Gentle Not Mental

Dogs have personalities – that’s why you humans like us so much. I’m sure the arguments of Nature vs. Nurture work for the canine crowd and how a dog forms SELF. However it happens, a dog ends up a unique being with her own quirks and traits. These quirks and traits seem to magnify with age.

When my family came to pick me out of the litter as a pup, they say that they picked me because I was gentle, but wouldn’t take any rough stuff from my sibs. A nice balance of nice. Once they took me home, they made it a priority to socialize me with other dogs, big & small, rough & sweet. An important step in any dog’s life, I enjoyed meeting and running off puppy energy with other dogs.

As I get older, my demeanor has changed and we don’t seek out doggie companionship as much as we used to. I’ve mentioned that we walk wooded trails where most of the dogs travel off-leash. Lots of dogs and humans walk these trails and they are a great place to experience nature and be free of streets, cars and non-dog people. Recently, when we meet a fellow four-legger on the trail, I become submissive. And almost any dog that smells submission (a.k.a. fear), will take advantage of it to varying degrees. I’ve been jumped on, growled and woofed at, called-out and sort-of violated. I’ve heard A-Dog (the mama of the house) worry about this situation to Shoes-on-the-Floor (the dad of the house) – that something might need to be done. So, I’ll lay it out for her and we can continue with no worries of mental problems.

I’m going to be nine years old in August. That makes me old. I don’t want to play with these young pups. Not to be all grumpy-pants, but I get enough exercise without being chased. That was fun years ago. Now, I like to walk, occasionally run, and mostly, smell things. Think of all the great smells you’re missing when you run around in circles. If there is an *incident* on the trail, most humans remedy the situation quickly and the only one who remembers the trauma is A-Dog. So, I don’t see this as MY problem.

I am gentle and sweet. Those are my traits. And I’m not a complete pushover. When a dog goes too far, I let him know. Ask the UPS guy if I’m submissive. I’m sure he’d have a completely different story… Woof!

I Hear Ya, Dude…

From the Dog Blog archives:



Dogs know words. Doesn’t matter what language – we speak the language of our pack, our family. We learn our name and “NO!” first and then from there, it’s up to you to guide us through the rest.

If we take a puppy class with you, we learn commands. We learn them through repetition and reward. You learn how to talk to us and about “Management Skills.” In my puppy class, a “Management Skill” was the sole responsibility of my humans. You left the shoes on the floor, so I ate half of them. A Management Skill would be to pick them up and put them out of reach. See, not my fault. You left the loaf of bread on the counter, so I can place my pretty paws up there, turn my head gracefully and grab that gluten with my happy mouth. Management Skill=Place Bread in Cupboard.

How do dogs learn words? Some say it’s similar to Fast Mapping. That’s a mental process where you can learn one new thing when it’s among familiar things in a group. It’s how little kids learn words. And how often do you think of us dogs as little kids? Almost all the time, right? Anyway, you can read more about fast mapping here with Rico the dog showing those humans how freaking smart we are. Another factor in our learning words is that we don’t talk. We just listen (most of the time.)

I suppose repetition followed by an action is another way we learn. I knew some humans that stopped saying the word “walk” because my friend, Henry the terrier, would just go crazy! The humans started spelling the word W-A-L-K and can you guess what happened? Henry learned to spell. Made me proud :) Not sure where that phrase dumb dog came from – an insecure human?

Some of us dogs do know more words than we let on (i.e. – my blog), but are just as happy to perk up our ears when you expect it. Right now, I have to go ’cause I just heard two of my favorites, “grilled cheese.” Make sure you let me know what your favorite or most unique words are – would love to hear them!

Our Dog Max

Craig, a friend of A-Dog’s, is the guest contributor today.
He features his dog, Max, from the fun choice of a puppy vs. the reality of a dog.


We’ve owned Max for almost 10 years now. When we bought our first house, things must have seemed bigger. I suppose moving from our apartment to a house made everything look roomy and spacious and we needed to fill that space with more than just furniture. My older daughter had been asking for a puppy, so to kill two birds with one stone, we used a puppy as a Christmas gift for her, and I went out to find the right one. I had some fantasy of getting a big, fun dog that would walk with me and heel on command, play fetch until we were both tired, guard the house and be a companion to the family like all those dogs in the Herriot books. I liked Labs, so I drove 45 minutes to find a breeder and looked over her selections.

She had about 10 Chocolate Labrador puppies in a small pen, and I and several others played with them as we all decided which one would be the perfect dog for our families. They seemed to be going fast, as I heard one or two of the other prospective owners selecting theirs. At least one of the contenders I had in mind had already been taken, so I needed to act fast. In retrospect, these other people were probably shills, friends of the breeder who, like a snake oil salesman in the Old West, had her accomplices make everything look so attractive I would be forced into a hasty decision before my opportunity ran out. One somewhat fat puppy shied away from me, and I didn’t select him. He has since been dubbed “Schmoey” (rhymes with Joey) by my wife, who when she is lamenting my choice of Max (and I have heard several times about my choice) often pines for the serenity Schmoey would have brought. To make a long story short, with Christmas a few weeks away, no other litters in sight and no present for my little girl, I walked away $600 poorer, and one family member richer.

My daughter dubbed him Max Joseph on Christmas morning. He has since chewed through a few baseboards, dozens of rawhide toys, several stuffed animals, and at least two computer mice wires. His nails click clack on our hardwood floors in the most annoying tap dance rhythm you have ever heard. He drinks in threes, and by that I mean when he drinks, he laps three times, waits a beat, laps three times, waits a beat, then repeats 100 more times. It may take a minute to notice, but once you do it gets under your skin and drives you mad.

He’s not always good, and he has run away plenty of times. Before my neighbor blocked off the other side of his backyard, Max would lull you into thinking he was going to sit quietly with you in back, and then quick as lightning jump on the retaining wall, around the neighbor’s house and off he’d go. He never left the neighborhood, but would run up and down the street barking at passers-by. When you would walk to get him, he would stare at you and wait, and as you approached and were almost close enough to grab him, he’d take off down the street. He always came back eventually, head down, knowing you were angry with him. These days when he squeezes under the hole in the back gate to make his getaway, he still runs from you if you walk to go get him. But I have discovered that all I need to do is hop in the car, drive to where he is, throw open the door and he hops right in.

He still barks like mad when someone is at the door, but where he used to take a long time to calm down when guests arrived, now within 5 minutes he is over the distraction. He has mellowed considerably with age. He doesn’t chew anything inappropriately anymore, and in fact raids the girls’ rooms to bring down stuffed animals which he lays by his bed. We say he is looking for companions when we are all out working or at school. He’s pretty calm and quiet these days, and mostly just looking for someone to scratch behind his ears. I wonder if Schmoey turned out as well?

Pet Postcard Project Reminder

Just a quick reminder that we’re still collecting photos of your pets for this project through September. Details below — woof!

There are lots of dogs and cats on Twitter. While lurking one day, I discovered the Pet Postcard Project. Writer Nikki Moustaki created the project to help raise awareness and feed shelter dogs. For each postcard sent via US Mail, one pound of dog food will be provided to animal shelters. Rachael Ray’s Nutrish brand is the current sponsor of donating the food and all of Rachael’s proceeds for Nutrish dog food go directly to Rachael’s Rescue.

My contribution to this worthy cause is asking pet owners to send photos and sentiments about their pets directly to me (and RiverDog Prints) via email and we will create a postcard for each day of the month of September. Together, we can give shelter animals 30 more pounds of food by month’s end.

If you have a pet and you’d like to participate, you can send your pet’s photo and a sentiment about your pet to scout@riverdogprints.com. We’ll both be tweeting about it, so follow us on Twitter @ScouttheDog and @RiverDogPrints.

Dog Poetry

We dogs are poetry. Simple as that.
___________________________

Dharma
The way the dog trots out the front door
every morning
without a hat or an umbrella,
without any money
or the keys to her doghouse
never fails to fill the saucer of my heart
with milky admiration.

Who provides a finer example
of a life without encumbrance—
Thoreau in his curtainless hut
with a single plate, a single spoon?
Gandhi with his staff and his holy diapers?

Off she goes into the material world
with nothing but her brown coat
and her modest blue collar,
following only her wet nose,
the twin portals of her steady breathing,
followed only by the plume of her tail.

If only she did not shove the cat aside
every morning
and eat all his food
what a model of self-containment she
would be,
what a paragon of earthly detachment.
If only she were not so eager
for a rub behind the ears,
so acrobatic in her welcomes,
if only I were not her god.

~Billy Collins, a US Poet Laureate

Motherhood

You don’t call yourself my mom and I’m not your daughter, but you call me your girl. With each walk we take, each ball you throw for me, each gentle touch and pat, you’re my girl too.

Remember me? This little puppy you took into your house and made me a home. You cared for me like a child, doggy-style. And yes, I peed on the carpet. You thought I’d never get potty-trained, but we did it. And you don’t call yourself my mom.

You taught me how to behave properly and be polite and I know that took some doing. Remember our off-leash walks in the wooded dog park, where I would eat anything and everything? Even poop? You made it clear that was not acceptable. But we would return there, sometimes twice a day, because we both loved it and you knew I could learn. And you don’t call yourself my mom.

You took me to puppy class and socialized my fuzzy self with the other clueless pups. The best part was after the business end of the lessons, we’d have free play. You’d laugh the loudest at all the playful fur flying and say my name with a grin. You were proud – I could feel it. And you don’t call yourself my mom.

Now, puppyhood is over and I’m older than you are (if you use the doggie math.) We still walk in the wooded dog park (no more poop picnics), still socialize with other dogs and you still laugh the loudest at my antics and say my name with a grin. All I can woof is “Thanks Mom!”

Dedicated to all the pet “moms” out there.
“Motherhood cherishes all kinds!” Quote from PawPrintsPet

Foot-licker!

That would be me. With warmer weather and little kids running around refusing to wear socks, it is a virtual foot fest! I’m not aggressive about it, mind you, but if a foot is sticking out for the licking, I can’t help myself. And here comes my attempt to explain why…

I’m pretty convinced that it’s pheromones. These are chemicals produced by living beings and used for communication. But you have to have the correct tools to get these messages and dogs have the best noses around. The evidence for this is not just feet, but in other things we dogs may find around the house. We will grab a misplaced pair of underwear, stuff our snouts in your shoes or sometimes nab a sports bra from the hamper, oh lordy! All these items are filled with these chemicals that do things to the doggie brain you will never understand.

I know most humans find this distasteful, so to speak, but at least now you might get where us dogs are coming from, yeah?

Here endeth the doggie lesson – Woof!

Take off my Collar and Rub Me! Please? :)

Imagine wearing something on your body for days at a time, never taking it off. It’s tolerable if you don’t think about it too much.

Now imagine the sweet relief of taking that something off. Oh, how we dogs wait for you to remember our necks and help us go collarless. As soon as we hear and feel that click, we start snuffling our collar in your hand, because we know things are about to get GOOD.

Please give us a thorough rubbing around the neck and if you’re feeling extra helpful, a little massage around the shoulders never hurt anybody.

Here endeth the doggie lesson – woof!

Hey! That’s my head right there.
You can make your dog into a photo card.
Visit RiverDog Prints for Custom Greeting Cards!