Change of Plans

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.

Camped Out

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.

Choices have Consequences

My kids hear that expression about once a day... and it's always true.

Whether by act, hesitation, denial, or conscious choice, everything we do - and don't do - has at least once result. Even if we don't know about it. Accelerating through a yellow light may mean we're in an accident (or not) a couple of blocks later. Or a lie of omission that comes back to haunt us at the most inopportune moment.

Perhaps worst of all, is making a decision based on the best current information and later learning it was the wrong choice. Particularly when we're making decisions for others, and those consequences have life and death implications.

Years ago I had my border collie bitch, Dot, spayed at about five months of age. That was conventional wisdom and the standard veterinary advice. I now believe that we daily live with the results of that choice, and it was the wrong one to have made. Dot suffered a career-ending knee injury before she her second birthday, a fairly common injury in performance dogs altered before their growth plates are closed. Thanks to the work of Chris Zink DVM I won't make this mistake again; Dot's forced retirement is a constant reminder of that regrettable choice.

The last few weeks I've been planning the castration of one of my males, Ren. A hard-keeper at the best of times, Ren is impossible to feed for a couple of weeks every time a bitch is in season. Many knowledgeable people have reported increasing prostate problems in intact males as they age around intact bitches; Ren's got enough problems with out that! And, my son Anthony will be doing an internship at our veterinarian's practice for a month, and I thought that it might be good timing to have Ren castrated while Anthony is working there. Ren would have somebody he loves and trusts with him the entire time, it would be scheduled after our spring trial season is complete, and Anthony would be able to observe the surgery with full owner consent.

However, comma...

Today I came across a new and recent article on the long-term effects of altering, and it made for some disturbing reading. While castration decreases the incidence of benign prostatic hypertrophy, it also increases the probability of osteosarcoma. One is easy to cure, one is impossible.

What to do? I haven't a clue. My youngest bitch is in heat right now, and we seem to be getting along a bit better this time. The intact males are banished to the barn, pasture, kennel, and puppy paddock for three weeks; Gin is restricted to the house and house paddock for three weeks. Double-fencing and hyper-vigilant supervision, and routine crating in separate buildings, will prevent an accidental breeding - but the thought of going through this four (or more) times per year is a consideration. This time Gin is on chlorophyll; she gets 1 Tbls on each meal. Her poop is bright green, but she seems to smell a lot less interesting. (Thanks to this site for useful info - 1 tsp. per 30 lbs. of body weight, twice a day.) Increasing Ren's quality of life now vs. increasing the risk of a painful and fatal disease... I am paralyzed by indecision.

Another favorite of mine is the law of unintended consequences. The BBC broadcast last year ultimately prevented Crufts from being on TV. (It's being webcast this week - how cool!) The consequences of the backlash have been two-fold: one, by purebred dog fanciers against the BBC (I expect the same against ABC in light of an upcoming Nightline episode); and two, by the public against breeders for producing "freaks". Several KC breeds have had to change their standards. Sweden has already followed suit, many people anticipate the AKC will force American parent breed clubs to do so as well.

Is this good or bad? It depends. I think that breeds - not individuals, entire BREEDS - that can't copulate ("live cover") or free whelp (routine cesarean is mandatory) have fundamental problems. Fanciers that accept a life expectancy of 6 years or insist that ear cropping and tail docking are functional... are asking to be a target. Aesthetics are all well and good, but when the unnatural is promoted as normal... "Freaks" seems an apt word to some.

But the old expression about lies, damn lies, and statistics bears review: just becuase there are detailed data about breed-specific health issues doesn't mean the purebred dogs have more problems. The absense of data on mixed-breeds and random-bred dogs does not prove they are healthier. In fact, Jerold Bell DVM said at a seminar I attended less than two years ago that x-poo breeds have MORE thyroid problems than any purebred breed, primarily because the "hybrid vigor" myth deludes a lot of people and most mixed-breeders don't do any health testing. Yikes.

My mother used to say: indecision is still a decision. Mama's always right, again.

True Love

One of the most intimate and rewarding relationships I have is with a six year old.

That may sound a bit weird until you realize that this isn't with a child, but a bitch. Not just any bitch, but one with an opposable thumb and middle finger.

My involvement with Dot was intense before she even arrived. I spent a year searching for a breeder for a new puppy - not just any puppy of course but a border collie bitch, confident and stable - as my agility partner. A year!! That may sound excessive, but I've found that taking so much time enables me to be really sure, totally comfortable, with a decision. Dogs live at least 12 years; it's not a choice I make lightly.

With patience and persistence I found a breeder, one with high standards and exceptional lines. With luck she had a puppy that sounded right; she approved our home, and the match was made. With Dot, I got so much more than I could have ever expected. She is my friend, my partner, and - frequently - my teacher.

What has happened over the past several years has been a roller coaster of hope, despair, adjustment, bliss, and change. From emergency surgery to a string of first place finishes and easy titles to career-ending injuries to new sports to conquer, Dot has done everything I've ever asked, with mind-blowing speed and intensity. As her seventh birthday approaches, I flinch at the thought that the ride is half over. I love Dot more than air; she is so far deep inside my being that I am incapacitated by the notion that I will, someday, be forced to be without her.

There are great dogs: dogs that do things we determine to be great, dogs that make the news for heroic deeds, dogs that change peoples lives though quiet acts. And there are dogs that effect change through sheer force of presence; Dot is a force of nature. She is tough - incredibly tough - in mind and spirit.

But she is reckless; her body has proven to be more fragile than her will, and that has cost us both quite dearly. For good or ill, with Dot it is never about the journey, it's only about the destination. And getting there as fast as speeding bullet, sometimes with as much destruction.

There are no "freebies" with Dot, every day is a challenge. Despite that, her ability and willingness to try anything that occurs to either her or me is a constant joy. Agility? Her first three runs on the field were all blue ribbons, picking up a standard title her first weekend. No other dog was within 10 seconds of her time. (She retired with only two titles after destroying both an elbow and a knee. Speed kills.) Herding? The first two instructors I took her to offered to either buy her or train and trial her for me. (She has titles in three venues, with me at the crook.) Obedience? We went into the ring to try it, and half way through Dot told me that it was repetitive and dull and would I *please* pay attention to how boring it was? (She was right, and we never went back.) Rally? That has been both fun and entertaining, as her obsession with jumps sometimes overpowers her attention while heeling - but the titles racked up anyway. Her official name is: Turandot, CGC, NAC, TN-N, HCT, STD-s, JHD, PT, HTD, RAE

Dot is a typical border collie - intense, intelligent, and a little bizarre. She loves watching TV; her favorite programs involve animals - no cartoons, however - and pro bull riding not to be missed. She is both a supreme alpha bitch and exceptionally gentle with puppies. She flings tennis balls into your knees for another throw (once training a neighbor to throw for her by stuffing the ball through a hole in the fence), is an exceptional foot warmer on the sofa and in bed, and an incomparable traveling companion. She is safe with babies, cats, and has no interest in food - and we have to spell s-h-e-e-p or she heads to the door, eager to work.

She is also completely unique. No other dog I know can turn on the TV, or understands that the remote control is needed to change the channel. At a dead run she has a double-suspension gallop, rare outside sighthound breeds. She will meet any dog's challenge with fire in her eye, but is completely non-lethal. Only Dot sleeps on the bed, every night. And she is dead safe with all people. Dot can herd cattle, goats, and sheep, but not ducks. There's nothing she can't learn, and quite a lot I'm not entirely sure how she figured out. I speak to her in complete sentences, and she often replies in kind.

A couple of years ago we went to a herding trial in the morning (she took first and finished a title), then drove a hundred miles to an agility trial in the afternoon. On a lark I entered her in an class with no jumps. After second-guessing myself as we waited our turn, then getting a terrible case of nerves as we went in the ring, it began. We ran as one, sharing vision, breath, heartbeat, focus, and joy. Agility can do that - two species with a single soul. For fifteen seconds, we were one being. Agility veterans call it "the dance" and it is as powerful as any addictive substance. After crossing the finish line I collapsed into tears; thankfully my son was there to catch me and Dot. They were complicated tears: happiness, release, anger and frustration of all the years of dancing we missed because of injury - and temptation to compete again anyway, just to feel it, one more time. Dot sparkled and begged to go again; she felt it too.

Her size, coat, and color (leggy, smooth, tri) elicit comments, and recently people have referred to her as both young looking and beginning to gray. I only see her eyes, locked on mine, unblinking, screaming with intensity, full of challenge and sentience and mischief. The love of my life; may she reign forever.