Night Walks

Living next to the duck pond at UNM is wonderful. Dogs need to run. They absolutely have to do it. Running around a yard is nice, but it's too limiting. The canine was meant to be free. I would love to run with Jack everyday, but I don't always have the energy necessary to jog a mile around Albuquerque blocks. So, almost every night we go to the duck pond so my little buddy can blow off steam.


As soon as Central Ave is a bit away and we're on the bricks beyond the wooden gates, I do an attitude check. If he's being cooperative and obedient, I let him off the leash to run and play. If he's not, I do my best to instill the idea that he needs to listen. I won't let him free until I know that he'll come if I call him. He knows the drill and usually complies.


I bring a ball with me because he loves to fetch. He's seriously obsessed with balls, but after losing over a dozen racquetballs, we've started designating "no-ball zones".  It saves a lot of time searching around in the dark. He doesn't mind. He runs around at top speed, doing figure 8's, chasing smells and rabbits. He's usually really good about listening, although it took a while for him to figure out when I wasn't playing.

When we first met, the little guy was terrified of grates. You know, like sewer grates. He wouldn't go near them. He would fight to the death to avoid them. He would stop dead in his tracks if he knew there was one coming. On campus, there's a place called the Center of the Universe. There, in the middle of four tunnels, is a giant grate with a circle in the middle. Every night for weeks, I'd put a treat in the circle. At first, one wasn't enough to coax him over. It would take four or five treats in the center before he'd belly crawl over and eat them. I would pet him, praise him, tell him how brave he is. Now he hops around grates like they ain't a thing.



There's a fountain on campus, on our usual path. It used to be the Captain was very afraid of water. He wouldn't go near the fountain. Alas, often times we only need the proper motivation to overcome our fears. At first, it was the best I could do to get him on the grassy break between sidewalk and fountain. He would hop up, take the treat, and run away to eat it. Night after night, he became less fearful and more trusting. I moved closer and closer to the fountain every day. Now, I can hold my hand out over the water and he'll stretch out to get his reward and he'll eat it on the spot. I pet him and tell him how proud I am of my brave dog.

What a guy!

Buddy System

Captain Jack is the friendliest dog.  I know that's a bold claim and it's packed with exaggeration.  He is an extremely friendly dog, though.  Since we've overcome his food possession, he has not attacked any person or dog.  He tries to play with cats, though they'd rarely like to.  I'm not sure if he chases pigeons to eat them, or for fun.

He was jumping up on random people.  Now, with a whistle I can usually stop him before he gets to that point, but he'll still follow them when he's not on-leash.  He's very sociable.  He wants to meet everyone- except snowmen, he hates them.

There have been two people since I've met Jack that he didn't like.  One day, we were walking along Gold (the street near my apartment) and passed two people.  One of them tried to say hello and Jack went feral.  Fortunately, he was on a leash.  I just popped him on the butt to get his attention and we walked the other way.  I don't know what about that guy Jack didn't like.  I never will.

But, here we are a few months later.  Jack and I were going to the duck pond, as usual, so that he could run it off (whatever 'it' is).  We were waiting at a stop light when Jack began growling intently.  I looked up and saw a guy coming toward us.  He asked for bus fare and Jack went feral again, barking fiercely and pulling at the leash with all his might.  The guy stopped at the end of the leash, which I was thankful for and I reigned Jack in a little (but just a little) and told the guy that I didn't have any money.

At that point, the seemingly normal individual started twisting and contorting his body.  He wrapped his arms around himself and his head at awkward, double jointed angles and started stomping one of his feet.  He growled in a shrill voice, "Stop! Touching! Her!"  The light changed.  I brought Jack to the other side of me and crossed.

My little buddy has my trust.  When he wigs out, I pay attention.

 

Freedom!

I don't like thinking of myself as a dog owner.  I'm not his master.
Jack is not my child.  I didn't help to create him.  I'm not his daddy (or mommy).
I'm his buddy.  He's my inarticulate friend.

I don't like the idea of having to control another being.  All living things ought to be free to pursue their own destinies.  So, it really bothers me to make Jack do things on the premise that they're for his own good.  Who am I to decide what's good for him?  I make him wait in a cage for six hours a day while I'm in school.  When we go for walks, I don't let him off leash until we reach a "safe" play area and then I make him wear his leash again when we return.  I don't let him eat cat poop or those plastic bags he loves.







I'm like a Nazi.  I watch every move he makes and punish him for "unacceptable behavior."  So what if he wants to jump up on everyone he meets?  Who cares if he bites the hand that feeds?  Why should I care if it reflects on me?

My teenage self would punch me in the nose.  "You let that dog do what he wants!"  He would yell.  What does he know?

Sometimes, I picture myself as a kind of ape- like a gorilla.  Jack's the tiny buddy of a grouchy gorilla. This gorilla saved his furry butt from a cage full of chihuahuas or a house full of tail-pulling toddlers.  He lives with me and I feed him, so he's gotta live by monkey law.




Monkey Law:
No pooping or peeing in the monkey hut
No jumping on other monkeys unless they ask you to
No eating monkey food unless it's offered

That seems reasonable.  In exchange he gets food, shelter, and I keep him Not-Dead.  If I let him do what he wants, this little dork would eat a whole box of chocolates and run into oncoming traffic.  He follows me home and comes when I call, so I guess there's a tacit agreement that he enjoys my company and will obey monkey law.





Author note:  I wrote this sometime in 2014.  Before I sat down to edit it, I found out that my friend's dogs had been hit by cars that day.  Out of respect, I refrained from posting this.  As a result, I hit a kind of wall with this blog, but now I feel I can post this and open the floodgate.  To all you Jack Fans, sorry for the delay.  To my dear friend, I'm still sorry for your loss.

Some Days Are Shitty

     Constipation in dogs is potentially lethal, as I discovered today.  After a pretty good walk, Jack and I stopped so he could do his business.  He was having trouble, but I waited patiently as he struggled.  About five minutes into it, he started yelping and howling.  My first thought was that he was trying to pass a watermelon.  I had to think back seriously about all the things I'd caught him eating.  What could be causing so much distress?

      He gazed pitifully at me, his little brown eyes huge as he winced. His little back end pulsed with labor.  Poor puppy!  We've all been there.  He tried to reach back with his mouth to help things along, but couldn't reach. He whined and cried and walked around the yard.  I was worried about him.  I wondered if olive oil would help, or maybe something soaked in butter or grease.  I worried that I might have to reach up there.  Gross, right?  Well, let me tell you friends, that is nothing compared to what was to come.  

     I picked him up and carried him to the apartment.  I didn't want him to have to struggle up the stairs with such a heavy load.  I'm pretty broke at the moment, so I was terrified of a vet bill.  Would they be willing to bill me?  Take payments?  Would they work with me?  I googled the situation and found that most dog constipation is a very serious case and can be lethal within 48 hours.  There were tons of horror stories and very few suggestions other than "Take your dog to a vet."  

     Fortunately, as Jack was running around the house trying to bite his butt, I noticed that his hair was dark brown.  This fuzzy little bastard had blocked his way by being too hairy.  It reminded me of an old joke: A bear and a bunny are taking a dump in the woods.  The bear looks to the bunny and says, "Do you have problems with poop sticking to your fur?"  The bunny says no, so the bear wipes his butt with him.  

In desperation, I searched the house for rubber or plastic gloves and found none.  I locked Jack in the bathroom and, as I was pulling hair and poop, he head butted me trying to get away.  He got me right in the nose and made it bleed.  He was in the bathtub and it had water in it, so when he jumped out and shook off, dog-poop water went everywhere.

     So, there I was, soaked in nasty water, hands covered in poop and blood, digging dirty hair out of my dog's butt, and happy to be doing so.  At least he didn't have some disease or a battery lodged in his colon. We both took a shower afterward- two for me, thank you.  

Sometimes you have to laugh at yourself

    

Battling Beasts

I heard somewhere that if a dog is being absolutely insubordinate that you should hold them down until they submit to you.  This isn't always appropriate or necessary.  I've only made it work with Jack twice.  Both times I was in a calm mood and he was tired.  Usually, he will tirelessly fight.

One night the taxmen and bill collectors were at my gate, the homework had piled up, and I was at my wit's end.  Jack was not being particularly obnoxious.  We were in my room with the door shut and I was reading a weighty text.  He was chewing on stuff he shouldn't, but he'd stop when I snapped at him.  He'd try to take my pencils while I was writing, but he'd walk away when I growled at him.  He started digging at my bed and I was done with his crap.  I wanted him calm.

I went over and swept his legs out from under him.  Before he could recover, I put my hand gently on his chest and held him down.  He started nipping at my hand, so I held his face and chest down.  Naturally, he started fighting.  He clawed at my arms and wiggled like a fish on the shore.  He was always on the verge of escape.  I was constantly shifting my grip.

My frustration mounted as our battle raged on.  He was incessant; moving like an angry snake, growling like a Harley, biting and scratching like a one-man cat fight.  I found myself yelling, "CALM DOWN," between biting my lips to keep my anger "contained."  My grips grew tighter and tighter.  Our ferocity mounted together.  Then I had a clear moment.



I looked down at his gaping jaw and wild eyes.  His ears were straight up.  I could taste blood from where I been biting my the inside of my mouth. There was a tiny thunderstorm erupting from his little neck, which I was clenching like a vice.  I realized my own rolling rumble and I realized: This dog is not fighting for dominance.  This dog is fighting for his life.

I picked him up, put him in his kennel, and walked away to calm down.  I felt like the worst person alive.  I figured myself a vicious, abusive jerk.  I thought about returning him, conjuring that I was a danger to this delightful dog.


A friend of mine had invited me to do a trance-type meditation that evening and I resolved to go. Apparently, I needed it.  Before I left, I opened Jack's cage door and sat in front of it.  He lay there, looking up at me.  He was no longer panting.  His curled tail lay flat.  His ears flopped forward.  His gaping maw had transformed back to his beloved fox-face.

"I know that was not okay," I told him, "and we will never go there again."  

He licked my face and laid back down.  

Later, between meditative crests, I realized we both have raging beasts within and those beasts had met that night.  I've always been controlling.  I've always been moody. I'm occasionally explosive.  "Sleeping Dragon," close friends have called me.  I don't know Jack's history, but since he was a stray, he must have had to scrap a time or two.  His little beast comes out when we play tug of war or when he plays with his sock, which resembles a small animal.  He's already caught a mouse and a bird.  Despite how adorable he is, I have no doubt that he is a predator.

We were made for each other.  At least, I like to think so.  During one of the meditative crests, I saw his war face reaching toward me from the void.  As it reached for me, a red flag with white designs filled in the background.  Crossbones appeared behind his face.  Each time I inhaled felt like my first and as I breathed, this image of him etched itself over my heart.    Giving him away would not be giving up on him.  It would be giving up on myself.

We beasts shall live together.  

Command over myself is command over Jack.  

Jack demands gold.

 

Basic Training: Come, Sit, Wait

Of these three, "Come" (来て、kite) has been the easiest, followed by "sit" (座って 、 suatte), and we're still working on "Wait" (待って、matte.)

When we first began training, I tried my best not to use words.  It helped me with self control.  He didn't know what my words meant and being quiet kept me from yelling the same thing repeatedly and feeling foolish when he stared at me.

To get him to come to me, I kept treats on me constantly.  I would wait until he was far away from me and then squat down so that he was eye level with me.  Then, I'd make an interesting sound to get his attention- usually a whistle or a raspberry- and when he came over, I would give him a treat.  After that, I started integrating word commands with my posturing and when he came, I rewarded him.  Today if either I say 「来て」or he sees me squatting, he will come to me.  As long as there's nothing more interesting going on.  He is still a puppy!  Ultimately, I would like for him to come and sit directly in front of me when I call him to me, but we'll have to work on that.

As for teaching him to sit, I would crouch and hold something precious to him (treat, toy, whatever), and not let him get to it.  I would fend him off for as long as it took for him to sit down, and then I would hold it out to him and wait for him to relax.  He has a curly tail and I know that when the tip touches the ground that means he's relaxed.  Then I would hold up one finger as if to say "one moment" and I would give him his prize.

The great thing about this tactic is that in the process of teaching him to sit, he also learned to wait and he learned who the boss is, although the latter still comes into question!  Now, when I have his attention and I hold up my finger, he is quite inclined to sit.  I can call 「座って」across the room and he will plunk down.   He's also already inclined to politely take things as a result of this teaching.

Since I already had him waiting for his prize, I began giving him a command to wait as I offered him a prize. He's already associated the ideas.  We're still working on getting him to wait as I cross the room. I can only get a certain distance before he thinks his food is running off and chases me down.




First, I have him sit.  I make sure he knows that I have a treat and I back away from him, with my hand out, palm facing him.  I repeat 「待って」, despite my previous no-word formula.  When I'm ready, I give him the command to come.  I like this method because it works all three commands at once: sit, wait, and come.





Training is challenging.  It takes time, patience, and a positive attitude.  I learned the hard way that it is important to take a break when I get frustrated.  When I am happy, calm, and know I have control, everything more smoothly goes.  When I become frustrated, everything becomes difficult.  If I lose command over myself, I lose command over Jack.  Together we live, together we learn.

Food Aggression

I got Jack from the pound.  He was five months old and only in the pound for a week, so his history's a mystery.  They told me that they had to feed him separately, but no body knew why.  I found out the first time I tried to take a bone from him.  He made a sound like a garbage disposal and attempted, with his tiny teeth, to tear my hands off.

While this may be the cutest face I've ever seen, behind it lurks a vicious predator with a gaping maw.  Make no mistake.  Even tiny dogs can be dangerous.

I didn't know what to do.  My tiny adorable puppy was a killing machine.  Even though I got the bone away, he had scraped skin off my fingers with his tiny teeth!  Imagine what could happen when his chompers started coming in.




I thought about taking him back to the pound.  It may have been my worst mistake.  Food and toy aggression are actually pretty easy to deal with, especially at a young age.  What happens is either a dog is attacked while eating or has limited food for a period of time and they become very defensive of what they have.

I imagine the Captain had been scrounging for a while, unable to find solace or sustenance and had learned to hoard or gobble whatever he'd come across.  Poor Jack was probably wondering the streets of Albuquerque, tearing up McDonald's wrappers for the melted cheese.  He's still got a habit of trying to eat gum off the ground (Yuck!).

So, after thinking about it for a while and doing a little web research, I decided I was going to try to help him get over it.  I set out a bowl of food and I watched him eat.  He hunched over it, completely tense and growling as he chomped the food down with his head in the dish.  Body language.

I took several deep breaths and did a brief meditation to calm myself.  I wanted him to see me as tranquil.  I wanted him to know that I was not a threat.  With my side to him, I very slowly moved toward him without looking at him.  I was worried that he'd make his garbage disposal noise, but I had determined that even if he did, I was going to keep moving in.  He only made crunching noises as he chowed.  When I got close enough to him, he moved away but was still focused on the food.

I picked up the bowl and, sitting, held it between my legs without making eye contact.  When he stopped watching the food and started watching me, I waited for his tail to relax and then gave him the food. After a couple of feedings like this, I realized that I saved a lot of time feeding him from hand.  Now I can pet him while he eats without getting growled at or bitten.  In this way, we cured his food aggression.


In an effort to get over his toy aggression, I repeated the same process with a bone that he liked.  We are five weeks in and while we still have issues with things that he's very focused on, he never bites me anymore and only rarely growls at me.  

I have not been able to get a picture of his War Face, but I assure you:  it is so cute that it's scary.