Dogs express their feelings and opinions in unmistakable ways. Bryn startles us often when she ‘talks.’ If she needs something she’ll gently bump my arm with her nose. I mentally go down the list of five possiblilities:
Water? No.
Food? No.
A cuddle? Nope.
Bedtime? No.
Time for the park? Yes!
Bryn has developed an impressive internal clock. She knows when things should happen.
Yesterday we visited the Bay City dog park on a blustery, cloudy late afternoon and found nobody there. She drooped slightly, but was philosophical. We’d wait a decent length of time; a dog or three would usually appear. But 20 minutes later, as we shivered from the sudden drop in temperature, there were still no comers. So, after burning off frustration and disappointment with a rocket-fast run around the generous park she trotted to my feet, touched my arm with her nose, gave a doggy sigh and glanced over her shoulder to the gate and then to the car. Let’s go, Boss. No balls. No dogs. No fun.
I agreed, and said so. Then, as we began to walk out, she stiffened. Her nose grew 10 inches as it caught a mega-whiff of something- alien.
There, on the other side of the fence, about a hundred feet away, two monster-sized ‘dogs’ appeared: they were so enormous that people were sitting on top of them! Bryn was shocked down to her paws. Never in her life had she beheld horses. She spronged gazelle-like to the fence, barking and tossing me shocked glances. Switching to a howl-bay she bounced backward, then spronged forward, her body stiff as a stick, radiating ALARM! Big dogs!!!! There!!!
I realized that horses were boarded in the big fairgrounds barn way back there. Their owners had saddled up for a fall ride through the extended park area. Now their mounts moved at a walk through the lovely treed neighborhood.
Chuckling, I told her that everything was fine. Incredulous, she carried on barking: I hadn’t understood! I stopped her racket with a firm command: “Quiet!” and we carried on through the dog park gates to the car. She moved slowly, trying to keep the monsters in sight, baffled by my passivity.
She hopped into the back seat with a sigh. I put the car in gear and began to back out- when a big truck pulled into the parking space next to ours. She peered into its cab- and saw a decent-sized dog! Oh, Boy!
But then, remembering, she threw up her head and let out a long wail in a
disbelieving tone that moved from high to low- very different from a howl. That lament eloquently expressed her dismay that we were leaving as they were arriving!
I sighed, thought about it, and drove back to re-park. Thrilled, she licked my neck. Thanks, Boss! She roared through the gate again, monsters forgotten: here was a dog to play with!
But twenty minutes later two more horses strolled by. Shocked again, she sounded the alarm! The husky took absolutely no notice. Baffled, she stood stiffly at the fence to study the beasts. Bryn is an interesting dog; she thinks hard about novel situations with every fibre of her being. These creatures were BIG. Yet, two humans seemed unconcerned. How impossibly odd.
She yipped and twitched all night, reliving the sight of them.
Sometimes monster memories are awful. A short-haired, bony mutt with an appealing face, weighing perhaps 40 pounds, was slowly led, half crouching, into the park by her owner in midsummer. Released from her lead she tucked in her bent tail and went straight to the chained length fence corner to stand. It offered protection on two sides from possible attack. When approached by curious canines she put her head down between her front paws to appear as unthreatening as possible- and waited. They sniffed and snuffled around her, baffled by her extreme withdrawal, before finally wandering off to play. She reacted the same way to two more canine visits- resigned.
Her owner, Melanie, explained that her dog had been thoroughly traumatized by a previous owner, and was scheduled for the termination needle when she was rescued because she wouldn’t respond to anyone. “I call her Sandy. She took forever to dare to explore the house, and I’ve learned that she hates the sight of golf clubs and vacuums. But now she’ll take her meals from my hand, and allow me to lead her outside, without crying, to do her business. Every night she relives her past. I’ve set her bed where the walls meet, to offer more security.
Ah, would you mind patting her for a while? She needs to trust humans...”
The news spread. Other owners approached her gently too, and some even slipped her a treat, which she accepted nervously, after much coaxing, without meeting their eyes.
Two months passed. Bryn and I came to the park one September day to see Sandy following behind her mistress. Her tail rose slightly when she saw Bryn; she didn’t bolt to the fence corner. “Sandy is definitely more confident,” Melanie said, proudly. “She tolerates loud noises, eats from her bowl instead of my hand, and greets neighbors- from a safe distance- with one wag. Definitely progress!”
Bryn nosed her flank, and Sandy broke away to nose Bryn. (Yay!) She looked up at Melanie, who said, “Good girl! Go play, Sandy...” Bryn galloped off, and Sandy followed for at least 20 feet before sitting in the grass to watch Bryn dash around. “Wow,” Mel exclaimed. “Sandy’s rarely that far away from me!”
We continued to chat, and about three minutes later Sandy loped off to poo without asking permission. “This is a first, too,” she grinned. “I bet she’ll progress much faster from now on.”
And she did. We saw her again a week later, running around the park’s perimeter with a hank of rope in her mouth. Bryn took off after her and the two ran flat out.
Sandy had certainly filled out nicely. “Yeah, she’s gained ten pounds. I can move her bed anywhere in the house now. She cleans her bowl twice a day. Sometimes she’ll remove the first kibble to drop at my feet: it’s a gift. Then she’ll eat the rest with gusto. And I bought her a cloth monkey that she takes to bed every night. Having her monkey close has caused the nightmares to taper off. Now she usually chases squirrels in her sleep. The sound of excited yipping is sure different from the whimpers and cries I used to hear.”
We watched that sleek, healthy, crooked-tailed mutt, tongue lolling, eyes bright and full of mischief, paws barely touching the ground as she shot past us with Bryn close behind, and grinned. No doubt about it- this Sandy was dandy!
Water? No.
Food? No.
A cuddle? Nope.
Bedtime? No.
Time for the park? Yes!
Bryn has developed an impressive internal clock. She knows when things should happen.
Yesterday we visited the Bay City dog park on a blustery, cloudy late afternoon and found nobody there. She drooped slightly, but was philosophical. We’d wait a decent length of time; a dog or three would usually appear. But 20 minutes later, as we shivered from the sudden drop in temperature, there were still no comers. So, after burning off frustration and disappointment with a rocket-fast run around the generous park she trotted to my feet, touched my arm with her nose, gave a doggy sigh and glanced over her shoulder to the gate and then to the car. Let’s go, Boss. No balls. No dogs. No fun.
I agreed, and said so. Then, as we began to walk out, she stiffened. Her nose grew 10 inches as it caught a mega-whiff of something- alien.
There, on the other side of the fence, about a hundred feet away, two monster-sized ‘dogs’ appeared: they were so enormous that people were sitting on top of them! Bryn was shocked down to her paws. Never in her life had she beheld horses. She spronged gazelle-like to the fence, barking and tossing me shocked glances. Switching to a howl-bay she bounced backward, then spronged forward, her body stiff as a stick, radiating ALARM! Big dogs!!!! There!!!
I realized that horses were boarded in the big fairgrounds barn way back there. Their owners had saddled up for a fall ride through the extended park area. Now their mounts moved at a walk through the lovely treed neighborhood.
Chuckling, I told her that everything was fine. Incredulous, she carried on barking: I hadn’t understood! I stopped her racket with a firm command: “Quiet!” and we carried on through the dog park gates to the car. She moved slowly, trying to keep the monsters in sight, baffled by my passivity.
She hopped into the back seat with a sigh. I put the car in gear and began to back out- when a big truck pulled into the parking space next to ours. She peered into its cab- and saw a decent-sized dog! Oh, Boy!
But then, remembering, she threw up her head and let out a long wail in a
disbelieving tone that moved from high to low- very different from a howl. That lament eloquently expressed her dismay that we were leaving as they were arriving!
I sighed, thought about it, and drove back to re-park. Thrilled, she licked my neck. Thanks, Boss! She roared through the gate again, monsters forgotten: here was a dog to play with!
But twenty minutes later two more horses strolled by. Shocked again, she sounded the alarm! The husky took absolutely no notice. Baffled, she stood stiffly at the fence to study the beasts. Bryn is an interesting dog; she thinks hard about novel situations with every fibre of her being. These creatures were BIG. Yet, two humans seemed unconcerned. How impossibly odd.
She yipped and twitched all night, reliving the sight of them.
Sometimes monster memories are awful. A short-haired, bony mutt with an appealing face, weighing perhaps 40 pounds, was slowly led, half crouching, into the park by her owner in midsummer. Released from her lead she tucked in her bent tail and went straight to the chained length fence corner to stand. It offered protection on two sides from possible attack. When approached by curious canines she put her head down between her front paws to appear as unthreatening as possible- and waited. They sniffed and snuffled around her, baffled by her extreme withdrawal, before finally wandering off to play. She reacted the same way to two more canine visits- resigned.
Her owner, Melanie, explained that her dog had been thoroughly traumatized by a previous owner, and was scheduled for the termination needle when she was rescued because she wouldn’t respond to anyone. “I call her Sandy. She took forever to dare to explore the house, and I’ve learned that she hates the sight of golf clubs and vacuums. But now she’ll take her meals from my hand, and allow me to lead her outside, without crying, to do her business. Every night she relives her past. I’ve set her bed where the walls meet, to offer more security.
Ah, would you mind patting her for a while? She needs to trust humans...”
The news spread. Other owners approached her gently too, and some even slipped her a treat, which she accepted nervously, after much coaxing, without meeting their eyes.
Two months passed. Bryn and I came to the park one September day to see Sandy following behind her mistress. Her tail rose slightly when she saw Bryn; she didn’t bolt to the fence corner. “Sandy is definitely more confident,” Melanie said, proudly. “She tolerates loud noises, eats from her bowl instead of my hand, and greets neighbors- from a safe distance- with one wag. Definitely progress!”
Bryn nosed her flank, and Sandy broke away to nose Bryn. (Yay!) She looked up at Melanie, who said, “Good girl! Go play, Sandy...” Bryn galloped off, and Sandy followed for at least 20 feet before sitting in the grass to watch Bryn dash around. “Wow,” Mel exclaimed. “Sandy’s rarely that far away from me!”
We continued to chat, and about three minutes later Sandy loped off to poo without asking permission. “This is a first, too,” she grinned. “I bet she’ll progress much faster from now on.”
And she did. We saw her again a week later, running around the park’s perimeter with a hank of rope in her mouth. Bryn took off after her and the two ran flat out.
Sandy had certainly filled out nicely. “Yeah, she’s gained ten pounds. I can move her bed anywhere in the house now. She cleans her bowl twice a day. Sometimes she’ll remove the first kibble to drop at my feet: it’s a gift. Then she’ll eat the rest with gusto. And I bought her a cloth monkey that she takes to bed every night. Having her monkey close has caused the nightmares to taper off. Now she usually chases squirrels in her sleep. The sound of excited yipping is sure different from the whimpers and cries I used to hear.”
We watched that sleek, healthy, crooked-tailed mutt, tongue lolling, eyes bright and full of mischief, paws barely touching the ground as she shot past us with Bryn close behind, and grinned. No doubt about it- this Sandy was dandy!