Toys in the Basement

If someone came into our modest home, he or she would notice right away the old raggedy dog toys and bones scattered throughout the house. They lie along the walls—an old purple plush toy, its stuffing long gone (Saylor), a newer stuffed polar bear, a rawhide bone. Walking through the dining room, you would see an old hedgehog underneath a picture window, half stuffed, and a pink pig ridiculously limp from lack of stuffing. In the kitchen, underneath the table, is a multi-colored plush ball that squeaks, still in pretty good shape. Rope toys lie half-way hidden underneath chairs. Singer has found them all in a basket in our basement, where we kept Saylor’s toys. In later years, she would focus briefly on one toy. Most of her toys lay in the pink basket in the basement, forgotten.

Singer has found her aunt’s former possessions and dragged them all over the house. I’m reminded of a child who finds her mother’s old clothes in an attic to play with, perhaps leaving them scattered throughout the house for weeks at a time. Singer has been enjoying these old treasures, romping with them throughout the house and then just leaving them for reminders. I wonder what she discerns from their scent, if she is taking away from them a bit of Saylor? Does she get images of Saylor, who is her aunt on her father’s side? Does she wonder about her? I like to think she does.

It’s interesting to see these toys, played with by Saylor when she was one and two years old, then slowly abandoned in the basement as she aged. Near the end of her life, she did still love a pink dinosaur that had different sounds than the typical squeaker. We brought it to her while she was at the hospital and snuggled it under her paw. It is wrapped up still, I cannot bear to look at it yet. One of Saylor’s favorite toys of all time was a grey plush elephant, with long, distorted legs. Each foot had a different sound in it, and she loved chewing on each of the feet to hear their distinct sounds, like playing a musical instrument. Eventually the elephant became destuffed, its head torn apart like most of her toys, but she still loved it for the musical feet. I couldn’t bear to throw it away, although Singer has not yet brought it out. She probably realizes it’s not worth much now, except for my memories of Saylor.

These toys are quickly brushed aside when I vacuum, only to be brought out again by Singer. But I don’t mind. It’s comforting to see these icons of playfulness, joy and healthy vigor in our house once again. They are symbols of puppyhood and I’m also reminded of Nathaniel’s babyhood, when his toys were scattered throughout the house, and he would busy himself looking at each one, investigating and thinking about his world through his toys.

I imagine Singer is seeking answers from her new world as she sniffs, then grabs each toy, prancing with it throughout the house. I kiss her on her warm head, and think about her as a young puppy, faint memories still lingering in her scent.

The Eyes Touch My Soul

Sometimes I look at my two animals and marvel at their beauty. Dakota looks at me with ice blue eyes, so clear they look like rare gems. There is a minute fleck of brown in the right eye that pulls your vision away from the translucent quality for a moment, as if it is a spot on a sheet of ice. The sky blueness of his eyes can make you smile or catch you in the throat with their acuity. They make me think he is always clear and razor concise in his thoughts. Indulge me with this illusion.

Singer’s liquid chocolate eyes, dark brown orbs that exude an ancient kindness bestowed by the animal kingdom fall on me. She holds her head at a perfect angle, so that her eyes match mine, though I am sitting higher than she. She is encapsulated in stillness, giving her an especially graceful look that is compounded by those eyes that I feel like I can fall into, and discover wonderful things about myself within their depths. You think I’m crazy? Just ask anyone who is in love with their pets. They’ll tell you it all begins with the eyes. What we see in those eyes, what we project, will transform our hearts and change us forever. And something magical happens, because they always show us we are right to feel this way.

But then Singer grabs a slipper, she doesn’t care whose it is, and romps with it around the house, her front legs springing forward like a young pony. She gives the slipper a shake, as if it’s a resistant muskrat she’s caught down river, and the playful gleam in her eye transmits across the room. I yell at her to drop it, but she doesn’t. She runs farther into the house, daring me to chase her. I oblige in her game and more sternly demand that she drop it, and she obeys. Her eyes are now dancing with a playful light and she looks quickly from my hand, which holds the slipper to my face, wondering what I will do next. I laugh at her and cannot help to pet her head. Satisfied, she trots away and finds one of her own toys to play with. Dakota is sitting like a sphinx in the corner of the room, watching. He observes without comment or preamble, and notices that I haven’t punished this unruly girl. He stretches for a second, then struts, and I mean struts like Saddam Hussein did in his palace, over to Singer and gives her a good swipe across her muzzle. And a snarly meow for good measure. I am astounded. This is the first time Dakota has exhibited any overt sign of aggression toward Singer, and it is so in line with what has just happened, it’s almost uncanny. I wonder, do animals really know more than we think they do?

I wanted to take a close up shot of both Dakota’s and Singer’s eyes for this post, but at the moment, Dakota is hiding under the couch. Maybe next time.

Dogs and Peak Performance

Dogs are like artists, by which I mean creative people in general. They approach their world with high levels of passion that continually renews itself. I see artists this way. BTW, artists can be scientists or engineers, or just about any profession—it is the way in which you perceive your profession that defines an artist. An artist is someone who has all their faculties engaged at high levels. And dogs have their sensory switchboards lit up every time they step outside. Take Singer, for example.

Today, she steps outside tentatively, as if to make sure she senses everything there is to know about her world—she doesn’t want to miss anything. Her paws feel the melting snow on the deck, noting the temperature change in the air. She takes a quick look around, and focuses on one spot in the yard. I look, but I am only human—I don’t see what interests her. It is somewhat dark outside yet.

Her head alerts to a sight/sound/smell (any or either one-take your pick) and she stands in full concentration. I imagine, if we could hook her up to an fMRI machine, we’d see her brain lit up in all the pertinent areas of peak performance. Her alpha waves would be high. She exhibits no distraction, no preoccupation, no self-consciousness. I love to watch her, and this moment is available to her virtually every morning when we step out the door. Can you imagine being so engaged in your world every single day? So why do I have to interrupt her by calling her to do her business? She never seems to mind, but I always feel like I’m intruding on an artist who is just getting that special insight for her next brush stroke, or writing the next scene in her novel, or which experiment to perform next. But Singer is always forgiving. She sometimes is so into the flow of the moment that she will take a few extra seconds to respond, but I too am forgiving. After all, I’m the one interrupting her!

Dakota, our cat, is more zen-like when it comes to flow. He likes to hop into our bathtub on a regular basis and watch the water drops. Drip, drip, drip. How could anything be more boring? But Dakota is fascinated, every single time. I imagine he notices how the light reflects onto each drop, how fast the drop falls, the sound of the faucet as it strains halfway between on and off (I oblige Dakota in this particular activity by adjusting the faucet to just the right turn.) I love to see him totally absorbed, and have come back at times to see him still engaged, still absorbed, still in the flow.

Dog-cat relations update:  I think Singer and Dakota are starting to bond more closely. Singer continues to give Dakota a quick swipe of her tongue when he passes by, and Dakota now doesn’t even flinch. It makes my heart swell whenever I see it. And, Singer is staying away from Dakota’s toys!!! I think that’s just major. Saylor never could resist.

We have a lot to learn from the animal kingdom, don’t you think?

Do Humans Need Training Too?

Yes, I think they do. Today in our second dog training class, I was very uncoordinated for some reason. I couldn’t guide Singer while she weaved around orange cones by doling out treats at the proper time. I had to do the whole routine over again, with treats in my left hand so I could treat her faster (she was on my left side). The second time around, Singer was able to respond beautifully. We were practicing the heel command and she was supposed to look at me when I said “heel” as we angled around the cones, and I treated her the instant she looked at me. Singer fell right into the game, as if she were in a dog show. She knew the routine, it all came back to her. I was the problem.

For some reason, I wasn’t able to coordinate walking around cones and keeping my eye on Singer, while treating her at the exact time she rounded the cone. I think I need the class more than her at times. First, I have to get my act together so Singer clearly knows what I’m trying to show her. If nothing else, these classes show owners that they need this training just as much as their dogs do.

We were still struggling with “sit” and “down” today, although she is doing better. However, there was one game we played today that Singer excelled in. She was allowed to sniff a container with really enticing bits of meat inside of it, and then I called her name. If she looked up at me, she was treated; if she came when I called, she was given the jackpot—a fistful of goodies.  Singer quickly caught on. I asked the teacher about it, explaining that she was looking at my treat hand and ignoring the pot of meat on the floor, expecting me to treat her. The teacher said I could go sit down, she “patterns easily.” She'd figured it out, and was on to our little trick. The other dogs were still trying to get at the meat container, and were torn between the meat and their owners. So Singer “patterns easily.”  I think that means she’s smart. But I knew that, I’m her mom! Too bad I can’t take credit for her brains. Her breeder and previous owner deserve that credit.

Run, Singer, Run!

In the cold early dawn, a midsize animal streaks with electrical speed across my backyard, her legs moving above the ground like a race horse. It takes her only seconds. She stops at the fence, stock still, and looks to see another wild animal scurry away into the bushes in a neighbor’s yard. Her head is held high, her tail aloft, and her body still as stone. I whistle sharply and she turns her head toward me for a second, then tucks her head into her body and gallops toward the deck before making a sharp detour toward the gate. She sniffs the snow and looks past the chain link fence, and I call her once again.

It is cold out! Singer makes her early morning ritual of streaking across the yard, checking to see what wild animal has dared to enter her domain, and she is so unaware of how magnificent she is to see which makes it all the more enticing. She is faster than God's commands. Our yard can’t be more than 70 yards wide and maybe 50 yards deep, yet she makes the most of it by racing around to certain check points, her form so perfect and automatic, it is utterly amazing. For a few seconds, I run with her in my mind and forget the cold. Then I remind her to “go potty!” She gives me a mindful glance, but then returns to her real duty:  checking the yard for animal intruders. Her body can engage in high gear in no time at all and she does it all within the perimeters of this small space. It is amazing and kind of sad at the same time, as I yet again wish we had more space for her to run in. Once you see her run, you know she should not be confined. She needs to run, she needs to burn oxygen at a high level, her muscles fluidly working at a moment’s notice providing the speed in which she seems to fly through the air, her ears flapping behind her and her tail waving like a banner through the frigid air. Then it is over. I actually want her to “do it again!” like a kid, but understand that we don’t have much time, it is cold, she is there to do her business, and I have to go in and get ready for work. She also knows this. She will, after the third or fourth reminder, trot over to one or two different places in the yard, sniff quickly for a spot and then squat and do her business. I call out praises and notice the rose colored horizon as the sun comes up. I always make a connection with Singer, my runner, my magnificent goddess of running, my gazelle, and yes, maybe I’m amazed.  I hope I feel this way every morning.

Canine Communication

“Watson, come here…”  When Alexander Graham Bell first realized he had invented a new form of communication that worked across the miles, he must’ve been thrilled.

On a smaller scale, it feels similar when the channels between humans and canines are suddenly clarified. We were “communicating” this morning in Singer’s obedience class and it did feel good. We both learned how certain signals, both verbal and nonverbal, could be interpreted by each other. Singer focused quickly on my hand, and watched closely to learn how she could get me to give her the treats. She picked up a difficult command, “leave it”, rather easily while the simple “sit” is still fuzzy for her.

The “leave it” command was taught by showing her a “low value” treat—a plain dog biscuit—then throwing it a short distance away while saying “leave it.” I had to block her as she went for it, and then treat her with “high value” treats—pieces of meat. She learned “leave it” after blocking her the first time. I think she saw the utility of the command. It somehow made sense to her that she wasn’t supposed to go after something, and quickly realized that the tastier treats were in my hand anyway. But “sit” and “down” seem rather pointless to her. She finally sat when the treat was drawn over her head as she watched (I remembered this trick from when Saylor took the first intro class). The down command was a little harder for her. We asked the teacher to come over and help us out. She got Singer to sit, then she lured her down by bringing the treat to the floor, and Singer went down with it to try to get it. When she was flat on the floor, she got her reward. “Good girl!” She seems really responsive to verbal praise, and she got a lot of it this morning. Treats helped, too.

There were quite a few dogs and their owners in class—about twenty in all. We met a female black lab, Maxine, seven months old, a rescue dog. Maxine sniffed at Singer and then decided she didn’t like her, but we kept the two from fighting. Maxine then growled at a Great Dane, who looked like he could’ve swallowed her up in one gulp. She’s a feisty one, Maxine. Her owner was really nice.

These commands like “sit” and “down” must seem contrived to dogs. They all quickly learn that they are getting treats in exchange for a lot of silly movements. To help us understand the canine perspective, the teacher had us try to get our dogs to sit with our backs facing the dogs. Singer didn’t do it, and I’m not sure any dog was able to do it. The teacher showed us that this is a perception issue —dogs think sitting means right in front of you when you have a treat in your hand. A rock solid sit is when the dog will sit on voice command no matter where you are and with or without a treat. We have a lot to work on this week! But I think the value of learning how to communicate with your dog is the real benefit of these classes—not perfect obedience, although I do want to make sure Singer always comes when she’s called.

Between Man and Machine

That’s where I think most animals fall—they are somewhere between thinking, scheming, feeling, idea-generating, ego-cruising, evolving, loving man, and reliable, unchanging machines (until they break down).

Today at work, as I attempted to print out a 179-page document and then went to get my lunch, I assumed the job would be done and waiting for me when I got back. Wrong. The printer jammed. Well, dogs are sort of between the reliability of machines and the unpredictable nature of man. A child coming into a new home would have all sorts of emotions as she adjusts to new people, new family members, new environment. There would be many ups and downs, I’m sure. But Singer has been somewhere between reliable and unpredictable. Her nature keeps unfolding like a flower, although not always pleasantly. She is showing a preference for me, and only me, to take her outside to go potty. We have to work on that. Yesterday, Nate tried twice to take her out back to go potty, but she waited until I got home, took her on a walk and only then decides she wanted to go. Oh well. I feel foolish complaining, almost. But it is illustrative of my point. Singer is not a machine, she has her own feelings about her routines, yet she does conform to rules pretty well. That’s when expectations rise, and that’s when man and beast clash.

Sometimes man expects too much of beast. They are our friends, our family, and then we expect perfect canine behavior as well. We watch their behaviors and say, “Okay, this animal will be able to do this or that.” Then the animal decides that he or she doesn’t want to do this or that, without a clear reason why. I guess that’s why dog training is such big business. I bet there are more training manuals, classes, videos, etc. for training your dog than training your kid!

Tomorrow we start our intermediate dog training class for six weeks. I’m looking forward to it—we should have fun going through the exercises, and I’m hoping Singer will feel more comfortable with both Jeff and Nate as she learns to trust them more and respond positively to their commands. Jeff is attending, but Nate probably won’t go. I’m hoping he’ll take an interest, though, when he has the time. I’m sure she’ll do well, but I have to watch those expectations…! More on the class tomorrow!

Singer looking out at her yard, wondering where all that snow came from....

"I better see if there are any squirrels underneath my deck here..."