Posts Tagged ‘old dogs’

Talk to the Animals — Round Two

Aug 8th, 10 / 1 Comment

I went to see Stacy Krafczyk at Dawgs in Motion again.  This time I took Rowan along to see what, if anything, she had to say.  Once again it was a very interesting experience.  This time, more so than last, it was also very emotional.

After greeting Stacy and allowing Rowan to sniff around a bit (she was apparently “talking” as soon as we walked in) I gave Stacy my first name and Rowan’s name, in effect giving her permission to talk with us.  Rowan immediately turned from her investigations of the room, walked over to Stacy, bumped her in the leg with her nose and stared at her.  Stacy looked at me and said, “You don’t work her as much anymore.”  To say I was taken aback would have been an understatement.  The statement was very accurate.  I have gradually been using Quinn more and more to do chores and sort sheep for lessons and some nights haven’t worked Row at all.  Apparently, that hasn’t sat well with her.  I explained to Stacy that Rowan hadn’t been feeling well, she had a bout of vaginitis and wasn’t herself so I had given her a break.  One of the questions I had for her was whether or not Rowan was feeling well now, if anything was bothering her.  Apparently all is good except for an ache in the shoulder area and possibly around the hips.

Next Stacy just sat and listened to Row, telling me what she was feeling/saying.  She told me Row feels she is the matriarch of the household and asked if that was the case.  I told her no, Lace was still with us.  She told me what, in my heart I know and what, with my eyes I have been seeing, the old matriarch is failing.  Rowan senses that and sees herself filling that spot, has already done so.  And so Stacy talked to Lace, described her as a very regal girl.  As a dog who was very smart and independent and who had been, in her day, my partner in crime.  She said Lace has had a very good life and shares a very strong bond with me that may make it hard for her to let go.  She did not get the sense Lace would last the year, that she will leave us in the fall.  I want Lace to prove her wrong, of course I do, how could I not.  But that’s my heart talking.  In my head I have been preparing for months for the inevitable.

We moved on then.  Rowan feels she spends too much time in her crate.  “Oh?”  I looked pointedly at Rowan and asked her, “Whose fault is that?”

“How so?” Stacy asked.

I explained how Rowan would refuse to go in the kennel yard with Shaine, that she would rather run back to the garage and stand by her crate.  Apparently Rowan isn’t all that fond of Shaine.  She finds Shaine to be bossy and doesn’t feel they have a lot in common.  She’ll play with her but would rather play with the boys.  Although she wants me to neuter all the boys.  She said it would be easier for her to keep them in line if they were neutered and it is her job to be the enforcer.  Of the boys she likes Quinn the best.

When Stacy paused in talking to Row to talk to Shaine she mentioned Shaine feels she is above someone, there is a younger dog that comes in and out that she is “over”.  A dog of very similar energy.  Stacy thought perhaps we had lost a puppy or young dog and it was a spirit.  I mentioned Tija’s dog Krave, Shaine’s “twin”.  Stacy relayed something to me from Shaine that Krave had told her.  I asked Tija about it and it turns out she was spot on.  Not that I need too much convincing of Stacy’s credibility, but that certainly cemented things.

At the end of the sessions Stacy asks if there are any other questions.  I really had none.  I had already asked how Row was feeling and let her know how proud I am of her, how important she has become to me.  So I went for the superficial and asked her if she could please do well at the upcoming stock trial and please listen to me.  “She has it aced,” Stacy relayed.  “She’s going to win.  But you have to listen to her as well.”  And, just as important, Stacy relayed a similar message as one found in a book I’ve recently read and had my students read as well.  When we’re trialing, or even just training, what comes out of our mouth must match the image in our minds.  When it doesn’t, that’s when things don’t work out.  We can’t be thinking about things outside of ourselves, outside of what we’re doing, outside of the moment.  We have to be immersed in that moment with our dog.  When I think about the training sessions that have gone well, the trial runs that were smooth, last year’s ranch trial with Row, the one similarity is that I was in that moment.  I wasn’t worried about something going on later that day or that week or that year.  Wasn’t thinking about work, things I had to get done or things beyond my control.  I was thinking about the run, the training, seeing in my mind how it had to go and those were always the best times.  I have to try and do more of that.

Oh, and as a parting shot Stacy told me I was being tattled on.  Someone was telling her I hadn’t listened.  That I was supposed to slow down, perhaps, and hadn’t?  I told her when she had seen Quinn I had asked why he’s always barking at me and the answer had been he was trying to “get me out of my head”.  I have tried.  But he’s probably right.  Life makes it hard to get out of your own head sometimes, but I sure am going to give it more of a shot than I have been.

Dogs

When I Grow Old

Aug 6th, 10 / 0 Comments

As I was watching Lace eat her breakfast yesterday afternoon (she keeps her own schedule) I realized she is the kind of old lady I want to be if I ever reach the equivalent of her years. Oh sure, she’s slowed down some. Even more so over the past several months, I think. But overall she is in excellent health. She’s a little stiff after a long sleep but then I’m a little stiff in the morning as well. She is aging gracefully but not giving in to the years at all. Don’t tell her at fifteen years, 7 months old she can’t run across the yard or jump up into the air. You’ll never convince her. Just as I can’t convince her she doesn’t need to drive the sheep into the field when she joins me to open gates. They’d go with or without her persuasion but that doesn’t stop her from doing it anyhow. And I don’t stop her either.

I want to be her some day. I want to be the unstoppable old lady, independent, stubborn, still loving life and doing what she has always done. Not complaining. Not giving in to time’s steady progression. Maybe she does things a little slower, sleeps a little more, forgets where she’s going on her walk. Doesn’t matter. It’s all about the moment.

And I cherish every one of those moments. This past year I’ve had many friends lose their old and not so old dogs. My heart aches for them. As I hug Lace and plant a kiss the side of her graying muzzle, I feel unbelievably blessed that she is still with us. I don’t know what I’ve ever done to deserve her.

Dogs

Reality and Old Dogs

Jun 15th, 10 / 2 Comments

I had to trim Lace’s feet yesterday and it was a battle.  That’s nothing new.  It’s the same battle we’ve been having for the past 15 years.  I explain to her how shorter nails and less hair between her pads will make walking easier for her and coincidentally less noisy for me.  She doesn’t care.  She never has.  The only difference this time around was that I couldn’t help from wondering how many more times we’d get to have this battle.

Not that Lace has given any indication she’s heading for the Bridge any time soon.  Quite the opposite.  For a 15 1/2 year old she’s going strong.  Still does the stairs, several times a day, which amazes quite a few people.  Still takes long walks all over the yard in her old dog wanderings, sometimes even breaking into a run just because she feels like it.  But her front feet are breaking down a little and she’s stiffer now when she gets up from a long nap.  She slides off the couch instead of leaping down.  Her health is good.  Her heart going strong.  All things considered the years are treating her kindly.

But the reality is Lace is old.  Ancient, in dog years.  And even though life is tenuous at best by it’s very nature, hers is made even more so by the mere toll of the years.

I’ve thought about what course I’ll take when she leaves us.  I was looked at in shock when a non-dog person overheard me discussing digging a hole for her before winter, just in case.  They were mortified that I would even consider it and here I thought I was just being practical.  We pre-arrange our own funerals, yet I’m not supposed to plan for the inevitable loss of a dog?  I tease Dave that I’m going to have her stuffed, lying down, head on her paws, ears up, eyes open, and lay her on the couch staring at him.  It’s one of her favorite past times.  Although at this point I can’t be sure she really sees him from her vantage point.  But he’s always in the same place on the couch so it hardly matters.

I tell myself I’ll be strong and not weepy when she goes but I know that won’t be the case.  She’s been an awesome dog and we humans are selfish creatures.  We don’t want to lose something that’s ours, something that holds a piece of our heart.  And dogs become such a part of our lives.  Even with five others, I know the house will seem oddly empty when she goes.  The baby gate will no longer be needed at the top of the stairs to keep her from wandering all night.  There won’t be wispy, white, evasive fluffs of Lace hair everywhere I look.  There won’t, at least for a time, be a full time house dog (Dave would say never but I know differently).  I won’t have my shadow following my every move and tripping me when I turn unexpectedly and we’ll finally be able to replace the patio screen door which Lace pops out of the tracks whenever she wants to go out and we’re not paying attention.

What I will have are all the memories, the photos, the video I just came across of Lace and I doing agility in her younger days.  I’ll have her sons and daughter here to remind me of her constantly, although none of them have her wicked fine sense of humor.  I’ve got her grandson as well.  I’ll have all the little bits and pieces of her life here, things that were hers that will be passed on to another dog.  And even when she’s no longer with us in body she’ll still be hanging around, of that I’m certain, watching over her kingdom and making sure everything is running according to plan and that she knows precisely where everyone is at all times.

I’m hopeful she’ll spend another Christmas with us, and see another crop of spring lambs.  But if she decides to leave before then I’m okay with it.  I’ll still be sad but I’ll be okay.  She’s been a pushy, independent, alpha bitch if ever there was one, traits that have not diminished with age and won’t, I’m sure, in whatever after life dogs enjoy until they are reunited with their people.

And in her honor, my first attempt at adding a video to the blog, I’m still trying to figure out how to do this so hopefully it works.  An old agility run from 10 years ago.  My handling has greatly improved since then but it was fun to watch.

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Old Dogs Revisited

Feb 3rd, 10 / 1 Comment

(No, this one isn’t sad.  :-) )

Living with an old dog tip #101:  Never, ever, take an old dog along for a walk if you actually have a route planned, a destination in mind, or a specific time frame set.

Lace has been accompanying Shaine and I on our daily walks.  The walks, up to now, have been relatively short as we gradually build strength in Shaine’s repaired knee.  It was par for the course to lose Lace on nearly every walk as she decided to wander off in search of whatever it was she was searching for but she always managed to rejoin us on the deck at the end of our walk so all was good.

Today we took a different walk and here I broke the first tenant of Tip #101.  I had a route planned.  Out the back, past the woodburner, east across the field.  We made it out the back and past the woodburner and that’s when things started to fall apart.  While Shaine and I headed out on our route, Lace opted to take a left turn and investigate the mound of snow beside the camper.

Why do I call to a mostly deaf dog?  Dunno.  But I did.  Loudly.  And trust me, it really echoes in the field on a cold, crisp day with fresh snow cover.   No problem, Shaine and I simply took a little detour, I tapped the ol’ dog on the butt, pointed east and told her, “We’re going that way.”

“That way” is apparently a very broad term in Old Dog language.

Lace took off at a good clip (and by “good clip” I mean a steady, ground-covering trot) in a more north-easterly direction than I had planned.  She crossed the lot line without hesitation because, of course, lot lines don’t exist in the world of dog.  I once again called to her.  Once again, loudly.  I can only think it must be force of habit and even Shaine looked at me as if to ask, “Why do you keep doing that when you *know* she can’t hear you?”

But Lace can apparently hear somewhat because before she reached the edge of the neighbor’s woods and before Shaine and I even reached the lot line, she stopped and cocked her head.  It was plain to see she was trying to decide first, if she had actually heard something and second, what that something might have been.  So
I did what I could to convince her what she heard was me by waving my arms and jumping around, hoping the movement would catch her foggy eyesight.  Which it did, surprisingly enough, and she came galloping back through the snow to join us.  It was also one of those times I’m thankful our only close neighbors tend not to be outside in this weather.

And here is where I broke tenant number two of Tip #101.  I had a destination in mind.  That being the treeline on the eastern edge of the field.  A treeline Lace headed toward with more speed than was even remotely necessary (read, slightly faster than a steady, ground-covering trot.)  She was a dog on a mission.  I have no idea what the mission was, I can only hope she did.  No matter, Shaine and I followed at our liesure.  Well, I followed at my liesure and Shaine did her best to stretch my arms by pulling at the end of the lead uncertain why Lace should get the freedom to dart across the field and she shouldn’t.

But whereas the treeline was my destination, something on the other side of it was Lace’s.  This part is getting a bit old but you guessed it, I tried calling her back.  I have to admit by this time I was getting a bit creative with my calling.  Several names echoeing back from the trees weren’t the most flattering and I suppose had she been able to hear me Lace may have been slightly offended by one or two of them.  She scrambled back over a snow covered rock pile and I thought we were ready to begin our return trip.  No, something within the rock pile was far more interesting.  I climbed more cautiously than Lace to the top of it, gently attempting to persuade her to “leave it”, whatever “it” was.  Finally, success!

Lace jumped (yes, jumped) off the rock pile and made off at a dead run back toward the house.  We should all be proud that this time I didn’t say a word, just let her go, plodding through the snow with Shaine darting back and forth along the length of her leash.  Lace stopped on the far side of the round pen, ears up, head cocked, as though looking for Shaine and I.  The slow ones.  The ones actually *walking*.  As we caught up to her she dropped casually into step beside us and the rest of our walk progressed without further incident with one tenant of Tip #101 still in tact.

I had thankfully never set a  time frame for our walk.

Dogs

Old Dogs

Jan 31st, 10 / 4 Comments

We found out a few days ago that Lace’s litter sister crossed the Rainbow Bridge.  As far as we know that makes Lace the last of her litter, a cross between Duffy (McDuff of Windermere) and Dani (Diamond Aire Shadow Dancer — the Shadowdance namesake).

I’m grateful for every morning I wake up and Lace is still with us despite the lip smacking, snoring to rival even Dave’s, guzzling of water in the middle of the night, and aimless wandering in the yard at 4:30 a.m. when I *really* have to get to work.  The ol’ lady, undisputed Queen of the Household, still runs up the driveway and leaps over snow banks.  She may have lost some of the spring and grace of her youth, and she may lose us when we’re only a few feet away from her, but you can’t tell her she’s 15.  Rolling onto her back in the middle of the floor she’ll squiggle back and forth like a pup (which is something Quinn does a lot of, especially in the snow as he tries to make dog angels).  It used to be her great sport as a mother, lying on her back, belly exposed, waiting for one of her pups to get within range of her foot and then WHAM!  She’d kick the poor kid across the room.  You could see her laughing when she did it.  And they always  came back for more.  In the middle of the night she’ll squiggle across the bedroom rug, pushing off the wall, the dresser, the closet door…She doesn’t have to get up at 4:00 a.m. so what’s it matter to her.

When the other dogs get too rowdy Lace will still wade into the center of things and demand they behave.  And every one of them bows to her without exception.  Grady adores his grandmother and greats her with groveling and muzzle licking that annoys Lace to no end.  She’ll raise her head and move away from him as if to say, “enough already.”  Boxing is still her favorite sport and Quinn her favorite target, but it’s no longer the outrageous battle royale it used to be.  A couple good swings and she’s done, but always the winner.

During the summer Lace still helped me with chores, something she always preferred over trialing.  She would go out with me and faithfully bring the sheep in from their free-grazing in the open field.  At least now she has an actual excuse for not hearing me when I yell out a command.  As always, she doesn’t need me.  “I know the job,” that ears slicked back look tells me.  “Let me to it.”  And let her to it I do, carefully keeping an eye on the couple ewes that like to challenge dogs, ensuring no one challenges Lace as she rounds them up and drives them without assistance to the fenced in pasture, dusting her paws off as I chain the gate behind them.  “That’s how you do it.”

But the reality is her days are shorter now.  Her old heart needs a daily pill to keep it working smoothly.  One day, hopefully not any day too soon, she will join Desi, River, McGraw, Tia, and Shadow and she and River will lie down and head wrestle like they did as pups.  Until then, I’ll gently guide her to the open part of the patio door, chase her through the yard, find her in the morning and let her know I’m leaving so she doesn’t spend the next half hour looking for me, and hug her daily, kissing the slightly greying muzzle and letting her know how wonderful she is.

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