What is a name?

What is a name?

One of my favorite dog scenes from a movie is a scene in Steve Martin's "The Jerk". Martin plays the role of simpleton Navin Johnson. While staying at a motel, a dog starts barking at him frantically, urgently, as if trying to convey a message. Navin is convinced the dog is trying to warn him of a fire and runs out of his room in a bathrobe and bangs on every door to wake up the guests and evacuate the motel. While waiting as the fire department clears the building, Navin proclaims that he is going to name the dog "Lifesaver". When the firefighters determine there is no fire and it was a false alarm, one of the motel guests turns and informs Navin that he should call the dog Shithead... and Navin takes his advice. As it turns out, the dog is kind of a shithead. He isn't loyal. He ruins stuff. But he's cute and scruffy and knows that there is food for him in tagging along.

I think it is interesting how much we think about names, what they mean, how they will be used. We develop nick-names for each other to show a special bond. A name says quite a bit about your heritage, perhaps even where you are from. A name can make you stand out or blend in. A change in name can change the way we view ourselves and how others view us. Anyone who has ever changed last names or has left behind a childhood nickname for the more adult version can relate to the power and identity behind a name.

When it comes to choosing a name for a dog, cat, or other animal, everyone has their own technique. I think every family who had animals has had their share of names from physical characteristics. In my family's past, Mittens, Blackie, Sandy, Rusty, Whiskers, and Boots are all fondly remembered.

Some animals are named according to a theme. I tend to name my animals after literary characters or authors. Ollie, my ridgeback, is properly 'Oliver' the orphan from Oliver Twist. My cats from my high school years were named Dante after writer and father of the Italian language Dante Alighieri, and Murphy after Edward Murphy the supposed originator of Murphy's Law. Some animal's names are family names or people names. I've known animals named after favorite composers, musicians, actors--even products. Marshall is named after the company that makes electric guitar amplifiers.

These names are often badges of honor that rarely have to do with the attitude of the animal itself and say more about us and our interests as namers than the namees. Where I think we run into trouble in the naming process is when some animals get their name from a predominant personality trait.

When we name an animal after a personality trait (or a name we associate with that trait), we are doing two things that get in the way of our connection with out animals. The first is we are highlighting a trait that may limit our understanding of our furry friend. The second risk we take in naming an animal after a personality trait is the danger in reinforcing bad behavior without realizing it.

Take Angel for example. As a emaciated stray, she peacefully slept and eagerly ate for almost a week in her new home. Her docile behavior earned her the name 'angel'. Once she regained her energy (and a little body mass), her personality became that of the energetic adolescent hound she was. What one would normally associate with exuberance and some behaviors that need managing and training, her actions weren't exactly 'angelic'. Calling the dog 'Angel' constantly brought back to mind and expectation of the peaceful (sickly and malnourished) pup that showed up on the back stoop weeks before. This dog needed a set of rules and consistency from her owners early on and didn't get it for months, simply because they were waiting for their 'little angel' to return.

Pogo, a Jack Russell terrier, was named for hopping about with excitement when greeting family and strangers alike. Smiles and petting constantly rewarded his jumping for years before the novelty wore off. Once the family and friends weren't entertained with Pogo's behavior, the dog looked for other antics to elicit petting and attention. Destructive chewing and incessant barking got attention at first, but then was written off along with the jumping. The irritating combination of jumping, barking, and chewing earned the Jack Russell hours of confinement when guests were in the house. His owners just assumed his behavior went along with the jumping and nothing could be done.

An adult black and orange cat earned the name 'Damien' after the evil child in the horror classic 'The Omen'. The way his eyes glowed from under the bed where he hid the first three days he was home was rather evil-looking. Cats are normally loathe to soil their sleeping space, but the cat repeatedly chose his new owner's bed to relieve himself during those first weeks. Misunderstanding this as bad (rather than a cat's attempt to mingle scents and bond) the owner's doubt about naming the cat Damien was erased. Although affectionate with his owner, the cat hissed, bit, and hid or raced up the curtains when strangers entered the house. The real issue was the cat's actions signaled stress and uncertainty. The name directly resulted in the owner accepting some pretty bad behavior with the assumption that the destruction was simply a part of the cat's nature. After years of escalating destruction, Damien's stress responses went unaswered and eventually the cat had developed neurotic and violent behavior that made him unfit to be around children or anyone other than his owner.

I'd like you to think about the names of the animals in your life. These stories are extreme cases to highlight what can happen if we don't think about the ways our human need to 'name' interferes with inter-species communication. Are they symbolic of a behavior or a person that you admire for a shared personality trait? Can you think of ways that the name might be holding back your understanding and responding to animal communication?

Walking Meditation III

I am not walking today.

I am sitting.

Sitting, grieving. Reflecting on loss.

Sitting inside and looking at the gray.

I am sitting and thinking about a very missed friend. Winston, my bunny, passed on his energy in October 0f 2008. He was seven and a half.

I am sitting and thinking about how when he was about five months old, I bought a harness and Flexi-leash for him and we would go out outings. I would stop at Jimmy John's and get myself a sandwich and soda. Winston would get my alfalfa sprouts, sometimes a cucumber.

I am sitting and thinking how I am -- finally -- not sad. I just miss. I miss the garden and the snuggles and the playing-in-grass. I miss little rememberings and chin nuzzles and happy-chuck-chuck noises. I miss time.

I still hurt.

I am sitting and holding my hurt. I look at it. It is silver and gauzy. It fits in my hands like a six pound medicine ball. It is a weight I forget is there because it is not cold.

I am sitting and imagining our energies intertwined deep into our roots. When I too go into the ground, our energies will be a fall breeze that brings the scent of leaves and change and apples.

I notice small movements in my hands and think about small creatures and small breaths. We have to be gentle with these creatures. Secure, confident, and gentle. A steady holding. Be willing to make ourselves appear to be smaller to gain their confidence. Prove through consistency in our actions that we are to be trusted. Learn that exploring does not have to happen quickly and with profound movement, but slowly with smell, soft whisker touch, little lips and tongues and toes.

Be gentle with all creatures. Secure, confident, and gentle.

A steady holding.

I am sitting inside, looking at the gray.

Farewell, Orange Cat

It's been a few weeks and I've been reluctant to share that one of my furry four paws passed away. Maybe in a few more weeks or months, I will be able to write about the circumstances more. But for now I will just note a farewell.

There You'll Always Be

from Disney's The Fox And The Hound

We met it seems such a short time ago

You looked at me needing me so

Yet from your sadness our happiness grew

And I found out I needed you too

I remember how we used to play

I recall those rainy days

The fire's glow that kept us warm

And now I find we're both alone

Goodbye may seem forever

Farewell is like the end

But in my heart's memory

In there you'll always be

I love you, my little Orange Cat.

My Furry Four Paws: Winston (RIP)

Winston F. Bunny

2/2001 - 10/31/08

Originally posted on 10/31/08

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My darling friend Kate called a year and a half ago from her home in San Diego for an update on Winston. “You know I have a soft spot in my heart for him,” she said. I remember when Mike and I were in Hawaii in 2002 and she bunny-sat for three weeks. I can imagine there was a lot of bonding that happened during that time. While we were gone, she was mending a broken heart. I bet Winston got an earful. Fortunately for Kate, he has enormous ears. That was when I lived in a one-room bedroom apartment in Auburn Place. Winston and I moved in there together in 2001.

I only had Winston a month before I moved in to that apartment by myself. I had been lonely, a little withdrawn. Mike, boyfriend at the time and now my husband, decided I needed something furry to love. We took a trip to the pet store and found the perfect companion: a half-off Easter bunny. When I first brought my little bit of gray fluff home I would cradle him scooped in my hands. His lop ears stuck out to the side like a little helicopter. His body barely filled the cup my hands created but his back feet were almost twice as long as my thumbs. Feet that size seemed to be an indicator of quite a bit of growth. I had my suspicions then that he was not a true Mini Holland Lop. I didn't care. I was in love.

My roommate of the old apartment and I sat my bed watching this little creature with very large and inquisitive brown eyes as he explored his new surroundings. “What’s his name?” she asked. I had no clue. For three days, he was simply “Bunny”. This situation was getting critical, so like a true English major I sat down and began to brainstorm everything I could think of that was gray. Smudges. Grunge music. Flannel. Rain clouds. Cement. Plymouth Rock. Nickels. The novel 1984 by George Orwell. Looking at my little friend made me think of freedom. The reflection made by Winston Smith, the protagonist in 1984, "Freedom is the freedom to say two plus two equals four," and an old mix tape of Seattle grunge music got my creative naming abilities going and Winston Foo-Foo Fighters Bunny was officially named. Since then, he's had lots of names: Bunny Butt, Grumpy Butt, Fluffy Butt, Bun, Snuggle Bunny, Twitchyface. Yes, I know. A lot of references to his cute li'l behind.

Back to the spring of 2001, the year I graduated from college, I was excited to have my first apartment without a roommate. Or, at least that is what I thought I was doing. My best friend Lori’s lease ran up and she needed a place to stay while she was in transition. I told her she could camp out in the living room for as long as she liked. By then, Winston was litter-trained and was allowed to hop about the apartment whenever someone was home. He would jump up and snuggle into my lap to demand and ear-scratch. Sometimes he would perch on the back of the futon while we watched T.V. looking like a little gray, furry pirate parrot. Mostly he kept waking Lori up at night by chewing on his water bottle for marathon water-guzzling sessions.

Living on my own was a big step for me, so I was glad to have Lori as my training wheels. But the coming months were momentous for Winston, too. That was the summer that Winston fell in love. Winston had finally hit puberty and had begun humping stuffed animals, throw pillows, shoes, blankets…well, there’s a reason for the saying “do it like rabbits.” Nothing, however, compared to Winston’s adoration of Mike's friend Andy. Andy would come over and Winston would pursue him across the kitchen, down the hallway, through the living room, and back into the kitchen. He wouldn't leave Andy alone when he was sitting on the couch. I decided to have Winston 'fixed' after a few episodes of this behavior.

Soon after we solved that problem, my mom went in the hospital for emergency surgery. Winston went to live with Mike and Andy while I temporarily moved back home to help my mom during her recovery until late August when I started student teaching. That September, Winston sat on my lap while the nation was glued to our televisions, watching as a giant plume of smoke and debris changed our lives. By October and November, my students were used to getting papers back with bits of the corners missing where Winston had nibbled. One student even tried to use this as a bargaining tool. “You might not have liked my paper, but Winston sure did,” the student said. I told him that maybe Winston saw promise in the writing and that perhaps he should revise the paper. Winston didn’t like it as much the second time, but I did--it was definitely a better effort. Who knew that a fifteen-year old goth kid would be motivated by bunny nibblings on paper?

Soon it was spring again, Mike was graduating and we went on that trip to Hawaii I mentioned earlier. A few weeks later, we were engaged. It was a happy summer. One day on a trip to the pet store for hay and treats, I purchased a little harness and retractable leash for Winston. See, there used to be this old lady down the street from me who would walk her orange smooshed-nose cat past my house every day. Although I had no intention of walking a rabbit, I thought that it may be a way to take my little friend outside safely. Winston hated the process of putting on the harness, but he loved going outside. We would go on picnics at MSU’s campus—a sub from Jimmy John’s for me, and a small iceberg lettuce salad for Winston. I would read and Winston would nap or investigate bushes and flowers.

It was in preparation for one of these outings that I found my friend Derek in a bit of a funk. He was still taking summer classes and had a final project due the following day. A final project that had not even been started. It was supposed to be some kind of a public service announcement. “Sorry, dude.” I said. “I don’t know how I can help. All I have is a bunny.” Something about this statement clicked, and before I knew it, Derek had acquired a gray stuffed toy lop-eared rabbit, a baseball bat, and a half-charged video camera. The satirical public service announcement warning the perils of Bunny Baseball (starting Winston F. Bunny and his plush stunt double as the "baseball") was completed in one night. Derek got an “A”. Winston got a grape. Everyone was happy. Yes, it was a good summer.

By August, Winston and I moved to Novi with friend and her cat, Charlie. Charlie and Winston soon became friends and were allowed supervised playtime and were often found napping together. Mike got a job down in Ohio and moved to Columbus to get our new house settled. When my lease ran up, Winston moved with him while I waited for my job transfer to go through. Shortly after I moved to join them, the three of us celebrated our first Thanksgiving together (Winston does not like sweet potatoes) and Christmas (Winston does like dried cranberries). Wedding preparations, the wedding itself, and our honeymoon took up most of the following spring. But there was Winston, in the middle of all the preparations, toppling my pile of bridal magazines and repositioning them about the room.

Not long after we were married, Mike splurged and bought himself a new 65-inch television. That meant the entire entertainment center had to go. It was old, but I hated to throw it out. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we could make a cage for Winston out of this?” I mused. Mike looked up with a gleam in his eye I knew meant trouble. There was a flurry of measuring tape and pencil markings and muttering about needing a staple gun and chicken wire, a trip to Home Depot, and two bottles of Coke. In a few hours, the Palatial Estate of Winston F. Bunny was constructed—complete with castors so it could be rolled out onto the patio in the summer. There were separate compartments for litter, a 'tunnel' made of the lower shelves, a food station, and a shelf high enough so Winston could see the whole room, even over the back of the couch.

I never realized how much I didn't know about rabbits until finding the Columbus House Rabbit Society online while looking for a vet and emergency clinic information in case we needed it. I met the head of CHRS and took a tour of her house which doubled as a rescue facility. I became involved in the "Make Mine Chocolate" campaign that encourages parents to not purchase rabbits for their children at Easter. Winston was one of the lucky ones purchased from pet stores, but many bunnies end up abandoned (or worse, "set free") after the novelty of the holiday is worn off and families realize they don't know anything about the animal or how to care for it. Winston became the 'spokesbunny' for my crusade and the "author" of letters that have gone out every spring.

Two years passed and Winston was transitioning to 'geriatric' status. Worried about the "ergonomics" of the Palatial Estate, Winston moved to what my friend Amy called the “retirement community garden apartment”—a smaller, one-story rabbit hutch. He also had to adjust to a new addition to the family: Orange Cat. There were some bumps in their early introductions. Upon observing Orange Cat sniffing at a bowl of rabbit pellets, Winston ran full force across the living room to defend his food and head-butted the cat in the stomach. Orange Cat was terrified. From then on if the rabbit was playing outside his hutch, the cat would stay on the couch. The addition of Oliver B. Superbiscuit, a rescued Rhodesian Ridgeback pup who had been abandoned and abused, also proved to defy stereotypes. When Ollie and Winston were first introduced, a loud bunny-thump was all Winston needed to assert his dominance. It was amazing to watch as Ollie’s body language showed he—a dog bred to hunt lions who would grow to be close to eighty pounds—would grow up being submissive to a six-pound prey animal.

We moved back to Michigan to a house down the street from Mike's parents. Winston quickly adapted to his new home and new living room playground, but shortly after the holiday season, I could tell something was wrong. The diagnosis of molar malocclusion and explanation of lengthy and routine treatments involving anesthesia were bleak. The blood work results indicating the beginning stages of renal failure made the prognosis even less favorable. The vet wanted me to be prepared: he had less that a month left.

It was three weeks of hiding pain medication in frozen peeled grapes, long snuggles and naps together on the couch, and a lot of bunny reiki. I was a nurse at a bunny hospice, Ollie was my assistant and slept by the hutch during the days to watch over his friend. Against all odds, he started to get better. He became more interested in his surroundings, playing with his toys, grooming himself again. By summertime he was back to his old self. "He's like the Energizer bunny," joked a friend. And he was, back to afternoons sitting outside enjoying the sun and naps and playing with his toys. No more free reign of the living room, though. The only lasting effect of that episode was incontinence.

Winston met more friends and their children, ate new foods and treats, discovered new uses for his toys. On suggestion from one of these new young friends, he had his blackberry. He looked like a little kid who had shoved his face in a blackberry pie--his lips and surrounding fur were dyed deep purple for a day. He found a new game, taking his multi-colored plastic toy chain and putting it in the water dish, pulling it out link by link. He especially enjoyed doing this when I was trying to rest on the couch. When his cage door was open, he would let Ollie wash his face, and when the newest member of our furry family joined us last December, bunny and puppy sniffed noses. They continued to "touch base" that way once the puppy was tall enough to stick his nose up to the bunny hutch.

I have had more time with him than I had ever imagined. Almost eight years. The last seventeen months were an extra blessing. A visit to the vet Friday morning confirmed he was in full renal failure now. He was lethargic and unaware at times, extra snuggly when he wakes up and wanting to be held. Fastidious to the end, he continued to re-arrange the towels underneath him in moments of clarity, occasionally 'churring' or making a happy grunt when he was comfortable. I’ve spent the past eight years doing everything I can to protect him, keep him safe. It is hard to let go of that, to remember that 'keeping safe' really means 'keep him from getting hurt'. So we had a morphine-like medication to keep him pain free. No more hurting. Just love and snuggles.

The last night, he curled up on my shoulder, nestling his head under my chin. I cradled him the same way I did when he was first that little ball of fluff that fit in my hand. He was ready to go, return his energy to it's source. And what a beautiful energy it is. While his physical self is gone, I know Mike and I are surrounded with his love and happy 'churring' noises. As we placed him next to Bailey in the pet cemetery at the edge of the property, the three horses next door came to attend the memorial. They stood there, stoic and silent and watching. I like knowing he is with friends and has these beautiful chestnut guardians to watch over him. He is an awesome bunny. And an amazing little friend.

I love you, Bun.

Dog Safety Garden Tips

When we first moved into this house, I was most concerned with making the interior the way I wanted it to look and feel. I like home to be soft, plush, comfy fabrics in grounded and warm earthy colors. A "come on in and make yourself at home" kind of place. Last summer, I finally started thinking about what message I wanted the outside of my house to send. I decided that friendly and inviting to me meant bright and cheerful happy flowers and smells.

I know very little about gardens and plants and tend to keep stuff around that can survive my neglect. I don't know the names of most plants and tend to pick things because they are pretty. I plant them and they promptly die because of too much or to little water, sun, or nutrients. You know, all the things plants need to survive. Last fall I actually did some research and realized everything I had planted in the back yard could have been mildly toxic to Ollie, Marshall, and their friends. Thankfully, my dogs are not grazers for the most part. Occasionally they will munch on some grass, but mostly they leave my plants alone. Planning my backyard gardens meant making a list of plants and products not to buy in the back yard.

I am working outside prepping my gardens this week and designing what I want them to look like. The dogs are happy to be outside with me when I'm in the back yard and Orange Cat happily supervises my gardening in the front yard from a sunny spot on the porch. (He also sings along with me. I'm on a mission to capture this on video.)

Here is my list of plants to avoid in areas your dog will be unsupervised:

Tulips, Daffodils, Crocus and other plants with bulbs: For a digging dog, the bulb is a sweet reward for a hole well dug. Bulbs are crunchy, ball-shaped and highly toxic. This is a bad combination for a pooch.

Some fern varieties: Asparagus, Emerald, Lace, and Plumosa ferns: all cause dermatitis and have toxic berries.

Perennials: Ivy, Morning Glory, Oleander, Rhododendron, Phlox, Roses, Catnip, Bee Balm, Columbine, Hosta, Queen of the Meadow, Lily of the Valley, Trumpet vine

Annuals: Zinnia, Snapdragons, Cosmos, Petunias, Butterfly flowers, Primrose, Impatiens, Begonia

Vegetables: onion, chives, garlic. The plant part of tomato and potato plants are toxic.

Fruit: grape skins are highly toxic as are the cyanide-containing seeds/pits in apples, peaches, plums, and cherries.

Products: There was some concern awhile back about cocoa mulch and dogs. Cocoa mulch contains high levels of theobromine which is very toxic to dogs. In fact, there is more theobromine in unfiltered cocoa mulch than there is in baker's chocolate, so small amounts could be dangerous. There is record of one dog has ever died from eating this type of mulch. Because of this, most cocoa mulch companies have started cleansing programs that remove most of the theobromine. Think about your dog's natural desire to taste, graze, or ingest plants in your yard and do use caution and read the bag. It's better to be safe than sorry.

Green Dogs... with rules

It's taken me awhile with all the Earth Day stuff to read articles and process information in them. You'd think it would be easy to just make a list of awesome articles about raising a "green" dog. But as Stephanie Feldstein discusses in her change.org blog, there are some dangers in reduce-reuse-recycling with your dog.

Hand-me-down toys like old socks and towels can make good use of old things, but you have to think about what you're teaching your dog. Dogs are bad at generalizing and differentiation. If a hole-y sock is a toy, all socks are a toy. If an old slipper that is falling apart becomes a toy, all slippers are toys.

Old toys your kids no longer want to play with and are too beaten up to donate create another issue. Besides choking hazards, you are teaching your dog that the kids' toys are his toys, too.

Composting dog waste is tricky and requires an entire set of chemicals to make sure the ground does not get contaminated with parasites or become a breeding ground for them.

There are tons of great tips and products in the following links, but please remember to keep your house rules in mind when reduce-reuse-recycling.

Ten Tips to Help the Environment on Earth Day from raiseagreendog.com

Products:

Olive Green Dog -- Hip, modern and eco-friendly dog supplies.

Rekindled Pride -- Two firefighters from Idaho make a difference with dog apparel. Typically, fire departments discard old equipment as waste, but at Rekindled Pride they make all their products with materials worn by the men and women of the fire service.

Mountain Dog Products-- Repurposing old climbing rope as cool eco-friendly leashes. I haven't used one yet, but they will be the next leash I buy!

Hark, Hark! The Dogs Do Bark!

Barking is by far the biggest issue in our house.

There's a lot of stuff out there about vocalizations and what they do and don't mean from dogs. Before talking about what barking IS, I want to be sure to talk about what barking IS NOT.

Barking is not abnormal for a dog. Most problem barking has very little to do with dominance. Dogs are genetically predisposed to bark and have been rewarded for over 14000 years for barking. Dogs are not wolves and do tend to use more vocalizations including barking, whining, howling, and growling.

Barking is first and foremost a way to communicate. It only becomes a problem when it goes against what we think of as polite and civilized dog behavior. Dogs use different barks, in succession or singularly, to express different messages. Higher pitched, rapid barks usually signal excitement. Lower barks usually signal unease and uncertainty.

Dogs are social creatures, some more than others. For a dog cooped up in a yard or house without mental stimulus and opportunities to burn off energy, barking can become a response to being bored. A bark can be a lonely, "Does anybody hear me?" or an expectant "Come play!" or basically something akin to talking to hear themselves talk. Dogs dealing with separation anxiety, aggression issues, or dogs that startle easily are also prone to stress barking.

Certain breeds are more prone to barking. )Ask anyone who has ever had a terrier like Gus. Oy, the yapping.... ) Some breeds were chosen for their vermin chasing skills, some even being selectively bred so their barks could be heard underground. Left without proper outlets for their excitable energy, many of these breeds become serial yappers.

For some dogs, improper correction and timing of reward (or punishment) can leave dogs thinking they are doing a valuable thing. This can be something they've learned from you or something they think they've figured out themselves. Dogs are very bad at cause and effect. Take a dog barking at the lady who is walking past your house, for example. Dog barks. Lady walks away. Bark = stranger leaves. Never mind she was already headed in that direction, the dog thinks he's caused the threat to his house and people to abandon her mission.

If barking is a problem for you and your dog, remember that it is a communication. Your dog is trying to communicate something to you and it is your job as his friend to try to listen to what he's saying.