THE OTHER END OF THE LEASH

I was recently reminded that my first national book, The Other End of the Leash, was published in June of 2002, ten years ago (thank you Lisa). Wow. Ten years. It feels like a long time, and it feels like the years have flown by. Time is like that.

There’s something about big blocks of time and anniversaries–10 years, 25 years–that helps us to step out of our busy lives and look at the big picture. This feels especially relevant to me now as I work on a memoir. I find myself asking what parts of the book still resonate most for me, and what aspects of the book most relate to what I want to say in the memoir. At the moment there are two things that stand out the most: how understanding the world as best we can from a dog’s perspective enriches our relationship, and how dogs are such a vital, essential connection to the natural world for so many of us. Here’s how I described that connection in The Other End of the Leash:

“We humans are in such a strange position–we are still animals whose behavior reflects that of our ancestors, yet we are unique–unlike any other animal on earth. Our distinctiveness separates us and makes it easy to forget where we come from. Perhaps dogs help us remember the depth of our roots, reminding us–the animals at the other end of the leash–that we may be special, but we are not alone. No wonder we call them our best friends.”

It’s true that our differences from dogs causes no end of problems, from people mindlessly hugging dogs who perceive it as a threat, from running toward a dog to get him to come to us when in reality it causes him to stop. One of the most gratifying consequences of the publication of The Other End of the Leash is the receipt of notes and emails from all around the world that thank me for helping them to better understand their dog, or to save a run away dog from being hit by a car. (The book, I say sheepishly but unable to stop myself, is now published in 14 languages–or is it 15?–a fact that continues to delight and amaze me.) I still love playing the “contrast and compare” game between dogs and people, asking what is the same and what is different as a way of enriching our relationship, and I being one voice, in a chorus of many, asking dog owners to respect and understand their dogs, rather than dominate and treat them like small, furry  people trying to take over the household if you drop your guard for just a minute.

I also appreciate, even more now I think, the importance of a dog’s ability to link us to rest of the natural world. It’s a tragedy, in a way, that we speak about ourselves and “nature” as different things, as if we moved isolated and above all the rest of creation. We don’t. We still need air and water and food to eat and a place to poop like other mammals. Almost as much as that, our spirits need to see leaves fluttering in the breeze and the sun shine off the water. We need to marvel at the intricacies of a daisy and the jazz riff of a house wren as she sings beside her nest. There is a growing body of evidence that being outside, in the “natural” world is good for you. See, for example, The Children and Nature Network. And what do dogs do? Besides cuddling beside us and licking our faces and acting as if we hung the moon, they get us outside, on the grass, under the trees and in the rain. Bear with me while I repeat myself: No wonder they are our best friends.

Here’s an excerpt, relevant to that point, from what I am writing now. Be forewarned, it will be years before this book comes to light, at least a year before I am done writing it. But here’s something I wrote this morning that feels relevant to the anniversary of the publication of The Other End of the Leash, about a pair of Barn Swallows that nested in my garage, and wreaked no small amount of havoc to my daily routine. It’s yet another example of the importance of a conscious and respectful connection to the natural world.

And then one day, one magical day that I will remember for the rest of my life, I came home to find all five baby birds straining so far out of the nest that I knew their first flight was inevitable. I stood in the garage and watched one bird after another take its first flight. Each bird dove out of the nest flapping crazily, it’s movement uncoordinated and seemingly inadequate to keep them airborne. At the last minute, as they zig-zagged toward the ground, their wings took hold and they managed to stay airborne. They’d fly for a few more seconds, seemingly at the edge of airborne disaster, and then slam into the nearby spruce tree, having as much to learn about landing as flying. But gradually, second by second, flap by flap, the movements of their wings became more coordinated, their paths through the air became straighter, more purposeful and they figured out how to land without smashing head first into a bough.

As the seconds stretched into minutes, they began to learn what was inside of them. They found what they had all along, an innate combination of ability and knowledge that lifted their bodies and directed their flights. They began to dip and turn, faster and faster now, until within just a few minutes I was watching five expert, tiny pilots, zooming right and buzzing left, streaking toward my face and veering off at the last minute. They looked overwhelmed with themselves and the joy of what they were capable of. I was overwhelmed too, with wonder and delight at their transformation from chubby, awkward babies into sleek, skilled flyers. I am still overwhelmed, just writing about it, at what me and five baby birds learned in just a few minutes inside my shabby old garage.

I am grateful for every day that I live on the farm, even when it’s 107 and it almost kills me to haul hoses to try to save the trees or 30 below and the water pipes in the barn are frozen and I’m carrying buckets down an icy hill to the barn cussing like a sailor. I write knowing that not everyone can live on a farm, and that I am a lucky woman. But I spent as many years of my adult life in tiny apartments with moldy showers and dank, stinky corridors as I have on the farm. I shared cans of Alpo with my Saint Bernard because that’s all we could afford, and bought my clothes from Goodwill. And I learned, that no matter where we live, we can all cherish a flower, put up a painting of a lake, sit under a tree in a park and listen to a robin sing to the sky. And if we are very, very lucky, have a dog with whom to share this amazing journey through time and space.

I don’t want this to be soliloquy, I’d love to hear your thoughts about your connection with the natural world, and perhaps your dog’s part in it. I look forward to reading your thoughts…

MEANWHILE, back on the farm: Willie is a happy boy. It’s still hot but not as bad as before, and we’ve been able to work sheep for short periods of time. I’m working on my timing while driving (the sheep away from us), trying to react fast enough to keep them in a straight line instead of zig zagging around the field. Let’s just say I have miles to go before I sleep. Willie isn’t putting a paw wrong on this, this is all my challenge. He needs to work on driving at a distance and staying comfortable letting the sheep get farther and farther away from me (and trusting that he an maintain control), but we can’t practice that on my little, short pasture. Hoping to do that this weekend.

Willie also got a new toy yesterday. It’s one of the new ones for sale on our website in the section named “Toys and Fun Stuff.” The toy is “Ellie the Elephant” and we love her because she is one sturdy pachyderm. I suspect she’ll even stand up to Willie’s tough love for quite awhile. I’ll keep you posted.  I’ll let the photos tell you whether he likes it or not.

Here’s their first introduction. I asked Willie to lie down and stay while I snapped the first photo. Note the elevated hindquarters (that I didn’t notice while taking the picture!)

Willie decides to get acquainted.

Here’s Willie’s impersonation of a rat terrier, as he begins to attempt to shake Ellie back and forth. Good thing he doesn’t know she’s an elephant.

Yup, this is almost as fun as sheep herding!

And finally, after a long play and photo session, Ellie and Willie rest in the grass. Willie looked so contented I half expected him to ask for a cigarette.

Those are the words of Dogen Zenji, a Zen master, quoted in one of my favorite books, Zen Miracles by Brenda Shoshanna. I repeat them here, because I think they have the power to ease life’s journey for all of us. The message is simple, but profound. Of course you, and everyone around you are going to make mistakes. It is inevitable, because, as the saying reminds us, “Life IS one continuous mistake.” Once we accept that, it is much easier to be loving and compassionate, both to ourselves and to others.

When I first became interested in dog training, in the mid-80’s, I was shocked at how hard people were on their dogs. “Disobedience” by dogs was considered to be a direct challenge to a dog’s owner. Any time a dog responded inappropriately it was attributed to the dog being stubborn, or challenging the owner’s dominance, or worse, “having a mind of his own”. (I admit to being unable to repress a smile when I write that last one. Whose mind was the dog supposed to have?) Dogs who didn’t sit fast enough were at best given a quick, mild collar correction, and at worst yelled at or picked up and shaken. Dogs were not allowed to make “mistakes” and if they did, they were punished for it.

Thanks to the efforts of many wonderful people, from Ian Dunbar to Karen Pryor to William Campbell, much of dog training has become less like boot camp for marines, and more like a good elementary school for kids. And yet, as we became kinder to dogs, it seems to me that some of the anger, frustration and negative attributions have been re-directed toward our own species. I read about “they” all the time, the people who don’t treat dogs as they should, who dump them at shelters, who use abusive training methods or who make bad decisions that cause harm to some individual of some species, sometime, somewhere. So many mistakes. Bad people, bad people.

Part of why I wrote The Other End of the Leash is because I like people, and I wanted to help others understand more of “why we do what we do around dogs.” (That’s the subtitle, fyi.). My hope was that increasing our understanding of the behavioral predispositions of both species would make life better for us all, humans and dogs.

And so I bring this around to the topic of the hour on this blog, the issue of re-homing dogs in general, and of placing Hope in another home specifically. Every day I make a mental list of what I am thankful for, and one thing I am thankful for is the thoughtful conversation that this chapter in my life has stimulated. I am thankful for the compassionate words of support, and I am thankful for the criticism, because it forces us to carefully consider our beliefs and our decisions. I knew when I made the decision to place Hope that it would disappoint some people and anger others. I am especially thankful, and impressed, by some of the most insightful comments: that perhaps placing a dog in another home brings up deep-seated, personal issues of belonging and a fear of rejection and of failure—no wonder this is a hot button topic, yes?

I understand that it would have been more satisfying to many if I had kept Hope and worked through all of his and Willie’s issues. It would have been to me as well. I understand that some readers believe that I made mistakes along the way. One interesting aspect of “Life as a Continuous Mistake” is that for any given situation, each person evaluates a stream of decisions differently. A mistake to one person is not to another.

Look at all the choice points involved in my decisions related to Hope:

- Deciding to get a puppy 4 years ago when I had 3 very old dogs because a litter related to my soul mate dog, Luke, became available

- Choosing Willie from the litter

- Keeping Willie after it became clear that he had a myriad of serious problems

- Deciding to get another dog after Lassie died because Willie loves to play with other dogs and I’d like more than one myself.

- Deciding to buy a puppy from a breeder rather than getting a dog from rescue

- Choosing the puppy Mick out of the litter

- Deciding to take Mick back to the breeder after some red flags appeared

- Returning home with the puppy Hope because Willie seemed to adore him

- Deciding to work with Hope after it became clear he was not the puppy that both Willie and I thought he was

- Deciding to let Hope go to another home

- Choosing to write about it in public

I wrote out that list to point out that everyone has their own opinion about what decision or choice might have been a mistake. Some of my colleagues, years ago, counseled me to get rid of Willie, and with benevolence and care for my well being, told me I’d be sorry for a very long time if I didn’t. Many of them think I am raving mad for writing about my own dogs in public. Others think getting a puppy was a mistake, or not getting a dog from rescue, or choosing the pup I did, or taking him back, or not taking him back sooner, or, or …

Here’s the reason that I bring this up. If I could live this summer over again, I might have made some different decisions. I might not have, it’s too soon to say. The one decision in particular that I would revisit was when I had returned Mick to the breeder and was agonizing over whether to choose another from the litter, or drive home without a puppy at all . While I was struggling with the decision, admittedly both physically and emotionally exhausted, Willie met Hope and instantly adored him. Willie took one sniff, and circle-wagged, and then play bowed and the two of them frolicked on the grass like Willie and Lassie used to do. As I stood watching them, it was windy and wet, and brutally cold, and I had to decide right away what to do or lose the chance to take a pup. Willie’s reaction to Hope (very different from his reaction to all the other puppies) had a profound effect on me. I picked up Hope, and he flattened his ears and kissed my face and Willie circle-wagged again and that was that.

A mistake? Could have been. I’m not sure yet.  Was it a mistake to place Hope into a better home than mine could ever be? Nope. Absolutely not. At least, not in my opinion. But perhaps in yours.  And that’s okay, because, after all, Life is One Continuous Mistake. I will always make them, whether we agree on what exactly the mistakes are or not. If someone needs perfection from me, they are benevolently advised to go elsewhere.  I cannot carry that burden for you, and I cannot try to carry it for myself.

And that brings us full circle to the most important point of all. Benevolence. Most people do the best they can. Yes people do things that disappoint us. Yes others will do things that we consider to be mistakes. Yes some people do horrible things to dogs, not to mention to other people. But the more we can feel compassion for other people, as much as we do for our dogs, the better off we will all be. Over the decades that I have been in the dog world, I have seen so much anger about the behavior of others, and so much guilt from wonderful people about decisions they have made with the best of intentions. If only we could gather up all that negative energy we could power the world on it. But in my humble opinion, it’s not what the world needs right now, and it’s not what each individual within it needs. Listen up here: It is not the behavior of others that is hardest to forgive, and if we focus on that we are fooling ourselves. It is our own imperfections that are hardest to forgive. What a challenge it is to feel love and compassion and forgiveness for ourselves, and for all of the mistakes we each make. And yet, we are the only judge of own behavior that really matters. Life is One Continuous Mistake. If we do our best, with the best of intentions, and try to learn from our inevitable mistakes, then all we can do beyond that is to sit back and enjoy the ride.

MEANWHILE, back on the farm. It is cool and gorgeous and the horrid, hot, humid weather is behind us, at least for now. The country is a canvas of yellows: bright yellow gold finches are everywhere, butter- colored sunflowers line the country roads, and streams of goldenrod wave in the fields.

Willie and I got two glorious lessons with the best herding dog handler in the country (Alisdair McRae) yesterday, and had as much fun as it is possible to have. For those of you in Wisconsin, there is a great herding dog trial going on right now,  Friday through Labor Day, outside of Portage Wisconsin. You can learn more about it by going to WWSDA.

I wanted to get some pictures of Willie and I working with Alisdair, but I got lost in training rapture, and forgot that I had the camera in my pocket. But here’s are some scenes on the way home… no wonder the colors of the state’s football team are green and gold.

WRITTEN MID-JULY, POSTED WHILE I’M IN AFRICA:

I recently spent three evenings with Jim’s son, daughter-in-law and granddaughter Taylor, and so the issue of kids and dogs is near and dear to me right now. I also, in that serendipitous way of the world, just received a question about how to find help for a Boxer who growled at a grand child from the post Who Should Treat Behavioral Problems.

Young children and dogs can be the best of friends, or the worst of enemies. There’s just no way around it, to some dogs, kids can be unpredictable, rude, and/or frightening. And surely, to some kids, dogs can be unpredictable, rude and/or frightening. Given that, here’s some generic advice, sprinkled with specifics from Will’s encounters with Taylor.

1) Never live in the land of “I-think-it-will-be-okay.” If you are not 110% positive that an interaction between a child and a dog will be safe, don’t allow it to happen. Any time I hear “I think it will be okay,” red flags start to wave. What does “I think it’ll be okay” mean? That maybe, probably, it’ll be okay, but you’re not sure? I’ve had 21 years of hearing people say that they “thought” it would be okay, and then they were sitting in my office, crying about whether to euthanize or re-home their dog. Granted, two decades of hearing about bites, law suits and potential euthanasias makes a person especially cautious, but that’s still what I’d advise any parent or dog owner to be: extra cautious. When dogs bite, it happens like lightening, so don’t think (there’s that word again) that you can prevent something because you’re ‘right there.’ You can’t. If you’ve ever believed me on anything, believe me on this.

2) Always protect both the child and the dog. It is neither fair nor safe to sit back and let a child harass a dog (or vice versa) because the dog is “so good with kids.” Well, he may be now, but after a number of years of pulled tails and poked eyes, he may decide he’s had enough. (That was a VERY common presentation in my office: “He’s always been so good with kids, he’d let them do anything to him, and then, out of the blue, he bit the neighbor boy.”) If you don’t protect your dog from a child who has not yet learned to interact politely with a dog, you are forcing your dog to protect him or herself. Some dogs can’t take it the first time, but others put up with it until they are older and sick of it. Even if your dog never threatens a child, it’s not fair to the dog AND it is teaching the child to interact in ways that may get him bitten by another dog. Speaking of teaching. . .

3) Both children and dogs need to be taught, gently and kindly, how to interact. If your dog is too exuberant, you might yelp as if you were a litter mate when the play got too rough. I’ve used a sound like ARPPP! (think seal here), that bursts out of my mouth when a dog has been a bit too rough with something weaker. It usually gets a startle response from the dog, and sometimes (not always) the dog seems to get the idea that she must self-handicap better and inhibit herself. Children always need to learn how to interact kindly with real dogs, given that they tend to treat them like stuffed animals until they learn better and acquire more emotional control. Any trainer or behaviorist can tell you legions of stories about kids who ran up to dogs, grabbed their heads and kissed the dog on the nose, while the parents watch with big smiles on their face. Until the dog bit, then the smiles go away.

4) Management is a good solution in many cases. Lots of dogs either can’t tolerate the energy and arousal of young children, especially if they are not used to them. Some dogs can learn to be comfortable around children with positive experiences, and some dogs can’t.  Some dogs can be around kids in certain contexts, and not others (see about Willie and granddaughter below).  There is nothing wrong with keeping kids and dogs apart, as long as both are in comfortable places. Willie loves his crate, and spent a lot of time in it Sunday when the whole family was visiting. Not for a minute did I feel guilty–he could rest and not be expected to deal with arousal levels over his head, and I could relax and enjoy  my company rather than being vigilant every single second.

5) Use conditioning to ease the relationship. I’ll use Operant conditioning next time Taylor comes out, asking Willie “Where’s Taylor?” He loves this game, loves “Where’s Jim” and “Where’s Trisha?” and it’s a great way to relax him around a child. Of course, I’ll be standing right next to Taylor, and will have her throw him a toy when he gets close (but not too close.) I’ll use Classical conditioning too, having Taylor toss or feed him treats (he’s has already taken several from her hand, mommy instructing her to hold her hand out flat on top of mommy’s hand) or toss his toys. I can teach Willie to lie down every time Taylor starts to run, to play bow when he sees her… etc etc etc. The point here is that it is our job to teach our dogs how to interact, what we want from them, and to do all we can to influence their emotional state when around children.

Will doing all this make every dog trustable around kids? Not a chance. Every dog is different, and some dogs will never be comfortable around kids, period. For those dogs, either management or a new home might be the best alternative. I’d be curious how you have handled this issue, and what your experiences have been. It’s such a huge part of our culture: kids and dogs, and how they interact. (By the way, Colleen Pelar has a book coming out in fall on how people in the profession can help parents raise kids and dogs. I reviewed it and it is great! I’ll keep you posted.) (8/23: When I first posted this I attributed the book to Robin Bennet, who has collaborated with Colleen in the past. Robin, gently and graciously corrected my foolish  mistake.)

Meanwhile, back at the farm: here’s Lassie and Taylor (and her dad Shane) playing around the wading pool (of course, this wading pool is normally for the dogs!). Note Lassie’s open mouth and relaxed posture, a good sign that she is comfortable at the moment. However, even though Lassie has been absolutely bomb-proof with children for all of her life, we still monitored all her interactions with Taylor, who didn’t know (how could she?) that it’s not a good idea to take a dog’s muzzle in your hands and squeeze. Why Taylor wanted to do this no one knows, but her parents are fantastic about teaching her to be polite around dogs, and they watched her (as did I) literally every second she interacted with Lassie. This level of hands-on interaction was only allowed because I have 14 years of experience with Lassie as adoring young children, and because Taylor’s parents were as vigilant as I. Even though Lassie has been amazing around kids, she IS 15 1/2 years old, and it is not fair to expect her to put up with things she would have in the past, so we still watched all interactions carefully. Even at only two years of age, Taylor is learning how to interact with unfamiliar dogs… would that all parents be so wonderful as Taylor’s!

Here’s Taylor and mom Rachel at the zoo, doing what all kids do: hugging. And she’s hugging the perfect animal, a statue that can’t take offense or turn around and bite her!

Teaching children not to hug dogs is a true challenge, it is clearly part of our species’ natural repertoire (I talk about this at length in The Other End of the Leash), and something that is hard for children to inhibit. To us, hugs are a sign of affection, but to most dogs they are, at best, something to put up with. To nervous, reactive or status-seeking dogs, hugs are rude, offensive and threatening. The few times that Taylor started to hug Lassie we gently re-directed her to another behavior. However, I never would have allowed Taylor and Willie to be in a situation in which a hug might even have started… I simply don’t trust him around children this young yet. Willie is reactive, easily made nervous, unfamiliar with young children, and nippy when objects (not live ones) start moving around fast. It has taken him years to keep himself from nipping a mop or broom and I have to remind him still not to nip the tires of the wheelbarrow when it is moving. Granted, that’s not the same as living things, but again, being conservative is smart. Being anything else around kids and dogs is not. When Taylor was running around in the house, Willie spent lots of time in his crate (and got lots of treats brought to him for being so quiet and patient about it). Later, we went on a walk with all of us in which Taylor and Willie could get used to each other without directly interacting, and spent some time in the yard with the whole gang outside. Note that there are no photos of Willie and Taylor; taking pictures would have distracted me from being as vigilant I necessary. Maybe next time?

On a walk in a prarie, which was the third time that Willie had seen Taylor, I noticed that Willie ran up, with a completely relaxed body, to Taylor and her mom and licked faces. I praised and called him away immediately…. to insure that things ended on a good note. Overall, everything went beautifully, but possibly because I was hyper conservative, never allowed any interactions I wasn’t 110% comfortable with, and Taylor’s parents were amazingly observant and cautious. Things might have been fine without that level of vigilance, I am the first to admit I was being hyper conservative. . . but there was no cost to being so, and a big cost to everyone if things had not gone well.

And, if you’ll indulge me, just a note about Jim’s grand daughter? . . .  Can I say it now, or is it just too tacky and grand-parenty?  Oh well, I’ll say it anyway, awash in oxytocin as I am: IS TAYLOR CUTE OR WHAT?

This morning I tried to get a good photo of Redford confronting Will, but failed miserably. That’s great news… I couldn’t get the photo because every time Will walked within twenty feet of Redford, the ram turned and walked away. I did take a few photos, but my battery died so I can’t upload them for you. I’ll send some before the end of the week, of Will and sheep, and hopefully, of Snickers new lambs, if she ever, finally, gives birth. (We are calling her Explodo-Ewe at the moment.)

Truffle’s little white lamb is filling out like a champ. He’s got all the milk to himself and is growing like crazy. He has started what I call “popcorn” play, which is pretty much like it sounds. First there is a lamb standing still, then there’s a lamb leaping straight up into the air. Except in this case, the lambs twist their bodies a bit, land, run a few feet and do it again. It’s lucky the weather is warm (in the 20′s!) because it’s hard for me to leave the barn, he’s so much fun to watch.

I wanted to write more about Will, the ram and “power” in a herding dog, because it was herding dogs that taught me about ‘body blocks’ and ‘space management’ in dog training. (See Other End of the Leash or Family Dog Training.) There is no question that different dogs have a different effect on the same sheep: some dogs seem to take charge from a long way away while others have to get much closer to get the same effect. If a dog has what handlers call ‘power,’ the sheep will look at the dog, turn their heads looking for the best route away from the dog and leave, even if the dog is a good distance away. Other dogs have to get much closer to get the same effect, or can even cause the same sheep to stand their ground or charge forward. When I first got into herding I thought the difference in the dog was in it’s posture… the more extreme the stalking posture, the more intense the effect? But it soon became clear that wasn’t it.

The biggest difference that is obvious to us is vector of the dog’s energy. Is the dog standing still but leaning forward, standing square over its 4 feet or leaning backwards, even an eighth of an inch or so? Biologists call movements and postures that always preceed an action “intention movements” and there’s no doubt in my mind that sheep can read where a dog is ready to go next: forward, to “take the space,” or backwards, to protect itself and get away. I show a video in many of my seminars that show 3 different dogs working the same group of cattle, and the difference in the reaction of the cattle is amazing. One, clearly fearful dog (tongue flicks, looks back to handler often, ears back, body leaning backward.. ready to run away) ends up with the cattle walking right up to him and sniffing his nose. The most confident dog walks forward with what can only be described as presence, and the cattle take one look at him and turn away. Dogs are brilliant at sensing these movements too, which is why we all need to be thoughtful about how we move around our dogs. You can use them to your advantage (teaching stay for example) or get into trouble by leaning forward toward a dog who is nervous around strangers.

Intention movements going forward or backward are just one factor in the interaction between sheep and dog. Some dogs are so strong that they worry sheep and can’t be used in small areas. Other dogs seem to take charge easily without scaring the sheep. Ideally, a dog is calm and confident, neither overly reactive but ready to win a confrontation if necessary. Some dogs seem to love confrontations, it makes other nervous. All of these things seem to be read by sheep, which makes a lot of sense if you think about it. Many prey animals in the wild behave comfortably around predators who are not hunting, but then immediately go on alert when the predators, lions for example, decide it’s time to stop lazing around and go hunting.

Willie clearly is nervous about direct confrontations. He tongue flicked a couple of times and ran back into the barn as soon as I said “that’ll do,” even though Redford never turned to challenge him.

Okay, he’s not the bravest dog in the world, but the fact that he tries as hard as he can and tries to work through his fears makes me love him even more. Besides, Redford apparently decided that he’s not worth challenging, at least not this morning, so I am pleased and proud that things are going in Will’s direction…

Now, if Snickers would just, PLEASE, have her lambs tonight!

Sorry no photos, battery is charging as I write!