Tag Archives: dogs

Cat (and Dog) Training, Part 1

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Since it’s looking more and more like Dink and Envy are going to be permanent residents here, it’s way past time to make them a part of the household and that involves Feliaway, (which we’ve been doing for a while) and making their lives better. By “better” I mean more enriched and incorporated.
 
I still have a fair amount of resigned resentment about doing this but basically they’re nice cats overall and they certainly deserve to have a good life. This whole cat thing also involves getting Artie in particular to stop being an a**hole when he hears the cats scuttling across the floor. I should have done this when I first got him but I kept figuring the two cats would be gone and all we’d have to deal with is laid-back Rufus. I thought wrong. Ten months have passed. It’s time to get on the stick.
 
Frankly, I think “training” a cat is kind of an exercise in frustration and futility.
 
Socializing, yes. To be sure. Dink and Envy are friendly cats. They have been messed with since they were wee babies. If people come in the house, they are happy to see you and hang out with you. You can brush them and clip their nails with little protest.
 
Rufus, not so much. He runs away from almost everybody, even the Spousal Unit. who picked him out, by the way. I am the exception. Then he becomes a whiny, “I’m waking you up in the morning because you have to mess with my food bowl” kind of guy. He’s very demanding, and it’s always on his terms.
 
Exercising cats? To a large extent, I see the merits and benefits of that!
 
Getting a cat to use its “hunting skills” to get its food from a cat food toy? Uh, No.
 
I got an Fun-Kitty Egg-cersizer from my trainer friend, Jen. (I have a lot of respect for and trust in her. So if she says, “Let’s do this,” I’m going to try it!)
 
Great, I’ll try stuff! It was cheap. Good thing I got it from her because neither the Pet Supplies Plus in Stow or the PetSmart at Chapel Hill had ANY Cat Food Toys. And at both places, they looked at me like I was some crazy broad hallucinating on LSD when I even asked about stuff like that. (I should have called first.) So no second Egg thing. I guess if I’m going to continue trying this, I’ll have to get it online.
 
So we have good news and bad news….
 
The Bad News (and you can see it on Envy’s face) is The Egg has been a huge bust. Alas. Maybe I need more of them but this is what I was afraid of…. none of these cats will eat any kind of food off the bare floor. I tried rattling The Egg, playing with The Big. Look at the picture and you’ll see a piece of food right there by Envy’s chest. He’s looking at it. I even showed it to him! I even tried giving it to him! He gave me the, “Are you f—g crazy, lady?” look. (And yes, cats do use the F word. Frequently. Like no other creature on earth.)
 
It Was Not Happening.
 
In the past, even if their food bowls are completely empty, and there are food pieces near the bowl on the floor, they’ll remain untouched. Envy did whack at The Egg, I saw them do it, food spilled out on the floor in their room but no interest in eating off the floor. None. Zip. Zilch.
 
“We are cats, We eat out of bowls, you lowly peasant.”
 
Taking the food bowls up caused a whole bunch of pacing, meowing and restlessness from all three cats. Nobody settled down and took naps in the afternoon which is unusual.. The first night, I took Dink and Envy’s food bowl up and put The Egg down. Luckily they didn’t cry all night but they also didn’t eat. That’s not a big deal, going a while without food; she (Dink) in particular is overweight.

 
I shut Rufus in the basement with his food to give the other cats some time with The Egg. As I said, they even get the Egg at night in their room. The food was not eaten. I tried adding some treats and it’s not tempting them, I guess. None of them “do’ treats anyway.


When I did try the Egg down in the basement where Rufus’ bowls and the other litter box is, there was one huge pile of kitty food throw-up next to the Egg with food pieces in it. I think one of them may have tried it but I wonder if eating the food off the basement floor made them sick. There’s no way to really clean that floor safely for animals….. it’s concrete. I guess I could move food and water up to the first floor, not sure where to put it though.
 
The Good News: Dink and Envy enjoy playing with a laxer light a lot. Marty’s really good at it and he gets them going. It’s pretty funny! I’ll play with a feather toy up in their room and then give them a bit of wet food afterwards. Rufus has no interest in the laser light, it actually kind of freaks him out. But we did get him to play with a feather toy for a few minutes Friday and Saturday. That was kind of cool!
 
We have clear French doors from the den (dog area) to the dining room which has for months had a curtain over the windows. I did this because I got tired of having a**hole, fixated dogs staring, barking, carrying on at the French doors all damn day long.
 
Upon Trainer Jen’s advice, I did the “curtain up” thing while Marty played with a cat toy in the dining room, All Elke cared about was that I had treats, Artie was super fixated on the cats in the other room because they were being active, so I c/t’ed every time he turned his head away. I started by saying his name, then c/t the moment he turned away from the French Doors. I didn’t do it long, about 5 minutes then I closed the curtain. At first he didn’t want much to do with treats at all, “OHMYGOD, THERE ARE CAT-things THERE! WHOOOOA, WHEEEE!”
 
Meanwhile Elke is practically pooping her silly self with excitement at the mere suggestion of FOOD!!
 
The cats are evil. All cats are evil, I’m convinced. They come by the den door in the kitchen. Any self-respecting dog is going to KNOW they’re out there. Consequently Artie’s still really fixated by the den door, he jumps up but it usually starts with Elke’s “boof-roo-roo-roo” bark B.S. And that can be anything from she hears Marty messing around to she hears the cats or something “not right.” It seems like she starts stuff and then he gets all wound up.
 
Not sure how to fix that one, because it’s mostly her. At first. Interesting.
 
This is gong to be a long, relatively sucky process. But it could be so much worse. So far, we don’t have cats spraying and horrible crap like that.

Cesar Milan, Again?

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Here is the article in question:

I can see where the writer is coming from in so many respects of this article and I agree with much of it even though (by the way) it IS an old article.  Note the episodes he references. While everyone is flailing away at BAD Cesar Milan did anyone miss something huge in this article?  
 
The part that said “compulsive” behaviors are always neurological? 
 
To quote:
The last episode (compulsive disorder) is particularly unsettling because compulsive disorder is related to an imbalance in neurotransmitter levels or receptors, and is therefore unequivocally a medical condition.
 
Unequivocally? Really? That means (in the abjective form): 
Admitting of no doubt or misunderstanding; clear and unambiguous
 
To that I reply: Horse Manure.  A lot of “compulsive” behaviors are learned or created due to lack of exercise or some kind of positive interaction.  Like tail chasing etc.   Excuse me, Mr. Expert, so all puppy mill dogs who might circle incessantly or exhibit other compulsive behavior, they ALL have a “medical condition?”  How about they’ve never been out of a CRATE?
 
If all compulsive behaviors were due to bad brain wiring you’d never cure an animal or help them overcome it, get through it, whatever the latest PC buzz-word is.  In my opinion, it’s a ridiculous blanket assumption.  I don’t care how many vet degrees you’ve got.  Unequivocally?  Well, heck, let’s just nuke the poor dog, he’ll never get better.  
 
I see the veterinary community becoming a lot like human medicine…let’s medicate the heck out of the animals instead of holistic health, training for pet AND owner, etc. etc.  When was the last time you heard a vet that wasn’t some expensive big shot vet saying, “Man, get your dog to a positive dog training class!” or “Go online and look up Clicker Training,” or “You know what your dog’s problem is?  YOU!”  Uh, I think not.  Too bad more don’t. The animals would be better served.
 
I think the writer would have been better off giving some constructive alternatives instead of just criticism, just flaunting his “expertise.”  So do tell us, Doc, how would you handle those three cases??  
 
I’m not saying Cesar’s handling of those three dogs was right, correct or appropriate. Far from.  I’m sorry but it’s like a theater critic who’s never been IN a real show in any capacity pontificating on how crappy Joey’s little theater show was.  How about you get out of your ivory tower, go to Bumflip, Iowa and you help some poor sod work with his tail-chasing dog, Doc?
Oh, here’s a thought…how about if you go around to poor communities, isolated communities and just do a free or low cost seminar helping hands on with troubled dogs and their distraught owners instead of writing articles?
You want someone who’s helping people, look up kikopup on Youtube; she’s doing it for free, although I’m sure she’d appreciate some bread.  Click on the link….
What Cesar Milan has done, right or wrong, agree or disagree, is he’s made desperate dog owners AWARE.  Aware, for good or ill, that there is something out there to help your problem dog.
 
I got news;  when you have a big time dog problem you feel isolated.  Like no one else gets it. That there are no other resources.  I’ve been there.  I have felt truly desperate and alone.  I wept buckets of tears.  I have blamed myself. 
 
Remember in 2005 we didn’t have nearly the resources on YouTube, Facebook etc.  I still get questions about problem animals if I do a program.  Dog classes can be expensive; not that you shouldn’t take them, you should.  But when if you don’t drive like me? Or they’re not anywhere even close to where you live? People still don’t know where to go or whom to turn to. 
 
Agree or disagree on his methods but…face it…..
 
Ten to fifteen years ago, his methods, right or wrong were THE NORM. Is it archaic?  Sure?  Are they still used?  You betcha.  Check out some performance dogs or schutzhund. 
 
Let’s face it too; most of those dogs on his show would have been dumped or killed.  
 
He’s also made people aware that their dog is picking up on their “energy.” It’s going right down the leash. What is so bad about that message?  My first dog teacher told me that in 1993. I’ve had my Positive Training Friends call me out on this all the time!  Three weeks ago was the most recent and they were right!  I know if I’m all weirded out, my dog is going to be too!  It happened three weeks ago!
 
Cesar Milan has also done a lot for Positive Pit Press.  I think, for good or ill, him being on TV with his Daddy dog has done a whole heck of a lot to turn people’s minds away from the Bad Pit Bull Dog Syndrome. You may not like his methods, think them cruel, archaic, whatever….. but for the Pit stuff you all really need to give him some credit.  Just my opinion.  
 
He kind of started the trend of Dog “Training” TV shows and other people, like Victoria Stillwell have run with that in a more positive training approach. He made it viable TV. 
 
Just sayin’

Artie’s Blog From Yesterday

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Bandanna! Harness! Leash! Car ride! Stopping! Going! Walking in the woods!! So many smells! Elke grumbles, what’s that? Oh big brown animal thing? Far out! More walking! Back in car! Class Place! I smell Clark! I love Clark, where is he? I want to plaaaaay with Clark! Mom, why can’t I play with Clark, you smell like Clark! Did you….pet him?

Mom is walking me around, I don’t have my harness on now, must be Class Time! Smelling stuff, dogs, dogs, I smell dogs! I smell Clark, he peed here, let me pee on Clark’s pee! Ooooh, there is Auntie Kelsey, hihihih, let me jump up on you, auntie! I love you!! I don’t WANNA sit and be good! OK, fiiiiiine. I’ll sit. Humpf.
We go in the Class room! Clark is there! “HI CLARK!!!“
Mom says, “Blooby, you have to be good and calm for Clark!” but I don’t wanna!!! Clark and me, we want to plaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!! Our moms walk us around, my mom is sweet talking me. But me and Clark…we want to have fun! Poopy humans. Our moms walk towards each other, Mom has me on a short leash, talking to me, “Watch Me!”
“But it’s CLAAAARKKKKKKK!! I LOVE CLARK!” We walk around some more and Mom is being firmer, “Artie Blue, Watch ME!” but her voice is still pretty happy. we walk towards each other and mom says “Sittt” I lay down just to mess with her. She shakes hands with Clark’s mommy and another new lady says, “Pass.” Mom takes me outside and we hide from Clark. I don’t know why…..
Then we go back into the room. All my favorite people are there!! Mama Jen who fostered me with her other big doggies, Auntie Kelsey and Auntie Mary Ann and that guy from last week! A new lady is there! She talks to mom, ooooooooh, she’s coming to say hi to ME!!!! “Wheeeee! Hi, lady!! I’m Artie Blue, let me get in your face!!!” Mom turns me around and walks me away and then makes me sit and STAY (I hate stay when there are people around and they might touch me!) The new lady comes up and shakes hands with Mom and I rolled on my back. She messes with my feet and I AM SO EXCITED but I’m pretty good. Well…… for me I’m REALLY good.
Then I had to do the Sit, Down, Stay stuff. When Mom called me, “Artie, Front!” I saw my chance! “Hi everyone! Hi New Guy Friend, Hi Aunties, Mama Jen, I WUFFFF you!“
But…..wait….Nobody pets me, human poopheads. they all turned away from me! Mom made me sit again, STAY (yeah, ok, ok. fine, sucks…). When she called me she was so excited, wow, she made all sorts of crazy squeaky noises and clapped her hands! More fun than every one else!
“Exercise finished, ” said the nice lady. and she took my leash. Mom said “Wait,” and left me.
(I’m having a brain fart, I can’t remember what happened.)
Mom came back and they said, “Congratulations! You passed!”
Passed what? Mom didn’t have a stinky cloud. But she sure was happy; she was playing with me and then everybody was petting me and making a BIG fuss over me! I got so excited I forgot myself and grabbed my leash with my mouth!!
There is a picture Mama Jen took of us! What do the words on it mean??
The people who helped my humans understand me better and help me learn things: http://www.lchaimcanine.com/
And Miss Chris’ who gave me my test, she helps human “get” their doggies too. http://www.woofwisedogtraining.com/

I Am Lennox

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Today in Belfast, N. Ireland, after a two year court battle and amid world-wide outcries, protests, social media frenzies, petitions, thousands of emails, letters and even death threats, a dog named Lennox was destroyed because of what he looked like.  


DNA tests showed he was a Lab/Staff cross. It didn’t matter. 


The so-called “expert” that “assessed” him was debunked by veterinarians, behaviorists, animal trainers and dog experts world-wide and even in court.  It didn’t matter. 


Lennox’s legacy is he may join the ranks of the Vick(tory) Dogs and Patrick the dog tossed down a garbage chute.  He may be the face of injustice. He may help eventually to end BSL.  If you don’t know what that stands for it’s “Breed Specific Legislation.”


Why does Lennox’s death matter?  Who cares if one more dog dies today?  It’s just a “pit bull” thing, isn’t it? Or maybe a German Shepherd or Doberman or Rottweiler thing.  It doesn’t affect me. it doesn’t affect my dog.  I have a (insert breed or type or size dog here).


Here is why it should really truly matter if you never, ever, EVER own a dog or any pet for that matter for the rest of your earthly existence. It should matter even if you don’t like animals very much.  (I worry about you if that’s the case….)


It matters because The Government came into Lennox’s house, onto his owner’s property and seized the dog without cause. A dog who had NEVER bitten anyone, never attacked, was never a “nuisance.”.  A dog who actually was helping the daughter of the house.  A family’s pet.  Well-loved, not chained out in the backyard or left with no food, shelter, water.  A pet.  A family member.  It matters.  A lot.


It matters even if you are not a “pit bull” fan. It matters even if you really do not like that type of dog at all. it matters because, at any time, the pendulum could swing and your breed or type of dog could be the next target. It matters because if you are a good neighbor, you take care of your dog(s) or cat(s), at any time your animals could be seized and destroyed.  Lennox could be my Elke or my Artie.


I’m talking regular people, not puppy millers, hoarders, stupid, careless, abusive, neglectful people.  Lennox’s family were just regular folks, like most of are.  A Joe who went to work to provide for his family, a little girl with some special needs, a Mom like anybody’s mom.  They could be your next door neighbor.


It matters because Lennox was judged on his looks alone. And killed for his looks alone. He looked “bad.”


I am Lennox.  


I am a middle aged female home-maker who makes a bit of scratch here and there doing this and that with a vision disability.  I don’t see as well as most folks do.  I can barely drive a car.  I read things up real close.  I’m colorblind. I wear sunglasses even on cloudy days.


I am Lennox. I am judged by how I look.  


My over-50 husband has a fused spine; he can’t turn his head and he has more metal in him than most formerly heavy-metal appliances. 


He is Lennox too. 


According to TV demographics we’re “too old.”  They are cancelling high rated shows because we’re the “wrong” demographic.


We can overcome, we can persuade people, convincing them that we can “do” a ton of stuff “better” than many.  But in the end, in this increasingly superficial society, we are judged.  We’re seasoned, we’re a bit tattered and torn. We’re not “young and beautiful.”  (Just beautiful!)


We are Lennox: we judged on our age, sex, looks, sexual preference, religion, perceived abilities. We’re “put out to pasture” because of perception.  We’re disregarded. In times not-so-past we would have been destroyed.  Killed because of perception.  Because of how we looked.  


It is the barest stretch to liken Lennox the dog to a disabled child, a person “of color,”  they guy with the turban on his head, the lesbian couple next door…..whatever the different scary thing “du jour” is.  We all have our prejudices.  I do. I really do. (Scientologists, I admit, scare the heck out me.)  One would hope that our prejudices might be based on behavior rather than appearances!  


Lennox was a dog.  Plain and simple.  Canis lupis familiarus.  He was never judged as any dog would or should be. He was judge solely on how he looked. It’s the same as judging a person on color, sex, gay/straight, age, etc.  There is no difference.  None. If you think there is, you have lost a touch of your humanity in the seconds it took you to read and process these sentences. 


It does not take an Asimov or a STAR TREK writer to imagine a world where being judged on your looks signs your death warrant.  This feeding frenzy regarding dog “types” is not one whit different that anti-Jewish hysteria in Nazi Europe. Anyone who says it’s like comparing apples and oranges, even apple and rocks has their heads hidden in the sand.  They are in denial.

She is Lennox.


 

He is Lennox.


 

I am Lennox.  Are you?


(PS: Lennox was a Lab-American Bulldog. I erred.)









A Cattledog’s Gift, Part 2

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Part 2


Jesse Ann continues from The Bridge:

We animals have it good here.  We have fun, we have treats, we drink from rainbow colored waters.  Angels, like my Auntie Kaya touch us, hold us, cuddle us, pet us as we will.  I have friends who are cats, horses, dogs, rabbits, birds….

Sometimes we feel a pull to go to the bridge, to help another animal who was pulled from their earthly body by murder, cruelty, starvation, neglect.  The Presence helps us to tell these animals, “Here you are safe, here you are loved.”  Sometimes one of my horse friends goes beyond the bridge to carry a weary human, whose soul just can’t seem to make the journey or one too young to know the way.  Sometimes my dog friends run over the bridge, in two or threes, in whole packs, to welcome a human they knew in earthly form, tails wagging furiously, dog-voices singing.

“Welcome! Welcome home!  Here we are!  We love you!”  (The cats, being cats, wait, purring, for their human to arrive.)

One day, one moment, one eternity (for time has no meaning here and it’s all good), Winger says to me, “I’m worried about Mom and Dad.  They have Elke, of course and That Cat and Mom goes to That Place and comes back smelling of Other dogs and cats but they don’t have one of US!”  I look at Winger like he’s crazy (nothing’s changed).

“What ARE you yapping about NOW?” I grumble into his face.

“You know, a cattledog!” says Winger.  “I went to see Mom in that place the humans call a hospital. her body was so still. I sat there and watched her.  I told her to come with me, that I’d show her the way.  It was before you came here to the bridge. I know she saw me. She told me it wasn’t her time to come here. I heard her say it.  But…..she needs one of us, she needs a cattledog!”

“Oh, come ON,” I say scornfully. “We have lots of dog friends here.  You know doggy love comes in many shapes and sizes!  Why look at all those square headed dogs, the ones the humans call “pit bulls.” The ones that came from that awful human place in the mountains; the ones we had to help cross over the bridge?  Just the other day?  Remember?”

“Yes, yes, yes, I KNOW,” says Winger, “But I think they need one of us, a cattledog!”

“Do I have to do EVERYTHING?   Fine, there is a cattledog who needs a foster home, will that do you?  Quit bugging me.”  That’s when Buddy came for a week to live with Mom and Dad.  He went to a good home; thank doG.  But, if you know Winger and I do, he can be the most noisy, annoying pest.  So sometimes a dog has to take things into her own paws.

I went before The Presence, head bowed.  “Divine Love, my brother Winger and my Older Siblings who came here before, The Cattledogs Hart and True, are bugging me also.  They think my humans need a cattledog.  A young annoying one like Winger, but smart and trainable like Hart….Wingie is kind of a dope, you know and I, well I….was admittedly a little pig-headed.  Oh and one that will grow into a solid, smart dog like True. One who loves walks in the woods and rides in the car and swimming and chasing balls!”  I had to stop myself.  I was getting a bit excited, so beneath my dignity.  I bowed my head again, “We humbly ask you, Divine One, if this would be possible?”

The Presence called Winger, True and Hart.  “Dog-Children, purest of souls, Love who existed in earthly form, Our “Dog-ter”, Jesse Ann has asked that one of your type be put into the path of your humans.  Do you all concur?”

“We do,” said Hart and True.

“IdoIdoIdoIdo!” barked Winger.  I barked in his face, “SHUT UP!”.  (Nothing has changed.)

“Are you willing to give a part of your Spirit to do this?  This is a great request and not often granted.  We think that dog souls find their way to have an earthly experience and to teach humans lessons, in whatever form they may take.  Your cat sisters seem to understand this.”

“Yes, but they ARE cats.  You know how cats are.”

“Very well but this shall be a test of your humans and those whose paths they cross.  Do you agree to each give something of yourselves?”

“Yes, Divine One, for we love our humans still and feel they need, well, HERDING!”

“There is a cattledog litter in utero in the state in the country where you lived your earthly form.  There is one embryo, a male, whom no soul has chosen in reside in yet.  This one may have a hazardous journey on the earthly plain without human help.  Are you willing?”  We all agreed and I felt the Presence within me.  If I had a body still, some of my essence would be missing.  I still FEEL like me, but yet now part of my heart is a part of something else.  I believe that True and Hart felt this as well. Winger, being Winger, I’m not so sure!

I watch over the embryo from my home at the beautiful bridge.

One night in the month of September 2011 a little male cattledog pup, all white, is born.  Because we all gave of our essence, because we blended ourselves, he won’t have eye patches as we did. He’s breathing, he’s suckling.

Now look, quite frankly, he is in the earthly world and I have things to do here! The Divine has said that human things will fall into place. But, Winger is worried. (Nothing has changed.)  “Will he find our humans? How? When?”

“Oh, DO shut up!  I’m playing ball!  You asked, we all gave, it’s out of our paws.”

“But LOOK,” Winger barks, “He’s in a crate!  He’s just a little guy, no one is paying any attention to him! That’s not a happy place! Not like our home was!!”

“Look, you bozo, you slept in crates you whole life!  We traveled in crates.  We ate in crates so you wouldn’t eat all my food. What’s the big crate deal?  You know what The Presence said.  We got to let it unfold.”

But Winger barked and barked.  He yapped, yipped and barked!  He barked and carried on so much that the angels thought the stars would collide. Earplugs were used.  The sound of his frantic barking crossed the bridge and spread through time and space and dimension until it was filtered and honed into a sliver of thought. It traveled like radio waves, zapped here and there like a laser beam, filtered through to the human world like smoke signals, anything trying to get the message through to just the right human.  The band of white noise was widespread, seeking a human who would receive the message.

Maybe it was the way Humane Officer S. woke up that morning.  Maybe it was the flicker of thought, the impulse to turn down a certain street. Maybe it was suddenly on her List of Things To Do. Go To This Place.  However it happened, the message arrived whether consciously or in a dream or a decision. She saw the young plain-face cattledog boy and she had to bring him some place safe.  Safer than where he was, that’s for sure!

I looked over at Winger who had finally shut up, for a moment. “See there, you knucklehead, the little guy is in a safe place.  It’s the same place Mom goes to where she got all the Other Smells, how about that? Why look there?  There’s a nice lady, Miss Jen, she helps teach doggies, she says she’s going to foster him.  She looks nice. So can you chill out now? Please?” Some of our angel friends, hoping Winger would be quiet now, dared to take the earplugs out.

“But how will Mom and Dad find him?” Winger whined.

“You’ll see,” The Presence spoke in our hearts, “Hush now, Our Dog-Son, the human wheels are in motion.  Rest, wait, go play ball and chase squirrels.  Until it is your Mom or Dad’s time to go to the bridge, your job is done.  You and Jesse Ann and Hart and True have placed the paw prints of your hearts into a new dog heart on earth.  Let Me help the humans should they ask.  And they will.”

My spirit was there on earth the day Miss Jen brought the puppy over to meet Elke.  A silly angel in a dog suit named Shae brought Elke the message that it’s OK to play and it’s even more OK to to play with the plain-face cattledog puppy.  My spirit soared for this little guy. He’ll be a trial just like some of us were.  Not me of course.  I was perfect. But he’ll be a good dog just like we all became. Our hearts and spirits are with him and we bless the human footsteps that brought them all together.  Our humans have a cattledog now. Winger can relax and I can get some sleep.  But we’ll occasionally check out how it’s going.  Winger wouldn’t have it any other way.

And many, many human years from now, when it’s time for the new guy’s spirit to soar out of his earthly body, we’ll be there to greet him.

“Welcome Home, Little Brother!  You are a part of all of us, the cattledogs who went before! Welcome Home, Artie Bloo!’

To Read Part One, it’s here at WordPress or go here:
http://miaharted.blogspot.com/2012/07/a-cattledogs-gift-part-one.html

A Cattledog’s Gift, Part 1

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Jesse Ann (Truahrt’s Rescue Remedy, CGC)
August 18, 2011
I left my body on earth today in soft grass with my dad and my mom and my Aunt Megan. I could feel them petting me, feel their tears falling on my fur.  I could hear their voices saying that they loved me, that it was all right for me to leave my old, frail body.

In the distance, I heard the echo of a familiar bark. At first it’s a whisper, than it grows more distinct. I know that bark, it’s Winger.

“Come on Jesse! There are balls to chase and angels to throw them and lawn mowers to bite that won’t hurt us!  And Squirrels!  And food!  And vacuums to attack!” he barks in his shrill yap-yap-yap.

I feel my spirit soar towards him.  For a moment, I see my humans holding my old, frail body, crying. My spirit, on a breath, flies across roads, valleys, summer plains, coloring trees, rivers, the big lake where we played to where my Aunt Jamie is.  I touch her with my nose-that-is-not-a-nose-of-flesh lean into her body with my body-that-is-not-a-body anymore and my heart, which is overflowing, caresses her heart.  I love my Auntie Jamie and she loves me.

“I am with you always, My Other Mother, ” I whisper to her heart and soul.

I feel the Presence of Love and Life touch my spirit.  “Come, little one, sweet Princess Jesse Ann. You were The Boss to the other dogs, all who came into your home.  You were the calm one.  Now it’s time to play and rest until it’s time to guide your human to their joy and bliss.”

I know S/He is right, this Divine Love. I have known for a while in human terms, that my body was failing me.  I knew when Winger did not come home that winter afternoon this past February that my time on earth would end. Something told me I had to stay long enough help Elke to not be afraid of the things that Winger was afraid of: the thunderstorms, the fireworks. I think I’ve done that.

I remember going into the car for the ride to the vet today.  Mom had to pick me up, my legs were so weak. I was so exhausted, it was hard to walk. I was glad to be outside in the sunshine with my humans as Dr. Mike gave me a shot to make my eyes grow dim and then dark. I did not feel in my soul that second shot, the one that stopped my heart from beating but never stopped it from loving.  I want my humans to know that. I think Mom knew that Winger would be calling me to join him.

I see meadows and forests and a glowing bridge of shimmering rainbow colors over fields of stars. I finally see Winger now and another I had known in earthly form, my Auntie Kaya.  She is all glowing with love for me and she surrounded by dogs. She laughs and hugs me.

“Bienvenue, mon petit!” She was so loving in earthly form that it is not surprising that she is filled with Love, Light and Laughter. I run to Winger and bark in his face, “See, you bozo, I’m here and nothing has changed!  I’m still the boss of you!”

We dogs have it good here……

End of Part One, please see Part Two here at wordpress or here:
http://miaharted.blogspot.com/2012/07/a-cattledogs-gift-part-2.html

Dog Classes: The Great Melt-Down

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(Elke Louise, the Schmooby-Do)

Dog classes tend to bring out the worst in me! Guilt, tension, performance anxiety, guilt. Did I mention the guilt. But they DO matter! They are important! These latest ones are NOT my first rodeo, by any stretch of the imagination.

Let me back up a bit here.

Ladies, did you ever have one of those days where you are little “weepy?’ (I’d like to assume that men have days like these, but they suck it up better than I certainly do.) Those lovely days where it seems like your hormones are in wacko, weep-er-ella mode. Because let’s face it, ladies, we ALWAYS blame our emotions on hormones these days. (Insert winking emoticon here.)

Seeing as I am spayed and beyond the PMS years, I supposed I could blame my emotional state on Menopause. The Change as it is euphemistically known is not for sissies. “Yeah, I’m changing all right,” you growl, “My bullshit-o-meter is in the red! How’s THAT for change, m—-r-f—–r!” 

It has also made me at times emotionally fragile, insecure and very depressed. This charming trifecta seems to leave my poor Spousal Unit somewhat befuddled or saying stuff like, “YOU’RE depressed? Look at ME! Now I’VE got reasons to be depressed!” My darling Marine sometimes acts as though emotions are the “Hoo-rah” equivalent of struggling up a hill with a 60 pound pack on your back in the pouring rain. “My feet hurt worse than yours and my pack is heavier.” 

“It’s not the Who Feels Sh*ttier Competition!” And then the guilt sinks in. I feel bad that I feel bad.

One of the “good” things I guess (the jury is still out on that one) is I’m writing more. My typing hasn’t improved. I’m still a bit grammar-challenged at times. I write in short spurts; I don’t think there’s a novel lurking way down inside of me. I have cousins who do that sort of thing. 

http://www.amyatwell.com/ and http://www.williamsknerly.com/

I tend to think in moments in time, not sweeping vistas covering days, weeks, years. I’ve been published in print which is very exciting! I tend to think sentimentally. I am very sentimental. I get weepy at movies, TV shows, reading stories, blogs etc. I got a little teary seeing the squished, cartoon-flat squirrel on my bike ride Tuesday. I’m a softy with a fairly good front. 

But I digress as usual.

This past Monday was one of Those Days. I woke up emotionally charged. I was nervous about Elke taking her Canine Good Citizen test that night. For reasons I don’t understand I started blogging about Jesse, Winger and how they conspired to bring Artie into our lives. Maybe because I need to pick a birthday for Artie and I think he was born soon after Jesse died.
http://miaharted.blogspot.com/2012/07/a-cattledogs-gift-part-2.html
It’s fictional, of course, but I do wonder if there might be a spattering of inspired Truth somewhere in there. After hours of emotional writing, I had whipped myself in a bawling mess of tightly strung Me!

We get to class at L’Chaim Canine (www.lchaimcanine.com) and by now I’m a semi-controlled mess. I’m nervous and my Spousal Unit is patiently forbearing. Elke and Artie know where we were going and started whining in the car. All I can think is Artie might very well pass but Elke is going to have a really hard time. She is anxious already! What a great combo we four are.

Guess what? The test isn’t until NEXT week! Well, shoot, I’ve lathered myself into a frenzy for nothing. I feel the adrenaline beginning to drain out of me as we walk into the class room. There is a new person there, a nice fellow. Artie does bark, but he’s giving wiggling happy signals. Elke on the other hand, goes into total freak mode. She is in the corner of the room, growling andshrieking! Poor Clark, our other doggy classmate, a lovely Bull Mastiff has this “What the….who the….huh the….Duh?” expression on his big black mug. The guy, who is really nice, must wonder what in the world he’s gotten himself into now. I’m sure being a friend of Jen’s he’s used to Doggy Nutsville. Artie is starting to get upset because Elke is upset. I’m starting to gt upset and pissed that Artie is turning into a little jerk and I’m starting to yell at him, a big no-no in Positive Training. The whole thing is turning into a Mulligan Stew of semi-pandemonium. I am devastated!

Mary Ann, an instructor-in-training takes me outside. “Let’s work Artie on his meet-and-greets,” she says cheerfully. That goes fairly well but I am starting to get really anxious and teary eyed. I’m trying to suck it up and I just can’t. Suddenly visions of struggling dog classes at the Humane Society dance in my head. I abysmally failed those dogs, which is why I don’t go any more. The dogs I got never seemed to like me at all or they were indifferent to me. Wow, that’s was a real ego buster. I can’t even help a shelter dog. I really do suck. 

I can’t seem to take the pressure and now performance anxiety has kicked into high gear. I’m a sucky dog owner, a sucky dog volunteer. Who am I kidding? What was I thinking? 

Now the guilt hammers in. I’ve made my husband take me to these damn classes and it’s all for naught. He’s pissed at me because he doesn’t want to be there and I can’t blame him. I’m interfering with his biking. I hate not being able to drive. I hate missing out on stuff I want to do because I don’t drive. The whole thing sucks! This all happens in a matter of seconds, as I’m hearing a muted Elke voice from the inside of the training room, shrilly barking. 

My little girl dog, what IS wrong with her? What did we do to her? My sweet little dog is being an absolute a**hole! Her head is so far up her butt, it’s never coming out. I crack, physically and emotionally. My body folds to the ground and I start crying. Artie is confused. 

Thank heavens for Mary Ann and then Kelsey, another instructor. Between the two of them, they managed to get me calmed down. They both seemed to understand that I needed a back pat, must be the dog training thing! The guilt was still there. It’s there now, at this moment. Between Jen, Mary Ann and Kelsey, we did finish class. I felt bad for Clark and his owner. I’m sure she couldn’t wait to get the heck out of Dodge! 

I get that dog classes are a process. I vaguely recall this from the dim days of classes with Pat Piazza almost 2 decades ago. I need to recollect that Hart, my first cattledog, failed beginners twice. I am not a “natural” trainer. Clicking and treating is a co-ordination thing that I have yet to master. I’m still on the fence as to its efficacy. I believe that my Spousal Unit also doesn’t see it as “All Positive” either. It does go against Marine Corps Policy. 

But I do believe that dog classes are very important and these “Positive” folks are the best in town. You expect your kids to get an education so they go to school and graduate. Why not your dogs? I tend to think of my Dogs Past in their older years, when they were really good, well-behaved dogs. Jesse Ann passed her CGC test easily, even putting up with a very rude Golden who got in her face. True was a breeze too, but he had been a big time show dog. I forget that Winger was terrified of men when we got him but he did pass his test in Canada. But all that was at least 11 and more years ago. 

I guess I have to view next week’s class, which is when they’re actually giving the test, as a training exercise. It’s all training. It’s continuing education. I wish I could get over all the guilt.