the next day

I promise I wont spend the next days writing only about Henry. There is a side of grief that is too hard to describe and it wont make your day any better if I try. To those who wrote with such kindness to me -- messages, emails -- I thank you. I put your emails in my Henry folder. His life was way too short and his heart was way too full of love to let it all be lost with the events of yesterday. Henry will always be part of my world and your words give strength to that. He made a difference to your lives too.

Aside from the troll (who basically wastes time telling me repeatedly for years now how deranged I am, with Ed outpacing me in all aspects of insanity and stupidity, and delighting in finding evidence of this on Ocean), you've all been so very wonderful. The world really is filed with good, trusting, caring people. 

I do want to add something to my Henry story that may help you understand how we got to this point. Because honestly, in the last few days I have had a hard time accepting that this was an inevitable outcome. I've had the horrible feeling that in order to protect others -- all strangers out there -- I was sacrificing him. I was letting him down. True, no one (except for the troll) would argue that he should have been given more time. That further accommodations could have been made. The risk was so high and he'd crossed the line so often, that it is a miracle that we got off with only one big bite. And no, he couldn't have been a farm dog. People come and go all the time. Workers. Family. Ed and I have witnessed first hand aroused dogs that chase bikes on rural roads. There, too, they are a terrible danger -- I'd been chased by one, Ed has been bitten by one. Henry could not live in our dense world of Amazon deliveries and school buses with children and construction workers and people coming and going at all hours of the day. I gave him time away from stressors by moving, and still he found new stressors and reacted, each time with greater force and with harsher consequences. But until I thrashed this out yet again with Ed (who is possibly the greatest advocate for animal rights that I know), I felt that I had let Henry down. To save others, I gave up my Henry Bean. After promising him that I would always love him and take care of him. That I would never abandon him or give up on him. I felt that I had broken my promise.

Ed argued strongly against this. What he said (and I agree with this now) is that I gave Henry what he needed --a good ending. That a return to a shelter, or a seizure by Public Health with a mandatory isolation, with the inevitable euthanasia for his repeated attempts to harm others, and ultimately an unprovoked biting incident --  all this would have been a thousand times worse, not only for the victim and for me as the responsible owner, but for him as well. He truly felt loved and adored until his last breath. He was with his two favorite people. It was absolutely the best we could do for him. Experts, specialists, people who understand dogs way better than I do agreed that there wasn't another path.

Reason. Okay, there's reason for you. But then there are feelings: I miss him like crazy. I see his serious face, his eyes, and I cry. I can't help it. 

 

Did Sadey wake me or did I wake Sadey this morning? I'm not sure. The girl has been in a state of puzzlement since I picked her up yesterday. It's as if all this is good -- me, without the bother of another dog claiming rights to the couch, to the food and treats -- and yet it's not what she came to know and accept. It feels strange for her. I see it in her questioning eyes, in her sniffing out the house -- Henry's scent is everywhere and yet, he is not here. Do dogs ask the question "why?" Yes they do. They want the "why" to know what comes next. I reassure her as best as I can by acting... normal. Because Sadey my girl, this is the new normal.

The walk is good and this is the one bit of the day that gives me a huge sigh of relief. We see many kids, many people walking to school (which is just a short two blocks from Sally's House). Sadey is excited by this, but not in a negative way. If she perks up and stands on attention, wondering what's up with these people popping up suddenly, I call out "treat!" and she turns to me wagging, waiting for a handout. Which she readily gets. 

 

At my breakfast time, Sadey takes out her antler and works away at it. She now has two to choose from. Sigh...

 

 

I take her to doggie daycare. 

 

 

 

She needs it less than Henry did. I could crate her. I could take her to a dog park. But honestly, I need the time to be with my thoughts and feelings, and, too, I want her to continue her play with the dogs she knows and likes. Her main play buddy was always Henry, but they said she had recently branched out. Goose is there. Familiarity, repetition, continuation. She needs all of that.

 

From the doggie daycare, I go to the DMV to renew my drivers license which expires in a few weeks. I'd been putting it off. This and everything else it seems. The guy takes a photo for the license. I hadn't showered this morning and I'm my usual sloppy mess of these last few days. I ask him -- is it okay? He says "yes! you look happy!" I want to say to him -- no, take it again! You told me to smile, but I am not happy! I do not wish to look happy! It's fake and it doesn't do service to my beloved dog! But I don't say anything. I go to the window to go over the paperwork. She asks for my passport (for proof of citizenship), I hand her the passport, she tells me -- "that's not yours you know." Damn. I picked up Snowdrop's from our June trip. Back to Sally's House, then once more to the DMV. I'm told to look into the machine for the vision test. I can't see anything. My eyes are so puffy and hazed over that it all looks like a Russian alphabet. I take a few minutes to settle. I take some wild guesses. Enough to satisfy her. Thank God. Not only do I not need glasses for driving, they are only for clarity in reading and actually disturb my vision for anything other than a book. 

She's not done with me. What color are your eyes? I had put down blue gray. You have to pick one! I don't know! I am nearly 73 years old and I dont really know the color of my eyes! And hair? I had put down brown gray. Again --you have to choose one. Ridiculous requirements! Most women dye their hair. What does it matter what color it is today? I should have said gray. I feel gray. 

 

I spend the rest of the morning with Ed at the farmhouse. There are a bunch of showings of Sally's House today and in the next few days. I can't imagine why the sudden interest, but I need to stay away from it for now. And so the morning passes. It's good this way. The farmhouse does not remind me of Henry. Sally's House does. It's for him that I am there. Without him now.

 

In the afternoon I have the kids with me. First Sparrow, then Snowdrop. Both have been upset by the news of Henry, but Snowdrop has been more than upset for three days now -- she is heartbroken in ways that make it tough for anyone to help her. She knows, she understands, she doesn't challenge the outcome. But the loss just feels so enormous. Big serious dog who loved his people. And still, kids are resilient. They cry hard and recover faster than us old guys. This afternoon we do the usual: read, play, eat and even manage a big smile at pet jokes. 

Eventually we pick up Sadey, who is of course eager as anything to get in the car with us. I take the kids home. Sadey and I come back to Sally's House. I'm glad it still is light outside when we return. A dark brooding house without the chaos of two large dogs playing would have been so very tough to face. 

Sadey is tired after a day of play. This is good. Her best playmate isn't here to give her a lick on her nose or a soft chew on her neck. She rests next to me on the couch. Beautiful, serene, calm. I rub her ears, she sleeps.

 

with so much love... 

waiting, then -- not waiting

 BEFORE

Anyone who has lived through any medical drama will tell you that waiting to find out bad news is awful. I don't think it's worse than the bad news itself. I imagine that once I find out what's to become of my poor Henry, it will feel plenty awful, but I'm not liking this stage much either, that's for sure. Made worse by the fact that I'm plagued by the question of "have I really done enough?" And "did I miss anything at all?" It's not so much believing that I made a bad decision somewhere along the way. It's more the worry that I am giving up even where others would hang in there. But would they? And would that be the right choice, given what we all know about Henry?

But hanging in there is not without its own scary moments. Last night, Henry lunged at a construction worker across the street. I could hardly contain him -- he is so powerful, so determined! This morning he lunged toward a father and son, walking to school. I quickly redirected, being oh so glad that they did not round the corner earlier. How can I hang in there when my gentle pup, the most loving lap dog in the world, is a holy terror when confronted with the human world outside my doors?

 

Morning. He comes over to greet me, breaking my heart right down the middle. We walk...

They eat. I eat. Daffodils. Pretty. Coming of spring.

(for you, Henry)

They play. Side by side, chewing.

 

 

 

I take them to day care, I meet up with my friend for coffee.

 

 

 

It's snowing outside. It will snow more later. Two feet they say, this Sunday. Henry loves snow, but hates the coming down of wet stuff. Funny contradiction there! My dog is full of those funny contradictions.

 

DURING  

I finally have that talk with my vet, whom I love so much for her smartness, her compassion, her advice. A long talk. It's a consensus. Henry cannot function in a world with strangers in it. It's not his fault, it's not ours. He is and will always be fiercely protective of me, of the two of us. And maybe the meds have made him feel even more powerful so that he is losing his inhibitions. Or maybe they've helped him feel more calm at home, but not outside. We wont know. As Ed keeps telling me -- I've had ample warnings that he could hurt someone. 

Time to say good-bye to this most magnificent, regal dog -- a dog that I love so deeply that I cannot imagine a day without him, I cannot see his image, his eyes without bursting into tears. 

Ed and I go together to pick him up at daycare.

 

 

 

Henry Bean, the Navigator. My beloved pup. Rest in peace knowing to the last second of your life that you were loved more than I could ever have believed a person could love a dog. 

 

 

 

AFTER

I pick up Sadey. Is she puzzled that he isn't here? I dont know. I just don't know anything right now except that Henry is with the stars and the moon that used to shine so brightly on us all at night. And in my heart. Always.

with so much love... 

 

Henry

It would be a lie to claim that I am thinking or worrying about anything else today. Henry is front and center for me. Henry Bean, the dog with the serious eyes that pour forth love. For me. And mine -- for him. The most difficult dog on the planet to incorporate into the normal human world (if indeed we are even normal) and yet one that has begged me with his whole heart not to give up on him. He balked at being left alone. I stopped leaving him alone. He balked at having to share small spaces in the apartment building with others. I took him out of there. He balked at people coming near us. This I cannot remove from his environment. Not completely and the inadvertent encounters that remain are creating more and more anxiety for him, even as his meds go up and his training has intensified. 

Henry is in trouble and my heart breaks for him.

There's no sweet way to write about this -- the dog I love so much cannot remain in the place I made for him -- in a house, with Sadey, in the blocks of the new development, with people next door, across the street, down the block.. His intensifying unstoppable protectiveness is leading him to choices that are unfortunately not acceptable.

What happens next? As I write this, I do not know. The consensus (among trainers, vets, dog daycare folks) is that he should be returned to the Shelter in town. I'm in discussion with them over that. 

 

Since yesterday evening, when I saw him cross that line and knew he had gone too far, I am nothing but a sack of tears. Ed has tried to talk me through this, this morning I zoomed with Bee...

... and all this helps, but it wont take away the pain of losing my best dog pal.

Henry and I have been through so much together in these last five months! And every morning, he was there, reassuring me that the day was fresh, there were wonders to behold, we would face them together, he and I. How do you give up on a dog like that?

I walk him, he is calm. But it is a false hope. I've had so many with him -- they've always fizzled in the end. 

At home, he plays with Sadey, with stuffies. 

 

 

 

 

 

He knows I am sad. He snuggles next to me, taking my sadness onto his massive shoulders. Saying nothing, looking as serious as ever, so intensely, with so much love. 

I eat breakfast and read endless papers on dogs with his problem. 

 

 

 

None have a good solution. All point to the huge risk I take by keeping him with me. A dog that's meant to guard a property where no strangers should enter without invitation. A dog that protects his beloved owner. A dog who would give his life for her. Except now she has to let him down.

My best Henry Bean, my pooch whom I love so totally much, in trouble now.

 

I take him to daycare. I pick up the kids on autopilot. How do I tell them that Henry the Navigator should not be with us in the car? That he should not be going out for walks? Or to parks? Or anywhere at all? How do I tell them that the dog that nuzzles Snowdrop's hand again and again and again is not a good fit for the human world? How do I tell myself that? 

We talk about all of it on the car ride to Sally's House. Both are sad, but Snowdrop is beyond consolation. Henry was her guy. In the car, she sought him out and he her. Did we really all give up on him? Just like that?

 

I haven't forgotten about or neglected Sadey. She is not one who would ever allow herself to be neglected!  But I do have her take the back seat to Henry today. It's quite likely that she will have my full attention pretty soon. Just not today.

(my beloved boy...)

 

with so much love... 

 

a day like this

A day like this one is not to be had in early March in south-central Wisconsin in normal times. And it wont be had in any of the remaining days of the month. It is absolutely gorgeous (to borrow one of Ed's favorite words). 68F/20C, for goodness sake! With sunshine to fill the cup of the most sun deprived soul. 

And maybe it's for this reason that my pups, too, had such a good morning! Up at 7:30, out without issue, Henry stifling his barks with a look to me for treats, Sadey not pulling too hard. I tell you, every bad morning (Saturday) has its counterpart (today)!

My two dogs play together with their duckie toys, and rest while I eat breakfast.

At 9:30 they are antsy to get going

Off to doggie daycare, where they can both romp and play without worry. Happy dogs indeed. I do a quick run to the grocery store, where for once the daffodil bucket is not empty, then home again to unload it all and still be on time to meet up with my visiting friend for lunch. Outside!

I could run through all my dog issues with her all over again! It's good to have friends who have their own troubles and yet will listen to you talk for a long time about what it's like to have a dog who barks and lunges at strangers.  

And in the afternoon? No kid pick up today so I finally have the time to go biking with Ed. It's a perfect day for it. Like June only it's March!

As is our habit, we pause by Lake Waubesa.

 

 

 

I watch two kids playing, wading in the icy cold, muddy water and I think -- would Henry bark even at these two?

 

 

 

If Saturday began poorly and ended well, I'd say this day is a flip side of that coin. Stunningly beautiful beginning, sad ending: I was picking up the two pooches and as usual, they are besides themselves with joy to see me. Henry is not besides himself with joy when others come into the room to pick up their dogs. A close encounter of the type you dont want followed. I pulled him away yet again from the sources of his stress. So now there's this: he cannot be led out into a room where others enter. At the very least, he has to be muzzled. It's as if the doors are closing around him -- the most beautiful, loving dog I have ever known, who has just one great big issue: he wants to protect me, us, from strangers coming toward us. The most natural instinct in the dog world, but one that cannot be allowed to be present in the human world.

Time to take all this to my vet again and to the doggie daycare staff who all adore him as much as I do. I suppose there's only one way that I can end this post -- with a great big "Oh, my poor, beloved Henry! You sure know how to make a mess of things!!"

with so much love... 

 

happy 8th?

Why does the search for something better always have to be so complicated?

I left the farmette in September because I believed that something had to change. That the status quo was unsustainable, especially in the long run, as we aged. A month later, I believed I had room for a large dog in my life. Then I realized that the move to the Edge and the coming of Henry were a bad match. A move, closer to Ed, and another dog followed -- to make things easier for me, for Henry. 

Whatever adding Sadey did for Henry or for her, it did not make my life a whole lot easier. True, Henry is no longer bored. Keeping him busy is not as difficult as it was before she came onto the scene. That's an improvement for sure! Just as the Edge was an improvement for me, and Sally's House was an improvement for both. But the cost! 

A normal person would ask -- was all this worth it? But I don't look at it in this way. You don't ask "was having kids -- the most complicating event of your life -- worth it." It's a dumb question. You love your kids to pieces, you work hard to give them a good life, you can't imagine it being otherwise. And in that great expanse of time devoted to them, you find tiny pockets of time for yourself, knowing full well that, say, a person like Ed who has no children, has all the time in the world for himself, owing none of it to anyone else. You don't pity him, you don't envy him. You chose this path, he chose another. You build on yours, on your decisions, you seek improvements. Some will be success stories, others -- well, they'll need more adjustments and improvements. To question that first step you took (to have kids, to move out) is just nonsensical. It was and will be the right decision for you. You take it from there. 

I thought about this on this day, March 8th. International Women's Day. Ostensibly Henry's 1-year old birthday, though I am beginning to think that these rescue dog birthdays are pure fiction. And Daylight Savings Time is upon us.

When we switched clocks in November, I realized that by Henry's clock, I would not get to sleep to my regular wake up time (around 7:30) until March. He was just un-switchable.  And sure enough, today the pups "woke me" just after 7:30. It was delightful to see sunshine streaming into the room. No gloomy walk for us, right pups?

Well, maybe not gloomy, but just a little frustrating. I think Henry adjusted to the move just fine, given that it was an upgrade from his limited space at the Edge and certainly an upgrade from the elevator terror. But I see that the move did have a small price tag (in addition to the very big price tag in terms of dollars and cents): at the Edge, Henry had his potty breaks all mapped out. He was so good at getting to it quickly that we never had to walk more than halfway around the building to get him to sniff out his perfect spot.  Here, he is easily distracted. He doesn't have a favorite spot. The scents aren't ones that are familiar. The dogs aren't ones he recognizes. And of course, there is the possibility of head-on contact with strangers. Not a large possibility, but a small one, with large consequences. And so I have to admit it -- walks with him, once we are outside, are far less straightforward than they were at the Edge. There, I was on alert coming in and out of the building and in and out of the elevator. Here, I am working on calming him when there are people (keep them distant for now, create pleasure), and getting him used to the scents of his new neighborhood.  (Walks with Sadey are tough on the arm muscles, but slightly less of a mental effort because she's not a holy terror when there are people, though also harder because if he takes a while, she takes forever!)  

I suppose when we move to Steffi's House, I'll have the same reaction: it will be so much nicer to take them for walks there -- no big construction projects all around, open spaces to look out on as the seasons change -- and of course, there will be a fenced yard to let them out in. But how will that sit with the neighbors? Will they bark every time the adjacent people go in and out? These are not cute pups that will greet you with a wag and a smile. They are big dogs that have big barks. My only consolation is that in this development, people do not really have yards to hang out in. They are small strips of grass and shrubs that you rarely use for any leisure purposes. Some of the larger properties at the peripheries of the development have larger yards, but Steffi''s House is not one of those. So they wont be disturbing anyone's picnic or child's play. It's not that kind of a yard space. Nonetheless, I anticipate improvements with the move, but also the need for adjustments -- ones that I will recognize only once we are there. 

 

Breakfast is calm, but I eat late. I first want to introduce them to two matching toys. Stuffies. A duck that has been Henry's from the get go, one in which he has only mild interest. I gave Sadey an almost identical one. And then two new squeakies -- a small hedgehog for him and a matching but different in color one for her. I knew he'd like this one. Small and tossable. Just his style. I monitored this closely, occasionally pointing her to her toys and his to his. 

Sadey was delighted with her hedgehog and initially he was delighted with his. Eventually though, he let go of his and watched her play with hers. When she'd put it down and walked away, he was there "borrowing" it. I'd switch and give her his. This switching with my help continued for a while. On the upside, they did play nicely with toys in each others presence.

But we are very far from a toy free for all. Henry's watchfulness over her play is not a red light, but certainly a yellow one. I cannot yet leave them even with these two identical toys without oversight and a readiness to step in at the first sign of trouble.

Fortunately there was no trouble and eventually they settled to rest and I had my moments with breakfast and a book.

Nap time continued. Bach cantatas accompanied the peaceful remainder of the morning.

 

The rest of the day needed a pivot. I was to make dinner for the young family but we decided in the end that it would just be too chaotic: Snowdrop has her final performance of Henry IV that will last until early evening. It is one that I really should attend, but I can't because I dont feel good about leaving the dogs to themselves yet. Not for four hours anyway. We're getting closer, but yesterday's morning yowl made me believe that not close enough yet. Too, she can be crated, but he cannot. How do I proceed? Leave her in, but him out? That seems weird. Both out? Risky! So for now, I'm stuck with not leaving them at all, except briefly, one at a time, when I walk the other.

 

And speaking of walks, in the afternoon, I have two assignments: to do a good training walk with Henry (redirect, relax) and then I have a booked return with both dogs to the private dog park. It's a beautiful day for it and I am glad I have the opportunity to set them free for 45 minutes of unrestricted play and heavy duty exercise.

The training walk goes very well. We see across the street people several times. I keep our distance, I feed him treats, he barks once only and then relaxes. We are on our way to calming him down! It will take many, many weeks of this, but at least we are on our way!

The park? Oh, lovely! They always start off with a chase. This is where I have to watch out: they can easily come crashing at me.

 When they're still into the chase, my best option is to sit on a bench and watch. Or read! There was a time when I felt it was my job to make sure their play doesn't escalate. If one dog (usually Sadey) was the more assertive player, then I should make sure the other (Henry) doesn't get trounced. But recently I've been reading some pretty authoritative stuff on dog play and I see that you have to be more sure of your premise before you intervene. You could well disrupt their signal giving and their agreed to terms of play by inserting yourself unnecessarily. (If you're interested, you can read just one summary here.) Rough play is not going to lead to aggression. Not if you observe the dogs and see the type of behaviors that clearly signal "this is play, we know what we're doing."

 

 

 

(Henry, what are you doing??)

 

 

In the evening Ed comes over for a dinner of fish and asparagus and a salad. It's a standard menu for us. I love it, he likes it alright. The dogs? They can't wait for the fish skin handout! (At the end, in their dishes.)

It's easy to think about and list the challenges that all these changes have brought forth, especially with these two dogs in this new home for us. But have I neglected too much reminding you and me of the joys? Spring is just around the bend. In another month or so I'll have pots of pansies outside. A few more weeks after that and I'll take my breakfast outside. It's not much of a view from the Sally's House porch. Indeed, it's rather miserable: all garage doors plus a construction site. Still, it is outside. And for now, taking the dogs out instantly, just by opening the door, is marvelous! Not worrying about the noise they make inside, watching them develop boundaries and a mutual respect for each other -- magnificent. And there is always one (or two!) right next to me on the couch. Ed is a stone's throw away. Lots of challenges. Lots of joy. 

with love, of course... 

 

the swing

Just as you think you have everything under control, pointing forward, moving slowly but surely toward a good outcome, you have a day like this one. And you ask yourself -- how did I suddenly end up here, with this mess?

My rescue dogs, Henry and Sadey, are a handful. No doubt about it. I know he is reactive to strangers and that it is impossible for him to heal in an apartment building with people coming and going. So we moved out. I know that she is somewhat reactive to strangers with dogs. She pulls hard and especially hard when she sees both. I know that they play forcefully and that she appears to control the direction of their play. I know to tread carefully in the distribution of foods and treats lest they should turn possessive. With this in mind, I have structured our days in a way that would allow us to sail through without issue. And slowly move forward to a more relaxed time where all the pups' anxieties would be well under control.

This morning only confirmed that you can't prepare for all possible misadventures, missteps, mishaps. 

 

It was a good beginning. Someone barked downstairs at 6:10. I decide to ignore it and stay in bed for another half hour. They had predicted storms overnight, but none came. What a relief. No thunder scaring my dogs. Still, the front of warm, humid air hadn't quite receded. When I finally get up and head out at 7, it feels wet and clammy. 

I decide not to take my camera and to concentrate instead on their walk. To get them into a brisk pace, without pauses except for their potty stops. Henry and I walk all the way to Steffi's House (mind you, a six minute stroll) and I feel happy about his sniffing that yard out. Henry likes to know his surroundings and to recognize scents. Might as well get him comfortable with this block of houses. 

We stroll back toward Sally's House, he pauses to do his stuff, I turn toward my cleanup job. That's when the jogger comes at us from around the corner. Normally I prepare Henry for such encounters in two ways: I create distance and I reward him with treats. But I could do neither now. I am removing pet waste. I don't see her coming. He is on a full 6 foot leash. She arrives suddenly, and she runs fast. He is taken by surprise. He barks, he lunges. She is not pleased. Small wonder. Dogs should not come at you when you're using the sidewalk for a morning run.

Such a setback!  

What could have I done differently? Well, right away, I throw more money at the problem -- my go-to way of dealing with his issues. Admittedly, only $9 for a shorter leash, but Henry expenses have been astronomical if you add to this his daycare, his training, his meds, vet visits, the chewed through car seat belt for humans, and the treats for his daily training needs.  Secondly, I make a mental note to look carefully when I turn toward my cleanups, making sure no one is within spittin' distance. 

But of course, you cannot protect yourself or your dog from all of life's possibilities. There are so many ways things could unravel. Just getting my pups in and out of the car leaves plenty of room for one pulling in the wrong direction and maybe even leaving my control. You just can't predict which way your dogs will turn, where and when they will expend their forceful energy.

So this was a low point for me and I allowed myself to day dream what it would have been like to have in my care a non-reactive dog. One like I see everywhere around me: quietly walking, passing strangers without a second glance. Happy to just be a dog, secure, loved. 

The morning did not end there.

I walk Sadey. She doesn't see the family across the street (too busy sniffing), but I do: parents with a stroller and two tots on tricycles, and a dog. And I think -- would my dogs really bark their heads off at this calm happy group? Am I ever not going to worry about this? 

We go in, I feed them and then start in on preparing my breakfast. My two pooches are always a little rambunctious after a walk. I thought I understood their dynamic. They mouth each other and Sadey not only stands her ground, she usually pushes hard and oftentimes Henry (tail still wagging) runs upstairs to get away. Sometimes she chases him, other times she does not and he comes down and they resume their play down here.  Their play is loud  -- big dogs, bouncing around upstairs is like sending boulders rolling down a bumpy terrain. I smile to myself with relief: I dont have to worry about the noise. We are in a house. There is no neighbor downstairs.

But this morning I suddenly hear something new: a piercing cry that doesn't stop, it just keeps going. I run upstairs wondering what the hell happened? Did a dog get trapped in some chord? Is someone choking? I'd never heard anything like this!

Upstairs, I see them, seemingly still at play, but Sadey is besides herself, tail down, crying. Neither dog is growling or showing sign of aggression but still, they are entangled in some fashion. I pull her away, take her downstairs and sit with her in her own space behind the gate, calming her down, petting, hugging her. Henry comes down, sniffs her from behind the gate. Again, no one is growling, no one is snapping, barking -- yet something happened and she remains visibly upset and scared.

I stay with her for a long while. When we come out, she stays by my leg, the whole morning. When I go upstairs, and Henry follows, she wont come up with us. (Usually, she is the one leading the charge.) I coax her, reassure her and after some while, she slowly makes her way up. More petting, soothing. She seems better. But the play between the two is done. Henry seems calm. She seems calm. But the spunk has gone out of both.

I'll never know what happened up there. I dont believe it was a fight. Perhaps their rough play got too rough and she got hurt, though I see no physical sign of this. And in fact, these dogs normally know how to self-regulate. They give signals and back off when someone is crossing the line. Apparently not this time.

The two appear to have no lasting feelings of fear or hostility toward each other. Heads and bodies together, no hesitation, no retreat. And yet the play has stopped.

Off to a great start today, no? 

 Breakfast. Peace. Exhale.

Oh, you two!!

 

 

 

Knowing darn well that these guys would need exercise, I signed them up for private yard play. 45 minutes in a little over an acre play area for dogs. Yours to visit off-leash for $15. Like I said, Henry's reactivity is not easy on my budget! (The place is called "Good Dog Unleashed Park" and it's a twenty minute drive from Sally's House. There is actually a closer to me rentable dog space, but to get a decent price for it requires a monthly or annual commitment. I am amassing too many monthly fees for too many things. I'll start here, and see if this is indeed a good idea.)

My new car restraints for the pooches haven't arrived yet, so I make do with what I have. And I put on harnesses to secure them further. So long as I can keep Sadey in the back seat, we should be fine. Henry never aims to crawl into my lap up front. 

Ed offers to come with us. It's not a space that's conducive to any human exercise, but still, we like these local excursions, especially on the weekends and with NPR podcasts teaching us everything from bread baking to the wonderful prospect of slowing down dementia with your shingles vaccination.

The dog play area is in the same compound as their boarding camp. This is good, I think. Maybe they'll come to associate this place as one where pups can have freedom and fun. But I think Ed comes to regret his decision to join us (well, except for the part where he gets to be with Gorgeous). Henry is delirious with joy and cannot stop himself from jumping all over Ed, muddy paws and all. Sadey, initially cautious, at least stays off of him. These dogs are so dirty -- says the guy who hasn't vacuumed the farmhouse since I left six months ago, and who does his laundry every few months. For me, the problem is their initial chase. They run like dogs possessed...

... and if you are in their path, you get that hurtling cannon ball of fur and mud hitting you full force. If you aren't careful, you will become nothing more than a mound of broken bones. 

But, they always calm down after a while. And the "dog park" has a bench... 

 

 

 

... where you can sit and watch (though the dogs then tend to "sit and watch" with you and that's not the point!). Ed is still determined to teach any dog "fetch the ball" and this is a good thing because it really tires the guys out! All three.

As I sit on the bench I think about how peaceful it is, despite the hum of the nearby highway. The peace comes from within. There are no other people, no dogs, no distraction for my dogs. Imagine -- a whole park for reactive pooches. Are there that many coming here from Texas? I suppose so.  

At home, Henry and Sadey rest, I move on to my sixth or maybe seventh Maeve Binchy novel. I wont stop until I've read them all. Her Ireland has entered my soul, my brain, my sensibilities. I want everything to just stop so that I can read. In retirement, you're not supposed to feel guilt over reading and yet I do: my training session with the dogs lasted all of five minutes. My cooking ambitions have withered and possibly died from disuse. Ah well, at some point I will move on. But probably not until a full Wisconsin spring arrives.

So, reheated soup and more reading. I call that a swing in a good direction! From a crummy morning to this! Amazing how quickly a mood can improve and hope can be with you again. 

with so much love... 

 

worries

I woke up too early, worrying about my dogs. What if. What if my cold suddenly turned worse and I had to take a pause in caring for my two energetic pups? During the week, they'd spend the day at daycare. But during the weekend? The thought had been that I could put them in the kennel ("dog camp") if that happened, but the Camp I use tends to fill up early on the weekends. And would Henry get his meds? I better have them in a place where Ed could find them, in case he was called upon to help. But Ed has never walked a dog in his life. How could I possibly ask him to help with two barking dogs that require special oversight?

This is the stuff I hate to worry about in those hours just before dawn. I think about single mothers -- this worry is theirs always. What if I can't care for my child? Who will step in? Will I lose my job? Dogs are not children, and yet at night the distinction blurs. They are my responsibility. They have me. They have no one else.

Maybe it's the weather: it was a foggy night. When I took the dogs out (one at a time) yesterday, for their last potty run, a woman emerged in a back alley. She seemed ghostly in the misty air and maybe this is why Sadey, Sadey no less, went nuts barking and pulling. And I thought -- you mean to tell me I have two reactive dogs??? Sadey, "pure sweetness" herself was supposed to be the kind of dog that loved all humans. Last night, she was not loving the human across the street. I redirected and dragged her off toward a muddy vacant lot. It was not a good close to the evening.

 

This morning the fog was with us still. The dogs thought they were waking me, but as I noted above, I was wide awake already. I almost put them off: 6:10 is too early! But, we have daylight savings time coming up tomorrow and 7:10 would be just fine, so I let them do their licks and wags. We were friends again.

I glanced at my phone and the weather report. Light rain now, heavy rain in about a half hour. Better sprint to get them out there. First Henry...

Then Sadey, distracted once again. She is not yet confident about the routine of walking for potty breaks. A distraction means that she'll take even longer to focus. And by the time she does focus, the rain is coming down hard. 

But I notice something -- my cold is miraculously receding. I am quickly coming back to normal. I'm still dragging this morning, but that may be due to the early wake up and the worries that bother me only when I am in bed and the day has not yet begun. I suppose I am the person whose cup is always half empty at night and half full during the day. Same cup, same brain, different reading of what's ahead.

Breakfast -- a delight.

 

They rest, I read and when they're done with their morning naps, I take them to daycare.

 

I'm not going to tempt my good fortune: I'll take it easy today. Indeed, I doze off for a bit before even glancing at my to-do list. And then Ed comes over and my to-do list is pushed aside for tomorrow. Or, more likely, Monday.

 

I feel strong enough to do the pickup this afternoon.  Snowdrop, from school. I thought I was to take her straight to her Shakespeare play, but she assured me she was not needed today, so we came to Sally's House. 

I have said this so often, I feel like a repetitive ancient person, but here you go again: you worry about stuff that often does not come to pass (I was not so sick today that I could not care for the dogs). The real drama in your life is so often... unexpected!

I tell Snowdrop it's time to pick up the dogs and drop her off at home. But on the way to their neck of the woods, I get a call from my daughter. It appears that the girl is actually needed for tonight's performance after all. Gulp! The show starts in half an hour. The parents cannot help: one is out with a colleague, the other is bringing back the little guy to a home where Sparrow is entertaining his school friend. With a babysitter that should have left half an hour ago.

But what can I do? I cannot be late for the dogs. She'll have to be late for the play.

I speed to her house, she pick up her necessary play undergarments, we go get the dogs. I buckle them into the backseat. 

 

 

 

Dont worry -- I tell her. The highway traffic is light. You'll only be a few minutes late.

As usual, Henry is trying to be the navigator. But it's Sadey who is the real puller. She strains to position herself to the front as well. I'm glad her seat belt is shorter than his!

This is when the chew-proof, foolproof dog seat belt snaps. 

My dear Sadey has managed to pull so hard that the clip leaves the belt. She is free. And delighted. She throws herself into the front seat. And my lap.

Sadey!! This is not time to be a lapdog!!

Her body is on some mechanism that switches the driving mode to overdrive. Seats warm up. She managed to push those buttons as well. But more importantly, she is a large wedge between me and the steering wheel. 

Gaga! Stop the car! -- says my panicked granddaughter. I do slow down and move over to the shoulder, but we are on the highway and I am not about to stop now and tie Sadey down. I see that she has settled in my lap. I get off the highway at the next exit and keep going, locally, at 25 mph. More safe but more late. Well, safer. 

I drop off the girl and push Sadey to the passenger seat and make my way home.

The rest of the evening is spent researching more reliable car restraints. 

 

Oh, my beautiful pups, both with troubled pasts that haven't quite left them yet. The behavioral specialist asked me if I was having second thoughts about keeping two highly active, crazy dogs. I considered this for a second and then asked -- but if not me, then who? Neither dog is a good candidate for a busy household with tight time resources (and other resources). These two mutts need help. So far, I can manage them (this evening's drive notwithstanding!) and the hope is that with time we'll work through their issues and put them on a better path. 

At home, I reheat my veggie soup (Ed said earlier today that the house now smelled like veggie soup, which is a good thing: the smell of new house is nearly gone). The two mutts have learned that I eat my soup and salad on the couch and that this is my food, not theirs. They snuggle by my sides for a while and life is easy. For tonight, life is easy!

Can I leave you with a smile? Here's an upbeat photo sent to me by my younger daughter. Juniper has taken to dressing up in her Polish costume. She is absolutely adorable, looking down the stairs as mom comes home!

 

 

with so much love... 

drip, drip

March weather, March head cold, March mud. I think that would highlight the main elements of this day.

I went to bed sniffing, I woke up with a nasal waterfall. I called off childcare for the day because the idea of riding back and forth in the car felt like an effort, the kind you'd expand on scaling a steep mountain. 

The dogs did not wake me -- I woke them, honking away into a tissue. Fine, I wasn't going to go back to sleep anyway.

And of course, the weather has to be dull and drizzly. And of course the pups took a while. Twice I had to dislodge bones from the mouths of babes because either an animal had died yesterday and left behind skeletal remains, or a workman had been eating something that had thick shreds of bones, tossed onto the grass, or someone had left them on the curb deliberately to choke my dogs. Given their barking tendencies, I'm imagining the worst. 

I really looked forward to my morning coffee. Warm liquid heaven!

And then I did drive the pooches to doggie daycare, feeling so very thankful for the daycare services and for the fact that my cold is at its worst (I hope) on days that they're open. Weekend colds on a wet day would be my idea of hell right now. (Yes, I did imagine that I would be sick and that the dogs would still need their exercise, and yes I realized that this would be unpleasant, but of course every great idea has its unpleasant side.)

I just wanted to come home then, but I remembered to stop at Steffi's House to take some photos of grass markings (where cables were buried). In case I ever want to dig, I want to know where danger lurks. The fence guys had had it properly marked, I am simply riding in on their coattails. 

To properly photograph all the markings, I allowed myself to step onto the adjacent construction site. That was one muddy place! My shoes were caked with wet clay. I scraped some of it off with my bare hand, then finished the job in the kitchen sink. So now I have wet shoes for the rest of the day. Who cares, I do not want to go outside anyway!

The owner of Sally's House came over to replace a filter in the fridge. I was happy to be here -- I could press him for information that the management company refuses to provide. I asked if he intends to sell it or rent it after I moved out. He tells me it will be up for rent. I hint that he could have it a tad earlier. He  asks if maybe I could stay on. I'm looking for renters like you. Clearly he has not met my wild dogs. 

I do fit in one productive task: I frame and put up a poster I had purchased in St Paul de Vance. There are many, many walls in this house that could use art, but the kids play area (aka Sadey's prison) was especially bare. And I do have a sentimental feeling about my January trip to France. The poster is an acknowledgement that it was a good trip. Worth remembering.

 

 

I stay home until it's time to pick up the dogs. And from there -- home again, of course. Little ones (I speak with affection rather than accuracy), don't ask me for long walks tonight, okay?   

They say dogs can intuit what you need. I'll let you know tomorrow how good they were at this!

with so much love... 

fenced in

I like keeping busy -- really I do. Just not too busy. I'm working on that one! (Thus far unsuccessfully.) But of course, three moves in one year are bound to create headaches and mine have been plentiful. Of the metaphorical kind. I'm not prone to real headaches. Thank God. Well, except when my brain exploded 30 years ago. But I digress.

Wednesdays are supposed to be my loose days where I can do everything by my own schedule. The problem is that the list of things to accomplish on this day is far too long, leaving me with too little time to, say, go out with Ed for a walk. Once again I call him and say -- not today, I just can't. Here I am, living a five minute bike ride away from the farmette and I cannot fit in a walk. What kind of person am I anyway? (Obviously I am a person who doesn't know how to moderate her commitments.)

The morning walk is reasonably good today. There's a chill in the air and a haze has dimmed the brightness of the sun a bit, but still, I like this pre-spring weather. So Henry, how about reining it in with the barking, so that I can enjoy the peacefulness of the early morning? Yes yes, I know, you're working on it!

 

And yes, Sadey, you're working on the pulling, right? I appreciate your efforts. 

Ed sent me a link to a Nova that posits the idea that dogs can use language to communicate with us. Not their language, our language. Press buttons with words that they want to convey.  Maybe "want walk outside" or "I would love a trip to the beach" (in fewer words of course). My dogs aren't in that league yet. They use their bodies to tell me, or each other, what's missing in their lives and how I could make it better. Maybe that's a good thing. Given the chance, I'm sure Henry would press buttons "I want to be outside, off leash, or, in the alternative, next to you without Sadey on your other side" all the time. I'd have to say "not now" too often. This way he keeps hoping and I feign ignorance.

Breakfast, with flowers that only March and April can brag about.

I take my pooches do daycare and then plunge into the essentials, which today includes trimming bushes at Steffi's House. So long as they're finishing the fence building there, I can work away without disturbing the guy who is living there now. 

I finish my work, the fence people finish theirs. Henry and Sadey -- it's not big, but this is your summer playground! Just dont bark at the neighbors and turn me into the neighborhood pariah please!  

I pick up my pooches and then hunker down with a cold. Unfortunate, isn't it? Who wants to be sniffling away when spring is just around the corner! I cancel my drop-in visit with Ed and pick up the dogs and reheat a big cup of chili. Maybe it'll be a quick one -- many tissues and pfft! Gone!. One can hope.

with so much love... 

adjustments

If you read through rescue adoption materials, you'll come across timelines for when you can expect your dog to feel "at home." No longer worried about the possibility of loss. No, it's not several weeks into the game. It's several months. I see this in Henry: he may be frantic about strangers outside, but he is calm as anything at home. He knows his routines, he knows my routines. He knows key words. Despite the changes in housing, he is not unsettled. Sure, Sadey can still rattle him, and yes, he worries about me shifting my priorities, but at the gut level -- he's secure in our little bubble. 

Sadey, on the other hand, can fool you still. She seemed happy from day one, but I do think her tendency to pant is easily mistaken for a smile of joy. (In the same way that Henry's mournful eyes can be mistaken for sadness.) Sadey is not super reactive, but I can hear her whining when I take Henry out for a walk. And she absolutely needs to move with me in the course of the day. There's still that thought that I may disappear.

 

I tweak things a little to make for an even smoother morning. I'm back to giving Henry a stream of treats on our morning walk.

This is the one important thing I learned from the dog trainer: we are so used to rewarding our dogs for good behavior, that we fall into the habit of withholding treats when our dog does something we dont like. My way of handling Henry's barking and lunging at strangers was to first calm him down through redirection and then reward that with a treat -- "good calm Henry!" -- were my words of choice. But Chelse (the dog behaviorist) suggested that Henry is feeling total fear and anxiety at the sight of strangers and my job is to change his associations: give treats at the first sight of a stranger and make that a good experience. Stranger out there? Great! I get a special treat! -- is what we want him to think. It's not unlike my teaching him to pay attention on leash to me, by constantly feeding him treats as he walks by my side. I used to do that at the Edge to keep him from focusing on the holy terror of someone emerging from an apartment unit or the death trap, aka the elevator. Now I started doing it at the sight of other people across the street, or walking their own dog.

Sadey -- well, yes, I need to start in on her leash behaviors, but I'm going slowly here, because I know she is not yet comfortable with the idea that a leash means potty time.

No tweaks needed for our breakfasts! She knows she is fed in the other room and that she has to sit before I put the dish down. Henry is fabulous at sit-stay and I continue to do this with him before every meal. And my own breakfast? Oh, it's perfection itself!

And then we all rest. On the couch. I have found a way to accommodate both dogs!

 

 

It's true that I cannot move much once seated. If I get up, Sadey will get up, disturbing the whole balance. But over time, I managed to keep her in her place for a quick few steps to set up my camera. It may not mean much to you, the reader, but I count this as a success: to keep Sadey in place, to make room for Henry, to have us all relax, together. And to capture it all in a photo.

 

I drop off the dogs at doggie daycare, pick up groceries, return home and strategize. I have some planning to do: for late March, for mid June, for early July. Those may seem like far off dates, but the fact is, I haven't had a minute for any of it all winter long. What makes me think that I can put it off to some later date when I will be less busy? If I am indeed less busy, it doesn't take long for me to fill the hours with new projects.  So I start in on my planning and before long it's time to go get the kids.

(it's "wear something with writing on it" day in school)

It's Sparrow's turn to select a treat place. Hubbard Avenue Diner, for their pie!

Off then to Sally's house, and toward evening we backtrack: to drop off the kids at home, to pick up the dogs at daycare. To plug my ears with noise cancelling ear plugs for when Henry decides that the stranger walking along the sidewalk is there to destroy us all.

At home, dogs eat, I eat, I claim the middle of the couch, Sadey is on my left...

... Henry is on my right.

With kids, you adjust your mindset all the time. Every year, no, every week, something new comes up and with it comes an even better (though never perfect) understanding of what fuels them. Maybe it's that way with dogs too? Sadey just heard a beep on the TV. She wakes up startled, sits up quickly, ready to face the enemy. Henry doesn't bat an eye. It's so easy to accept Sadey as your velcro dog who never misses a chance to wiggle in for a cuddle. But she is also a scared little pup. That fear didn't go away. Yet. She may not bark as much, but she is perhaps even more sensitive to the very real dangers that she faced on the streets of Houston.

 

Did you see the Blood Moon today?  Shining brightly here, over our still frozen Wisconsin landscape...

with so much love...