Agility (and Animal Welfare Awareness) Day @ Wilhelminaplein!

I won't try to catch up all at once with everything that's happened in the last — whoa, 11 months! (Has it really been—? Yes... yes, it has. And I'm sorry for that. I love this blog.) I'll start with last weekend and — maybe, slowly — work my way back to some highlights.

So. This past weekend.

I-Animal (an animal welfare organization here in Curaçao) had its yearly Animal Day celebration at Wilhelminaplein — an open space, kind of like a city square, in Punda (downtown Willemstad) — and we were invited to join the agility run hosted by Yuka's Hondentraining. It was free of charge, geared to demonstrate the potential any dog, regardless of breed or previous training, has for conquering the agility course — and the fun they have while doing it.

More importantly, I think, it's a great way to prove Cesar Millán's point about training humans (and rehabilitating dogs). Any sort of "dog" training is, at its core, a way to establish (or, ideally, deepen) the bond between human and dog — and the agility run is a fantastic way to demonstrate it.

Out of the seven-pack, I chose to come with Duncan... For several reasons, which I can get into at length for another post, but in short: he's not the best-behaved (so the training would benefit him and me) but not the worst, either (so I could feasibly be setting him up for success); he's also really food-oriented (unlike, for instance, Sam), which makes everyone's life easier. But, mostly, I chose Duncan because we have a bond. A good, strong, special bond.

Bond which would be put to the test.

B&W Sunday -- In Tandem

Sam and Benny explore the beach in tandem.

Thanks to Nola and Sugar for hosting the B&W Sunday hop! Best gathering of pet bloggers e-VUH.

Celebrating the Day of the Dead

Frida, who loved to lie on flower pots.

November 1st and 2nd constitute the Day of the Dead celebration, arguably the most Mexican of Mexican traditions. It's a beautiful concept: the dead aren't gone, or lost--every year, on these two days, they come back in spirit to visit with us. Families gather at cemeteries with Mariachi bands and home-cooked meals, whatever was the difunto's favorite food, with bottles of tequila and cartons of cigarettes, photos and flower wreaths. These usually gloomy places are lighted by candles and laughter, a scattered tear here and there, but mostly a feeling of joy.

We lost Frida in April 2012. She was with us for a mere three years, and her absence still hurts. Today I want to feel like she's not gone, not lost. May you, too, feel your loved ones that have crossed over close to you today.

Thanks to Nola and Sugar for hosting the B&W hop.

P.S. -- Got a spankin' new Facebook page for my scribbling endeavors. My very first single-author publication is coming out 2015--I'm doing the wildest Snoopy dance :) I'll be giving away five copies of the new book--of course it involves dogs and dog rescuing--among the first 100 likes on the page. Like I said, spankin' new :)

B&W Sunday: The Root of My Rescue Proclivities

My mom has been rescuing dogs since long before I was born. It's in my blood.

Speaking about averages...

How's your conscience these days?

No love like dog love. Yes?

Black & White Sunday -- August 10

The newest members of the family, albeit temporary. (More about them in yesterday's post.) From the left: Ochoa, Snijder, and Nena.

Thanks to Nola and Sugar for hosting the B&W hop--so glad to be back!

Black & White Sunday: Benny

Benny's first sortie at the Kabouterbos (Dwarf Forest, in Dutch). He was surprisingly calm. Made me proud.

Happy Mother's Day!

Especially to the awesome mothers of kids with paws ;)

Yes, we're still alive... #WOOFSupport Report

Things were hectic during April down here. The A-to-Z Challenge, other writing projects, household stuff; my computer broke down at the end of March, which did not help. All in all, I devoted little (read: zero) time to proper training.

As with everything else Dog, it's the human that's to blame.

But I'm (slowly) learning from my four-legged teachers. No would've, could've, should've. Move forward. It's about the present; yesterday's gone, tomorrow doesn't exist yet.

I'm trying.

So. First: what are we struggling with? Besides general reactivity (which, as I've mentioned, spreads like wildfire in a pack--and I still can't figure out why it's the reactivity, and not the calm, that spreads), our neighbor at the back has two new dogs. Puppies. One around 6 months, the other about 10 or 12 weeks.

And my dogs do not like them.

Which means there's loud, incessant, and obsessive barking at the fence. It just takes one to start--one of mine, I mean--and the other six sprint like stampeding Mustangs to join in the call to defend the fortress. The neighbor's dogs think it's great fun. They're puppies; of course they think it's fun.

But it's mighty serious business for my pack.

It doesn't last very long; even without (my) interference, they're done--tired, hoarse, bored--after about seven minutes. But with nine dogs barking as loud as they can, those seven minutes feel endless.

The neighbors--the other neighbors, not the owners of the puppies--have begun to complain. We've had the police here twice, plus a "formal" protest visit to tell us to either shut the dogs up or else. (I'm paraphrasing.)

That's the latest symptom. The solution comes in short- and long-term; long-term, obviously, is what we're aiming for--I want all my dogs to be happy, able to deal calmly with the stress of encountering new things, to (dare I say it?) enjoy encountering new things. But long-term takes, well, longer. Given the neighbor issues, it's become a choice between my dogs' psychological and physical well-being (dog poisoning is disgustingly common in this island).

Short-term solution: I'm building a wooden fence at the back. (It's actually a relocation of the fence; if you're curious you can read more here.) That will prevent the dogs from having a clear view of the neighbor's yard, which will (we hope) stop, or at least diminish, the barking. That fence is going up this week if it kills me.

Then there's the long-term. The two trainers I consulted agreed that the reactivity in my pack comes from lack of exposure to new things. The three puppies (now 18 months old) were born in this house, never left, and--to top it off--when they were scheduled for puppy training, there was an outbreak of distemper in the island, which means we kept them in quarantine-like isolation: no visitors, no walks, no leaving the house at all. Whenever I went out to help with other dogs, I wore plastic bags on my shoes, changed clothes, and disinfected everything, including myself, before coming even close to the dogs back home. It was a crucial time in their development, those couple of months, and it didn't help that their mother also stayed with them for eight months. Or that they've grown up in a pack with another four dogs.

So anti-reactivity treatment in this house, besides general "obedience" (which, to me, isn't so much tricks or cute behavior but rather the establishment of a two-way language so that the dog and I may communicate effectively), includes one-on-one walks. And that's how we discovered the Kabouterbos.

The Kabouterbos--or "Dwarf Forest"

It's a mini-forest ("kabouter" means dwarf, "bos" means forest) nearby; not a park in any civilized sense of the word, just a few square kilometers of wilderness with paths created (and maintained) by the few people that go there, mostly with horses. And no, I don't go at the same time as they do; as curious as I am about what my dogs would do if they saw a horse, I think we're not ready for that particular experiment yet.

It takes me about ten minutes to walk to the Kabouterbos. Once away from the street, whoever the lucky dog of the day is (I have seven dogs, there's seven days in a week--it can't be an accident) can go off-leash.

I was surprised to see how well-behaved they become when it's just me and no other dogs. When we're all at the beach, even if it's just three or four dogs, they go much farther afield and the intervals between coming back to check on me are longer. Makes sense; they feel safer in a pack than they do alone. When there's other dogs, I'm part of the pack (pack leader or not). When it's just me, I am their pack.

This iguana, for example, barely escaped with its life.

That's not to say they hang out by my legs all the time. No, they wander--just not far. They chase lizards and iguanas, they catch interesting scents and stay back to sniff or follow them into the brush for a bit--then they realize they're all alone and dash back out to look for me.

I expected this, the bit about losing me, to send them into outright panic mode. Lo and behold--no. Even Sam, who's the most reactive of my dogs (I can't even go pee without him), exhibited no signs of hysteria when I disappeared (from his sight; I never let him out of mine). He backtracked a bit, found my scent, and trotted--trotted, not sprinted--nose-to-ground, in my direction. It took him a couple of tries, because I fought my every instinct and stayed motionless behind a tree, but even when he lost the scent and had to backtrack again, he seemed cool and collected. When he found me I was the one celebrating like crazy; he was all like, "Oh, there you are. Keep up, will you?"

Sam, startlingly calm all by his lonesome
at the Kabouterbos

So it works. Yes, I'm slightly surprised it does. Maybe because the results are so immediate. I guess I expected a lot more tension and stress, a lot more unpredictability.

Which, of course, says a lot more about me than about my pack--and explains a heck of a lot about their behavior.

~ * ~

Thanks for visiting, and please do hop over to the other participants in this month's WOOF Support blog hop--awesome bloggers and all-around great human beings.

Xanax, Eat Your Heart Out (#atozchallenge)

Depression seems to be the illness of our times. Everyone's either depressed, has been depressed, or knows someone who is. Xanax, and its fellow multi-colored pills, can be found in bathroom cabinets and bedside tables everywhere.

Is anyone getting better, though?

In my not-so-humble opinion, they're taking the wrong medicine. The wrong approach. I propose

Puppy Therapy!

One-on-one therapy at home has produced excellent results. Intensive out-patient therapy is available--free of charge--at your local shelter or rescue organization. For severe cases, we recommend volunteering at least once a week with a rescue organization. Aside from the endorphins your brain produces around chubby, furry, warm, and playful creatures, nothing gives your life a sense of purpose like an animal that needs you.

(If this seems contradictory, because you think rescuing animals exposes you to too much pain, remember: there's no light without dark, no day without night, and no joy without pain. It's part of life.)

Choose the course of therapy that best suits you. Except for allergies, no counter-indications apply.

~ * ~

Thanks for stopping by, and happy last three days of A-to-Z-ing!

Us & Them (#atozchallenge)

I've had to stop taking all the dogs to the beach together, and I miss it. It was such a joy to watch them chase each other, splash into the water together, hunt in unison. Beautiful.

But unsafe.

Not when it was just the three of them--Panchita, Rusty, and Winter. If we ran into other dogs, they'd sniff a bit, Winter might get a bit snappy (she's short; Napoleon complex), but it never escalated. Same thing with people. None of my dogs like kids (they do say dogs resemble their owners...), but they behaved as long as the child didn't harass them. (And I made damn sure they didn't.)

Even when the puppies came. Puppies--they're 17 months now, but I guess they'll always be The Puppies to us. All seven of us (six of them, one of me) would walk the beaches like one big, friendly family.

And then they grew up.

Sometime around their 10-month birthday there was an incident. A couple of teenagers in a kayak got attacked. Sure, I told them to stop lunging with the oars at the dogs and they didn't listen, but in this world a dog is guilty until--no, no defense possible. A dog is guilty and stays guilty. Fortunately it wasn't even a scratch; no blood, no doctors.

But it taught me a powerful lesson.

In a pack, my dogs--my lovely, sweet, and wonderful dogs--become dangerous.

In a pack, accepting strangers--people or dogs--becomes impossible.

In a pack, all their little quirks of behavior that seem so manageable--or even harmless--at home become exacerbated, magnified, replicated like a mirror in a mirror.

They become a threat.*

Just like humans.

I'm not talking just about mobs (or soccer fans)--those are the ultimate extreme. Families, homeroom groups at school, neighborhoods, cities, countries, even continents: all of these give us a sense of identity. But in that very identity lies the problem. We define ourselves by differentiating from others.

There can be no Us without Them.

This behavior, the pack mentality, is so ingrained it probably resides in our lizard brain. Every animal has it; maybe even plants do. It's a matter of protecting resources, of survival; one can't just allow any dog to waltz in and take over our food, our human, our safety. Spontaneous generosity towards a stranger can be dangerous.

I get it. I do. We all need, in lesser or greater measure, a place to call home, a group to call our pack.

Strength lies in numbers, after all.

But I wonder. Can't we use it, this strength, for something other than division lines? 

Now I go to the beach with one, maybe two dogs. It's still Us, but I'm working on turning around that Us vs. Them into Us and Them.


It's a start.






* Note: Pack behavior that becomes a threat to others happens because of faulty leadership. Meaning me. My mistake, not theirs. I'm working on that, too.

~ * ~

Thanks for the visit, so sorry about the late post, and happy A-to-Z-ing!

(P.S. -- I will catch up on visits. There's so many great blogs I've discovered this April that I think I'll be busy until October reading everyone's A-to-Z posts.)

No Fear Is Irrelevant (#atozchallenge)

This is Sam. The most reactive of my (seven) dogs.

He lives in fear: of the vacuum cleaner, the broom, a plastic bag dancing in the wind, a branch falling from a tree, the garbage truck, loud laughter from the neighbors', slamming doors, strangers, the street, my absence.

I get it. The human world is full of scary stuff for dogs. Mechanical stuff. Loud stuff. Stinky stuff (like the garbage truck). His fears might not be reasonable, but--I get it.

His abject terror of a cow, though, I don't.

Sam's nightmare cow

It's a four-inch-high decorative sculpture. Sure, the colors are maybe gaudy, and the thing has horns, and the head is down low (stalk/attack position), but--seriously? It's an inanimate object. You'd think a dog, with their outrageous sense of smell, would be able to tell there's no danger here, imminent or potential. And yet he won't even get close enough to sniff it.

It's a fifth of your size, Sam! Stop being such a drama queen! (Or king, whatever.)

Completely by accident, I came across a post (by Eileen, one of my favorite dog people): Is My Dog A Drama Queen? Ha, thought I, this one's for Sam.

No. It was for me.

About halfway through the post I found this (Zani is Eileen's Sam):

"I need to remind myself that this house, with my other dogs and me, and the places Zani gets to go–these things are Zani’s world. She is utterly dependent on me. She has things she likes and dislikes, things she looks forward to or not. They are perfectly real and important to her."

And then:

"I need to take Zani’s frustrations and stresses seriously, not just brush them away as cute, silly, or annoying. [...] I need to change my internal response."

Bam. 

We've established dogs cannot lie--they're, quite literally, incapable of it--so why don't I take him seriously? Why am I labeling his reactions as "drama"? Because from my point of view his fear of the cow is unreasonable? Unjustified?

Who am I to judge?

I think I do this with people, too. I have very low (read zero) tolerance for drama queens. Your boyfriend cheated on you, your wallet got stolen, you crashed your car and don't have insurance, you lost your job, your house burned down? Here, have a kleenex, have a drink. Stop the sniveling, it's not the end of the world.

Isn't it? Maybe it is drama--or maybe, for that person, this thing that's happened really does feel like the end of the world. Who am I to judge?

My decorative cow is the stuff of Sam's nightmares. One person's drama is another person's abject terror. A good human--a good friend--should understand that.

~ * ~ 

Thanks for the visit, and happy A-to-Z-ing!

[Want more Lessons In Life From Dogs?]

Let It Go (#atozchallenge)

Do you hold grudges?

Let it go. You'll live happier.

Thank you for visiting! Welcome to another week of A-to-Z-ing 

and more Lessons In Life From Dogs. 

Tomorrow: Memory--Short or Long?

Keeping It Real (#atozchallenge)

At the beginning of the week I argued that frustration is the root of all evil, but I think I've changed my mind. It's expectations.

Think about it. What causes disappointment? Unmet expectations. What ruins relationships? Unaligned expectations.

Unrealistic expectations.

Unexpected joy.
Nothing like it.

I can remember dozens of moments of unexpected happenings that gave me incredible joy. But I can't think of a single instance where having expectations--not ambition, mind you, or dreams, or goals; expectations--has ever resulted in me feeling good. Expectations beget sulking.

It's my birthday. Why didn't you bring me breakfast in bed?

And if the guy/gal did, then it's Why didn't you bring a long-stemmed rose with the tray? That's what I bought that miniature vase for, you dimwit.

And if the rose was brought, then But it has thorns. Didn't you learn that you never ever give a rose with thorns? Don't you know that it means (whatever the language of flowers say it means)?

Expectations, by their very nature, create dissatisfaction.

This is Romy & her mom.
Her story makes Cinderella's look mundane.

And who wants to live unsatisfied?

Look at your dog. No expectations. Hope, yes. They live in hope; eternal, undying hope. But s/he is happy--satisfied--with whatever you give. Sure s/he wants you to come home, but when you do, even if it's three AM, the joy at seeing you is never marred by a sulk. If you forget to feed him/her, s/he won't hold it against you for the remainder of his/her life. S/he's doesn't expect you to produce food, and every time you do, s/he's amazingly happy--and grateful--that you did. And if you don't, no hard feelings.

(Which makes you feel, of course, all the more guilty and horrible for being six minutes late with dinner.)

Expectations are the enemy of gratitude. And forgiveness. And those... Well, they're the key to bliss.

Thanks for the visit. Your comments make my day :)

Happy A-to-Z-ing!

Just Listen (#atozchallenge)

You're a great friend, a great person. You've acquired so much wisdom through experience; sharing it with the people you care about is only fair. It's your duty, even. It's the greatest gift you can give. Right?

Wrong.

As hard as this might be for you to swallow, the rest of the world will survive without your intervention. They're doing pretty okay so far.

In fact, being 100% honest, who follows advice? No, what we need is the leeway to figure things out on our own. Nothing can be taught. (Ne c'est-ce pas, Beloo?)

You do have a magnificent gift to give, though. We all do.

It's the gift of listening. And listening not with the intent to reply, but with the intent to understand. (Yes, #5 of Stephen Covey's 7 Habits. So shoot me. The man has a point.)

I've often wished my dogs could speak. What goes on in their heads? How do they understand life? (Most frustratingly, where does it hurt?) But I think if they could speak, they wouldn't--not nearly as much as we do (except for that where does it hurt).

Because, see, dogs have mastered the art of listening. They listen without impatience; they're not waiting for us to finish speaking so they can put in their "two cents", show off their witty repartee, contradict us with brilliant sources and resources. They might walk away if our BS gets too thick--and if a dog walks away from your BS, it's pretty thick.

For a dog, listening is only about understanding.

Do like a dog. Give the people you care about that greatest of gifts. Just listen.

Thanks for stopping by, and happy A-to-Z-ing!

I do, I do (love my reactive dogs) #atozchallenge + #WOOF

It's a busy Thursday! Besides the A to Z challenge, today I'm joining the 3rd WOOF Support hop:
What I Love About My Reactive Dog(s). 

I'm also up at Street Dog Story talking about dog rescuing--would love to see you there, too.

I love my reactive dogs. Maybe I love them more because they're reactive (which may be a somewhat significant part of the problem, but that's a discussion for another post).

From the WOOF Support page:

Reactive is a term used to describe dogs that overreact to certain stimuli like other dogs, bicycles, people, kids, motorcycles, etc. Sometimes the reactivity is a tendency of a specific breed and other times it could be due to lack of socialization or a traumatic experience. The dog's over-reaction is usually in the form of barking, lunging, pulling and/or even snarling which tends to scare people and other dogs.

So yeah. Hi. My name is Guilie and I have several reactive dogs.

Duncan

One thing they don't tell you about reactivity (because they shouldn't need to, it's that obvious) is that it's contagious. Like the bubonic plague. One dog freaks out, they all freak out. 

Which makes for a rather interesting life.

Benny

I love them for a million reasons. The way Duncan looks at me, how he trots with his front legs a little too wide apart. I love how Sam kicks up his back legs when he runs, and his lamb-to-the-slaughter look, and how unstoppable he is. And Benny's Shar-Pei face, and the way he smiles, and how he loves to jump up at me--but always waits for permission. I love how Panchita sits under the tamarind trees for hours, waiting for an iguana to fall from the sky. I love the way Rusty struggles to contain her boundless energy when I ask her to Sit and Down. I love Sasha's wiggly dance (I have to get it on video). I love Winter's overbearing need for attention; she can never have enough. 

Sam
(practicing for monkhood)

I love them, all of them, and I'm eternally grateful all seven of them are in my life. Why? Because they've taught me so damn much. Not just about training, vet medicine, creative treats, leashes and harnesses--above all they've taught me about human nature.

My dogs are, quite simply and without exaggeration, my best spiritual teachers. They're like a retreat in a remote Tibetan monastery--shaved heads and orange tunics and eat only what you've grown with your own hands. 

;)

Thanks for the visit! I hope you enjoyed the post. Visit the other A-to-Z-ers and,

if you're a dog lover, you might want to browse the WOOF bloggers. Great bunch of people.

Thanks to Oz the Terrier, Wag n' Woof Pets, and Roxy the Traveling Dog for hosting the WOOF hop!

Common Ground (#atozchallenge)

"Dog training" is a misnomer. It makes one think that it's the dog that's going to be trained.

In fact, it's the human.

Good human. I knew you'd get it eventually.

The dog's going to learn all sorts of nifty tricks, but the human... The human's outlook on life will go through tectonic transformation.

What dog training achieves is communication. Effective, two-way communication.

Surprised? Your dog won't be. For him/her, you've been communicating all along (body language, remember?). Not very efficiently, but communicating nonetheless. If you listen closely, you might hear a sigh of relief (finally! this human is getting it!). But surprise? Amazement? No. Dogs don't underestimate us.

We, on the other hand... Well, it's understandable. We headed over to our neighborhood trainer for housebreaking chew-it-all issues and all of a sudden--ohmygod, the dog speaks! And listens! He understands us! And we can understand him!

See, what these "dog" training sessions do is help us establish a common ground. Because there is no possibility for effective communication without a common ground.

Double OK sign means "I want to stay down here
forever." (Yes, that's me.)

Have you ever visited a foreign country whose language you didn't speak? Or imagine that proverbial scenario of the (friendly) alien landing in your backyard. Sign language, you say? Unless the signs mean the same thing to both of you, you might be getting into worse trouble.

Example: for pilots, a thumbs-up sign means OK. For divers, the sign for OK is a circle with thumb and forefinger. Thumbs-up means, literally, UP--which creates misunderstandings, some funny, some life-threatening, between a pilot and his dive instructor.

Without going to foreign, or alien, or underwater, or 30-mile-high extremes, finding common ground for communication--even though it seems like, well, common sense--is something we too often fail to do. Every individual in our small, daily world has a unique language, a unique background that shapes the way they express themselves.

Failure to accept this is what leads to prejudice.

Without a trainer to interpret for others--and for us--it's up to each one of us to make the effort. Listen. Don't jump to conclusions. Don't assume everyone uses words in the same way we do, or with the same intentions.

Let's make sure we find, at least try to find, that common ground. Before getting angry or hurt at what someone says.

Black & White Sunday: Awwwww...

Zorro, one of Romy's puppies.
January 2013

Thanks to Nola Dachshund and Sugar: The Golden Retriever for hosting the Black & White Sunday hop, and thank you for visiting. Not sure I'll be participating during April; the A-to-Z challenge's got me stressed out already :) But I do have some cool photos I'm dying to share, so... Well, let's leave it at maybe.

Black & White Sunday -- Duncan in Water

No, those aren't fangs. He doesn't fly, either, though he thinks he does. (He thinks he has fangs, too.)

You must be fed up of water- or beach-related pics on this blog. I do apologize for the lack of image variety... It's just that, first, that's where we spend most of our time, and (kind of an obvious) second, that's where I snap most of our photos. I do hereby solemnly promise to jazz it up (i.e., no water) next week. Solemnly.

Thanks to Nola Dachshund and Sugar: The Golden Retriever for hosting the Black & White Sunday hop. And do come back next week for my last B&W post--last until May, at least. With two blogs in the A-to-Z challenge and fiction writing deadlines I can't seem to keep up with, I'll need those Sundays off. But I hope you'll stop by for the April posts--lots of dog joy planned for those, too :) And this Tuesday I'll be posting an A-to-Z tips & tricks for those of you awesome pet bloggers joining the April challenge. 

(P.S. - If you're joining the challenge, let me know in the comments and I'll add you to my to-visit-daily blogs.)