Another *#@$ Dang Addictive Thing

Wikipedia. Read the article on agility I just wrote and posted, then go exploring to see how you can contribute to the universe's online collection of knowledge in encyclopedic form. It's very cool.

Honed Instincts

Through hundreds of thousands of years of evolution, canines' senses and instincts have been honed to become fine-tuned instruments of survival. Dogs have been known to anticipate earthquakes, predict their owners' heart attacks, and detect imminent danger when the humans around them see, hear, and smell nothing, such as the bioterrorist threat when raccoons wander onto the porch.

My dogs, for example, employing the fine-tuned senses inherited from their prehistoric ancestors, know instantly, no matter how far away they are, when I am reheating pizza. They also make strong use of their atavistic ability to catch air-popped popcorn in midair when it escapes the gravity of the popcorn bowl.

Are they amazing, or what?

Miscellaneous After the Weekend

There's now a rough list of Remington's tricks available.

I had an intriguing conversation with an interesting woman about her dog-trick business.

(Have you noticed that referring to someone as a "woman" makes her sound like she's your mother's age? I don't know why that is--just that anyone my age and younger is clearly too young to be a full-fledged "woman." But "young lady" sounds like a 10-year-old. So I don't know what to call them. Or us. "Broad"? "Chick"? "Dude-ette"? "Female-type person"?)

Both dogs did great at this weekend's CPE trial in Elk Grove. Both qualified 7 out of 8 runs. If I have time, I might fill in more later. No photos, though, sorry.

Still Larnin' After All These Years

On Wed. morning, Tika and I finally had agility class again after two weeks off (then one week on before that and three (?) weeks off before that). The excitement was so thick you could chew it if your dog wasn't so busy jumping around like a crazed thing.

She was wild for the first run. Paid complete attention, but ran and jumped as if it were an extreme sport rather than mere standard agility, so we had to cycle around and try again several times.

Our threadle performance wasn't perfect (see Aug. 25 entry for diagram). So our instructor suggested that we practice by sending the dog out over the first jump, back between the first and second with my bod facing opposite the path along the threadle and a goodie in my hands in front of me for her to follow; walk backwards *past* the 2nd jump to give her a better idea of how we're moving together, and then go out over the 3rd and back in afterwards. Haven't tried it yet.

Our front cross performance wasn't perfect. (This is sounding way too familiar.) Instructor pointed out that when I'm trying to do a "chop" (point firmly towards the ground next to me with a "come" intended), I am in fact *first* raising my hand and arm out to the side, which looks like a gesture directing the dog in that direction, when I'll actually want the dog to change directions. After it was pointed out, we all watched pretty much everyone in the class do it repeatedly on the front cross exercises. How have we all gotten so bad/not realized it/forgotten it?

So we talked about keeping that hand down until the opposite (original) hand passes its path, then taking over with the new hand; one way to imagine it is that the original had has a leash connected to the dog, and as your body and arm draw the dog into a change of direction, your new hand takes the leash as the original hand passes its path. I think of it alternatively as your original hand and arm wrapping around your body until the dog follows your path and then the new hand takes over as your body turns in the new direction.

Wish I had some photos to demonstrate with. Or mini films. Huh--could be my chance to experiment again with my digital camcorder-- Just what I need, more things with which to suck up my copious time.

Now it's out for our daily walk and I'll see whether I have the energy to deal with Tika for a mile today. Often I just don't any more.

Food Cubes Rule

Just bought Casey a Buster Food Cube (Mini). He's such a delicate-behaving dog that the regular-size ones, which Jake has no problem with at all, were not tumbling and rolling for him. He still thinks a lot about the process, about where everyone else is, about what he'll do for his next vacation, about whether the furniture needs rearranging, about the best color scheme for spring fashions, and so on in between pawing or nosing the cube around.

My dogs love these things. They are particularly good for days when I don't have much time to spend with them (because, for example, I'm doing critical activities such as updating their Web site) or it's raining and nasty out so that they're not getting much exercise or stimulation. Jake, Tika, and Remington all work(ed) hard at the cube until the food is gone, so they're typically panting when they're done. At the "easy" distribution setting (which is all I ever use), it takes maybe 5-10 minutes for them to empty the cube.

Jake relies primarily on flinging the cube behind him with one front paw so it tends to crash off of walls and furniture. Not for use when you've got your antique crystal collection set up in the middle of the floor. Remington relied primarily on nudging it gently with his nose to roll it all around the room, using his paw only when he'd get it into a corner. Tika's more the nose type, too, but uses her paws more than Rem did. All find it easier to use on the carpet than on smooth floors. And I prefer lighter or more solid color carpets, because otherwise little bits of food hide in the pattern.

The bonus entertainment value that you get from the food cubes is that little bits of food end up rolling under various piece of furniture and the dogs don't always find them while doing their post-cube room evaluations. Then, hours, days, or weeks later, one of the dogs will go nuts trying to crawl under the couch--or the stove--

Fence Be Done

Yon fencers worked until well after dark both days, but indeed they replaced all 100 feet of the fence in 2 days. Thank goodness, since Tika took every opportunity to go exploring in the neighbor's yard. And, indeed, mostly didn't come back when called. Who trained that animal anyway? So for 2 days whenever she was out she had to be on a longline.


AND I just added more photos to preceding days' fence and mulch entries.

Fence, Glorious Fence--

Wayyy back when I moved in, and the hunnerd feet or so of back fence kept falling in, the neightbor wasn't interested in paying for half a fence.

I think his wife finally got tired of having to send him out every couple of days to nail together rotting boards that their dog or my dog (or a collaboration) knocked out of the rotting frame--and tired of the miles and miles of old cruddy plywood and random pieces of lumber that they had stacked against the fence on their side to cover the really bad parts.

What did I care--I didn't have escapist dogs and MY side was covered with a truly fine shrubbery!

But the wife finally came around and started pestering me on Christmas Eve. She already had a fence guy at work on their fence with the other neighbors.


So today he has arrived to spend 2 days dismantling the old fence (done by mid-morning) and install new fence. Which means no unsupervised dogs in the yard. My beasts have always had doggie door access, so we have no agreement on how canine inhabitants can signal that they need to visit the large grassy (and mulchy) dog restroom facilities. I've been taking Tika out on a long leash, where she whines and bounces around and does nothing in the way of Business. Jake marks a few shrubs and periodically trots thru the shubbery to the other yard since I hadn't yelled at him not to in the previous 15 seconds.

Fortunately he comes back when I yell loud enough. I doubt that Tika would return that quickly.

Still much debate about whether Jake's going deef, blind, crippled, senile, or just curmudgeonly (in a nice sort of way).

If it weren't for da dogs, who'd care about fences & mulches? These critters are getting to be an expensive hobby. ["Getting" to be???]

Mulch, Glorious Mulch! Who Cares What It Looks Like?

Muddy feet finally overwhelmed my resistance. Half a dozen times a day or more, wiping them there chunks o'mud off each dog's four little mud collectors. And all the footprints from their ins and outs through the doggie door that I couldn't catch or wasn't there to catch--wiping down the floor and wiping and wiping and wiping-- And the last couple of weeks of sometimes never-ending rain were the last straw (the last mudglob?).

I've muttered threats for over a year to buy a dumptruck full of mulch to cover the dirt in the yard until it can be all dug up, reirrigated, conditioned, and lawnized. Finally did so over the weekend. Wanted something biodegradable, not too expensive, and that my Fine Agility Dawgs could run and jump on with impunity. Decided on wood chips--what they called Pro Shred (if my feeble memory serves me well). Supposedly it's dyed--although they couldn't tell me with what, they assured me it's nontoxic to all living things, just "makes it last longer." I bought their line as well as their mulch.



The mulch arrived Saturday morning, and I spent the day in the yard finishing the removal of all of the old decrepit landscape fabric. It was, and has been all along, an agonizing chore because thousands of roots had grown through it, clutching it tightly to the ground. In each case, either the root or the landscape fabric had to be cut to make a few inches of progress. But now it's done!

Also sledged & hauled away a few linear feet of concrete edging that had lingered after the first demolition last spring and that had been blocking the path of some agility layouts.

On Sunday, ten fine friends appeared at ten in the morning. We got a shovel/haul/rake assembly line going and were done by 11:30. Took us longer to order and consume pizza and chitchat about what studly mulch haulers we all were.


(Thanks, Steph, for the 2 preceding photos--I was so busy being the Evil Overlord of Mulch and directing the minions that I got a before shot only--nuthin' at all of the slave labor.)

What Fun It Is To Run And Chase

Went to the Gopher Hill Park again this morning. Tried to give them plenty to do to tire their little selves out. Twenty minutes of frisbee, then a good walk/run/romp around the hill, then more frisbee, totalling around an hour of activity.

It was cold. Frost covered everything that the sun hadn't yet kissed. But, as it warmed up, the frost turned to huge lurking gobbets of water, which my shoes and socks sucked up with grand delight. After a mere ten minutes, my feet squished as though I had walked through a stream.

The dogs didn't seem to mind.

Note to self: Wet feet suck on a cold morning.

Another note to self: New digital camera does NOT seem to do well on stop-action sports photography. Of course, it was early in the morning on one of the shortest days of the year (read: sun low, light may be dimmer than it appears). And I didn't take my instruction booklet. So perhaps there's a way to force it to do what I want--mwah ha ha haaaaaa! (Force always being a good thing when practicing one's Evil Overlordshipness.)

Both beasts behaved themselves admirably, keeping track of me and racing back periodically to see what I was up to, never getting far out of sight. Tika came when she was called. And, at one point, we rounded the hill and discovered two other dogs playing loose ahead of us. I had the frisbees out, and Tika looked at the other dogs, whined, looked at the frisbee, looked at the other dogs, whined, looked at the frisbee--and decided that playing with me would be much more fun than running off to check out unfamiliar dogs. I was so proud of her, once again.

To Everything There Is A Season

I rarely stray from dog topics here in the Taj MuttHall. But tonight is the night to wander afield.

Earlier, I was slaving away in Santa's Workshop in the attic, wrapping gifts galore for the tremendous gathering of Clan O'Levy tomorrow, when it suddenly occurred to me that I was enjoying myself and indulging apallingly in the spirit of Christmas. It has been a long time.

My ex moved out in May of 2000, then I sold the house (wiith the half-acre agility yard) from which I said I'd never move again. For Christmas of 2000, I was living in the Horrid Rental, rain coming through the roof at every opportunity. I was on disability and could barely function with spinal problems. And it was the first time in 21 years that I hadn't had my significant other around--Needless to say, depression had taken hold in a deep and nasty way. I did set up a half-sized tree at the last minute with only a couple dozen decorations.

In December of 2001, I had just moved into my new home. Boxes occupied every corner of the house and garage. I was trying to do everything myself without reinjuring my back. Every shopping trip reminded me that I had no significant other for whom to shop. I felt more alone than almost any other time in my life. I strung one string of lights on the outside of the house. I did not get a tree.

In December of 2002, Remington was dying of cancer. He was in and out of the veterinary hospital. My bills for operations and treatment were huge. Just before Christmas, x-rays seemed to show remarkable improvement, but on Christmas eve he began internal hemmorhaging again and I spent Christmas day on and off the phone to the vet hospital. I was too stressed and distracted by Remington's fatal illness to enjoy things, and bearing the burden made me realize even more how alone I was. Furthermore, my divorce was final the week before Christmas. I put up about 10 strings of exterior lights. I got a tree but it took me about 3 weeks to gather the enthusiasm to decorate, and even then I put up only perhaps one box of ornaments and then quit.

This year I've shopped with pleasure, put up a couple of dozen strings of exterior lights, set up a lovely tree and decorated it fully, decorated random stuff around the house, wrapped gifts so that I'm not up til midnight Xmas eve--and have discovered that I've almost rekindled my old enthusiasm for the whole holiday season.

It's been a long three and a half years.

Love and Joy Come To You

And this message that I'm sending out, like a telegraph to their souls--if they can receive--you'll always be in our hearts, taken too young as you were: human friends Tina, Betty, Louis; canine companions Remington, Tanith, Sparky, Pippin, Tyler, and so many others this year.

But for all of us still shuffling around that mortal coil:

Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

Good With Kids

Jake does not like small children.

He didn't learn that while living with us, I can assure you.

A glob of friends visited last night, including my 3-and-a-half-year-old nephew, Alex. Alex had been warned in the past about avoiding Jake. This is counterintuitive to kids: What they really want is to avoid the dog(s) who loom large over them and look somewhat like coyotes and to snuggle the little cute fluffy dog with floppy ears.

Alex was very good and avoided Jake. He avoided Tika for a while, too, even though she was on her best behavior around him.

The evening progressed, as evenings are wont to do, with various activities, alarums, and excursions, and in various means we ended up here: All of the other adults in the living room, partying down. Me, standing in the kitchen, leaning on the railing overlooking the family room. Alex, standing or lying on the dogs' beds, not quite in hyperactive mode but verging on it.

Jake, bringing his ball and dropping it directly at Alex's feet on the bed for Alex to throw--not grabbing at it when Alex reached for it (which he often does for me and other adults), not snapping it out of Alex's hands when Alex didn't throw it immediately (although you could SEE that he WANTED to quite desperately), just waiting eagerly for the ball to be tossed. And although Jake eventually gets disgusted with me if I just kick or toss a toy a few inches ("OK, if you're not going to be SERIOUS about this serious thing, I'll go obsessively lick my feet for a while."), he picked up Alex's every toss, no matter how short (most were barely off the edge of the dog bed) and immediately returned it for more.

Tika, hanging in the background with a large soft squeaky, mouthing it quietly (not getting bored in a wild and uncontrolled manner like she would for me after about 1.5 milliseconds of inattention), and periodically coming over to Alex. Alex would put his hand on the toy and Tika would immediately let go of it and wait patiently for him to toss it for her.

I believe I was impressed that a child Alex's age was playing nicely with my dogs, but it soitainly impressed the bejeezus out of me how nicely my dogs were playing with Alex!

Alex declared that this was Dog School (my sister later told me that they had been reading a book about a naughty dog who had to go to dog school) and periodically crawled into a hole in the wall to "rest his legs."




I didn't know quite what to do about Casey, because his mom wasn't around for me to ask how he was around small children, so I watched him pretty closely. He seemed cautiously curious. At one point, late in the evening, Alex began running in circles through the kitchen, library, living room, entry, kitchen, library, living room, entry--and Casey trotted right behind him, trying to get a good sniff, tail wagging slightly, for several circuits before it occurred to him to get in FRONT of Alex and try to stop the parade that way. It didn't work for more than a moment, but after that Casey wandered off to steal a toy from Jake.

Those Unwanted Dogs

Someone in my agility club posted a question about who has rescues in their canine families. The stories have been pouring in. Here's my contribution:

NATCH Remington (the late, great) lived alone in a back yard, never played with, never in the house, sometimes no water. A neighbor saw him from her balcony week after week. She finally approached the owner, who said his kid would be heart-broken if he got rid of the dog, but how about if she came over while they weren't home and took the dog? (Great owner/parent, huh?) So she did. She'd have kept him except he had too much energy and she didn't know what to do with him. He came to me through Nike Animal Rescue at 9 months. And boy, he had a lot of energy compared to my previous dogs!

The energetic Jakeymon

ADCH, O-NATCH, ATCH Jake ended up at Nike Animal Rescue somehow, and was adopted by 2 or 3 families who each brought him back because he had too much energy and they didn't know what to do with him. Pam Hartley (dog trainer) fostered him along with her other 7 dogs until she gave it all up for Lent, when Nancy Gyes (another dog trainer) fostered him. He was 7 when we finally teamed up. Sheesh, and I thought *Remington* had a lot of energy!

Champion-to-be (I hope!) Tika arrived at the humane society at 3 months--lady didn't have time for a puppy with so much energy. A family adopted her but returned her 3 months later--she had too much energy and they didn't know what to do with her so they "had to keep her in a crate ALL the time." She was so wild that the humane society couldn't complete her medical exam, so they called North Bay Canine Rescue, who called Gina Campodonico to foster her, who knew I was looking for an agility dog, so she called me--
Oh, man oh man oh man, and I thought *Jake* had a lot of energy!

We've All Got It Bad

No agility weekends. Not attending agility classes every week. Am I obsessing about it? One January trial had an *opening* date: No entries accepted postmarked before Dec. 8. Mine was postmarked december 8, arrived on the 10th, and the trial filled on the 9th.

I refuse to drive to the post office and pay them an ungodly sum for overnighting an agility entry that might not get me in anyway! Aughhhhhh!

Laundry is happenin' in the laundry room, and I just walked in there, where the washer is sweesh-swoshing its load. But it wasn't saying "SWEESH swosh SWEESH swosh." Oh, no. What it was saying was "WEAVE pole WEAVE pole."

Tika has been mooning around me constantly. The normal morning walk-and-play and afternoon play and evening whatever-comes-to-mind aren't enough. She has taken to exhibiting apalling bored dog syndrome: Run to one side of the yard. Bark at something. Run to the other side of the yard. Bark at something. Run back. Bark. Return. Bark.

I've taken them to the park a couple of times this week--much more frequent than usual. That ain't enough, no neither.

Mud, Glorious Mud! Who Cares What It Looks Like?

Mud. Goopy, gloppy, clay-based horrid miserable material. If only I had more of a lawn and less of a mud pit. I suppose I could just throw down grass seed at this time of year and hope that Ma Nature takes care of it--sans proper irrigation or soil preparation.

Or I could do what I think I'm going to do--go buy gorilla hair ("playground shred" AKA shredded redwood bark), looks like 8 cubic yards of it--yikes!--and spread it everywhere.

I'm soooooo tired of muddy feet and floors. Here--24 hours worth of foot & floor rags, drying on the deck.

After viewing this, a frequent reader friend contributes this classic (?):

The Hippopotamus Song
Mud! Mud! Glorious mud!
Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood!
So, follow me, follow,
Down to the hollow.
There let us wallow
In glorious mud!

Read the full lyrics or listen to the chorus in MP3 plus some bio.

Actual genuine ELF voice as heard in real life, powered by audblog

New Toy

However, my Powers of Rationalization said that, because I'm going to end up missing 3 agility trials that I had planned on attending AND won't have to pay for hotel & gas, either, it's a good time to--no, not save money--buy a digital camera!

I found the least-expensive one with 3 megapixels and 3x optical zoom.

Its AA alkaline battery usage sucks, but it works nicely. Here's Casey, demonstrating how nicely it does its own adjustment for taking a photo of an all-black dog, which normally sucks.

I'M GOING STIR CRAZY!!!

It's just not *right*, having no agility competitions to attend! I'm unmotivated to practice, too, although of course this enforced extended absence would be the ideal time to work on fixing various challenges.

I'm guessing that I didn't get into the New Year's weekend trial, either, since the organization that's hosting it hasn't posted my name on their "accepted entries" web site, but I have no clue otherwise. I don't know whether they didn't get it or they haven't been updating their web site or what. That's very frustrating.

I did set up a little practice scenario in the yard yesterday. Decided to take down the A-frame and set it aside--it's been up since I bought it shortly after moving in, and it takes up a huge amount of space, physically and visually. It's so danged heavy that it took me probably 10 minutes to get it off to the side of the yard. It does dismantle into 4 pieces, but I'm not sure that that would have taken me less time.

Then I came to the conclusion once again that that danged lilac shrub is going to have to go. Sure,it's gorgeous--for about 3 weeks in the spring. All winter it's naked and its sticks aren't all that interesting or attractive. And it's RIGHT in the middle of my agility area! I've been trying hard to go around it, but it really does make a mess of things. Argh. So much for the landscape plan--

Anyway, after I finally got my scenario set up, I worked Tika and Jake through it, discovering that *neither* of them are really working their weave pole entries nearly as well as I thought they did (actually discovered that at the seminar in november).

To get Casey out of the way, I shoved him into the house and put a chair in front of the doggie door. Within minutes, he was out in the yard, apparently being small enough to squeeze through the 4" of space under the chair at the bottom of the doggie door.

So then I shoved him out into the front hallway and closed the doors to the kitchen/access to dog door. A couple of minutes later he showed up in the yard again. Doors were still closed, so he must have figured out to go down the 1/3 flight of stairs to my office and jump up through the wrought-iron railing between there and the kitchen.

So I had to take the doggie door out entirely to keep him in the house. Normally I just hook him to a leash next to the porch, but I was using the whole area for running my dogs.

So to make up for it, at the end of my session with my dogs, I worked a little with him on jumps & tunnels. Danged beast has learned how to go into the *left* side of the tunnel but won't go into the *right* side?! Go figure.

Anyway, as I attempted to get him to go through, I shortened up and mostly straighted out the tunnel onto the patio. Then I tossed a toy & shoved him in and started to move to the other side, but he screeched to a halt, turned, and came back out. So I screeched to a halt--and fell on my kiester on the concrete.

This is not a good thing for someone who has had repeated problems with the disks in her lower back. So I ended up attemptng to overdose on antiinflammatories, icing & heating my rearmost part repeatedly while sprawled on the couch.

I *think* the nerves down the backs of my legs are a bit more painful today than yesterday, but I'm not in horrific pain, so perhaps I treated it quickly enough and long enough.

Have I mentioned what a pain dogs are?

Xmas Photo

Just stuck an xmas photo up under Nov 30. Enjoy. Real xmas letters & cards will be along eventually, with an even nicer photo.

Squeaky Toy or What? Wag That Plume Tail--

Jake loves squeaking his squeaky toys. When he's in a complete frenzy, he holds it in his mouth, eyes with a crazed expression, squeezing it rapid fire (in his relative youth, I think we clocked him at a couple hundred squeaks a minute). When he's more relaxed and contented and familiar with the toy, he stands over it, resting it on the ground with his mouth around it, waving his plume tail and doing a more dignified squeak-per-second or so.

Last night, I invited the dogs to join me for a ride to the post office. I opened the door into the garage and Jake ran out and grabbed a squeaky toy that apparently one of the random household dogs had dragged out to the garage and dropped when I wasn't paying attention. While I turned on the light, Jake stood in his relaxed squeaky pose, getting a feeble squeak-a-second or so. Tika lunged forward and tried desperately to get around the bicycle that was between her and Jake to try to take away the squeaky toy.

This was unusual behavior; she's not that wild about squeakies, and seldom actively attempts to steal things from Jake. So I came around behind Jake, trying to see which toy had Tika so excited. Funny, I thought, I don't remember a squeaky toy with a long skinny tail just like a -- real -- rat --

Well, now I know why squeakies have such a natural appeal to the beasts. You could've fooled me that he'd found a squeaky toy, not a careless rodent. I've niether seen nor heard any signs of Vector Invasion in my garage or attic, so I'm not quite sure where this one came from. Maybe came in from the rain last night (how? who knows--they can probably run through the gap under my garage door without ducking).

I guess I'd prefer that the dog catch them than not.

Tika Howling

I take it back, I *have* heard Tika howling.

Imagine waking, in your bed, in the dark, disoriented, your Cro Magnon hindbrain taking control and the hair on your neck that you never knew you had prickling--because filling the room, all around you, a sound so deep and full, so high and round, comes the howl of the wolf--a lonesome, chilling, ghostly sound from the dark and untamed forest.

Yes, I've heard her howling.

On more than one occasion, but only in her sleep.

Where does she go, when she leaves this plane of consciousness?

The Next Generation

When Remington was young, he hated to expose his tummy. It was a chore to teach him to roll over, but that was one of my early training successes in breaking things down into minuscule-enough bits for the dog to get it and want to do it.

As reward--in addition to food--I used to rub his tummy. He decided he liked that, and started to roll onto his back in the morning on the bed. And since he hadn't even been allowed on the bed for the first 2 years we had him, simply being there was a wonderful thing. It was a short step from there to simply doing the Upside Down Dog thing--wriggling around on his back, kind of growling and talking about what a pleasure it was to be upside down.

It evolved into a whole routine. He'd wriggle and kick, and I'd put my hands against his rear feet so he'd have something to really kick into, which got him even more excited. I'd talk about what a wonderful upside-down dog he was in an excited voice, and that was even better.

When Jake came to live with us, the Upside-Down Dog thing seemed to bemuse him at first, but he quickly caught on and would join in in his own exaggerated little-dog way, yelping and jerking and rolling his back and head on the bedspread.

Jake has kept up the tradition since Rem has been gone. Now I even do the rear-feet-kicking thing with him, which he wasn't sure what to do about originally, but now it also seems to get him going.

Tika, who is really quite an independent girl, watches, yet she says nothing. What of that! The closest she's gotten is that sometimes, after Jakes' done rolling around and I've finished saying "What an upside down dog, yes you are!" in a cheery way several dozen times, and I roll over and start trying to exit the bedcovers, Tika pushes right up against me, rolls over onto her back, and lies there, demanding to have attention.

But no rolling around, no chitchatting about the glorious of upside-downness.

I noticed that there's no more howling, either.

Sheba howled sometimes. I don't remember whether she started the howling at sirens, but for sure Remington took up the challenge and made it his responsibility to let the untamed song rise from his soul and emerge in a pure and haunting tone from his pursed lips, nose tipped towards the heavens.

Jake, who is NOT the independent sort (most of the time), took it upon himself to try to copy Remington. He had the most annoying yelp/shriek/bark combo, trying to tilt his head back and do what Remington was doing. It was very cute, but it was not a howl. His wolf ancestors would have been horrified, or maybe moved to hysterical laughter.

Now that Rem's gone, there's no howling at sirens. Jake sometimes notices that they're out there, and whines--quick, sharp, concerned whines, as if he knows that there's something important that needs to be done but he's just not the one to lead the way.

I've never heard Tika howl at all, although she looks like she should have a really good one inside her somewhere. She has also never shown any sign of reacting to sirens.

It's the changing of the dog generations; whole routines and habits go by the wayside.

The Lighter Side: Who's Smart?

Jake does this thing where he decides that, for some reason, he cannot come through the dog door. Perhaps there is a dog lying too close to the other side (say, 3' away...). Perhaps it didn't settle quite right the last time someone went through it. Perhaps he found a lovely dumbbell toy in the yard and it hits the side when he starts trying to go through and he can't figure out what to do with it.

So Jake's sitting outside the dog door, whining, the plastic squeaky dumbbell toy lying at his feet in front of the door. He's whining and staring hopefully at me through the glass sliding door. I am not getting up and going over to open the sliding door because the dog is too dumb to figure out how to get a lightweight plastic dumbbell through the door.

Casey, meanwhile, has been watching intently Jake from *inside* the house, through the sliding glass door. Mind you, he had been carrying the lovely special dumbbell around all morning since he got home from his Tahoe vacation last night but lost interest somewhere along the way.

So Jake's sitting there, whining. I'm ignoring him. Casey sticks his head through the dog door from the inside out, leans way down, grabs the dumbbell, and pulls his head back into the house, leaving Jake sitting there, now looking merely pathetic, but still wanting me to come and let him in since he's been so abused and neglected.

Casey is happy; his butt wiggles and he sings at me through the dumbbell in his mouth.

The Lighter Side: Those are a lot of weave poles ya got there

I've had my weaves separated into 2 sets of 6 for quite a while to practice various entrances and exits and cross-in-fronts and -behinds. Put them all back together into the standard 12 in the middle of the lawn the other day.

My sister, sitting in the hot tub with me, said "Those are a lot of weave poles." I said it's just the normal set. Then I got curious--Tika was bringing her Toy to me at that time for tossing and tugging--so when I gained control of the toy, I pointed my arm in the general direction of the weaves--which were pointing straight away from us, starting about 20 feet away, and said "Weave!"

Tika charged over to the poles, made her entrance, wove speedily all the way through, and bounced on the thrown Toy with well-earned delight when she finished. What a good girl!

And what a good trainer, to have taught the dog that doing all that hard stuff is just another fun game!

The Lighter Side: Auto Ball Return

We were sitting in the hot tub the other evening. Jake was out and about in the dark yard, conducting an extensive investigation of some random corner. Tika got her Tika Toy (used to be "The Big Blue Thing"--of various colors--under Remington's dominion) and brought it over for some play. I tossed it for her several times and then I told her that was enough and went back to my conversation.

A little later, Jake came over and detected serious play molecules in the air and realized he'd been left out. He went looking for something to play throw with, and found Tika's Toy lying on the lawn. He growl-wrestled with it a bit, which got Tika's attention, and then he brought it over to me.

Tika stood near him in submissive annoyance (ears turned towards back of head but clearly thinking "This is 'Tika's Toy' he's got! That's as in 'Tika,' that's me!"). Jake looked up at me, wagging his tail, and dropped the toy for me to throw. Whereupon Tika lunged in front of him, grabbed the toy, and trotted out onto the lawn.

Now Jake did the submissive annoyance thing (ears turned towards the back but clearly thinking, "You weren't playing with it! Not fair! Not fair!") and followed her out to the lawn, two steps behind her shoulder.

On the lawn, Tika realized she was bored (no one was throwing the toy for her, after all, nor playing tug of war) and dropped the toy. Jake swooped in, grabbed the toy, and trotted back to the hot tub, tail wagging.

Indignant, Tika followed. Jake dropped the toy for me to throw. Tika swooped in and picked up the toy and trotted out to the lawn, Jake following. Tika dropped the toy. Jake plunged in and grabbed the toy, trotted back to the hot tub and dropped the toy for me to throw. Tika swooped in, picked up the toy, and trotted out to the lawn, Jake following, whereupon she dropped the toy. Jake swooped in--

By this time, I'm in hysterics in the hot tub. My guests have to ask what's going on. I tell them.

Jake brought the toy back and dropped it for me to throw. Tika swooped and ran. Jake followed. Tika dropped the toy on the lawn. Jake swooped and ran. Jake dropped the toy for me to throw.

Repeat. And repeat. And repeat--

Somewhere in there, one of them realized that no progress was actually occurring, and the game stopped. But I enjoyed myself immensely.

Xmas Photos

Backfill: Dec 9 The spouse of a friend is a photographer and they did photo shoots of dogs for the holidays this weekend. Aren't we a lovely bunch of agility nuts?

The Ghost of Nightmares Past

Last night I dreamed that Remington and I were sitting on the couch, his front end sprawled across my lap as was his usual wont. Suddenly he shot to a sit, his face contorting, and then the seizure started. He thrashed, his limbs stiff and jerking spasmodically, and I just held him as gently as I could so that he wouldn't throw himself off the couch like he threw himself off the bed the night he died.

As the spasms died away and he lay on his side, panting, eyes wide, I gently wiped away the foam and strings of saliva from his mouth and face. I stroked him slowly, comfortingly as my mother wandered in and asked casually what was going on.

"It's siezures," I said, "Just like the night he died. I thought they were done with. I thought they wouldn't happen again."

And I woke up crying.

It's Been A Year--Part III

I feel like I'm reliving the last 4 months of Remington's life all over again. Not as intensely. And I don't think about it all the time. But I'm acutely aware, over and over, that November was the month in which he was diagnosed and had his operation and started chemo.

I'm sure that this will go on and on through March.

Christmas will be odd; last Christmas Eve he went into the emergency room and stayed for 36 hours and I hardly got any sleep and was on the phone to the vet all day Xmas when I wasn't actually leaving my family to go to the hospital to sit with him.

OK, I'm getting ahead of myself.

It was about this time last year that I sat the 3 of my dogs down in front of my Xmas fireplace and took a ton of holiday shots with and without me sitting alongside. So now I'm preparing for it again and am again acutely aware that I have only 2 dogs this time.

The Release Is As Important As the Stay

Backchaining: The process of teaching a behavior by starting at the end and gradually adding pieces behind it. For example, to teach a dog to go over 3 jumps in a row, you might toss a toy out in front, stand in front of the first jump, and send the dog to get the toy. Then you'd move behind the first jump and send the dog over the first jump to get the toy. Then you'd gradually move back until you're behind the 2nd jump, and so on.

In last week's seminar, Susan Garrett talked about people wanting to train excellent contacts, where the dog (for example) shoots over the Aframe, zooms down the other side and skids to a stop at the bottom, two paws on and two paws off, and waits for your release cue. She pointed out that, in backchaining, you'd have to start with the release, and most people don't even think of that as part of the behavior. Of course, to have a release, the dog first has to have a sit/stay--so actually *that* would be the first part of the backchaining.

In the first day of the seminar--which admittedly had mostly less-experienced dogs--she had us all line up in a row, put the dogs in a sit/stay, and then give the release word with no physical cues (no leaning forward, no nodding, no steps, no hand movements). Tika did a nice sit/stay and then, on my "OK!", got up immediately and came around front of me.

The other dogs didn't release.

Susan said, "Looks like no one's dog here understands the release except Ellen's." I was pleased. OK, I take my successes in some pretty simple things. Fact is that Rachel, our instructor, insisted that we learn that as a separate skill way back at the beginning and continue to practice it over time. For that one moment of glory, I was extremely grateful.

Operant Dogs

One of the topics at the seminar was clicker training. I've been using clicker training a bit for the dogs for 3 or 4 years. Remington picked up the concept very quickly; was doing target nose touches within 15 minutes of trying. Jake would sit and stare up at me, wagging his tail. Tika picked up clicker training instantly and I've used it a lot for her. Jake sits and stares up at me, wagging his tail.

You use the click to reward a behavior that you want. There are two ways to get that behavior: cause it to happen (e.g., leading with food) or wait for the dog to offer something similar to the behavior that you want and then click each time that the dog gets closer to what you're looking for. This is called shaping This generally gets stronger behavior and better learning because the dog is thinking about what he's doing instead of always being shown what to do and blindly repeating it.

A dog who offers behavior is referred to as operant. Tika is reasonably operant; offers behaviors when I whip out the clicker, although I don't do general clicking simply for doing something different often enough, so I have to be patient and wait while she repeatedly offers the tricks she already knows before she starts moving or looking in other kinds of ways.

Jake sits and looks up at me, wagging his tail.

Casey I've not done much with, but he does do a few things (sit, lift his paw, lie down, roll on his side, sit, beg, lie down, roll on his side, sit, lift his paw, lie down....) and I've been occasionally waiting patiently for anything else (e.g., stand, look away from me...) and clicking that. I think he'll shape up nicely into an operant beast with some patience. Guess I ought to explain this to his mom sometime!

During this seminar, I saw many many dogs who were not operant, who simply stood or sat next to or in front of their handlers, doing nothing. Susan advised patience--she said it might seem like forever now, but it will pay off in the long run. So indeed I saw almost all of those dogs eventually do *something*--move a foot, turn the head--even if the handler had to wait 3, 4, or 5 minutes.

So I tried with Jake this evening again. He sat and looked up at me, wagging his tail. I waited for quite a while and clicked him doing ANYthing else, but mostly that involved moving his head or a paw. I did get him to do a brand-new hand-touch (with his nose) several times, but that was after I offered my hand as an obvious target. Then I put some of his toys out on the ground and decided that the goal would be for him to touch one of them. Took about 10 minutes, and each time that he'd get his nose lower to the ground and I'd click, he'd go right back to sitting and looking up at me, wagging his tail. Touched his squeaky maybe 3 times, a couple of minutes apart, with lots of sitting/looking/wagging and occasional slight head dips in between. I finally decided that was enough for both of us and just had him do some things he already knows.

With Tika, I decided to see whether I could get her to pick up the furry snake in the toy basket behind her and bring it to me. It took a bit, but she kept working at it, and it went fine until she dropped it in the water dish while turning her head at one point. Pretty good for not a lot of practice at shaping. I was pleased with myself and with her, since I often seem to shape her into doing completely unintended things.

Examples--when I first started, I wanted to shape her into turning left & right. I succeeded in shaping her to walk sideways. This seminar, I wanted to shape her to walk between two poles. Within 30 seconds I had shaped her into an irreversibly strong behavior of placing the side of her head against a pole and standing there. On the other hand, when I wanted to shape her into walking *around* a jump upright, we succeeded at that in about a minute and a half, much faster than anyone else there. So it has to be something that I have a good understanding of what I'm looking for and luck that she doesn't offer what they call cheap behavior along with the desired behavior.

For example, when she took a step towards the two poles, maybe she turned her head slightly towards one of them and I didn't realize it, so I clicked, thinking I was reinforcing the step, when in fact I was reinforcing the head turn toward the poles.

Interesting stuff.