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.

Puppy Found in Bucket Update

Darla, aka puppy in the bucket, my happy little girl still can’t manage that single step. The white of her eye is now visible, the eye color no longer blue. After a whimper she, all on her own, runs around to the carport ramp, running fast as she can, wagging her tail all the way.

Darla found in 5 gallon bucket 2 weeks ago

Lucky, all of seven months, plays big brother, allowing her to snuggle up to his belly at night. Love energy emits, when he nuzzles her neck; a tiny growl, a playful nip Darla gives from her upturned head.

Named for my late friend, Darlene, Cajun queen from New Orleans and Saints fan extraordinaire, Darla at about seven weeks of age is thriving at the moment. I say at the moment because skin issues need to be addressed, worming and vaccination; neutering can wait. In two weeks her size more than doubled; she starting to be socially conscious. What do I mean by a quizzical remark like that about a dog?

Darla looks to see what the other dogs are doing when I’m giving them treats. Jumping around, barking, behaving like a baby brat didn’t get rewarded; sitting gets the treat. Darla just gave her first sit for a treat; I’d say that’s rather smart; wouldn’t you? 

I understand pack behavior as it presents in wolves, but the behavior of free ranging dogs here reminds me more of coyotes where I lived in Illinois. These dogs here hang together, buddy up because they live with me. If I were out of the picture, I believe Blondie and Chi would stay together, but Robert Redford and Lucky would go separate ways after hanging together long enough to mature.

Darla just took her first towards being a good human companion, a tail wagging big step. From the other dogs she’s learning to look for signs of provocation. She no longer bounds into another dog’s meal. She will carefully advance to snatch a nugget on the floor. The older dogs growl and snap just as fast, so my smart tiny girl learned stealth, which only works to a point. Dear Darla learned to stay close to mom, jump at her feet, she’ll make certain dear Darla has enough to eat. The others back off, they know the rule to stay away from the cat’s food and when mom’s around, Darla’s too.

Lately, it seems the norm that puppies are found with skin conditions. I’m going to take the time to learn more about the mites or mold or whatever the dogs get. When we treated Lucky and Lola for mange my head was elsewhere, I don’t remember much about that time. I don’t think this is mange. This looks like something Lucky had after the mange. It seems like it wasn’t difficult to treat or I might remember it better.

Think about puppies discarded like Darla.

Think about this. 40 veterinary teams with trailers neutering 40 dogs three days a week for a year would have neutered 249,600 dogs.

Can a veterinarian make a down payment on a trailer, work of the balance due by neutering a documented 120 dogs a week for a year for a nominal fee to cover expenses?    Is there a way to work that out?

40 teams, 40 trailers almost a quarter of a million dogs neutered in a year. Isn’t this doable?     

My Purpose by Chi-Ping

Pouring rain, lightning, and thunder; I’m parked next to mom on the bed. Blondie holds vigil in the hallway.

Mom took off most the few days we’ve been home. I scooted past her as she went out the door. Dancing with glee I jumped in the SUV. I knew we were going someplace good. Mom tucked me under her arm, plopped me inside the door, and left without me; no fooling.

Being home with a fresh bowl of water and kibble to spare isn’t the worse fate for a dog, so I’m not complaining, but I’m supposed to be taking care of mom. Dad told us that over and over. Blondie said we were to take care of the house and the cat; the cat?? I have to protect the cat? Blondie swears that’s what mom said to her very seriously. Protect the cat is what Blondie intends to do, so we protect the cat. Grrrr…

When we were at Tia/Auntie Adri’s I ran along the Atlantic Ocean, the briny air burned in my nose. I danced down the shore with waves licking my toes. Yahoo, it’s good to be alive. I’m a happy dog. I’m a happy dog; see my tail mom. Mom, what, Mom? Don’t cry. I had to show her how sad I was, how much I miss dad; I put my head down, my ears back, and my tail down. Before I could fall to my side, she scooped me up; I love to be scooped up by her,  she smiled and then wiped tears from her eyes.

Once we were tied together we had lunch on the shore at Soleil Beach Club. Yoo-hoo, my tail was so high; my nose was in the air. We’re having lunch at a beach club. Nobody has given me a cross look or thrown my little boriqua butt out. If I had known we were going out, I’d have rolled in something special. By the time we got to the table my knees got shaky. I didn’t know what to do, so I froze in place under mom’s chair.

She sensed my overloaded nerves; talking in quiet tones she told me how good I am. This always cheers me, but when the waiter came I ducked. I can’t go anywhere, I’m tied to mom. Panic! “Good dog, Chi,” mom’s cheerful voice calmed me, but I’m not moving. I’m just going to be still here under this chair. That’s my mom in the chair, if it makes a difference.

Sniff, sniff, my nose raised to capture the scent of calamari coming my way, my way. Oh, no, I’m not moving. I know what happens. Mom and dad are the only ones we feel safe to eat when they’re very close to us. I need my space to eat. I’m not asking for any food; anyway, we get nothing then, but she’s a sucker for sad looks given ever so patiently. Chi scores! Smile, but I’m too scared to move, even when the waiter walked away.

Mom put a saucer of water down for me, like it would be okay for me to drink in here; nah, I’m not taking any chances. Mom’s pretty cool and all, but I understand dominance better than she does. This guy worried me. He set the calamari on a low table inches from my nose. Is this some sort of torture? I turned to get a closer sniff, when that waiter man came again.

My crazy mom put the calamari beside her on the bench with spaces between the boards. My nose could almost touch the plate. It smelled divine. A small piece fell to the floor just out from under my chair. Nah, I’m too scared. Mom put her feet up on the low table, imagine. The waiter passed our section I tensed, couldn’t touch the calamari. Chunks of crispy coating that smelled like heaven dropped into a pile. My mouth watered. The waiter was standing at a counter not far from us. “What a good girl,” mom whispered. A whole calamari ring landed on top of the pile splattering the crispy coating.

A dog can only take so much. I sprang to the tempting pile, began to gobble when what must be the best waiter in Puerto Rico came back with the check.  How un-nerving, but I ignored him, when mom told me again how good I am; he didn't matter.

At Soleil planning Photo Day fund raiser for Amigos de Los Animales

Life in Pinones jumped in my face each morning like a pack of dogs, well actually, it is a pack of dogs. Amigos de Los Animales Rescue and Shelter has about fifty dogs for adoption. I made some friends.

We went home and then returned to Auntie Adri’s and home again. Lefty, the little yellow boy left in the parking lot of an abandoned bar along the road mom drug home, stayed at Amigos.  Mom said we’re it; she can’t keep any more dogs. He’ll be up for adoption. I’ll miss Lefty. He had manners, not like these two cur boys here. Lefty knew how to sit waiting politely for his treats. Everybody gets their treats faster when we all cooperate.

Dad’s spirit is here with us. Blondie and I feel him. Blondie is still really sad that he’s not here to rub her. I think he’s just as cool as a spirit. We’re worried about mom

Enough by Chi-Ping

After a night outside with street dogs I spent the day under your bed. Running the streets from morning to night is my greatest delight, but Mom, don’t leave me out at night. I don’t care what I said. It’s not right for a little girl like me. I want nothing more than to be close to you.

Lucky, Robert Redford, and now big bitch, Lola; look what you’re doing to me. I had it all to myself except of course for Blondie and Sir Smoki Cat, who thinks he’s got it so bad. Mom, everything you feed is going to want to stay; don’t you see?

We’re not ferals, we’re discards thrown down by people who don’t know the meaning of love. “Remember me by the collar you wear, now on your way,” nothing more to say. I remember it well; to be dropped off at your door was a gift from above.  Self centered people without a heart, that’s all I had seen from the start. I didn’t believe in your love. Every day in your gentle way you give me food, water and care.

I don’t want to share you with Lucky, Robert Redford or Lola. We want a home where we’re the center of attention not just one of the crowd.  Who is next? We know; when down the driveway you go with towel in hand our numbers grow. I get so mad.

Last night when you called me, I knew you watched me walk into the street. Did you not understand my protest? Let’s leave this place where they just keep coming. I love you so much; I don’t want to share you. A family of eight for me that’s not great, but here they keep coming. Mom, I want to go where people walk with leashes, the living is easy. It’s not so boring. Can’t you hear the Crescent City calling?

A place where the dogs sleep in and the cats are out, we need to go come on get ready. Puerto Rico won’t change just like all these dogs coming with mange. I want a space on the bed, not watching a sea of faces looking to take my spot. Port of New Orleans is calling; let’s go.

The beauty of Puerto Rico enchants, but cruelty abounds. Waves crashing, ocean sounds don’t compensate for daily doses of cruelty. Island lovers want to go taking their contributions to the economy, while your ad campaign says, “Puerto Rico does it better.” Satos will tell you, “Not,” but would that it were so.

Earning Dogs' Trust

Hi,

Chi-Ping’s voice comes through clearly to me, as her body language tells her tale. Teeth on hands ready to bite or nip, whenever we touched her, was her standard behavior. The touch varietal didn’t matter: slow or fast, completely still, light to heavy pressure all the same. A hand resting only on her chi resulted in teeth on hand, ready to bite hard, if necessary.

Do people really con themselves into believing the dog likes to be tickled or handled roughly, when the dog puts its teeth on us, just because the tail is wagging like crazy? Sadly, this is the relationship many dogs endure. When I began touching Chi-Ping, she would sting my hands sharply. Clearly she took no pleasure from my touch, but kept coming to me asking to be touched. Hmm, there’s a push me-pull you.

The months we lived in New Orleans both dogs came in and out of the house several times a day. We had no access to a fenced yard from the house, so we developed a lovely leash routine before getting close to the door. They had no fear of going through the door. Both dogs raced around the small apartment in wild abandon when we came home.

 We returned to Puerto Rico. Deep lack of trust issues resurfaced for both Chi-Ping and Blondie. Blondie acted as if she were a “Sato” again. An invitation to come in caused her eyes to become big with fright, like she didn’t know what to do. At first I called her in, to me. She whined while stepping in place. A good rule of thumb is to NEVER ask more than another can give, so I went outside, thumped her and played with her as we often do. Blondie de-stressed and walked in with me.  Smile, I knew how lucky that was.

Blondie fears going in the house occasionally, but more often just refuses. The difference is most easily read by her ears. Ears forward, she wants to go in, but is afraid. Ears back means, “I want to stay out here.”

A trail of treats worked frequently with other dogs, so I gave her a few cheddar cubes, which she loves. Gobble, gobble up the trail she went. In the entry Blondie picked up the cheddar and looked right in my eye before walking away from the big stash of cheese just inside the door. Screw you and your cheese was clearly implied.

We worked through the fear issues to the point that when Blondie becomes afraid, I tell her what a good girl she is, and she’ll come to me. Blondie prefers to be in the house at night. Chi-Ping changes her mind from night to night. Before I went to San Juan she wanted to be out at night. Since my return, Chi-Ping sleeps by my feet. In New Orleans she would push her back between my breasts. Despite our sleeping proximity, I could feel our distance. I have yet to win her trust. Do you find it as interesting as I do that Blondie the street dog, who grew up wild, has less trust issues than Chi-Ping, who spent less than a year on the street?

I hadn't found my voice in a while. Staying with the wonderful Animal Advocate, Adrienne Galler Lastra gave the dog fix I’ve needed. Thanks, Adri. It’s good to be back. Tricia

  

  

A Dog Day in the Country by Chi-Ping

Oh, what a day. I took off with Geri at the break of morning. Blondie wanted back in the house, as soon as the door opened. Geri headed up the road with the pole that touches the ground in front of him and behind. That means we’re going to have a good time. This man carries a big pole. He knows what he’s doing. He points the tip of the pole at the object he desires, whap, the fruit is on the ground. Soon we’re heading back to his house.

I pranced into the yard with Geri. The door to the house closed before I could get inside. Hey, I’m still in the yard. I barked. The door didn’t open for me. The yard gate is tight, no way out. No water, no pad, like a street dog, I’m in the sun with my black coat.

The scent of lunch drifts out the door, my mouth waters. We earned our meals this morning. My services in this endeavor are important. I am protection from rats, or snakes or even from mongoose. You don’t really want to catch a mongoose, just bark and make a big show of it. The mongoose usually knows to move along. It’s not welcome here. Humans are usually grateful when you save them from a rat. Humans emit an odor when they become afraid of something. Don’t pay any attention to what they say or how they act. The smell tells. I should be in for a good lunch today.

Sounds by the door tell me he’s coming. Lunch smells so good. What’s coming my way? My tails wags fast. I set my legs so I don’t fall. Geri lights a cigarette once outside the door. Don’t pet my head with that smelly hand. Where’s my food? Hey, you saw the rat I killed for you. It was a big, mean rat. I’m jumping on your leg for my wages. Don’t be laughing at me! People, what’s wrong with them?

Once free my legs flew up the driveway. Where’s Blondie? Open the door, I need some water. Blondie, move over I need a spot on the sofa. Get your nose out of my butt I’ll tell you all about what happened to me. What do you mean? Later, you have to go out.

Oh, well, let me see what’s in the bowl. Sometimes, if I stand by the refrigerator door wagging my tail at sonic speeds, she gets the message. Cheddar is rapidly becoming a favorite.

Later, y’all I have human training to do.

Chi-Ping      

Satos in The Big Easy

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



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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


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

Tail Talk Discussion

Melissa said...


Tails and dogs are a never ending fascination for me. They can say so many different things. With my boy I can tell so much about what he is thinking by the position and then the movement that goes with it. His tail is most often held above body level. A high stiff tail if usually accompanied by stiff legs and a little bit of an attitude. A high tail wagging quick and short means, "Hey girlie, I like you..." His tail has a different position when interacting with me, it is relaxed lowered and seems to wiggle with his whole butt attached. He also does this lowered relaxed wiggle butt when he sees his "girls" after being gone.



My girls also have a lot to say with their tails. I live with 5 bitches and their tail carriage differs depending on who they are interacting with. My youngest rarely carries her tail at back level or higher at home. When we have company her age or younger she all of the sudden has this beautiful straight off the back tail (I would love to see this confident tail in the show ring with her...) When introduced to some younger puppies a few weeks ago I saw her tail higher than ever. My older girls also vary tail carriage depending on who they are interacting with, very interesting, it an change in a moment. It definitely seems to be a peace keeper. The strange this is, is the bitch in charge has a very low tail and rarely raises it very high. Is this confidence? I don't know. She never has the tail up look that Blonde does so well...

Melissa, thanks for the observations. Dogs talk with their whole bodies. Understanding tail talk is part of the communication picture.  
Stormy with the politically unchallenging tail is the leader of the gang here. Some dogs lead with brute force. The smarter dogs lead with finesse. I think these savvy pooches know how to keep their egos out of it.


Blondie is a lovable brute. She doesn’t think as much as she reacts to things. She holds the curl in her tail. How high she carries it tells how she is feeling. She has never had a physical challenge so she doesn’t need to be a shrewd girl.


Owl’s tail is the most variable. It’s low around the other two guys. If he forgets to lower the mast, the boys react to it. He promptly lowers it.


When Owl gets excited usually about hunting, he gets the high straight tail carriage. A strut always seems accompany the tail.


Owl has to be smart to not get his butt kicked. He sits back in the corner watching the other dogs. I suspect later he will be one of these smart dogs, who does not display his status, much like Stormy.


Bluto is a lovable dope. Stormy and Blondie can bully him. His life has been limited to his yard. Some males do that curved tail look. Does a dog lacking self confidence disguise himself ? Or do the curved male tails go with small testicles?


If tails are the indicator of status, how absolutely brilliant of the smaller leader to not advertise or to give the brute something to challenge!


Is this the level of evolution that gave birth to deceit or duplicity? Ha-ha, makes you wonder.


In groups of dogs the language of the tails is the peace keeper. Our pet puppies don’t have opportunity to learn this language. Can you imagine how devastating early isolation would be to our communication skills?


So keep swinging yer tail, Tricia

A Matter of Trust

When we arrive home in Puerto Rico, good times roll for the neighborhood street dogs. We feed twice a day, snacks are given often. A bowl of fresh, clean water is available all day. We pet. We clean and treat wounds.


Dogs at our kennel in Illinois may not see us for a year, but they’re happy when they come back because we’re good to them. I guess I expected it to be that way, when we come back to the dogs here.


Blondie was happy to see us. She moved back up the hill the night we got home. She goes to visit the neighbors, but she stays with us.


Stormy may or may not come up for a meal; he doesn’t live here anymore. He lives in the street in front of Mike’s house. As long as Mike’s family is home; Stormy does sentry duty. When they leave, he will come by for a visit. After the family settles in for the night, he’ll sleep on our cushion.


Stormy did give up this spot to Owl, but some meals Stormy won’t let Owl near any food dish. He asserts his superiority, Owl backs down. Storm has what he wants, unchallenged by Owl.


Blondie plays with Owl. The old dog seldom plays, but Blondie and Stormy still go off on adventures together. At this point, if push came to shove with the boys, I think she’d back Stormy. Except for occasional feeding time power plays, all behave properly in our presence.


I don’t think that Stormy stays away because of Owl. He is fiercely loyal to those who are here with him. It has nothing to do with the quality of care they give him. This family has dogs; he is not one of them.


I’ve had this little dog’s love like that and lost it. Having a relationship with this dog isn’t about reinforcers or slick training gimmicks. It’s a matter of earning his trust.

A Working Street Dog's Day

Another day in the life of a working street dog begins when commuters head to jobs. Stormy positions himself to bark, chase or dramatically snap at the cars which he designates as dangerous. When any of the neighbors (human type) are out, Stormy is on duty.



As the sun rises over the ridge, the neighbors rustle around their properties. Stormy checks in on each one before returning to our house for breakfast. My one consistent training is to squeak to let the dogs know when food is served. With a second squeak Stormy hits second gear up the drive.


Again Stormy lets Owl have breakfast first, takes his second. Blondie must like eat on the side of the veranda that faces the lake. No sooner than the third bowl is set down, Storm is chasing Owl away from his bowl. When I set Storm’s bowl down, he just looked at it like, “Crappy kibble again!” He picked up one piece stepped away from the bowl and chewed as if it were painful. At first glance, I wondered if his mouth was sore.


Blondie is really maturing; she chose to stay with her food instead getting involved. As I race around the house to separate the boys, I am so proud of her.


Stormy has Owl pinned. When I step into Stormy’s personal space, he looks at me. I give him a hard look, he dismounts Owl. I say nothing, but point to his bowl. Stormy trots back to it. A couple of low grumbles over kibble tell me this isn’t over yet. As soon as I walk away, Storm is back over there, making his point. This time I give him my, “I’m really mad look.” It works!


Peace is restored before Blondie finishes her breakfast. To my delight she comes over for a pet rather than compete for resources.


Blondie and Owl mouth dual on the grass, while Stormy head back to his sentry post in the road.


It is so common to hear Border Collie people say that this dog needs a job, but Stormy is the first Border Collie of my acquaintance to assign one for himself. He’s slowed down over the years, but dedicated as ever.


About five years ago I came here to recover after surgery. I could hardly move. Watching him chase cars in the road in the rain would break my heart, but I admired his dedication. Sometimes I thought it was out of control herding behavior, but through the lens of time I see a Border Collie doing his job. How do I tell him about social security and his pension?

Can Aggressive an Dog Rehabbed in Dog Language?

 

A scared traumatized dog watches other dogs for signs of threat. He analyzes every move. Soon the scared dog figures out which dogs he should be cautious with or respectful of.


Along with this observation comes the realization that other dogs are scared. Recognizing the vulnerability of others gives the scared dog an opportunity to be the strong by becoming the bully. It’s classic.


Current thought on rehabbing this problem consists of building the dog’s confidence that it is safe when with their person and to look to the person when stressed. With our repeated re-direction the dog figures out we don’t want him to do that.


Yes, that is all good. I am not going to turn this dog out with others hoping that he will look at me or I’m going to have time to redirect.


The dog may live in high stress mode waiting for the next attacker. That has nothing to do with why he’ll attack. The other dog’s vulnerability becomes the trigger.


I’ve done growl classes in which we controlled the dogs’ interactions while they were muzzled. That worked out well enough that at the end of the course the dogs were together without muzzles. This was a huge improvement, but these dogs were always going to be watched cautiously.


My experience with Stormy, a street dog in Puerto Rico has taught me that even after a life threatening attack a dog can get along with all other dogs.


It’s a matter of putting Shaker in a position where he must become better in dog language. If he is the top dog, he’ll abuse. My handsome baby boy is going to be good with other dogs again.


Shaker is being rehabbed by the dogs I am selecting to teach him what he needs to learn in the canine language.


I love this guy. I’m putting everything I know on the table to so he can get back to his life.

Discussion What's A Girl Got To Do

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 24, 2010



What's a Girl Got To Do To Be Welcome Here?

Melissa said...
I love this picture! What I really love is that although everything in her expression is softened and non threatening she is still standing completely upright. She exudes confidence. (my opinion) Most dogs I see when in a situation like this would be shrinking in some way. She shows complete deferment to the other dogs without wallowing. These ears are friendly but not fearful. No fear! Although she has been pinned and "punished" by Blondie so many times. I have met few dogs who have the ability to appease. It's sad how much our control over our canine companions has led to the lack of understanding and ability to speak their own language.


I agree, Snow White is so expressive. She embodies the art of submission.


I’m guessing that the girls in your house are exquisite at their language. We know so little about the capacity of another species to communicate, let alone how they actually do it.

The island dogs develop communication skills on a daily basis with a wide variety of other dogs. Unlike our dogs their primary relationships are with each other. Their communication is truly sophisticated.


Our dogs know how to appease us. When they try to appease other dogs, the bigger question is how that appeasement will be received by the other dog.


The trend seems to be to keep our dogs isolated with vets discouraging puppy parties and puppy kindergarten. Now, I’m reading that some trainers are discouraging about day care.


We understand that children of all species learn through play. Studies on human children confirm how skills are developed in play. We watch national geographic showing young horses learn by playing. Why don’t we understand how important it is for our dogs?

Submission, The Subtle Art

Lance brandishing his tail like a saber keeps an eye on fair Snow White. He does nothing to protect her from Blondie or Bonita. His other eye waits for Stormy to make a move toward Snow.


Stormy (fuzzy white dog with brown patch over tail) is eager to give Snow a macho greeting. He would be mounting her if it weren’t for Lance and Blondie. His ears are forward. He is ready to spring. Stormy is not normally cow hocked. Notice the energy in his rear legs. While you’re back there check out the position of his little rat tail. He’s too smart to send the wrong signal to Lance, who could really hurt him.


Blondie is the big bitch on the hill. Her posture reflects her position. In the front she is over her toes much the same way Lance is. The way her tail is curled over her back displays her status. Females don’t poke their tails straight out the way the guys do. High status chicks display for the boys with the curled tails.


Smart adolescence Bonita hangs back waiting to see what will happen. Bonita’s tail will curve over her back like Blondie’s when she’s done something like chase an interloper off.


Snow White’s tail is tucked. Her head is low, but what’s interesting is the way she holds her neck out and vulnerable. In this picture Snow’s body language is controlling what the others do.

The Language of Woof

Listening to the "Satos" on the hill gives me the opportunity to learn the dogs' verbal language in a stable canine community. Blondie and Bonita sound so much more like Stormy when they make the woo-woo sound than they did last January.
Dogs in the kennel have a variety of barks. The complainer bark is basically an I am not happy about whatever. I take a complaining bark seriously; it's about being sad and lonely. Helping a dog settle in the kennel often takes no more than calling the dog by name as I talk to them when I walk past. Spending a couple of minutes in the kennel just sitting with them brings around the rest usually; it's the ones that have been reinforced for the screamer bark that set your teeth on edge. Dogs figure out what gets results and some scared little dogs use the screamer bark often enough that it becomes their bark. This bark would not exist in nature because in a pack of charged dogs it over sitmulates the dogs which makes them more of a threat to screaming dog. This is one of those things that is all about us.
After nights of hearing this screaming sound from dogs getting injured to hearing it from a dog who barks like that all the time, hmmm do I think our dog's are challenged in the communications department? Maybe.

Dog Language & Behavior

I have started comparing Blondie’s vocalizations with Storm’s. Her barks to him reflect back what he has barked to her and then there is the modifier, which is frequently the third or fourth word/syllable i.e., woo-woo-woo-ruff. There is a pre bark that may be another modifier or qualifier, then the three bark major content, which may or may not be followed by a modifier.



The dogs here have better developed canine language skills because they actually get to bark. Back in Illinois the cops would have broken up the dog fight last night. Disturbing the peace citations would have been issued.


In the last few years here on the hill, we had a street dog to every four to six houses, some neighborhoods maybe less dogs.

Dogs gather for group activity other than to gang bang a lovely lady. We watched them hunt just last week. Sometimes a group of dogs will go check out other dogs’ spots. They come for an unwelcome, but tolerated spot check. The dogs doing the inspection have spots; it’s like going to check out the neighbors.


Stormy and the girls get pouty and stiff in the legs during spot check, but they say nothing. Sometimes Stormy will have a difficult time holding his ire. He shows the visitors that he is barely in control, but avoids confrontation.

In our rural part of the island it is more than interloping; this has become an invasion. Right now in the rain there are three interlopers hoping to get this spot. The home team is on red alert. Bonita is ever so bravely letting these dogs know she is not sharing her crummy kibble with any strays.


Last year there was a study on dogs in a shelter situation in which the dogs’ basic needs were met. The author talked in glowing terms about how egalitarian dog society really is.


In the last four years on the hill when we weren’t inundated with strays; it was rather amazing here. My friends who love dogs and dog behavior as much as I do would love the experience. It is without a doubt one of the best behavior labs ever.


I do not wish to study the dynamics of scarcity; let’s get these girls spayed! SPAY IS THE WAY!

A Pack of Street Dogs

These dogs were about a half mile down the hill from where we live in Puerto Rico. Dogs pack up to hang out for a while. They don't run in a pack like this full time. Each dog has a spot where it lives. Some spots can accommodate more than one dog depending on the food supply. These dogs live in front of the gate pretty much as singles. I am just getting to know them.

Stormy, Blondie & Bonita visit with these guys seldom as far as I know. When they leave this spot, it isn't together. Sometimes I think it's because they don't want to leave their spot unattended.

These are some of the dogs I believe Stormy barks to on dog chatter nights. Where I live in Illinois is flat open country. Here it's like living in a bowl, the acoustics are different.  Everything sounds close.

The other night a dog barked in pain for almost five minutes, which is a very long time for a pain bark. At first I could hear the shock and terror in the bark, then it took on a mournful tone, finally it muffled into silence. This is usually the sound of a dog that's been hit run over by a car.

Notice in the picture the dog standing several feet behind the pack holding his left front foot up. I would bet that this is the dog whose pain bark I heard. The voice matches the size of the dog. Dogs of this age are really street smart, I don't understand how he got hit; unless he is a car chaser like Stormy.

You might think that these dogs all live in front of houses right in a row or very close to each other. Their spots aren't all that far apart. but there are other dogs living between them. It makes me wonder why these guys decided to hang out today and not the others.

 

Listen To The Dog

If dogs are able to communicate through barking in a meaningful way, not just intruder alert and I am so bored; how should we respond?  
If I am yelling at the top of my lungs, "I am scared, somebody help me." and I get a face full of citronella; I 'll probably just get more upset even if I shut up. That's a devil of a predicament; isn't it? We are so very glad that we never did that here to quiet dogs.
 The joyeous barking of the dogs when we turn them out to run has a different tonal quality. It makes me smile. People sometimes stop to watch the dogs run. Dogs barking in the kennel is a problem for me. The stress in their voices shreds my nerves.
When people other than staff come into the kennel, the dogs bark. That's normal and acceptable; scared lonely dog barking is not. So what do we do about it in a kennel situation?
What seems to work best is simply visiting with the dog when it first arrives. Often I've gone to visit with these stressed dogs. By spending a few minutes with them at the beginning of their stay we calm them. This sets them up to look around, to start to interact with our staff and the other dogs.

For a large percentage of barkers this is the answer. Our house is fifty feet from the kennel, so we are acutely aware of barking.
If a dog is allowed to languish in that sad state, the rest of their stay is impacted.When staff take the time to happy talk a dog through the fear they feel when they are away from the people they love most, they fall in love with being here.
It is surprising how few barkers we have. I thank my staff for the fine job they do making dogs feel at home here.

Quieting The Chronic Barker

My dear friend Melissa has asked that I explain more on quieting the chronic barker. I love that you never ask anything easy.
Some breeds tend to be more verbal than others. Dogs living in high energy households seem bark more. Barking becomes a choice behavior for bored pooches.Sometimes I see barking as the way a dog handles stress. Chronic barking is really multifaceted. Sometimes these dogs remind me of people who repeat what they are saying in a louder voice when they want to get their point across.
The first chronic barker whose behavior I modified was a beautiful sable male GSD. This dog had just been shipped here from Germany. He was stressed out of his mind and would not stop barking. The dog came to stay with me. It took a week to rehabilitate him. He went with me every where.
This dog was in my car for twenty minutes before he stopped barking for a few seconds; he was caught in a behavior loop. Each time he would stop to get his breath I praised him. The first day my words seemed to have no effect.
By the second day we could go a couple of minutes without barking, if I continued to talk to him.
By the third day, he was engaging me by looking at me when I talked to him. I added replacement behaviors by doing some obedience. I didn't start rewarding him with games of fetch until the next day; overstimulating him was a big fear. 
It took a week to build a relationship with this dog. When he trusted me to pay attention to him, he gave up the incessant barking. This became my model for quieting the chronic barker. 
All too often people come in with dogs that chronic barking is just one of several problems. We end up finding an effective way of correcting the dog, not the problem. 
Most day care dogs quiet when they receive enough exercise. Releasing those endorphins is huge. We have a very bright Giant Schnauzer requiring mental challenge to stop barking exercise alone will not do it. The first time we got him to stop barking was the day I taught him to put balls in a box. 
My experience watching and listening to the Satos, the free raninging island dogs of Puerto Rico, has taught me that dogs do indeed speak or express themselves verbally.

Can you imagine the frustration of trying to be heard and understood? It's all about the relationship, which does include our rules of behavior.
Hope this helps; any other questions?

 

Barking The K9 Verbal Language

 Here in Illinois and in Puerto Rico I have spent a lot of time trying to understand the dog's verbal language. Until I listened to the Satos, free ranging Puerto Rican island dogs, I thought dog barking was more limited in scope to intruder alerts or bored and lonely. Scared dog barking was in there too, but I saw it as a mindless pursuit.  The dog was just letting off steam.
Every two - three weeks the Satos do what I thought of as chatter. How long it took me to realize that it was an actual conversation just saddens me. 
That enlightenment came when I recognized that the dog always took off after giving a three woo bark. The third woo is different. I wish I could describe it better. I need to shop recording equipment so I can catch this bark. 
The PBS shows about animals having sounds to say the danger is above or snake documents the specific nature of their vocalizations. I praise the Jane Goodalls of the planet; it is so cool to know this stuff. 
The eureka moment I knew definitively what this bark meant came in the middle of the night when I lay in bed listening to the dogs bark, trying to figure out which voice went with what dog. Stormy, the Sato whose voice I know best did the bark that signals he is going some where. I hopped out of bed in time to watch him trot down my driveway.
My husband, Kirt and I have seen him get up and leave like he has an appointment. When he does this, no coaxing or calling will change his mind. He even ignores my secret weapon, which is the squeak I use when I feed them. That squeak worked to train him away from chasing cars, but not this.
If what I called chatter really are dog conversations, what are they saying?

Who Let The Dogs Out

"If you have a good dog, trust your dog."

When in a day care situation or a situation with unfamiliar dogs how do you know when to get involved? I know you've said no blood no foul, but obviously you don't know you have a problem you need to intervien with until there is blood? How often do you see small puncture holes (I'm talking the through the skin punctures with no extra tearing or deeper) in day care? Do you ever have real dog fights?

 By my definition, a spat is is over in three seconds. Most dogs DO NOT attempt to maim or kill. That is not normal. Each dog just wants his way.
Want the ball. Want to be left alone. Want to hump you.
We have a lovely chow x husky mix female in our day care. When a new dog comes up to her for the first time, she shows her teeth and snaps them at the new comer. She does not like rough play. We know that she is setting the ground rules with her new friend. We trust Mandy to do that.
Day care dogs are not unfamiliar to us.
In three seconds you should be redirecting your group and assessing the situation.
The goal with a group of dogs is to keep them happily involved in play. When you see them getting stiff legged and uncomfortable with each other, redirect. We must be leaders in the park. 
We panic at a grumble, then over correct a dog from a place of fear. 
The point is to direct or lead the dogs, but to not panic at a spat. 
Shaker's confidence has been shaken by his run in with Stoney. He is more reactive. Do I trust him? Yes, he is a good dog. Will I break it up if he grumbles at another dog? No. I will redirect his attention and praise him when he calms down again. He needs to learn to trust the other dog will respond appropriately to his signals. When he signalled submission, Stoney continued to attack him. Now, he is more reactive with some dogs he doesn't know.
I need to help him rebuild his confidence. Dr. Temple Grandin teaches us what a strong emotion fear is for animals. I need to give him some space to deal with his fear. When he does, I let him know how wonderful he is. My praise calms him right  down. His confidence will return in no time. 
If a dog is afraid and we correct him, that further erodes confidence. The goal is to have enough of a realtionship with your dogs that you can redirect instead of having to correct.
In the six years that I did the day care here, I never had a spat let alone a fight. I read the signals and stay ahead of the behavior. 
Until you get to that point, learning to trust a good dog reduces trouble. Klondyke, a husky in our day care since puppyhood will correct a misbehaving newbie. They listen to him; he speaks the language. The new dogs are the ones to watch, we get a feel for how they handle the comptetion of the chase for a ball or the attention of the handler. 
We evaluate the dogs before accepting them into day care. Reactive dogs are not accepted. 
Most wounds are from two dogs going for the same ball complete accidents. A spat can result in a puncture. Some dogs are reactive when going through gates or doors. They require special handling. We keep records of which dogs are involved in incidents. I don't want a dogs in day care that can't control their teeth.
Don't wait for blood! They have three seconds to solve it on their own after that you have a dog fight. We separate dog fights.
I had a couple of Bullmastiff sisters that would fight. It looked scarey to see these two big girls. Each wanted to win, but they never had a mark; that's no blood, no foul. Did we separate them? You bet.
Here is my rule: if you can't stay ahead of the dog's behavior to prevent a spat; give them the three seconds to settle it. Take that deep breath, then do what you need to do. 
These are skills that take time to develop. I see more wounds with overreactive handlers who try to micro manage the dogs.
We keep track of who is in charge when an incident occurs.
Puncture wounds here are infrequent enough that they still upset me greatly when they happen. I get all on the war path with my staff because we are the humans in charge. 
 Does this clarify? Does it bring up any other questions?