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.