Barks and backhoes

I have three very sleepy dogs today.

Last night they ran themselves silly at a bonfire with us and their best friends, Sergeant (a husky) and Shasta (a weimaraner mix) . I've always said, "A tired dog is a good dog." There is quite a lot of truth to that. Ollie, Marshall, and Gus have been wonderfully well-behaved all afternoon. They've listened. But it's a different type of listening.

Normally around 5 or 6 in the evening, there is a lot of barking in our neighborhood. Eight of the eleven houses in my neighborhood have one or more dogs. One family dog sits for their adult children. Another family has fosters in regularly from a small breed rescue. People are coming home and their dogs are excitedly announcing the arrival of their owners. The rest of the dogs join in. The weekends are usually quieter.

One particular arrival that always gets my dogs overly excited is the daily return of the backhoe to salvage yard that abuts our north fence (thankfully behind our tree line). The dogs seem very offended by its return, and very content with its leaving. When it leaves in the morning, there is hardly a woof to be heard, but the whole group runs to defend our property against the evil backhoe seven days a week.

Today, when they began to jump up to run outside, it barely took a quiet 'nuh-uh' from me to get all three dogs to lay back down and leave the backhoe to it's own business. This is a good thing.

The not good thing is that the play with Sergeant and Shasta was largely unsupervised by the rest of us at the bonfire. We left the dogs to be dogs with limited rules. There has been a lot of unsupervised play lately and I've noticed mild behavioral changes with Ollie. He is getting more forceful in our play, using his body more, jumping up when he never has before. I thought it might have just been too much unstructured play, but then as I examined the behavior, I realized it was a result of play itself.

This article from www.paws4u.com explains some of the differences between physical exercise and mental stimulation and striking a balance between the two, especially for active breeds like Ollie.

an excerpt:

"With our dogs, we frequently engage in high stress activities with extended periods of rushing around, and the stress period is unnaturally prolonged. Conversely, we infrequently create rest periods or give the dogs a chance to calm themselves down. Accordingly, with unnaturally long stress periods and no cooling off periods, some dogs go on “stress overload.” They can’t process all the stress, and their bodies physiologically signal that a Fight or Flight response is warranted. Add that to a dog that may not handle relatively low grade stressors very well, and you are much more likely to have a dog that reacts to that physiologic build-up and does what his body demands; that is, the dog chooses to fight or flee.

Even if the dog doesn’t progress to the point of taking “fight or flight” action, the dog may shut down or give other external indicia of stress. For animals that don’t handle stress well, those stress chemicals and physiological changes can stay in the body and brain for up to two weeks. If you continually train activities such as fetch, the dog never (or rarely) returns to a baseline stress level and the stress keeps building on itself.

It’s not the running or fetching itself which is overly stressful. Running, fetching, flyball or agility can be great. But, as with so many things, we tend to overdo it. It is the prolonged rushing about with little or no cooling down or relaxation period where we are artificially creating the drive that can cause difficulty."

An Update on Gus

It's baby season here in Southeast Michigan. I have a number of friends that are pregnant and there have been three new babies in as many weeks. One of those friends is Heather, the owner of puppy mill rescue Gus. They shared our home for a few months, so Gus is well acquainted with my house and my dogs. This means her first 'child' (Gus) is visiting for a couple days.

Heather is doing great as a new mom and staying at her sister's for a week while she gets her bearings as a mother of a newborn son. He's vaguely aware he and Heather are going through some transitions. Heather was very diligent in preparing him for the changes she could. She set up the furniture for the baby gradually, letting Gus sniff but not climb in or on the swing, rocker, Pack N' Play, or bassinet. She let him sit on the bed and sniff at the newly laundered little clothes as she folded them and put them away. She practiced holding a pillow in her lap so Gus had new limits on where he could cuddle and how he could share his space. She's also been practicing at adjusting her "coming home" routine to reflect new demands of being a mom. No more coming home and adoring Gus, chattering at him while she got his dinner ready. Instead she began coming in the door and going in the baby's room, talking to herself and doing a few tasks before going to greet Gus.

Puppy mill rescued dogs tend to bond to one or two people and be aloof to other family members or friends and scared of strangers. The hormones that are emitted after birth that aid in mom-baby bonding also activate the same behaviors in dogs. That bond building can quickly turn to dysfunctional guarding as Gus feels a threat to his most valued resource. When Gus first started bonding with Heather and me, he would nip at Ollie or Marshall when they wanted to share the attention. We've worked on 'sharing' and Heather's changes in her interactions with Gus will help prepare him for the amount of sharing that will be happening.

A brief visit with new mom and baby was relatively short and went very well. High-level rewards (Beggin' Strips-- gross from a nutritional perspective but effective) for appropriate sniffing and interested, engaged, positive body language. Gus and I left on a happy note and he slept the whole way home.

So far, so good.

Walking Meditation Beginnings

Note: This is a revised post from 7.8.2009. It appeared as part of the collection of blog entries on mindfulness and meditation.

This week I walked with Gus. He is a Silky Terrier who stays with us most of the time. His owner, Heather, is a friend who was staying at our house for a while. She works long hours and spends most of her days off helping her family. We get the benefit of having him when he is not with her.

Gus was a former puppy mill puppy. Through his puppyhood and early adolescence he was kept in an 8'x8' pen with four to five other litters. Surrounded by so many dogs, he never learned how to develop the social skills or bonding needed for mental and physical development. His only human interaction was being kicked out of the way when someone cleaned his cage or decided to change the water and food.

When the ASPCA had enough evidence to close the mill, he was taken to a rescue on the border of Ohio and Southern Michigan. I found him through a search on PetFinder.com. My friend was looking for a Yorkshire or Silky terrier but also wanted to adopt rather than go through a breeder. His picture showed a scraggly dog with matted hair, looking up hopefully at the camera.

I spoke to the foster mom. She gave me a little bit of his background and told me that he's a little fearful of strangers. I've worked with socializing shy and fearful dogs before, so that didn't seem like much of a challenge. Heather and I drove out to meet Gus at his foster home in late December.

I knew immediately he would be a difficult rehabilitation. While all the other foster dogs ran to meet us at the door, Gus only peeked out from around the corner. It took almost an hour for him to let me pet him without shaking. Heather had decided it was love at first site. "He's going to need a lot of work. I can help, but it's going to be a long road. It's not too late to change your mind," I told her as we walked back to the car. She nodded sincerely but could hardly contain her smile as she said, "I know."

By the time we got him to my house, Gus was exhuasted. He fell asleep on the floor by the couch after meeting Ollie and Marshall. I tried to brush his fur to no avail. I knew we were going to have to cut it. Poor little Gus slept the whole time while I clipped and Heather thought of names, eventually settling on Gus-Gus after the mouse from Disney's Cinderella. A friend who does grooming cleaned up my hack-job Army haircut just before his appointment with our family vet.

His vet records said he was about eight months old. Our vet immediately showed us Gus was over a year old, perhaps older. "See the tartar build up here and here?" Dr. K said, pointing to the tar-like brown and black covering the top half of his molars and incisors. "Most of that is from not getting regular cleaning and chew toys. In my opinion, that level of build up wouldn't be able to accumulate in less than 18 months, maybe two years." Dr. K looked at the little shivering waif and you could see her imagining his life. "You struck gold, buddy. This is a really good family. You're gonna get your teeth brushed."

As I watched him over the next few weeks, I became fairly certain he was closer to two years old.

Two years. No human contact. No positive play or dog interaction.

Sheesh.

He was certain every sudden movement was to be feared. He had no understanding of how to relate to my dogs. He hoarded toys and socks in the corner of his crate or under Heather's bed. He guarded his food. He cowered and lowered his head every time someone tried to pick him up or pet him. We would joke that he 'hated how much he loved' belly rubs because he would be so happy being pet, but the minute you loosened your grip or moved he would run away. And when it came time to put on a leash he fought ferociously and would nip and yelp.

It's been six months since he first came home and hours of classical and operative conditioning. Now he enjoys snuggling and will fall asleep in my arms. In May he learned how to entertain himself and play by himself with a tennis ball. He is becoming more consistent with 'come', 'wait', and 'sit' but that's about it. We've had quite a few rough days. A lot of days he feels like a chore and some days I threaten to give him to a traveling circus. We have so much more work to do together and so much more training ahead of us.

Walking with Gus this past week strangers would comment, "What a cute dog!" and "What a happy puppy!" as they passed. I looked down at Gus prancing beside me, bright eyed with a 'smile' on his face. I realized I am seeing what other people see: a happy terrier enjoying his daily walk along the lake.

My walking message for mindfulness I learned today:

Take the time to realize small achievements toward your goals. Reward small progresses and use this awareness to see that others are working on their stuff too.

Humble Pie for Breakfast

I was woken up by a certain very happy Silky Terrier. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of owning a terrier, you may not be aware of how they share their happiness.

Barking. High pitched, two-toned, ear-piercing barking.

The behavior was a desirable trait in the past 600 years of terrier breeding. Often used to hunt rats and other varmints living in grain silos, barns, factories, and farms, terriers were bred to have a loud bark. Rodents move fast and the barking allowed for owners to locate the dog, even if it had followed it's prey into burrows or warrens underground. This is one reason why Yorkies, Jack Russells, Silkies, Westies, and Schnauzers have earned the reputation of 'yippy dogs'.

Gus is no different.

Gus has made great strides in his development since he came home in December. He socializes well, meets new dog friends regularly, is interested in play and people. The first toy he played with was a tennis ball. He would pick it up by the fuzz and toss it in the air, run, and pounce. His aim was exacting. Two years of being cooped in a puppy mill pen had not re-wired his prey drive.

Over the next few weeks, Gus began to bring home more evidence of his ancestry. The summer body count has risen to five chimpunks, eight field mice, two voles, and a cardinal. (Though I suspect Orange Cat had some role in the bird catching itself...)

I am rather accepting of predatory instincts, 'circle of life', animal nature stuff. I'm not a fan of watching scenes on nature programs where animals get killed and eaten, but I understand how the animal kingdom works. My dogs and cat, however, get fed twice a day. They are not starving. They are not even hungry. They are merely acting on instinct, but that instinct could cause an infestation of parasites, fleas, and viruses. It is not safe.

Each time I scooped up a teensy carcass, I wished peace to the little energy that once resided there. I tried not to be angry at Gus for doing something natural for him. I have learned the difference between 'cheerleading from the sidelines as Ollie and Marshall wrestle' barking from "YAY! CHASE THE RODENT! GET 'EM!" barking. I finally broke down and got Orange Cat a quick-release collar with a bell and affixed a bell to Gus's collar as well.

I didn't realize how angry I was getting until this morning when I was jolted out of a fairly sound sleep by "Get 'em! Get 'em!" barks. I cussed loudly as I came down the stairs. The thoughts that went through my head were,

"He is so selfish! He doesn't even eat the damn things."

"He is a serial killer. He is cruel and unmerciful."

"The damn barking! He's doing this on purpose! Just to piss me off!"

I stomped through the kitchen and opened the sliding glass door with a little too much force as I yelled, "Gus, get your ass over here!"

And there he was, standing in the middle of the yard, looking at me quizzically.

In the moment that followed, I immediately felt ashamed. I had just broken so many of my own rules. I called a dog to come in anger. I had given Gus human motivations and expectations. I had let my grief over senseless death and secret expectations of rehabilitating generations of instinct overwhelm me.

Gus trotted over to me, tipped his head to the side, then sniffed my toe. I bent down to pick him up and he playfully hopped backward and play bowed. Then in a fantastic burst of energy, he began running circles in giant graceful leaps, barking his happiness for the world to hear. The bark I had assumed was foreshadowing another rodent's demise was actually a celebration of life and body and movement.

Gus was dancing in the rain.