beloved Sheltie, Cory, had died suddenly two months earlier, and I found it very difficult to write about dogs and their care without having a dog here in the house to care for. So after a mere month of dog-less agony, I started looking for local Golden Retriever litters and breeders (and yes, I worked through the local breed club to find reputable breeders). The day before Thanksgiving, Julie, Stan and I visited a nearby breeder who had a 3-week-old litter of 11 Golden Retriever puppies. Not surprisingly, we fell in love, and put a deposit on a puppy the breeder chose for us. That puppy was Allie, and she was ready to join us the day after Christmas. And although I'd forgotten how time-consuming and challenging raising a puppy can be, none of those time-sucks and challenges Allie posed had anything to do with the holidays.

So what advice would I give to the average pet owner who wants a dog for Christmas? Think carefully about what you're doing and why, and if you have any doubts, wait till after the holidays. But if you don't, and the timing works out for a holiday adoption -- well, what the heck?

And as for average pet owners and experts' sometimes contemptuous attitudes toward them -- well, that's the stuff for another post. Right now I've got a book to finish.

A visit is not an endorsement

2009-12-09T16:15:00.011-05:00

I find it really difficult to believe that the ASPCA would endorse Cesar Millan's training methods, even after a visit to The Dog Whisperer set. But hey, you never know. Stranger things have happened.

For that reason, I contacted two individuals at the ASPCA, both of whom acknowledged that representatives from that organization had visited The Dog Whisperer set; one of those spokespersons said the visit occurred last August. However, that visit did not result in any changes in the ASPCA's position regarding Millan or his methods. Specifically, said one spokesperson in an email to me, "the ASPCA does not endorse Mr. Millan's training methods."

That said, the ASPCA has not made any public statement specifically criticizing Cesar Millan. Instead, the organization has a position statement regarding training methods in general. That statement is here.

Still, there's some slipperiness going on here. Not not only was the Dog Whisperer's initial assertion that American Humane had visited the set and reversed its position untrue -- equally untrue was any assertion that the ASPCA had reversed its position. In all fairness, the executive producer of the The Dog Whisperer did not make that claim when he explained to the BBC that Cesar Millan had confused American Humane with the ASPCA. But he didn't go out of his way to clarify the matter, either.

Bottom line: a first-hand look at someone's training methods is not necessarily an endorsement of such methods. Any statements or omissions that fuzz up that distinction are disingenuous, to say the least.

Someone doesn't look good here. The question is who?

2009-12-08T10:56:00.012-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Cesar Millan appeared on a BBC news program and, in response to a question, said that the American Humane Association--which in the past has sharply criticized his training methods--had reversed its position after representatives from the organization visited him during filming of his NatGeo show, The Dog Whisperer. Outraged viewers contacted American Humane, which reportedly indicated that no such visit had taken place and that its position regarding Millan's methods was unchanged. An American Humane spokesperson also indicated that the group would request a correction/retraction from Millan or one of his representatives.

I contacted American Humane yesterday to ask where things stood in that regard. This morning I received an email from the group's public relations manager, Kelley Weir, in which she stated:

"As promised, we did follow through and ask [Millan's] TV production company, MPH Entertainment, to make a correction with the BBC. As you can see from the attached letter, MPH is attempting to set the record straight and correct this unfortunate mischaracterization of American Humane's position. We hope this helps clarify the situation. As you will also notice in the letter, American Humane has indeed accepted a courtesy visit with Mr. Millan's foundation next year in order to discuss why our position differs from his on his training methods, but that certainly does not infer that we are planning to change our position in any way."

The letter to which Weir refers is from Dog Whisperer Executive Producer Jim Milio to the BBC. In the letter, Milio explains that Millan inadvertently confused American Humane with the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) -- which, according to MPH, had visited Cesar on the set. However, the MPH letter said nothing as to whether the ASPCA had subsequently endorsed Millan's training methods. And the only official reference to those methods that I could find on the ASPCA's website in that regard is this transcript from a 2007 online chat with Victoria Wells, ASPCA Manager of Shelter Behavior and Training:

"[Millan and I] have very different methods and philosophies, althouth the ultimate goal is the same. We both want to keep dogs alive. I deal with a very different population of dogs than he does. If I attempted the style of training he practices, the results would not be successful. I work with severely abused animals who need to know they can trust people. I take a lot of different trainers' and behaviorists' methods and apply them to what I do. Two people from whom I have learned tons are Dr. Amy Marder and the ASPCA's Dr. Pam Reid."

Sooooo ... what is truly going on? Did the ASPCA endorse Cesar's methods? Or did Cesar and his team equate an ASPCA visit with an endorsement? Either way, somebody's not looking very good here.

Unfortunately, I couldn't figure out how to create a link from this post to the PDF file of the Jim Milio letter that Ms. Weir of American Humane forwarded to me. But I'll be happy to forward a copy of the letter to anyone who asks.

The Lunch Bunch dines in style

2009-12-04T15:37:00.004-05:00

For the past several years, several trainers, one T-Touch practitioner and I have been getting together approximately once a month for lunch to talk dogs and, increasingly more often, unrelated matters. (I'm gonna have to check out The Big Bang Theory, for one thing) Generally we get together at Bertuccio's or some other sit-down-service-on-the-run establishment. But today, to celebrate the holidays and to be just to be a tad decadent, we lunched at Volt, the establishment co-owned by Top Chef finalist Bryan Voltaggio, who's also the chef there.

Oh. my. God.

The food was, to put it mildly, amazing. Here is a link to part of the menu; not included in the link is the prix fixe menu of three courses for the incredibly reasonable price $20.09. (Guess next month it'll go up a penny?).

I went for the ravioli for the first course, chicken for the main course and apple tart for dessert. The ravioli had a tang to it that one wouldn't expect from ravioli, while the chicken had a crispy edge that one would normally associate with duck -- and it was also incredibly juicy and flavorful. The apple tart replaced the peach tart that's featured on the menu I've linked to: the pastry was light as a feather and beautifully absorbed the juices of the warm apple. The tart was paired with basil ice cream (who'd have thought basil could be an ice cream flavor?) that -- much to the amazement of at least one of my dining companions, who know I generally don't eat ice cream -- I scarfed every last bit of. That said, every one of us pretty much cleaned our plates. My daughter was very disappointed that I didn't bring home a doggie bag.

The attention to detail in unexpected places was amazing. Take, for example, the soup spoons. On one side of the bowl part of the spoon was a little divit. The reason, one of our servers explained, was to make it easier for diners to get every last bit of soup or sauce out of the appetizer dishes, which were grooved. That way, a diner could enjoy her entire portion of her appetizer without having to do something uncouth, like licking the bowl.

My only quibble was the noise level. We were seated at a long table, and I found it hard to hear what everyone else was saying (of course, it could be my age catching up with me. But I'd prefer to think not). But that's a small price to pay for what's probably the most memorable, not to mention delicious, dining experience the Lunch Bunch has had to date.

And if Bryan doesn't win next Top Chef next Wednesday (smart money's on this guy, because he's won so many challenges. I do like his simple food credo) -- well, geez, I can't imagine how great the winner's food could be.

Not-so-random ACTS

2009-12-03T17:40:00.002-05:00

We're on Day #2 of the Allie Christmas Tree System, a.k.a. ACTS. I devised ACTS in response to Allie's having destroyed my favorite ornament less than 12 hours after we put the tree up on Monday evening.

Julie, Stan and I wondered why Allie would start going after ornaments now, when she's shared seven previous holidays with us. Only yesterday did I realize why: this was the first full year that we didn't put Snappy Trainers (a cross between a ping-pong paddle and a mousetrap that makes a loud noise when touched but does no harm). IOW, I never actually taught Allie to refrain from touching the tree ornaments. I just deterred her from them. Without the deterrence, the ornaments were fair game.

Hence, the institution of ACTS. The elements consist of:
1. Using the clicker and treats to show Allie that she needs to keep her nose, mouth and teeth off the ornaments. I c/t when she approaches the tree, then turns away. She's figured that out pretty quickly: she's now trotting up to the tree, turning around expectantly, and is trotting back as soon as she hears the click.
2. Adding the "off" cue--which I'd already taught Allie with respect to other forbidden items -- once Allie caught on to what was expected of her around the tree.
3. Not allowing her to have access to the tree when we're not around. This means that she's crated when we leave the house, and is with a household member at all other times.

So far, so good ... Allie's ornament take remains at just one.

The spirit of real Christmases

2009-11-30T20:54:00.003-05:00

Last night I watched A Dog Named Christmas, because I've always thought myself to be a total sucker for sentimental holiday movies, not to mention sentimental movies about dogs. Getting both in one made-for-TV movie was a can't-miss proposition. Or so I thought.

But as I watched the idyllic scenes of the McCray family farm I thought, where are such farms anymore? Family farms are disappearing, and those that remain probably don't support the kinds of lavish Christmas parties that the McCrays were hosting. I looked at the huge spread of food that was being prepared and thought, who has time to do that? And even if they have time, who does it? I stopped baking my favorite cookies--recipes for which have been in my family since 1941!--years ago because they were such artery cloggers.

Then there was the school calendar. Mrs. McCray was a teacher, and her school let out for the holidays around December 15? Who does that? Our local school district goes up through December 23.

And then there was Christmas--the dog, that is. He was portrayed by a 10-year-old canine actor named Johnny (yay for the senior dogs!) but his character was impossibly angelic. The worst thing he did was grab a couple of Christmas cookies. Otherwise, he was a perfect gentleman. Meanwhile, our family has been trying to figure out how to keep Allie from damaging our Christmas tree and pilfering ornaments short of spending $100 or more for an exercise pen to put around the base of the tree like a fence. We haven't put presents under the tree before Christmas Eve for years, because Allie likes to unwrap said gifts ahead of time.

Then there's the dialogue that ensues when we put up our Christmas tree, which we've just finished doing. There are certain ornaments that one person likes that the other two do not, so decorating the tree is as much a matter of hiding ornaments as bringing them out into the open. Each of us--Julie, Stan and I--attempts to supervise the other two. I protest against what I consider to be the "boudoir effect" of certain decorating combinations, such as long strings of beads trailing out of glass bowls much like ladies' jewelry on dressing tables of old (speaking of which, what woman has a dressing table anymore?). My husband laughs at me and my daughter calls me a Scrooge. Similar name-calling ensues when either Stan or Julie expresses a decorating opinion that runs counter to what the other two members of our family think.

No, our Christmas certainly comes nowhere the near the picture perfection of the fictitious McCrays. And yet, right now, I am supremely happy.

Because Christmas isn't about perfection. It's about being who we are and celebrating that. It's about realizing the love that runs beneath the banter. It's about appreciating the fact that a Golden Retriever who wreaks havoc on a Christmas tree whenever she gets the chance will lie at our feet when we're in the living room gazing at that tree, simply because the only thing she wants is to be with us. It's about knowing how lucky we are to be together, the four of us, for yet another holiday.

To me, that is everything. I'll take our real-life Christmas over the McCrays' Hallmark perfection (but then, the show was sponsored by Hallmark, so I guess such perfection is appropriate) any day.

May your holidays be as joyful for you--because they are uniquely yours, imperfections and all.

What I'm grateful for

2009-11-26T14:03:00.005-05:00

On this national day of gratitude, I'd like to give thanks for a variety of people, places and occurrences -- some momentous, some not:

-- After just having watched the taped National Dog Show on NBC, I'm grateful that shoe designers and manufacturers have come up with footwear that looks reasonably chic but also allows female handlers to sprint around the ring without having to wear athletic shoes and socks.

-- Although I'm taking a day off from said writing today, I'm profoundly grateful to have the chance to write a book about my current heart-breed, the Golden Retriever, and get paid for doing so.

-- I'm always, always, always grateful to have friends with whom to share history, good times and, in many cases, love of dogs and writing.

-- I'm equally grateful to have a loving husband and daughter, both of whom are healthy and here, and who have been my mainstays not only during 2009, but always.

-- I'm just as grateful to be sharing my life with the namesake of this blog, who amazes me every day.

-- And, finally, I'm super grateful just to be here. I know it could have been otherwise.

Cue the Twilight Zone theme. Now.

2009-11-24T16:22:00.006-05:00

Finished what I needed to do for today on Golden Retriever, my book in progress. Ran some errands, came back to the house, opened the mail, sat on the living room couch to read it. I could hear Allie moving around in our bedroom on the other side of the house.

A minute or two later, Allie walked into the living room with two black objects in her mouth, placed the objects on the carpet and looked up at me expectantly.

The objects were my slippers.

I did not teach her to do this.

Definitely an omigod moment.

At least I had the presence of mind to thank her.

Coming up for air (briefly)

2009-11-08T15:47:00.004-05:00

I'm in the midst of writing a book about Golden Retrievers, and the manuscript is due January 1. That means, effectively, that I've got to finish the manuscript by Christmas and use the week between Christmas and New Year's to proof and edit my opus. Hence, my posts here have been even less frequent than usual.

But I had to take a minute to hail yesterday's triumphant run at the Breeder's Cup Classic by Zenyatta, the five-year-old mare who'd been undefeated in her 13 previous races. Yesterday made it 14--and this time, she raced against the boys.

I don't ride horses and I don't bet on horse races. I've never even been to a race. But I am of the double-X persuasion, not to mention being as easily thrilled by a spectacular come-from-behind effort as the next person. Those are the reasons that I salute Zenyatta.

If only Rachel Alexandra had been there.

A demo dog speaks her mind

2009-10-15T10:13:00.002-04:00

Every week for my dog training apprenticeship, I need to teach an exercise, and this week's exercise is "wait." This exercise differs from "stay" in that "wait" simply prompts the dog to pause in whatever he's doing and not move any further forward until released. On the other hand, "stay"-- which is usually paired with a sit or a down -- requires a dog to not only pause but to remain unmovingly in position until released, which is quite difficult for many dogs, especially puppies, to do.

(There's half my spiel right there.)

Public speaking is not really my forte, but I perform much better when I prepare beforehand. To that end, I've written and practiced my spiel, and have been coupling that with actually pretending to teach the "wait" cue to Allie. As I will suggest to my students this evening, I've been practicing at her mealtimes.

Allie is not exactly thrilled with being my practice demo dog for this exercise. I taught her this manuever years ago when she was a puppy after she mowed me down one too many times in her eagerness to eat start her dinner while I was still setting her dish on the floor. But she waits like a champ now -- and her reaction to having to wait longer for her dinner than usual as I pretend to demo the exercise to an invisible audience is difficult for me to ignore.

She barks. Loudly. I can practically hear her saying, "Dammit, I know how to do this. You've been making me do it for years. I do it right. Why in hell are you making me wait so long all of a sudden? Just gimme my dinner, will ya?"

Eventually, of course, I do. I tell myself that it's good to practice amid distractions -- and my Golden girl's diatribe is indeed a distraction. In any case, though, I've probably practiced enough. Undoubtedly Allie will be relieved to have mealtimes go back to normal.

Live ... from the Patriot Center ... it's ...

2009-10-09T10:56:00.003-04:00

... Cesar Millan, bringing "his enlightening and hugely entertaining Brand New live show to major U.S. cities this fall" -- including the George Mason University in Fairfax, VA (outside DC) on December 6.

According to the announcement from Bill Silva Entertainment, which is producing the tour, “From Sheepdogs to Schnauzers, Poodles to Pomeranians, Cesar Millan will have audiences spellbound as he shares his amazing insights on dog psychology and how people can inadvertently play a role in their dog's behavioral issues."

I can only imagine what behavioral issues the dogs in the tour might experience, going up on a live stage and becoming "balanced" in an arena that's normally reserved for rock concerts and basketball games.

Here is the rest of the announcement. I, for one, will not be going.

Sounds of Silence

2009-10-04T09:12:00.002-04:00

Several friends of mine have recently faced, or soon will face, the death of a beloved canine companion. It's with them in mind that I share today's Washington Post story about how, "amid the din of health-care reform, nuclear proliferation, insurgencies, and politics as normal, unnoticed but felt profoundly by a neighborhood, an era has passed on Capitol Hill."

Find yourselves some Kleenex, and read the story here. And to my friends (you know who you are), hugs.

Woo-hoo!

2009-10-02T14:41:00.008-04:00

Three reasons to be happy today:

1. My neurosurgeon gave me a clean bill of health this morning! He did suggest that I try not to bump my head in the future. But that's something I want to avoid anyway.

2. I checked the sales figures for Housetraining For Dummies, 2nd Edition -- and apparently in just two months, the book has already earned back half the advance.

3. Stan and I are meeting friends for dinner tonight at the restaurant of this executive chef. He comes off as a bit of a d-bag on TV, and a not-so-talented one, at that. But his real-life food is amazing. And the company will be fun, too.

Life is good.

Next morning update: The food was delicious and the company fun. Because I am easily starstruck, I was pleased to exchange a thumbs-up with Chef Mike as he checked on the lamb roasting in the kitchen, which I could see from our table. Later, as our party left, I saw him posing for pictures with a group of very excited female diners. I found this amusing and somewhat ironic, given that he's being portrayed as something of a woman-hater (at least in the kitchen) on Top Chef.

Love, honor and negotiate

2009-09-17T13:43:00.002-04:00

My husband, Stan, likes to say that the secret to a good marriage is that both parties make and keep a promise to "love, honor and negotiate" with each other. I think he's absolutely right. Throughout our nearly 25 years together -- most of them in wedlock -- we've managed to surmount some significant challenges not just through love and respect but also through what at times are painstaking negotiations. From money matters to who does what chore to the way we balance work time and play time, solo time and couple time -- all these issues need to be open to negotiation.

I found myself thinking of that maxim of Stan's a couple of days ago when, as part of my dog training apprenticeship, I was working with a shelter puppy named Chloe. She looked to be a Border Collie mix, four months old, and she was smart as a whip. She already knew a verbal sit, and was easily lured into a down and a spin. She seemed to have just one problem: a very rough mouth that was filled with sharp puppy teeth. Giving treats to her was, literally, painful.

To teach Chloe to take treats nicely, I would hold the treat for her, then close and withdraw my hand slightly if she performed a tooth-lunge for the treat. That would prompt her to bump, nuzzle and finally lick my hand, at which time I would open the hand and allow her to take the treat. We continued this routine for a couple of minutes until Chloe herself appeared to offer me a proposal.

Whenever she performed a tooth-lunge and I began to withdraw and close my hand, she would gently place her paw atop my wrist to hold my arm still. Then, she would gently nuzzle my hand for a treat. Maybe I'm anthropomorphizing, but it seemed to me that she was saying, "Hold your arm still, and I'll take that treat nicely. I promise." Which is exactly what I did and, subsequently, she did.

And certainly, I've learned to negotiate with Allie, or at least to listen to her. Take the matter of wrestling and rough-housing. Allie's favored play-style is body-slamming and wrestling, an activity that I've shied away from sharing with her because she plays too rough and gets overstimulated to the point where she engages in (what for me are) painful play nips. At the relatively mature age of nearly 7, Allie's not much into playing with other dogs anymore. I am her #1 playmate, so my refusal to engage in any form of a human-canine smackdown must have frustrated her no end.

But Allie recently came up with a solution to our problem. A few weeks ago, she trotted over to me with a tug toy in her mouth, but indicated that she did not want to tug. Instead, she body-bumped me on one side, then the other. I gently pushed back, and soon we were engaged in some not-so-rough rough-housing. With the tug toy firmly between her teeth, Allie couldn't play-nip me, and we could enjoy some lady-like rough-and-tumble that proved enjoyable to both of us. Since then, we've had several repeat sessions.

Those who are devoted to so-called dominance theories of dog training would probably be appalled at the above accounts. In no way, would these devotees say, should I have allowed Chloe or Allie to set the agenda. These devotees often subscribe to the idea that the humans must be alpha wolves and the dogs must be, well, subservient 24/7. After all, dogs are descended from wolves, aren't they?

Probably so, but descendance from wolves may be kind of beside the point, according to a recent article in Time magazine. In that article, author Carl Zimmer points out that researcher Brian Hare believes that "the evolutionary pressures that turned suspicious wolves into outgoing dogs were similar to the ones that turned combative apes into cooperative humans." In other words, some of what makes the human-canine bond so profound is not that one species necessarily and always must dominate the other, but that they cooperate with each other. And one form of cooperation is negotiating.

Here is the article from Time. May it serve as a nail in the coffin of the whole alpha-wolf thing, and open us all to the idea that our relationships with our dogs can flow from cooperation, mutual respect and love.

To the Washington Redskins

2009-09-09T17:38:00.004-04:00

Go get him!

And thank you, Main Line Animal Rescue, for a truly creative fundraising idea.

Maternal musings

2009-09-06T17:16:00.002-04:00

My daughter went back to school today. She's a third-year student at DePaul, so you'd think I'd be used to her comings and going by now.

Nuh-uh.

They're still hard. Saying goodbye at the airport I get very brisk so that I don't make a complete fool of myself by starting to blubber in public. Julie does the same, but adds some humor to her demeanor as well. Today she said, "Mom, who will I talk with about this?"

What can I say? We have a close relationship that's not necessarily built on a foundation of high culture.

In any case, I'm not the only one who has trouble dealing with Julie's departures. When Allie saw Julie get out her suitcase this morning, she looked right at it, then looked away. Later, she made it clear that she did not want to go for a last walk with Julie, and when Julie went to say goodbye to Allie, our golden girl not only refused to give any kisses but wouldn't even look at her. And now, she won't let me out of her sight.

Sigh. Goodbyes are hard.

Can Dachshunds countersurf?

2009-09-01T11:38:00.002-04:00

Those of us who have the privilege of sharing our lives with larger dogs know that one downside to living with these individuals is that they can easily hoist themselves up on to their hind legs, place their front legs atop a kitchen counter, and proceed to score any unauthorized goodies within their reach.

But today's AP obituary for the world's oldest dog -- a wirehaired Dachshund named Chanel -- contains this interesting anecdote: "Along with her owner, Chanel spent nine years on assignment in Germany, where she became adept at stealing sticks of butter from kitchen countertops and hiding them in sofa cushions in the living room."

What I want to know is this: how the hell did a Dachshund manage to reach that countertop in the first place?

In any case, rest in peace, Chanel. The obit is here.

Joys and sorrows

2009-08-22T15:25:00.015-04:00

I have special feelings for each book I've written, but I think Senior Dogs For Dummies is probably my favorite. Certainly that book was the most heartfelt. I wrote much of that book while I was grieving the sudden death of my late great Sheltie, Cory. But also, because I decided to include profiles of real-life senior dogs who were living their lives to the fullest, I also came into contact -- albeit virtual in most cases -- with some unforgettable canine characters and their devoted people.

One of those individuals was CH Bramblewood's Taali' of Husn, an Ibizan Hound who shared her nearly 16 years with Carol Dickerson Kaufmann. I profiled Taali' in SDFD because she was being treated for mast cell cancer while continuing to enjoy life. When Taali was diagnosed in 2002 at the age of 9, Carol decided to pursue the best treatment available: radiation treatments at a clinic that was 170 miles from her home. The regimen required 16 such treatments over a period of three weeks. After the treatment ended, Taali' showed no sign of cancer for nearly a year and a half. But then, another lump occurred -- and again, the diagnosis was a mast cell tumor. This time, Carol and Taali' went to the clinic so that Taali could have surgery and chemotherapy. Carol was told that such treatment offered Taali a 70 percent chance of living for another year.

That was nearly six years ago.

Today I received a note from Carol that Taali' -- an Arabic name that means "star of destiny" -- passed away this past June 23, just two weeks short of her 16th birthday. I hope that, as Carol grieves the loss of her friend, that she'll realize that Taali's courageous example has probably inspired more dog people than she or I will ever know. For my part, I never had the privilege of meeting Taali' in person -- but I feel privileged to have had the opportunity to write about her.

Pictured above: CH Bramblewood's Taali' of Husn.

The thrill is NOT gone

2009-08-19T15:53:00.005-04:00

Even after 30 years as a working writer, 12 years of writing about dogs, and four previous books to my credit, I still getting a little thrill when my author's copies of a new opus arrive on my doorstep. That happened today when I got my copies of Housetraining For Dummies, 2nd Edition.

One reason I enjoy writing about housetraining is that, as I say in the book, I actually get paid for getting in touch with my inner eight-year-old by discussing bathroom matters. But all humor aside, I'm proud of this book for many reasons -- not the least of which is that I made almost all my deadlines despite having taken an unexpected bump to the head during the time I was writing it. (The one I missed was only by a week, and the great folks at Wiley gave me an extension.)

If you need a housetraining refresher, or know someone who needs help teaching proper potty protocol to his or her pooch, just point that person here.

Et tu, Ed?

2009-08-15T10:58:00.004-04:00

I had the pleasure of meeting Pennsylvania Governor (and former Philadelphia Mayor) Ed Rendell about five years ago when I served as a presenter at the rescue parade at the Golden Retriever Club of America's annual specialty show. The show was held in Gettysburg, and the Governor's two Goldens, Mandy and Ginger, were scheduled to participate in the parade. The Governor himself paraded each dog individually around the ring, just like any other proud owner of a rescued dog, and he graciously accepted a rosette from me for each dog. I was especially impressed that he didn't try to work the room and declined the opportunity to make a speech. He seemed to really just want to show off his dogs.

Later, I interviewed Judge Marjorie Rendell, the wife of the Governor, about the Rendells' rescued Goldens for a magazine article I was writing. There was no mistaking the commitment of both Rendells to animal rescue.

So, with the signing of Michael Vick to the Philadelphia Eagles, I figured both Rendells would be horrified. Unfortunately, according to an article in today's Philadelphia Inquirer, the Governor is keeping any such horror strictly private. His statement:

"I don't have to take a backseat to anyone in my commitment to helping protect all animals, and specifically our dogs and puppies. I also believe strongly in the tenets of rehabilitation and redemption. I believe Michael Vick has paid a strong and just penalty for his horrific acts, but he has endured that penalty with dignity and grace. He seems to be genuinely remorseful."

Sorry, I don't buy it.

Snippets of Vick's 60 Minutes interview, to be broadcast tomorrow night on CBS, show him saying, "I didn't step up" -- as though his worst crime was to passively allow the dog-fighting to occur on his property. But the evidence shows that Vick was an active participant in the systematic cruelty he and his cronies perpetrated on the dogs in his kennels. "Didn't step up" doesn't nearly cover what he did. He still doesn't get it.

And, apparently, neither does Governor Rendell.

Dear Neighbor

2009-08-13T17:14:00.003-04:00

Actually, you're not so dear.

Once again, you were walking up the street, reading your newspaper, with your leashless dog lagging behind. This is the same dog who got into a staring contest with my dog (leashed, thank you very much) on one occasion, charged across a neighbor's lawn to get to her and to me on another occasion, and dragged your daughter down our street to reach us on still another occasion. The last incident was particularly galling because your child's clearly clueless grandma was smiling idiotically the whole time.

I managed my dog, who frankly has no love for yours. I crossed the street, got out some treats, waited behind a car out of your dog's view, and fed the treats to my dog. Your dog still had seen mine, and was performing her customary stare. At that point you saw me, and stopped long enough for your lallygagging pooch to catch up to you. I kept feeding treats to my dog until you and your dog passed beyond where we were hiding -- yes, hiding.

And I've been nice to your dog. On several occasions when she's gotten loose, I've brought her back home. I've put her back in her yard, closed the gate, and put dumpsters in front of it to block her in . On one occasion, your next-door neighbor -- who, by the way, is deathly afraid of most dogs -- helped me. I've left you notes, asking you to please secure your fence. Not a peep from you, though.

I'm tired of having to cross the street to avoid you and your dog. I should not have to hide behind a car with my dog because you are too pig-headed to leash your not-totally-dependable dog properly. I should not have to stop your wife on the street to ask her to ask you to leash your dog. I should not have to convene an inner debate over whether to risk a confrontation with you (because you are about a gazillion feet tall to my just barely 5' 3") to just get you to comply with local leash laws.

Did you see me staring at you, douchebag?

I love Richard Cohen

2009-08-11T15:02:00.004-04:00

Well -- today anyway.

WaPo's long-time columnist has taken on the issue of convicted dog abuser/former quarterback Michael Vick's quest to rejoin the NFL. So far, no team has signed him, and it's my sincere hope that no team does. Alas, according to Cohen, my hope may be in vain. He writes:

"In due course, Vick will play again. His entry has already been smoothed by the touching concern of Jackson and others, not to mention a bevy of sportswriters who seem to have programmed their computers to type out "paid his debt to society" with a single keystroke. Some of them have pointed out that they are dog lovers. Touching. But we have yet to hear from the dogs themselves."

It's a brilliant piece of impassioned ranting. Read it here.

Update: Philadelphia Eagles (and you other four teams), shame on you.

Update and Luddite fretting

2009-08-06T14:37:00.006-04:00

Yup, it's been way too long. But I did not vanish from the face of the earth. Instead I:

-- Continued to work with Allie on dealing with her car phobia. We were doing very well until mid-July when we took a massive couple of steps backward. Apparently the combo of a long trip, time in a crate and time with lots of other distracting dogs was just too stressful for the Golden Girl, and she balked at being asked to impose one more stressor on herself: getting back in the car. An awesome trainer named Katie Ervine did the lion's share of the work of coaxing Ms. Dog back into the Second Allie Car. We took about two weeks off from Car Re-hab, but started back again this week. Short trips to a local park to play ball have been going well.

-- Went on vacation. Stan and I journeyed to Sarasota, Florida, to see how much we like the area and whether we might want to relocate there when he retires from the Federal Government in a couple of years. The answers are, respectively, a lot and absolutely.

-- Kept working. Have lost track of what I've been writing.

-- Kept up with my dog training apprenticeship.

As to my Luddite fretting, my dilemma is this: whether to join Facebook and/or Twitter. I've been hesitating about Facebook because my dear daughter has issued me the following warning: "You know I love you, Mom. But if you join Facebook I. will. not. friend. you." That declaration hurt my feelings for awhile, but at this point, so many people I know seem to be on it that I can almost not care whether she friends me or not. The question is: will it be useful beyond re-connecting with people from high school whom I otherwise can barely remember? Or will I simply become addicted to stalking people from my past?

As for Twitter, some friends whom I have great respect for have urged me to do so, and there's a wonderful article here about why it's a good thing to do. But I still don't get it. It feels like a lot of navel-gazing to me (no flames, please -- I'm just being honest). Am I wrong? Why?

Which one should I do? Facebook? Twitter? Both?

Multiple choice question

2009-07-15T09:47:00.007-04:00

What breed is the dog in this photograph?

a) Afghan Retriever

b) Salukidoodle

c) Something else

The answer is c). More specifically, this dog is Allie after receiving her post-swimming haircut. Although she appeared to enjoy her swim at Quiet Waters Park, that dip and a subsequent roll in the sand of the dog beach turned Allie's golden tresses into dreadlocks. The kindest way to undo this 'do was, in her groomer's words, to "make her look like a Lab."

Allie appears to like her new look. She's friskier than she's been for quite awhile. And I don't miss having to vaccuum up all those golden dust bunnies. I suspect the "summer cut" will be her June-through-August coif for many years to come.

Read this and marvel

2009-07-12T16:36:00.003-04:00

The cover story of today's issue of The New York Times Magazine is a fabulous article by Charles Siebert describing what scientists have learned about the apparent efforts of gray whales to communicate with the human beings who study them in the Laguna San Ignacio in Baja California, Mexico. In the article, Siebert describes asking noted behavioral/wildlife biologist Toni Frohoff whether the actions of these whales might indicate that they've forgiven human beings for having slaughtered gray whales in the past. Her response:

"Those are the kinds of things that for the longest time a scientist wouldn't dare consider. But thank goodness we've gone through a kind of cognitive revolution when it comes to studying the intelligence and emotion of other species. In fact, I'd say now that it is my obligation as a scientist not to discount that possibility. We do have compelling evidence of the experience of grief in cetaceans; and of joy, anger, frustration and distress and self-awareness and tool use; and of protecting not just their young but also their companions from humans and other predators. So thee are reasons why something like forgiveness is a possibility ... I'd put my career on the line and challenge anybody to say that these whales are not actively soliciting and engaging in a form of communication with humans, both through eye contact and tactile interaction and perhaps acoustically in ways that we have not yet determined."

Here's the rest. Allow yourself to be awestruck.

Dear Tito

2009-07-12T16:16:00.009-04:00

Here we are, retrieving balls together in the South River near Annapolis this past Thursday.

I'm sorry I didn't pay more attention to you when we encountered each other that day. You seem to be a really nice nine-month-old Labrador Retriever--and, as a six-year-old Golden Retriever who's quite experienced in the ways of dog-dom, I can tell you that meeting truly *nice* young guy dogs doesn't happen all that often. But the thing is this: when I am retrieving, IT IS ALL ABOUT THE BALL. I'm not interested in anything--or anyone--else.

Your almost-friend,

Allie

Three Amigas

2009-07-10T09:20:00.003-04:00

Yesterday, Allie, Julie and I took that day trip to Annapolis to give Allie some quality swimming time and to give the three of us some family female bonding time. Both were great.

Yes, Allie was reluctant to get into the car, and I'm having to get increasingly creative in designing incentives for her to overcome that reluctance. Yesterday's jackpot: a small bowl of venison jerky treats, which proved quite effective. Good thing she got plenty of exercise, both in and out of the water, to work off those extra calories. And Julie proved a good partner in the let's-get-Allie-into-the-car effort, not to mention helping me navigate my way back to where I was supposed to be driving at least twice. (Did I mention that I am geographically impaired?)

Pictures will be up as soon as I can get the photographer (i.e., Julie) to email them to me.

Goin' mobile, beep-beep

2009-07-08T15:58:00.002-04:00

Since the past weekend, Allie and I have taken several two-block trips to a nearby park in The Allie Car II. Puppy-girl was shaking like a leaf during the first two trips, but much less on subsequent excursions. And today, a major milestone occurred: we used the new seatbelt in the car for the first time (previously, I'd put her in it just in the house so she could get used to it, and drove the two blocks sans belt. No flames, please), and drove a couple of miles. No shakes at all from Puppy-girl this time, although more inducement than usual was required to persuade her to enter the car: not just the Orbee ball, but also some treats and one of the regular tennis balls she found during our walk yesterday.

Tomorrow, hopefully, another milestone: Julie and I will take Allie to Quiet Waters Park in Annapolis, where there's both a great dog park and dog beach that Allie loves. After that, we'll head to a dog-friendly pub in the heart of the town for a late lunch. If Julie remembers to bring her camera, I'll have pictures with my report.

Getting Allie into the new Allie-car

2009-07-02T20:56:00.002-04:00

Allie's never been a big fan of cars, and after last week's misadventure on I-270, that lack of enthusiasm morphed into a no-way-no-how-am-I-getting-into-one-of-those-things-ever-again attitude. I couldn't blame her. Not only did the unwelcome contact of an SUV with my car's back end destroy Allie's seat belt, sending her to the floor between the back seat and front seat, but she also had to stay in the car as it was being loaded onto the tow truck, because there was no room for her in the cab. Then, when we got to the gas station where the tow guys dropped us off, she had to clamber down the ramp of the truck bed, with my help. By the time Stan got to the gas station to drive us both home, Allie had to literally be pushed into his car.

The very next day, I started walking around the car with Allie on leash and a clicker and treats (cheddar cheese--yum!) in one hand. The first day, we merely walked around Julie's car, and would stop every few feet for her to sit and for me to click and treat her. The next day, I opened the car door, and placed some cheese on the very edge of the seat. After some hesitation, she tentatively took the cheese. For the next few days after that, I made a Hansel and Gretel trail of treats halfway across the back seat -- first in Julie's car, then in my new set of wheels. In either car, Allie was willing to put her front paws on the seat and reach for the cheese, but that was as far as she'd go.

Then I remembered how I'd persuaded her to come into a local creek and swim. No treats were involved. The inducement was a tennis ball. I waded into the middle of the creek and held the ball out for her to see. That sight was enough for her to overcome her water-based timidity (yes, she is a Golden Retriever. But clearly an unusual Golden Retriever) and discover that she actually did like swimming, particularly when ball retrieval was involved.

So for the past three days, I've taken Allie's favorite pink-and-orange Orbee ball and tossed it onto the opposite end of the Allie car's back seat. With just a little coaxing, Allie has jumped into the back seat to retrieve the ball. The first day she managed to get past me and run with the ball into our back yard and make a fool of me playing keepaway. But I didn't get upset, I just thought "Great! She's getting a great real-life reward for venturing into the car!" And eventually, she did give up the ball and come back into the house.

I didn't make that mistake again, though. Yesterday and today, Allie again hopped into the car to get the ball, but I went in right after her and grabbed her leash. We sat on the back seat together and I let her gum the ball for a couple of minutes. Then we headed up to the nearby middle school field to play a rousing early-morning game of fetch, after which we returned home and I put the ball into a tote bag I'm keeping in the Allie car.

We haven't gone motoring together in the new car yet. That'll probably occur over the weekend, after the new back seat cover arrives and I install it. We'll take some short trips to local parks where Allie and I can play fetch, and we may even venture over to that local creek for the first time this year. But in any case, I have high hopes that Allie's and my travels together are not a thing of the past. Fingers crossed....

The new Allie-car

2009-06-26T14:37:00.002-04:00

Ain't it purty????

I get lucky -- again

2009-06-24T17:15:00.019-04:00

Nice picture, huh? That is my now former car.

Allie and I were headed to our training class in Hagerstown two days ago, motoring along on I-270, when suddenly, out of nowhere, I heard a tremendous ear-rattling crash that was way too close for comfort. The vehicle behind me had hit my car hard: hard enough to shatter one of the plastic clasps of Allie's seat belt and send her from the back seat to the floor, hard enough to send my car into the rear end of the car in front of me. Apparently the driver behind me was not paying attention to his driving. Instead, according to one witness, he was looking at someone changing a tire on the left shoulder of the interstate. The result is that not-so-nice picture.

Fortunately, Allie and I are both okay. I've got mild whiplash, which is being treated with prescription ibuprofen and a muscle relaxant. Allie seems fine physically, but is sticking closer to me than usual. And she's not at all interested in getting into a car again, thank you very much. I'd like to change that, obviously. So I'm using a clicker and high-value treats to try and convince her to give motoring another go. But it'll take a long time to get her there, I think.

Meanwhile, my former vehicle, known affectionately as The Allie Car, has been written up as a total loss. I've turned the title over to the insurance company (hence, the "former" characterization) and given the tags to Virginia's DMV. I should get a check in the next day or so, at which point I'll go out and get Allie Car Number Two.

As for Allie's broken seatbelt, I'm taking the advice of someone who wrote a product review of canine seat belts, and plan to invest in this clasp-less number.

A couple of people have commented to me that I've had an awful year so far -- what with brain surgery in February and now a car that's been totaled due to someone else's negligence. I can see why people would see my year that way. But I choose to see it differently: that these events have happened, yes, but I am still here. I'm not only surviving but thriving -- still -- and Allie's been right here with me.

Update, 6/26: Several people told me that the picture of my car didn't show up on the blog, so I've removed it. Probably just as well that it didn't show because, as my brother said, "my imagination already took care of it."

In better news, though, I bought a new car last night. Now I need to try to get Allie to like it as much as I do!