Pet Thoughts - Rambling on
and on and on...
When I first joined our kennel club, I started hearing that owner-handlers don't do well at shows. Looking back, I can say that Oak may not have finished if anyone else had handled him. Oak will do anything I ask. He may not like it, and he will let me know he doesn't like it. But in the long run, I always win. Not by force but from his love for me.
Oak's heart and mine are joined by a short, invisible leash. When I am home, he follows me everywhere. The only two times he is away from me are when he has to relieve himself or in the winter when I have the heat turned too high. I have loved many dogs before - Sugar, the ugly terrier mix of my puberty; Phrizzi, the insane bichon from a puppy mill; Deliamber, the tiny snaggle-toothed Yorkie; and Manny, my first wolfhound. These were the most important dogs in my life before Oak. I had many, many others. (When I go to the Bridge, everyone else will have to wait a few days while my friends and I are reunited.) Ten years from now, I am sure there will be another dog for me to add to this list. If not my new girl, then maybe Willie but he is still a puppy and NOT a wolfhound. But the bond between Oak and me is different than the others.
Sugar hated everyone else, she was smart but she bit people. I've forgotten how many times she was run over by cars and once she got hit by a motorcycle. She had four litters of puppies, always one male and three females. Always by Princie next door, my best friend's old battle-scarred mutt. She was quirky but she was always there when I needed her and I needed her a lot. My previous dog had been Pepper, so Sugar seemed like a good name for this one.
Phrizzi loved everyone, was probably the most intelligent dog I ever owned but was as crazy as a loon. He never bit anyone and didn't know how to growl except for in mock combat. Unfortunately, he came from a puppy mill and was never quite "right". A neighbor stole him once and let him breed her poodle, she thought he was a poodle. When I finally saw him in her yard and I went to get him, I informed her that she had bred a litter of mixed breed puppies. As far as I am concerned, she kidnapped my baby, she should STILL be in jail. Phrizzi loved performing and wore costumes like a super model. He was the first dog I taught to hike a leg on command and that was his most popular trick. When it came to being housebroken, he just didn't get it. I cut all his hair off and he lived outside. He pooped in the doghouse and slept on top of it like Snoopy. His registered name was Bichin Phrizzi.
Deli and I bonded the first moment our eyes met. He was in a cage at the animal shelter, bedraggled and hungry, about 7 years old. When I looked into his eyes, I saw love. I took him home with me every night while we waited for someone to claim him. Since I was going to keep him myself, I extended his time to 14 days so that no one could question my adoption. I knew he was someone's lost baby. He went to work with me a lot over the next eight years. His bed was a washcloth folded twice on the corner of my desk. Most people didn't realize he was real. Deli was the first dog I taught to sneeze on command. He also slept in my purse when I went shopping and rode in my backpack when I went bicycling. At his heaviest he weighed 3-1/2 pounds. He once got stuck in some fuzzy grass and I almost didn't find him. The stuff was wrapped all around him and the fuzz was holding onto his hair. Three pounds just wasn't enough to break free. I have always wondered if that is how he lost his first family. Deliamber is a character in a Silverberg novel I was reading at the time. He was an alien about half the size of a human with tentacles coming out of his head. The poor little dog was so bedraggled that his hair stuck out every which away. I couldn't help but compare him to the alien.
Manny was the highlight of my life at the time. I have always wanted a wolfhound and an acquaintance offered him to me as a pet. I will always be indebted to Joe for introducing me to his hounds. I have been around a lot of puppies but playing with five 10 week old wolfhounds is one of my best memories. Manny house broke himself, only ate one couch, took the other couch for his own, and was an accomplished thief. He had poor hips (not dysplasia) so was never the athlete like Oak but he loved everyone and everything. His temperament was typical of the wolfhound. I was shocked recently when my dad told a story about trying to get into my yard one day when no one was home. (Before we moved up here.) Manny said "No way!". Then a friend chimed in and the same thing happened to him. I was so surprised. They may be gentle giants but even the gentlest knows how to be firm when necessary. I always wanted TWO wolfhounds and to name them Lugh and Aine. I wrote a novel that has those two dogs in it as supporting cast. Since I had put Lugh and Aine into a book, I had to come up with a new name for the puppy. I chose Mannanan MacLir, the god of the sea in Celtic mythology.
People say wolfhounds have a learning disability. I don't agree, I think they have a dislike of performing. Oak knows how to tell me what he wants. If he comes to the door of the computer room and stares, Willie is in his food bowl. If he comes over and puts his head on me, his water bowl is empty. When he wants a treat, he tells me; wolfhound people know the sound - the uff uff thing they do. Oak learned to scratch at the door in one easy lesson. He learned the dog door in two. He figured out what doorknobs are within a couple of days of arriving at my house. He watches and learns on his own very quickly. Most dogs don't do "cause and effect". Oak is a natural. He is the type of dog that would have used a chair to get onto the counter if he couldn't already reach it.
Oak knows me from a previous life, it's the only explanation I can find. There just isn't enough time in a dog's life to learn all he knows about me. We wakes me by breathing in my face but he waits until I make that first wiggle of the morning. (I hate mornings.) For the first year that I had him, he would NOT come to me outside - not at all, not ever. He knew that there was nothing I could do about it. In the house and on the leash he was perfect. He still knows I can't catch him but I think he pities me because I need to hug him often. He's the first dog I've had that hugs me back (Willie does it too).
Oak ruined an antique cedar chest, killed all my potted jasmines, yanked freshly planted roses out of the ground, slept on the couch after his swims, and "badded" himself right into my heart. I mean, how many times a day can you tell a dog he is bad without scarring him for life? Even now when he only hears it once or twice a month, it is the ultimate punishment. I did hit him once, it was reflexive and I hated myself for a week afterwards.
It was quite recent and I had a house full of people for the hurricane and he was "badding" me constantly because of his own insecurity. He took a hamburger off a plate on the counter. I was looking at him, telling him to get out of the kitchen, and he just reached out and took the burger. I hit him before I even knew my hand was moving. A good slap on the shoulder that would have been a "good boy" under any other circumstance. He knew it was NOT a "good boy". He went out and did not come back until the hurricane poured buckets of water on us. When he came in, he sat in my son's lap and ignored me for the rest of the evening.
My oldest son has his own family and does not visit much so Oak didn't know him well until the hurricane. Dale has always wanted to hug Oak and pet him like he did Manny but Oak was a bit shy of him. (His is NOT a typical wolfhound temperament.) Oak adores my daughter and my younger son and I realized it is because they "jolly" him like I do. Dale couldn't bring himself to baby talk until his younger daughter started to talk. When Dale came for the hurricane, he had started talking to dogs the way he talks to Ashlyn. Now Oak is no longer afraid of him. Reserved men bother him just as much as loud people do. Dale had to find the right spot in the middle where Oak could be his friend.
I have to discuss Willie here. He has his own web site but I just have to say that I had forgotten how easy it is to teach tricks to lesser dogs. Willie eats like a pig. He swallows his food without chewing just as fast as he can get it down his throat. I have had him since he was six weeks old and he has never gone hungry. I don't know why he eats as though he is starving. (He's actually a chubby boy.) I always give treats after their supper and I got tired of Willie biting my fingers. I tend to forget that he is nearly a year old and should have been learning to behave eight months ago. I held the treat (Pet Deli's liver loaf is canine ambrosia) between my thumb and first finger and left my other fingers sticking out. I said "Easy" in a low voice and moved the treat toward him. He bit my fingers and I popped him with my extended fingers. (I had to do it gently, I learned this trick on Oak.) I told Oak "Easy" and gave Oak the treat. Again, I told Willie "Easy" and tried to give him the treat. Again, he bit me and I popped him. (Understand that those fingers are not strong enough to do any damage.) I told Oak "Easy" and gave Oak the treat. The third time I tried, Willie barely opened his mouth and I put the treat inside. I praised him mightily in my happiest voice. He was the best dog in the world. Now I still have to tell him to be easy or he bites me, but I was amazed that it only took two times for him to figure out what I wanted. I have been experimenting with him for three days. He sits, downs, jumps, gets his ball and drops his ball on command - every time - in only three days. Now I understand what obedience is all about. And when we play fetch, we don't get interrupted by playing tug o'war.
I bought Willie those fake wool stuffed toys when he was a baby. They had to go to bed with us at night and had to be brought back to the family room in the mornings. When he was about eight months old, he disembowelled the first one. A few weeks later, another one. Within a couple of days, they were all dead. I bought him another one, this one was much bigger and had three squeakers in it. Willie killed it about a week later. I saved the squeakers and I will think of a way to use them in a toy. I tried one more time but Willie killed the last one within a few hours of my bringing it home. I had forgotten how quiet it can be in this house. Before, it was "SQUEAK, squeak, growl, SQUEAK squeak" all the time. Yesterday, I found where I had stashed the squeakers and couldn't resist giving one a squeeze. Willie flew into the room and looked frantically for the toy. He jumped up and down looking on the kitchen counter. Finally, he started crying. It broke my heart but I can't give him the squeaker and I don't want him eating any more toy stuffing.