R.I.P. My Great Friend Chi-Ping

Chi-Ping, twelve pound Boriqua dog with attitude, author of many canine tales on my blog is gone.

About six years ago the little terrier girl refused to leave the spot where the big SUV dumped her off. She fought the big street dog determined to chase her away, took the bites and held her ground.

She wasn’t a pushover for just any human wanting to be her friend. Trust with her needed to be earned. Chi made an exception for Kirt, my husband; she melted into his lap the first time they meet.

With head and tail held high Chiwi strut through airports aware of those admiring her, my shining star. She slept in the bend of my knees or the small of my back, giving me comfort on many lonely nights.

I don’t in fact know that’s she’s dead, so there is no real closure. Two weeks ago she disappeared; that’s all I know. I miss her and thank God for her little light in my life. 

 

Satos in The Big Easy

Blondie and Chi-ping, my independent street dogs are becoming house pets with proper indoor manners. Except for the time Blondie watched Smoki, the cat jump on the kitchen table and decided to follow him.



A swift verbal correction prevented the leap in time. With a glass table top we were lucky to be there. That’s been the biggest yikes, so far.


When Blondie first arrived in New Orleans, every dog we’d meet out walking, Blondie greeted with a long string of barks, not the threatening stay out of my territory barks given to interlopers in Puerto Rico, but sounded friendly.


She has learned to walk past most dogs, but still tries to communicate with a few, who seem to be her favorites. The big male Pit bull named, Gumbo, who lives down the block, is a particular favorite. They could frolic, if given a chance.


Blondie is now a sewer inspector, she knows that strange critters come out of them. The brave hunter and chicken killing bitch wants to tangle with the North American Raccoon, or so she thinks not having met one, yet.


Our biggest problem is that the neighborhood is infested with cats. Some late nights, when we go walking, there is a cat under every car and a couple in the middle of the street. One night she’ll walk pass all, like the good dog I want her to be, and the next night she bark and whine, jumping up and down having a temper tantrum. I wanna get the kitty!


One night with the help of her pal, Chi-ping, I thought they would knock me down. She can only be good for so long and then all hell breaks.


Blondie no longer puts her front paws on trees to run up after the squirrels. She has given up on that. She will sit at the base of the tree staring at the squirrel, trying to figure out a way to get it. They must be deemed as fairly impossible, since she no longer has the frustrated barking, jump up and down tantrums for squirrels; unless she gets very close.


A couple of weeks ago, she killed a chicken on my aunt’s farm, while dragging a twenty foot long line. I didn’t know chickens to be that slow. Anyway Blondie is banned from the farm.


On a brighter note, when the community college or the baseball field across the street have tons of people and children mingling around, both dogs walk through crowds like seasoned city dogs.


For all the dogs’ fervor to catch a kitty outside, Smoki rules with a quick paw in the house. This old fossil of a cat gets in Blondie’s face giving her a couple of good smacks, while hissing sounding so impatient. She puts her ears back and backs off. Kirt will holler at him to which Smoke will turn around to give Kirt a dirty look. I figure it’s a guy thing.

Requiem For A Sato

My heart aches for the little border x terrier we called Stormy. Hit by a car the week before Christmas valiant protector, road warrior and most incredible friend to all in the neighborhood, was I hope gently put to sleep at an animal hospital in Arecibo.

Friend and Animal Control Officer Alma Febus called me to tell me that one of our Spanish only neighbors called to tell her to call me that Stormy was in a bad way.


Exceptional friend Lany from North Carolina found Stormy in an ant colony on the side of the road, cleaned the ants off and drove him to the veterinarian’s office where he was relieved of his suffering.


This tells you of his death, but nothing of the six years as the sato on the hill, during which we came to know him.


Everything I do on the island for or about dogs is because of this one little dog whose friendship meant the world to me. The stories of Stormy can’t be told just now; the tears flow too fast.


He was the first dog I ever hung around with that I was not in charge of, if that makes any sense. Whichever neighbor would be out near the road Stormy stood sentinel. Content to stand a few feet away he watched over the children because he was the neighborhood dog and loved us all.


With Stormy my quest to learn to speak dog rose to new height, thanks to you I learned more about dogs than thirty years of training dogs. You were the true educator.


Perhaps this will help me to grieve; I need to make peace with his death and our loss, so my focus can be on the living who need me. Good lord, there are so many in need.


Thanks for reading and may dogs be with you! Tricia

Little Explanation

Hi,



Just as we were about to get into some really interesting body language photos of the Puerto Rican dogs, I switched gears to tell you Shaker, my dog in Illinois.


As interesting as the blonde boy is the way in which the street dogs get along fascinate me. Their social structure is so much more complicated than I ever imagined.


For this almost year that I’ve been writing this blog, the words have been easy. In love with dogs describes how I’ve felt since childhood. At my age it’s almost forever. There is so much we learn by observation over time. That’s the stuff I want to share with you.


After enjoying thirty years in dogs, the specialness of street dog society makes me feel like a kid opening a great gift.


The point is I’m being emotional mush right now and can’t write about the satos.


More will follow on the recovery of the blonde boy, who by the way is doing well.


As you may know I am dedicated to getting the Puerto Rican island dogs spayed. Spay is the way Puerto Rico is a project I have been developing to humanely control the dog population.


Thanks for reading. I really love the comments.

Canine Saves The Day

Our relationship with dogs never fails to delight and fascinate, but today was special. Anybody who saw the news was treated to the sight of a German Shepard leading the police car down a long winding country road to a blazing building.
Dogs alert us to impending siezures and pull people from burning buildings.
I remember being impressed by a dog that got hit by a car in front of his house going to the vets office without human assistance. His people called the vet to tell him that the dog was hit and they were bringing him in as soon as they found him. Imagine their surprise when the vet said that the dog was there already.
Today the man trapped in the building told his dog to get help. The dog ran down a long country road to find a squad car, which he then lead back to the house. Lassie would be proud.
It amused me to hear one of the tv experts trying to explain how a dog could do this and what experiences with police cars it must have had in its back ground.
You can't train for this. It's like common sense either ya have it or not. How exciting it is to know that a dog will go find officer friendly in his squad car.
Frankly, it is even more impressive that the officer followed the dog. 
Hey, Pablo don't be teaching Chichi to lead squads home just in case!

A Doggie Day Care Day

Each day care day has a different character depending on the breed composition for one thing.
Today is herding dog day at Carrvilla. The first group out in our three acre dog park has a few German Shepards, a couple of Aussies, some mixed breeds and two Golden Retrievers.
The GSD's line up like a soccar team heading toward the goldens, which they try to herd. Nice teamwork as they play golden round up.
Jake, the wise older golden goes off to sniff things. Shaker, who is not quite a year yet, engages the GSD's.
Before long Shaker and Disney, the youngest GSD are happily sparring. Disney is older, he takes the offense. Shaker plays defense. They move, counter move. It's great fun to watch as these two learn each other.
Herding drive sometimes appears as a need to rule. To me it looks like the GSD is saying, " I want you over here. No, you can't do that. No, that's not right." My Sadie was a very bossy GSD.
Shaker is probably the "softest" (temperament) puppy I have ever raised. In my opinion, the day care experience has taught him to not be overwhelmmed by pushier dogs. He lays in the grass mouth dualing with the two year old male, who is getting tired. Shaker has enough stamina to play all day and then go out dancing at night.
As Disney tires, Shaker pushes the beautiful light sable GSD harder. His reply sounds gruff enough that the other shepards run over to supervise the activity.
The day care director I am training is ready to correct and break it up. I signal her to wait. These are good dogs; I trust them to slow down the activity. This is the hard part. When we intervene too soon, the lesson is not learned. That means a repeat is coming.
The two boys are up ready to play again, but the female GSD now on the scene has plenty to say. She is very vocal with strong herding traits. Her barking is adding too much energy. It's time to redirect.
That intense barking that some dogs do often will negatively affect the energy dynamic when it's time to calm down. If we get the barker quiet, the situation gets better.
Teaching a chronic barker that there is something in life other than barking is a lot of work. When you see a dog three days a week; it's worth the effort.
We truck around the park a couple of times before bringing them into the building to rest a while.
Disney and Shaker became great buddies today. The older shepards joined Klondyke and Max the two Siberian Huskies for races while Paula and I whooped it up for them.
I smile to think that if a society can be judged by how animals are treated; good things can be said about us here in Illinois.

My Sadie

More than a dozen years ago a neighbor dropped off a young German Shepard she had rescued from an abusive home. She had been tied to a dog house in the front yard to protect the property. Kids poked her with sticks on the way to school. My good hearted neighbor took her into her home. She tried to make up for the mistreatment the dog had suffered. What she did was promptly spoil her rotten. She became clingy, wouldn't let the woman's Golden Retrievers near her. All those good German Shepard traits were out of control. My neighbor couldn't handle her, so one day she showed up with dog food dish and all. The woman said, "I know you've admired her. Here she is; she's yours."



I had Rottweilers and Bullmastiffs at the time, so I didn't need a German Shepard, but I could see that the woman was at her wits end.
Sadie needed remedial socialization and a whole lot of it. I was busy showing my dogs and really didn't want to be bothered with all the work I was going to have to do to rehabilitate this needy creature.
Who wants a neurotic dog? Well, my question became who is qualified to take her? The answer was not too many, so if I was going to place her I needed to do the work.
Sadie learned to play ball and fetch. She loved running in our big back yard with my dogs. Soon she was controlling the pack. Nothing like a smart, bossy Shepard to get her butt beat for being too pushy with the other dogs. Before we knew it they got tired of her nipping their rears and rebelled. Sadie tried to dominate but wasn't strong enough to push the issue and win. The pack put her in her place. It was the first of many hard lessons for Sadie.
Sharing didn't come easy for her. When you live in a big family, you don't get to be the center of attention for long. Sadie's favorite word is "me". Our play sessions were never long enough for her. She would risk life and limb to come between me and my dogs when it wasn't her turn.
The Rotts and the Bullies are not big barkers, but we felt secure living in the country. Sadie barked at anything that moved. We knew when a car pulled into my neighbor's driveway. Sadie would sound the alarm over and over again. Most dogs figure out what is normal in an environment and when they should sound the alarm. Sadie believed in letting no movement go unannounced.
My Rotts and Bullies have since passed. I no longer show dogs. Sadie is paraplegic. When she is in her wheel chair, she still charges the fence to let everyone know a German Shepard is still on duty.

This is a reprint of my 2nd post to this blog. My Sadie passed today, Wed. March 10, 2010

I'm so Blue

Bonita and Blondie are off being spayed. Stormy is just off somewhere. When you've got to have a dog fix, you need it bad! I may just go pet something.
It always weirds me out that I can be so obsessed with dogs that are not mine. How can that seem strange when my whole life dogs have been an obsession?
We don't realize how spoiled we are in the states. Four times I've stopped myself from calling the Pet Vet to find out how the girls are doing. This is a massive low cost sterilization day at this clinic. As busy as I know those folks are going to be, a just checking call doesn't sound like a good idea.
The last we saw Stormy was in the rear view mirror as we left with his women. I hope Mel is right and dogs are very forgiving. Come to think about it, the girls had better be forgiving as well.

Then there is my Sadie, back at Carrvilla. My ancient friend is well cared for by our loving staff. She has them so well trained. They hand feed her; ever wonder what a dog snicker sounds like? Sadie, my Sadie was one of my first posts. For the screwed up, messed up dog she started out as she has become the closest of friends and heart of my heart. Here is also a girl that can ignore me in favor of my husband long enough to let me know she is not happy. You have to have had a dog ignore you to believe that a dog can do that to you. To see Sadie running in her wheel chair again will be a blessing.
Sorry to whine, it's time to go pick up the girls, yeah. Bye.

Sadie, My Sadie

More than a dozen years ago a neighbor dropped off a young German Shepard she had rescued from an abusive home. She had been tied to a dog house in the front yard to protect the property. Kids poked her with sticks on the way to school. My good hearted neighbor took her into her home. She tried to make up for the mistreatment the dog had suffered. What she did was promptly spoil her rotten. She became clingy, wouldn't let the woman's Golden Retrievers near her. All those good German Shepard traits were out of control. My neighbor couldn't handle her, so one day she showed up with dog food dish and all. The woman said, "I know you've admired her. Here she is; she's yours."
I had Rottweilers and Bullmastiffs at the time, so I didn't need a German Shepard, but I could see that the woman was at her wits end.
Sadie needed remedial socialization and a whole lot of it. I was busy showing my dogs and really didn't want to be bothered with all the work I was going to have to do to rehabilitate this needy creature.
Who wants a neurotic dog? Well, my question became who is qualified to take her? The answer was not too many, so if I was going to place her I needed to do the work.
Sadie learned to play ball and fetch. She loved running in our big back yard with my dogs. Soon she was controlling the pack. Nothing like a smart, bossy Shepard to get her butt beat for being too pushy with the other dogs. Before we knew it they got tired of her nipping their rears and rebelled. Sadie tried to dominate but wasn't strong enough to push the issue and win. The pack put her in her place. It was the first of many hard lessons for Sadie.
Sharing didn't come easy for her. When you live in a big family, you don't get to be the center of attention for long. Sadie's favorite word is "me". Our play sessions were never long enough for her. She would risk life and limb to come between me and my dogs when it wasn't her turn.
The Rotts and the Bullies are not big barkers, but we felt secure living in the country. Sadie barked at anything that moved. We knew when a car pulled into my neighbor's driveway. Sadie would sound the alarm over and over again. Most dogs figure out what is normal in an environment and when they should sound the alarm. Sadie believed in letting no movement go unannounced.
My Rotts and Bullies have since passed. I no longer show dogs. Sadie is paraplegic. When she is in her wheel chair, she still charges the fence to let everyone know a German Shepard is still on duty.