Serving Up Kibbles on a Silver Platter

It's been a while since I have visited my blog site. Been in rehab of sorts...depression from losing my fight with the State Park over shrinking and fencing the dog park...and destroying my dog adventure business by limiting it to a 3 dog rule. I miss our adventures and the crazy lessons born of my friends' canine capers. Koda, my border collie and I have resorted to sneaking out in the open space in our valley (at the risk of rangers' incarceration if caught) to at least share in the freedom of off-leash delights. Something tells me that life lessons will still be erupting from our dogged determination to experience life off of a leash!

For example. Just this morning as Koda and I greeted the sunrise, he sniffed out the fresh scent of the ubiquitous coyote who scavenges the neighborhood for any remnants of food he can forage. Ticks Koda off! Their dance routine is the same each day. A chase, some angry barking and a sort of stand off as they go their separate ways. Tangles between Koda and the coyote have become less and less loaded with animosity over the last few weeks. I'd like to claim credit for this as a result of my laborious lectures to Koda aimed at evoking compassion in him toward his wild counterpart. After all, coyotes don't get their meals served up on a silver platter. They actually have to work for their food. If they don't work, they don't eat. Have some understanding of their dilemma, mi perro! Koda just tips his head from side to side in puzzlement at my verbosity, then plunges his muzzle into his silver bowl as he bolts down his dished up delicacies.

Life lesson? Empathy does a long way towards resolving conflicts. My mom's old adage was, "don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes." Being young I saw that as a sure-fire case for athlete's foot. Now, aged and experienced, I see the value of that bit of leathery wisdom. I must admit that I love it when others try on my shoes before they label or judge me. But our default mode is to take pot shots at another before we have any idea from whence he or she comes.

A man on a subway train was sharply criticized for not controlling his 5 kids as they ran wild through the car. Dazed, he apologized as he explained that he was coming from the hospital where his wife, the children's mother had just died. He was in shock and at a loss to know what they all would do without her. Who knows what pain lurks beneath the impatient, peculiar or even irresponsible actions of others. Perhaps it is a distracted driver who swerves into your lane as he worries about his home being repossessed. Or an unresponsive teenager who has just been abandoned by her best friend. Or an empty coyote stomach that would long to punge his muzzle into a silver platter full of pre-pared food.  We can't know from a distance, so let's be a bit more gentle in our judgments and less quick to bark or bite.

Party Poopers

As I put together my dog teams for our off-leash adventures, I need to be sure to get at least two "party animals" in the mix for any given trip to the dog park. Without a canine of kindred spirit, my compulsive chasers, wrestlers and squirrel hunters have no accomplice with whom to cavort. Despite their animated allegiance to me, they will look elsewhere for a better party. (Sounds like the college scene!) My magnetic personality is only as attractive as my ability to provide a rowdy play partner. I failed to do this yesterday and relearned my lesson.

Koda, my Border Collie mix "does not play well with others." He tries but his brusque, business-like mentality of squelching any activity he considers a potential uprising, throws a wet blanket on the flames of a perfectly good game of chase. The teeth flashing and commanding growls just don't spell 'fun-loving.' I've tried to explain that to him, that he doesn't need to manage the marauders, but just to go with their flow and enjoy the jaunt, but he just can't seem to transcend his genetics. The "taken-to-task" look on the wounded players faces was all to familiar to me.

It struck me with a rush of recognition... I'm often a wet blanket at parties in my world too. Mostly I can blame it on too many hours in my therapist's chair over the years. I kind of get used to going for the throat of the issue at hand, and posing imposing questions or insights into the conversation. Comfortable with this level of interaction, I manage to make everyone else uncomfortable. A scene from "Friends" comes to mind where some psychologist acquaintance of theirs 'wet blankets' Chandler as he entertains everyone with his jokes, with the comment, "I'd hate to be there when the laughter stops." A perfect line to kill the momentum of a playful moment, but unfortunately it is often my exact modus operandi. Lynette lose the bared teeth and commanding growl! Just go with the flow!

So I herey issue an apology to all of you, my friends and family, whose fun energy I have smothered with inappropriate words over the years. Forgive me, "I know not what I do." Help me to learn how to keep the laughter going when it is healthy to do so. Tell me to 'lighten up' when my wet blanket comes out. Every party has a pooper, but I'm done with that being me!

Born to be --------

Instincts are powerful forces in dogs (and probably in us, as humans, if we were to take a closer look at our impulses). It's not some random categories by which they separate out dog breeds at dog shows. Working dogs are compulsive workers. Hunter/retrievers live and breathe to chase a ball. Miniature breeds are bred to love a warm lap and Terriers can never get enough playtime. These categories describe the hard-wiring that drives each of these breeds.

Take the newest addition to our adventures, Bailey. A 10 month old Australian Shepherd, I have never seen such a natural herder. Even at this wet-behind-the-ears, young age, she not only has a passion for moving the other dogs around, (much to their dismay), but naturally incorporates the bumping and nipping techniques that mature herders employ. No one taught her, but inately she just knows how. Still small, she has to do a bit of jumping to reach that magic spot on the big dogs' necks, but with marksmanship finese, Bailey lands her prodding and sends them moving. Meshed with this herding instinct is a thick-skinned personality that is not intimidated by huge targets, or negative reactions to her efforts. Interestingly Bailey tried this once on my dog, Koda, who is also a herder, and the look he gave her would have felled Goliath! Somehow he clearly communicated to her that he was off-limits to her antics, and that they were on the same team. Now both Koda and Bailey ride watch on the herd, constantly scanning for any nuance of disturbance so they can quickly enforce compliance. It's like having built-in hit-men on our adventures!

Retrievers retrieve...ad nauseum. Lap dogs know just how to make themselves adorable enough to weasel their way onto your lap...and into your heart. Guard dogs exude attitude. Bird dogs have a magnetic pull to feathers, and border collies hypervigilantly keep their borders secured. Take away any of these dogs' freedom to express these natural inclinations and they become dull and depressed.

So what does that say about us...what instincts are we repressing? Ours get lost in our scramble to meet our family's and society's expectations. In order to fit in, we become experts at reading cues from others as to what is valued and desirable. So much so that we misplace our ability to access our own natural instincts and passions.

How about you? What invigorates your mind, imagination and heart? What makes you come alive? What sparks a twinkle in your eye? (Don't go there you men-folk! Think broader!) Maybe you've forgotten your happy thought. Do some digging. Remember back to the days before society squelched those natural inclinations. Sprinkle some pixie dust. Feel the wind of wonder lift you beyond the jurisdiction of gravity, even if just for a moment. What's there? Is it something you can find a way to re-engage with in your life?

Hopefully, unlike Bailey it won't involve nipping someone else's neck to run them in circles, but it might surprise you none-the-less! Fill in your own blank. "Born to be ----! (God is probably smiling even now as He sees you reconnecting with a piece of the Master-piece He made you to be!)

Puppy Love

Recently I've had the delightfully fun privilege of taking some puppies to the dog park. Off-leash adventures turn even old coots into rolicking puppies, so imagine what it does to these "free-at heart" little souls! Absolute abandon to the unbridled experience! They are swept into the riotous chases, only to be rolled by the bigger dogs as they race by. Undetered, they untangle their legs and re-engage with new determination. No room for hypersensitivity to rough treatment in them. A good roll now and again is just proof that they are a bonified part of the pack. Having not yet developed their discerning skills, their motto is "any old legs will do," as they attach themselves to whatever human appendages capture their fancy. The trick as the adventure guide is to keep my legs prancing with energy so they are consistently drawn to the right ones, namely mine.

Tucker is one of these gentle souls. A four month old Golden Retriever, he begged his way into inclusion on our adventures when he couldn't bear to see his big brother, Luke, leave without him. Still cloaked in puffs of cotton-candy puppy down, Tucker is the essence of irrestible! He either knows that, or is so unself-conscious that rejection never enters his mind. Every person is his long lost friend. And because he expects a royal reception, he invariably gets one. Coos and caws, ouhs and ahhs, people literally gush with delight at his adorable antics. Who doesn't love a puppy fix now and then?! Men on the make have accessed this attraction factor by either keeping a puppy around them, or trying (generally very unsuccessfully) to act like one. Simply irrestible (when authenticaly canine)!

Oh for that puppy-kind of perspective! For a pure heart that doesn't waste gobs of time nursing old hurts and constructing scabs for future protection. For resilency. For good-naturedness to end hypersensitivity. For expectation of a welcome reception that solicits exactly that. For puppy fluff instead of layers of armoring. For playfulness. And most of all for the ability to drop on the spot for a spontaneous nap. Now that's the life! Think 'puppy love' the next time someone barks a little too roughly at you!

Barking Up the Wrong Tree

Squirrel hunting is serious business on our off-leash adventures. Perhaps it is because squirrels have the upper hand (or paw) in our encased yards and leashed environments. They have an uncanny ability to dash just behond the trajectory of a dog's reach, tormenting him or her with taunting chirps from the safety of their geometrically calculated position. Leashless adventures level the playing field, and the dogs know it!

Such was the case the other day when Lizzy flushed out a squirrel from its oblivious foraging activities. "Sqog!" was the battle cry, (my alert for Squirrel on Ground!). A bugle blast wouldn't have rallied the troops any faster! All six dogs materialized instantly at Lizzy's side to aid in the acquisition of this rare find. (I wouldn't assist in this fox-hunt-like activity except I know my dogs. Passionate but incompetent. No squirrel is ever hurt by their frantic efforts. Once a squirrel even fell out of a tree onto their heads and they were so shocked that they froze with indecision of what to do!) All bark but no bite. Literally.

With seven dogs barking at the base of the tree, to which the squirrel had scurried, you'd think one of them would have noticed that the squirrel had jumped ship for a better branch on another tree. It was long gone. The dogs' frenzied barking continued as if convinced that their frothing demands would induce a surrender. I tried to tell them that they were now "barking up the wrong tree," but to no avail. That squirrel must be there somewhere, intimidated by their bluster.

The scene transported me to my counseling couch where much 'barking' also took place over the years. Identifying many "Sqogs" with my clients, we did a lot of treeing of tormenting squirrels. Flushing out a squirrel was always exciting, and some degree of expressing anger, frustration, hurt and desire for revenge was very healing. The problem came, like with my dogs, when the squirrel was long gone, but the barking continued. The had moved on, but the compulsive need to keep up the vigil had shifted from productive to destructive. Convincing a canine, or a client of this futility was often, in itself, futile.

So let's ask ourselves this question. What am I barking at? Sqogs that need treeing, or squirrels that have long since exited the scene? Is it treeing time, or time to move on? I can't answer that question for you. I know I've wasted time at the base of the wrong tree for long stretches in my life, so who am I to sort that out for you? I do direct you to God for those answers though. He's seen the squirrels' tormenting activities and knows the hurts in your heart. There is a time for barking and a time to cease barking. Learn to listen to Him as you discern between the two in your life. He loves you and doesn't want you to waste the time and trauma of barking up the wrong tree.

Independence is Over-rated!

Ever been around a Shih Tzu? (Pronounced like a sneeze sounds). Pug-nosed, opinionated and adorable. Boogers to house-break because they are too busy breaking you in to their wants and wishes to "get" that anything they deposit in the house is not considered a treasure. (Comes from being reverenced as a sacred dog in ancient times!) Eventually they learn to comply with social norms, but inside they are a bit incensed that they must bow to your wishes. If ever the independent American spirit was imbodied in a dog, it is the Shih Tzu!

Smoky is my resident Shih Tzu. Short of limb, he brings up the rear of our adventures...kinda. I'd like to think he is protecting our back flank, but truth-be-told, Smoky is simply taking his sweet time wandering wherever his interests take him. Hurry is not in his vocabulary. I will 'paw' it to him that at any given time he is vaguely aware of where the rest of us are, so he rarely gets lost, but independence is definitely his modus operandi.

Lest I be accused of picking sticks out of Smoky's eyes when I can barely see through my own logs, I must 'fess up to my love affair with independence. I obviously don't have Shih Tzu blood coursing through my veins, but I do boast some Dutch genes. I'm told the Dutch are absurdly independent... thus the commonplace phrase, "going Dutch" on a date, which translates, "I'll pay my way, and you'll pay yours." To them that's a celebration of independence, not an act of stinginess. Perhaps it's that Dutch mentality that makes me hate ever having to ask for help. The old commercial where the frustrated mother erupts with, "I'd just rather do it myself!", is all too familiar to me. Mostly it's voiced inwardly, but it is very much there. I've moved ridiculously heavy furniture by myself because I didn't want to need another person. Can you say 'sciatica?'

God gives me regular test retakes on this life lesson, but does it ever sink in? Nope. The next time a need for help arises, I creatively find a way to handle it myself. Most recent case in point... lost keys. I knew they had to be in the house somewhere, but 5 days of searching had not unearthed them. Frustration, anguish and necessity finally drove me to gerry-rig a makeshift set of keys to drive my car, enter the house and catch the mailman in the act of loading mail into our locked box. Did I think to ask for help in the search? Nope. Never even occurred to me.

Smoky's irksome independence on the trail got me evaluating my own go-to stances in life, so I broke down and asked Ed for help in my quest for my keys. Within 15 minutes he had procured them from the top of the dryer, above my eyesight. Ed's size and different vantage point rendered them visible to him, while still invisible to me. Dependence paid off! But how much energy I had wasted in the process?!

So my take away lesson? Seek help? Probably not. My mind is already concocting a device that I can attach to my keys that will beep when I call out to them. "I'd just rather do it myself!" I guess you can't teach an old dog new tricks.

Sniffing Down a Scent

People often like to identify my profession by the title, "Dog Walker." I bristle at that term! My dogs are definitely not 'walking' and the leashes required to make them walk have long been abandoned. Besides being free to run and play as they please, they have been given another gift that goes paw-in-paw with the off-leash experience... freedom to sniff down a scent!

If you've ever watched a dog on a leash, despited their deep, drooling desire to please their master, the intrigue of a juicy smell will compel them to stop the forward motion to check it out. Risking their owner's wrath and impatient yank on their leash, they have to respond to the siren call of scent. It is hard-wired in them! If you've ever experienced watching TV without control of the remote (if you are female, this is your lot in life!), and you've found yourself at the mercy of a channel-flipping fanatic, you get a whiff of a dog's frustration. Just as something interesting catches your attention, it is whisked away in a frenzy to keep moving at all costs. For me it is easier to leave the room than wrestle with my thwarted interests. Dogs however are more faithful in their devotion to just being in your presence, and gradually learn to ignore the summons of their scent glands.

'Sniffing down a scent.' Something in this phrase resonates within me. What is it?... Freedom. Freedom to pursue a thought to fruition. Bingo! That's it! A long forgotten skill that was lost in the commotion of cradles, commitments of motherhood, carpooling and choreographing the dance steps of a busy family. Lots of leash yanking when a interesting thought presented possibilities. No time, no energy, no creativity left to sniff it out. Just tuck it away in hopes of pursuit on another day.

Empty-nesthood has been a discovery of the joys of 'off-leash adventuring.' Freedom to sniff down a thought to fulfillment and closure. Rediscovery that my scent glands still work! In fact they work even better for having experienced all the aromas of motherhood. Thoughts are deeper and richer like wine that was stored away in the dark cellars of my preoccupied brain. Finding these fermented treasures is a daily delight! (Sorry for the gush of mixed metaphors all at once...the well-spring of creative contemplation has erupted...opps, that was another one!) Bear with me as I reacquaint myself with my mind that I thought was long gone! My mental stuttering is slowly smoothing out. I now 'woman' the remote control to my own gray matter!

If you are still in the midst of leash-yanking interruptions in your life, take heart. Your ability to sniff down a scent doesn't diminish with lack of use. Store away the idea for future perusal, and as often as you can, unclip your collar for a mini 'off-leash adventure' of your own making.