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

What Dog Traits Benefit the Group

Hi,

The Puerto Rican island dogs forage alone, and sometimes in packs. The sound of dogs rushing through the brush with rats leaping for their lives in front of mostly mixed breed, Satos, some with serious grimaces, others clearly enjoying the chase with play face, quickens the pulse.

A hound mix, I called Owl, shared my porch for a time. He hunted lizards the way I shop for chocolate. (Yeah, yeah!) To quote an old Cab Calloway song, everybody eats when they come to my house. Kibble is served twice daily. Owl still shopped lizards with enough zeal that the other satos tried little lizards; a couple tossed their heads and spit it out, but others picked up the habit.

I watched a yearling German Shepard bitch teach six month old pups, Lucy and Robert Redford, to roll coconuts down my driveway, so the coconuts would crack open when they hit the side of my neighbor’s garage; but Blondie taught them to hunt rats, the supreme delicacy.  

In general, dogs’ behavior varies with the availability of resources. Hungry dogs are volatile around food, but well fed colonies can be social as dogs in doggie day care, which I ran for a dozen years.  

After years of reading your thoughts in the dark; why am I posting?

My experiences are written in my blog, as they happened. I’m writing this to encourage you with the multiple degrees to come, visit my island before the dog catchers round up the alphas, the docile, the elders.

Could you picture a holiday hanging on the beach watching a colony of free ranging dogs rummage in the brush?

You may be interested in advising me as I develop the protocols for maintaining dog colonies.

Dog problem: 100,000 to 300,000 free roaming dogs on island size of Connecticut.

Current solution:

Round up to euthanize every free running dog you see until a numerical limit of what the municipality will pay is hit.

Rescuers pic up every dog they can fit in their bac yard. Some are adopted or shipped to the states.

Colony keepers Program:

 If trap, neuter, and return programs are to develop public support, a follow up control, support system should be in place.

As part of the protocols, I want to identify the dogs that are more valuable to the colony, so they will escape culls.

If people come to observe these fascinating animals, the government of this broke ass little island will co-operate in handling the dogs in a more humane way.

Watching a bunch of males (dogs) poking around on a walk is my idea of fun. My travel goals include other places to watch dogs. Moscow to ride the trains with the dogs tops my bucket list; I’m guessing I’m not alone.

Can you envision behaviorists visiting colony keepers to enjoy dogs behaving old school except for the hunger and rampant reproduction. Picture January on a tropical island, hmm; that’s how I got here. Is this a crazy goal?

The protocol should identify traits of benefit to the colony. Any suggestions? Questions? I hope I’ve explained it adequately. Thanks!

Oh, and Terry I’ve read a number of studies you’ve supplied links for; thanks!

    

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. 

Behavior Problem Jumping

Surprise, a behavioral post today because my charming boy, Robert Redford is jumping a kangaroo on his back legs, while I distribute food.

In my house the first sit gets the kibble. Forcing your way to the bowl will get you last; I don’t care how big you are in a pack of street dogs. This is my house.

When it was just Blondie, Chi-Ping, and Smoki, of course, I fed the cat first. He drives me nuts following me around, complaining. He learned that in the kennel. He trained my staff better than I did.

  

The girls had to wait. Blondie just always came to the first bowl. The little girl said nothing for years, and then one sat for bowl number one. Blondie stood there, shocked as the little bitch ate for her bowl. That hasn't

 happened but a few times.

Lucky and Robert Redford arrived, as puppies, in my drive a few days apart, so they started my sit for food program. When I come through the door with your food give me the first sit by where the bowl goes and it’s yours.

This is a simple system, but my street dog girls don’t get it. Chi sits for the third bowl, but Blondie, my big brawny girl goes last and mostly she just stands there waiting for me to put the bowl down, which I usually do; so who’s smarter?

Some days Lucky looks so smart and motivated; he sits with his chest out, wagging away; until I give him the dish. Other days Robert Redford looks like a brilliant Golden Retriever starring in his show, waiting for reward. The second dog know where to go; there’s usually no fuss to this. It’s just go sit at your mark; I am coming.

This jumping up shit started when I got home from Cuba. The first time he jumped so close to me like he was trying to knock it out of my hands. WTF, I can’t have a big dog jumping around like that. I’m at the age where one must be careful.

It’s diminished between bowl #1 and bowl #2. That’s a work in progress by virtue of the routine.

Today the happy red boy began bouncing as I opened the door with all four bowls in my arm.

Behavior frequently escalates before the animal abandons it.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. Smile.

A Little Dog's Journey Home by Chi-Ping

When I came to Sato Hill; or actually, the day I was unceremoniously dumped, I cried, curled in a corner waiting for my people to return for me.

Lost, mourning, I worried what they would do without me. Would they be scared in the night without me to alert them to danger? Would they miss the scent of my presence the way I missed theirs?

I gave myself credit for being a spectacular intruder alarm. From my tiny room I could hear a leaf fall. Strange sounds deserve an all out panic bark! Suppose something bad happens! My barks alerted them to danger!

From my very first night on the street the neighbors where I landed received the benefit of my alarm services. They rewarded me with leftovers.

Mourning my world lost, without a clue to go home, I brooded, but the neighborhood Satos/street dogs stuck their noses up my butt. Until you die, you’re just part of someone else’s show. I had to stand up to these Satos to show them I wouldn’t be cast as their victim or whipping girl. They nosed me around some, but then they liked me.

I thought about my family, my life in the room, how happy I’d be when they came in to see me. Outdoors is a big scary place; my mind felt turned inside out.

The two neighbor ladies fed me well, when Blondie and Stormy, who died, weren’t around, but never gave me water. Stormy showed me where to go for water and how to hunt mice to supplement sometimes meager leftovers. I came to the road a fat little animal. Stormy taught me about life in the neighborhood, but I stayed close to where I got dropped believing they loved me and would come back for me.

One day just when my tail was beginning to wag again, the woman up the hill threw a towel over me. I did my best to bite her, but the towel got in my way. The next thing I knew a man held me on his lap. In a warm, kind voice he said, “Good Girl, you’re going for a car ride.”

I wanted to tell about the fiasco my last car ride was, but instead I nestled down onto his big hands, staring at the woman who grabbed me.

After that everything blurred. Blondie said that they fixed me. Huh? Back on the street I prowled my neighborhood with Blondie; until one night Blondie and I were taken away from the island.

My introduction to a pet carrier, followed by a weigh in at the airport and I flew to New Orleans chewing my way through the fabric until she shoved something for motion sickness down my throat.

From then on we walked city streets tied to the woman. People, who knew there were so many, people with dogs tied like we were. Blondie barked and barked, but none told her why people were tied to us. Great packs of children played baseball or football across the street from where we lived. We could smell strange creatures living in sewers and squirrels chattered, mocking us from above.

I didn't like being tied or behind a fence, so one day I snuck past dad, the man with the loving voice.  The woman, who grabbed me in the towel, called me; was she kidding?

Wandering where I pleased, I allowed her to follow a couple of feet behind me, like she could ever catch me, hah!

A lovely lady I hadn't seen before called me by my new name, “Good Girl!”

I ran to her, she scooped me into her arms. I felt safe again. She handed me over to mom, who put me on the leash to walk home.

A few months later we were back in the airport on our way home. People admired how well I walked on leash with my head held high and my erect tail slicing the air.

Men outside the Aguadilla Airport doors greeted me, “Boriqua dog, that’s a Boriqua dog. Welcome home Boriqua dog.”

An hour later we were back home on Sato Hill.

A Proposal for Trap, Neuter, and Release Colonies

Trap, Neuter, and Release Dog Colonies

Site location must be conducive to keeping the colony dogs out of harm’s way. A number one priority in siting a dog colony is a location which will not become a public health hazard.

Community support: Owners of the property on which the colony is located and adjacent neighbors should be contacted and support sought prior to founding any new colonies.

Collect and share contact information, notate perception of community response and professed level of involvement ranging from fine by me, but no help to committed participant.

Evaluate the street dogs for suitability in colony.

Colony Members:

 Healthy, vaccinated, neutered animals showing no signs of aggression towards humans visibly marked or identifiable.

 i.e. collar color coded to the Colony Keeper, the color changing every 1 to 3 years.

Colony Size:

Scientific studies have shown that when a site is over populated, the Ecosystem goes out of balance resulting in disease; until firm numbers for the individual site can be studied, a healthy colony shall be deemed of correct size. Another indicator is increased aggression within the colony.

Colony Keeper responsible for:

Maintaining a healthy colony of non-reproductive animals easily identified as such.

Overseeing that daily access to clean water and food is provided.

Disposing of remains of dead animals or contacting appropriate authority to dispose of remains.

i.e. Dead dog on highway should not be picked up by non-government personnel for health and safety reasons.

Providing appropriate care or contacting appropriate governmental authority to provide said care.

 i.e. Dog hit in road needing immediate euthanasia.

  

Developing a T-N-R Colony from a pack of street dogs is a project requiring resources in time, energy, and money. A reasonable, but limited timetable for making an acknowledged transition from street dog pack to supported T-N-R Colony shall be from six to eight months.

From the time the Arawaks landed on these shores with their compact hunting dogs, free roaming dogs have been part of island life and culture. A well-known and popular fact is that the Puerto Rican people love their “Satos.”

With the ground swell of support for the humane treatment of the Puerto Rican Island Dogs, the Satos, the volunteers putting fourth personal resources look to the government to honor the GOOD SAMARATAINS, un- paid citizens, by indemnifying and holding harmless their efforts.

We respectfully look to the Mayor of  to work with the citizens to set the standard for the island in cooperation with the community to update a historic relationship with the island dogs; thus providing better health and public safety.

Acknowledging the difficult financial times, we look to the mayor’s office to support the effort by providing venues and resources at your disposal.

Most importantly we look to the Mayor to grant amnesty from live collection of Colony Dogs by any governmental or quasi-governmental agency.

Okay, this is the way I see it. Can I get a witness?!! ;)

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.

What Can I Do?

Heads of scrawny dogs pop up in the weeds along the road. They recognize the sound of my engine. Low held tails wag furiously, while waiting for the food bin lid to pop. Dogs with disease, cuts and injuries I can’t attend to, wolf down kibble while I pour the water. Few will chase the car. It breaks my heart to see them in the rear view mirror wanting more kindness than I can give.

The hardest days are those I see old friends coming to the car, when I have no more food. The look of disappointment when I drive on by haunts me until I go back with more, only to find them not there. Wondering their fate until I see them again burdens me more than you can imagine.

Darla, the puppy abandoned along the road in a bucket, plays happily in my driveway with black coat shimmering in the sun. Lucky and Robert Redford, now almost yearlings patrol the perimeter of their property with assurance they’ll defend this house from all comers. Healthy and well fed; their world would be doggie bliss if they just got more petting.

Blondie and Chi-Ping were adopted by me because neighbors wanted them gone, but now these same folk put out food and show me with pride where they put rugs for my dog’s comfort; go figure. I say, “Please don’t feed the dogs in the road; it pulls them away from my house and it’s dangerous.” They feed and even sometimes water just off the road. The dogs sometimes check there before eating their kibble. This place confounds me to say the least.

Darla had to be kept in the house, at six and seven weeks of age to keep her out of the street until she could process things like danger. Puppy road kill, a common cause of death happens to a fair percentage of young. She now looks both ways before stepping into the street.

Chi-Ping sleeps in my bed with Smoki, the cat. Blondie spends her time at the neighbor’s who said she wanted her gone. Love can be blind in more than one species.

Today I’m leaving; my rescues will stay at my friend’s shelter, even the cat. My heart is broken, my life shattered. In a week I’ll be home with my aunt, where I can be loved and cared for; it’s time for me. It has to be.

A Day in the Life of a Dog Lover in Puerto Rico

Every trip to the store becomes an adventure, when stopping to feed and water dogs along the way. That’s what it’s like to be an animal lover in Puerto Rico.

A female pit bull, looking stunned stands alone in the parking lot where I found Lefty a few months ago, I mean Sandy, as his forever mom in Boston calls him. She’s a big beautiful grey and white with massive head. I swing into the parking lot, whistle for her, but she doesn’t budge. She has that just dropped off look about her. As she recovers a little food and water will help calm her down, so I open the kit with the kibble and water bowls.

Hi, Sweetheart, I know you’re scared, who could dump a babe like you.  I prattle while pouring water in my last remaining Styrofoam bowl, a small pile of kibble on the ground next to it and I leave before she moves from the spot where she’s frozen from fear. She munches on the kibble after I pull out of the parking lot. Good, food and water helps a newly discarded dog calm down. Being abandoned can't be easy to face.  

Just a bit down the road a dog I fed before chases my car. Oh, rats, I didn't see him, so I pull over. He catches up with wagging tail. Only some kibble for you today, pal. I look around for a cup or something to pour water in for him, but see nothing. I have to remember to refill my kit.

Later, a gaunt white and black spaniel mix comes up to my car while I wait for my friend in a parking lot. He chows down. The boy lives in the neighborhood, so he’s an experienced perro de calle or street dog. I find a cup, he’s thirsty. The dogs need water as much or more than they need the food, so it's time to buy some plastic bowls.

The trick for me is to help the dogs without getting emotional. Just do what I can and move on without worrying what will happen to them next, do what I can. It’s NOT enough, but it's something. 

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. 

Learned Something

People never cease to confound, a man with a walking stick stood at my neighbor’s gate. The dogs charged down our driveway barking, cautiously they barked from our side of the road, when Robert Redford with head submissively low and humble tail wagging crossed the road. The man seemed to ignore him, so he sniffed his leg gently. The man whacked him in the nose so fast.

Blondie doesn’t like men messing with her friends, so she waited for an opening. He kept an eye on her while gabbing away, and when he turned to go she went in for a nip. He thankfully was quick, but she circled him barking all the way up the hill, when he left, with Lucky bouncing and barking without a clue of what it was all about.

Chi-Ping barked in the house, a blessing because the fast little bitch will circle around for a nip when a man is facing off with Blondie. She can be a handful of trouble. I should really find these boys a home before jerks like this ruin my lovely guys’ attitudes. 

All this man had to do was say, “Hey, Boy,” Robert Redford would have wagged his tail some more and walked away. He just wanted to say, “Hi.” The man didn’t need to crack him so hard. The sad part is that if he had talked to “Red,” Blondie would have stood down, ending the alert.

Sweet red boy ran right home to mama. I told him what a good boy he was to come to his mom, some petting for reward. I may be lazy about training lately, but I’m not one to miss an opportunity. “What a good dog,” as Barbara Woodhouse used to say.

Just when I thought it’s time to go in, teenagers , who not more than a week ago, stopped their car at the bottom of my drive long enough to yell, “Mother fucker,” to the boy, who lives across the street from me, are standing at his gate, calling his name. The three dogs on the porch with me growl as one. From inside Chi growls like she’s crazy out of her mind to get out. Our readers know what a drama queen she is. The boys must have made up; they went in the house to the relief of all.

We all learned something this weekend before Christmas. Robert Redford learned that coming to mom is good. Blondie learned how intimidate this man. Blondie scares this guy; it’s so much fun, Lucky learned; let’s bark and bounce. I learned what Baby Hueys my boys are. The man learned that he’s a heartless, stupid idiot, if he understands English. The asshole part I do think he got. My neighbor boy doesn't speak any English, but his friends swear at him in English; doesn't that strike you as funny?

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!

Street Dogs Hit the Beach by Chi-Ping

Blondie burst out of the car like she would rip up all comers. Tom, Dick and Harry were wondering who was with me because it’s always me and Lucky with mom at the beach on Friday, which is now officially my favorite day of the week.

Blondie struck each one of those skinny Saldinaros beach boys with her chest knocking them over one, two, three, while they were still shaking I moved in barking fiercely. Blondie pinned one, I chased two into the bushes; I’m the best, my tail is so high I can’t stand myself. I knew Blondie and I would rule.

Mom said this was why she never took us to the dog parks in New Orleans. Bullies, us, I don’t think so. We just have to have our respect; it’s the first rule of the street. We’re supposed to behave like pets and be all sweetie- sweetie. The Saldinaros would shag our hinnies out of there. They’d like to go to our homes and be pets, so we let them know who’s in charge of the beach when we’re here.

Running and barking at the shore; what more can you want? Blondie likes to swim; who knew? Watching her made me confident enough to go in the water almost to my back. It was so exciting being in the ocean. Even better than chasing the birds, no I think chasing birds is better.

You’d be surprised how quickly you get tired running at the beach. Soon we were sprawled out on the sand near mom and Marcie, who were sitting in chairs next to each other talking, while this ten or twelve week old pup romances Marcie. He knows that she’s the one who took Hatty home from here and he thinks she’ll take him too. He sits there staring at her wagging his tail. What a little suck up; I can’t stand it.

Before we left mom gave the beach dogs some of our food and water. We tried to jump out of the car to get it, but mom stopped us. She said we were too fat and needed to go on a diet anyway. Oh, that woman can be cruel.

We slept all the way home. Mom’s right about one thing. A tired dog is a happy dog.

The Right Motivator

Some dogs are easy to train; other dogs are more, shall we say, self directed. Any dog raised from a puppy, should and will do what’s requested with minimal training.

In the house all of my dogs obey, even the pups, Lucky and Robert Redford have nice manners. Lola hasn’t been with me long, but she’s an attentive girl and seldom leaves my side when I’m out in the yard.

Blondie and Chi-Ping, resident street dogs before adoption, are very to totally self directed as soon as they’re out the door. Chi-Ping, the little whore, will offer sits while giving intense eye contact any time food is to be had. Blondie’s behavior suggests an anthropomorphic attitude of: I’m here; what more do you want? I don’t want to sit. Sit, I don’t remember that one. And she’s pretty convincing.

If I call Chi-Ping as she’s heading down the driveway, I’ll get the over the shoulder: I love you, later look, while she goes wherever. Blondie doesn’t even look.

My squeak signals food; Robert Redford and Lucky come running right away. Lola heads home when she hears the door open. Blondie and Chi, may or may not come, if anything is more interesting, they will not.

The neighbors feed Blondie and Chi leftovers the same as when they were street dogs, so kibble and biscuits aren’t worth the trip up the hill. Please, keep in mind that these dogs, especially Blondie have spent more time at the neighbors than with me, having lived in the street here for about four years before adoption.

Being concerned that all five come when called, I decided today to practice the recall with something properly motivational. After my dinner I opened the door, Lola appeared, the boys bounded up the driveway, as quickly as I squeaked, Blondie and Chi-Ping, who were over six hundred feet up the hill, galloped like Kentucky Derby winners to the porch.

What makes this story interesting is that at six hundred feet they heard the squeak, and smelled the fried chicken skin intended for them. Since they don’t run like that when it’s cooking they must have heard the squeak to know it was for them and at that distance to zero in on the smell is impressive. What do you think?