DOUBLE DUTY

Here is Spring Sport, the CEO of the pasture. When you are CEO, your duties never end. Oh, sure. It looks like you are playing golf and having drinks with friends while everyone else is working. But when the poop hits the fan, whose name comes up? You bet- YOU are on the hook!

Sport is the guy who manages Bergie and Ray (his 2 pasture-mates) day and night. He watches over both of them while they nap. He assesses danger when something unexpected shows up near their stomping ground. If he decides it is worth evacuating, they do. If he decides it is nothing to worry about, they don't.

It isn't easy being him. They both look up to him and compete for his attention, all the while bickering among themselves. So often his facial expression looks a little weary of all the responsibility. But there is no quitting this job, it is a life-long commitment.

Last week, Bergie, who had gained a little bit too much weight while Dad was in charge of feeding, was separated while the boys cleaned up their (more abundant) food. She gains weight at the mere discussion of hay, so she must be separated, just for a part of the day. Ray was standing outside, not interested in his hay (never a good sign) and he was shaking. I slipped a halter on him and led him out of the pasture area to have a better look.

Poor guy had a minor case of colic. This can be serious in horses- it can even cause death, so I proceed with care. I called the vet and developed a plan. I had to give him a pain killer and see if I could get him to eat grass to stimulate his intestines. We were just outside of the pasture fence.

Sport came over, worried about his friend. He sniffed and looked at us for long minutes. I wonder if he was giving some direction or encouragement to Ray? Soon after, Ray began eating grass. This was a good sign. Bergie was very worried about her friends because she could not get close enough to the action. She was behind a fence that was about 10 yards away. She began whinnying frantically. So, Chief Executive Officer, who really wanted to eat his hay, turned from us and went over to assure Bergie that all was well. He stayed with her for half an hour. Finally, when everyone was comforted and doing well, he lumbered in to eat his breakfast, which was brunch at this point.

So, I ask you- CEO or Mom?

DOG AND CAT THEOLOGY

A dog says: You love me, feed me, care for me- You must be God.

A cat says: You love me, feed me, care for me- I am God.

Those of us having both dogs and cats know how this theological perspective could be true. Nobody has ever "worked like a cat" (maybe they have, but I am sure they would get fired for it). The word "dog" is synonymous with loyalty, dedication and adoration.

I have heard it said that people who like (in my case, love) cats are confident and self-assured. That is, of course, because you will not get any affirmation from your cat. Your dog, on the other hand, hangs on your every move. They wait patiently while you find the leash, the treat, the ball. Their entire lives are wrapped up in YOU.

Last week I had an evening appointment with a client and I was not home until after 8:00pm. Eddy spent the entire evening sleeping in the laundry room, where the door to the garage is located. He waited there for hours until I was home again. It was a weird feeling to have somebody THAT wrapped up in me and my whereabouts. Sort of... God-like? Well, I don't know. But I certainly felt important.

Funny, I feel that important to my cats, too. They don't sleep in the laundry room when I am gone, but they certainly do look for me and follow me around. Perhaps we are better-equipped to understand dog adoration than the more subtle cat love? I am still of the opinion that if you put the love in, you get the love out.

"And, in the end, the love you take, is equal to the love you make" -Paul McCartney.

Oliver : The "Elfin Warrior"

So I went out of town and I got carpal tunnel surgery on my right hand. It's been a while since I posted any new blog.

In the meantime, I am now Grandpet sitting while their parents are in South America. This has given me a great opportunity to take some great pics and observe some dog-cat interaction. Our guys are so used to the routine, nothing much happens.

But then comes Oliver. Yes, "she" turns out to be a "he" and a rather raucous "he" at that. My daughter and Son-in-Law decided that the Plan B name would be Oliver. Upon further investigation, "Oliver" means "Elfin Warrior". Even at 16 ounces, he was trying to reveal that he was, indeed, an Oliver. A precocious 7- week-old now, he has taken over pretty much our entire house (in between napping and eating like a LION).

I haven't weighed him, but I think he is at least 3 pounds. Eddy, our loyal Lab, you might remember is 90 pounds and VERY ATTACHED to his crate- his space. Now that Bubba has abandoned trying to manipulate us by going in Eddy's crate, the only other one to invade Eddy's space is Oliver. He sleeps in there, plays in there, climbs the crate sides and many times ends up on the top of it, just so he can get a better view. Eddy is disgusted.

Finally Roscoe has taken over the daunting task of socializing Oliver. He tends to greet the cats with paws and claws, and Bubba and Roscoe have swatted him s few times. Now, Roscoe patiently plays with him-chasing and a tiny bit of wrestling. Today Bubba has taken over some of the duties. It is all over his smug face that it is trying his patience. I can almost hear him lament, "Rambunctious children!" I seem to recall a tiger-striped cat who was a terror not too long ago...

Oliver is sweet and loving (lots of licks in between bites) and just enough naughtiness thrown in to make him irresistible.

Perhaps Eddy finds him resistible, now that I think of it!

EVERYBODY NEEDS A PONY

I did not have a pony when I was a small child, but my daughter did. Ellen was one in a million- she knew her job and loved it. When my daughter was around her, or on-board, she was a perfect angel. She was 4 years old when she got her pony and when I asked her what we should name the little mare, she replied with certainty, "Ellen." We don't have any relatives named Ellen, she didn't have any friends with that name, and I don't think there are any Sesame Street characters named Ellen (at least at that time). Hmmmm ?

We rode together all of the time. I was in the lead, with Ellen following closely behind my big horse. When we walked, Ellen waked. When we trotted (yes- we jogged a bit, but no faster than that) Ellen trotted. Trail rides were safe and fun for all.

So, aside from fun, what is the benefit? My little daughter gained a huge amount of confidence, riding up there all by herself. She learned responsibility by taking good care of her pony. She became goal-oriented because she always wanted to get better and better at riding. She was alert about her surroundings because any little thing can send a pony into a "flight" response. (though Ellen was pretty rock-solid)

But perhaps my favorite memory of this time was when we brought the pony home to my parents' house (we kept our horses there). My Dad gathered up the strength to sit up in his bed while I led Ellen and my daughter by his window. He was only a month or so from dying of cancer. The smile was wide and tender as he saw his little granddaughter on her first pony. I will never forget the last time I saw true joy on his face.

When we outgrew Ellen, we gave her to a family of 4 tiny children that Ellen had the task of taking for rides. They truly loved her as much as we did. The last time I spoke with them, they reported that she was doing well and they planned to keep her forever. I have not checked back with them as it would be beyond Ellen's lifespan now. But I have my wonderful memories of her.

I am planning to open "Raven's Rock Youth Ranch" in the near future. I am in the midst of applying for my 501(c)3. We are going to give pony rides to kids of all ages, just to see how much joy we can spread. I will be writing more about it coming up. Everybody needs a pony.

A New Grand-Kitten

Meet our newest addition-Anabelle Lee. Though my daughter and son-in-law paid $10 for her (we think she is a her-but that may be revised after her visit to the vet) she was a rescue.

I am going to TRY to be generous here. Perhaps the teenagers who had this adorable kitten and her siblings in a basket all day at the grocery store, without any food or water for them, or even so much as a towel for them to sleep on were simply IGNORANT. The teens reported that this 11-1/2 ounce (my daughter weighed her in a ramekin) was 6 weeks old. Maybe they just FORGOT when the kittens were born, because they are no more than 4 weeks old. Too young to be separated from their mom. When they got her home, she was ravenous. (sigh)

I am NOT thinking about the others that were adopted by other kind people. I am going to imagine that they were lucky enough to get competent homes where they are getting the cat formula that they need, like Anabelle is. As well as all of the extra work that needs to be done for such a young kitten, that my daughter and her husband are doing for this, the last kitten to be adopted and taken home. I am going to imagine that all is well.

I am certain it is for little Anabelle. It is amazing how small she actually is! She is getting stronger all the time, but is still wobbly- really just spends her days sleeping, pooping and eating. No playing yet. But that is coming attractions. She will grow and thrive because she has such loving, caring "parents." I hear that Molly and Baby Jake (will he need to change his name to "Adult Jake"?) are adjusting well to a new sister (or brother, as the case may be). This will be a fun summer over at their house!

THE HEART OF THE MATTER

A few blogs ago, I told the story of my own introspection about how I had not really invited Roscoe in- into my life or our family. I made a vow to fix that. I am here to report that it has worked! That has caused more introspection...

I have decided that it was all hinging on Roscoe needing to feel as though he really mattered to someone. He had decided a while ago that it mattered to him that he was wanted. He was patient, he just waited until he was.

We all want to feel as though we matter. I see it all the time in counseling with couples and families. What couples describe as "falling out of love" really is they have stopped feeling as if they matter to their spouse. Kids often do not feel as though they matter to their parents. People get all tangled up n the day-to-day goings on of their lives, just as I did when I walked right by the anticipating kitten who turned into a cat while he waited for me to turn towards him. I do not ever walk by him now without a few words, scratching and a kiss. I have found that he simply LOVES getting brushed.

That is all that it took. Just feeling that he mattered to me. He comes downstairs and watches TV with us, jumps up on the place where I keep his brush. He actually meows, loudly, for me his daily brushing. He feels that he can demand it, and that he matters enough to me that I will give him the attention he craves.

It is the silent ones who are saddest to me. They don't feel that they even have the right to ask for what they need. Perhaps cats are the last ones to decide that a person matters to them. Dogs are the ones who are born knowing that their entire life is wrapped up in a person- good or bad. It isn't enough to be loved. "I love you, but I don't really care that you need some time from me right now." You can be loved, but perhaps you don't matter enough to that person for them to change their own plans or busy-ness to include you or your needs.

I think I saw it in a movie once. "I'm just trying to matter." Thank you, Roscoe for teaching me such an important lesson. You really do matter to me.

AUGIE'S MISSION STATEMENT

I WILL BECOME THE BALL.

Does your pet have a mission statement? This pooch has developed her ball-handling skills to the level of a hall-of-fame shortstop. The ball NEVER gets past her. She is consumed by her passion: retrieving the ball. I remember reading a biography of one of those spectacular athletes. He said that his goal was to become the ball. I never really knew what the heck that meant until one day a new student arrived at the junior high where I was working.

He was a very tall African American 9Th grader who was obsessed, no, absorbed with basketball. Every minute he was awake, he carried a basketball around with him. The administration decided not to follow their own rules about what was appropriate in class. He did not "play" with it- he just held it wherever he went; every class, lunch, the locker room- everywhere. It reminded me of when I had babies- I could cook a meal, answer the phone or read a book while holding the child. I fully understood what it meant to "become" the ball. It was, indeed, an extension of this young man. I never found out if he made it to the NBA. but if determination had anything to do with it, I am sure he did.

That is Augie. She has found every ball we now have- we have never purchased one of them for her. It is so odd to see her dive off of the trail and come back with a new tennis ball. She carries it all the way home. When we get home, she places it carefully in your track, so that it is almost impossible to ignore. When the vet was out to examine Sport's leg for a lameness issue, she was able to place the ball directly under his foot. Just in order to continue the exam, he had to throw the ball to the side to get it out of the way. Augie caught it on the first bounce.

She knows how to bounce the ball, too. She drops it and catches it over and over, like a kid who has a new ball and some time to kill. I can't tell you how many times I have shoveled the ball up in the pile of manure I was working on in my stall-cleaning chores. Yes- I had to fish it out. She sniffs with the ball in her mouth, pees and poops with the ball in her mouth. She even barks with the ball in her mouth.

I am not sure of how many people have a personal mission statement, but Augie Doggie certainly does. And she works on it every day!

CRYSTAL PEAKS YOUTH RANCH

I spent the most amazing four days last week when I visited Crystal Peaks Youth Ranch. It is a nine acre ranch near Bend, Oregon. This is a place where they: "Rescue the Equine, Mentor the Child, (give) Hope for the Family, Empower the Ministry". Let me just tell you one story about the horse in this picture:

If you look closely, you can see that this horse's left eye is missing. It was not an accident that caused this. Someone took him out to the woods and shot him, in the head, at close range. The first shot didn't kill him, so the person reloaded with a hollow point bullet meant to kill him immediately. He was shot at close range in the area of the eye socket. Hero was left for dead, but he survived.

Time passed, and he was able to get to his feet and search for food. Badly wounded, he was not able to scrounge enough to keep him alive. Finally, he approached a campsite of 2 men who had no idea what to do with a starving, wounded horse. They got in touch with the kind people at Crystal Peaks who did make it to the site and got Hero into a trailer. He survived 2 gunshots at close range to the head, as well as starvation and refused to give up.

The story made national news and many people from all around the country sent flowers, donations and well-wishes. He was something of a celebrity, truly a Hero. After recuperating, he fit into the program working with children and youth, lending his strength and determination to them.

One day, a car from across the country from Bend, came up the driveway. There was a middle-aged woman in it. "Is this the ranch where Hero lives?"

"Why, yes, it is," replied Troy. He is the co founder of the ranch.

"Can I see him?" asked the woman.

"Sure, he's back here."

When she saw him, she petted his velvety muzzle. He breathed deeply into her face. "I heard about Hero," she reported "on the day I was going to commit suicide. I decided if a horse could fight so hard and bravely, I could, too."

She stayed only a short while and then got back into her car to drive back across the country. Hero had never met her before that day, and never met her again. But one woman's life was saved by his struggle.

Kim, the other co founder, calls horses "angels with horsehair". I have to agree.

Check out their story at:

http://www.crystalpeaksyouthranch.org/

MOVING ON

I was going to use a recent picture of "Sport" which would show him at his current age of 22. He is still an intelligent, handsome fellow; still curious and even a little rascally. But in this picture you see all of his strength and power. He is fit and focused, an athlete. It is how I will always think of him-in his prime doing what he loves more than anything: carrying my daughter on his glistening, muscled back. I was in the crowd that day, watching as many others in the crowd gasped at the beauty of the poetic flow of these two beings in perfect harmony attack the cross-country course.

He is a tall Thoroughbred, by any standards. He is 16:3 hands. A "hand" equals four inches, so he is 5-1/2 feet at the withers, or the place where his neck attaches to his body. I can't see over his back- not even close. His two white stockings add a delightful "chrome" to his breath-taking appearance. He has a white star and strip from his forehead down his nose. He has always been a horse that turns heads.

My daughter is 7 years older than he is. When she first got him, he was 4 years old. She was a small 11 year old. They grew together into a powerhouse of talent and ability. Many weekends we spent together on a farm, camping so that she could compete in a "3-day event." Oh, loading up the truck with all of the gear, food for people and the horse! I groan to think about all of that work. The pay-off was well worth it, though. I loved watching them negotiating the obstacles and showing off their talent together.

When we have a pet, their usefulness never ends. They are a companion until their last breath. When you have a horse, their usefulness does end long before their life is over. You want to ride, but they really can't perform any more. You can go out for a short, light ride, but not the kind of ride you might be used to. You wouldn't make your Grandpa play tackle football with you, right?

So, my daughter now has a career and a husband. She lives nearby but is too busy to come by too often. When she does come by, she will sometimes visit her old friend, but sometime skips it due to weather or, who knows? She has moved on. The trouble is, Sport hasn't. He still looks for her every day. I care for him lovingly, but the bonding they have is strong, very strong. He nickers to me at feeding time and takes good care of his little friend, Bergitta. But I think I see him longing for another trail ride, another carrot from his life-long best friend, my daughter. He craves the attention he used to get from her when she meticulously brushed his copper coat.

Sport is a lucky horse. He has been able to live at the same place, with the same excellent care every day. If I had to give up a horse, I would want it to be to someone who would love him as their own. And I do. Maybe one day, they will go on another ride together. Maybe...

The Secret Lives of Dogs

You have met this irresistible puppy before. He is my St. Eddy.

How did he become so perfect? I would love to take credit for being a great dog trainer, but I really can't. He learned basic behavior (going pee outside, not chewing stuff, staying off of furniture, etc.) from the other dogs that I had when we got him.

I read a great book once, called The Secret Lives of Dogs. The author was unknown and she just wanted to do research about dog behavior. The book ran the gamut, exploring roaming range, why dogs try to pee as high as possible on a tree, father dog participation in raising litters and adaptive behavior that dogs learn to live happily with their person.

She found that she never had to housebreak a dog once she housebroke the first one. She never had to train them not to bark or to stay near on a walk or any other basic behavior that makes living with your dog either pleasant or pure hell. They learn by observation and if they do something that is "out of bounds" the dominant dog will discipline them. Yep. All you have to do is stand back and watch.

So, now I always have at least 2 dogs, one older (the trainer) and one younger (the trainee). Dogs are pack animals and thrive in a multi-dog environment. They need the socialization and instruction that other dogs provide. If they are alone too long, they develop anti-social behaviors, such as aggression with other dogs. So, if you have a dog that doesn't have too many bad habits that you would prefer not propagating, get yourself a puppy. By the time the older dog goes to "puppy heaven" the younger one will be trained. Hopefully, the puppy will be a few years old at that time and ready to train a new puppy for you.

And so the "Circle of Life" goes on...Join in! It'll do you good!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BERGITTA!

Today is Bergitta's 3rd birthday. She is growing and learning all I can teach her-fast. Today we'll just do a little catch up on past stories...

Bubba has lost so much weight that he looks "normal" to me (though I think his vet might insist on another pound or so). But all in all, he is thriving on his new diet. Yesterday he even caught a mouse! He is so svelte that he is playing and running so much more than he was. I guess when he was carrying a little extra weight, he just wanted to lay around and "veg". Now Roscoe has his old playmate back!

Roscoe has "joined the family." He now spends most of his time in our family room, while he used to seclude himself in the bedroom, most of the time all alone. With my concerted effort to pet and love him, he has blossomed. He still doesn't really allow me to carry him around, but I can pick him up, and most of all, he loves hanging around and engaging in the relaxation of our whole family. He especially loves Augie, much to her chagrin.

Finally, the story of Firefly has a wonderful ending and I hope everyone clicks on the link and watches the short video about her and the others that were rescued from that breeder in Arkansas. Good work, Best Friends!

http://news.bestfriends.org/index.cfm?page=news&mode=entry&entry=43D4FEA1-AE66-EDCC-77293DFEAFDF3523

BELLISSIMO!

I have always loved the smells of my animals so much. You know how aroma-therapy can bring you back to a happy place in your memory? That is what happens for me. Have you ever smelled a puppy? They have such a sweet smell. Horses have a sweet aroma for me, too. There is always that earthy, deep smell of their sweaty bodies after a good work, or the tantalizing smell of the hay they eat. At my house, the horses usually have carrots on their breath, too Lovely!


When I last visited the feed store (a plethora of great smells!) the wonderful woman who works there, well-seasoned with the practical day-in, day-out lives of real horses, gave me some great advice. I was fretting about the reports, or maybe they were rumors, about the up-coming fly season. Because of the nature of our last winter, the fly population will be ENORMOUS. I simply hate applying those toxic fly-repellents to my horses' skin. But the torture that flies and other bugs can inflict on horses is brutal. What to do?

As my eyes searched, almost pleadingly, over and over the shelves for something that wasn't lethal but got rid of those annoying flies, I spotted a container of...could it be? GARLIC??!! It was in the "fly repellent" section of the store, but really didn't make any promises about its effectiveness on the container. I needed some help.

I found Carol, an older woman that I have come to trust for her "hard boots" kind of advice. She has lived through most things with her animals (she has almost every kind of animal on her acreage) and provides real answers for real problems. Just who I was looking for! I shoved the container of "100% pure garlic" towards her and asked, "Does this really work?"

Now my feed room has an Italian kitchen kind of smell. I am brought back to the cobblestone side streets of Rome where we wandered between little store-front restaurants that offered the best pasta and sauce that I have ever tasted. The food really is a perfectly legitimate reason to visit Italy. Constantly cooking their tasty treats, the warm, welcoming smells were dominated by the pervasive smell of garlic. I swear they even put it in the gelatto!

Now, every morning and evening, I am not only reminded of my wonderful experiences with horses, but of the great memories of the friendly Italian people luring us into their restaurants with the welcoming aroma of all of the food they make. The horses were not so sure at first, but have now decided that they, too, are at least a little Italian. Bellissimo!

THE MANIPULATOR

You might think, by the looks of this photo, that we keep our lovely (SLIMMER) Bubba cat in a cage. We do not. This picture is Bubba relaxing in Eddy's crate. He wandered in there to take a little cat nap while Eddy fretted that he couldn't go into his crate when he wanted to.

Eddy, you see, loves his crate. He goes into this retreat whenever Augie is bothering him, or when he needs a little "alone" time. We wanted to take it down to give our kitchen a little better look. While we were thinking about it, we put the crate outside on the deck. Eddy stood and stared out the window at it until we brought it inside. We never shut the gate on it. He has free choice to go in and out at will. It is just that now Bubba has decided to take it over. That is not a good thing for poor Eddy. As the kind, tolerant boy that he is, Eddy just whines a bit and plops down on a different dog bed that is available to him. Eddy does the "pouty face" very well. Bubba must know that it is his prized possession (I must say, this astounds me, too).

Recently, Bubba has decided that he is taking over the crate. I wondered, why? Most animals do not like being inside a cage. To top it off, this is a DOG crate. Usually cats do not participate in such things. But as Eddy was fretting and I was thinking of a quick way to lure Bubba out, it struck me- Bubba, who is on a diet (and losing weight very well) must have known what my reaction would be. My first reaction was to go to the fridge and get him his favorite food- liver.
This is the food that he has been restricted on to lose weight. AH HA! I shut the fridge and looked at his smug little face. He saw me reach for the jar of cut-up liver and he was now stretching and strolling out of the crate towards the table where we feed the cats. No wonder people who have a pet live an average of seven years longer- they have to keep their wits about them or the pets would constantly rip them off. In a loving way, of course.

So, it is a battle of wits. Sometimes Bubba lays on the stair and scratches the carpet so that I will hurry down the stairs and feed him. (it is all about food). It is hard not to just give in. It is so simple and easy to get him to stop doing whatever I don't want him to do. But, if I allow him to train me, he will never stop this I am certain.

So, I resist. We do our mind games every day. Sometimes, if I am not paying attention, he gets some extra food. But not too often, and not too much. I guess I enjoy the sport of it all. I find it fascinating that He is so creative and relentless. I am having fun, too!

THE BABYSITTER

It was a March day pretty much like this one. The air was filled with the aroma of blooming trees wafting in and out of the sun-warmed breezes. The song birds were singing their best songs, trying to attract mates. The budding leaves on the trees promised new life, just like Spring always does.

My eyes fell onto Arnie, my 26 year-old Thoroughbred-Quarter horse cross gelding. His once dark coat was dazzling white now. I had had him since he was 10. It seems like so long ago I happened upon this funny fellow. He belonged to the daughter of an acquaintance. She had to "get rid" of him because he had been diagnosed with Navicular disease, a chronic condition of the feet. A bone inside the hoof rotates and causes permanent lameness. There are some treatments, but no cure. No vet can make the bone rotate back into place.

In the way I always do, I just got a "gut feel" about this guy. So, I hitched up the trailer and drove to the barn where the woman said he was. When I pushed open the heavy door of the stable, a horse in the first stall nickered softly to me. It was him. He was ready to go home. He got right on the trailer after I paid the young, relieved woman $400 cash for him. He almost pulled the lead shank out of my hand rushing onto the trailer. Maybe he didn't want me to change my mind.

When I got him home, I placed him in the stall that always accomodates the new horses. It opens into a small grass paddock. There is no wall keeping the horse from roaming around the paddock. It always makes the horses feel more relaxed if they can look around a bit without having to fight for a "place" in the herd. Arnie settled in nicely.

The next morning I was shocked to see Arnie trying to open the back French doors with his lips. He had escaped somehow from the barn and he was bent on getting me back out there. He knew where I was. It turns out that he was on the thin side and wanted to be on the "husky" side. Pretty much everything he did was food-motivated. If you fed him some bribery carrots before your ride, you could be assured of the best ride he was capable of giving.

His favorite job began in earnest after he finally did get permanently lame (which took another decade). It was giving rides to all of the little children we could find. He knew that even more than the ride, the kids enjoyed feeding him carrots. We went through hundreds of pounds of carrots in a summer, much to Arnie's delight. A few pounds of carrots, a little ride, a few more pounds of carrots. Worked for him. All of those tiny fingers so dangerously close to his big teeth never once got even a little nip. I like to think it was because he was well aware of the deal: if he was careful not to hurt anyone, they would be sure to give him all of the carrots he could eat. Not every horse "gets" the deal, but Arnie did.

All of those warm memories flooded back to me like the sunshine on my face. When I focused on him, though, I knew it was time. He wasn't able to walk in a straight line. His tendons and ligaments had given out and when he walked, with much difficulty, he looked drunk. They had held his big body up for over a quarter century. It was time to let him rest.

I called the vet out and it all went quickly. I fed him a carrot (what else?) and before it was completely chewed, he was in a peaceful mound on the grass. No pain, no fear. Just 16 years of people who loved him and children who took their first ride on his back. We took care of each other, didn't we?

Keeping The Pace

I remember an old horseman laughing at me once when I told him that my horse was very smart.
"You can only call a horse smart if you are comparing him to another horse," he told me, with a smirk.

I beg to differ. My delightful, friendly, gentle, Norwegian Fjord filly is just that-SMART. She is constantly trying to figure stuff out. Whatever or whomever happens into her pasture is completely examined by this precocious curious 3 year old. When the vet was here a few weeks ago to "float" the older horses' teeth (a process that files down the sharp edges of their ever-growing teeth), Miss Bergitta was not happy until he placed the electric file into her mouth. She was not afraid, just needing an answer. What are we doing to her friend, Sport? After she experienced it herself (to a much lesser degree- young horses do not need floating) she knew that all was well and he would be fine. Indeed he was.

This intelligence can be something I need to keep in mind all of the time. I think about the 3 year old Thoroughbreds that are running in the Kentucky Derby at age 3. Are they psychologically ready for this tremendous pressure? I can honestly say no. I worked with Thoroughbreds from the track. Almost every one I got needed rehabilitation. They were frantic, kind of terrorized. Not to say that there aren't any who can take it- who even love the work. There are. But there are so many who flush out of the system who are mentally and physically broken down.

What I need to keep in mind when I train my filly is that she is more mature and smarter than so many other horses. Because of that, I sometimes think I can skip steps or rush through the process. That is ill advised. I am building trust that will last a lifetime right now. If I never ask her to do anything that she is not mentally or physically ready to do, she will learn that she can trust me, and I will be able to trust her. It is an important bond that is developing now.

I have been on her back at least 7 times now. Notice I did not say "ride". I work her on a lunge line and then I sit on her back while she walks around, getting used to my weight. We practice starting and stopping, turning, and just for about 10 or 15 minutes. Then she gets to have some Spring grass for a few hours. All in all it's a happy, positive experience for her. For me, too. So much so that I keep thinking I could just go on a trail ride with her. That will come in due time. For now, we are building trust. She still is such a baby in so many ways. A good baby, but still a baby.

Since horses live to be well into their 20's and sometimes 30's, we have a long time of trail rides ahead of us. It's best to pace ourselves.

JUST FOR FUN

Here is the second most photographed dog in the world (I have been told by a reader that THEIR dog is the first). No wonder Beagles have been in the top 10 most popular dogs ever since the popularity of dog breeds was assessed (I think in the early 20th century). How cute is this?

Always game for a party (you never know what refreshments will be served, lost, dropped or sneaked in your direction) Molly is wearing a traditional St. Patrick's Day top hat. Serve up a Guinness or 2 and the party is on! I am quite certain that wearing this hat gained a piece or 2 of corned beef for her. Hold the cabbage.

Molly is friendly and amiable with all people, especially fond of kids. All of that has a lot to do with her love of eating. People are the source of food. If they like you, they will give a treat or two to you. Children find it lots of fun to share food with dogs and children are not too capable of managing the food they have. It is quite easy to raid their tiny hands. Adults always give the children more.

When there is a party, because of the increased number of people milling around, there is chaos. Amid chaos is the best time to score tidbits. Molly really has all of this figured out. She probably knows that Easter is approaching and there will be hard-cooked eggs lying around, prime for the taking. There is very little that Molly has NOT figured out. She always has one goal in mind: Get a treat.

Of course, she has Gramma (me) wrapped around her chubby little paw. Grampa is worse. It is all a big game, and I think the Beagle is winning...

TRUE GRIT

Whenever I think of our stray, Trixie, I think of John Wayne riding into battle with the reins in his mouth and both guns blazing. She was a John Wayne kind of character.

We live on a dead-end gravel road where, all too often, irresponsible people drop off their unwanted animals. What do they think these animals are going to do? How will they survive? There is not a pet cat or dog that is able to forage for enough food to keep them alive. If it doesn't show up in a bowl, they will simply starve to death. Starvation is a nasty way to die. It infuriates me to think about those people for too long. But it gives me encouragement and inspiration to think of Trixie.

She came to us one day with a companion dog. He was timid and scared, unwilling to stay with us. We put them in a stall in our barn (we weren't sure about their health, temperaments, etc.) He had broken out and was gone in the morning. Trixie, on the other hand, was waiting for me. She was pretty sure this was going to be her best deal.

It was no time until she moved into our home and into our lives. She was plucky. She found her place in the "pack" and in our hearts. She accompanied me everywhere. Her favorite was walking down to the bus stop with the kids in the morning before school. She was friendly, happy and cocky.

It was over a year later that she began falling down. It was random at first, but after the vet took a look at her, he determined that she had a chronic spinal condition. It was creeping up her spine and eventually caused her hind end to become paralyzed. She couldn't walk. For a while, I carried her inside and outside, but realized it was hard on her to not be mobile. I was determined to find some way to improve her life.

Then I found a "wheel-chair" of a kind for dogs. I work with special needs people and have seen many kinds of devices that help them to move around. This was, however, the first time I had seen one for a dog. I ordered it and with much difficulty, fit it to her.

At first, she did not like it at all. I felt like I had made an awful mistake. In a few minutes, however, she got the hang of it. She became mobile- VERY mobile! She went everywhere again. I rescued her 3 times from trying to go swimming in the pond. One day, a neighbor dog stopped by. He outweighed her by at least 15-20 pounds and was a good 5 inches taller than she. But she decided that he was not welcome at our house. She lunged at him growling and snarling. One quick move on his part sent her reeling. I picked her up and she lit into him AGAIN! I encouraged him to go away (for Trixie's own good!).

Eventually, the spinal condition rendered her unable to use her wheelchair. We kept her as long as her plucky spirit and self-esteem could take it. One day, however, I knew it was time. She was okay with it, I believe. I have to believe it. She had become depressed not to be able to live the way she had been.

We only had a few years with her, but they were years learning how she managed her disability. She knew no limitations, but much joy in the extra years she acquired by coming to our house. She was an example of "every day is a gift." I have had the philosophical debate with others who decry the time, effort and money spent on just one animal. "Why not take that same money and save 10 others?" they ask. But I ask, who decides who is worthy and who is not? She was the one who searched me out. Her spirit inspired me and taught me an important lesson of acceptance of what is without allowing that to limit her.

She really is a beautiful testament of life worth living.

MY PUPPY

Our sweet, sensitive Labradoodle got spayed last week. Of course, it is inevitable. It is routine. However, it is a complex major surgery.

I made the appointment at Homeward Pet, a local low-cost spay and neuter clinic that also rescues dogs and cats. I had over a month before they could fit her in, so I had time to adjust to the idea. Of course, I was concerned about it. It is major surgery.

Augie is the most sensitive, aware, thinking dog I have ever met. She uses her soft muzzle to console sad people, to comfort those who are in need. She never misdiagnoses- she is always right on. Constantly trying to put together the puzzles that are humans, she often twists her head from side to side as if to say, "What are you saying?" She is loyal, obedient and smart- so very smart. Perhaps it is even more than that. Maybe she is intuitive.

That morning she needed to be at the clinic at 8:00 am. Leading up to the surgery, my husband made me promise that if anything seemed weird, I would turn and run. I promised. She was happy to go in the car. I already felt like a deceptive person. Waiting outside (we were early) we met some other spay/neuter candidates. They were scared and nervous; barking, pacing. Augie was anxious to meet any new friends. There were no new friends there that day.

When we went inside, I gave the place the scan. It was meagerly furnished, but clean. The woman checking me in was dressed in scrubs and very kind and calming. So far, so good. Then we went back.

The operating room doubled as the kennel. The cages were very clean and spaced about 3 feet apart. If they filled them all with prospective spay clients, they would have their hands full. Augie did not want to go back, but did because she is obedient and trusts me. I was beginning to feel like a real heel.

At the door of the crate, she stopped and would go no farther. The kind woman and I had to get behind her and shove. When locked in, I looked into her expressive eyes. I could almost hear her cry out, "Don't leave me here!" But it was just silence- Augie never cries.

I felt so badly. I couldn't really explain it to her, but I did tell her I would be back in a little while. I hoped she understood. All I could do was wait. I tried calling later that afternoon, but only got voicemail. They are very busy, I know.

She has bounced back (literally) very well. Perhaps all of my concern was ill-founded. But she is my puppy. She trusts me and I did not want to squander that trust. She seems to have forgiven me, if I needed forgiveness. I guess that might be one of the things we appreciate most about our dogs. They always forgive no matter how bad we might be.

MORE INSPIRATION

I was sent this picture and story from a follower. That is one of the best things about this blog for me- I get to be amazed and inspired by animals all over the world!

This is Molly, a survivor from Hurricane Katrina. She was abandoned by her owners when the hurricane hit. She was alone for weeks until she was finally rescued. Because there were so many animals in need in southern Louisiana at that time, she was stockpiled with numerous others at a farm. There, she was attacked by a Pit Bull and almost died. Her front leg became infected by the attack and she was in dire straits.

The owner of the rescue farm appealed to LSU for help, but was turned down because Molly, after all, was a rescue and not a well-bred horse. But Dr. Moore, a vet there, decided to help after he met Molly. She was careful, smart and gentle all at once. He sensed her strong survival instinct.

He removed the lower leg and she was finally fitted with a prosthesis made by a human prosthesis maker. She asks for it by putting her little limb out, and has a way of asking that it be removed.

Now, her job is to visit hospitals, nursing homes, rehabilitation centers- anywhere people need hope. She has overcome the hurricane, a life-threatening injury and all of the odds. She is tough, kind and adaptable. Anyone who knows me knows my favorite motto: "adapt and survive". Molly is a living example of that.

I think if you are reading this blog, you look to animals (at least sometimes) to demonstrate the character traits that we admire in our fellow human. Can an animal have unexpected courage? Yes, I think they can. Can they offer comfort and inspiration to those who cannot find it anywhere else? Animals can do that, too. Does God use that dog wagging its tail when we arrive home or that cat purring in our lap to give us the "hug" we needed that day? I'm pretty sure he does.

JUST LIKE ME

I was sent this photo, along with a few others of this mare and foal. Why do we find this so adorable? I think it is because this is a great representation of a human characteristic. We can replace a Mom and baby in this photo rather easily. But to see a horse and her baby foal in such a position is surprising and inspiring. It touches a spot in our hearts that makes us think that, perhaps, animals have some of those characteristics of human beings that are good and pure and true. No one can argue with or condemn a mother's protectiveness towards her baby, or a baby's dependence on his or her mom. It is just as it should be.

I know people who like animals more than people. I can understand this. Animals do not talk back. They are adoring, committed and loyal. I recently read a story about a boy whose old dog had to be euthanized. When his parents and vet were talking about why animals lived a much shorter lifespan, the little boy answered it well. "You know how people spend their lives learning how to get along and how to love people? Well, dogs already know that stuff, so they don't have to live as long."

The answer is a bit more complex, I maintain. How do we treat our animals? If you are reading this blog, you treat your animal with patience, care and love. How do they respond? The way the people in our lives would respond if we treated all of them with that same patience. care and love. It gets down to who will act first?

Do a psychology experiment: Act first. Treat the people in your life with the same patience, care and love you give to that beloved pet. Don't give up until you have given this experiment at least one month. We'll check back to find out the results...

MENTAL HEALTH

Have you noticed that there are a lot of cross-overs between person mental health and animal mental health?

I was thinking about it this weekend while we were Beagle sitting for Molly. She was a busy, busy Beagle doing what Beagles do best- sniffing, hunting and more sniffing. She has thousands more receptors for scent than people do. So, while we might read a book, watch a movie, or do a crossword puzzle to keep our minds sharp, she sniffs.

Augie, our sweet Labradoodle, stays sharp by playing "fetch" (retrieving) the tennis ball. She can literally play that game for HOURS! She won't eat on Saturday or Sunday morning because she has to be ready to play. She only eats dinner. At that point, she is exhausted (as is my husband, her play partner) and in need of nourishment.

AH HA! The thing that keeps our dogs engaged and mentally healthy is doing the thing they were born to do. In the case of a hound dog, it is sniffing. In the case of a retriever, it is retrieving. Sheepdogs want to herd, and so it goes.

Cats like birdwatching, mouse hunting and sleeping in the sunshine. Horses like running and grazing in a field. If they are stuck inside a stall for too long a time, they can become dull witted or disengaged. Or, sometimes worse: nasty and irritable.

The best way to ensure mental health for our furry friends is to allow them to be who they were meant to be. Mental health is important to physical health.

So, what were you meant to be?

NEW YEAR'S REVOLUTION

This is more of an issue for pet lovers (including ME) than for their pets. It is far, far easier for me to lose a few pounds than to put my adorable cat, or dog, or horse on a diet.

As you can observe, Bubba is a big boy. We guess-timate (don't want to actually KNOW) that he must weigh in the mid-teens. Of course, we reason, he is very tall. And long, he is very long. Perhaps I should be more worried about how wide he is. I fear bringing him in to the vet. I know what he will say. I will get the verbal smack-down. He will tell me of how I am damaging Bubbie's life. Risking all kinds of problems. I will feel guilty and like a bad pet Mom. So what is my problem?

This lack of discipline is resting squarely on my shoulders. Bubba is so sweet, so cuddly, so persistent and so relentless in his pursuit of his favorite food, raw liver, that I eventually cave in. So, while there are very few good cat trainers, there is one VERY EFFECTIVE human trainer- Bubba. He has me trained to provide that which he craves when he craves it.

So the question is: Why is it so hard to put the pet on a diet? For me, it is a "quality of life" thing. I figure, all he really cares about is his food and his person petting him, and food (mentioned twice for a reason).

Perhaps I am living vicariously through him? I can't eat whatever I want, so maybe I am living "la Vida loco" through him.

Maybe my own discipline has left me none for the pets? This probably isn't true, as I was able to be disciplined with my kids.

Perhaps I am practicing up for Grand kids? I don't really want to be one of those Grandmas that completely ignores my own kids' wishes about what their kids eat or do. I want to be a cooperative and respectful Nana.

Well, whatever the reason, I am turning over a new leaf. Bubba is officially on a diet. We will help each other be more disciplined. I will think of his health first before looking into those lovely green eyes. I will weigh him and keep weighing him until he is at a reasonable weight. He is going to eat less and fewer times (after all, he can't open the fridge himself). He will "adapt and survive" and so will I. Summer is coming and he can watch birds out of the window. Maybe I'll get him some more catnip. He''l think of something else to do besides EATING.

I'll keep you posted- it takes a long, long time to lose weight. But the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Or one less bite, depending on your point of view.

ON DEATH AND DYING

As a therapist, I find myself speaking with and listening to many people about death. It is one reason why people come to a therapist, and do so willingly, without feeling somehow inadequate for needing to speak to a therapist. Of course, it is one of the most difficult things we all have to face- our own death or that of a loved one. I am sorry to report that both situations are inevitable.



I am writing this so we can learn some lessons about death. It took me a few says to write this because I couldn't decide which photo of which animal I would use. (this is a story that could have an entire photo album to go with it). I have learned something valuable, no CRITICAL for my own growth and prosperity from each of my beloved animals who I consider myself blessed to have been able to spend some or most of their lives with.



This picture is one of Lady. She was a retiree of an Equine Assisted Therapy organization. When she came to us, after a long and distinguished career helping young and old alike to gain physical and mental benefit, she was in her late 20's. Because horses live to an average age of 23, she was "on borrowed time." Most of her life with us was spent in the pasture with her horse friends. Occasionally, she went on a family trail ride with me, my daughter (both of us riders) and my husband and son (neither of whom were riders, but they accomodated our whim). She was taken over by my son, probably only 7 or so, lightweight and not likely to ask much of her. She took good care of him during our quiet rides.



One day when I went out to the barn to do my evening feeding, she was lying in the paddock. When I went out to her, she didn't respond. Her eyes had glazed over and I could tell she was ready to die. This is an interesting phenominon. Animals give up when they are ready to die. I have had horses, dogs and cats indicate to me when they are just done with the pain, medical treatment, or something else they don't want to deal with any more. She had some pain, but mostly, I believe, she had just paid her dues long enough. Hers was not an easy life while she worked. She had given so much to those many special needs students that, perhaps, she was just done.



I summoned my family out to help. My son, feeling powerless, began to work diligently to keep every fly off of her body while she lay there. Tiny tears fell on her as he whispered "Don't die. Don't die." All of a sudden, out of nowhere, her visible eye came alert. Perhaps she had forgotten about her new boy that she needed to teach about horses? She gave a big sigh and with a monumental effort, hauled herself up to her feet.



We had another 4 years with her until she moved to that "pasture in the sky". She had done her work. My beloved horse, Shortcut, lived another 3 years after he was sure to die. He was blind and his eyes hurt him. But he hung in there for me. He was 33 years old. My adored cat, Buster, was only 6, but lived an extra 9 months just for me, I am quite certain. I must address how the death of a friend animal affects the animals remaining. We can all learn something from these guys who we share our lives with.

So, what did I learn? I learned that we need a good REASON to live. My animals have overcome old age, pain and illness to live longer for a reason (in Lady's case, in the person of my young son). That selflessness leads to understanding and wisdom that can't be attained any other way. So, I made it a personal goal to find my reason and to be a reason for others.

Thanks, Lady!

OLD FRIENDS

Augie, Eddy and I were out on our daily walk when we happened upon our neighbor. She was riding her older horse, one that I thought had been retired in favor of her new, younger horse.

"Out with the older guy today, huh?" I said.

"I don't have Ben any more. We sent him back to the people we bought him from," she said, a sad look creeping over her face.

"Why?" I asked the obvious question. She went on to describe a thing that is remarkably common in horses and is somewhat common in people. It is called Agoraphobia, specifically with separation anxiety. It is a form of Panic Disorder. Horse people call it "herd-bound" or "barn sour" but let's break it down:

In human therapy, we can ask the person what they feel. They describe palpitations, shortness of breath, feelings of light headedness, sweating and chills or hot flashes. The person can describe fear bordering on terror (panic) and a feeling of being out of control. Why do we think that we can "train" this out of a horse? Most people use the exposure therapy technique- just doing it over and over. Eventually that can work, to a degree. But I don't think it addresses what is going on.

The horse she had came from a fair distance away- about an 8-hour trailer ride. He was a young horse, three years old. He was inexperienced and insecure. When he came to his new home, there was only one other horse there. Because horses are herd animals, their security and safety come from the "herd" even if the herd is only 1 horse. She expected to be able to ride him out on the trails, alone, right away. This violated Sandy's #1 rule: Build rapport/trust with your new animal BEFORE you do anything else. This is true for dogs, cats, horses, you name it.

My sweet little Fjord filly, Bergie (my first ride story to come soon) first lived in an area where she could see the other horses, but was not in with them. I was the one who handled her, gave her treats, brushed her, everything good. We went on long walks together so she could learn to trust ME. Now she spends her days with the other 2 horses, but she knows I am the Herd Master. She respects (not fears) me and knows that I am the source for all things good.

This concept is the "alpha animal" rule. All animals want to be in the good graces of the alpha person/animal. They know their survival depends on trusting this entity. When we finally do go out for a ride on the trails, she will rely completely on me and my judgment. This is the way it should be. Animals in fear are animals who do not trust their person to really be in charge.

I'm sorry about the neighbor and her horse. It must have been scary for both of them. I wish I could have helped, but didn't learn of this until it was too late.
Keep in mind about the symptoms instead of just jumping to the usual diagnoisis. All of you can do this kind of therapy. Give it a try!

Can you be a Guardian Angel?

In a previous blog, I mentioned how I truly believe that animals choose their person. That is, unless the person needs a tool to make money. Then, that sweet little puppy is not going home to her family,to toys and games and cuddling with the kids. She is going to a puppy "factory," sometimes called a puppy mill.

Firefly was one of those vulnerable, sweet, happy little puppies hoping to find a kind person and a full dog dish. She found neither. Over ten years ago, she was brought to what would be her fate, her sentence, for no wrong doing on her part. It was a place where she was kept in deplorable conditions (after all, good conditions eat into profits) and month after month, year after year, she had endless litters. She had no veterinary attention (what, pay a vet?)and didn't even get enough FOOD to eat!

Some kind person reported the conditions there to Best Friends Animal Sanctuary located in Kanab, Utah, a long way from Arkansas where Firefly existed. But the kind people at Best Friends sent a team to investigate the situation. You should know that the law surrounding animal cruelty is lax and difficult to enforce in almost every state. It isn't like on the TV show that shows animal patrol riding in to save the day. My niece, who is connected with Best Friends, and a part of the team, convinced the owner to give up this older dog. I can imagine that he realized that she wasn't producing the way he wanted her to at this age. So, she is now in good hands.

If only the story ended happily here. But it doesn't. Firefly is in terrible condition- undernourished and full of disease. Best Friends is a non-profit, so they depend on donations for taking care of animals they find. Firefly needs a Guardian Angel that can help pay for the cost of vet bills and all of the care she will need in the last remaining years of her life. Can you help? Read about her and how to become a Guardian Angel here:


http://www.bestfriends.org/guardianangel/index.cfm?csid=5200&csii=5204&csit=Set&entry=43809B11-A74B-FD6F-9CA860F55603C095

THANKS IN ADVANCE FROM FIREFLY!

A GREAT QUESTION

I was recently asked a great question: "My cat, who was using the litter box so well for so long, has now stopped using it. Why?"

A few questions:
-Are there any other animals in the house? Yes, 2 other cats and 1 dog

-How long have you had those other pets? The dog is the most recent addition, and we have had him over 1 year

-Any conflict between the animals? Not that I can observe

-Any medical reasons for this? No, checks out normally

-Any new people introduced into the home (ie: new baby, new boyfriend, etc.) No.

-Any new hobbies, job (different hours or late nights)? No.

-Anything that takes up animal time? No

-Are you moving? Yes.

Why does that cause cats to stress? Is it that they know they are moving? Maybe. Do they feel insecure? Absolutely. Can they "sense" the stress in their people, maybe without even knowing why it is or what it is and get stressed themselves? BINGO!
One of the leading reasons cats wind up in the shelter is for not using their litter box any more. When they move into a new home, they use the litter box just fine. Why? How can that be?
The behavior problems we find in animals almost always comes directly from the person they are most connected with (that would mean that at my house, only Augie and Bubba are safe from ME and my issues). Moving is full if stress- it is one of the top 10 stress-producers for a human. If the cat's person is stressed, even a good, happy stress, they will stop using the litter box.
So why do they use the litter box when they get a new home? Because they really do want to use it. It is instinct to use it. But most of all, the new person they find themselves having to connect with (if they can find a new home) is not stressed, but happy to have a new pet. Stress gone.
So this is where my people therapy comes in. Take care of yourself. Yes, you have so much to do, boxes to pack, calls to make, arrangements to arrange. But watch that favorite relaxing show on tv. Do some music therapy (Mozart is great for this). Soak for a while in a bubble bath. Hold your cat on your lap and breathe deeply. Fill up your lungs as much as you can through your nose, and blow out through pursed lips (like blowing up a balloon). About 10 of these deep breaths will lower your heart rate and blood pressure. You both may be asleep in minutes.
I recommend that everyone learn how to calm themselves down. No one can avoid all stress, so learn an effective way to cope with it.
Good luck, Lucy!

The Grandbeagle and the BIA

She looks innocent, doesn't she? You might even think she was cute, but beware! She is the driving force behind the BIA (Beagle Intelligence Agency). This is Molly, my Grandbeagle. She is a killing machine. No rodent within 100 miles has a chance. When she patrolled our compound, no mole, rat, mouse nor salmon (yeah- that was a weird one) dare step foot (or fin) within the boundaries. She sought them out, dug them up and SLAM! made short work of them. Notice the wide front paws, large eyes and sensitive nose. All part of her arsenal. But the intellect is the most amazing part of her. Can dogs lie (as in "Liar, liar, pants on fire)? I report, you decide:

You have met Eddy, our sweet, kind, tolerant Lab. Every evening we handed out a rawhide chew stick to keep it somewhat calm after dinner. Eddy would lay down and chew happily. Every evening, Molly refused my offering. Not interested. Then, one evening, she ran to the back door and began barking hysterically as if there was something REALLY BIG out there. Trained well, I opened the door for her to run outside. At this point, Eddy was engaged, thinking it needed his immediate attention. When I opened the door, Molly began to run out, but once Eddy was out, she made a u-turn and grabbed his chew stick. He was out and she had stolen the prize. Mission accomplished.
Quick on the up-take, it only took me a few weeks to put 2 and 2 together. The next time she did the wild barking to get him out of the way, I would not open the door. She loves a new puzzle to solve. How nice of Grandma to provide it, huh?
Pondering only briefly, she started running around the family room, bouncing off of the furniture until Eddy just HAD to join in the game. The second he abandoned his chew stick, she scooped the fumble. Game over.
Now we could call her a thief and a liar, not the best of human characteristics. But we like to think of her as the brains behind the BIA. When you are in the secret service profession, there is a different way of looking at these things. Survival, strategic design, mental gymnastics. And anyway, Eddy always gets a replacement...GAME ON!

BONDING BLUNDER

I tend to be introspective. I can't help it. I'm a therapist. So, as I go through the blog, I make sure that what I put down is the best information I have. I also make sure I follow my own advice.
We've been talking about bonding. I ran over my current animals in my head. I know I have made mistakes in the past. There is no going back-just learning from my mistakes. But I want to be sure that if there is something I can fix or improve, I'm right on it.
As I rolled this over in my mind, I caught a glimpse of something on my bedroom floor. It was one of those toys that kittens love to chase when their person flicks it around. The string was dirty and knotted. The feathers on the ball were pretty shabby. It laid there limp and still. Then I glanced over to my little Roscoe, my 2 year old black kitten. Well, he will always be a kitten to me. He was watching me with silent eyes from his spot on the bed. Paws curled up underneath him, but wide awake. Watching, waiting.

Roscoe is a timid little guy. My daughter calls him "the Ninja cat" because when you think you see him, he vanishes. Shy and reserved. Not pushy. He never asserts himself like our beloved Bubba, the striped cat that has chosen my husband for his person. He gets what he wants because he pushes himself on you until you respond. Not Roscoe. He waits.
Roscoe has clearly chosen me as his person. But when I got him, about 2 years ago, I had just lost Buster. That loss left a huge hole in my heart. I tried to get another cat that was NOTHING like Buster. Buster was HUGE and fluffy. Roscoe is small and short-haired. Buster was white and gray, Roscoe is solid black. I didn't want to look for Buster every time I looked at my new family member. What I didn't realize is that I still look for Buster, even to this day. It is just going to be that way. Poor Roscoe suffered from this. I played with him constantly. He was bouncy and fun. He chased anything that moved. For the first months, maybe the first year, we played and played. We didn't have any quiet times together. No petting and bonding, just playing.
It turns out that the only times we were "together," we played. He was not pushy, so he didn't get the bonding he needed. Bonding that probably would have given him the confidence to hang out with the family more than he does.

I was horrified to think of this travesty that was my fault. As I looked at his favorite toy and his copper eyes silently watching me, I wondered if it were too late. I picked up the handle of the toy and began to wiggle the long string attached to the ball and feathers. He pounced so quickly, it startled me. We played for several minutes and then he settled down for another cat nap. I petted and talked in a whisper to him. He purred loudly and rubbed his face on my hand (a cat's way of showing glee). Then he placed his little out-stretched paw on my non-petting hand. I think we were making a pact. More playing, more petting, more quiet talking and more family time. It's never too late.

MOVE IN DAY

So that new pet has chosen you and it is move in day.
It's a lot like if you were to be joining a new firm or a new fraternity or family. The animal is usually (depending on age- the younger, the more oblivious to the change) a little nervous and displaced, at least. Bonding has begun already, and the first thing a pet looks for is the "alpha person" in the household.
Animals survive best in groups. You and/or your family is their new group. They look for the leader of the pack. A fast way to make your furry friend feel uncomfortable is to abdicate leadership. They will eventually take it, but knowing all the while that someone else should be the pack leader. This only makes them feel insecure.

NO RULES, JUST RIGHT?

Sorry, boundaries are called for here. I see so many children and adolescents whose parents have chosen NOT to have rules (doing nothing is doing something) and that throws the poor kid into chaos. Same with Fido, Fluffy and Trigger. Boundaries make for clarity. Don't we all crave clarity?
You don't have to be mean or even a disciplinarian. Just CONFIDENT, CONSISTENT and FIRM (wish there was another "c" word meaning firm).

CONFIDENT- this is best attained by deciding exactly what the rules will be and discuss them with the family. I don't care what the rules are, but have guidelines so everybody knows what the expectations are, including the pet.
CONSISTENT- Maybe the most important thing. You can get your pet to do anything if you are consistent. Pavlov (remember the salivating dogs that Dr. Pavlov used to test his theory of "classic conditioning"? Every time he rang a bell, a small amount of food would drop down. So, every time the bell rang, the dogs would salivate- it works pretty well on people, too) discovered that even after he stopped feeding the dogs with the bell ringing first, they still salivated. So, if you are trying to keep your dog from jumping, and sometimes you allow it, even if you go ballistic sometimes, they will still think it just might be OK this time. Keep in mind those times when you are wearing your good pants, or someone comes over to visit. You must plan for those times.
FIRM- Whatever your chosen answer is for the undesired behavior (say a squirt of water for the cat on the counter top) go with it every time. Don't rationalize for them. They must know that every time they do (whatever) it will be received by the same discipline. Sometimes just a disparaging word works well. Every animal is different, so you will have to do a little trial by error. Start with the least aggressive amount of discipline. I start with "NO!" I had to change that to ,"no..." with Suki. She was so sensitive. Some need a bit more. But if you are confident, they will listen.
Confidence is a mental state. We'll talk about that next.

Once you have your boundaries, you are consistent and firm, settle in for the fun part- building rapport.
The first day is always a LOW-KEY day. Depending on the animal, age, temperament, I may not even allow anyone over to meet the new dog, cat or horse until the animal feels comfortable in their new space and they determine who is the alpha person (the person EVERYONE in the family takes orders from). Then sitting and getting petted or stroked, a few treats or anything that lets the "new guy" know that they are in friendly territory. It can take just a short time.
Children, while enthusiastic, can be too much for the new pet to cope with. Here's where the parent (hopefully the alpha person!) takes charge and allows the four-footed child and the 2-footed child to get to know each other slowly and quietly.

Take your time and get to know each other. This is not a 60-second date. This is the beginning of a life-long friendship. Relax into it.

Mr/Ms RIGHT

First thing about bonding is finding Mr or Ms Right. I mean the pet needs to choose YOU. Imagine bonding with the wrong significant other. Just doesn't work, does it?

HOW DO THEY FIND ME?

I guess you have to participate to some degree. Dogs and cats don't usually have the ability to get to you when you are ready to adopt a new family member. I have been hunted down by dogs dropped off by irresponsible owners (don't get me started on THAT behavior) and neighborhood dogs that just decided that their new address was mine. But usually it goes something like this: You go into the shelter and while looking into the cages, your eyes lock with some big, scruffy dog that WAS NOT what you had in mind when you came in, but you are now driving home with that lucky creature on your lap. Or you go to see a litter of puppies and one just won't leave you alone. They can't "talk" but they certainly can communicate.
I want to encourage people to examine their own lives before they decide on what animal generally fits them.
Breeds of dogs DO have certain characteristics that will surface eventually. Beagles do bark. A LOT. So, if your chosen one has any Beagle in them, expect to become used to the "sounding off" that Beagles do. Labs retrieve, so they often become fixated (and I mean that in the Obsessive-Compulsive kind of way) on something they can retrieve- such as the tennis ball, Frisbee, stick, etc. My suggestion here is to actively choose the thing they become OCD on. Something you will find manageable. Otherwise they will choose and it's so hard to get them to stop chewing those sticks (and getting stick stuck in their throats) or rocks (I knew a dog that broke MANY teeth chewing rocks) We like the tennis ball. Cheap, easy to throw, easily replaced.
So, get a hang of what breed characteristics fit with your lifestyle. Greyhounds DO NOT need a ton of exercise, are gentle and low-energy. Make great pets.
Some people like a little more "boldness". Dobermans are intelligent and loyal, and usually bold. Small dogs have more energy and it might be a better fit for a larger, less active dog in that small house or apartment.
Just things to think about when pursuing the new pet.

MY PITCH FOR CATS

If you work all day, come home late, go away on weekends, only have bits and pieces of time for a relationship (that's what we're talking about, after all) a cat, rather, 2 cats are for you. They are playful, self-reliant, love to cuddle and can be dedicated to their person, but don't need the daily walks, play, and general maintenance that a dog needs- must have in fact- or things can get ugly fast.
Why 2 cats? They will play together while you are away, snuggle and generally take care of each other. My daughter's cat and Beagle keep each other company, so that is fine, but our cats would be lost without one another.

So, do a little planning when choosing the general kind of pet you are looking for, and they will find you. THEN the bonding can begin.

SO WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE?

Proper bonding, that is.
Meet Edward Ronald M. Our 10 year old yellow Lab. He came to us from a Breed rescue at 6 months. No proper bonding went on for the first 6 months of his life. He lived in a small apartment, wrecked his crate (literally tore it apart), barked day and night when his owners were out and chewed whatever he could get his teeth on. Hmmm. Just a little bit hysterical. I knew correct bonding could straighten his path.

It took a while, but now he is calm, friendly, greets all people and other dogs, cats, and horses with a pleasant attitude. He sleeps next to me at night, in his crate (door open) during the day. Not aggressive or timid, he is the picture of confidence. We walk (along with Augie, our 2 year old female Labradoodle)for 1 hour in the morning and 1/2 hour in the late afternoon. While on our daily adventures, he meets a dozen or so other dogs and their people. If the dog is aggressive, he avoids it (but doesn't take any crap) If the dog is timid, he leaves it alone. If the other dog is friendly, he sniffs and wags his tail, then moves on. He is the talk of the trail set. "What a great dog!" is something I hear all the time.
One day, the neighborhood bear (yes, we have one) was in the bushes and he protected Augie and me by growling and barking- chasing the bear away. He enjoys sniffing and "hunting" and trotting along, but never loses sight of me or crosses a street without my OK. He has never been "trained" but has been socialized properly and, of course, was bonded correctly.
It takes a little bit to explain how an unruly, insecure, hysterical Lab can become the perfect dog. We'll keep on going with this. More later...

BOND (ing) PART II- DR. NO

I realized that in my last post, I told more stories of dysfunctional bonding relating to submissive owners, over indulgence and co-dependence. It can go the other way, too. But I want to tell one more story of what great damage not being able to say "no" and/or losing oneself in the relationship with your animal.

BUSTER

My most adored cat, Buster, and I first met online. (no it wasn't a cat room). I looked up shelter kittens and found his picture there. Something about him drew me in. Usually, when I go to a shelter, I am willing to give any one of the animals a good home. They are all needy. But he captured my heart at first look. When I arrived at the shelter on the gray, wet Seattle day, I noticed immediately how meager the building was. They had large card files of all of the cats and kittens that were up for adoption. In the Seattle area, the county shelters dispose of 8,000 pounds of dog and cat bodies (having been euthanized) per WEEK. That is an old statistic. Frankly, it is too painful to find out the real number.
Buster (that wasn't his name at the time) was in the arms of another woman. She had adopted him. I turned around and left.
After Thanksgiving weekend was almost over, and I came to my senses that I should be happy that now two cats would find a good home, I returned to the shelter. I explained what kind of kitten I was looking for, and the kind volunteer told me that she thought they had one I might like. We rounded the corner together. "He was just returned. I guess he harassed the other cat they already had." Yep. It was Buster. I named him that because he was obviously a bully.

WHERE DID WE GO WRONG?

Believe me, I love all animals- the cute and the ugly ones, the mean and the nice ones, the timid and the bold ones-ALL of them. But I still can't explain what it was about Buster that separated him from the other animals I have had. Maybe because he was absolutely devoted to me. He waited by the door from the garage every day when he heard my car come home. He asked for "shoulder time." (time when it was full attention on him while I held him. He wanted to get petted and held at night if I got up to pee. I could go on and on. So far, so good, right?
Not exactly. All was well until I had 2 vacations (totaling 3 weeks) in one summer. Highly unusual. We hardly ever travel at all. We had a competent pet sitter, in our own home. But it was almost immediately following the last vacation that he developed asthma.
After a harrowing trip to the emergency room and $1200 later, we finally found a vet that could tell us what he had and help us to treat it. The first emergency room visit was on September 5. I found his lifeless little body on May 31. I had almost 9 months of every kind of vet tech work I could do at home and a slow, agonizing realization that it was only borrowed time that we had together. With all of my tireless work to keep him alive, we grew even closer. That morning he had an attack that was terrifying for both of us. I released him at that point. As he lay still, grasping for air, I told him that I was willing to fight forever, but if he wanted to be done with this, I understood. I will talk about death and the will to live another day.
You see how his dependence on me contributed to his death? Was he afraid without me? Missed me too much? I don't know. I don't think the vet would attribute all of it to our codependent relationship, but I think it had a lot to do with it. He was only 6 years old.
Healthy bonding is as important to person-animal relationships as it is to person-person relationships. The first few blogs talked about pathology, most of which could have been avoided with proper bonding. So, where do we go from here?

BUILDING A BOND critical thing #1

I have skipped around this VITAL issue in the posts describing pathology. It is the ONE THING that goes wrong the most frequently in all animal-person relationships.

Stories work best for me, so here are a few:

Alice was a feral cat. That is, wild. Cats born feral usually stay wild. Most reputable shelters will not try to domesticate feral cats for adoption. If caught young enough, before the mother can imprint on them the wild ways, they are fine. But by the time they are an adoptable age (8-12 weeks old) they are feral. As simple as that.
Alice came to me via my vet. She had been born and caught in his barn. He spayed her and gave her appropriate shots and found me to take her in. She was approximately 12 weeks old. I tried to keep her in my barn, but made the fatal (figuratively and literally) mistake of trying to get close to her. I later learned that if people get too close, even a little, it compromises that cat's ability to survive in the wild. There are countless predators and dangers out there, and if the cat's senses are dulled or relaxed, she will not survive.
There are many coyotes where I live. I finally decided that Alice must move inside if she were to live. Now I had totally messed it up. She was over a year old, not really domesticated, but lulled into a false sense of security and she was moving into our house.
She never learned to use the litter box. My own fault. I just never got any new carpet until her life was over (many years later). She would sit next to me and allow me to pet her, but we were never able to bond the way people and their cat should.

BOUNDARIES, PLEASE!

Ever meet that small, yappy dog on a short leash that won't shut up? They are screaming over and over, "I want someone to take charge here!" Their owner has not yet given them the leadership they crave. They know they are small, and because the owner has not yet become the Master, they are taking charge. Many, many of my clients are dogs who have no leader.
I know, you want them to love you as much as you love them. THEN GIVE THEM WHAT THEY REALLY WANT! Boundaries.
I had a next-door neighbor who loved her poodle so much that he wouldn't eat anything but a steak purchased from a restaurant. (apparently she was a bad cook).
I knew a couple who just HAD to feed their dog, while he sat on their lap, with a spoon.
My son's friend had a dog that would bolt out of the front door if it were opened even a crack.
Wild barking, aggressiveness, chewing, running away, pretty much all unacceptable behaviors can be traced back to inappropriate bonding.

THE HORSE USED TO BE SO WELL TRAINED

There are loads of behaviors in horses that stem from poor bonding. Many horses are "barn sour" (that is, try aggressively to run madly towards home, sometimes after dumping their rider). Some horses cannot be trusted not to bite or kick.
I knew a woman who wanted a horse for most of her life. She finally was in a position to get one. She selected a very well trained, quiet and lovely Appaloosa gelding. It should have been a match made in heaven. It turned out to be hell.
Every time she rode him, she "trained" him to do another bad behavior. If he stopped randomly, she would pat him and give him verbal praise (??). Pretty soon he wouldn't go at all. When she was in her lesson with him and the trainer insisted she use a crop (a small whip), he "pinned" his ears (body language that means, "I am really angry") and threw a fit. What happened to all of that professional training?

I will explore HOW to bond with your dog, cat and horse and establish yourself as the authority figure next time...

IT'S ALL IN A NAME

I never gave too much thought to what I named my furry friends. I tend to lean towards the names that are "people" names. (I know I have referred to animals on the blog that are not people names. I don't always use their actual names. Not sure whose identity I am protecting). One of my least favorite name-types is descriptive names, like "Blackie" or "Fluffy" or "Digger." Probably the worst category of names is the disrespectful names like "Darn It" (this is a family-friendly blog) or "Ugly" or "Stupid". I like to use human names because I treat my animals like one of my family members.
The longer I have observed animals and their behavior, the more I believe that the name we choose for our companion directs the behavior of that animal. I named one of my horses "Emma" which means "all embracing", and she sure was- she loved everyone, came when anyone called her and was the neighborhood favorite. I had a horse whose long name was naturally shortened to "Bangy" and he was constantly needing stitches or minor vet care. I began calling him another name and the "bangs" stopped! I knew a mare named "Vendetta" who was generally ill-mannered. Talented, but not an "all-embracing" kind of horse.
The most popular name for dogs last year was "Buddy". Now, the dog may not be your best buddy right away, but they grow into their name. My 2 year old Norwegian Fjord (the cover picture on the blog) is named "Bergitta" which is Norwegian for "Protecting power". Right now she is neither protecting nor powerful. But I fully expect she will grow into her name.
I even go so far as to look names up on the baby name websites to be sure I have a name that means something that is positive and the feeling I get from that dog, cat or horse.

NAMES FROM THE PAST
If you get an animal from a shelter, or from a situation that might have been abusive, get rid of the name right away. This is where the psychology comes in. Animals are really great at living in the now. They are all about the present. But if we keep calling up the past every time we call their name, it makes it tough. Cut with the past. Whatever you name them, they will know that is who they are NOW, and you, being the Master, have redirected their lives into a new phase. They will respond to it immediately and know that the past is gone. I have re-named dogs, cats, horses and they don't even skip a beat. They do not have any identity crisis. They are not confused. They live in the now and you are their new hope. Yeah!

PHOBIC CAT

I have had so many cats with various disorders it was hard to choose just one. This is not to say that they are not wonderful pets. Someone once asked me what kind of animals I prefer. That's like asking a mom which child she prefers. I love them all, and my very favorites span horses, dogs and cats. They are, in fact, all a little disordered. It's OK. Most people are, too. We just learn to live with and love the quirks. (I promised my husband not to include him on the blog. I am trying not to mention him...)

A little story, a diagnosis, and treatment solution.

Most people have a strong feeling about cats. Either they LOVE then or HATE them. I am quite sure that people who hate them just don't know them well enough. As this blog progresses, I hope that you will get to know them well enough that you will consider having a dog and a cat for your own.

Toby began his life in a shelter foster home. He was one of 5 black kittens born to a shelter "queen" (I love the name of female cats!). All of his siblings had been adopted as soon as they were available- about 8 weeks old. But Toby, a delightful, playful little rascal was still there. I was looking for a new kitten. My beloved Fluffy had died of complications due to asthma. I still grieve that cat- we clearly had a co-dependent relationship. (I will address bonding here in the next few weeks. It is the single most important thing that people often screw up) So I went to the shelter specializing in cats only (where I found Fluffy). Toby was the only kitten in the place and because I had a young adult cat at home, I thought it best to adopt a kitten. They allowed me to take him into a room where we played. He was bright, affectionate, playful and liked me right away. But would not tolerate being picked up. The shelter lady came in to give him one more nail clip and discuss the rules for adoption with me. Toby played and played, but did NOT want to be held. This was the complete opposite of Fluffy. All he wanted to do was be held. When I got up in the night to go to the bathroom, he tried to get some lap time in (??). But I was in need of a new kitten, so I took little black Toby home.
He has now turned 3 years old and loves to be petted, played with and loved. BUT DO NOT PICK HIM UP. His paws must be on firm ground or he gets hysterical. My visiting father-in-law told me that Toby scratched him. Quote unusual- Toby is very kind with his claws and never bites. When I asked what happened, all he had to say was "He wanted me to pick him up." Oh, no. "He lied to you." I told him. "He NEVER wants to be picked up, though he always seems like he does."

DIAGNOISIS: Phobia-perhaps Claustrophobia (there is not a phobia that people experience that corresponds to this one, exactly)

TREATMENT PLAN:

Many phobias stick with you, but exposure therapy works pretty well. We are carrying him short distances without forcing him. He is responding, but progress is slow! We are able to go all the way downstairs, but at the foot of the stairs he wants to be set free! I don't really care- It is a small quirk to me, and our other cat is thrilled to be carried around.

DISORDERED DOGS?

Most of you are thinking, "my dog is a little quirky, but I don't think he's NUTS."
I am sure that the previous post of that socio-path horse was a little beyond what most people experience in their pet. Many who are kind and generous enough to adopt an older pet from a shelter may find they have a few disorders to overcome.
Shelters do our pets a great service. They care for and place literally hundreds of thousands of dogs and cats in a year. They have little money and lots of love. There is always a reason the pet ended up at the shelter. You may be able to discover and overcome that reason.

A little story, diagnosis, and treatment solution.

Kia was a 4-timer. She had been adopted and returned to the shelter 4 times. It was not a "no-kill" shelter, so it was looking bad for her. Time was running out.
She was a black Lab of some kind, about 75 pounds. Really nothing particularly outstanding about her. 2 years old sporting a standard Lab coat. You may have walked right past her cage. Many did.
Her story, sketchy and missing a lot of detail did tell me some things I needed to know. What was the reasons she had been returned? All four returns said the same thing-"ran away". I guess nothing could hold her- no fence, leash, rope, could keep her from running. What was she running to? Or, from?
Her first owner had been a handicapped person. She had gone through training as a companion dog. This training is difficult and stressful for the dog. Those few who make it to graduation are solid, dependable dogs. So, running away poses a big question. Or provides a big answer. Off to the shelter for her first time.
Second and third owners couldn't keep her in check. Ran away constantly. When found, she was brought back to them, but eventually they both gave up. I never met them, but I met (and now adopted) her. I can say she was filled with fear. Every loud noise, anything that looked like a weapon (such as a rawhide stick) would send her diving for the ground. Kind and sweet, she was never aggressive, but just tried to avoid any conflicts. Running away FROM?
I found quickly that if she did anything I did not approve of, I could not even raise my voice. I said "no", almost in a whisper. That was all it took. She never was a calm, relaxed dog, but lived to be 16, always on edge.

DIAGNOSIS: Generalized Anxiety Disorder

TREATMENT: Keep stress low or non-existent, if possible. Patience, patience, patience! Routines help because there is predictability. She did very well with a dog companion- it seemed to give her some confidence to have a dominate dog friend in her "pack". Lots of verbal praise.

PATHOLOGY

Does human psychology really translate to animals?
Yes it does.
A little story, a diagnosis and a treatment solution:

He went by "Smoking Gun" when he was on the circuit. The second-rate, small-town rodeo circuit. A massive, all-black grade (mixed breed) gelding stood looking at me from a safe distance. He had gained muscle, scars and fears unknown while he was a bucking horse. That was years ago, but all of these things stayed with him, especially the fears. He was a survivor, he took care of himself. No human had ever done him any good.
His new owner called him "Smokey". (I advise against this-keeping any part of the old name when you get an animal from a potentially abusive background. If you think they won't come when they are called, or won't know who you are talking to-WRONG. They know. Any reminder of the bad old days should be done away with immediately). She was a patient, kind woman who wanted to rescue this dangerous horse.
Smoky had been asked to leave his old place of residence because he almost killed a man who went into his stall at night, when the lights were dim. It was an accident. The man mistook him for another black horse. Until Smoky turned to him and tried, with every bit of his 1300-pound body, to kill this intruder. That's how he ended up at my farm.
We looked each other over. He had no use for me, but assessed quickly I was of no particular threat to him. The handlers and bucking riders at the rodeo were men (yes, animals determine gender and make a value judgment about it), and I was a small woman. I moved slowly and deliberately, making sure he knew I was safe. Safe is one thing-trusted is another.
He size and presence took my breath away. What had I agreed to? He was more of a challenge than I would have ever recommended to anyone. Even myself.
I tried to place him in the pasture with my very most tolerant, kind, non-aggressive horse. It was a disaster. Apparently, he did not like any other horses, either. No social contact whatsoever.

DIAGNOSIS: Antisocial Personality Disorder and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder
Let me say here that no one can blame this horse for his attitude. We know that abuse can cause humans to become antisocial as well. But the reality is this: We must adapt and survive. His survival depended on his eventual willingness to trust again and his owner's patience and persistence.

TREATMENT:
Build a rapport. Take time to get close to this horse emotionally as well as physically. It could take years, if ever. Be prepared for relapses. Will trust ever be complete between this horse and owner? I don't really know.

RESULT: He progressed slowly and, after years, she was able to ride him on the trail. If another horse came near, it was a problem. There were many problems, but I think she was pleased with thr results.