Recently Kathy and I went away on a brief trip—just a couple of days. Before we found Sherri, that would have been a bit of a trial. The previous places we'd left Oz had been…let's just say disappointing. Let's stop there, because we don't want to say "traumatic" or anything harsher. Let's just say Oz, who is always lively and friendly, and had never cringed in her life, was silent and cringing after two days at one place. And we were guilty for some time.
But going to Sherri's is a treat. Oz knows the name, and knows that it means she gets to go on a R-I-D-E to get there. (Hey, she's under my feet as I type this—can't be too careful.) This means Oz is throwing herself from side to side, rubbing us like cats, and in general ready to go.
Bang, she leads the way straight to the car. A good dawg all the way there in the car. Once the car door opens, Oz leads us immediately up onto Sherri's lawn. The only hesitation is whether to go directly to the back yard with other dogs, or to the front door where we enter the house. Ah!
And when I come to get her, it isn't "Oh thank god, rescue me!" but rather "Hey! You found your way here too! Now we can all play!" Oz is nothing but not a generous, sharing silly.
So we came back, and I drove over to get Oz. She was happy to see me, and happy to see Kathy, and happy to have chicken scraps from the takeout we had, yum yum yum.
But she really showed her emotions later in the night. Usually, we walk slowly on the night W's. We take our time, smelling and feeling the shadows.
That night, we ran. She pulled me to run with her so quickly I couldn't get the flashlight on, so we ran, dog and man, blind into the night. Happy as clams, both trusting the other beyond sense.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Monday, March 3, 2008
Baby!
The other day I was doing a little tai chi in the living room. Ozma was sleeping on the couch. A woman walked by, and I thought she looked familiar. I checked…yep.
"Oz! What are you doing sleeping? Get your leash! Baby's outside!"
Oz leapt up, not fully awake, and looked out the window. She started whining. I jammed my shoes on, grabbed the leash, and we were out the door!
"BABY!" I called.
Baby stopped ambling forward and leapt back towards us, scaring the crap out of her owner. Oz and I ran forward (about two yards) and then Baby and Oz were rolling around in a big happy dogball, licking and rubbing and fake growling. The only time they stopped was when Baby would roll against me, or when either dog would jump over to lick my chin. Baby is a boarder collie who moved into the neighborhood a few months ago and started causing havoc. Her humans would let her stay outside running free all day, and, well, she's a boarder collie. She has endless energy. She'd dig holes in yards, chase other dogs, chase cars—seriously. She was a royal pain as far as responsible living, but also a blast. She's like a rubber ball. She'd bounce around, and she and Oz would play like crazy. Eventually, too many people complained, and they've kept her inside, and, apparently, bought a leash. These people have repeatedly shown themselves not to be fully in tune with the demands of being owned by a dog. For example, when I told them I'd heard that Baby had been hit by a car, and asked if she was okay, the woman responded, "Oh, did she get hit?"
Yeah.
Today was a smaller scale version of this disconnect. The dogs are dogrolling, happy as puppies in a pile, and she says, "I'm sorry. My dog just goes crazy sometimes."Sorry? I woke my dog from a nap and ran after you to play with your dog, and you're apologizing?
All I could say was, "Um, my dog loves your dog. That's why we ran after you. Right, Baby? Right, Oz?"Lick lick lick.
Greg
"Oz! What are you doing sleeping? Get your leash! Baby's outside!"
Oz leapt up, not fully awake, and looked out the window. She started whining. I jammed my shoes on, grabbed the leash, and we were out the door!
"BABY!" I called.
Baby stopped ambling forward and leapt back towards us, scaring the crap out of her owner. Oz and I ran forward (about two yards) and then Baby and Oz were rolling around in a big happy dogball, licking and rubbing and fake growling. The only time they stopped was when Baby would roll against me, or when either dog would jump over to lick my chin. Baby is a boarder collie who moved into the neighborhood a few months ago and started causing havoc. Her humans would let her stay outside running free all day, and, well, she's a boarder collie. She has endless energy. She'd dig holes in yards, chase other dogs, chase cars—seriously. She was a royal pain as far as responsible living, but also a blast. She's like a rubber ball. She'd bounce around, and she and Oz would play like crazy. Eventually, too many people complained, and they've kept her inside, and, apparently, bought a leash. These people have repeatedly shown themselves not to be fully in tune with the demands of being owned by a dog. For example, when I told them I'd heard that Baby had been hit by a car, and asked if she was okay, the woman responded, "Oh, did she get hit?"
Yeah.
Today was a smaller scale version of this disconnect. The dogs are dogrolling, happy as puppies in a pile, and she says, "I'm sorry. My dog just goes crazy sometimes."Sorry? I woke my dog from a nap and ran after you to play with your dog, and you're apologizing?
All I could say was, "Um, my dog loves your dog. That's why we ran after you. Right, Baby? Right, Oz?"Lick lick lick.
Greg
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
E-M-M-A
It's time to share another sketch of one of the local cast of characters. In many ways, E-M-M-A, as we must say Emma's name to keep Oz from going crazy with desire, is the pivot point of the neighborhood—the spark plug, the reason there are teeming stories.
You see, we didn't used to W up the little area where Em lives. It is a nice enough street, but it doesn't link up with anything, so we'd have to W up, turn around, and come back. Ho-hum.
Once in a while, though, when we weren't doing a long adventure W, we would go up there. Always nice lawns, always friendly nods from people, but otherwise, nothing…until the day a meat loaf sprinted out of a closed door and came to see us.
It wasn't a meat loaf, of course, but that's about how big Emma was then, about 10 months ago. Her humans had just gotten her, and she was nothing but enthusiasm at that point. Julie was inside on the phone, and had left the door open a crack.
That's all it took. Emma saw us walking down the street on the other side, nosed the door open, and shot across at us. She never flinched, but flew in a straight sprint, leaping on Oz and tumbling around.
Oz is friendly at all times, so the immediate response was a friendly, rolling tumble. They licked, they wrestled, they rolled…it was fun for everyone. Oz would sometimes pat Emma with a paw, sending her pillbug rolling. Em loved it. We had a great time, tempered only slightly by Julie's concern when she finally realized Em was gone and came looking. She apologized up and down, but we were happy. Oz had a friend.
And Em has stayed a friend, though a complex friend. She's a smart dog who loves Ozma an insane amount, but she's also an stubborn and tricky dog. This, then, is E-M-M-A:
I call her a licking rocket, because she runs like the wind and tackles Oz, then won't stop licking until forced to do so.
Her hearing is sharp. She recognizes Oz's collar tag jingle when we're a block away and runs away from home to greet us.
She's inquisitive. Oz sticks her snout in the storm run off pipes to see what's in there. E-M-M-A crawls through them, a hamster in a paper towel.
She's flat out willful. Once when I kept her from biting Oz on the snout, she jumped and kicked me in the chest with her front paws.
She's smart. I gave another dog a dog treat yesterday. Emma didn't see me, but she smelled the dog's breath—and came directly to me. There was no other place the treats could have come from, therefore…
She's a biter. She loves to clamp down on other dogs' snouts and just hang on. However, she knows not everyone likes this, so she'll try to manage it. She'll bite on something else, anything else, to keep from biting snouts. I've seen her clamp down on a weed to be polite. More on E soon.
Greg
You see, we didn't used to W up the little area where Em lives. It is a nice enough street, but it doesn't link up with anything, so we'd have to W up, turn around, and come back. Ho-hum.
Once in a while, though, when we weren't doing a long adventure W, we would go up there. Always nice lawns, always friendly nods from people, but otherwise, nothing…until the day a meat loaf sprinted out of a closed door and came to see us.
It wasn't a meat loaf, of course, but that's about how big Emma was then, about 10 months ago. Her humans had just gotten her, and she was nothing but enthusiasm at that point. Julie was inside on the phone, and had left the door open a crack.
That's all it took. Emma saw us walking down the street on the other side, nosed the door open, and shot across at us. She never flinched, but flew in a straight sprint, leaping on Oz and tumbling around.
Oz is friendly at all times, so the immediate response was a friendly, rolling tumble. They licked, they wrestled, they rolled…it was fun for everyone. Oz would sometimes pat Emma with a paw, sending her pillbug rolling. Em loved it. We had a great time, tempered only slightly by Julie's concern when she finally realized Em was gone and came looking. She apologized up and down, but we were happy. Oz had a friend.
And Em has stayed a friend, though a complex friend. She's a smart dog who loves Ozma an insane amount, but she's also an stubborn and tricky dog. This, then, is E-M-M-A:
I call her a licking rocket, because she runs like the wind and tackles Oz, then won't stop licking until forced to do so.
Her hearing is sharp. She recognizes Oz's collar tag jingle when we're a block away and runs away from home to greet us.
She's inquisitive. Oz sticks her snout in the storm run off pipes to see what's in there. E-M-M-A crawls through them, a hamster in a paper towel.
She's flat out willful. Once when I kept her from biting Oz on the snout, she jumped and kicked me in the chest with her front paws.
She's smart. I gave another dog a dog treat yesterday. Emma didn't see me, but she smelled the dog's breath—and came directly to me. There was no other place the treats could have come from, therefore…
She's a biter. She loves to clamp down on other dogs' snouts and just hang on. However, she knows not everyone likes this, so she'll try to manage it. She'll bite on something else, anything else, to keep from biting snouts. I've seen her clamp down on a weed to be polite. More on E soon.
Greg
Friday, February 22, 2008
A Dog For All Ages
Oz is a dog for all ages, in three ways.
First, she is amazingly able to adjust to different ages of people. We ran into an old woman in a wheelchair yesterday; Oz approached her slowly and licked one hand, gently. We ran into a young mom with a baby; Oz snuffled the toes and backed away. But when Oz runs into energetic kids—pow!
Second, as I was reminded yesterday, Oz changes ages. It was a surprisingly warm and golden day, so we headed to the lake. I tried to sneak some sticks into the poop bag in case Oz wanted to fetch them—but Oz caught me. She wanted to fetch so badly that we ended up running to the lake, not walking, and rather than waiting to fetch, we played tug of war as we ran down the street. Cars would slow as they saw us. Sometimes she had the stick in her jaws. Sometimes I had it in my hand. Most of the time, we were tugging as we ran, both of us growling.
When we got to the lake, she was a puppy, eager to run into the lake, snuffle, and flop. She rolled on her back, her front, her snout, and anything else she could find, making sure she could get some sand scent and scratchin' on her, all the while going "Nraaa. Graaa!"
Walking home, she was a normal adult dog.
That night, as we watched TV, she was a clingy senior dog. A dog for all ages.
And of course, the third way she's a dog for all ages is that she deserves to be immortalized.
Greg
First, she is amazingly able to adjust to different ages of people. We ran into an old woman in a wheelchair yesterday; Oz approached her slowly and licked one hand, gently. We ran into a young mom with a baby; Oz snuffled the toes and backed away. But when Oz runs into energetic kids—pow!
Second, as I was reminded yesterday, Oz changes ages. It was a surprisingly warm and golden day, so we headed to the lake. I tried to sneak some sticks into the poop bag in case Oz wanted to fetch them—but Oz caught me. She wanted to fetch so badly that we ended up running to the lake, not walking, and rather than waiting to fetch, we played tug of war as we ran down the street. Cars would slow as they saw us. Sometimes she had the stick in her jaws. Sometimes I had it in my hand. Most of the time, we were tugging as we ran, both of us growling.
When we got to the lake, she was a puppy, eager to run into the lake, snuffle, and flop. She rolled on her back, her front, her snout, and anything else she could find, making sure she could get some sand scent and scratchin' on her, all the while going "Nraaa. Graaa!"
Walking home, she was a normal adult dog.
That night, as we watched TV, she was a clingy senior dog. A dog for all ages.
And of course, the third way she's a dog for all ages is that she deserves to be immortalized.
Greg
Thursday, February 21, 2008
House Guests
I walked towards the door slowly, my attention on the pile of six library books and a day's worth of mail I was trying not to juggle. All that was forgotten when the front door popped open a crack and Kathy said, "Slip inside quick. Oz has house guests."Before Kathy could finish speaking, Oz was there at the door crack, doggy grin wide. I slipped inside, dropping my pile on the bench as I saw the living room was full of labs.
"Full" is a slight exaggeration. There were just two labs visiting, Tug and Emma, but they are both big and young and full of energy, and they were endlessly cycling, checking things out. Each cycled over to greet me as Kathy explained that Oz had been asleep on the couch when they'd showed up in the back yard. She wasn't going to wake Oz, since she'd been feeling bad, but they didn't just run through like they had before. Emma hung around, sticking her head in between the fence rails.
Kathy had opened the door and called Emma, and she popped right in. Tug, who hasn't visited as often and is approximately as smart as a yam, took more coaxing, but eventually came in, and there was much rejoicing.
The two young dogs—Emma just turned 1 four days ago, and Tug is about eight months old—got to investigate a new space, rumpling up and down stairs to smell things, and disappearing behind or below anything that had a backside or a bottom. Oz got house guests to play with, and play they did. They made many loops against each other, licking, bumping, play growling. When Kathy brought out rawhide chewies for each of them, things got even better. One dog would walk around with one, and another dog would take the other end that was sticking out of his mouth. There would be a brief tug of war, and then the baton would be handed off. The dog that lost his or her chewy would then look around, and bite the end of someone else's chewy, and the process would start over.
And here's the thing that was so purely Oz, and so touching: Oz insisted on sharing. By that I mean, she'd play with Emma—then come over to rub up against me. She'd wrestle Tug, nipping at his legs—then come over to lick my face, as if to say, "See! See! We've got guests! Tug! Emma!" (If you've known a lab, you know they over-use exclamation points. Deal with it.)
Oz insists on sharing good things, and it makes her happy to do so. This means her chewies, her toys, her W's, her friends, and even her food. Who and what does she get possessive about? Her people, and her routines. If I pet another dog too long, she pushes in between, as if to say, "You haven't forgotten me, have you?" But for all other things, she wants to share, and it makes her happier to do so. She'll stalk a deer, transfixed, then, when it runs, jump up and down in place, looking at me, and come over to lick and rub. When we do anything special together—chase a cat, chase a car, crawl under a bush, swim after ducks, etc.—Ozma is happier because I'm there. If she can get more than one person involved, that's just gravy. When Kathy and I take Oz on walks in the cemetery, Oz will follow a scent, then come back and weave in between us, nosing each hand.
Oz likes to share her joy.
Greg
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
Old Dog Day
Ozma had an old dog day yesterday. It was sad and sweet all at once.
It was sad because she's my dog companion. Ozma doesn't have a wide range of options—she's not a problem-solving chimp or a memorized route flying bird—but if it involved smelling, eating, licking, walking (or walking that might slide into running!), or, especially, loving, she's always been ready to go.
Yesterday she didn't feel well. She had an upset tummy, throwing up half a dozen times, and laying quietly. Oh, she went for her W's. She always does those, even when she was due for surgery and we had to limp along for five minutes and go back in. But she turned away from food sometimes, and she was clingy.
Oz is always affectionate, but this was like she was reverting to puppydom. She burrowed in, tucking her snout against my side and putting a paw over my leg, as if to make sure I wouldn't go anywhere. At night she got up on the bed for a few minutes before we put her out of the room for sleeping, and she tried to press her entire body against me, as if saying, "I need you, please just let me be here."
Right now she's still fighting the remnants of whatever bothered her. She was lively on the morning W…but I can hear her upset tummy roiling, and she turned down her morning treats.
I want my puppy to feel better.
Greg
It was sad because she's my dog companion. Ozma doesn't have a wide range of options—she's not a problem-solving chimp or a memorized route flying bird—but if it involved smelling, eating, licking, walking (or walking that might slide into running!), or, especially, loving, she's always been ready to go.
Yesterday she didn't feel well. She had an upset tummy, throwing up half a dozen times, and laying quietly. Oh, she went for her W's. She always does those, even when she was due for surgery and we had to limp along for five minutes and go back in. But she turned away from food sometimes, and she was clingy.
Oz is always affectionate, but this was like she was reverting to puppydom. She burrowed in, tucking her snout against my side and putting a paw over my leg, as if to make sure I wouldn't go anywhere. At night she got up on the bed for a few minutes before we put her out of the room for sleeping, and she tried to press her entire body against me, as if saying, "I need you, please just let me be here."
Right now she's still fighting the remnants of whatever bothered her. She was lively on the morning W…but I can hear her upset tummy roiling, and she turned down her morning treats.
I want my puppy to feel better.
Greg
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Reuben, Oz, and the Universe
We met Reuben yesterday. Reuben is a half grown Springer Spaniel, and cute as a button. Oz and I met him when we went out for the morning W.
Oz works on a simple premise that is charming but kinda dim: everything in the world is her friend, put there for her to greet, smell, and play with. That's fine if a dog is friendly, like Reuben very much was, but gets dicey when the dog is aggressive. More than once we've been charged by a dog while Oz stood there grinning and wagging her tail. It got closer and closer, and Oz got friendlier and friendlier. The dog's jaws went for her throat, sometimes closing with an audible snap!
Oz would stay friendly, sometimes licking the recently closed in greeting. The dog would snap again. Oz would dodge the jaws, and counter with a friendly lick. Only if the dog actually landed a bite would Oz counterattack, and even then, it was treated as a kind of one time mistake. The dog would bite, Oz would bite back—and then go back to being friendly. This has meant several things.
First, it means when a dog charges us, it's my job to do the threat assessment. Should fighting other dogs become necessary, that's my job. Oz stands and watches, waiting to be friends with the winner and the loser alike. As a side note, that means she runs towards danger, not away.
Second, it means that all those comments from people about pack order and dominance go right out the window. Oz doesn't dominate, but she doesn't submit much either. It's play time, baby. Oz is a democratic dog.
Third, it means when we meet a dog like Reuben, it's a joy. Reuben was friendly, and soft as only puppies can be. He danced on Oz's head, licked me, and helped get their leashes joyously tangled. Ah!
Greg
Oz works on a simple premise that is charming but kinda dim: everything in the world is her friend, put there for her to greet, smell, and play with. That's fine if a dog is friendly, like Reuben very much was, but gets dicey when the dog is aggressive. More than once we've been charged by a dog while Oz stood there grinning and wagging her tail. It got closer and closer, and Oz got friendlier and friendlier. The dog's jaws went for her throat, sometimes closing with an audible snap!
Oz would stay friendly, sometimes licking the recently closed in greeting. The dog would snap again. Oz would dodge the jaws, and counter with a friendly lick. Only if the dog actually landed a bite would Oz counterattack, and even then, it was treated as a kind of one time mistake. The dog would bite, Oz would bite back—and then go back to being friendly. This has meant several things.
First, it means when a dog charges us, it's my job to do the threat assessment. Should fighting other dogs become necessary, that's my job. Oz stands and watches, waiting to be friends with the winner and the loser alike. As a side note, that means she runs towards danger, not away.
Second, it means that all those comments from people about pack order and dominance go right out the window. Oz doesn't dominate, but she doesn't submit much either. It's play time, baby. Oz is a democratic dog.
Third, it means when we meet a dog like Reuben, it's a joy. Reuben was friendly, and soft as only puppies can be. He danced on Oz's head, licked me, and helped get their leashes joyously tangled. Ah!
Greg
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
