Oxota

"Bend over and cough"

2011-10-21T08:59:00.015-06:00

OK, I'm paraphrasing. Perhaps describing impact rather than intent. Decide for yourself.

There was a discussion on registration fees, which were last raised in 2007. Following a motion by Dr. Garvin, seconded by Mr. Ashby, it was VOTED (unanimously) to implement the following, effective January 1, 2012:
• A price increase of $10.00 from $20.00 to $30.00 for dog registration and transfer fees.

This quote is taken from the October 2011 AKC Board of Directors minutes, and it is sending shock-waves through the ranks of Responsible Ethical Breeders (REBs). As a group of people that, almost without exception, lose money on every litter bred, the prospect of losing more money is being met with understandable outrage and horror. (Don't believe me? ask Google)

Adding insult to injury, at the same meeting, came this:

Following discussion, there was a motion by Dr. Garvin, seconded by Dr. Davies, and it was VOTED (unanimously) to implement a $10 fee for each additional owner added to the dog during the original registration of the dog and any subsequent transfers, effective January 1, 2012. A dog may be registered with one Primary Owner at no additional cost. Co-owned dam owners registering members of the litter to the litter owners will be exempt from this additional fee.

Forget doing co-breedings with like-minded REB's on the other side of the country. Forget selling a puppy to a husband and wife and putting both on the papers. Forget ensuring dogs have more than one person to own them should somebody die. Madness!

What I can't quite wrap my head around is the AKC's ability to understand the critical role REB's have...

Truly the lifeblood of our sport, the breeder is owed a special debt of thanks from all who enjoy the sport—owners, handlers, judges, and spectators. So essential are they... those breeders who have dedicated their lives to improving the health, temperament, and quality of purebred dogs.

..., and then throw REB's under the bus anyway. These statements are taken from the 2010 Annual Report. Lip service, anyone?

What I find interesting is that the AKC clearly understands the differences between REB's and - well, them that ain't. AKC has a committee that deals solely with what they term "high volume breeders" and, that even these are a step above "puppy mills."

For purposes of the committee’s work, the term “puppy mill” was reserved for substandard commercial breeders...

This statement was published in 2002. It goes on:

...the impact that high-volume breeders have on rescue... the committee felt that the high volume producers should be encouraged to become accountable for their part of the problem.

Which is to say, it is understood at all levels of the dog fancy that REB's take care of their own; high-volume breeders and puppy mills (both of which are commercial) don't.

But you already knew that. And, actually, isn't the point.

AKC has been, publicly, struggling for many years now, financially. Registrations, the primary mission, are down, which reduces income. The situation has gotten so bad, the AKC no longer publishes registration statistics, only rankings. So it makes financial sense for the AKC to pursue high volume commercial breeders. Those companies make a profit, and have any number of options regarding that additional $10 per puppy expense: take it out of their profit margin, pass it along to their buyers, go to another registry, or sell un-papered animals.

(It seems obvious to me that the AKC wants to eat its cake and have it, too: high quantity of registrations to ensure revenue, while preserving the illusion of quality through papered puppies. As we all know, it's hard to have it both ways at once.)

REB's, on the other hand, don't have much in the way of options. Sure, there are other registries, but if your breed's parent club belongs to AKC, that means REB's have to play the AKC game. Going to another registry isn't an option for most REB's - unless you want to double-register your puppies, which means you pay even more in registration fees.

So, what to do? Break out your keyboard and telephone, that's what. Contact the AKC BOD and tell them what you think of their unanimous vote to screw REB's. Contact the AKC Officers and tell them what you think of their leadership in this area. In particular, let the Executive Secretary, James P. Crowley, know your thoughts. You can contact him by e-mail or phone: 212-696-8234 He's been identified as the point-person for this issue.

When I make phone calls of this sort, I try to remember a simple process from way-back-when in my corporate wage-slave days. Three little parts: "I like... My concern is... My suggestion is..." It is easy to focus on that middle one, which tends to put people on the defensive and makes it less likely they will hear anything else. Flatter a little, be polite with the issue, and then most importantly, offer constructive suggestions.

My own list of suggestions for the AKC to retain registrations and increase revenue goes something like this: focus on quality, and the quantity will follow. Allow individuals to join AKC and become members; simplify the registered kennel name process so REB's can protect their good names; discounts for breeders that belong to their breed's parent club; discounts for Breeders of Merit; discounts for registering puppies from parents with current health clearances, CHIC #'s, etc.; discounts for registering puppies from litters in which both parents have AKC DNA profiles; discounts for registering puppies with permanent ID (tattoo or microchip). Here's a great idea: make those discounts cumulative, so REBs get credit for doing the right things - all of which cost lots of money. In short, more carrot and less stick. I think REB's could come up with a long list of suggestions.

Not the least of which is, AKC needs to be kissing the collective ass of REB's, not screwing us with our pants on.

Truth, lies, and fanning the flames

2011-10-10T09:30:00.004-06:00

A lot on my mind, many a post not written or shared... Busy is good, silence is golden, and all that.

I spent yesterday temperament testing dogs at a shelter. As a therapy dog team evaluator, this is something we do about once a month, attempting to identify shelter dogs as potential therapy dogs. Of 10-15 we examine per session, on average, 3 qualify as candidates.

The time in-between dogs is usually spent having interesting discussions about dogs, behavior, "the system" of shelters, breeders, puppies, on and on. Yesterday it was suggested that, oh if only, everyone could stop breeding until every shelter dog had a home, then overpopulation and kill rates would be resolved. I pointed out that the market for shelter animals is very different than the market for dogs from Responsible Ethical Breeders. I suggested that if somebody wants a well-bred puppy with health-tested parents and proven lines of breed XXXX, that somebody is not going to go to the shelter and pick up a dog that doesn't meet those criteria. That person won't get a dog at all, until one becomes available from a REB.

The problem, I suggest, is that there is a huge market for puppies in the country. Not a huge market for badly-behaved adolescent dogs or elderly, ill, and infirm dogs.

The truth is: Responsible Ethical Breeders don't produce enough puppies to satisfy the puppy market in this country.

The problem, I suggest, is that shelters are pressured to lower kill rates and increase placement numbers, which results in poor placements to begin with and untracked returns as well.

The problem, I suggest, is that REB's are portrayed as the enemy, when REB's don't contribute to the shelter population at all.

The problem, I suggest, is that most shelters do a poor job of breed identification, and many shelters refuse to work with breed-specific rescue groups.

The solution, I suggest, is that we stop pointing fingers at each other and focus on the people who buy dogs, regardless of source, and ensure they have good information for making informed decisions on acquisition AND information on how to be responsible owners. This means buyers understand how much food and vet bills cost, what good training is and where to find it.

And I say BUYER quite deliberately. Cute euphemisms like "adoption fee" don't change reality: money changes hands. It's a purchase, let's not deceive ourselves. No matter our feelings, dogs are, legally, property. That makes us owners.

Most of us are involved in rescue, on some level. Most of us are familiar with "foster failure" and have the dogs (and vet bills) to prove it. Most of us come to understand that the people who buy from shelters and irresponsible BYB's are the ones that create the shelter problem: if there is no market, there would be no supply.

Can one get a great dog from a shelter? Of course - but the odds are against it. Can one get a terrible dog from a REB? Of course - but not only are the odds against it, the REB will sell her soul to make it right.

Driving home, I saw a billboard that said "There's nothing wrong with shelter dogs." Having just spent 5 hours temperament testing shelter dogs, I vehemently disagree.

It's OK to laugh, and pass a tissue

2011-08-13T07:36:00.000-06:00

I went to a funeral yesterday, and had a great time.

A friend died earlier this week, the service was yesterday and I went to pay my respects. I didn't know her well, just someone I ran into from time to time - we took herding lessons the same place, did a lot of the same sports - and liked well enough. We weren't close, never "did lunch" or had the other over for dinner. But I think I would have liked her well enough for that.

The service started with a joke, which was followed by a round of applause. This woman had three distinct areas in her life - corporate, musical theater, dogs - and friends shared memories from each of these. She gardened and cooked and traveled... a full life by most any measure. There was a performance by singers from the theater (including a lyric soprano that was terrific), a reading by a young granddaughter, and recollections from a colleague.

The music moved many to tears, but it's the colleague's speaking that I found deeply touching. A tall, elegant man, his bearing quietly stating his gravitas, choking on his words at the loss of his dear friend. Sometimes it seems the only place men feel safe showing emotion is at sport events - cheering, shouting, hugging, pumping fists. That's not so...

Life is what we make of it. And it's short, oh so very brief. I am reminded that we don't know how long we have, how long our loved ones have, so we must make the most of every day. And hope to laugh and sing as well as cry at as few funerals as possible.

Unbearable Cuteness of Being

2011-07-04T08:23:00.000-06:00

If there's anything more fun than 5 and 6 week old puppies, I don't know what it is. This is the pay-off of weeks of work and worry, months of planning and paranoia, sleepless nights, endless laundry and hope.

The Dva puppies are 6 weeks old and although I've kept their webpage current, somehow the blog got neglected. Sorry about that - guess I was distracted!

Anyway, the puppies met the tunnel this morning. They had the buja board in their play area for several days, and took to romping on it like it wasn't even there. (Somewhere there *are* pictures, but I can't find them right now!) I love buja boards because they MOVE and MAKE NOISE and seem UNPREDICTABLE - all of which teach puppies that these things are NO BIG DEAL and in fact FUN.

On our daily adventures and evening walkies they encounter all manner of obstacles - railroad ties marking off an old garden area, drainage ditch, big dirt piles, cactus - our property could hardly be called "groomed". Puppies learn that the ground is uneven, holes happen, falling down is normal, getting up and having another go is the only way to fly.

As their adult baby-sitter is rotated each day, it has become necessary to ensure the adult dog doesn't steal all the puppy food. So an old section of wallboard with a small dog door is set up to block the in/out of the x-pen barricade. A few days of this - puppies have to find the opening and navigate the hole to get into the big paddock - and they are zooming in and out with ease (in for water and food, out for a big playmate and more room to run).

"In" has other perks - Ripple sez MY rabbit skin.

This morning I simply set the tunnel on the "out" side of the puppy hole - they had to go through the tunnel to get into the big yard.

Four of the little stinkers were out before I had my camera turned on.

Hm, I'll stop and have a sniff.

This isn't a real agility tunnel, but a kiddie version. The real things are heavy, opaque, and expensive. Not what I want puppies exploring with their teeth - which of course is the next thing they do, followed immediately by jumping on it.

Why go around? Over works just fine.

Pretty soon they were running in and out like pros, which is exactly the point.

In.

Out. Repeat.

In the puppy paddock (about 3000 sq ft) they can run to their hearts' content. And explore - the big dog-door into the kennel

Moose (r) peers inside; Chip (l) changes directions.

and the big dog house (room to run in there!)

Hey, whatcha doin' in there?

jump on / run over whatever is lying about

The inverted pool was covering a critter hole; these pups are gamey!

and just generally run like fools.


Dulce (r) in hot pursuit of Vanna (l).

Just another morning in puppy playland...

So I guess this is a Coven?

2011-06-10T11:03:00.003-06:00

We are back to Vampires - particularly now that TEETH are coming in! Between toenails and teeth, it's no wonder Tigress sez "how much longer am I gonna do this?"

This is what 42.5# of puppies looks like!

How on earth do puppies go from 1# to 5# in just three weeks?!?! Mama's on a steady diet of unlimited fresh water and Evo, an incredibly calorie-dense kibble. She also gets an assortment of ice cream, cottage cheese, yogurt, eggs, tripe - and last night she asked for a bit of cucumber from my salad. I figure, she can have whatever she wants, as this coven of vampires suck her dry several times a day.

The puppies made many other advances this week, and we got some clarification on colors - with some intriguing possibilities. See their webpage for details. Walking - forwards and backwards - is pretty coordinated on good footing, but on slippery surfaces resembles a game of Twister.

One of the things most good breeders try to follow is the "rule of 7's" - and I think it would be hard not to hit 7 of everything by 7 weeks of age. Take for example, surfaces: laps (different kinds of clothing), plastic bottom of whelping box, piddle pads, newspaper, rag in weighing box, blankets (rough and smooth sided), climbing on toys, climbing on dam, grass, dirt, gravel... I find it impossible that any puppy could not be on 7 different surfaces in a matter of days. I like the "rule of 12" and suspect that with just a bit of conscious effort that's quite doable for most puppy raisers. Though I for one will not discourage borzoi puppies from chasing ;-)

Not our usual sunset...

The horrifying smoke of the past 10 days has, thanks to favorable wind directions, abated for the present. Here's a photo of last night's sunset. The sun's color is creepy (due to the smoke haze) but at least we can see the mountains. And the stars at night - I really missed those.

However the frequently hazardous breathing conditions put a damper on visitors - three new people this week. That makes 17 since birth, still a respectable number.

Papa Py has sniffed them and gently wagged is tail - I have no reason to think he knows they are his, but his gentleness with these new members of His Pack is unmistakeable.

Py gazes fondly at Bruno, Dulce, and Ripple.


The paper over the insulation is missing in several places.

And in unrelated news... Anthony is now sharing the shower in the master bath, as there's a wee problem with the tile in his bathroom... We are a cozy threesome these days!

As my friend Susan is coming to help do puppy evaluations in 5 weeks, we have a very clear deadline for getting this all put back together.

Chew Thoroughly Before Inhaling

2011-06-07T14:25:00.003-06:00

No doubt everyone with a TV or access to a newspaper is aware of the out-of-control fire in Arizona. As of this morning, the smoke was reported visible in Iowa. Not hard to believe... but it is hard to breath.

A few pictures for those having trouble imagining what it's like:

The usual view of South Mountain (with the Sandias in the background; looking west)

Same mountain, seen driving north on Hwy 344 this morning, just after the smoke moved in.

A perfectly ordinary sunset (taken last month), as seen from our driveway.

Grey does not photograph well.

A photo taken last night, from the same spot in my driveway. See the mountains? No? Well, you're right. They are completely obliterated by the smoke.

The sun isn't usually that color (a surprisingly accurate photo), and as the evening progressed the sky changed from a thick grey to a sickening yellow - similar to a tornado sky.

Before bed, my husband went outside with a flashlight. He said there was ash falling like snowflakes. I have to wonder: will embers travel this far, too?

And, the obligatory puppy picture. My client Becky was kind enough to come in after her agility lesson, and cuddled every puppy.

Shown here with Vanna.

You may be wondering how the puppies are faring with this weather. This has been a source of major concern for me the last couple of days, and I've talked with friends in NE and TN about evacuating Tigress & the puppies to cleaner skies. Thanks to a home-rigged evaporation cooler for the whelping box/play pen and a HEPA-quality air-filter, the family room is currently comfortable.

All the dogs are indoors full-time, exercise and road-work schedules are at a stand-still, and our thankfully cool tile and brick floors are littered with bored dogs. Better safe than sorry, however, no heavy breathing allowed at this time.

We have our fingers crossed the monsoons arrive sooner than later - because rain (and lots of it) is the only chance we've got.

Ch-ch-chaaaanges

2011-06-05T07:49:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was a big day! The puppies went on a field trip and moved to bigger quarters.

Friday night one of the puppies escaped from the whelping box - exactly 2 weeks old and made it over the pig rail, over the wall, onto the tile, and almost half-way across the study floor. Tigress was sleeping in the hall bathroom, apparently finding the tile in there cooler than in the study. (The weather has been horrifying the last few days, more on that in a moment.) It is normal for the puppies' mid-night screaming to wake me up, and if it goes on for several minutes I will investigate. You can not imagine my shock at finding a puppy so young, so far away from the whelping box! Tigress was utterly non-plussed, the puppy was hopping mad but quickly got over it, and I recovered as well. They both went back in the whelping box, and I put up the box's door.

So yesterday we moved them into the family room; normally I do this when they turn 3 weeks old but in order to attach the playpen I need more space than my study easily allows. This project goes in several steps. One, the corner of the family room has to be emptied of furniture. Two, the puppies had to go "somewhere" while the whelping box was taken down, moved, and re-assembled. (The design of this thing is utterly brilliant, incredibly easy and fast to move.)

The fires in Arizona have sent smoke into New Mexico the last few days, and the air quality has been unspeakably bad everywhere in our part of the state. Yesterday afternoon we got a shift in the wind that lifted the haze and revealed blue skies for a while - so the puppies went outside to enjoy the cooler air.

Silly ranch puppies - who needs the towel? We like dirt!!

Tigress laid down next to them in the shade, keeping careful watch. She remained calm and vigilant while her brood moved to a corner for a puppy-pile nap.

Twice the size makes Tigress smile.

Once the new set-up was complete (about 10 minutes), everyone moved back inside to check out the new digs. Tigress promptly clean all the "outside" off her babies and they settled down for a nosh.

Now in the family room, the puppies will get exposure to all manner of sights and sounds - the front door, the TV, laundry activities - and even easier to get cuddles on the sofa with us!

This also means I'll be spending less time on the computer for a while, as the study is far away from their new accommodations.

While the puppies are now better confined, Tigress can hop in and out at her leisure by using the love-seat next to the playpen. This arrangement makes everybody very happy!

And now: Zombies

2011-06-04T08:31:00.001-06:00

Watching puppies learn to walk is not just adorably cute. It is also, if you have two teenaged males in the house, a horror-movie analogy opportunity in full swing.

Wait a minute, some of you are saying - two teenaged males?

Well yes. One is 19 and one is 58, but behaviorally they are both teenagers. My husband recently started watching The Walking Dead, yet another re-make of a UK show done for US television. (This is another Netflix recommendation. Sometimes they hit it, sometimes they miss.) So between True Blood re-runs (we're eagerly anticipating the next DVD release) and this new show, you can understand how The Boys have zombies on the brain.

What does this have to do with puppies? Not much really, but puppies do stagger about on their legs (two weeks old today) and moan with half-seeing eyes... so... zombies. Get it?

I don't know if zombies sleep, but if they do, it might look like this:

Dulce napping.

The puppies also sit, climb, and cuddle. For more adorable pictures, see their web page. For thoughts on socializing young puppies and long-term consequences, see Sophia Yin DVM's excellent article.

From leeches to vampires

2011-05-31T15:43:00.002-06:00

The puppies are growing, oh my how they are growing! Weights are 3 - 4 X birth-weight, and watching them drain Tigress dry is something to behold. She enters the whelping box fully "bagged up" (a horse term for full udders), and exits an hour or so later trim and svelte, cute waist and proper tuck-up restored. The puppies' appetites are so voracious they remind me of vampires, though the life-giving body fluid is puppy-appropriate. Tigress's appetite is correspondingly voracious; I couldn't calculate the number of calories required to support 800-1,000 grams of puppy-weight increase every day.

Today, 11 days old, eyes are opening. So pardon the fewer photos, but the use of flash isn't allowed for several days.

What is allowed, in spades, is visitors. The puppies have met 11 people so far, men and women, ranging in age from 19 years to early 70's. I can't begin to imagine how many smells they've encountered, as everyone I know has dogs or horses or both. Some basic sanitation precautions are strictly enforced (shoes stay outside, anti-microbial soap, a towel over the lap) and volia! socialization in spades. Anthony and I are routinely around clients' dogs, and have perfected the strip-in-the-garage-mad-dash-to-the-shower relay; cooties just aren't allowed into the house. Thankfully we have no neighbors to terrorize with our streaking.

Tigress also has a routine - beginning with proper greeting and fawning over her before her offspring can be handled:

Sarah pays respects to mama Tigress for raising such excellent babies.

Doug and Sarah cuddle Dulce and Chip.

Becky and Diana will be regulars, they come by our ranchero every couple of weeks:

As the puppies eyes open, seeing people with hats will be as normal as those without.

Vanna (L) and Ripple (R)

Throughout, Tigress keeps a polite eye on everyone.

Our other dogs quite got a nice compliment this week, as some visitors want to meet the other adult borzoi we have. "Your dogs are always so friendly and well-behaved!" While I may not always agree, I do greatly appreciate the compliment. It is worrisome however to think that not all borzoi - indeed, not all dogs! - can be described that way. Socialization must start as early as possible and continue for life, and I think that is especially true for a large and powerful predator. We live in what can accurately be described as "the boonies" and work hard to ensure our puppies meet a huge number of people and are exposed to as many things as possible while they are young and impressionable. Actually, work is the wrong word... we make it a form of play!

Meanwhile the puppies just know what is normal: plenty of love and attention from their mother and a parade of kind people, with lots of smells and tender cuddles. They open their eyes and find their legs and are entirely too much fun to watch.

Tigress carefully cleans her babies and tends to their needs.

Pix, Picks, and Picking Up

2011-05-29T08:10:00.005-06:00

Once again, I have become overrun with puppy laundry and neglected myself.

You'd think I'd have learned my lesson last week when I ran out of clean socks, but... no. I had to have NO clean pants - jeans or sweats - to drive home the point that I really need to do one load of people laundry every couple of days. Thankfully there's a pile of clothes headed to Goodwill; I picked sweats out of that and started the washer.

The puppies are a fat and glorious 10 days old; weight gains range from 126% to 165% over birthweight - I'd say they are thriving! This is however a tough time photographically - no more flash pictures until their eyes are open for a couple of days, so there will probably be fewer pix this coming week.

Skype has enabled co-breeder Sandra to see the scoops a couple of times. We've had fun speculating about colors and admiring their markings. We will be splitting this litter at about 9 weeks of age, and I'm sure she noodles over which puppy to pick first as much as I do.

There are as many ways to choose as there are breeders, and I always find it interesting to compare processes. Some "pick 'em wet" and given how unique each puppy is, in appearance and behavior, at birth I can understand this temptation. There were three in this litter that - let's just say made an impression - when they hit the ground. I will confess to having made mental notes on them.

Some breeders go on color, or markings. No matter what drives that - sentiment, preference, flash, easier to show or keep clean or spot in the field - this is also understandable. And I for one find it easier to tell them apart (not that I keep names straight, oh no).

And then there's sex. Many, many breeders only keep bitches, so only select from the girls in a litter. I suspect this contributes to the noticeable quality difference, overall, that is seen in borzoi, between dogs and bitches. It is widely agreed that there are more good bitches than dogs, and in fact really great males (no matter how "great" is defined) are very hard to find. On the other hand, I know at least a couple of breeders that prefer to keep males...

Some make selections based on which sex they need out of a given breeding, which may change from litter to litter. Others just pick the "best" puppy for their needs regardless of sex or color.

I had a fascinating conversation a couple of years ago with a long-time dog man, an icon with 50 years of hunting and breeding experience in his head. He said, in brief, that he lets whoever wants a puppy, come and pick whatever they want, and he keeps the one or two left at the end. He said that most people go for extremes - most flash of color, most pushy personality, most size or bone or angles, most whatever - and what's left is moderate. And moderate often does best in the long run, holds up to years of field work and is easier to live with. Words to pay attention to.

And sometimes there are a few that are so afraid of making the wrong choice, keep an entire litter or wait until they are adults to start placing them. Sometimes there's a good reason to keep an entire litter, but I would think it's awfully easy to get over-dogged doing that.

No matter how picks are made, it is usually done with a certain dose or two of second guessing and hand wringing. Thankfully I've got several weeks before we get to that point.

Dishing it out - or, Nicknames

2011-05-26T14:24:00.005-06:00

Litter nicknames are forming up, and subject to change.

Without further ado, ladies first:

Girls

From left to right:
self B&T w/ star - "Truffle" (Chocolate Truffle)
self B&T, white front feet - "Dulce" (Dulce de Leche)
IM silver brindle - "Vanna" (Vanilla Caramel)
self B&T, white pastern - "Cookie" (Milk & Cookies)

And, the gentlemen:

Boys

From left to right:
IM red "Moose" (Moose Tracks)
self B&T w/ star: "Ripple" (Chocolate Fudge Ripple)
self gold brindle w/ star: "Bruno" (Crème Brûlée)
self B&T w/ star, white pastern "Chip" (Chocowlate Chip)

**note on colors - subject to correction as they age. all the B&T's show brindle, too; we'll see how they turn out.

If you've picked up on an ice cream theme (part Ben and Jerry's, part Skinny Cow) you're right. Before whelping, we joked that Tigress was the size of an ice cream truck. We called the kicking pre-puppies "scoops", and now Tigress really likes a little (or a lot) of French Vanilla on her meals. So, why not? The nicknames are temporary and we really have to call them something besides Bitch 3 or Boy 7. Puppies are fun, and so are their names.

Laundry and snuggling continue unabated. The puppies are showing a knack for finding their feet already, so the next couple of weeks are going to get mighty busy! Pigmentation is filling in rapidly, just as hoped. Hard to believe how fast they grow...

Followed by a very long night

2011-05-25T19:07:00.005-06:00

The puppies are five days old, and I have resumed breathing.

Call me paranoid - everybody does - I just didn't want to jinx anything. Puppies are at their most vulnerable during the first five days after whelping; tempting fate goes against my nature. So a self imposed information embargo was much more "no news is good news" and not so much "the rapture came and took us." Not that I am rapture-eligible material, mind you... even my mother knows that.

Tigress's temperature was noticeably lower for the 48 hrs. before she went into labor, though it never took a 2* plunge. Or rather, I didn't measure it when it took a big drop. Regardless, there was no question whelping was imminent; her appetite vanished, her personality changed. Labor started shortly before midnight Thursday, and the first puppy appeared at a quarter past. By 4 a.m. we had seven puppies - they came so fast and furious I was grateful to have my husband's help taking notes (sex, color, weight, Biotinus score) and replacing pads in the whelping box before POP! here was the next one. After a short break the last two arrived (x-ray count of 9 was correct); one was stillborn.

So we have eight puppies, five in shades of black&tan/black&brindle. Thankfully their markings are enough different I can keep them straight; Tigress brooked no discussion of neck bands. Three are uniquely colored, so easy to keep sorted out.

Meet the Dva "deadly weapons" litter:

on Monday

Like all changes, a new routine quickly emerges. First thing in the mornings, Tigress takes a trip outside to her private yard. While she's out I weigh each puppy and move it to a "hot box" (basically a plastic sweater box with a crate pad over the warming disc), remove the bedding, sanitize the whelping box, scrub out her water bowl, and prepare her breakfast.

Meals are served three times a day, consisting of high-quality kibble mixed with a rotating assortment of goodies: canned tripe, boiled egg, sliced roll, cottage cheese, yogurt, or ice cream. Once a day she gets salmon oil and primrose oil. Fresh water and a pail of kibble are always out - feeding eight and hanging on to some body condition of her own will require countless calories over the next month.

Tigress shows her sense of humor is intact.

Then I bring Tigress in from her morning constitutional, and take her temperature. She does a "drive by" the hot box to count her brood and dives into her breakfast. When she's eaten her fill and goes to her whelping box, I give her two puppies: whichever have gained the least amount of weight in the last 24 hrs. They get a 10-minute head start on their siblings, then the rest go in. When the puppies decide it's time for a nosh, the swarm is a cross between a rugby scrum and bar fight - a no holds barred rush with competition over nipples barely more civilized than a riot. For critters that can't see or hear, they are a noisy and ruthless bunch, climbing over and knocking into each, forcing each other off teats, jockeying for position. This competition is normal puppy behavior and essential for muscle and neurological development. In short order all eight are installed at the milk bar, all happy grunting noises and plump tummies.

Busy nursing... and sometimes this is a good sleeping position, too.

Tigress gets trips outside every few hours, puppies are handled regularly and have already met 6 people (half of them men!). Neuro stimulation exercises started on Day 3 and are in the early afternoon (when Tigress gets lunch and another temperature check); much of the day I spend either watching from my computer desk (my foot is resting on the edge of the whelping box at this moment) or sitting in the box cuddling puppies. At night I have been sleeping on the cot next to the whelping box, but the last two nights Tigress hasn't needed to go out so I will be moving back to the bedroom tonight. (I can really endorse this cot - it's very comfortable and I've had no trouble with my back!) The whelping box gets another bedding change while Tigress has dinner. Lots 'o laundry!

Tomorrow they get their nails trimmed for the first time... and we'll try and figure out litter names. In the meantime, a few pictures to keep you amused.

I think we're gonna need a bigger box soon.

Cuddling with Mama

The Longest Day

2011-05-19T10:27:00.001-06:00

Today is day 63.

Well, it is if you count from presumed ovulation, which Py seems to have a preference for as a breeding date. And that means the puppies should arrive today.

But Tigress sez, not yet.

I'm not allowed to panic until sixty-three days after that last tie (which will be Saturday), as long as everything continues in a boring fashion. Which it is. Interesting, but boring.

But I'm an Olympic-class worry wart. Yesterday she went a bit off her feed, and her temperature took a dip. This morning, it was back to normal. I'm anticipating seeing a huge drop... hasn't happened yet. She's nesting, burying food, digging, and is absurdly clingy. In a great mood, taking naps, and generally acting like I'm a nut. Except, last night she tried to climb on my cot with me, so the door to the whelping box went up to keep her confined.

Not that either one of us slept, oh no. Her restlessness had me turning on the light and checking on her every few minutes (or so it seemed). By the time the alarm went off, I'd been up for an hour.

Our routine for a couple of weeks now has included a daily walk. This morning there was no reason to do it differently, so out we went. Just the two of us - and Mr. Winter.

mmmmm - snow is delicious!

Yes, snow on May 19th. Crazy, eh?

On the other hand, it's pretty great weather if you're a borzoi.

Tigress out for a stroll, enjoying the unseasonable weather.

Silly bitch has no respect for my feelings, at all. I'm a wreck, she wants to party.

Silly human, relax already!! Let's have a snowball fight.

Count 'em - if you can

2011-05-16T16:44:00.003-06:00

OK, posting was the "magic trick" I got the pix from the vet!! so here's a combination of the two views (side by side) so you can see the "whole enchilada"

Two views, she's so wide!!

The vet, Dr. MacDougall, was as always great. We had a long chat about oxytocin, calcium, and emergency options.

Plan for the worst, hope for the best...

Change of Plans

2011-05-15T20:03:00.000-06:00

Sleeping arrangements here at our Ranchero are, by design, flexible. Dogs have many choices, from barn to kennel to family room to master bedroom - crates, x-pens, raised beds, and orthopaedic cushions abound. People have beds, sleeper sofas, and air mattresses to choose from.

I have extensive experience sleeping on an air mattress. One summer I spent a month (with Dot) sleeping on one in the back of my Outback, waiting for a foal to drop. It gets cool in the summer nights in the desert, a dog is just the thing to keep my feet warm. Add a pillow and a sleeping bag, and I can go without end.

I slept on the same one last year waiting for Rumor to whelp. Wake up, deflate it, roll up in a corner; at night just inflate (self unrolling), hit the sack.

Sadly, that air mattress sprung a leak, one too large to repair. So I set about buying another one that would work with the pump I have. (Great pump - AC/DC, multi attachment.)

No dice. None of the ones available at stores local to me work with the pump, not even close.

After two purchases and returns, today the guy at the store said, m'am, what are you needing this for? I told him. He said - camper cot. I said - no way, bad back. He said - trust me.

So I bought one. After all, what I was doing wasn't working... time to try something else. Man oh man, is it comfy.

And I got one in green, so my bed matches Tigress's .


Bonus shot for today! Pausing mid-walk to admire the gorgeous day.

Day 58

2011-05-14T17:16:00.008-06:00

Five days to go, give or take, until whelping. Two days to the x-ray for a puppy count.

So. Time to start the pool...

Take a guess at:
1 - day/time of first puppy to whelp
2 - day/time of last puppy to whelp
3 - number of puppies
4 - division of sexes
5 - bonus points for division of colors
6 - double-bonus points for division of white markings

Put your guess in Comments or just send me an e-mail.

So we're all more or less on the same playing field, here's some detail.

A - Tigress's first litter had 8 puppies in it. See photo from this afternoon and see if the visual helps you with your guess:

It's in the mid 60's but the cool tile is her choice for napping.

B - Sex is determined by the sperm; Py's first litter had 2 bitches and 3 dogs (one stillborn).

C - For a crash course in borzoi color inheritance, click here. The Dva litter is Py bred to Tigress. Py is a self-gold, carries black&tan. He may be a double-chinchilla. Both Py's parents carried white spotting; his sire an IM red brindle, his dam a self red brindle. Tigress is an irish marked black&tan with brindle; she has to carry spotting and probably carries chinchilla. Click to see her sire and dam's coloring. Both Py and Tigress are ticked.

I will post the x-ray picture when I get it, then we can all have fun trying to count skulls and spines and see what we come up with!

In the meantime, Tigress would like more bon-bons served, so I have to go...

Shopping for... well, don't know how many

2011-05-09T16:00:00.001-06:00

Maybe it's because yesterday was Mother's Day, but I was in baby-shopping mode. No no silly, not that kind of baby shopping. Shopping for baby - for puppies, actually.

First, an update on how Tigress is looking - which is, huge:

"Oh servant, more bon-bons, if you please..."

The x-ray to count puppy fetuses isn't until next Monday, but I went ahead and shaved her belly today. The hair has been falling out in clumps (normal in preparation for nursing), but it's 71* today and Tigress sez it's hot. I figure a nude belly on our tile floors will feel really good. Plus, maybe I'll see the little "scoops" moving around (!).

She was a very good mother with her first litter; I got to see her playing with them at 8 weeks of age and she was obviously enjoying her babies. I hope this litter is as charming and rambunctious!

While waiting for my car to get its oil changed I wandered into one of the pet super-stores. It's been a long time since I did anything other than dash in and grab cat litter, so took the opportunity to peruse every aisle and see what's new in toys. I found a few items that will make fun puppy toys, and may even work their way into my Temperament Testing box of goodies. Although I don't understand why they were in the cat section??

"Tweet Thing" touch activated noise-maker with feathers. Cool!


"Play N Squeak" comes in a fox version, too! Not too sure about the catnip tho...

A couple of aisles later I found my "now I've seen everything" item:

Disposable boots for dogs... whoda thunk?

Seemed kinda silly - until I started pondering the possible uses, when I almost bought a pack just to try them out... But I restrained myself. They probably don't keep out cactus.

Back at home I finally got a chance to look at the video my son sent me (via FaceBook) for Mother's Day... raunchy humor is right up my - sorry - aisle. Great kid, I'm so incredibly fortunate. He'll be home from university for the summer next weekend, can't wait to see him. And yes, we'll be having green enchiladas when he walks in the door, made with the good stuff.

It's all Semantics

2011-05-06T09:59:00.001-06:00

This post is a cheat... was originally an e-mail posted to a list with over a thousand people on it in response to someone who claims to place borzoi as assistance dogs... The entire thing gave me such heartburn that I wrote the following in response. It has since been re-posted and shared on other lists, so I'm posting here so that my original content is unadulterated.

------------
Thank you for clearly articulating some important questions. I can't speak for anyone else, but will try to answer, generally, what is required of Assistance/Service Dogs (and briefly, a Therapy dog).

I am certified dog trainer (CCPDT ) and a professional instructor/trainer for Assistance Dogs of the West (ADW). ADW is a Full Member of Assistance Dogs International (ADI); ADI is the governing body world-wide for assistance/service dog, organization, and trainer standards.

My organization, ADW, focuses on placing dogs with people with cognitive and physical disabilities. Scent alert (diabetic, seizure, etc.) is a new area we're finding some dogs talented in. We do not do seeing-eye or hearing-alert dog placement. We secure our own liability et al insurance privately, which is extended to clients when a dog is placed.

ADW begins the selection process of potential assistance dogs at puppyhood. Youngsters are repeatedly evaluated for appropriate temperament, aptitude, and structure. I am intimately involved in this process and can best describe it as rigorous; well over 50% of candidates are rejected. Every organization does things differently, but because the wash-out rate puts crippling expense on the training organization, ruthless selection is essential. ADW is able to place 80% of the dogs we accept, the other 20% are released.

Training takes an average 18 months; ADW does it faster than most in the US because of our unique, community integrated approach. After a year of training, ADW's dogs have 90 commands; by placement they have 150-200 behaviors on cue, depending on the type of work a specific dogs is suited for. Many assistance/service dog training organizations take 24-36 months. Because the ADA standards require that a dog be able to provide essential life functions the person can not do for themselves (http://www.ada.gov/qasrvc.htm and http://www.deltasociety.org/Page.aspx?pid=304) these dog skills must be perfected prior to placement.

And don't get me started on the placement process, it's complicated and thankfully the special responsibility of people in our organization with decades of experience and expertise (including Occupational Therapy) with people with disabilities and the diagnostic capability to match needs and skills. Not my area of expertise, and I am in awe of our staff professionals that do this "matchmaking".

Once placement has been determined, the handler comes to our facility for two weeks of "boot camp" to learn how to work with and care for the dog. Before going home they MUST pass a Public Access Test (AND be re-tested by us every two years) in order to take the dog home. We provide livelong follow-up support. ADW retains legal ownership of the dogs, and sometimes takes back a "retired" dog (if the handler can't take care of the retired dog along with their new assistance partner, for example).

These are a few reasons Assistance dogs are so difficult to get, waiting lists are usually years-long, and the dogs themselves extremely expensive.

And one last word on Therapy dogs... I am with Delta Society and a Therapy Dog handler. Therapy dogs **ARE NOT** Assistance dogs, and the certification tests for Therapy dogs absolutely do NOT qualify them in any way shape or form for Assistance Dog work. BTW, Delta provides insurance for their teams.

I love my therapy dogs, but have no delusions about them being Assistance Dogs. An Assistance Dog must be biddable enough to to work 18 hours a day; a typical Therapy dog will "work" a few hours a week. This is why the vast majority of ADI organizations use labs, goldens, or shepherds - these breeds have the human-driven work ethic required to do the job, year after year. (ADW is doing a pilot program with smaller breeds; the jury is out on these.

As you can see I'm quite passionate about this topic . Hope it's answered some of your general questions about Assistance/Service dogs and Therapy dogs.

Countdown....

2011-05-05T15:45:00.001-06:00

Two weeks from today, give or take, I hope to be welcoming a much-anticipated litter of puppies. Mama-in-waiting, Tigress, spends most of her time dreaming of bon-bon's served to her in the whelping box. She eats three meals a day now, and has to be cajoled into a daily walk.


Tigress breaks in the whelping box, earlier this week.

Papa-to-be is, no surprise, pretty oblivious to the upcoming madness. His routine continues as usual, which on Thursdays means visiting "his" kids. Today was all about reading... I am so lucky to just sit back and watch the magic as a child too shy to read in front of people boldly sounds out difficult words for Mr. Py.

Mr. Py gives his full attention.

I blogged about our litter last year, and plan to for this litter as well. So everyone please keep your fingers crossed that all goes well for Tigress and her babies, I'll keep you posted.

Charismatic Mega-Geeks

2011-02-24T10:28:00.010-07:00

Oy, my aching head!! And it feels so good...

This past weekend I went to the 3rd Annual ORCA Conference - and I intend to be a regular attendee. This year's line-up of speakers was an über-geeks dream come true, with a wide variety of species experts (birds, wildlife, marine mammals, horses, dogs, etc.) sharing their knowledge, ideas, thoughts, experiences, and notions of what to do next. A few of the speakers I had heard/seen/met before, a few were legends in the OC community, and a couple I'd never heard of before! What a wonderful mix... I was full of eager anticipation.

Friday morning dawned and I scurried to get all my morning chores completed before my ride/room-share for the weekend arrived. Suzanne and I had met casually a few times; this was to be our first in-depth time together and I will confess a certain amount of trepidation... three days (two driving, one at the conference) and two nights (splitting the hotel expenses) can be an eternity if people don't "click" (pun fully intended). Thankfully we got along exceptionally well, and I look forward to many intriguing conversations with her in the future.

Before 9 a.m. we were on the road, headed east to Texas. Texas, the land of gentlemen (we never opened a door ourselves), meat (more steak restaurants than any other three states combined), and terribly interesting rest-stops (free wifi and scary signs).

We rolled into the Dallas area well after dark, checked in (very nice hotel), and set about finding a place for dinner. Suzanne is a vegan, so we found a place that would work for her and had dinner. Off to bed, then up early on Saturday morning.

The conference set-up was excellent - but I was just floored by how many people were there!! I have no idea how many registrants there were, but seating for 75!! and the room was full. Honey was set out by the hot tea - now that's good planning.

We had arrived early enough to get prime seating (which I will prove later), but the multiple enormous screens around three sides of the room insured everyone would have an excellent view of the presentations. All day tech support was in quiet evidence, adjusting sound quality as needed with minimal fuss. After filling up on coffee I wandered the room... and found a board describing current research projects by some of the graduate students. Two of of the topics caught my eye:

I believe the students at NTU in this department are the brain-trust that will take all of us to the "next level" of understanding of what is possible through OC. It is essential that their findings be published so the "rest of us" can learn from their work.

I'd been told that the speakers at this conference don't "talk down" to their audience. That is putting it mildly.

The keynote speaker knocked it out of the park. Three pages of notes made my hand cramp non-stop as he talked for an hour: Evolutionary Theory and the Analysis of Animal Behavior. Dr. Andronis effortlessly ranged from the unifying paradigm of consequential contingencies as a driving force of natural selection, to the fallacy of panselectionism, and segued into strategies of reproduction, exaptation, and behavioral cusps before I could catch my breath.

If I'd gone home right then and there, the price of admission would have been a bargain.

But no, we were just getting started...

Next up was Phung Luu, with slides and videos of birds - endless variety of species - in free flight performance (educational shows), kennel management, the responsibility of the teacher to reduce errors, the balance of training and the development of natural behaviors essential for mental & physical development and stability and how that actually makes training easier, and efficiency of production as a good business practice.

Kay Laurence, always good for a thought-provoking laugh, made the challenging concept of increasing criteria easier to digest. The analogy to glass-blowing and videos of micro-shaping (teaching a dog to back-up 360* around a cone in 20 sessions); the continuum of luring to free-shaping and its relationship to mental stamina; and research on undifferentiated results between luring, targeting, and shaping - fascinating!!

A much-welcomed lunch break found me seated with several students at UNT, all in the Behavior program. Juniors and Seniors, I peppered them with the usual mom-questions about what they liked most about the program and what then envisioned next for themselves. Many want to work with people, not animals, and that is tremendously encouraging. After eating, I wandered around the building, and found a small exhibit of student and faculty art.

The afternoon session started off with a bang with Alexandra Kurland, whom I've wanted to see for years. "Loopy Training" is her name for using subsequent cued behaviors as reinforces for prior behaviors - nothing new there but her protocol for resolving poisoned cues was intriguing. Clearly built on Premak, the concept of an "anchor behavior" in systematically and ever-increasingly complex behavior chains was really interesting and something I'll be exploring.

Steve White. What can I say? I first saw him five years ago, and he is still the fastest talker in the room - so fast, I sometimes couldn't listen fast enough, much less take notes. So I finally resorted to using the camera on my phone - and what a good idea that turned out to be!

"Fluency" means many things to many trainers, but when put in the context of bomb sniffing (false positives OK) and drug detection (false negatives OK), makes running contacts and precision heeling look like child's play. Sadly, I didn't get a shot of his "J curve of change" but did draw one in my notebook - excellent explanation of resistance and progress.

The energy level in the room when Ken Ramirez took the stage reached a fever pitch. His topic of "Training to Save Wildlife" was, to say the least, controversial. I, like many others, have an ethology background, particularly to non-domestic species, most especially in the wild. My initial tension faded as he outlined his four pillars of animal care, priorities driving training, and a candid description of initial failure (condor reintroduction) and later success (wolf release). Ken detailed the use of a Skinner Box for remote training in a wild sea lion study, and the use of scent detection dogs to relocate sea turtle eggs after last year's gulf oil spill disaster. Why "good enough" just isn't. Once again, I was impressed beyond words with the care and skill; no controversy here.

Last thing on the agenda was to be a panel discussion, but that was scrapped when a last-minute speaker was added. Bob Bailey. Yes, that Bob Bailey. The one of Chicken Camp fame, a mere twenty feet away from me. It was like having Pink Floyd in my living room, too freaking cool and yes I know how I sound ;-) I will confess to having introduced myself to him at lunch (trust me, he won't remember but I will!!). I was rapt, didn't even take notes. Bob was charismatic and passionate, his enthusiasm for the subject after all these years uplifting.

Training is easy, he explained:

But not simple:

And the space between those, my friends, makes all the difference.

So, how great was my seat? This great: no zoom, not cropped. When I grow up I wanna be a mega-geek, too...

Yeah, OK, so it's blurry. Who cares. I was this close.

Until next year...

How Low Can You Go?

2011-02-03T09:13:00.011-07:00

The answer this morning is: -26º

It was much too cold for me go outside in my jammies, even to take a photo for you, gentle readers. Thankfully it quickly "warmed up" (relatively speaking) once the sun was up.

On the other hand, our sunrise was spectacular. The mountains visible for the first time in days, the hard air shortening the space between us, the sun's pink glow bouncing of the mountains' snowpack like a boxer's right hook.

A warming trend for the next three days:
(current, tomorrow/tomorrow night, Saturday)

-20°F	22°	7°	36°
Feels Like: -34° Get FREE weather on your desktop	High	Low	High
Past 24-hr: Precip: 0 in Snow: 0 in	Chance of Precip: 20%	Chance of Precip:10%	Chance of Precip:10%
Wind:From N at 5mph	Wind:NNW at 9 mph	Wind:NNW at 8 mph	Wind:NW at 9 mph

We've been very lucky here at our ranchero. The power and water have worked without fail, the wood stove hums merrily along all day keeping the house warm. Our beagle of course will only nap under the wood stove - silly creature. The World's Greatest Neighbor called yesterday and, after Rick shoveled the 4' drift away from our gate so it would open, WGN ran his Kaboda up the driveway so we could get off-property if we wanted to.

Best of all, Rick and I spent three days together in the house without incident. A test of a happy marriage, we passed with flying colors.

But the extreme weather this week has me thinking about other cold spells. Two are so memorable they put this week to same.

The first, in the mid '80's, was a storm that went through the college town where I lived. It was -27º, blowing like stink, and classes were not canceled. Fool that I was at that age, I bundled up (we were in the mountains after all, and theoretically prepared for such things), and went to class. I didn't own a car and there was too much snow for a bicycle, so I headed out on foot. I don't remember how long it took me to get to the art building, but I do remember that my sunglasses (RayBans, I was such a hottie) had frozen to my cheeks and I had to wait for my face to thaw before removing them - totally fogged/iced up indoors - so I didn't tear my face off.

The other was the Opening Day one day in April at Candlestick Park. The fog poured in from the Bay, like icewater, seeping through my clothes and boots and into the very marrow of my bones. Trapped in our seats for the game, unable to generate enough heat through exercise (Rick is a furnace, and wasn't suffering as I was), it was the coldest I have ever been in my life. Even though I was dressed like the proverbial bag lady, layered with long johns and double socks, gloves, scarf, hat, heavy coat, etc. it was a soul-sucking misery without equal. It may have been a Croix game, I don't remember.

This sign has been making the rounds on the internet, so I can not credit its origin. But I think it's apropos.

So I will keep the home fires burning in the wood stove and watch the dogs' feet so they don't bring in enormous iceballs and be grateful it's a dry cold.

Questions & Answers

2011-01-18T12:13:00.001-07:00

I picked up Keen's ashes today. Having him home, albeit in this form, is both sad and comforting.

Because it means, it really is over.

The necropsy - which lasted 2 weeks - was unable to find a cause of death. My friends have been kind, refusing to speculate until the pathologists' work was complete. Countless things have been ruled out, all of which are good news. No trauma, no disease, no infection, no tumor, no deformities. The sole unusual finding had no identifiable cause, and didn't kill him. Detailed toxicology was Negative. Brain and heart perfectly Normal.

But the cause of death remains: unknown.

And unknowable. An uncomfortable state. The lack of a "smoking gun" is indescribably frustrating. My heart still screams for someone or something to blame; my mind is resigned to the fact that there isn't one. I was reminded, sometimes medicine just is more art than science. While I am left with unanswered questions, the answers we did get are good news for Keen's littermates, for his parents, for his half-siblings.

And that will have to be enough.

So we move forward. This little box of his ashes, with his collar and tags buckled around it, joins others on my bookshelf. Next to friends he never met on this side of the Bridge. Tommy, Tosca, Mac... and now Keen. His binder retired to a lower shelf... Rituals, these actions. I do find some cold comfort in them.

Sleep softly, sweet boy. Chase them bunnies in the stars.

Keen at 8 mos., at a fun run. Oh, the things he won't get to do...

Face Lift

2011-01-17T17:29:00.001-07:00

Not me, silly. The Blog.

Turns our there are nearly 2,500 reads from 12 countries. Wow - and yikes! Guess I need to thank you all for stopping by, hope it's good enough you come back.

So, a cleaner look, lighter background, and I'll try the new editor.

As for content... I do like to write. Guess I have extra incentive now.

We'll see how it goes.

Birthday Boy

2011-01-15T07:28:00.012-07:00

While time may move forward, not everything changes.

Py turned 6 yesterday (Friday). This makes him eligible to run in Veterans for lure coursing and most other running games, and while I shudder to think of him as "older" he clearly has no idea he should be slowing down.

Just like last year, we spent a couple of days this week at Sandia National Labs, helping support their science outreach program to New Mexico's 4th graders. We had a wonderful time, and it is both a privilege to have been asked back, and a tremendous pleasure to be a small part of this wonderful week.

I tried to get different photos for you for this year. Some things are very much the same: wear your lab coat and goggles, and don't touch anything, don't wander off.

Signs with similarly stern language are posted everywhere.

I tried to get better pictures of the "Glow" station - rocks that become luminous under black lighting... let's just say the lack of detail isn't the photographer's fault, it's the camera, shall we?

Regular light

Black light

Moving on...

Anthony went with me this year (we had our annual sushi-fest with Miela afterward) and I asked him to take some photos of the kids "solving the crime" of dognapping, as I've never been in the room with the kids as they finish sorting through their evidence and "force" a confession from the thief. Mr. Py and I are tucked in a office down the hall, out of sight. As the kids' get louder and louder, Mr. Py becomes impatient to head into the big room to his kids.

The evidence against each suspect is weighed.

Everyone agrees: the Lab's Director did it!

The "guilty party," Carol, then enters the room with Mr. Py and begs for forgiveness (her cat made her do it). The kids cheer that the dog has arrived, and I slip in behind the Lab's staff to enjoy the celebration. Carol was having a little problem with Py - he was pulling away from her. She turned to me and asked what to do. I said, let go of the leash. She blinked, I nodded, so she did. Py promptly wandered into the crowd of 30 kids and was mobbed.

Mr. Py thanks his rescuers and enjoys their attentions.

The Lab has its own newsletter, and this was the day they sent a staff photographer. If an on-line version is available I will add it. I have no doubt he got much better photographs than I did.

After a group photo, the kids enjoyed their sack lunches and discuss careers in science (the purpose of the event, after all!). The Lab staff made "science cream" (mmm, strawberry this year) and the kids sang Happy Birthday. They laughed as Mr. Py ate his from a small plastic spoon and did some tricks. Then each kid then petted or hugged Mr. Py as they went out the door and back to their bus for school.

Back at home, Py dreams sweet dreams of next year... I swear, he's smiling.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Py

Time may wait for no man, but we will have to wait 'til next year for another birthday.

Sometimes you're the windshield...

2011-01-04T08:44:00.012-07:00

...sometimes you're the bug.

This past weekend, Ren was the bug. What he hit was a fence.

Full tilt, by eyewitness report, bouncing up and over "like a pole vaulter", landing hard on his side. And, incredibly, got up and kept going after the rabbit.

Here's a picture from earlier in the day (thanks Barb). You can see there's pretty high cover in this area; now imagine a lot of tumbleweed blown up against the fence, obscuring it.

I blame the rabbit.

Minor injuries (cactus, slipped pads, abrasions, strains) are fairly common, and can put a dog out of commission for a weekend or a month. Serious injuries in the open field are, thankfully, few and far between, but when they happen they tend to be significant.

Ren was incredibly lucky he hit the wires and not a post, but he's out for a while. Probably the rest of the season at least.

So here are some photos, I suggest those with queasy stomachs skip them.

The bruising across his chest and down the front legs is spectacular. (Shown here on the operating table, upside down, head to the right.) There are two punctures and several abrasions; no stitches were required.

The three-point tear on his left hind leg needed a lot more work. Shown here after shaving, trimming, and prepped for sutures. (head top of photo, tail bottom)

Same leg post-suturing, with drain installed. Both are scheduled for removal on Friday.

Ren resting at home in an x-pen. The cast-like bandage is to restrict the flexing of his stifle and hock so the stitches don't pull out. Fingers crossed.

His appetite is great and while it's clear he's incredibly sore, I expect him to make a full recovery.

"Because life and death are unfair." ~ Vampire Bill

2010-12-31T07:28:00.006-07:00

If you don't know who Vampire Bill is, you are obviously not a big fan of porn. Well, HBO's version of porn anyway. True Blood is some of the best eye- and brain-candy available; order it on Netflix and pass the popcorn.

I've been on a True Blood marathon this week at the direction of my son, who is has been in caretaker mode most of the week. We have the first two seasons on DVD, and I have watched every one of them since Tuesday afternoon.

Because....? you are surely wondering.

Because I have a broken heart.

That's not entirely accurate. To say that my heart was ripped out of my chest would be more accurate. As if by a Maenad.

Tuesday morning, without preamble or fanfare, my sweet baby Keen died. He left this world as he entered it - in my hands. One in a moment of joy, the other in anguish.

We are still awaiting the full report from the necropsy; the preliminary exams have been unable to identify a cause of death. And while my imagination runs wild with possibilities, I will wait for the pathologist to finish his work before saying more.

Keen was - I still want to say "is", pass the kleenex - a treasure chest unopened. Biddable and cooperative, he earned his CGC at 21 weeks of age (the youngest borzoi known to ever do so), was excelling in training for Rally and Obedience, doing incredibly well with agility training (he tore through tunnels and over jumps, loved the A-Frame, was figuring out the teeter; I could do front-crosses with him already). Prey-drive personified, he would chase anything that moved; my 2011 calendar was organized for his budding career. And Keen had made a visit just before Christmas to the treatment center with his sire, taking a full flight of stairs in the dark and spending nearly 2 hours telling me he'd love to be a therapy dog when he grew up.

If I'd given Santa a fantasy wish-list for the perfect dog, I'd have found Keen in my stocking.

Instead... the things that will never be. I'd trade every potential ribbon to have him back. To have his ridiculously curly head shove under my hand, doing the happy-bounce every morning from the bedroom to the door to go outside. To see him sitting in "his spot" eagerly waiting for his breakfast, to see his black form streaking around the pasture, to yell at him just once more for pulling plastic bags out of the recycling and shredding them all over my bedroom...

It is not my nature to live a life filled with regret. But I find that I have countless regrets for Keen. I wish we'd taken more photographs. I wish I'd taken him free coursing to chase a jackrabbit. I wish I'd seen this coming, that I could have prevented it, that I could have saved him, that I was smarter or more skilled or had magical powers and could just undo this unbearable sorrow.

I wish I could stop lying in bed, night after night, reliving the last 30 seconds of his life. I wish I could stop crying. I wish I wish I wish...

Sleep softly, forever more, my little Keen-bean. I will look in the night sky see your inky black coat on moonless nights, your brindle stripes in the Milky Way's band, the twinkle of your eyes in the stars. Farewell.

Comparing Judging

2010-08-30T07:54:00.024-06:00

“A good judge conceives quickly, judges slowly” ~ Unk.

The highlight of the weekend, other than the always enjoyable dinner with close friends, was serendipitous. I went to Colorado for a seminar (more on that later) and stumbled upon a pony inspection. I quickly introduced myself as a former Connemara breeder and asked if I could impose by tagging along. The Inspector graciously allowed me to do so.

From a distance.

On the left you see a cluster of people with clipboards; they are the Inspectors, and have a form for reviewing the physical points of the pony they are examining. They measured his height at the withers with an official measuring stick, and confirmed the measurement. Each Inspector put hands on the pony, feeling the coat and flesh - and the animal's response to being touched by strangers. Note the animal is on a flat halter with a loose lead rope at all times. The Inspectors watched the pony move out at a walk and at a trot, and talked amongst themselves while this was happening. Then, because this is a stallion (the inspection process is more onerous for stallions than for mares), everyone moved to the arena (to the right in the photo) and the stallion was turned loose. This enables not only his free movement to be observed, but also his behavior (and therefore temperament) in a foreign environment.

Throughout, the Inspectors stayed clustered together, heads tilted in, sharing thoughts and comparing opinions. After they were done observing the pony, they discussed the evaluation amongst themselves for several long minutes, wrote up their collective score and report, and then gave the stallion's owner detailed feedback on his pony's strong and weak points.

The Inspection lasted nearly 45 minutes. It was my great privilege to observe the process and this lovely animal.

---------------------

Many years ago, in a time zone far far away, I was a consulting rosarian. As an active member of my local rose society, I volunteered at our annual rose show, the primary public education activity of the organization. Being a pathologically competitive person, I avoided entering the rose show as I wanted rose gardening to be my private form of therapy. Sunday morning in my rose gardens - putting on a floppy straw hat, pink flip flops, green cloth gloves, and going on bended knee into dark and pungent soil, pruning shears in hand, to practice integrated pest management - provided the weekly antidote to my high-tech corporate pressure cooker career. Cutting a few blooms to grace my cubicle was a joy.

I had four rose garden areas: along the front of the house; between the fence and the street on the east side; the fragrant cutting garden off the kitchen patio; and climbers behind the pool.

I did not want my roses to become a competitive endeavor; they were sacred.

Of course, it was not to be. In an effort to learn more about roses, and their spectacular blooms in particular (the entire plant is fascinating - did you know roses have prickles, not thorns?), I became a clerk at our annual show.

Clerking is the best job there is at a rose show. You get to spend hours on your feet, keeping your mouth shut, following around a pair or trio of judges, trying to keep up with their discussion and decisions, keeping your mouth shut, marking class winners and placements, flagging down runners to move winners to the head table, keeping your mouth shut, finding the table with the next class your group of judges is to judge even though it's on the other side of the hotel's ballroom and you can't leave your judges' side, deciphering the grunts and gestures common to some judges - and soaking up every morsel of conversation between the judges.

The best rose show judges, and almost all for whom I clerked were great, always took time share knowledge with their clerks. Their kind words made me a better gardener, a better rosarian. Eventually, I was persuaded to enter some of my roses in the local annual shows, where my exhibits occasionally placed.

An exhibit may be picked up (by the display vase) by a Judge, turned this way and that, viewed from above, foliage from below, the scent sampled - never touched, but as thorough an exam as the other senses can achieve. Disagreements between judges over scores and placements were always civilized, with comparisons between cultivars prompting persuasive arguments of one exhibit over another based on the scale of points:

OFFICIAL A.R.S. SCALE OF POINTS:

FORM 25 points
COLOR 20 points
SUBSTANCE 15 points
STEM AND FOLIAGE 20 points
SIZE 10 points
BALANCE AND PROPORTION 10 points

Needless to say, winning a class at a rose show is a tremendous honor. I was lucky enough to do so only once, at a huge District (regional) show. The trophy is to this day proudly displayed in my family room.

This is Love Potion, taken from my mauve cutting garden off the kitchen patio. It is staggeringly fragrant and just looking at the picture fills my head with its scent.

As each class is judged, the winner is taken to a head table. After every exhibit in each class has been judged, all the Judges gather (up to 10 judges) to select Queen (first), King (second), and the Court (remaining placements). Then the judges - ALL the judges - select the overall winners. Sometimes the decision is instant, sometimes discussion ensues, but it is always unanimous.

-----------------------

Let us compare these two processes - evaluation by committee and discussion without overt time constraints - to the process of judging at a dog show:

A new breed judge is expected to judge a minimum of 20 dogs an hour, and experienced judges at least 25 dogs an hour (see Rules Ch. 7, Section 12).

Pp 10 - 11, Rules, Policies and Guidelines for Conformation Dog Show Judges

It is no small wonder to me that the quality of stallions is so very high, that the winning roses are of overwhelming magnificence: the collective wisdom and experience of many people have gone into making the selections.

It comes as no surprise that dog show judges so frequently get it wrong - each works alone and has scant time. The miracle is they ever get it right!

Perhaps, if we want to find the best dogs, we need a better process - lest we judge in haste and repent in leisure.

Back in the Saddle

2010-08-28T07:21:00.005-06:00

After a lovely summer spent playing with puppies, cooking with my son, celebrating a milestone wedding anniversary, and teaching (and learning from!) a lot of new clients, it's time to get back in the proverbial saddle - which in fact is a keyboard - and release a slew of posts that have accumulated in my head.

Starting Monday. Probably.

Later today I'm off to Colorado for a seminar on structure and performance given by Helen King, renowned Connemara breeder and agility competitor. Maybe I can get her to sign my Rocky statue...

Anyway, planned topic is a long-ago started draft on unforgivable faults. Hoping for lots of discussion on this one....

Black holes

2010-05-26T09:42:00.018-06:00

Going to Nationals was a great experience, but I was "off the radar" in more ways than one.

First, there was the two-day drive out. In near-constant gale-force winds and driving rain. Just me, seven borzoi, and Brown Betty (my van). Many thanks to Barb for the loan of a cargo platform, it was invaluable!! The sheer amount of stuff that went to Kentucky with me was, well, staggering. And other than too many t-shirts, none of it was unnecessary. Yikes.

The tubs contain: coursing/racing gear; dog food, bowls, buckets, etc.; people food/drinks; dog-washing and -grooming supplies, show leads, et al; people clothes, a change of shoes.

1,350 miles and four tanks of gas later, we arrived. Meeting on-line friends in person for dinner set the tone for the week - everyone was happy to see each other, fervent in their opinions, and filled with sportsmanship.

The field trials occupied Sunday and Monday, and there were some nice borzoi. By nice I mean: sane and functional. Well muscled. Lots of prey drive. A few impressed me, a few were disappointing, and most were in that ho-hum middle-ground of decent runners that left my socks on my ankles. But there were no slackers, and that is always a good thing. I didn't enter the ASFA trial, but did have skin in the game: Gin's sire, grand-sire, and great-grand-dam were all running. (I helped slip.) Gin ran in the LGRA trial that afternoon, but was pulled after P2 following a nasty collision at the finish. (She was fine.) I ran three dogs in the AKC trial on Monday: Rumor finished her MC title from the Veterans class; Py (Specials) and Gin (Open) both placed.

That afternoon I handed off one adult and two puppies and I headed up to the host hotel with a fist-full of ribbons and bling, ready for the next stage of the event. By Monday night I had shed another adult, so was down to a mere three borzoi for the rest of the week. After coordinating 50 meals (and at least four-times that many potty trips) in three-and-a-half days, I was finally feeling like a lady of leisure.

Except for unloading all that stuff from the van to the hotel room - plus two crates, an x-pen, several dog blankets, my cooler, camera, and other front-seat sundries... which sent me to bed with an aching back.

Tuesday was Obedience and Rally, and I will say - hands down - this was the most supportive competitive environment I've ever been in. Pick a sport, any sport; any time zone, any level. THIS was a great place to be: heartfelt cheers, good-natured laughter, sympathetic groans, supportive classmates. Clear front-runners for the Triathalon emerged, titles were finished, first legs were earned, and the judge's indulgence was much appreciated.

Wednesday the entire tone of the event changed. Perhaps it was the quantity of dogs, the endless drone of blow dryers in the grooming room, the wet and shivering dogs walking from the bathing area to the building. Perhaps it was the event type changing, perhaps it was something else. But once the conformation events started, there was a subtle shift. Around the ring, people seemed to fragment into groups, there was less camaraderie. There was a lot of clumping around the results board, muttering and lowered voices. Aside glances, fingers pointing in catalogues, and pursed lips.

In the grooming room itself, sportsmanship abounded. Grooming tables, supplies, dryers, and extension cords were shared as readily as a super-sized bag of M&M's. Two of my own dogs were groomed for nearly six hours by someone else (six!!) and - I will be honest - looked utterly magnificent when she was done. Paula is a master groomer, and a finer example of a Southern lady would be hard to find. Kindness and generosity, endless gossip and tales of other dogs and long-ago shows filled the air - along with mousse, mist, and whips of dog fur. Scissors sang and brushes flourished and virtually all the dogs stood for endless hours with looks ranging from profound boredom to resignation to quiet contentment.

The health seminar Wednesday night was great; the speaker was funny, articulate, thoughtful, and very informative. An excellent use of time and money.

Thursday "regular" conformation classes began. Hallways were progressively more crowded, exercise areas in constant use, and a sense of "I'm late! I'm late! for a very important date!" gave urgency to footfalls in the hallway.

Heaven help you if you took a dog of color into the ring (and few people did), or one without a lot of bone, or a moderate rear... with few exceptions, you might as well have been standing on a distant planet. Serious rumblings of discontent from the ring-side observers was evident.

Thursday night I attended the member education seminar on how to judge Sweepstakes. Focused principally on procedure and administrivia, it provided insights into the realities for judges. More interesting than informative, I thought, other than a suggestion to find the dogs of best type first, then select soundness from among those. Not quite chicken and egg... but perhaps soundness first and type second?

Things weren't quite so bad in the bitch classes on Friday, as there were more colored hounds entered and quality, overall, seemed better than in dogs. I was terribly disappointed, however, when in one class a bitch that the judge had great difficulty in touching was put up over others that were of superior temperament.

After a quick trip to visit a friend's kennel and see some lovely puppies, I attended the judge's education seminar. This is presented several times a year to prospective and current borzoi judges so they know what makes a "correct" borzoi. There were numerous photographs, including two of hounds that had been shaved down (so their coat didn't disguise appearance). In retrospect, I think I would have preferred that photos of outstanding running dogs, rather than highly successful show dogs, had been used. If BCOA is going to tell judges this is a running breed, then let's focus on field performance phenotype, yes? Return of upper arm and croup angle are two items where information presented was inconsistent with experience. Points around tail -set and -usage and sidegait (a trotting breed moves very differently from a galloping breed) also made me frown.

Saturday morning I was up and loading and on the road as soon as possible. Another 1,350 miles and four tanks of gas, I was home late Sunday afternoon. Despite the grueling hours - most days approached 18 hours in length - it was a very worthwhile week. My head filled with possibilities and good memories, I'm already looking forward to next year.

Puppy Update

2010-04-21T08:20:00.004-06:00

Six weeks old? The time has FLOWN by!!

The camera is giving me fits again (guess that will go on the wish list for Christmas) which is a shame as they are wicked cute. This morning they "helped" me take the garbage out, and I do wish there's been an extra set of hands with a video camera. Imagine four puppies racing me down a 400' driveway while I drag two 80-gallon cans. The garbage cans make quite a racket and have big wheels, which is exactly what Kay Laurence says they need exposure to. (Kay has a reputation as the person on puppy learning, and is a wonderful seminarian.)

The puppies wove in and out of my legs, got in front of the moving cans, and generally made total pills of themselves then entire way to the gate - excellent reactions! Then I pulled out the BIG can we keep by the gate, a 120-gallon container that gets emptied by the collection service. I made as much noise as possible (not difficult to do, these are hard plastic jobbers), banging lids, lifting and dumping and dropping and tossing. The puppies looked at me like I was a rock star... oooooh, how cool! Do it again! Then I opened the gate, scooted out, and left the puppies behind while I positioned huge container at the property line. Cries of protest followed me - for the big container or me, I could not say.

I scooted back in the gate and locked it, picked up the recycling bins, loudly dropped one in each garbage can, and started back up the driveway. The 80-gallon cans, now considerably lighter, banged merrily along the gravel, making a terrible racket. The puppies were everywhere in the way, so I found a clear path and started jogging, hoping to stay in front of them. The cans were making a horrific noise at this point, bouncing madly along the gravel, the recycling bins clanging inside them. The puppies then raced me, trying to keep up, eyes bright and faces gleeful at this game. Interestingly, the biggest puppy was the fastest, the smallest was the slowest. Clearly, all the racket was a non-issue for them.

Later this morning they get their longest car-ride yet: to the vet's office for their first vaccinations. I hope they think that is fun, too!

Volcanoes

2010-04-16T09:56:00.003-06:00

The recent volcanic eruption in Iceland got me thinking about a book I recently finished: Krakatoa. A fascinating trip through history and geology (as most of his books are), making many a road trip quite pleasurable.

Actually, I've enjoyed everything I've by Simon Winchester that I've read, though there are a few I haven't devoured yet. Guess I better hit the library...

Friends, Family, and Freedom

2010-04-14T08:18:00.009-06:00

There's an old saying: never discuss religion or politics. This advice is routinely given to children, but sometimes forgotten by adults.

I have an uncle, my favorite uncle in fact, who's politics I agree with about 50%. This uncle, a former judge and big-shot in his religious organization of choice, is a card-carrying member of the John Birch Society. (Yes Virginia, there really is a JBS.) Then there's my mother; in 1972 she campaigned door-to-door for George McGovern (sometimes taking me and my sister with her). I learned a lot about commitment and activism that summer. But I agree with my mother only about 50% of the time.

My uncle and my mother are able to sit at a table and share a meal and love each other and have mutual respect - and keep politics off the menu. Religion (broadly speaking), is fair game as a topic, however. But not politics.

My in-laws are Roman Catholic, very Catholic. I am... not. My husband was an altar boy. He went to just about the most Catholic university in the country - twice. With my in-laws, we don't discuss religion, ever. Politics, broadly speaking, is a hot topic (it is California, after all).

Think you know what political party I belong to? Ten will get me $20, you're wrong.

It's a choice, getting along or not. To respect ourselves, each other, and the First Amendment, or not. Sadly, most of the time, the loudest people seem to be choosing not. We can't hear each other over the shouting, the raised angry voices screaming We're right and they're wrong and there is no middle ground. How on earth could healthy or constructive dialogue ever take place with that vitriol in the air?

I think the truth is: we all just need to STFU. By which I mean, we all need to stop becoming hysterical when somebody says something with which we don't agree. On the big issues - especially on the biggest issues, the third rail stuff - nobody is changing anybody else's mind. And hasn't in a very very long time, and any semblance of movement toward agreement is closer to impossible than difficult.

My uncle, who's smart and thoughtful and considerate and sometimes infuriatingly articulate, once told me (as we prepared Christmas dinner together, sharing a kitchen full of knives and boiling pots and glassware) that abortion is like slavery: the issue is that divisive. I didn't agree with him, at the time, but have come around to the opinion that he's probably right. Nobody is changing anybody's mind about anything, and sometimes it does look like a Civil War on the front lines of the issue.

As for me, I'm a big fan of Milton Friedman. A brilliant thinker and writer, proponent of personal freedoms and free markets. And responsibility in both. His death was a terrible loss for the world.

So think, believe, say what you want. I will, too. And I'll defend to the end your right to think, believe, and say what you want, even if I don't agree with you. And I expect you to do the same for me.

Because that's what freedom really means, and that's what friends (and family) do.

Even when there are certain things we don't talk about.

Heroines

2010-04-11T07:38:00.004-06:00

I have been inspired, twice, this week. That could be a record.

First, by a peer and friend that is offering an opportunity to someone that most people would go to great lengths to avoid.

Second, by a former student who, through hard work and tremendous generosity, has grown in ways she can't yet appreciate.

Three cheers to both.

I doubt it's coincidence that both of these have a little something to do with dogs. The universe is talking - and I am all ears.

One Last Time

2010-03-31T13:15:00.010-06:00

It's one o'clock, and I can't stop crying.

This morning I put Bugg on trailer, headed to new owners and a new life. The barn feels hollow, my view of our empty pasture is sad.

Her new owners have been wanting a Connemara for their grandkids to ride. A chance conversation over dinner a couple of months ago raised a possibility that today became reality.

Bugg's new home has other horses, regular trail rides, and two girls that want to see what possibilities exist. (My son learned to ride on Bugg's niece, Laurel.) It sounds ideal.

But it has been bittersweet.

The last several days I've been spending a lot of time with Bugg, re-playing the Parelli games, stripping out her winter coat, handling her feet. I was struck, time and again, by what a nice, nice pony she is. Sane, sensible, easy, kind. Since late 2008 the rhythm of my life's routine has been closely tied to her needs - daily feeding schedule, regular grooming, trying to keep her in work, blankets on and off during the bitter nights of winter. Mucking and scrubbing and hauling hay and scrutinizing grain. But she deserves better than the life of pasture candy, more opportunity to get out and about and have fun than I have been able - or willing - to provide.

I had high hopes, big dreams for us, when Bugg arrived two years ago. But having horses means having a having a horse-centric lifestyle, something I realized I'm never going to do.

While there are no regrets about Bugg's departure to better things, I do have disappointments. Two AI breedings that never took and now will never be repeated; there was a time when I would have sold my soul for a Go Bragh or Clearheart baby (and I'd have sold more than that for a good quality hard-colored colt by either one of them). Time and money and hopes never to be recovered - such is the lot of a horse breeder. Perhaps it's just as well, the horse market has been brutal the last few years. I'll never see the view of my dogs course hare from her back, or find out if I had the courage to learn to take fences despite my age (closer to 50 than 40).

Yesterday I was acutely aware of each thing being done for the last time. The last grooming, the last trim of her bridle path; the last time I'd rest my ear on her flank and listen to her healthy gut's gurgles. The last face rub; the last time our breaths would mingle as she nuzzled my cheek. The last time I'd scrub a water bucket, or throw hay, or dump grain into a pan. Once more I climbed on her back, Bugg's nose coming around to touch the tip of my boot before we moseyed around the paddock... for the last time.

As we walked out to the gate in the dawn's early light, Rick snapped a couple of pictures. She didn't mind that I interrupted her breakfast to put on a halter, and she liked the bits of apple as I led her out. She went on the trailer like she did it every day, rather than less than a dozen times in her life.

I treasure the lessons she taught me. Horses are smart, in their prey-animal ways. Bugg took to clicker training as easily as a dog, and better than most cats I've tried. But her run-or-be-eaten wiring challenged me to try harder, breath deeper, go slower. I trusted her with my life, as well. One day last year, while picking out her feet, my glasses fell off my face, somewhere under this 800 lb. animal with lightening reflexes and a keen sense of self preservation. Without thinking (foolish, foolish human that I am) I dropped to my hands and knees, feeling around in the straw bedding until I found my glasses. I pushed them up my nose and stood up - and then the stupidity of what I had just done struck me. Bugg was looking at me, one ear back, as if to say "silly biped, don't you know most horses would kill you for doing that?" She was right, of course, and all I had to offer was a cookie for her kindness.

It hasn't all been sunshine and roses, but that's more my failing than hers.

So this morning we took one last walk together: through the barn, down the driveway, between the trees, out the gate, into the morning's first rays of sunlight, and onto a truck. And I said a quick goodbye and gave her a slice of apple - for the last time - and sent her on her way.

Then sobbed all the way back to the house.

And then it was one o'clock and time to feed lunch; I'd walked halfway to the barn before I remembered, looking at the empty corral... and wiped away more tears as I turned away.

Godspeed, LoveBugg. And thank you.

From hamsters to piglets

2010-03-29T10:56:00.004-06:00

Three weeks of age, and the milestones keep ticking by:

Eyes open - check.

Hearing - check.

Walking (er, staggering) - check.

Play begins - check.

Conscious elimination begins - check.

Self awareness, climbing, & exploration all begin - check, check, check.

Weaning begins - check... and a napkin, please!!

I would love to post pictures of cute faces - the Ahdin babies are too adorable for words. Imagine, if you will, a photo of their four gorgeous heads with full pigmentation, dark eyes and haws, all in a row... But no. They are far too busy to hold still for such a photo, even if they were clean enough to attempt one.

They are having far too much fun playing in, and with, their puppy gruel to be bothered with pretty pictures. Oh yes, they are eating it, but it gets everywhere in the process.

See the website for individual photos... this is the ONLY one with no feet in the pan (quite possibly an accident).

Luck Runs Out - almost

2010-03-27T07:55:00.020-06:00

I guess it's time to confess to a dirty little secret.

We have a beagle.

I've mentioned this hound a couple of times before, and after yesterday's trauma I suppose it's time to "reveal all".

This tale starts in early 2004 when the friend-of-a-friend asked for help if locating a beagle to adopt. At that time I had good connections with rescue and shelters (we lived elsewhere in NM at that time), so after clarifying the seeker's requirements (young adult, 15", altered, housebroken, good with kids), I put out my feelers. Over the course of a few months I screened several candidates, none fit the bill.

Until one day, a owner-surrender came across my radar.
To say that "Copper", as he was then called, was fat, is to make light of his girth. The dog was hugely obese, 56# in a 15" body. This, people, is what animal cruelty looks like. Obesity is easy to prevent, and puts incredible stresses on the body's joints and organs. It is mean and irresponsible to allow a dog - any animal - to eat so much that this becomes their condition.

At five years old.

I drove to Albuquerque, temperament tested the dog (with kids, food, toys, and basic husbandry), and found him charming and stable. I stepped outside, called the seeker, confirmed they wanted this dog, and bailed Copper out of the shelter and into my car.

Not the first time I'd brought home a rescue, not the last. But he turned out to be a rescue like no other. The old adage that "no good deed goes unpunished" may have flitted through my mind... I don't really remember.

I seem to recall it was a Thurdsay when I did this... the next day we all headed out of town for an agility trial, taking the new dog with us (he couldn't fly out until the next week as we were awaiting veterinary paperwork). Turned out Copper had a terrible vice: baying. Incessantly. The friends set up next to us at the agility trial actually moved to get away from the noise. We were pariahs all weekend.

No matter, he was leaving in a few days.

And leave he did, shipped out by air to his new owners, who had pined for a beagle for nearly three years.

And three days later I spoke to the new owners, to see how things were going. Oh, fine, they said. He's sweet and smart and the grandkids love him, but he's too tall so we're taking him to the shelter here.

Um, WTF? No, you're not. Read the contract, he comes back to me, on your nickle. No exceptions. (Too tall? Seriously? Whatever.)

So Copper was flown back to us - promptly dubbed "Boomerang" - and a new adventure began.

He arrived heavier than when he left - now a staggering 58#. Boomer was granted house privileges while we figured out how to place him again, and he relished in the new accommodations.

New Mexico Beagle Rescue was over-stuffed and unable to take him, so we agreed to foster Boomer until a new home was found. I took him back to the vet for a detailed exam (his initial trip had been to secure a Health Certificate so he could be flown out of state) - and we were shocked by what the vet found: bilateral subluxating patellas, lubo-sacral disease, and worst of all, a severe heart murmur. This was no longer a dog that could be placed in a pet home. We could return him to the shelter or keep him.

Hardly a choice at all.

So Boomer went on a diet. At that time Rick was the house-spouse, so Boomer joined the border collies on long daily walks in the 500 acre open-space behind us. A strict, high-quality diet, proper supplements, and countless miles later, a very attractive hound emerged:
This picture was taken just four months after Boomer went on a diet - still too heavy at 35#, but soooooo much better than he was.

There was, and still is, fall-out from his early years of being free-fed. Boomer had come to see food as his god-given right to consume at will. He counter surfs, steals food off the plate in front of you and sometimes out of your hand, walks on the dining table, tears open food bags, grocery bags, trash bags - anything that contains something remotely edible. Having a beagle has turned out to be a lifestyle, and one frankly that we don't particularly enjoy.

Boomer is also an escape artist - which he proved in spades yesterday and is actually the prompt of this post. One of my favorite stories involves my sister (and mostly because it [A] wasn't a failure on my part, and [B] it ended well) who came over to potty dogs while Rick and I were away for several hours. I had a HUGE sign posted, which she looked at after letting the dogs into the back yard. The sign said: do not let Boomer outside unsupervised. She ran into the back yard, only to discover Boomer was already gone. The sounds of screams from next door (we lived in suburbia at the time) drew her attention - Boomer had gone over the back wall, down a culvert, up the other side, through a neighbor's garage, into Vera's house via the cat door, and was eating her cat's food in her kitchen.

We bought Vera a bouquet of flowers.

Since moving to our Ranchero, keeping track of Boomer has become part art and part science. Because he digs (the only one of our dogs to do so), we have learned the hard way - repeatedly - that there's no such thing as a beagle-proof fence. He can go under, around, and through anything - and regularly does. Gates are no challenge. The dog-equipment industry has yet to invent a collar or harness that can contain him. (We should have named him Houdini.) Supervision is the only solution, as training (it took me three years and multiple attempts to get him to pass a CGC test) only works when you are vastly more interesting than some distant temptation. At night he wears a lighted collar and a bear-bell so we have some notion of where he is in the small dog-yard off the house.

This winter was harsh. We've had many many feet of snow and the ground has been frozen for four months.

We got sloppy about watching Boomer. By we, I mostly mean me.

Yesterday, just before lunch, I put Boomer out to potty, then the phone rang. I answered the phone and chatted for twenty minutes. Then it hit me. Fuck, Boomer's outside.

I grabbed a coat (it was howling wind) and dashed out the door - no Boomer in the dog yard. I stepped back in the mudroom, grabbed a leash, and headed to the barn. Boomer finds horse-poop irresistible, and has been known to break into Bugg's stall for a gorge-fest. It is, in fact, his preferred destination. This time - no Boomer. I knew I was in trouble.

After a quick survey of the rest of the ranchero, I went with the feeling in my gut: Boomer was off-property.

Fighting the panic rising in my system, I called Home Again and started printing flyers. I called all the neighbors (which covered 40 acres in 5 phone calls), let Rick know, and headed out the gate. I had posted four flyers and was was taping the fifth when the phone rang: A guy had Boomer in his garage, about 1/2 mile to the east.

Total elapsed time: a little over an hour.

Toll on my being: about 100 years.

While letting the microchip company know the dog was missing was the right thing to do, that isn't what got him back in my possession so quickly. It was the brass plate on his collar - home phone number, the word R E W A R D, and the microchip information. All of which is duplicated on his tags.

It was 15 degrees overnight; imagine if he'd been out all night. A 10 year old dog with cancer, not much body fat or coat. It was luck he didn't cross the main road, but stayed on "this" side, avoiding the traffic that routinely speeds down the hill. Boomer was trying to break into this guy's dogyard, where a bowl full of kibble is out all day for his own dogs. Thankfully the guy was home and heard the ruckus, caught Boomer easily, and checked the collar.

He wouldn't take the reward money I offered. Hey, I've got dogs, been there. No worries.

So now we have a hole under the fence to fill, gate mesh to extend, and I'm seriously considering electrifying the bottom interior of the dog yard. It already looks like a prison out there... hey, maybe I should consider concertina wire... No, I've got it: I'll train him to use a litterbox, so he'll never go out of the house again.

Yeah, right.

That is my confession. We have a beagle, and all too frequently he gets the better of us. Our first - and last - scenthound. A beloved member of our family, but... never again. One of these days his luck is going to run out, for good. And that will be very sad indeed.

Coming of Age

2010-03-25T17:42:00.009-06:00

The puppies were born 18 days ago (don't worry, nobody's letting them vote), and a big part of their "puppyhood" development is over.

The Super Puppy neurological stimulation exercises were completed on Day 16, and we managed to get some pictures. These gentle stimulations have decades of science behind them, and very breeder I've spoken with that uses them swears they work. So we did them.

Before starting, I would weigh each puppy:
This week, weighing puppies has been both entertaining and challenging, as Yaso here demonstrates. Now having good control over their legs, climbing OVER has become a popular passtime - over each other, over Mama, over the edges of things. Combined with their eyes being open (though it's debatable that they see more than light, shadow, and big motion) they are avid explorers. It's both fun and a little alarming when they go OUT the holding box when I'm changing the bedding!

Once a weight for the day had been recorded, the foot stimulation was done:
Oro was pretty cooperative on Tuesday. Sometimes they protested mightily, others they squirmed, others they were nonchalant. Every day we did a different foot, so each set of toes was tickled four times.

Next each puppy is held upright:
You can see that Dos's eyes are open, her pigmentation is wonderful, her nails need trimming (done!), and the plump belly. Can you say - perfect!

Next they were held - very securely - upside down. Not very photogenic, so on to the next bit, which is cradling on back:
This usually involved some form of protest, as Yaso ably demonstrates. The first week they were easy to hold, but as they grew by leaps and bounds my small hands had a harder time supporting the entire body. Glad we're done!

Saving the worst for last, was the chilled damp rag torture:
Rojo didn't make it off the platter in four seconds, but like all his siblings - he tried!

When we finished with each puppy, we handed him or her to Rumor for a thorough cleaning (nasty people smell! must get rid of that!) and a nosh. Then they all stretched out for a nap, which I have to say sounds like a great idea:

Oro, Yaso, Dos, Rojo

And yes, that glimpse of newspaper means they are eliminating independently, though Rumor is still clean as a cat and keeps the whelping box spotless.

Our next adventure: puppy gruel. Hooo boy, that should be messy!

It Takes a Village

2010-03-24T08:17:00.024-06:00

I may live in the boonies, but to say the Ahdin litter came about without a lot of help would be disingenuous.

Help takes many forms, and I'd like to take a post to thank some people and share a few of the resources that have been particularly useful.

THE VILLAGE (OF) PEOPLE
Thank you to: Sandra - for Py, for everything. Mary, Dora, & Chandra - for Rumor. Barb, Bobbie, Elaine, Karen, Laurel, Sherita, Susan - for support and advice. Sandra (again) and Susan for vouching for me (I know you did). Susan (and again) and Aenone for Skype-ing me when Cayenne whelped - that, I have to say, was the best "resource" ever. Mary (again) for always, always answering her phone, answering every question and providing guidance - without treating me like a dork. Most of all, Joan - for being, for... well, for everything.

And to Rumor: we both know you are doing all the hard work. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

The following resources have, and continue to be, useful. Some were interesting, others are utterly invaluable. YMMV.

BOOKS
I love books. I love turning pages and making notes and the comfort they provide by being constantly accessible. These have kept me company these past months, and as they move from nightstand (and desk, and end table) to bookcase I will be glad to know they remain close at hand. (Images pilfed from Amazon and Dogwise; shop around for best pricing):

This is the one book everyone loved and insisted was a must-have. And I will agree, it's well organized, clear, helpful, practical, and easy to use.

These two books should come as a set, and are worth every penny. The list of supplies to have on-hand is detailed, and I watched the DVD (showing how to tube feed, among other things) over and over.

Speaking of DVD's, this one is also great. Not too technical, detailed information on cesarian sections, singletons, neonate development... etc. From "the man" in canine reproduction.

A friend recommended this book and loaned it to me. Widely considered a classic, covers picking stock to whelping and beyond.

Another favorite loaned by a friend, one that I liked so much I bought. Don't be fooled by the publication date, it's terrific.

Another older book with still-relevant information (no image available).

And a few books that have general information as well as breeding/whelping details:

A UK publication:

A classic, recently updated, and an absolute must-have.

MORE PEOPLE
I would be remiss not to thank the veterinarians, many of whom I count among my friends, for help, support, and service along the way. Noah, for the pre-breeding exam of Py when the hope for "tartlettes" started a couple of years ago. Diana, who did the palpation that confirmed pregnancy and cheered us along every step. Rebecca, for checking medications and ensuring I always have a well-stocked pharmacy on hand - and her cell phone number so I can check in before dispensing. Donald, for the x-ray and good wishes. Western Trails, for being on standby during whelping (thankfully they weren't needed).

SUPPLIES
Joan loaned me a whelping box and heater, they are GREAT. Next week we move everything from the study to the family room and attach the extension. I've made endless use of dog blankets (get the ones at Costco - same thing for 1/3 the price) and piddle pads, a large quantity of both are invaluable.

WEB SITES
Too many to list, but I have made daily use of information and forms and they have saved me countless hours of headache and confusion.

The lists go on and on - by you have the general idea.

So clearly, one does not need to live in a heavily populated area to have a "virtual village" of support. I couldn't have done it - calmly ;-) - without the help of many kind friends.

Two Weeks and Growing

2010-03-22T08:14:00.003-06:00

They were born two weeks ago today! Now flirting with three pounds each, eyes are mostly open, and legs that are mostly underneath with game attempts at actual walking, they resemble puppies more than anything else.

I will post more pictures this afternoon when my errands are done for the day. Maybe this morning's puppy-pile will keep you amused until then:

(post-breakfast nap - doesn't look comfortable to me! but what do I know.)

Little Milestones - 1 week old

2010-03-15T18:46:00.006-06:00

The Ahdin litter is a week old today!

I will confess to having spent absurd amounts of time watching the puppies, holding and cuddling and generally acting like a smitten fool. Oh well.

Can't believe I go back to work tomorrow! I will miss them while I'm gone, even if it is only for a few hours. They grow and change by the minute, and their antics are endlessly absorbing. Such as their "eat? nap? or puppy pile? nah, let's eat" negotiations. The brute in the morning, climbing over a sibling and stealing a nipple, may well be the one on the bottom of the heap in the afternoon. No longer hamster-like, now they are fat sausages. With tails.

By this age, each should have doubled from birth weight. They have, in spades. We started the "super puppy" exercises, which I call puppy torture time. Rumor thinks I'm insane, and watches me with bewilderment from the otherside of the sliding glass door. And of course, the puppies must think I'm evil as they got their nails trimmed and that was not their idea of a good time, nosiree.

Daily exposure to a novel organic smell is underway, too. They have met two new people this week (thanks to Elaine and Miela for coming by!), were held by Anthony near his sweaty armpit after a day of snowboarding, and took turns on my chest while I ate popcorn.

Their eyes will open in the next few days, which will expand their horizons considerably. I'm looking forward to every minute!

Facing Facts

2010-03-12T11:26:00.006-07:00

The truth is, these puppies are wicked-cute:

l => r: brindle boy, black&brindle boy, gold girl, brindle girl

They are four days old today. Life so far has consisted of Rumor's tender and careful attentions, nursing (resulting in impressive weight gains), and charming explorations. While their sleep-cycle is dominated by twitching, the movements when awake are hysterical. They look a bit like hamsters (albeit with tails), move a bit like lizards (legs out to the side, pushing along), and sound sorta like cats (the noises crack me up). Rumor's ability to ignore their "I'm lost!" protestations from under rail or when futilely seeking a nipple on her backside sets an example for me to follow. The puppies are "on their own" for getting around; finding warmth or food or a cooler spot no longer gets any assistance.

Other than increasing Ru's meals, washing bedding twice a day, and providing door-man service, she continues to need very little from me. I am taking her for a walk a couple of times a day, and while she seems happy to get out for a few minutes is ready to race back to her treasures by the end.

The puppies have started their neurological stimulation, including novel scent articles daily, but mostly they alternate between piling up for naps and wrestling matches for the best nipples. Their eyes will start to open next week, so this is the end of flash-photography for a while.

Truth be told, I'm helplessly smitten with them.

Mamma of the Year

2010-03-11T09:39:00.002-07:00

Puppy Pool Winners & Biotinus Test

2010-03-09T13:17:00.016-07:00

First, the winners of the puppy pool are as follows:

Whelp Date: Laurel
Duration of whelping: Tom
Number in litter: Joan
Colors: me

Well done everyone! Thanks for playing.

Second, a picture from today:

Please don't worry, there aren't two headless puppies; sometimes the best nipple is on the underside. One of the few times they are all still and quiet... drifting off to sleep with a full belly. Plump like sausages. Ru continues to be a model matron. Much of the time there are "wild west" puppy piles and lots of vocalizing. Loud protests and jockeying for access are commonplace. Extremely entertaining.

Third, the biotinus test results are in, and I am thrilled. Vigor for this group is off the chart, each has gained weight every 12 hour period since birth. This means that they got plenty of colostrum, and are very, very strong so far. (Knock on wood.) Weight gains for the first 48 hours range from 10 - 24%; combined with their ability to orient and nurse immediately after whelping, it appears that we have four keepers.

Evening update: Gains range from 21 - 30%. Amazing what another 12 hours of nursing can do!

For those unfamiliar with the biotinus test, following is an article on its applications and usefulness. I'd be interested in hearing from any breeders that have experience using it.

Selecting for Vigor

by Suzanne Clothier

Flying Dog Press/Suzanne Clothier

reprinted in accordance with requirements

Thoughts on observing puppies during the crucial first days, and what should be considered when selecting breeding stock.

One way to determine the vigorousness of individual puppies during that relatively tranquil first week of life.

The first week of a puppy’s life begins with the whelping. Once he’s been dried off, weighed and checked for defects, the serious breeder begins the selection process which will eventually determine which puppies will be kept or sold as breeding/show stock, and which will be placed as pets. The first moments after delivery are an important time to begin this process. Unfortunately, many breeders are unaware of this, and cannot interpret the behavior of the newborn puppy as indicative of the future. A simple test will help you understand the great differences in newborns. Known as the biotinus test (Latin for “vigor of life”), it should be a routine part of each and every whelping, with results recorded right along with weights, overall condition and sex. Once the cord is cut, and the puppy is dried off, he is ready for his first meal. Place the puppy about two puppy lengths away from the bitch’s nipples, heading away from her. Once placed in this position, time how long it takes the puppy to turn itself around, orient properly and get to its first meal.

The bitch should be allowed to carry on in the normal course, neither encouraged nor discouraged from dealing with her puppy as she sees fit. Human interference in any part of this will not reflect an accurate test of biotinus. The bitch’s reactions, too, are part of the inheritance the puppy will receive from her. A bitch that interferes with her puppies to such an extent that they are not able to nurse unless assisted is a “self-limiting proposition.” In a natural state, such behavior would result in her inability successfully to pass on her genes through her offspring. Careful thought should be given to the future use of such a bitch and/or her offspring.

Some puppies are amazingly fast to get to that first meal, while others are agonizingly slow to orient and nurse. Sit back and watch each puppy. This is how to learn about the innate vigor of each, thus beginning the process of knowing each puppy as an individual.

Value of the Test

Many breeders not only cut the cord themselves, dry the puppy off and in other ways deny the bitch her proper role as mother, but also take each puppy and place it in proper position for the first meal. Some wisely sit back until a puppy appears slower than usual to get started, but then without a second thought, move in with well-meaning human intervention. Why not? “He needed just a little extra help,” is often the response. Most breeders have experienced a puppy with a problem. Even with the best of care under optimum conditions, sooner or later, there will be a puppy who seems to need a little help.

Whether a breeder realizes it or not, taking steps to assist such a puppy can have long-term implications for your breeding program, unless vigor of life is assessed and included in the criteria for determining which puppy to keep. What are the implications of this widely accepted human interference in the course of nature? Breeders must be acutely aware of every possible variable that will ultimately affect a particular dog, his status as either pet or breeding stock, and therefore, the future of a breeding program.

Is it wise to interfere or assist with such procedures as supplemental feeding, or tubing, or even something as seemingly innocent as helping a puppy to a nipple? Perhaps doing so is denying that the dogs are not as vigorous as they should be. Granted, imposed on our dogs are a variety of unnatural situations, starting with their diet, housing, and even choosing their mate. This is the life of the domestic dog. However, when breeders look to past and future generations, they do so with an eye to making a long-term improvement, if not in the breed at large, at least in their own lines. Ideally, the best rule of thumb is, “In the wild, this puppy would survive without my intervention.’’ That is, of course, in the ideal world. How then does a breeder make a decision to assist, or not interfere, when there is a problem?

Most breeders are quite reluctant to adopt the “let nature take its course” attitude, and watch a puppy die. No one likes having puppies die. I would like to suggest that assistance be given to whatever extent a breeder is comfortable with, but the fact that assistance was necessary should be noted and taken into consideration when the final decision on show/pet is made. Not too long ago in German Shepherd Dogs, Rottweilers and other breeds in Germany, culling was done on a routine basis by breed wardens, with certain criteria employed to determine which puppies are fit to be registered, and used as breeding animals. Aside from obvious defects (cleft palate, limb abnormalities, etc.), the criteria used in culling include the vigor of each individual, as determined by biotinus at birth, and a weight gain (or lack of) by 48 hours. In America, this practice is almost unheard of. Instead most breeders tend to make the delineation between pet quality and breeding stock. Therefore, breeders must use other methods to insure that their breeding stock are truly vigorous animals that would survive in a natural or wild state.

Making Determinations

Use the results of the biotinus test combined with the progress in weight 48 hours after birth to determine a pup’s degree of vigor. Many puppies remain at or lose slightly from their birth weight the first day, but should have regained and added to their birth weight after 48 hours. Breeders should note this in their records and weigh it carefully against other criteria such as movement, overall structure and temperament as the puppy matures.

Through my own litters and through knowledge of other breeders’ experiences, I have learned a great deal about the importance of the initial determination of vigor of life. One bitch in particular is an excellent example. At birth, she was extremely small for her breed, and needed (and received) supplemental feeding for the first four days. With such human intervention, she progressed rapidly, and while always small, seemed an active, normal puppy. The breeder, when it came time to determine which bitch she would keep as her breeding prospect, chose this little bitch over a stronger (at birth) and more normal bitch based purely on sentiment, not taking into account the obvious initial lack of vigor. While diet, environment and genetics contributed to the reproductive history that follows, choosing a puppy with a more vigorous beginning might have spared both the bitch and her owner a good deal. Bred the first time, she produced, with some difficulty, five puppies. Her next season, she developed pyometra, and instead of being spayed, was treated hormonally to correct the problem. Bred again, she produced three puppies by C-section following uterine inertia. Two puppies were born dead. The third one was alive, but had some minor abnormalities in the hind limbs.

A year later, the bitch was bred again, this time placed on a natural diet and exercised properly. She produced, with no problems, seven healthy puppies. But, she developed gastroenteritis eight days after whelping, requiring emergency surgery. Although she survived, she lost all interest in her puppies and considerable effort was required to keep them alive. Her next breeding, one year later, produced eight puppies, four born by C-section after uterine inertia set in. (The bitch had not been fed or exercised as she was during her third litter.) During the C-section, it was determined that the condition of her uterus was sufficiently poor to warrant spaying, and she was spayed at that time.

What does this history mean? Perhaps, even if she had been a normally vigorous puppy at birth, her diet and environment would have produced the same results. But it is important to see this history as one in which a variable was ignored when making the selection of breeding stock. Since there certainly are enough problems already stacked against breeders, they cannot afford to ignore any criteria which will help to determine in which dogs they shall invest time, emotion, energy and money as breeding animals.

A glance through a copy of any breed magazine will show that dogs are dying too young, many of them top winning dogs who have already or may affect a breeding program. In addition to the common worries about hips and elbows, temperament and a host of ailments, breeders must also be greatly concerned that the animals they breed to and from are the most vigorous specimens they can produce. Breeders must always strive to maintain and improve the vigor of life in our puppies. The first week of life is a relatively quiet one for the puppy. But for the breeder, it is the time when the process of selecting the puppy to keep must begin.

Weeks from now, when puppies are gaiting across the yard, and the breeder’s eyes irresistibly are drawn to that special bitch, or the big male with the gorgeous headpiece, she should consider also their initial “vigor of life.” Perhaps with the spectacular, but less vigorous puppy, you could do a great deal of winning. But in the long run, would you have added or improved the vigor and vitality of your breeding program? The ideal balance of vigor, temperament and beauty is the hallmark of a truly correct dog.

Originally appeared in the AKC GAZETTE, June, 1987

Puppy TV

2010-03-09T12:57:00.007-07:00

Rumor is proving an exceptional mother, once again. Calm, attentive, and at peace.

Her pre-whelp need for my constant presence evaporated like raindrops on hot pavement once the puppies arrived, and she seems now only to appreciate me for my ability to bring meals, rather than my actual attention. Which is perhaps as it should be; her babies have her full devotion.

The whelping itself seemed to last forever; Rumor dragged it out over the entire day. I'd like to thank Mary C and Sandra M for providing the calm and sense I needed to support Rumor throughout the day, and Joan G for sitting with me and pitching in during the brief periods of activity.

A little puppy video for your viewing pleasure... No remote required.

30 seconds of nursing contentment while Ru napped, perhaps dreaming of low-flying birds... The babies have all gained weight and continue to exhibit individual characteristics.

"Born to Run"

2010-03-08T19:10:00.005-07:00

Guess what was playing on the iPod when the first one arrived? That's right, Springsteen.

A long day that required more patience than I expected... details when I've showered, eaten, and slept at length.

The racetrack litter: 2 males, 2 females.

The Big Chill

2010-03-07T08:37:00.011-07:00

I'm guessing THIS is what we've been waiting for:
Restless overnight, didn't eat all her breakfast (first time she's not licked the shine off the bowl).

Stay tuned...

-------------------

Afternoon update:

Refused lunch (unprecedented - alert the media!). We took our afternoon walk, then Ru rushed back to the house and into her box, proceeding to re-arrange the bedding for the zillionth time. Pretty sure we're in Stage 1 Labor - panting, occasional vocalizing, incredibly clingy and restless, etc.

-------------------

Evening update:

Two bites of dinner, and the Stage 1 carry-on continues, intensified. In a curious development, she's stolen a toy and taken it into the whelping box with her. I'm expecting live replacements will be along sometime soon.

Temp graph for all of today:
Next update will be on Monday.

Patience is a Virtue...

2010-03-06T16:26:00.018-07:00

...I could use more of.

Rumor is fine, temp is normal, appetite is great, sleeping and going for walks and looks for all the world like nothing is amiss.

So no panic is allowed. More patience is required.

To keep myself from going nuts-o I made a graph of her temperature over the last week:

The blue line is a.m., the red line is mid-afternoon, and the green line is evening. (Thanks to Elissa for helping me set this up.) As you can see, the red line shows a semi-significant drop from yesterday... which was higher than Thursday, so could easily be completely meaningless. Ru's temp is generally below 100 anyway, so IF there's going to be a big drop before labor starts, it will be in the low-to-mid 98's. Not even close to that at this time.

She does really want me to be with her, however, so I've spent today doing things on the computer (the whelping box and computer both being in the study). She carefully supervised my making changes to the club website (premiums needing posting, photos needed updating), and pretty much lost interest by the time I started ripping CD's to put on my iPod.

I went through our collection and pulled all the female soloist CDs that I didn't already have on the iPod; copied and downloaded: Patsy Cline, Ella Fitzgerald, Alanis Morissette, Jewel, Sarah McLaughlin, Tina Turner, etc.... (yes, of course the CD's are in alphabetical order. how else would one possibly arrange them??) Then I did all the soundtracks: Big Chill, Forrest Gump, Evita, Phantom, Le Miz, etc.. I already did all the Operas (Don G, Figaro, Fideleo, etc.) and most of the classical (I am a huge fan of violin concerti), so what's next will be male solo artists, followed by bands.

Then I'll have to go buy more CD's to rip, because I'll go insane if I don't have something to do and Rumor gets up to follow me every time I leave the chair. Which is very flattering but sweetie you'll just have to trust me on this, I'm not that fascinating. Really. It's a miracle I got in the shower without her going in, too.

Our daily walk/trot around the pasture was business-as-usual, too. Chase a bird here, dig a little hole there, sniff this and trot over to that... The problem of course is the mud, and Ru has quite had it with me washing the mudballs out of her feet before she's allowed back in the house. She's very happy to be a ranch dog (and see if she can snarf down horse-poop when I'm not looking) and doesn't understand my obsession with keeping cooties out the whelping box.

I called my friend Laurel, who's been breeding greyhounds for about 45 years, and asked when I should start to panic. She said, in essence, that as long as Ru is: eating, drinking, sleeping, peeing, pooping, and playing + not running a fever + I can feel puppies moving (the little darlings are doing the Macarena today) = don't panic. Monday would be 63 days since the last breeding, so Monday would probably be the day to get concerned. Or not, if all-the-above is still normal.

So, for my birthday, I'd like an extra dose of patience. Seems like I'm going to need it.

2100 update: Hm, maybe that is a real temp drop (green line). Sweet dreams!

Camped Out

2010-03-05T14:42:00.006-07:00

I spent last night in a sleeping bag on an air mattress, on the floor next to Rumor's whelping box. Just in case. Other than my complaining about her gassy-ness and her disdainful looks about my snoring, it was uneventful.

This morning's temp was higher than yesterday's, but still a smidge below normal. Her appetite remains hearty, she had a romp on our walk around the pasture, and looks for all the world like she'll stay pregnant for another month. Her temp at 1445 was 100.0 F, which, if Hutchison is to be believed, the temp going back up is "the sign" that labor should start in less than 24 hours.

We'll see. As my friend Sherita says, bitches don't read the books.

The last mare I bred had me waiting for an eternity. The ranch manager called to say she believed the mare would deliver early, as she was bagging up and getting muscle slack. So I drove out with Dot (gotta sleep with somebody!) and the trusty air mattress. And proceeded to sleep in my car for a month while the mare went full term. She dropped a stud colt on a moonless night, precisely 341 days after she was bred, not one minute sooner. Which I slept through, just 10 feet away. Prey animals are masters of sneaky.

I have stacks of books, CDs, and fluffy pillows in between the whelping box and the first aid supplies. Nothing to do but settle in and wait.

Marking Time

2010-03-04T10:51:00.011-07:00

0830: Rumor's temp was a little lower than usual this morning, we'll see what the afternoon measurement shows. I notified the local emergency vet so they know her status.

0930: I re-freshed her coat trim, washed her belly, and changed out the bedding in the whelping box. You can see she's looking very pregnant at this point, and now naps stretched out rather than curled up.

She looks peaceful, doesn't she?

1200 - FINALLY I got a copy of the x-ray from Monday. If you don't want to count skeletons, don't look too closely:

1430 - Ru ate lunch as usual, and her temp check was also lower than yesterday. We'll get another data point before calling this a "trend".

2045 - Appetite normal, temp actually .2 higher than 24 hrs earlier. So, not a trend, possibly even a false alarm.

Time will tell!

Puppy Watch: Nesting

2010-03-03T06:38:00.014-07:00

No surprise, this is going to be a puppy blog for a while ;-)

Yesterday it was a "maybe" in the afternoon, this morning there are unmistakeable signs that Rumor is nesting. The blankets in the whelping box are in a rumpled pile, sort of circular.

The tray on the left is the reflector part of the infrared heater. It was covered up, but no, Ru needed the blankets elsewhere.

The whelping box is set up in the study. Lots of privacy, good light, sliding door to the outside, and I spend a lot of time in here. And room for an air mattress for me, so I can sleep in here.

As for her due date, well, let me point out that Anthony arrives home for spring break on Saturday afternoon. So my entry to the puppy pool assumes the worst possible scheduling conflict. Oh well.

Puppy Count, Countdown, and Pool

2010-03-01T14:27:00.005-07:00

We took Rumor to the repro vet specialist today for an x-ray to get a count of the puppies in the Ahdin Litter, due the end of this week. I am delighted (and more than a little relieved) that everything is progressing fabulously well and looks to be on track.

So we have a count of complete skeletons (the only kind visible, excellent news), and a best-guess on due date. If anybody's interested in a little just-for-fun puppy pool, post your guess in the comments: date & time of whelping, total number of puppies, number by sex, number by color / markings. Once the puppies are whelped I'll post the details and we'll see who got the closest.

For those interested in playing, here are some details on the parents:

Py is a self gold, not a black hair anywhere on him. Both his parents red brindles, sire IM, dam self. He has 2 black&brindle sisters, and two spotted sisters. Rumor is a self brindle with silver undercoat. Sire is a black-tipped self brindle, dam a self sabled-red. Rumor has produced two sables, and has a spotted littermate.

And everybody: fingers crossed for an unremarkable delivery with healthy mama and babies, whenever they come!

Training Predators

2010-02-25T07:41:00.009-07:00

A betrayal of the worst kind.

A horrible tragedy, made worse because children witnessed it. Tilikum reportedly grabbed the pony tail of his trainer, Dawn Brancheau, pulled her under water, and Brancheau was drowned.

Is it possible that the tickling of the trainer's hair on the orca's nose triggered a feeding reflex? Or the latest murder of one sentient being of another?

Training predators is not like training omnivores or prey animals. Part of my practice frequently involves evaluating behavior to determine its intent and its cause - and getting it wrong sometimes goes very badly. There are few companies that insure dog trainers, and fewer still that offer riders for dangerous dogs - known biters. It never ceases to disappoint me how many people will state "no bite history" during the intake interview, then later reveal "oh, he nips all the time" when I observe some behavioral clue inconsistent with the history.

I get bitten every couple of years by a client's dog; it's part of the risk package I accept in doing this work. I've once been dragged off my feet with a bulldog clamped to the ankle of my pants, been bitten several times on the leg, a couple of times on the arm (thank heavens I always overdress: heavy jeans and long-sleeved shirts), and once in the face (I looked like I'd come out on the wrong end of a bar fight). And I've had one, a golden with *too* much toy drive, grab my ponytail. Twice. (The second time I reflexively smacked him - he never did it again.) In virtually every case, the dog's bite history was incompletely revealed to me by the owner. I'm a LOT more careful about the language in my waiver (all dog bites I witness will be reported to the State), and I give the owners' reports little weight. I count on my own skepticism and observations to keep me safe.

Dogs bite. They have teeth. Even a stable dog will bite if sufficiently provoked - the rules of self preservation apply. Because there are so many undiagnosed unstable dogs out there, it's best to be really really careful. They over-react to benign provocation, and the results can be disastrous. I love working with dogs, but let's not pretend they are robots. A good dog is a treasure, a bad one is a danger. Sometimes knowing the difference is obvious; sometimes it takes skill.

And sometimes we just get it wrong.

I know nothing about training marine mammals. I do know they use R+ methods, as I do. So the loss of a fellow traveler in the world of training predators is keenly felt. By all reports, Brancheau died doing what she loved. Cold comfort. My heart breaks for her family and colleagues.

Flying Solo

2010-02-21T08:59:00.011-07:00

If anyone has noticed, yes this Blog is sadly stale and out of date... the best intentions and the road to hell and one-way tickets and all that. You know how it is.

The Ahdin Litter is due in less than two weeks and I am both excited and terrified. And trying to cram a lot of off-the-ranchero activities into the few remaining free days between now and then. Which leads me back to... flying solo.

Well, more accurately, walking solo.

Yesterday was my first official gig as a judge. It was my great privilege to judge Desert Hare Classic in the land of the toughest jacks to be had.

Talk about exciting and terrifying!

No small potatoes this event; while there are no points available the bragging rights that are at stake are significant. The event is run under TCC rules, so I spent many hours the last few weeks brushing up on the finer details. Because the winner is determined by a brace elimination, I had to be comfortable with those procedures as well. The DHC is open to any dog, which appeals strongly to my sense of fair play and tough competition. This "bring it on" mentality applies to USBCHA trials as well, and while one typically sees only border collies at the events, any breed or mix is welcome to try and prove its mettle. Best dog on the day, regardless of pedigree, wins. Amen.

There was a nice mix of hounds and people: locals, out of staters, dogs, bitches, young, seasoned, purpose-bred all. Whether easily recognized (greyhound, saluki, whippet) or known only to a sighthound connoisseur (longdog, lurcher, staghound, galgo), their lean muscled bodies and intense stares pegged them of a single mind: find the rabbit.

A word about these lesser known breeds; the idea behind their development and refinement is deceptively simple. Fast as greyhounds, durable as salukis, corner like whippets, endurance like pointers. Brilliant cooks with DNA as ingredients, the breeders of these hounds add a touch of this, a pinch of that, into their breeding programs when and as needed. Color doesn't matter, only the ability to deliver in the field. And deliver they do.

I spent the day walking apart from the gallery, trying to stay ahead of them to ensure perspective of the field and the courses in their entirety. Only two went out of sight sooner than I would have liked, most I saw from slip to distant end. If I could discern voices from the gallery, I was too close. Close enough to hear the shouts when a rabbit appeared, but far enough that no conversation penetrated my senses. While my eyes stayed focused on the advancing hunters, my mind was free to wander... and wander it did. At one point I checked the voice recorder only to discover I'd accidentally recorded 20 minutes of nothing in particular; this morning, out of curiosity I listened to it. I can hear the wind over the microphone, the frequent sniffs of my runny nose, the odd tune whistled absentmindedly, incomprehensible half sentences mumbled aloud. (Pity my husband, this must be what I sound like when asleep.) Walking alone, apart, for the day, in the distant company of good people and glorious hounds doing what they love... it really doesn't get any better than that.

This was my first time judging alone, officially. My previous judging work has been as an apprentice, and while that experience was essential in preparing for an actual assignment, so was (and will continue to be) the long conversations with any good judge on his/her approach and philosophy to the task. The rules provide guidance, but a surprising amount of latitude exists, relying on the judges' integrity to uphold the spirit of the rules at least as much as the wording itself. My endless appreciation to all the judges that have so kindly mentored and apprenticed me, and discussed the finer points of initiated work versus demonstrated agility and the nuances of awarding points, thoughts on kill credits and the thousands of details crammed into my skull - you're not done with me! - RP, DH, DB, DS, FB, JS, PD, CW. I may have been flying solo, but you were "with" me yesterday, in my head, helping me. Thank you.

The hosts for the event were more than kind, providing good company for dinner, covering my hotel bill, and providing some folding money to boot. Combine that with a gorgeous day in the desert and some of the finest coursing I've seen this season, and it is hard to imagine a more enjoyable day. The courses sussed the dogs out pretty easily, I did my best to make sure my scoring was consistent and fair, the handlers all seemed to understand my placements. (The voice recorder proved invaluable in awarding points and reviewing placements, ensuring a high level of comfort that the best performances advanced. Must use next time.) And of course the picnic lunch after was great, too.

Until next time - Tally ho!

Happy Birthday to Mr. Py

2010-01-14T17:32:00.019-07:00

What a week! The extremely fabulous Py (and his littersisters) had his 5th birthday on Thursday, and it was a celebration worthy of this wonderful dog.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday we went to Sandia National Labs to support their science magic show. This event, now in its fourth year, is designed to give kids (mostly fourth graders) a hands-on day with science experiments in the guise of finding a kidnapped dog. Schools from all over New Mexico participate, about 170 kids in total over the week.

(note: many thanks to the engineers in charge and the teachers for allowing me to take photos today.)

This takes place at the Advanced Materials Lab facility, and they are pretty serious about safety:

The kids think they are coming in for a magic show involving a dog that does tricks, but quickly discover that the dog has been kidnapped and they have to use science to analyze the clues and recover the dog.

They visit the crime scene:

Much discussion ensues, listing out all the clues: purple water, green slime, odd bits of paper, toys, leash, etc.

After doing fingerprints and voice print analysis, the class discusses the suspects (one of whom is their own principal):
One of the suspects is seen walking around with a box of dog biscuits - and he leaps to the head of the list. (This whole time Py was actually napping in my car in the parking lot.) The kids are persuaded to use science, not assumptions, to solve the crime.

Five stations are set up with hands-on experiments, the kids cycle through each station, getting to play with some very cool stuff and determining what the evidence means before drawing conclusions.

Each area is staffed by volunteers from the Lab to support the kids through their discoveries.

You can see they all wear safety goggles - the kids take those home, along with their ID badges, evidence logs, finger print sheets, etc.

The Lab uses REAL gold to make nano-gold, which is boring in the picture but involved a cool color-change and experiment with magnets.

I said, hands on!

This particular facility makes nanos that are specifically designed for certain functions, such as detecting a single type of cancer and attaching to those cancer cells. Posters like this one were everywhere... fascinating!

Once the kids have successfully solved the crime, the guilty party confesses and then brings in the dog, safe and sound. The kids then adjourn to the lobby for lunch and discuss careers in science, followed by "science cream" - ice cream made with liquid nitrogen! Py LOVES his ice cream and waits patiently for his small serving:

During the hour or so that the kids eat, Mr. Py wanders around and visits. Oftentimes there would be a half-dozen kids petting or hugging him at the same time; it takes a very special dog to enjoy this, day after day.

After finishing the science cream, there's a group-shot for the schools to remember the day and record the event for the Lab.
They've already made me promise to bring Py back next year, saying he was the best they've ever had.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As if that weren't enough excitement for one week, on Thursday we did our usual visit with the youngsters at the treatment center. Photos are not allowed there, and it was considerably more low-key than our Lab visits. The kids made Py peanut-butter-and-crackers, which he enjoyed tremendously. They sang Happy Birthday To You to him, and one of the teachers had taken all the cards from the kids and made a big keepsake book for him to bring home:

"Happy Birthday to one very sweet, patient, loving, gentle spirit - Mr. Pye"

I was profoundly moved by what each child had created; these two are typical:

(You can click on an image to enlarge.)

Happy birthday to our local rock-star, with love. Here's to many more!

Adios, 2009

2009-12-31T16:13:00.008-07:00

What a year. Plans made, some executed, some abandoned.

A son sent off to college, now home for the holidays and easily mistaken for a man. I'm flabbergasted by how much more him he is - his good characteristics are even stronger.

The dogs had another banner year. Dot and Jake were retired, and Gin entered the field. Many trials were attended, the hounds earned some titles and national rankings, and much fun was had by all. I'm proud of them.

This time last year Bugg arrived, it's been a pleasurable education overall, having her here. We lost Mac and Junior this year, but have been joined by puppy Trek. Our pack is a compatible if diverse lot.

And although we lost my Uncle Doug in the spring, overall the family is happy and healthy and everyone's on affectionate speaking terms - a blessing.

Deepest appreciation to my many friends for a wonderful year. May 2010 be even better.

Hide and Seek

2009-12-18T07:23:00.007-07:00

I have a client that is looking for a puppy, their elderly dog having recently passed away. They are willing to pay good money to an ethical breeder for the "right" puppy, and I applaud their approach: health testing, temperament testing, contract.

But of course when asking the local dog community for referrals (I'm not an expert in their breed of choice) I got one person who insists a shelter dog or rescue is the only way to go. Many people responded with references to local breeders (in the time-zone and adjacent states being our definition of local around here), all of which I passed along. But the "only good dog is a rescue dog" mentality irritates me.

Found a great line today:

The majority of purebreds are produced by family pets and commercial breeders, their puppies as far removed from the show ring as a second-hand pickup from the Formula One track.

It's from this article, and while I don't agree with the author's position on cropping and docking, much of it is sensible.

Wascally Wabbits

2009-12-13T17:42:00.005-07:00

The NM jacks are very hard to find this year, so I've stepped my efforts to learn more about them.

I've published the link to Dutch Salmon's article several times, and I figure once more won't hurt.

Thanks to falconer Paul for the tip that black-tailed jackrabbits are protected in Washington state, I found two more articles:

This first piece was referenced in several places, I finally found what looks like the original site. The second one has information on rabbits around the globe; very interesting. And finally a historical view on jacks, which reminds me of why not all deaths are equal.

If anyone knows of other authoritative sources or scientific research, please let me know about it in Comments. Thanks.

Coming to a Screen Near You

2009-12-08T10:03:00.002-07:00

If you get BBCA, watch this week: Pedigreed Dogs Exposed.

If you don't, try the link in this blog post and see if you can watch on-line.

Either way, breed clubs and breeders need to be prepared for the US reaction.

Winter terror-land

2009-12-03T12:10:00.004-07:00

It hasn't been above 30 in a few days, but some people insist on driving like it's a warm summer day.

Seen on my way home from town:
Incredibly, the driver walked away.

We've gotten 6" of snow since daybreak, it should stop sometime tomorrow. Good thing we've laid in some firewood!

Raison d’être

2009-11-29T08:11:00.010-07:00

We've all heard - either as advice we give our children or perhaps directed to ourselves - to follow your bliss. This isn't insipid advice from a 99 cent greeting card - it is actually a profound and fundamental truth.

Years ago my father, an orchestra conductor, advised Anthony (then an aspiring cello player), not to pursue a career in professional music unless he couldn't live without it. Being a musician is a tough way to make a living, much less in classical music. But if one is a musician (or an artist of any sort), life without that art is hell itself.

I've come to believe that is true, on some level, of all productive activity. Be it work or hobby, there's a self-fullfilling cycle: If you enjoy your work, you will be good at your work. If you are good at something, you're more likely to want to do it. In training, we call this a self-reinforcing behavior. There are lots of examples, food and sex being the most profound. If it feels good, do more of it, right? Think about comfort foods and masturbation, and the truth of this becomes obvious.

Some things are obvious only after first-hand experience, and I was reminded of this again yesterday. I took Gin open field coursing, and her unrestrained ecstasy at discovering why she exists gave me joy, as well. She loves plastic games (lure coursing and racing), really loves them. They are fun fun fun and Gin is always happy to go play. But yesterday she found her purpose for being: chasing live game over rough terrain in cold weather. This is what borzoi were developed to do, this is what they do better than any other breed. (Yes, some are faster and some have more endurance, but none other hits that trifecta out of the park.) Gin thought cotton-tails looked like fun and should be chased, but once loosed on the jackrabbit, she transformed.

I have seen this before, Py and Ren and Day all learned the same lesson about themselves - the why of their being. It's just like a border collie when they "turn on" at herding: OH!! I make the sheep move by doing THIS. And they become their true selves.

Hundreds of generations of DNA can not be denied. The truth is it feels good to do that at which we are best. Basically, "do what you love, love what you do."

And perhaps this is why we humans - as a species - have so much trouble figuring out what to do with our lives. We have hundreds of generations of DNA for... nothing in particular. So Anthony has a love and appreciation of music that only a musician can have, but it is not his raison d’être. His opportunities to discover other interests have led him in a different direction, one that is easy for him simply because he loves it so much.

The hard part is to find what you love. The easy part is, just do it.

Training is Playing

2009-11-11T10:10:00.004-07:00

We say it all the time:

Train like you compete; compete like you train.

And the best training resembles play - and this is a wonderful example. Enjoy!

To hell with the consequences

2009-11-09T07:36:00.008-07:00

I just let my fingers do the walking.

Anthony's roommate, in whom we had such confidence, has turned out to be a drunk. A danger to himself and a risk to Anthony's academic career.

Omerta - the code of silence - is alive and well within the dorm walls. Although we have been aware of this growing problem for several weeks, it initially seemed appropriate to let the roomies deal with this themselves. No more. I no longer care that it "isn't done" to rat-out one's roomie. I no longer care that "mom" shouldn't interfere in a situation 1500 miles away. I am no longer hesitant to butt into a dangerous situation.

The proverbial last straw? The roommate's drinking has gone too far. Since he turned 19, Jesse progressed to passing out in the room, gagging on his own vomit. Anthony spent Saturday night and Sunday keeping his roommate alive, instead of sleeping and studying.

That is not what a 17 year old should be doing with his weekend.

So this morning I picked up the phone and called the university employee in charge of that dormitory. Anthony will be pissed at me, and so will Rick. But I don't care. If I were Jesse's mom, I'd want somebody to pick up the phone and get my kid the help he needs.

Because the consequences of inaction are too awful to contemplate.

Horse of the Year 2009

2009-11-07T21:07:00.007-07:00

This is her: Zenyatta - unbeaten and untouchable.

Her biggest competition, Rachel Alexander, wasn't on the track this weekend. Let the voting begin.

What a year!

Sex and life

2009-11-03T12:40:00.003-07:00

The study on longevity and spaying has been getting forwarded a lot recently; here's a link to the original published article:

http://www.gpmcf.org/respectovaries.html

Food for thought and more data against MSN and early forced spay.

One of those days

2009-10-15T13:35:00.011-06:00

Dog + Kids = Magic

This morning Py and I did our weekly visit with the kids at the treatment center. We usually hang out in one of the classrooms, the kids cycle through as they work on a particular assignment or project. Sometimes we're involved in a treatment session, but not always. This week they are making and hanging Halloween decorations, which requires measuring and math. Then kids ended up measuring Mr. Py (as they call him), comparing their results in centimeters and inches, adding height at elbow to height from elbow to withers or top of head, comparing to height of hocks and hip. Around the ribs, waist, neck, each leg in various places. Then along his head, length of spine, add length of tail... you get the idea. Then they got out a stamp pad and used one of Mr. Py's feet to make paw prints in their decorations. It was very cool how they included him in the day's activities.

In the middle of all this activity, one little girl had lain down on the floor; I asked if she weren't feeling well. (It's germ season and the facility has strict rules about symptoms.) I miss my dad, she said, and looked unbearably sad. I let the teacher know she was having a hard time, the teacher suggested the girl draw to let out her feelings; she did, then gave the teacher her drawing.

Next thing I know Mr. Py is pulling and pulling, he wants out of the classroom. The doorway is covered with decorations (big scary streamers of bats and spiders) so I can't see what's out there. The teacher sticks her head in, asks if she can hold Mr. Py's leash in the hallway. Something in her face makes me say yes.

Mr. Py went and leaned on this girl, who then was able to talk with a counselor in the hall. I could see a little through the streamers; he just stood there, touching her, while she stroked him. I couldn't hear the conversation, but was later told the girl was considering suicide and had drawn a picture of a knife. Until Mr. Py had forced his way to her, she wasn't talking. By the time we left she was laughing.

Cured of her depression? Of course not. But, thanks to the miracle of a dog who felt her pain and insisted on helping, this girl has the support of the adults around her and will get the treatment she needs.

Py is now sleeping, he will for about 24 hours. The level of toxic hell some of these kids have survived is indescribable; they dump it out of their systems and Mr. Py takes some of it away from them. Then he has to recover. Every week he stamps his feet at my car - it's Thursday morning! Let's go see my kids! Then he drags me to the front door, down the stairs and to his kids - and becomes Mr. Py.

I can't explain it, I didn't train it, it's just a gift he has. It's days like this that make me appreciate the ability to listen to dogs, to trust them, to go with what they know - even when I'm in over my head.

Never Say Never

2009-10-11T16:24:00.025-06:00

Somewhere, there's a patch of hell that has frozen over. I know this because today, despite all previous pronouncements to the contrary, I set it foot in the Conformation ring and the Obedience ring on the same day. Have to say, I never thought that would happen.

Now, we pause so that those that know me well can pick themselves up off the floor after fainting; please enjoy the music.

Dum, deedle dum, tra la la. (Thanks for listening.)

When I happen to be at a dog show, which is usually because I have a dog entered in Rally, I do try to watch the breed ring. I used to watch the Border collies in particular, but the specimines one finds in the show ring nauseate me so I no longer do. I know too much, have seen too many bench champions fail a basic herding instinct test, have seen too many brilliant herding dogs get passed over in the show ring, to have any use whatsoever for the opinion of any conformation judge of this breed. Correction - they are now separate breeds: working border collies and barbie collies. There are always exceptions so spare me the story of the one you've seen. Barbie collies are easy to identify: heavy bone, insane amounts of coat, typically low drive (easier to live with than a real, working border collie), too stupid to know which end of a sheep to stalk (also easier to live with than a real, working border collie), and a sea of monotonous irish marked, black and white. No thanks.

Lately I make a point to watch sighthound judging, and borzoi in particular, as most sighthound breeds are not yet fully split into bench and working types. This is a highly probable outcome, and has long since happened in many other breeds.

Take a look at any of the following: Golden Retriever, Labrador Retriever, Cocker Spaniel or Irish Setter - you get the idea, the list is endless - there are "field" lines and "show" lines. Pick any small terrier breed; JRT's are now called Parsons in the show ring, in less than a decade there is a complete split. I refer you again to working border collies, ruined in merely three generations; herding ability is genetically complex. Greyhounds are almost there, Whippets are inches away.

When I'm watching sighthound judging I look to see if the judge knows what he or she is doing. Do they go for profuse coat? TRAD movement? (TRAD is "tremendous reach and drive" - very flashy, totally inefficient, and absolutely incorrect for sighthounds.) Move dogs with obviously bad temperaments to the end of the line? Since I know most of the local dogs, I compare what the judge selects against my personal observations of each dog's coursing ability. Does the judge carefully examine the topline for flexibility? Or do they go for handlers? Have a color bias? Prefer size over soundness or physical condition?

Standing ringside for hound group judging, I joined in a conversation with two strangers, one of whom turned out to be a sighthound person and a conformation judge. We were discussing the difference between a great dog and a great show dog - and all agreed they are two different things, rarely seen in a single individual. He commented that what he hates most is those interviews of the Best In Show judge on TV, when the judge says "He just asked for the win!" What would be much better, we all agreed, would be to say something like: "This dog is an excellent example of its breed, has a correct temperament, all it's teeth, is not overweight, is well muscled, moves soundly, appears to be in glorious health." Can you just imagine what John Q Public would learn about dogs if that were repeated after every televised dog show? Even better, can you imagine how show dogs would improve if every breeder / owner / handler were working toward those goals?

But I digress. (Thank you for not fainting from shock a second time in a single post.)

So today I was standing ringside, rooting for my friends and watching the judge - who, predictably, did not put up what I consider to be the best coursing hound. No surprise there. However, one friend wound up with two dogs in best of breed judging, and I was drafted to assist. Luckily I was dressed properly (yes, the handler's attire matters, more proof it isn't about the dogs nearly as much as they pretend it is), borrowed some bait, and ventured into the ring. I managed not to fall down or step on the hound or mess up anyone next to me in line, so I will declare the experience a rousing success.

I was properly dressed because I was entered in Obedience - Novice A, to be exact - the last class of the day, in a ring at the far end of the trial site. Good news: late in day, fewer distractions, small class, etc. Bad news: outdoor show, hot sunshine, sighthound, 5 of the 7 exercises are off leash.

I am thrilled to report that my dog, a borzoi, did NOT leave the ring chasing anything, and did NOT mark the ring (pee) although a bitch had done so not 15 minutes before we walked in. As hoped, I learned the specific things I need to work on (uncued, auto-sits when heeling; single verbal cue for recall; more duration for off-leash heeling). And as icing on the cake, my big bozo was the only Novice dog (A or B) that passed both the long Sit and the long Down.

Don't get me wrong, we did not qualify, but I was thrilled none the less: we had accomplished MORE than I had expected. In short, another rousing success in a foreign ring.

As we were leaving the ring, the judge indicated to me that she'd like a word. Not one to argue with the judge, I scooted my hound into the shade and gave her my rapt attention. The judge - no doubt with the best intentions - then berated me for not taking things seriously, my dog obviously didn't respect me, and if I ever expected to accomplish anything with him (yes, that's a quote) I needed to be better prepared. Borzoi, she explained, are a noble breed, she likes to see them do well, I should appreciate what they are capable of. I tried to smile politely and said that it was MY first time in an actual Obedience ring and the day's exercise was for me to see what *I* need to work on, I thought the dog was fine. I meant no disrespect by being casual, I'd been doing Rally for several years and was feeling my way through the differences. The judge said, ah yes Rally, well yes, this is quite different. At that moment, someone told the judge to look at the catalogue (which contains the dog's registered name and titles), as there was nothing that particular dog couldn't do. (Can I just say, I LOVE my 4-H kids' parents!!) I thanked the judge, beamed a smile at the 4-H mom, found my dog's cookies, and headed back back to our set-up area.

Along the way I was waylaid by another exhibitor, who, after asking if she could tell me something, proceeded to loudly and repeatedly admonish me for the collar I had on my dog in the ring. (A perfectly legal collar, by the way, that I had pre-cleared with the judge.) Really? You're getting after me me for my choice of collar?

Now I ask you: what if today had been my first EVER time at a dog trial? Novice A is for rookies, it's the class for rank beginners. How many people can take a dressing-down from a judge, in front of the ring crew and spectators, not qualify, and ever want to come back for more? How many people can be loudly, and unfairly, publicly criticized for the collar their dog is wearing, and ever want to come back for more? My guess is: very few.

What's wrong with dog shows isn't the grooming that would make a prom-queen cry or the spectators or the weather or the entry fees or the roach-coach food vendors or the clothes or the frequently pretentious atmosphere to the entire circus. It's not the absurd glossy magazines filled with carefully edited pictures or the staggering costs of campaigning a special. It isn't even that the dogs winning couldn't run a mile if their lives depended on it, much less do it over and over. No, what's wrong with dog shows is the politics and the people (yes, I know those always come as a package), the lack of encouragement or support or compliments for those just trying something new. What's wrong is all the bullshit and one-up-manship and nastiness.

Sure, we should try to do a creditable job and train our dogs and be prepared. And at the top levels of any game, a certain amount of competitive edge is inevitable. But at some silly little local show, is it too much to ask that we remain civil toward one another? Nice? Polite? Take a moment and offer the rookie a pat on the back instead of harsh remarks?

Here's hoping for a thaw.

Rescue Me

2009-10-09T07:30:00.004-06:00

Yeah, I'm behind. WAY behind. I have a half-dozen posts in my head, many with pretty pictures, but it's fall and I'd rather be outside in the glorious glorious air than inside on the 'puter. Plus it's trial season and I'm out of town 3 days every week and insanely busy teaching and when I am home it's all-laundry-all-the-time time.

Anyway, the following showed up on one of the lists this morning, I have no idea who the author is but it nails the human condition as frequently seen in animal rescue work. (The most expensive dog I own was a rescue, his history is one of neglect. The third time he was picked up by Animal Control the owner didn't want him back - don't ask for my opinion of that guy 'cause I'll tell you. How Boomer wound up with us is a long story, but he is here to stay, warts and all.) It's not the dogs' fault they wind up in rescue, but it's rare to find a perfect dog there.

If you recognize yourself in any of these, I hope you take that as a cue to change your ways.

A RESCUER'S ANSWERING MACHINE:

Hello: You have reached ___-____, Tender Hearts Rescue. Due to the igh volume of calls we have been receiving, please listen closely to the following options and choose the one that best describes you or your situation:

Press 1 if you have a 10-year-old dog and your 15-year-old son has suddenly become allergic and you need to find the dog a new home right away.

Press 2 if you are moving today and need to immediately place your 150 pound, 8-year-old dog.

Press 3 if you have three dogs, had a baby and want to get rid of your dogs because you are the only person in the world to have a baby and dogs at the same time.

Press 4 if you just got a brand new puppy and your old dog is having problems adjusting so you want to get rid of the old one right away.

Press 5 if your little puppy has grown up and is no longer small and cute and you want to trade it in for a new model.

Press 6 if you want an unpaid volunteer to come to your home TODAY and pick up the dog you no longer want.

Press 7 if you have been feeding and caring for a "stray" for the last three years, are moving and suddenly determine it's not your dog.

Press 8 if your dog is sick and needs a vet but you need the money for your vacation.

Press 9 if you are elderly and want to adopt a cute puppy who is not active and is going to outlive you.

Press 10 if your relative has died and you don't want to care for their elderly dog because it doesn't fit your lifestyle.

Press 14 if you are calling at 6 a.m. to make sure you wake me up before I have to go to work so you can drop a dog off on your way to work.

Press 15 to leave us an anonymous garbled message, letting us know you have left a dog in our yard in the middle of January, which is in fact, better than just leaving the dog with no message.

Press 16 if you are going to get angry because we are not going to take your dog that you have had for fifteen years, because it is not our responsibility.

Press 17 if you are going to threaten to take your ten year old dog to be euthanized because I won't take it.

Press 18 if you're going to get angry because the volunteers had the audacity to go on vacation and leave the dogs in care of a trusted volunteer who is not authorized to take your personal pet.

Press 19 if you want one of our PERFECTLY trained, housebroken, kid and cat friendly purebred dogs that we have an abundance of.

Press 20 if you want us to take your dog that has a slight aggression problem, i.e.. has only bitten a few people and killed your neighbor's cats.

Press 21 if you have already called once and been told we don't take personal surrenders but thought you would get a different person this time with a different answer.

Press 22 if you want us to use space that would go to a stray to board your personal dog while you are on vacation, free of charge, of course.

Press 23 if it is Christmas Eve or Easter morning and you want me to deliver an eight week old puppy to your house by 6:30 am before your kids wake up.

Press 24 if you have bought your children a duckling, chick or baby bunny for Easter and it is now Christmas and no longer cute.

Press 25 if you want us to take your female dog who has already had ten litters, but we can't spay her because she is pregnant again and it is against your religion.

Press 26 if you're trying to make one of our younger volunteers feel bad and take your personal pet off your hands.

Press 27 if your cat is biting and not using the litter box because it is declawed, but you are not willing to accept the responsibility that the cat's behavior is altered because of your nice furniture.

Press 28 if your two year old male dog is marking all over your house but you just haven't gotten around to having him neutered.

Press 29 if you previously had an outdoor only dog and are calling because she is suddenly pregnant.

Press 30 if you have done "everything" to housebreak your dog and have had no success but you don't want to crate the dog because it is cruel.

Press 31 if you didn't listen to the message asking for an evening phone number and you left your work number when all volunteers are also working and you are angry because no one called you back.

Press 32 if you need a puppy immediately and cannot wait because today is your daughter's birthday and you forgot when she was born.

Press 33 if your dog's coat doesn't match your new furniture and you need a different color or breed.

Press 34 if your new love doesn't like your dog and you are too stupid to get rid of the new friend (who will dump you in the next month anyway) instead of the dog.

Press 35 if you went through all these 'options' and didn't hear enough. This press will connect you to the sounds of tears being shed by one of our volunteers who is holding a discarded old dog while the vet mercifully frees him from a life of no medical care, severe neglect and abuse.

Diagnosis

2009-09-28T17:24:00.002-06:00

Anthony did go to the doctor today, finally.

Walking pneumonia.

Oy.

How does one push a rope?

2009-09-27T21:26:00.003-06:00

Anthony's been at university for five weeks, and sick for four of them. But will he go to the infirmary?

No. Of course not. Don't be silly.

ARGH.

Despite leaving him with a pretty well-stocked first aid kit, and sending him some OTC cough medicine, he still has the crud. But won't go to the infirmary.

Dormitories are high-risk for swine flu, and thankfully there are no reported cases yet (and an emergency plan already in place), so I'm trying not to hit the panic button.

We're going to visit him this coming weekend; if I don't like what I see... You know what I'll do.