THE DOG WHO THINKS TOO MUCH

My blogs lately seem to all be about Cooper. I am not sure whether this is because he takes up a lot of my mental space or whether I am just paying more attention to him, since I know our time is limited, even if he doesn't.

It is 3:45 as I write. I have been up for about a half an hour. At about 3 this morning, Cooper came to talk to me.

He says "Good morning." and I reluctantly open my eyeballs. I ask if he needs to go out. He doesn't leap up and run for the door. He says "Good morning. There is something wrong."
I hate it when he does this.
I ask if he is sick. He says "Good morning. Look around."
So I do. It is dark. Of course it is dark it is 3 in the morning.
"No," he says, "listen". And I Listen, and it is silent. Wait. SILENT?
"Yes," he says, "listen to the silence."
And slowly, very slowly, I realise nothing is running. There is no refrigerator noise, no clock noise, no lights on the computer, no lights on the weather station. Hmmm. I sit up and look across the street to where their bathroom light is always on. It isn't.
Awwwwwwwwpooooie. No electricity.
"Right" he says. "The magic stuff is off. All I can hear is you breathing and the rain."

I get up. Now the dogs are up and want out so I let them outside. I fumble around for the $100 totally dependable heavy-duty police-issue flashlight which almost instantly quits working. Luckily there are two: the other heavy enough to cause back strain. I see a couple of lights working on the cable thingie so I try to use the phone but the cable actually is out so the phone is too and I have to use my cell phone to call CWEdison and get the automated response which says, basically:
YOUR POWER IS OUT. SOMEDAY IF YOU ARE VERY VERY GOOD WE WILL RESTORE IT. MAYBE.
The dogs are back in and Cooper will not leave my side. I get the portable police scanner. The batteries are dead. I get out all the batteries in the house and start putting them in the scanner but nothing works. Cooper is watching intently.

"Why don't you use the battery tester?" he asks. I glare. I get out the battery tester which tests every battery I try as dead.
While I am doing this, concentrating in the sharp light of the flashlight, Cooper is bumping me with his nose. I tell him to stop. He keeps it up.
Finally he says:
"Hey! Look around!"

Oh. The electricity is on.
He wanders off to his chair in the living room. I pile all the batteries on the freezer.

Sometimes it is really not fun to have a dog that is smarter than you are.

A BAD WEEK SO FAR

I got some new stuff to try on Cooper for storms. I am not sure what is in it but it smells suspiciously as if it has VitB in it. When I bought it I read the directions and it said give a teaspoon etc. Now having lived through trying to give a dog a teaspoon of anything I knew right away this wouldn't work but I figured I have an eyedropper marked with mls and could figure it out. Yeah right.
The eyedropper contains 1 ml. He gets 7 to 10.
This stuff STINKS.
Cooper's opinion of the taste was similar and altho I had him trapped there was a lot of head-slinging and spitting going on and I ended up wearing a couple of mls of if plus I had it all over my hands and it is sticky. And did I mention: IT STINKS.

This was last night. Of course the storm went north of us. We got nothing. I found Cooper staring out the front door but I don't think the stuff did much else.

I went to bed early and every time I got my hands near my face I could smell this stuff, even tho I had washed my hands over and over and put on lotion. I finally used some of that sanitizer with about a half a bottle of alcohol in it.

This morning, I can still smell it on my hands. Gaaaah. Clearly when I turned down the Tech's offer of a syringe I made a terrible mistake, one I plan on rectifying asap.

****************************************************************************

Meanwhile a friend's Basset, one who I really like (I like most Bassets but some are more likeable than others) has been desperately ill. He is very young, and for awhile it looked as if he had some kind of major tumor. She (owner) has lost two other dogs in the past 6 months or so and now it appeared that she very well might be losing another.
Yesterday he went for an MRI and yesterday morning I got an email from another friend saying her Elkhound mix has bladder cancer.
Needless to say it was very depressing. While I waited for word on the MRI and waited for my other friend to write and tell me what they were thinking of doing for the Elkhound, I decided to go paint, just to get out of the house and away from my ever-darkening thoughts: got to the Gallery and learned that a 20 yr old Shih Tzu belonging to one of the artists had died that morning.

GOOD LORD ALMIGHTY!!!

Well ok the Basset does not have cancer but has a whopping infection of some kind, generated by an unknown factor, possibly a foreign body but they could not visualize it on the MRI. So $6000 lighter, my friend (That was not just for the MRI but other diagnostics) has him home and on antibitoics while they wait for the results of the culture to see which antibiotic will be the best. And he is feeling better but still swollen up she says, "like a mutant Shar-Pei".
The dog with bladder cancer may have surgery or not-- they are still trying to work through that decision. He is twelve years old and currently very happy, with no inkling that he is desperately ill.

I have not called the artist yet to express my condolences altho that is on my list of things to do today.

And then there is this smell on my hands......

                                               Some weeks are just like that.

PET PET PEEVES

I have some of the best Vets around. I am sure other people would debate that and I am sure that there are other Veterinarians out there who are better or smarter so on and so forth. I am just saying that for my dogs, my cats (in the past) and me, I have the ones I am happiest with.

There are a bunch of them. Unfortunately, as I no longer work there, I don't know who the new ones are. And I can promise you, there are some real clunkers out there. Consequently I tend to stick close to the ones I have worked with. Doc, Ms Doc and KatDoc.

Doc is the Bossman. As a diagnostician he is excellent. As a dedicated Vet he is unsurpassed. As a businessman he is sharp and aggressive. Which means sometimes he has other things on his mind and this is my biggest pet peeve about Veterinarians is when I feel I do not have their FULL ATTENTION. I think this happens to me perhaps more than others because having worked there I am expected to understand that sometimes things are crazy. But when I come to Doc with a dog question, I expect his undivided attention.

When I don't get it, I get annoyed.
I will call a Vet on this. I will tell them that I am getting impression they are thinking about something else but could they please listen to what I am saying. I may go to one of the other Vets and explain that Vet#1 is apparently too busy to concentrate. I know the message will be passed along. Techs are less likely to pass such messages.

"I expect his undivided attention"

Techs who are scattered and frantic are another peeve. I am not awed by Techs having been one. I know there are good days and insane days when they are expected to be doing 10 things at once. And then here I come, needing a bandage on a bleeding nail. But if a Tech seems to be paying attention to something else, I will even say "Hey, can we do this, first, ok?" And if I have to intercede a second time I will simply stop them, and ask for a tech who is not as busy. Usually this brings them back to earth.
On the other hand, a good Tech is worth her weight in gold and it is nice to be nice. I have, already a reputation for being a real bitch, but I am NEVER a bitch to those who do their jobs well.

With Bassets a pet peeve is rolling them over by their legs. I always yell and holler about that. You have to know that I go in the back with my dogs for xrays and other treatments. Rarely do I allow them to be taken into the back without me.

For example: if you give my Bassets a shot in their shoulders, they develop huge lumps every time. I want to be there to remind the techs-- no no! in the hips, please!

"I want to be sure they are looking at that file"

My Belgian cannot have certain drugs. It is in his file. I want to be there to be sure they are LOOKING AT THAT FILE. I know it is terrible, but sometimes even the best Vet misses what is writ in red in the front of the file: ALLERGIC TO PENICILLIN is a prime example.

Most of all I want a Vet who is going to tell it like it is. I do not need to have my Vet pretend he knows more than he does. If he needs help with something, I expect him to tell me this is beyond his expertise and I need a referral. If I ask for a second opinion, I do not expect snotty behavior. I expect my Veterinarians to understand and agree and not sulk and be hurt. This is MY dog, and I am going to be sure he gets every possible advantage available to him.
By the same token I want to know what my dog's actual outlook is. If he is not going to make it, I expect to be told. I want to know his chances, the timeline, and what to expect. I want it right out front so I understand. I don't want a lot of equivocation. Some people do.

                                       I don't expect Attitude if I ask for a second opinion

And finally I expect a courteous and pleasant experience. I try to understand that at 6pm on Saturday when they have been working non-stop since 7 in the morning that they may be tired and worn out and at the end of their ropes, and so I try to go in at a reasonable time. I try not to wait. Nothing is as annoying as the client who calls 5 minutes before closing and announces that their dog has been vomiting blood for three days should they come in? However, once there, they deserve pleasant and alert service. I try hard to be understanding, having walked in those shoes myself. Sometimes, it is simply more than you can expect.

                      Sometimes, alertness is a little more than you can seriously expect

So when you go to the Vet, know what the symptoms are. Know whether you need to call ahead (if your dog is bloating, hit by a car, choking, collapsed-- give them a heads-up while you are on the way so they can be ready.)
Above all remember that you and your Veterinarian should ideally be a TEAM. If you are feeling constantly antagonized or as if your Vet has missed something, time to find a new Vet. Really, you owe it to your dog.                                                            

ABOVE ALL ELSE. YOU ARE YOUR DOG'S ADVOCATE. YOU AND YOUR VETERINARIAN SHOULD BE A TEAM ON YOUR DOG'S BEHALF.

ADVENTURES IN DOG TRAINING

The Basset in the foreground is Warf. He is the first Basset we ever had. He is older in this photo but he had some problems, notably using his teeth to get his way with everyone. It was very effective.
When he was about a year old I took him to a Park District training class with a friend who had a Golden Retriever puppy. Warf had had some training by then but he also required two muzzles, two strong people to restrain him and a Vet to trim his nails.
In class we got past "sit" and began the "down." The instructor noticed that he was still sitting. She came over and knelt down to show me that he would lay down if I pulled his front feet forward and very quickly I said "I would NOT do that."
Very slowly she withdrew her hands and stood up, regarded Warf for a moment and said "Oh well: he's almost down as it is."
End of "down" training.


The black dog in the photo is Quiller as a youngster. My first Belgian. I used a very poor trainer to start with and really screwed this dog up, but he was very compliant and willing. It was just that he was so anxious to do it right that it overwhelmed him, and he got nutty. One day I was at a "fun"match with my friend and his breeder, Susan, and I was complaining that on the "watch me" command, Quiller didn't. She suggested I hang a long piece of string cheese out of my mouth where he could see it and give the command. So I did. I hung this piece of cheese out of my mouth, turned to Quiller and said "Wat------------" and instantly had my lip split in half as he hit it with his teeth grabbing the cheese. I was laughing so hard it was difficult to stop the bleeding. I guess he knew the command after all.

(The Keeshond in the photo is Kailey, my daughter's absolutely wonderful, loving and mischievous dog who lived a happy 17 years and who we all miss on a daily basis.)

This, by the way, is what Warf looked like as a baby. That really is me holding him. Those days are over!!

This is Walker. He was with us only for a very short time. He had the longest ears of any Basset we had had or have had since. At training class (for show, not obedience) he could not get around the ring without tripping on his ears.

Walker also taught me that teaching the "stand" to a young Basset is a lot like working with a slinky: you get one end up and the other is already down. You fix the back end and the front is laying in a puddle on the floor. Keeping one hand under the rear you lift the front. There is absolutely not one bit of help can you expect from the hot little bundle in your hands. The tail wags. Other than that, you are on your own.

This is Arsenal the cat. (As if you couldn't tell.) Arsenal actually came when he was called except for the one time he got out of the yard when we had had him about two days. We combed the neighborhood to no avail. My son was distraught, I was hysterical. Finally on a whim I got Warf out and had him smell the cat's blanket. We took him around the corner to where Arsenal had run under the fence.
He walked to a bush.
I pulled him back and started over. Neither of us had EVER done tracking of any kind.
He went to a bush.
I pulled him back and started over.
He walked about 6 feet down the street did a turnaround and went back to the bush. This time he resisted being pulled back to the fence, so I got down on the ground and peered under the bush and found myself staring into two green kitty eyes. Arsenal. Under the bush. Right where Warf knew he was.
We gave Warf a nice bowl of ice cream for his reward. He loved it.
Two days later he had pancreatitis (from which he recovered) and the Vet was screaming at me YOU! OF ALL PEOPLE! SHOULD KNOW BETTER! THAN TO GIVE HIM ICE CREAM!!!!!

Thus did I learn about training.

DO DOGS HAVE ANGST?

Last night Cooper came in and asked to come to bed with me. Actually it was about 4:30 and I thought he needed out, but when I asked, from the depths of my pillow, he said no, he just wanted to get in bed with me.

So I scooched over and got a pillow for him and he climbed up, flopped down, sighed happily and we fell asleep, my arm thrown over his back and chest so I could pet him a bit before we both dropped back into sleep. When I woke up at 5:30, he was gone. (He gets uncomfortably warm. It would have to be about 20 degrees in the room for him to stay.)

But later, I began to think about this. He does this every now and then. But I do not know why.
Does he have bad dreams? Do dogs have bad dreams? Do they dream that their food bowls have run away, or that they have been left behind and no one comes back, or that they have taken their owners for a walk off-leash and now they cannot find them? (I dream that-- in reverse-- and it is almost always Cooper who has vanished.)

The psychologist Piaget determined somehow that small babies, when a parent leaves the room, seems to think the parent is gone permanently. I am not sure how he drew this conclusion from non-verbal babies, but it has been a long time since I read the experiment.
Do dogs think this way?
I am told dogs "live in the Now". Are we sure?

Here is Cooper on a day when I was cooking. When I cook, he flees the house. Why? Because he is afraid of the smoke alarms. When I cook, sometimes the smoke alarms go off and he leaves the house and stays away for at least an hour, no matter what the weather. I cannot coax him in, I cannot catch him, not even now that he only has three legs, he is still a lot more nimble than am I. What is he thinking? With what unkown danger does he associate the stove being on? How did he manage to figure out that the smoke alarms mean danger? If he would come right back when they go off I would think he just doesn't like the sound, but it is more than that. He associates it with something terrible. Surely a dog like this can have bad dreams.

This looks to me like an animal that has the ability to live not only in the now but in the past and in the future.

Where IS she? She left and maybe this time she won't come back. She's going to leave me with HIM. I mean he's ok and everything, but he isn't HER. Is she out someplace fooling around with those big damn..whatcallem--HORSES again? They'll eat her alive. Should I try to get out, go find her? Yesterday she left and came right back. This time it's been....damn I wish I could understand that time thing--the clock. Is that her Va---no.....

This is a dog who does not have that problem. This is a dog who I am pretty sure has no major Angst and can be said to "live in the now" which consists mainly of naps, barking at squirrels and taking things off the counters.
This is a dog who gets into the car full of hope even if we are just going to Vet, and the next time he gets into the car he will be full of hope even tho we are going to the Vet AGAIN. The only time I think he has Angst is when I roll open the door and he is at a dog show, and then he does not want to get OUT of the Van. This is the one time when I suspect he is able to think forward.

Dogs get lost because they don't think forward. It does not occur to them that they will not get home again. Most dogs. Bassets and beagles often simply backtrack home. Not always.

This is a dog who knows deep in his soul that if he disobeys something unspoken and dreadful will happen. He will not be beaten, or thrown out of a car or anything like that, but I might scowl at him.
Right now in this picture he is thinking that there must be some way of getting rid of the short-legged ones so he can have the house to himself again but by the same token he knows this is wrong-think, and is, therefore, deep in Angst.

IT WAS A DARK NIGHT

I awoke last night about 2 in the morning, and laid still. What woke me? There was no dog at my bedside begging to go out. I had no pain anywhere (I hadn't noticed it yet was all) and I didn't have the flu so why was I awake?

And then came the soft growl from the crate nearest my bed. Again, louder.
And an answering growl. I heard then the soft scuffle of feet in the other room: the sound of dogs up in the night, moving quietly in their house first at one door and then a sudden growl from the living room and the sound of a big dog moving towards me: the gentle sound of Llewis's bad leg not quite clearing the ground and yet more growling now from around me, rising in intensity.

And then I heard it.

The shrill noise of---a dog in distress?--outside. And again. And again. High-pitched (my imagination instantly envisioned a Maltese or a Shih Tzu) and trailing off into an odd hoppity voice. WTF????

And around me, in the dark, the dogs amped up their voices and finally Conley barked his INTRUDER ALARM bark.

So I got up. The hairs on my neck on end, I grabbed a flashlight and my muck boots and leaving the dogs inside went out in back, hitting the floodlights as I went, not liking surprises like coyotes in the yard, or a small tiger or perhaps a Leopard--who knew?

And discovered I had also left the back door wide open. Oh well.

Out into the yard-- the dogs now thundering behind me and John's sleepy voice as he edged into alertness-- "WHAT'S GOING ON???" -- and then the tremulo high pitched bark began again sending the dogs into a frenzy.
"That" I answered. And stepped outside.

I illuminated every darkened corner of the yard, the sheds, behind the sheds--the neighbor's yard ( they must have loved that) trees--nothing. But the yap was louder now, and then, abruptly it stopped. There was nothing in the yard. I returned to the deafening roar of dogs on a hunt and let them out and they streaked, as one, to the far corner of the fence, frantically leaping up at it, burying their noses in the dirt, shouldering each other out of the way, growling and yarring and scratching at the fence, lest I think SOMETHING had not been there. I got the message. SOMETHING had been in the yard. Whatever belonged to that treble voice.

I got them calmed down and back inside after a short time. Disappointed all of them. Whatever it was it had been in the yard but was gone. Damn. Another chance to rip something apart had been lost. Stupid human, she waited too long...

So I turned on the computer and began hunting too. Listening to the shrill but not shrill enough calls of coyotes and then, on a hunch, on to foxes.

AHA! My nighttime visitor was a fox! Calling out to the world. "I got something". (Maybe the neighbor cat? Out without his claws? I hoped not.) Or a squirrel? YES!! That would be fine.

Now, knowing what it had been, I was ok. And I went back to bed and slept well until the dogs decided it was breakfast time, and when I let them outside, they ran to that corner again--just to be sure. But there was nothing.

Growls in the night. Boy, I just hate that.

                                (photo borrowed from Google)

WHEN THE EARTH WAS GREEN

Many years ago I belonged, kind of by default, to the Iowa Ranch Horse Association.
I got more outstanding horsie photos from that year or two of visiting Iowa Ranch horse shows than in my whole life.
The first year I went out with Susie and a friend of hers had just had a crop of foals. What could be more appealing? Kittens, maybe. Some puppies. But foals--- all knobby knees and ears and little, ineffective whisk-broom tails...With their mama's-- all eyes and flattened ears and nerves. Who are YOU? What are you doing near my baby? You think so, do you?

(Mares with foals are not something you mess with unless you know them or they are well socialized.)

(There is a photo that makes the rounds now and again, that I think is supposed to be funny and maybe it is unless you have seen with your own eyes what is about to happen: It is a dog, running full tilt with a horse close behind, ears flattened tight against the skull and neck snaked out low to the ground, mouth agape, hooves pounding.

 As I said, I believe it is supposed to be funny unless you know how fast a dog-hating horse can move and what they do if they catch up. I knew a mare who went through a fence, down the street and up onto a porch in an effort to kill a dog that had passed through the pasture. Feral dogs had killed her foal the season before. She never forgot. Periodically, we would find trampled dogs in the pasture....Cindy always caught them.) I find the photo scary as hell.

I digress.
So last night going through some old photos I found the baby horse pictures, one in particular appealed to me: a foal investigating a tin of oats. And I decided to paint. It isn't great. Maybe not even good. I am, however happy with a painting that took a couple of hours and used one of my favorite subject matters. No lonesome houses, no leafless trees, no snow: just a baby horse...

                            I had fun, even if it isn't very good.