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. 

 

Studying Dogs

Another year of studying dogs is beginning to be more interesting than ever; that’s dogs for you. In my years living with a dozen or more Rottweilers and/or Bullmastiffs in a fenced ten acre compound I saw them co-operate, communicate in various ways.

I wish humans were intelligent enough to speak dog, the way they understand us; most of all I wish I could speak dog.

My big guard dogs did a perimeter patrol when the spirit moved them, but they went to dog shows, school fairs, nursing homes, so we had activities. They worked as a team when cornering wildlife in our yard. A family of coyotes lived just the other side of the fence. My pure bred, Champion stock stayed near the house, but heaven help anything that strayed in too close; in short they were not obsessed with interlopers.

Here in Puerto Rico, the stray dogs, having been accepted by a household, become very possessive. There is a network of trails in the woods. Remember tracking wildlife when you were a few years younger? We don’t have wildlife; we have farm animals, rodents, mongoose, and various size lizards. Dogs and cats are sort of wildlife.

Pet dogs have puppies, survivors get a free one way trip to a better part of the island, where they get their asses kicked by dogs already living there or beaten off by a man driving them away with a stick. Dogs wander through the woods in search of a meal and safety.

The Sato Hill Crewe patrols the woods like the devil will sneak in to steal their last sandwich. Now, that our baby Border Collie is patrolling I’m seeing the more subtle cues these dogs send. 

This was written before Dominic went missing. His obsessive personality raised the level of perimeter protection; I learned much about my group’s communication while he lived here.

There has been a recent cull; neighbors from down the hill told me about ten dogs that were poisoned and another stolen from a yard. Perhaps that’s why there’s less activity in the woods.  

Life with dogs in Puerto Rico gives me a very different vantage point of our relationship with dogs. In Illinois I always saw dogs as belonging to someone or in need of rescue; here I see dogs visiting people who feed them, but belong to no one.

Because of the density of the dog population where I live, threat warnings have become ritualized with an obligatory howl to sum it up. Dogs are dumped regularly, the survivors learn from the old timers in the neighborhood. The traits and survival strategies a dog must have in order to live on the street are easily observed. In  a maybe not so odd evolutionary twist small and cute does well; some woman will take small and cute in over night! Smile.

Dogs fascinate me as much today as they did almost a hundred years ago. 

Different Life Styles With Dogs

Hi Terry,

The Blue Cross in India running S/N & vax programs; is this the same as Blue Cross/ Blue Shield? I want to get more info on any possible funding source.

Anne,

I love your description of the dogs co-existing rather than belonging to humans. The energy dynamic is different. When I first arrived in Puerto Rico, the independence of dogs living outside the gates amazed me. I had never seen dogs self-determine their lives before.

I have noticed that the dogs in the more agrarian areas are healthier than the beach dogs of more densely populated parts of PR. To me, lean, injured and mangy seems to correlate with overpopulation.

Beach dogs with lepto from eating rats, I’ve seen, but not where I live in the country. My colony goes ratting most mornings. They prefer fresh meat to kibble. A rat’s last defense is to urinate in the dog’s mouth before the dog delivers the death bite. Some inexperienced hunters release the rat early, when they shake their heads to expel the urine.

What you said about the koori people having little consideration for their dogs reminded me of the groups of young men 18-20 year olds strolling the roads in Cuba with a number of male dogs.  The dogs were completely ignored by the boys, but the dogs were hanging with them. It intrigued me enough that I followed them for some distance. When the boys would stop to visit with other people, the dogs would go sniff something or lie under a tree. Why did the dogs stay with the boys, when they paid no attention to them, no re-inforcement that I could see; I hope to return to solve this mystery.

Colonizing dogs already at a site means that the dogs are neutered, vaccinated, vet checked, and monitored during daily care visits. There is no way to confine this many dogs.

If I picture life on PR a hundred years ago, I envision the dog situation to be similar; don’t you

Pack Behavior Concept is a Lost Leader

Hi, somebody in group asked, so here's a share!

I was looking to this conversation more for answers, than to tell you guys all about my observations.

After almost thirty years as a professional trainer, meaning that’s how I earned my living, we decided to retire to Puerto Rico, where my education began started over.  

In 2005, the first Sato, Puerto Rican slang for mixed breed, usually dog of the street, perro de calle, I came to know we called Stormy, a border collie terrier mix. He appeared at the bottom of our driveway; the way many would follow.

The best thing that happened was that I had just had surgery and could barely move. Forced to sit on the porch, I watched him chase cars with the vengeance of a zealot. I couldn’t rush down there to save him. He handled life on his own; something no dog in my domain has ever had the opportunity to do.

Based on your comments in group, I’ll briefly, nah, not so much, hit the highlights of the observed since meeting the wonderful Stormy.

He lived in a specific “spot,” which included my house and two others on the opposite side of a narrow country road. He defended all three houses from anything that didn’t belong: cars, people, other critters of the island: dogs, cats, mongoose, and he was a marvelous ratter.

At night a pair of big feral male dogs that lived off the road in a field with streams would come to inspect Stormy’s spot.  They sniffed and pissed, while Stormy laid with his head to the railing, so they passed his rear, as they nosed around on my porch. They toured his spot like the big bullies they were.

Stormy didn’t budge while they peed on his water dish, my car, and the entrance posts of the porch. You can say I’m anthropomorphizing, but I could feel Stormy seething. He couldn’t confront these dogs and he knew it, hence the I’m going to ignore you posture. This inspection and claiming of superiority/territory repeated.

I began to notice that night barking was different, than back home in Illinois, where it seems to be mostly about intruder alert. It starts with a chorus from all over the valley, gradually, voices drop out; until it would be only Stormy and two or three of the older dogs of the valley.

Listening to these older dogs in the dark, I could hear that there was a pattern in their barks. To give you an example, one dog would bark, woof, woof, ruff. The second dog would bark the same thing back.

It’s funny because Puerto Ricans repeat my Spanish just to make sure they heard what I intended. (My Spanish sucks.) I bring this up because that’s what this repeat barking came to sound like to me.

Stormy had a bark I recognized as, I’ll be right there because when he barked it, he left with what seemed to me like purpose and intent. No bribing him changed his mind, but he did give me a dirty look. Ha-hah!

From the first nose to tail I ever witnessed, I knew it to be some sort of  important dog language communication. A mile and a half or more away Stormy stood on the side of the road parallel to an Airedale mix male who was just settling into the neighborhood. Ears neither forward or back, just draped to the sides, they stood there, facing opposite directions, looking like they were in a trance, but I believe it to be intense focus on each other.

I pulled to the side of the road to watch, and then, of course, I had to call Stormy. His ears momentarily twitched in my direction. The dog freakin’ told me to butt out, so I drove off to watch in my rear view mirror. It was years before this big strong male following a female interloped on Stormy’s spot.

Damn, this is awfully long, sorry. The deal with so called pack behavior concept is that it’s a lost leader, going now where. These aren’t families like the wild dogs in Africa. They are strangers thrust together to compete for limited resources. They form alliances, make enemies, but always they work for themselves.

I saw a blind mother lead around by her son fiercely keep other males away while he bred at bitch for days. Breeding behavior is always interesting, but that I’d never seen before. Mother and son were completely devoted. The bitch he was breeding snapped at momma; he dismounted and just chewed the shit out of her. Not too much later, he bred her again.

I haven’t thought about this stuff in years; thanks for asking. 

Pitbull Wandering the Neighborhood

The Sato hill gang chases off stray dogs wandering through the neighborhood, but yesterday morning when I opened the door Lucky and Robert Redford clamored to get in the house with ears back worried looks.

A large intact pitbull pissed on my tires. “No!” I hollered as my scared boys ran in the door. Chi-Ping looked like a prickly pear with every hair standing on end. She barked and growled. The pit looked aggravated by her. Where the hell was the vinegar spray I keep by the door?

Blondie wanted no part of this boy. She laid in a ball on the veranda on the far side of the house, pretending to sleep. So far he knew to leave that sleeping bitch lie, but Chi began snapping her tiny jaws at the pit’s well-muscled head.

The handsome pecker pissed on the tires again. This is not allowed on my carport, so I grabbed my little bat out of the car and thumped it against the tire. Pit boy got the message.

My hope to get Chi in the car and away from the big dog she was really beginning to annoy didn’t happen. She always tries to jump in the car when the door opens. Now, her hair stood in a ridge down her back, like a Mohawk, her eyes gleamed with rage and she spit through her teeth in a growl.

The pit began to stiffen. He clearly had enough of her. I scooped her up; he went for her. “No,” in my most authoritative tone was greeted by what sounded like, “F that,“ in pitbull Spanish, as he leaped at the snarling little critter in my arms.

Chi-Ping seldom cooperates when it counts and this was no exception. She wiggled and squirmed for all she was worth to get the bad dog.

The nobody home look in the pitbull eyes told me of trouble to come, if I didn’t get Chi in the house now. A lifetime of experience won out as I wacked the pit on the nose when he leaped for my little girl, Chi, who had to be tightly clamped under my arm until I could get her in the door.

The pit stepped about three feet away from me after the smart smack I gave him. Once I deposited Chi in the house, I went around to the other side of the porch to check on Blondie, whose absence spoke volumes about how afraid my dogs were of this wandering pitbull, who wagged his tail as he followed me.  

Blondie preferred to stay where she was. The boys and Chi were safely tucked in the house, so I left the pitbull standing on my carport when I went to the gym, and prayed he would leave before I came home.

This handsome animal I’ve seen tied up in a yard not too far from here; frankly, I’m glad he had a good morning escape even if my dogs aren’t.

Back Home on Sato Hill

We just returned from a road trip to Auntie Adri’s in Carolina. Once home the gang banged down the hill to check out the status of the neighborhood.

Given how late in the day, I planned to let them fast through the night and feed breakfast. Kibble stays in the gut up to fourteen hours, so a fast is good for them.

Blondie and Chi settled on the sofa, Robert Redford and Lucky in the chairs. Seemed like the right plan, until Lucky trotted through the house with the measuring cup in his mouth, the cup I use to scoop his dog food. He came into the back bedroom, dropped the cup in my lap and returned to the kitchen to sit by the bag of dog food, where the others joined him.

The dogs had spoken. Nonverbal communication reigned. Over dinner Robert Redford commented how smart a human I was to be able to relate the scoop with it being time to eat.  Chi mentioned how difficult human training is in general.

Play Behavior

Hi,

My finger isn’t on the pulse of a damn thing. The quality of dog training in the last decade has increased tremendously. I’m retired, so I don’t write so much about training or life style with dog issues any more. Plenty of fine people do that.

Having said that, I’m about to talk to you about living with dogs and what I believe the dogs like because I’ve been reading stuff that says adult dogs don’t like to play, that we’re treating them like furry humans and that’s wrong, that we’re imposing play on them because we really want to play.

Yes, some dogs get over stimulated in day care; that is a management issue. That doesn’t mean a dog shouldn’t play with others. Is it an individual choice or a behavioral limitation? I’d say yes on both counts; how about you?

Does this dog need behavioral counselling? Only if it’s important to you that the dog do something it’s not currently comfortable with or good at? If it’s an issue for the human, it’s an issue.

Please, don’t try to tell me that adult dogs don’t play, that they only play because we want them to or expect it of them. Even if that were the case, so what?

Dogs that are reasonably well nourished and not in pain play in the cool of the evening here in the country, where they have room to run. Dogs seek safe play companions.

Robert "Red" Redford

Nobody wants to play with Blondie unless she’s extremely solicitous. The boys Lucky and Robert Redford play together or with Chi-Ping and she gets bitchy if they’re too rough with her, so they play best with each other. Lucky gets in Red’s face when he gets carried away. Blondie can be a real asshole when she gets pissed so she has to show a lot of play face and soliciting behavior before they play with her.

In the morning, they lineup to go hunting with her, so it’s not that they don’t want anything to do with her.

The dogs here play when they want to because I rarely do anything other than live with them. I am a totally non fun human being, but when I am fun they love it. They show off how they can run. They compete for my attention.

As long as they know my ground rules, the satos on the hill do what they want.

Blondie, Portrait of a Street Dog

We first met Blondie in 2007 when she was around a year old. She remained a street dog, until early 2012. She is my least trained dog. When Kirt was in the hospital I left her in the house overnight without having an accident. That’s due to her innate cleanlinesng.

Blondie's response when yelled at or threatened, varies if she knows the person but to do what I ask her is a concept that didn’t always compute with her. To this day I can ask her to sit for a treat and she may look at me like what??? The other three sit ws, not any trainiagging tails knowing something good is coming their way, but Blondie is my du-huh kid. She’s been known to have brain freezes.

One day I walked her across Delgado Community College Campus across from City Park. In the late afternoon the trees were tossing some shade across the campus. I was lost in thought. Blondie sniffed every tree and bush. We were walking fairly fast when suddenly she stopped with her nose under a bush along one of the buildings. Under the bush lay a big female Muscovy just as shocked to see her beak to nose. Blondie had a brain freeze that gave me enough time to get her away before went ballistic barking and lunging at the bird. She’s had brain freezes when confronted with new stimuli. If it’s in her repertoire, she’s got it covered.

During her young life on the country road where she was born, Blondie bullied her way into what she wanted. She wasn't always loyal to the resident street dog, who lived here before she came.   She bit hard for what she could get.

After weeks of watching her keep a young female away from food, I watched her invite the submissive female to eat. I thrilled me to see that exchange. In my early years on the island, I observed more and influenced less. After years of teaching dog behavior and obedience I've learned much more about dogs by hanging with the satos.

Blondie still chases new dogs away. If they don’t go, she bites harder. Earlier this year she fought an English Bull Terrier, that didn't want to go away. On the hill in the thick woods and grass I couldn't get to them. Chi and the boys came to me. I put them in the house, while I tried to get Blondie. The battle raged on until finally Blondie came to me bloody and tired.

She allows the boys, Lucky and Robert Redford, to go to the food bowl before her if it has the usual kibble, but when I pour leftovers over it, she’s the old Blondie first at the dish. Lately, she’s looking a bit past her prime. I've come to love and admire my big blonde girl for who she is.

Changing Patterns

     The dogs have settled into a comfortable pattern of early morning runs up the hill to investigate everything that set foot on the road during the night. Dogs dumped seek food and water after they calm down and start to get really hungry. They go for miles until they find a source of food and water. These days of no rain make it more difficult for the dogs than lack of food. There’s a break in the water main uphill from us, so I think more strays are making their way to our road.

     The dogs have been spending their nights in the house. They bark when dogs go down the road, but I’ve gotten tired of worrying about the fights they get into overnight, when dogs seem to travel around more.

     I’ve been practicing recalls with the boys. Robert Redford shows his golden personality by hauling butt up the hill as fast as he can. Lucky sometimes gets involved in barking and bouncing, so he doesn’t hear the first time. When he hears or sees Red running up, he comes running.

     Blondie gets so serious about protecting her turf that she’s the last to come. Chi-Ping often sees barking activity in the street as an opportunity to come in the house. She’s heading home when I come out to call. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started shit to get to come in.

     Over the years of watching dogs here things seem to have changed in that there once was a steady group of dogs living in the neighborhood. I saw the same dogs for a few years, and now, the dogs change frequently.

     I feed dogs I see on the road unless they look well fed. That happens dogs running the road are sometimes, not too often, well nourished. Some dogs I’ve seen in the same area for months or years. I have very few old friends anymore. I don’t know what that means.  

    

Street Dog Shows Empathy

In the years I've been observing feral dog behavior in Puerto Rico, I've seen a mother terrorize her six month old daughter with painful bites to teach her to stay away from food even when mom wasn't near. This starving mother behaved ruthlessly.

Piles of kibble well spaced allowed the pup to eat after I demonstrated to her that I could keep mom at bay, which I did by spritzing mom’s paws with vinegar and water. This puppy was close to death from starvation when I first met her, so telling you mom, Blondie, was ruthless, no joke.

Regular feeding of the three resident street dogs gradually decreased Blondie’s food guarding to a less lethal level with occasional spritzing required.

Other strays were soundly routed by resident three with the puppy learning to attack viciously. Two meals a day at the Carr casa attracted street dogs from the area, before long eyes peered out of the tall grass at the edge of my yard with as many as six dogs at a time. The home team worked hard to chase the interlopers away.

One white and lemon starving yearling bitch refused to go no matter how hard they bit her. She would retreat, but not leave. Other dogs were chased off, but returned. The three were a formidable team, but food twice a day! Personally, I've always wondered how some dogs I’d seen over a mile away ended up on my door. Who snitched?

I don’t know what the “right” thing to do was, but I started putting piles of kibble close to each pair of eyes in the grass. The three retreated to protecting the yard. Every time they would chase a dog on one side a dog would dart in from the other to snatch a mouthful of food. The three would have murder in their eyes and force in their bites, packing calories of energy for a fight.

My husband said I was pulling them in to the house, but starving in front of me is not going to happen, most left after a meal or two, with added energy to pursue usual methods of feeding. Home team convinced them. My first encounter with dogs coming out of the grass in volume felt surrealistic like my favorite thing gone wild.

The white and lemon girl now named Snow White hidden in the grass approached the pile of kibble slowly, one stutter step at a time, her head so low it touched the grass. Her tucked tail and lowly haunches spoke to how sorry she was to be there. She gazed at the ground under her waiting to be attacked. So many times Blondie did just that; until I spritzed in her vicinity. For whatever reason, Snow White never ran in to grab a mouthful the way the other dogs did. She humbly, slowly walked up, if she got bit she didn't move, she took it, collapsing on the spot ever closer to the kibble. Most times she would be forced to retreat to the tall grass.

Snow White repeated this behavior until Blondie tolerated her lying down five or six feet away from the kibble. And then one day from the down she rose to a sit with low head and eyes on the ground she sat! Blondie rushed to establish dominance by towering over her in an upright posture, standing on her toes, but didn't just beat the snot out of her as per usual. Snow White looked prepared to drop, but held her sit. Blondie looked like she didn't know what to do, as the two maintained their positions. Snow White was the perfect pacifist. Blondie tired of it and walked over to a pile of kibble. Blondie never seemed to notice that as she walked away, Snow’s haunches rose from the ground. She was two steps closer before Blondie looked at her again. To my surprise Blondie only resumed eating. She had not walked to the closest pile of kibble, but allowed two piles of kibble in between them. Before long Snow crept to the nearest pile, before she could open her mouth. Blondie stood over her growling. Snow froze, Blondie gradually calmed down.

Blondie stepped to the right, obliquely away from Snow White. Blondie lowered her head in the direction of the kibble and Snow began to eat, slowly, cautiously with the tip of her tail swishing low.

Blondie in that moment decided to allow Snow White to eat, no coercion from me. I only intervened to prevent dogs from being wounded.

Was this empathy? Altruism, giving up her kibble? Did she finally think she had enough to share?  

A Puppy's Hood in Puerto Rico

Finding her place in the pack as it mobilizes, eight week old Darla avoids Chi-Ping who snapped at her earlier for giving play bows. Chi takes her crabby old lady role seriously enough to discourage pups from over stepping a Chi boundary.  Darla brings up the rear, giving Lucky a lick on the corner of the mouth as she walks past, towards Robert Redford to give him a corner mouth lick, and then she gets along Lucky’s right side to take her position. The crew tiptoes to the edge of the plateau to look over the side at our neighbor trimming his tree with a machete.

Blondie, the only dog not upset over this turn of events, stands nearby. The man trims his tree paying no notice to the dogs sizing him up only twenty feet away. Robert Redford decides it’s not worthy of his attention, returning to the porch. Lucky watches longer, but comes to the same conclusion. After they leave, Darla peeks over the edge to see what the fuss was about. The man returns her gaze, so pell-mell she catches the boys. Chi vanished a second after she saw it was the neighbor.

In the late afternoon the dogs hunt mostly lizards in the tall grass. With keen forward ears they zero in on prey. This time of day most rats are in their dens. I hope they’re not after the neighbor’s chickens. They got another one yesterday. Darla bounds straight up the side of the hill to come sliding down. Soon she’ll run the ridges like the boys.

A disturbance on the road commands attention, so one by one they leap the single step, running across the carport to investigate. Darla didn’t make it first try so she backed up a foot for a running start and on to join the guard dogs.

Learning canine behavior, the rules of the road for her world is important. A dog not knowing how to get along with other dogs is as dysfunctional a person not knowing how to get along with other people. Gees, maybe, that’s not a good choice, but you understand that having a good foundation in your own culture helps you understand the rules of somebody else’s road.  

Lucky teases Darla with a toy, shaking it in her face and then running around the house with her in hot pursuit, if a tad late. Everything is going well in her puppy life now; I hate to think of finding the forever home she needs. I can’t keep her, Robert Redford and Lucky need homes. This isn't good for them long term.

I pray for wonderful people to adopt these amazing animals. 

Puppy Behavior Eight Week Maturation Point

Darla entered her first fear period today, her normally up, wagging tail in a position seldom, if ever seen on her before, neutral. My little girl must be about right weeks old for this stage of development. About three weeks ago I found her in a bucket along the side of the road.

Today she no longer bounds straight up to me, but approaches obliquely, making an arc in her travel to approach me from the side. Her wide eyed puppy innocence is gone. As she nibbled out the bowl, I walked by and she circled with a piece of kibble in her mouth, which is reminiscent of Chi-Ping’s behavior with me, when she first came. She also exhibits watchfulness of the surroundings that I’ve just seen her do in the last couple of days. Our group has remained stable, nothing outward has happened to influence her behavior.

Witnessing puppies enter this maturation phase before was probably more chaotic with people and dogs, me being busy, and most of all other puppies. What surprises me the most is the suddenness of the shift; yesterday she was the quintessential idiot puppy, today she’s caution girl.

Protect her from big scares during this time was my first thought. Today is Three Kings Day in Puerto Rico, which means parandas or parades and here it came right down our road, loud, pulsating, horns blaring, whistles blowing loud, loud. I went to the door in time to see Darla running to the back side of the house to get away. I called her to the door which meant she had to come back towards her fear. To my surprise she scurried into her safe house, where she calmed and stood at the door. Gone are her puppy forward ears, unless focused, she’s pretty much carried them to the side. This is a change for her.

Like you, I love watching dog behavior. I’d love to hear your stories and comments on this maturation point.  

Christmas Eve on Sato Hill

Beautiful boys bound through the grass, this spring’s puppies grown into active adolescents live like this is their neighborhood; it isn’t. It belongs to the humans who live in the houses. They have the power to snuff out a life at their will. Generations of dogs have suffered this plight.

My neighbor boy just sixteen, a human child shows off his motorcycle to cousins’ delight burning rubber, oh what a sight with smoke billowing up from the road. His mommy is calling with impatient voice; he ignores her until the call softens to a plea. “What,” he calls in Spanish, of course. A child on a short leash, the adolescent stretches his bonds. He kept his bike running, enjoying cousins’ approval. Oh, did mommy get mad, but it did her no good. She stormed in her casa doing whatever loud things you can do in a house to communicate anger.

From the garage, the toys came out, the best, a trike, cousin tried tearing ass down the road. Girl cousin in a pretty dress bounced up and down on the balls of her toes. Mommy forgotten; acceptance, approval passed around. Here come the dogs from Sato Hill, Lucky, Robert Redford, led by Chi-Ping, the terrier. Blondie barked fiercely from inside the in the house.

Ruff, ruff, the sound of defense, Robert Redford, Lucky, and Chi barked, slowing down at the bottom of the drive to assess the situation before plowing across; Chi stopped, the boys held ground behind her, or as guys in the states say, backed her up. Lucky held tight watching Chi’s every move, but Robert Redford, the handsome golden boy trotted directly to the center of the group despite having been knocked in the snoot. He walked right up to the girl, of course, looked her in the eye, surprised her, she looked back didn’t seem to know what to do, her brother, a young man walked to her with a dominant stride. Red cowered, unsure; my neighbor’s cousin walked past him without much notice.

From the porch I cooed, “Chi-Ping, there’s a good girl, come on, good girl.” She looked over her shoulder. I knew she was mine, if I could bring her in. “Goooood girl, what a good girl,” I wooed. She looked at the activity in the street. “Where’s my good girl?” The look on her face said, oh, what the heck. Her head in a neutral posture she trotted up to the house. The wooing continued with spaced praise.

Robert Redford trotted up to Lucky, who held fast, barking to build up his courage. Ruff, ruff is the sound of the bark; I’ve heard it so often in the dark. Chi came and wanted her petting, which I gladly gave, and then quickly put her in the house. Lucky, now in the lead, Robert Redford had his back. “Lucky, good boy, where’s my good boy,” that’s all it took, lucky for me. I praised him all the way back until he gave me a sit, so proud of himself. I’ve worked with him since he was a pup. I’m not ambitious these days so we do what we do when I think about doing it; it’s a shame, but Lucky came back with Robert Redford trailing. They came in the house for treats all around Smoki, the cat never questioned his participation.

Mommy next door called in a loud piteous voice, the cousins got in a car, burning rubber up the hill waving out windows a friendly goodbye. Neighbor boy’s shoulders slumped, as he walked in the house where mommy spoke to him in very controlled tones, her voice faltering, somehow she managed.

Lucky and Red went back out on the porch, found a spot, rolled on their backs to snooze. Geri, another neighbor came out with a huge piece of fried dough, at least that’s what it looked like from the porch. I got a bad feeling, so I called the boys, who jumped up ready. We walked towards the front door, me talking and squeaking. Geri whistled the tune he plays for the dogs when he wants them to come. I squeaked louder and told how good they were. They wagged their tails following to the door, when I opened it out pounced Blondie and Chi, who I hadn’t really thought about, so they all took off for Geri and his fried whatever.

Chi-Ping stopped, gave it a sniff, but trotted off to another neighbor’s yard. Blondie loves this guy, she’s known him longer than me, so she allowed herself to be pet, but wouldn’t accept his offering. Robert Redford, rarely shy, held his tail and head low, walked over to Geri, who pet him with one hand and fed him with the other. With gift in his mouth Red scurried away. Blondie, ho had stepped aside, came back to Geri for petting. He’s very affectionate with the dogs. I wonder why he calls Adri to scream and yell about the dogs being lose, when he calls them coaxing them down to the killing ground, where dogs get hit in the road or other hellish things. I’ve asked him not to so many times.

My husband died six months ago and it’s Christmas eve, a weird time for me. Enjoy each other, and of course the critters. 

No Dog Wants to Die This Way by Chi-Ping

The white bull terrier showed sense, leaving while Blondie and I were locked in the house, but not before she stood rock steady and Robert Redford sampled her goods. He mounted her, she’s not even in heat. You should have seen her promise him what’s to come, wagging her tail and snorting in his face.

That’s the way it is on Sato Hill, dogs coming and going. People put out leftovers some times and then other times dogs get dowsed with water and told to move along. Humans are a confounding lot. If you wait long enough they’ll do something to hurt a defenseless dog, even mom.

She took us to get fixed, which I now know meant to fix us so we can’t make puppies. That’s no easy procedure; let me tell you. You won’t believe what mom did to me and Blondie just yesterday. It was horrible.

With Snoopy pissing all over the porch and Hattie running around the yard playing tag with Lucky, and needle teeth puppy, Darla trying to suckle everything breathing or not, Blondie and I were glad to hop in the car to ride down to the gas station to guide more visitors up to the house. Since dad died we rarely get visitors, unless it’s some of mom’s friends, who we call auntie because they’re good to us and we like them, so we’re anxious to meet the people mom’s been so excited about coming. Blondie barked down the road to dogs and people alike, she blabbed everything.

A woman who looked like Jessica Rabbit with black hair, smiled as we pulled into the gas station. Before long we led them back to our house, where mom hopped out of the car to direct them where to park, since Jaime’s truck got stuck on the side of the house making mud tracks for Robert Redford to roll in, getting himself banned from the house.

The car door closed in my face. Mom hugged the Jessica Rabbit lady and a man wearing a uniform like hers, which said ACO/ACI, Animal Control Officer/Animal Cruelty Investigator. Everybody’s arms were waiving, talking,  smiles all around; they turned to look at the lake. Blondie and I waited with our tails wagging. They walked around the yard looking at the mountains in the distance. Mom pointed to Utuado, a famous mountain town. We want to get out and visit, too. The windows were closed. Mom showed the people into the house.

The people in uniforms come out looking relieved. I’d like to get out and relieve myself; now, they’re taking pictures. It’s a bright, sunny day the lake is spectacular. They sit down on the porch talking and eating. Blondie is so hot she hid under the steering wheel thinking it was cooler there. These people were not paying any attention to us in here; I had it, I barked. My tongue hung out, with my paw on the glass I gave mom a pathetic look.

“Oh my God, Dios mio,” the women screamed. They came running. Mom opened the door, pulled Blondie out. She ran for water. Mom grabbed me and carried me to the carport where she offered me water to drink and put cold water on our tummies.

Everybody came around, the people asking us if we’re okay and the other dogs sniffed us and gave a quick lick on the lip to console. Mom kept hugging me, petting Blondie and telling us how sorry she was. That was scary. It was hot in there, we could have died; mom needs to be sorry.

Later that evening, after everyone went home mom pulled out chicken and cheese; we had a feast. Mom kept telling us how sorry she was and feeding us. When it came time to go to bed, Blondie sighed with contentment her head on mom’s ankle, while I felt her love curled up in a ball at her side, under her arm.

So people; what’s the moral to the story? Yes, so many good ones, but I’ll go with PAY ATTENTION TO THE DOG. Love, Chi  

Touching Dogs by Chi Ping

Some hands feel marvelous stroking my head and ears, sweet rapture, but I still find it difficult to trust human hands that hurt me so often. My body yearns for a gentle caress, but poking my sides is no fun for me. I gently nipped for fear of reprisal as a “bad” dog; some folks thought bitey mouth was a game I liked to play, so they’d laugh and poke like it was funny. Big whoop for them, all I wanted is for you to pet me and make me feel good.

Grabbing me around my ribs behind my front legs hurts, yet people picked me up like that all the time. They wondered why I don’t like to be picked up and run from their grasp. As mom’s friend, Marcie says, “Duh!”

Dogs have their aches and pains, just like people, even Smoki, the cat aches, poor guy has a little kitty limp. I have arthritis from being hit by a car. My hips hurt and my tail is kinked. Mom tries to help me, in spite of her making it feel better later; I can stand only so much touch before I must get away.  

Mom tries to fix me too much, I know she wants to help, but what I like the best is the twilight time when we’re in bed with her hand gently resting on my back, not doing a thing. She does, thank heaven, know how to pick me up with a hand under my front and the other supporting my rear end. I do trust her to pick me up.

It is a late fall day in Puerto Rico, the wind is roaring through the grass and it looks like rain; mom and Marcie are going to a Paso Fino Horse Show. I heard them planning on the phone, so after frantic tail wagging and big sad eyes, Blondie and I will retire to the bed for serious napping. Chi-Ping

Dog Blog

This blog began when I was keen to describe the behavior I witnessed in the feral island dogs. How a dog runs his life without direct control of an owner or responsible human fascinated me. The danger and suffering appalled me, so my world expanded to learn the laws of Puerto Rico as they pertain to animals by taking the Animal Control Course  and going to conferences, such as the Caribbean Animal Welfare Conference.

Through these experiences I've met some incredible people, who have a calling. They’re on a mission from God. These aren't saints in the way I remember saints, but more kind of like Blues Brothers mission from God good guys, I mean really interesting people with great stories, doing excellent work, so I’ll be introducing you to them.  

Some dog behavior like rolling the coconuts down the driveway to break them open is too cool; it has to be shared, but now, I do it through the voice of Chi-Ping, whose behavior speaks volumes to me, which is described accurately, save the anthropomorphic undertones. ;)

The Animal Movement of Puerto Rico has become a living organism or maybe a hive of activity, I just know it’s taken on a life of its own. As this movement gains momentum I hope to describe it to you; it's a beautiful thing.

Those of you who are able to read in Spanish are in for a treat because the writing of Maylin Carretero Alberich is exquisite. From time to time I’ll be sharing some of her work, which can be seen on her blog, http://lasangreverde.wordpress.com/

Your comments are welcome; feedback is a source of learning for me, thank you. Tricia Carr

My Life Now by Chi-Ping

Who knew island life could be so hectic? Being the neighborhood guardians, Blondie and I cruise the street and woods searching for danger. Interlopers come from all directions. Teaching Lucky and Robert Redford to protect the porch while Blondie and I defend the bed is a task for which I did not ask. As much as I do like being mom’s companion on treks to the post office or store, keeping an eye on that woman tires a pup out.

THIF, Blondie and I did not let mom out of our sights. Going to the beach on Friday is the highlight of our busy schedule. All morning mom sat in front of her computer. Smoki, the cat, is right, she spends way too much time with that thing; it’s not normal. When she finally finished, closed it and put it in the bag; hmm, that means she’s taking the computer someplace rather than back to the bedroom as usual. Oh, well, who cares; it’s TGIF.

We pant impatiently outside the door, while mom hustles around inside. Blondie’s usually steady calm is nowhere to be found. This bitch can’t sit still; now, Robert Redford and Lucky want to know what she’s so panting and slobbering about. “Grrrr, none of your business,” only stimulated the adolescent boys, who wait to see what’s going on.

Mom only takes two dogs to the beach at a time. She says, if she takes more, we won’t listen to her. Like I listen to anyone, hah, she’s not the boss of me. Perhaps, I should hang back on that until after I’m selected to go to the beach. Damn, these two pups want to go and they’re both so much bigger now, they stand over me. I’m lost in the pack. I hate packs; I’m not a wolf. I have to nip some feet to get these critters to move.

Just the other side of the door, Smoki meows to be let out. Yes, let him out, so I can come in to be with you, please! My tails wags so fast as I watch mom walk briskly into the kitchen. Let the cat out; I’ll be your only companion, Mom!

Before long mom backed the SUV on to the carport, spread a nice thick quilt across the back and left the hatchback open. Blondie and I quickly jumped in. Mom put a suitcase in the back and Smoki’s litter box on the front floorboard. Sensing one of mom’s traps, I jumped out. I know how she is; she lets me think I’m in; I’m going, then grabs me and puts me in the house before she leaves. I’m wise to her games.  

After mom loaded more things, she closed the hatchback with Blondie in the back. She called me, but I held back. I can tell by the sound of her voice if her coaxing is true or she wants to sucker me to put me in the house, so I wait to hear what she has to say, but instead she turned to Lucky and put the lead over his head. “Good boy, come on get in the car.” Oh, my word, she’s taking him with Blondie! I scrambled in on her seat and was in the back before she could lift the scared Lucky in. I’m here first, I get to go, my tail wagged with my mouth hanging wide open; I get to go!

Mom closed the door leaving Lucky to find a spot out of our way. The door opened; there she was with Robert Redford in her arms all limp and scared. He hates cars like Lucky does. Wow, we’re all going to the beach; how cool is that?

Finally mom, hopped in the driver’s seat; we’re ready to go to the beach. Smoki? Why is the cat coming with and he usually travels in his crate; where’s it? Wondering, worrying gives way to tail wagging happiness; we’re going to my favorite place, the beach, the beach!

Mom! We should have turned back there at the light!  The beach, you missed the beach; where are we going? I put my paw on the window indicating where she should go, but she kept on driving, when she turned on to the autopista/tollway I knew we were going to the shelter, Amigos de Los Animales in San Juan by the airport, by the beach.

The air conditioning cooled my ardor for the beach; soon we all napped until each toll booth where I felt required to assist Blondie in barking at the people who took mom’s money. The boys barely raised their heads. 

Barking dogs greeted us, Auntie Adri welcomed us with happy, squeaky words we love to hear and good petting. Jadie, Goodie, and Cinderella barked wildly from in the house. My friends I’m visiting my friends for the weekend; what a lucky dog I am!

Smart Satos Did What? by Chi-Ping

The last October Sunday morning on Sato Hill hens off laying eggs somewhere cackled. We tried to locate them, but they fled up a tree before we got there. Lucky and Robert Redford are learning to be good hunters. I taught them well, but Blondie did some educating these mongrels also.

Our early morning kibble breakfast needed to be supplemented to stay healthy or chunky-monkey as mom calls us. Blondie and I would never pick up avocados or coconuts, hell we never thought of it. Robert Redford and Lucky are on them the second they hit the ground.  My curiosity got the better of me, I tasted a bit of an avocado that Lucky left lying about; not bad, so I settled in to lick the skin. Lucky saw me. I didn’t think too much about it; until he pounced on me. That nervy little wanker pounced on me, well, it was pretty good.

What surprised me the most was the taste of coconut, oh my, that’s good. This clever pair of pups rolls the coconuts down the driveway. Mom laughed the first time she watched them from the bedroom window, said it looked like downhill bowling. We went back to bed, but I was a bit annoyed listening to coconuts rolling down the driveway all night. In the morning shards of coconut littered the porch, so before long I curled up knawing on a piece, Robert Redford stood over me like he thought I was going to give it up. My eyes bulged out of their sockets; my lips showed not just my fine teeth, but my gums as I growled and spit, “I’ll never give it up!”

Sunday mornings on the island and life is good. Imagine those pups figuring out how to break the coconuts by rolling them downhill; must have been a lucky accident; right?

A Dog's Best Evening by Chi-Ping

Hi Folks,

What would make a little dog say, “T.G.I.F.?” Give up?

It was so fun! Friday evening we went to the beach again, Lucky and me. The boy did not want to get in the car; can’t say as I blame him. It took me a long time to get over the fear of being dumped. I’ll tell you, it was a shocker to suddenly be all alone in a strange land. Anyway, I digress, we were at the beach next to Home Depot in Hatillo.

I met Tom, Dick and Harry, and then along came Jane. She said she wished she was a wolf bitch; they only get bred by the alfa male, she has to put up with Tom, Dick, and Harry. Harry made friends with me and Lucky first. He said they were the Saldinera Beach Boys Pack He was rather scruffy for my tastes, but because he was four inches taller at the shoulders than Lucky, the little pi(t)bull squatted like a bitch and gave that stupid grin of his. I walked way down the beach all by myself with mom standing on the shore crying. She talks to dad all the time.

Tom lay on the ridge of sand at the edge of the parking lot with his head between his paws watching. Dick kept busy pissing on bushes like everything was his territory. This nervous little prick had nothing on me. I lift my tail high; sniff this Sato. Just then, along came Jane saggy breasts half filled with milk swinging in the wind, damn, I’ll bet that hurts. She had this don’t make me mess with you look on her face, as she looked for something to eat. I put my tail down for her out of respect for a hard working mommy.

Lucky and I went down the shore, we raced and played tag, mom walked along picking things up. I wished she’d run with us. We found a flock of Sand Pipers along a rocky shelf. They scattered wildly as we flew around the rocks. Harry even joined us for a romp.

As the sun dropped from sight mom dusted the sand off us  before we loaded in the car to go home. We ‘re going to do this every Friday. Lucky dogs. 

Good Morning by Chi-Ping

Early morning, when the cocks crow, get out of bed sleepy head, the sun invades the dark turning it to grey; that’s my favorite time of day. Wild scents linger on the dew. The island air, freshest before cars rumble down the road, breathes cool, as I hear the whack and thump of fruit ripened overnight falling to the ground.

Well rested from a night in dreamland, on the bed snuggled back to back with my mom; I rolled on my back, while kicking my legs, and then hopped up for a good stretch. With my rear end high up on tippy toes, my front legs fold under me lowering my chest to the bed to crack every arthritic bone in my back, aah. You have no idea how great that feels; it’s time for good morning!

I love good morning, but mom hasn't played it with us since dad died. Last night dad told me to lick mom’s face, run around the bed and do it again. I told him I knew darn good and well that mom does NOT like to be licked in the face; what was he up to? He winked at me when he said just do it. Dad’s fun is always better than mom’s seriousness.

Mom pets me as I put my head on her shoulder. This is pretty nice, my hips feel better when she rubs them. No, dad said. Lick, lick, lick; I got her right in the mouth, ha-ha, before she could push me away, I raced around the bed as fast as possible. At the foot of the bed I turned to face her, then she put her hands straight up over her head and said, “Arrgh!”

Okay, she asked for it, this is war. I ran straight for her face. She looked surprised. Before her hands could cover her face, I licked it! I licked it! This called for a couple of fast victory laps. The second leap over mom didn’t go off as planned; she grabbed me, pinned my rear between her legs and tickled me until I squealed with glee.

Oh, I’ve got to pee; it’s time to go out now. Later, people, Chi