THE OTHER END OF THE LEASH

There’s been a lot of hugging lately, from dear friends expressing love and sympathy after Lassie’s death. And oh, a good hug feels so good, doesn’t it? Thinking of it reminds me of how very differently dogs and people express affection and care, and how hugging is so hard-wired in humans, but not natural to dogs. This photo, that I can’t attribute to any source but has been all over the internet, is a perfect example of the primate propensity to hug (and a dog’s typical reaction).

I must have 50 images of people hugging dogs in which the person is beaming with happiness and the dog is looking uncomfortable. Of course, there are plenty of exceptions, but they are more rare than I suspect most people realize. (After all, we can’t see a dog’s face when we hug him, now can we?) I do know lots of dogs, Willie included, that love lots of body contact with people they know and trust, but not with strangers. Which is not that different from us after all — how would you feel if some guy you’d never met threw his arms around you on the street?

But what IS different is that dogs don’t make “ventral/ventral” contact (chest to chest, belly to belly) like primates do when they are nursing, and thus don’t develop a positive association between ventral/ventral contact and feeling nurtured and loved. But we could help that. What if every puppy class included instructions on how to condition your pup to accept or even enjoy hugging, because people ARE going to do it. (Sigh: I JUST finished the new version of Puppy Primer and didn’t think to include that. Ah well, next time.)

I’m curious: How many dogs out there would rather not be hugged? What’s your experience? (And have you gone out of your way to look at your dog’s face when s/he is being hugged?)

Meanwhile, back at the farm: What can I say? We’re still in that raw place in which you feel like you’ve had surgery without an anesthetic. There’s lots I’d like to write about grieving after a dog’s death, but not now, not yet. But I can say thank you from Jim and me for the outpouring of support. Oh my, it means so much. And I have read and cherished every one of the Six Words you have written. Gorgeous.

Willie had a hard time. When Lassie died (unexpectedly, shockingly) I cried so hard that I scared him. It took him 24 hours to stop tongue flicking. Now he is so clingy he hid behind my legs throughout a dog romp Sunday afternoon. However, he also ran like a greyhound with a young BC who he loves just a few minute before, so he’s doing well some of the time. I suspect on the dog romp that it was the pack of dogs, and all the activity, that made him nervous. He’s never been in a group of dogs before without Lassie. The two of them never interacted in any visible way when on dog romps, and so I was surprised that he seemed so different. In hind sight, it makes sense, but then, hind sight is always 20/20. However, he did come out of his shell around the other dogs once I got out a stick, and he now, finally, will again eat food out of his Kong in the morning. Day by day.

Here’s a photo I took this morning of the remaining hay in the hay mow, sunlight streaming through from the east. I love old barns, and am so lucky to have one. This one collapsed right after I bought the farm in 1982, but we brought it back to life (several times actually.)

Lassie went home today.

I am thinking of the famous story about Hemingway, in which he challenged his writer friends to write the shortest story possible. All agreed that he won. Here’s what he wrote:

For Sale. Baby Shoes. Never Worn.

Since then, summarizing one’s life in six words has become something of a parlor game. I have done so for Lassie, summarizing what she means to me in six words, and I think it would bring pleasure and comfort to everyone who reads this blog if you were inspired to do the same for your own special dog, and to share them, if you would, for us all to read.

Here’s for my Lassie:

French Vanilla. Ice Cream. Summer Day.

Off you go dear Lassie, my god how I loved you.

Clients often tell me that their rescue dog must have been “beaten by a man” when the dog was younger, because the dog is afraid of men and not woman. However, people in the training and behavior field know that almost all shy dogs are more afraid of men than women, even if men have been nothing but kind to them their entire lives. We’ve always speculated that it had something to do with the way men walked (more assertively?) or their bigger chests, larger jaws, and/or deeper voices. But we’ve never really known for sure what it was–perhaps it is related to scent: obviously men smell different than woman, and it could be that just ‘maleness’ is more intimidating.

A recent study reported in Scientific American Mind might have shed some light on this topic. (Actually, I read it and jumped up exclaiming OH WOW and then had to tell Willie that everything was alright.) Research published in Current Biology asked volunteers to guess the direction of motion of figures that were represented only by points of light placed at critical joints. (Similar to the motion capture process used to make movies like Avatar in which a real person moves around with points of light attached to hips, elbows, shoulders, knees etc, and a computer records the movement of the lights.)

When watching the points of light that represented a moving figure, the volunteers said that the figures made by men were approaching, while the figures made by woman were retreating. I haven’t read the study yet, and am a bit confused by the report in Sci Amer that “neutral and masculine gaits” were perceived as coming closer, while “feminine walks” were perceived as moving away. What is a “neutral” walk? Did they not use men and woman walking normally, but asked them to exaggerate how they “thought” men and woman walk?

All this can be answered when we get the study, but assuming the methods were sound, what an interesting piece of information for us. If the critical points of men are seen as coming closer at higher rates or stronger intensity than women, no wonder dogs are more afraid of males than females. Fearful dogs are ALWAYS more afraid of something coming at them than they are at approaching something themselves.

Interesting, hey?

Meanwhile, back on the farm: It’s all about Lassie now. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for your kind and supportive comments. I’ll keep anyone who wants to know about her progress updated in the comments section of the Lassie post. I don’t want to burden this blog with my private soap opera, but I also know that many of you have seen and read so much about Lassie that you feel connected.

Here’s a photo I took a few days ago, of what it looks like when it gets warmer and the snow starts sliding off the roofs. I love the designs it makes:

I am grateful for so much. I often spend time every morning thinking about what I am grateful for, but it seems especially meaningful at this time of the year. Here’s just a few of the many things I have to be thankful for:

I am grateful for Willie’s smiling face and his pink tongue.

I am grateful for the times when he sends his joy spinning out into the universe.

I am grateful to have Lassie still in my life and to be anticipating her 16th birthday party.

I am grateful for the black circle around her eye, and the little brush of black on her ear.

I am grateful for Sushi’s soft, creamy fur, her cat ears and her cat eyes and the fact that she is so very different from my dogs.

I am thankful for every day that I get to spend with her. I am becoming more allergic to her every week, and am trying many, many things to make it work, but am aware that my days with Sushi might be limited.

I am grateful for the colors of fall, the beauty of nature and the amazing luck I have to be able to live in such a beautiful place.

I am grateful to Jim, who has been like air and water to me for nine years. I am grateful to all in his family, and all in mine… how incredibly lucky I am to be a part of their lives.

My own list will go on for pages and pages, but here’s one more . . .

I am grateful for all of you who read this blog, and participate in a conversation about the amazing relationship we have with animals of another species.

What are you grateful for? I would love to know.

A few days ago I wrote a post on how to handle signs of impending trouble if you see it in someone else’s dog (Please Believe Me, Trouble Brewing!) I asked for comments from other pro’s on how they handle this situation, and from owners on how they would like it handled. The comments sent in response have been so helpful and interesting I thought this topic deserved another post.

Here is an admittedly brief summary of how readers responded (see the original post for their complete comments and suggestions):

PLEASE TELL US! Several people wrote in with sad stories of clear problems that trainers or vets never mentioned when the dog was younger. Many people wished that someone had said something to them sooner. The trick is how and when you say it (read on!)

KINDNESS Oh please please please remember how fragile and vulnerable we are about our dogs. Expressing empathy and concern goes a long way toward having any comment you might make about someone’s dog be heard.

OFFER SOLUTIONS I cringed reading comments about trainers who said things like “You need to get your dog under control!” and kept walking. Isn’t that, uh, what we trainers are for? Don’t people come to us to learn how to do that? The comments made it crystal clear how unhelpful it is for someone to tell you that you have a problem, and then offer no solution–what good is it to know that you have a serious problem if the person who brings it up offers no help or potential solutions? This might be a brief discussion, an appointment, or a referral to other resources, but “Boy do you have a problem!”–without any help attached is, in my mind, nothing less than an act of indirect aggression.

GET PERSONAL It helps tremendously to bring up a similar situation or dog that you yourself have had. I didn’t mention this in my first post, but I realized while reading the comments that I do it all the time. It helps people see that the “problem” is not their fault, that these things happen to experienced trainers, and that there are solutions/potentials for the future that someone can guide you through.

PROVE IT & BE SPECIFIC It’s not enough to say “Boy are you going to have trouble with that dog!” Carefully explain exactly what it is that you are seeing that needs to be attended to and why someone should listen to what you have to say. (“Do you see how the corners of her mouth are retracted while she’s barking at me, and she is actually backing up as she does so? Those are often signs of fear in young dogs, and after 20 + years in the business I’ve seen so many fearful puppies become adult dogs who get into trouble when visitors come. The good news is that this is almost always a treatable problem. I have a dog right now who was just like that when he was an adolescent, and I had visitors throw treats for him every time they came over. Now he is ….” etc etc etc.)

DON’T EXAGGERATE I like the the suggestion of presenting the “best and worst case” scenario. This is an important way to be realistic, and avoid people from dismissing what you have to say. “It may turn out just fine, but I’ve seen so many dogs like this who ended up in trouble… why gamble with a dog who might be that “one in a million” dog that you talk to your grandchildren about!” It’s a tricky line, I admit–saying enough to get someone’s attention, without overstating the issue such that you lose them completely. But, then, isn’t life often about walking on those thin lines between helpful and tiresome?

CUSTOMIZE If this is a client, it is critical to customize your advice. Every case is different, and cookie-cutter solutions to even common problems often don’t work. Every client needs to feel special, because they are. Every case is different, because it is. People desperately need to feel they’ve been listened to, and that your advice is truly something that can work for them. I often start out by saying “Ideally, we’d do X and Y, but then, there’s real life (and your spouse and five kids to acknowledge).” I always ask if they think my suggestions could work for them, and pay lots of attention to body language that says one thing, and a verbal response that says another.

UNDERSTAND THAT CONTEXT IS EVERYTHING This is especially for non-trainers, because most trainers are well aware that a dog can behave one way in one context and another way in a different setting. A word to the wise: I can not tell you how many times I’ve heard clients complain that their vets won’t listen to them about their behavioral problem because the dog is so good in the clinic. Dogs can behave one way to one person, and be a different dog to someone else. They can be docile and loving at the vet clinic and a terror at home. Etc Etc. If people tell you they have a problem, then they have a problem. It may be a slightly different one than they perceive it to be, but if it’s a problem to your client, then it’s a problem. That said, kukos and body wags to all the veterinarians and vet techs out there who work so hard to educate their clients and work to prevent behavioral problems. All behaviorists and trainers send our appreciation (and our sympathy). It’s tough sometimes. Thus, the next point:

ACCEPT OUR LIMITS No matter how good any trainer, vet, behaviorist or friend, there are times that people simply aren’t going to listen to us. In many cases, it is natural to dismiss something the first time you hear it. (Don’t you do that yourself sometimes?) It’s not until the second or third time that we are ready to hear what’s being said. That’s one reason why maintaining a relationship can be so important, as well as finding a way to stay involved if it is appropriate.

And sometimes, no matter what, we’re just not going to get the response we want. We need to let it go. This isn’t easy for people who spend at least part of their lives learning how to influence and manage the behavior of another (!), but it’s a critical skill that we all need to nurture. Let it go. It’s okay. As James Herriot quoted his mentor in “All Creatures Great and Small,” “Don’t worry son, you can’t kill ‘em all.” And we can’t save ‘em all, either. Neither can vets or physicians. Let it go. Breath. Move on.

One of the ways we all do that is focus on our own animals. And so, . . .

. . . Meanwhile, back at the farm: It is still absurdly warm here, in the 50′s most days, low 30′s at night. Two years ago we had well over foot of snow by now. Does that mean I’m all caught up on the “preparing for winter chores?” Not even close. (All of you who live in warm climates might want to smile now.) There are still hoses to flush and put away, water heaters in stock tanks to check, roses to mulch, and garages to clean out. And the food! Oh my my my. This time of year there is food piling up around us like a nutritious, tasty tsunami. I have a winter share at my local CSA (Vermont Valley Community Farm), and now have enough potatoes and carrots to feed small armies. In addition, I gleaned the fields and now have 12 packages of “extra” broccoli in the freezer. This weekend I’ll be out hacking down left over brussel sprout trees, slicing the tiny cabbage-like morsels off of the stalk and then freezing them after a brief trip into boiling water.

But there’s a ram to get to my friend’s (Redford having done his job at my farm), new gates to buy for the new pens inside the barn that Jim is building, and a meditation retreat on Sunday. Oooooh, I love weekends at home!

Here’s some broccoli, cleaned and trimmed, waiting to be processed for freezing. It’s a little more mature than what you’d want to buy in a store, but it’s still yummy and nutritious.

And here’s my Lassie girl, all 15 years and 11 months of her, bringing back the dilapidated disc. It’s not a great photo, a little fuzzy, but then, it’s my old Lassie girl and I’m an absolute sop over pictures of her. especially when she’s being active and playful.

A recent comment from blog readers brought up a fascinating issue. I’ll just introduce it here, and then continue delving into it as time goes on. Here’s the question: Is it possible that dogs who appear to be super submissive are, uh…, not? I think the answer is yes. I say ‘yes’ because I think there’s a difference between a dog being “submissive,” in the sense of not needing to be high up in the social hierarchy, and dogs who perform “submissive displays” enthusiastically.

I had a female BC once, Bess, who was a classic high status bitch. She never fought, but she did take her toy over to a visiting female once, put it down on the ground between the two of them, and then trounce the visitor for starting to sniff it. (Those of you who have attended my seminars know that this is when I learned why “bitch” is a dirty word. I remember watching, relatively new to dogs at the time, and blurting out “YOU BITCH!” as it happened.) Most visiting dogs took one look at “Queen Bess” I called her, with her high posture and regal bearing and tiara of confidence, made some canine equivalent of a curtsy, and that was that.

But one day a visiting Husky female strode up to Bess like she owned the world, and Bess immediately threw herself on the ground in a classic “passive submission” display (I know they’re lying down, but it still doesn’t seem very ‘passive’ to me when they throw themselves on the ground!). I don’t think I’ve ever seen a display so extreme: Bess flattened herself, plastered her forelegs together and her ears to her skull, and grinned like an idiot. Soon she got up and began “active submission,” licking and groveling with such vigor that we all started laughing. It was the most “submissive” of submissions, but it was so extreme it seemed as assertive as it did submissive.

I once had a university student who did something similar to me, and that’s when I coined the phrase “aggressively obsequious.” He came up after lecture, head bobbing, pushing himself into my face while grinning like a fool, and asked, between excessive words of praise, if I’d repeat my lectures in full for him after class over tea. Well, no, I wouldn’t. But here he was, asking something ridiculous of me (from, I suspect, a sense of entitlement), but using a vigorous display of submission to take the edge off.

Ever sense then I’ve noticed dogs whose “submissive’ behaviors are down right rude… lick-lick-lick in your face-face-face non stop-stop-stop. I’d love to hear more from you about this. Do you know what I mean? Those submissive dogs who are doing all the ‘right’ things, except so excessively that it no longer seems submissive at all. Have you ever had a dog like that?

Meanwhile, back at the farm: The days here are alternating between blue sky-sun-bright colors and grey-rainy-windy. It’s been almost every other day of that lately. The sun feels so sweet, and the mud so thick . . . It’s too wet now to plant the last of the daffodils I bought, here’s hoping it’ll dry off enough to get them in. It’s more of a pain to plant bulbs than you might imagine (if you live on a farm that is mostly red clay and the chipmunks and squirrels try to dig them up faster than you plant them), but the pay off in spring is worth it. It turns out that critters don’t like daffodils, so I plant my favorite flowers, tulips, surrounded by daffs and a few other species that aren’t so tasty.

Lassie and Will are doing well. The focus at the farm right now is on nutrition for the market lambs (we go to market next week, always a sobering day for me) and for the breeding ewes. Redford the studly ram returns next week, I can’t wait to see him again, I’ve missed him. Rams have an entirely different personality than ewes and I especially like Redford’s. He grew up in pens with other young rams, and I fear he’ll miss his buddy at my friends, but for a few weeks I suspect the ewes will keep him busy.

Here’s a lamb gobbling up the grass on the front lawn. It’s the best grass on the farm.

There’s no fence around this grass, but Willie is so reliable that I am 100% comfortable letting the sheep out on the front lawn (the one by the road) as Will and I watch over them. Will loved doing this last year; mostly it consists of flank one way or the other, then lie down and wait. Then flank, lie down and wait. Rinse and repeat. I think he liked it because it involved no pressure–little close contact with the sheep, little pressure. But now he seems bored by it. He truly, be still my heart, seems to be coming into his own as a working dog. He loves driving, loves holding the sheep off feeders for me, staring them down face to face, and seems to love being right on the edge of contact with them. This is a great thing, watching him take charge with confidence and finesse… it’s such a joy to watch him mature.

Don’t get me wrong. Will is still Will. He is still hyper reactive to sound (turn the page of your book? Will leaps up..), herds Sushi relentlessly ( this is not a minor issue!), would never be safe to take to a dog park, etc etc etc…. He is definitely still my ‘problem’ dog; and yet, oh oh, look at that face!

xx

With apologies for the change in topics, I just have to respond to a comment on my last post, and to the hundreds of comments I’ve heard over the last 20 + years, about the guilt associated with putting a dog down. It is always wrenching, heart-breaking to euthanize a beloved dog, but taking a dog’s life away for a behavioral problem can be especially hard. I can’t take away the pain, no matter what the reason for the death, but here are a few things that I have found that have helped me and some of my clients.

First, for anyone who has had to euthanize a dog, I hope it helps to know that devoted owners are often wracked with guilt, no matter why the dog died. For example, I euthanized Cool Hand Luke after a long battle with kidney failure. By the time he died (he was close to death when we helped him along), I had worked extensively with five veterinarians, including specialists at the UW Vet School. He received the best that money can buy of western medicine, homeopathic medicine and chinese medicine. I cooked him a special diet every day and monitored every thing that went into his mouth. I’d go on, but you get the idea: I moved  heaven and earth for Luke, and still. . . I was wracked with guilt for a good year after his death.

Surely I had missed something? Surely there was just one more thing I could have done? One of my vets told me that Luke had an inflammation somewhere, but she couldn’t say where or what it was. I obsessed over trying to find it, and felt a crush of failure when nothing we did turned around his failing kidneys. I was consumed by the idea that IF I JUST WORK HARD ENOUGH, I could “fix” things and save Luke.

After he died, devastated by his untimely death (he was 12,  his daughter is now 15 3/4), I couldn’t get it out of my mind that somehow I should have done a better job of trying to save him.  In the cold light of day, this was, frankly, absurd. Luke had 5 of some of the best vets in the country and if they couldn’t save him, how in heaven’s name was I supposed to?

But as he always had, Luke left me with a gift. It took awhile, but I slowly began to notice how EVERYONE I talked to who loved their dog, like we all love ours, was guilty about something related to the dog’s death. It didn’t matter how or why they died: hundreds of owners, from prof’l trainers and behaviorists to the dog loving public, found something to feel guilty about. “I should have seen the symptoms sooner,” or “How could I have not known that the lock on the door was faulty and allowed my dog to run out the door?” or “Surely I could somehow have prevented the bite if I just hadn’t……”

Here’s what Luke taught me, along with the wise comments of a psychologist friend: It is easier to believe that we are always responsible (“if only I had done/not done this one thing….”) than it is to accept this painful truth: We are not in control of the world. Stuff happens. Bad stuff. As brilliant and responsible and hard working and control-freaky that we are, sometimes, bad stuff just happens. Good people die when they shouldn’t. Gorgeous dogs brimming with health, except for that tumor or those crappy kidneys, die long before their time. Dogs who are otherwise healthy but are a severe health risk to others end up being put down. It’s not fair, it’s not right, and it hurts like hell. But please please, if you’ve moved heaven and earth to save a dog and haven’t been able to… just remember:  Stuff happens. We can’t control everything. (Difficult words to dog trainers I know. . . Aren’t we all control freaks to some extent?) You didn’t fail. You tried as hard as you could. It’s okay.

To all of us: Try folding up that guilt and pain like a pile of dirty, ripped clothing, and throwing it away. Remember: Much of what we love about dogs is that they live in the present and accept what happens. That’s our job, to accept what happens sometimes, even though it’s the hardest job of all.

Secondly, there’s one more thing I want to remind everyone who has lost a beloved dog, no matter what the reason or whether there was guilt attached or not: Neurobiologist Jaak Panskepp tells us that “social distress,” or what we’d call grieving, is registered in a primitive part of the brain that is also associated with the perception of pain. I learned about this while I was writing For the Love of a Dog, and it blew me away when I discovered it. Ah Ha, I thought; no wonder we talk about the “pain of loss” and “healing” after grieving. And don’t we respond to another’s loss as if they’d been physically hurt? We take people flowers and food when they are grieving just as we do after they have a major operation.  I remember feeling physical pain when Luke died, when Tulip died, when Pippy Tay died, just as I did when my mother died. I told someone it felt like I’d had abdominal surgery. Turns out that’s exactly what my brain thought too.

And so, remember that when you lose a dog, or if you are still grieving for one you lost in the past, your body thinks you’ve been injured. It needs you to take care of yourself. It needs rest and comfort and flowers and sweet soup and gentle kisses and hugs.

As I write this, I think of my Lassie girl. Her 16th birthday party is planned for a few months from now. She’s doing amazingly well, but good grief, she’s old. Really old. It hurts to think of the future… I think tonight I’d better make some chicken soup and put it in the freezer.

Meanwhile, back at the farm: Lassie played tug with Willie this morning, oblivious as she is to calendars or human concerns about the future or the past. Willie got lots of sheep work this weekend, is a bit gimpy on his left shoulder but lordy we had fun. It’s fall in full force here: leaves turning cranberry, frost on the grass in the morning, lots of wild apples falling from the trees. Here are 2 photos from this morning, while feeding apples to some of the sheep.

Here’s Barbie impatiently waiting for me to drop apples into the feeder:

This isn’t the greatest photo in the world, but I wanted to show Martha chomping on an apple. Sheep LOVE apples, and right now Martha, Barbie and the lambs are all eating grass (from the front yard, best grass on the farm, courtesy of Will who can reliably keep them herded away from the road), a corn/oat mix, high quality alfalfa hay and lots of apples. Yum.

I am not sure if the title is more reminiscent of canid communication or some strange, alien kind of cookies, but let’s go with the former. I’m writing this post because I’d love your interpretation of 3 canid behaviors that we’ve been discussing in the comments on one of my posts. I had mentioned a “muzzle punch” somewhere, and in response one commenter inquired if an air snap or muzzle punch was more predictive of a potential bite. Here, in part, is my response and a video with a great example of a muzzle punch from one dog to another: ["Muzzle punching" being a quick forward motion of the muzzle, jaws completely shut, making contact with another individual, "Air snaps" are when a dog moves exactly as if biting, but bites the air instead of an individual or object. Some people just call these 'snaps', meaning the mouth opened and shut but there was no object between the jaws. "Tooth clacking" is when the mouth is opened and shut rapidly several times in a row, and there's a very clear noise of teeth snapping together.]

Here’s from my comment:
“I’m not sure anyone knows the answers about comparative levels of intensity [of the 3 behaviors] and whether they are universal or not (some dogs seem to only muzzle punch, some only tooth clack or air snap.) I do know that “muzzle punching” can be done at varying levels of intensity. Will does it on occasion on the back of my leg when I have run into another area and (I suspect) am not doing what he wants me to do. I take it as a slightly rude, but not aggressive “Yo! You!” It most often happens when I’ve been moving fast, and I suspect in his case it also relates to his strong-eyed herding tendencies.

I don’t say that as an excuse; when Will does it I’ll turn and say his name in a quiet but shocked voice and go back to working on teaching what I do want (Will go slow when Trisha goes fast). His “punches” are more like taps–they can be felt but are not in the slightest bit painful. In 20 + years I have seen one or two dogs punch their owners so hard that they caused discomfort or pain, but that seems very rare to me as I look back on it. Usually they are much more benign. I would love to know what others think of them, how they are interpreted. . .

I’ve always taken air snaps and tooth clacking (mouth opened and shut rapidly, very clear noise of teeth snapping) as more of a threat than a muzzle punch. But I’ll have to think long and hard about why I say that. I”m going to write some of my friends who work with wolves and ask what they observe. Tooth clacks usually seem to be given as a dog is directly facing a person, often looking right into their eyes, and they have always felt to me like “Hear that? Those are teeth! Big, white, sharp, bit-ey teeth! And I know how to use ‘em!” This is not the same as a dog who is doing “tooth chattering,” which is a much faster action, sounds more like the dog is shivering, and usually seen in dogs who are highly aroused and barely able to contain themselves (could be aroused in any way). I don’t see “tooth chattering” as a social signal, while I think “tooth clacking” is. Air snaps also occur more as threats to me than muzzle punches. There’s just something about a dog purposefully (I would argue) keeping his or her mouth shut that I find meaningful. I would LOVE your thoughts on this, and I’ll do some more research on it next week.  The video is at the end of this post (of Kalladin, an adolescent collie and Tulip, my Pyr, at the farm in the “play pen.

Meanwhile, back at the farm: Not much time at the farm now, leaving in a few hours to speak at the Border Collie National Specialty. Lassie threw up 5 times this morning, oh dear oh dear. I know.. dogs throw up a lot, but you know, she’s 15+ with compromised kidneys.  I talked to my vet, gave her pepcid, extra water for dehydration. She seems fine now, wanted breakfast (gave her a tiny amount as a test, all went well), so I’ll wait and see, but damn I just hate this….. she’s probably totally fine. I’ll keep you posted.

Here’s the video (watch closely, it happens FAST! I use it in seminar to train trainers to be good observers!):


Well, Tender at the Bone is admittedly the title of a book about food (if you love food and good writing as much as I do, this is a fantastic book by food critic Ruth Reichl), but I borrowed the phrase to continue our discussion about dental health and chewing on bones. If you haven’t followed it yet, read the comments from my A Fully Functional Tooth? post, they add lots of meat to the conversation (sorry).

A few readers asked for more photos from Africa, so I thought I’d combine topics and send some more pictures of our time with the pack of African Wild Dogs.

Relevant to dental health, here’s a photo of the mouth of “Jones,” the 4 year old breeding male who was darted and radio collared when we were there watching. What I think is interesting is how good some teeth look (keeping in mind the comment made earlier reminding us that white, clean teeth are not necessarily healthy teeth) and how bad the 2 problem teeth are. The bright red area on the lower gum, by the way, was probably caused by either the act of predation that morning or from ingesting part of the kill, and was only temporary.

But, look at the lower canine and upper incisor. Ouch. I’ll have to ask Dr. McNutt how common it is to see a set of teeth like that, but I’d guess it’s not uncommon at all. There is a high rate of injury (and death) in African Wild Dogs, either from lions or from injuries received while taking down prey. What happened to these particular teeth? Who knows… could be from chewing on bones, or from strikes by horns of ungulates?

In case the photo above is a little bit more intimate than you want to get with a AWD, here’s a portrait showing off their huge, gorgeous, cartoon animal ears.

And here’s a photo of the pups just seconds after an adult had walked in and regurgitated for them. It all happened behind the bush, and was over, from start to finish, in about 4-5 seconds, but you can see one of the pups licking his lips, apparently having been one of the lucky ones and getting his share of the food.

Meanwhile, back at the farm: Will is back to chewing on his stuffed Kong in the morning, and I haven’t gone out to find just the right real bone to give to him and Lassie. Admittedly, although I have decided to let them eat carefully selected bones for a short time, I haven’t yet gone looking for them.

It was sweltering hot and humid last night (okay, all is relative: hot for here at this time of year). Mostly it was humid without a breath of fresh air. It’s a bit better today, and tomorrow it will be better still. Can’t wait for the nights to get cool again so I can snuggle under a blanket with Lassie on one side and Willie on the other!

True confession: I haven’t finished the book The Wolf in the Parlor. I might not, at least not in the near future. Here’s why:

As I said in my last post, the author’s thesis is that “people and dogs, around 12,000 years ago, linked their evolutionary paths together and evolved socially and physically to take on supportive roles. He argues, according to the reviews, that humans lost some of our brain power because dogs took over those functions, and dogs lost some of theirs because we became their protectors and nurturers.” It seems downright churlish of me to stop reading before I read for myself the full extent of his argument, but what I’ve read in the first 60 pages has put me off a bit.

I mentioned earlier that the thesis itself sounded a bit simplistic, but I love speculation and the more the merrier if it’s based on good, solid information. But Franklin’s supporting information seems thin, at best. Here’s an example: Interested in the early evolution of the domestic dog, the author goes to his local library. But he finds little of value, he tells us. He says “Some of the more promising works included a few generalized remarks about the development of the dog; they all sounded the same, and had a ‘just so’ tone to them.” He goes on later to say that the books he ended up checking out were also a disappointment. “Most were superficial, showed some misunderstanding of biology, or were otherwise unsuitable…”. Never in this section does he mention other ways of researching the topic.. he writes as though he accepts that his library has all material relevant to his question. As a lover of libraries, I can tell you that even really, really good ones can only house a small portion of relevant books, and many of those are profoudly out of date. As a science writer, I would assume he is adept at internet searches…?

Eventually, in the books he checks out (we never know which books those are), he finds references to a paleontologist named Stanley Olsen, who spent decades finding and measuring fossils of domestic dogs (dogs can be distinguished from wolves by their shorter muzzles and smaller teeth). He published some of this work in 1974, and Franklin moved heaven and earth to find a copy (The Origins of the Domestic Dog: The Fossil Record) and traveled to the University of Arizona to interview Olsen. Let me be clear: I’d give a lot to interview Olsen myself, he sounds absolutely fascinating and extremely knowledgeable. But 1974 is 35 years ago, and what we’ve learned about the fossil record since then is astounding.  Still, I love that Franklin went to meet him–but what about other sources of information about the evolution of the domestic dog? Surely Franklin found many interesting books on that topic? And what books did he read? He is a science writer after all, so I expected him to clearly list his sources.

I turned to the back to see if he had read, for example, Ray and Lorna Coppinger’s book Dogs, its subtitle being “A Startling New Understanding of Canine Origin, Behavior and Evolution.” But there is no bibliography or reference section, a surprise unto itself. I turned to the index, and Coppinger is indeed mentioned, but only briefly, and only in regard to a discussion about dogs losing the terminal portion of the hunting sequence inhibited (find, chase but don’t kill and eat). Franklin loves Coppinger’s suggestion that dogs are wolves with the ‘kill’ portion of their behavior inhibited, but adds that other scientists “. . . criticized Coppinger’s idea for various technical reasons, …” but doesn’t tell us what those were. Neither had he read Coppinger’s book; he learned about him in a manuscript being edited by James Serpell (now that’s a book I can’t wait to read, I’ll alert you as soon as I find it, don’t know if it’s out yet.)

There are some wonderful sections of The Wolf in the Parlor. Franklin clearly adores dogs and the connection between them and people. He is not only smitten with his current Standard Poodle, he credits him for saving his life (I skipped to the end). If I had no other books to read I’d finish the entire book, and someday I imagine I will. But right now Horowitz’s Inside of a Dog is luring me in, and I just got a book written about a search and rescue dog that looks like a page turner. The wolves in the parlor are just going to have to lie down and stay for awhile.

Meanwhile, back at the farm: It rained! Oh boy oh boy, it finally rained, after almost 3 weeks of no rain. I’m the first to admit 3 weeks isn’t long in many areas of the drought-stricken country, and I know it’s flooding right now in some areas, but we really, really needed the rain and just looking at the moisture soaking into the ground feels so nurturing and good. Willie and I got to go to a new place to work sheep; a good friend and neighbor’s not far away just got a small flock to work her rescue BC on. We had a ball; Will was wonderful, I was a bit slow–not being used to faster reacting sheep, but a good time was had by all. Well, maybe not the sheep, but Will was excellent around them and worked them very quietly. The trick with Will is balancing his speed with his lack of confidence (too slow and he loses power and confidence, too fast and he starts the sheep running.) We’ll be back soon I’m sure!

Here’s a video I took this morning, in the rain by the way, of Willie & Lassie playing with their Chewber. At first you’ll just see Willie, while I make silly noises to hype him up and get him exercising without having to stress his shoulder by fetching or leaping. It takes him longer to get moving than usual (because I have the camera?), but you can see how he runs and shakes the Chewber as if he was trying to kill it. (What was that about the final stage of the hunt being inhibited? Just kidding, I think Coppinger is right to some extent on that; I don’t think I’d use a wolf as a herding partner!).

As I do every morning, I asked Will to lie down and let Lassie get the toy. Watch how she turns and looks at him when she returns. Anthropomorphically, I always imagine her saying “I’ve got the toy-oy. Nee Nee Nee Boo Boo!”