I find every house I stay in contributes something different. In one perhaps it is the color schemes or maybe "what NOT to do" or I find little conveniences like kitchen tools I’ve never seen, ways of arranging a cupboard, that kind of thing.
One home I go to is an absolute sanctuary! This house has consciousness all through it. There is not one nook or cranny that is not alive with thoughtful energy. Needless to say, there is no tv, the computer is conveniently put in a room by itself and clocks are at a minimum. There is a wonderful sound system and music is welcome in the space.
When ever I have stayed there, I am inspired to simplify even more in my own home and continue to clear and clean out clutter or extra "fuss" where it may exist. I personally am very visual with many pictures, small arrangements and colors throughout my living spaces. This home has all white walls, a clean but common cement floor throughout, no window dressings except one or two windows that need privacy and then, the window is simply blocked with small Venetian blinds that allow the light through when they are open. There are no pictures or images on the walls anywhere. Bookcases are simple and well arranged, some are empty. The storage spaces are a thing of beauty with open spaces and never one inch of clutter. The entire house creates a visual pleasure just through the placement of objects and furniture. The use of natural fabrics and foods throughout the house adds to the effect. I feel very stimulated and calmed at the same time when I stay there.
By contrast, I once sat at a home that had not only clutter and "things" placed on every available space, it was bulging at the seams with hidden possessions crammed into every possible closet, bookcase storage box or untility room. This house functioned, however; and the dogs didn’t seem to mind. Everyone had their own space to sit, sleep and eat including me. Yet I was never at ease and found I could only walk from one small open space to another. Needless to say, I watched a lot of tv at that house.
Many homes I’ve visited had large elegant rooms, ornate or expensive looking furniture and lovely views. I can enjoy these places, but always find there is one room where I tend to "live" besides the necessity of a bedroom. The kitchen of course is always a functional space in most homes and I gain pleasure from using then keeping kitchens just as the owners left them. I have my favorites of course. Some kitchens are so huge I feel I’m swallowed up in them a nd can’t really get a comfortable meal made without an effort. Almost everyone keeps their utensils in a similar way and I can usually find whatever I need. I do use their cooking pans and dish soap, that kind of thing, but always bring my own food, store and stay contained with boxes and refrigerator space. That way, when I leave, I can be sure I get myself taken out of their personal spaces. Still, there are times I forget one or two items.
Usually, I forget a small food item in the frig, or perhaps a bathroom supply like shampoo or mouthwash. It’s always a source of irritation to me when I do that and I often chastise myself for it until I remember I too, am human.
The most important thing, of course is that I take care of the dogs in the manner to which they are accustomed and that actually, I do sitting with the dogs and not housesitting. Still, I call it housesitting. I pick up the mail, take out the trash, vacuum the floors when I leave and keep the sinks clean. I maintain a presence at the home so any possible "thief" would not consider staking out the place as empty. Also, as the responsible person for the dogs and for the house, I make it a point (I think I’ve mentioned this earlier) to not go out at night. There are exceptions of course, but I take the responsibility of house sitting (think dog sitting) seriously. Many of my friends would say too seriously, but I think it is simply a matter of doing a job well.
Why I call it sitting with the dogs
Wind is calm now, and the moon has been nearly full each night. My evening hours outside have been delightful. The dogs and I like to sit and watch the sun go down, then wait as the long dusk settles. They gather next to me and we sit silently watching as the light changes around us. Very sweet.
The quiet compainionship with dogs
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Dogs For All Seasons - Summer in Tucson
In the Summer, very few dogs stay outside during the day in my part of the country. They go out to pee and poop and even daily walks are almost always taken in the early morning hours as daytime is very hot and dusk is too warm for exercise. Frequently, snakes can be a problem.
Yet, one house where I sat was different. The dogs had a very large flat backyard, landscaped with stones, rocks and various desert plants. This was a home with two lovely energetic rat terriers. Paul, the male and Tina, the female. Those two little beings kept such good company and I enjoyed them the entire time I stayed there. But they could stay out doors all day in the Summer if wanted. I was concerned at first when their owners told me the dogs stayed in the back yard while both of them went off to work. But, soon found out that Paul and Tina did in fact enjoy the heat and seemed none the worse for wear. We would often sit in the back porch patio. Paul would patrol the perimeter of the walled yard, and Tina would stick close by me, wathcing the silly boy swagger around the yard.
I'd throw a ball for Tina. Quick as a flash she'd run after it out into the blazing sun. She was fast and loved retreiving. Her stubby tail would wag appreciatively and I felt blessed by her presence. But the heat never seemed to bother either one, and I too enjoyed a more natural way of enjoying the Summer.
Sometimes the three of us would go on an adventure together. They would follow me around while I watered the many palnts or hang up the fresh washed laundry. We all participated in dragging out the hose and spraying the sparkly drops around. The dogs played in the spray and seemed non the worst for wear. When I'd hang laundry, Paul and Tina watched my every move. I talked to them as an old friend would and we had a good time together.
At night, I'd drag one of the doggie beds into the bedroom, prepare myself for sleep while Paul and Tina watched me. Neither dog was willing to retire until I did. Then, once I was settled down, Tina would tunnel under the soft Summer sheets and Paul would burrow down into his blanketed doggie bed.
I learned later that rat terriers, chiuahuas and dashhunds all love to tunnel.
It was mid-Summer, Monsoon Season in Tucson and different dogs experience that phenonenom differently too. I sat for a storm adverse Laorador Retreiver during the monsoon season. This dog would not even go out of doors if the weather began to change and the clouds started rolling in. If thishappened, midway into our walk, He would turn around and there was no arguing with him. He was going home. His anxiety was so server he would dig in the corner of a closet or behind a chair so frantically, I could barely get him to stop.
I wound up sitting with him in a windowless laundry room, on the floor with the dryer going. I stroked him and reassured him while he stuck his nose betwen the washer and dryer. If the storm came at night, I would turn the tuv up, and talked to him for as long as he might need. Sometimes it worked, and we were able to forget the storm. Most of the time, he was shaking and panting the entire time.
If I left his side, he would immediately get more agitated and begin digging somewhere. My heart went out to him and I realized how important my job really was. Of course, the owners took him to a vet and he did receive a sedative for those times, but it was not enough and you really can't give a dog too much of such a medicine.
Yet, one house where I sat was different. The dogs had a very large flat backyard, landscaped with stones, rocks and various desert plants. This was a home with two lovely energetic rat terriers. Paul, the male and Tina, the female. Those two little beings kept such good company and I enjoyed them the entire time I stayed there. But they could stay out doors all day in the Summer if wanted. I was concerned at first when their owners told me the dogs stayed in the back yard while both of them went off to work. But, soon found out that Paul and Tina did in fact enjoy the heat and seemed none the worse for wear. We would often sit in the back porch patio. Paul would patrol the perimeter of the walled yard, and Tina would stick close by me, wathcing the silly boy swagger around the yard.
I'd throw a ball for Tina. Quick as a flash she'd run after it out into the blazing sun. She was fast and loved retreiving. Her stubby tail would wag appreciatively and I felt blessed by her presence. But the heat never seemed to bother either one, and I too enjoyed a more natural way of enjoying the Summer.
Sometimes the three of us would go on an adventure together. They would follow me around while I watered the many palnts or hang up the fresh washed laundry. We all participated in dragging out the hose and spraying the sparkly drops around. The dogs played in the spray and seemed non the worst for wear. When I'd hang laundry, Paul and Tina watched my every move. I talked to them as an old friend would and we had a good time together.
At night, I'd drag one of the doggie beds into the bedroom, prepare myself for sleep while Paul and Tina watched me. Neither dog was willing to retire until I did. Then, once I was settled down, Tina would tunnel under the soft Summer sheets and Paul would burrow down into his blanketed doggie bed.
I learned later that rat terriers, chiuahuas and dashhunds all love to tunnel.
It was mid-Summer, Monsoon Season in Tucson and different dogs experience that phenonenom differently too. I sat for a storm adverse Laorador Retreiver during the monsoon season. This dog would not even go out of doors if the weather began to change and the clouds started rolling in. If thishappened, midway into our walk, He would turn around and there was no arguing with him. He was going home. His anxiety was so server he would dig in the corner of a closet or behind a chair so frantically, I could barely get him to stop.
I wound up sitting with him in a windowless laundry room, on the floor with the dryer going. I stroked him and reassured him while he stuck his nose betwen the washer and dryer. If the storm came at night, I would turn the tuv up, and talked to him for as long as he might need. Sometimes it worked, and we were able to forget the storm. Most of the time, he was shaking and panting the entire time.
If I left his side, he would immediately get more agitated and begin digging somewhere. My heart went out to him and I realized how important my job really was. Of course, the owners took him to a vet and he did receive a sedative for those times, but it was not enough and you really can't give a dog too much of such a medicine.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Close Calls and Harrowing Moments
When you house sit for dogs (and cats) it is a responsibility no less important than babysitting for a child. The owners of an animal are attached, dependent upon and definitely concerned for their dogs' safety and health and happiness. In fact, many consider themselves mommy and/or daddy. So I keep some iron clad policies.
1. Never leave the animals at night unless absolutely necessary and then for a limited period of time. (Daytime trips to the store, coffee dates, and various errands are ok under the time limits of what the owners say the pets can be left. In my experience this has varied from never to eight hours)
2 Keep to the animals scheduled feeding, nap, walk and bedtimes. This also helps with them staying happier and less stressed. The owners always notice when they come back that their “babies” are happier.
3 Be sure and get the name of the vet, emergency rooms and other contacts in case of emergency. Clients are always good about leaving this information
As you can see, I hold my responsibilities as important. After all, I am getting paid and much depends on the satisfaction of my clients.
You can imagine, then, when or if something happens to go wrong, what a stress it can be. Let me site just a few such “close calls and harrowing moments”.
GRACIE
Some dogs, Gracie the greyhound, being one of them, need to be let out at night on a regular basis. It’s not my favorite thing to do, wake up in the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morning, but I do it, let the dog do it’s duty and then stumble back to my cozy (or the client's cozy) bed and wait for them to wake me again for the morning walk, usually at 5:30 a.m.
One such night, I was awakened by Gracie not just rattling her chain collar to politely inform me “I must go outside now”, but to the retching and gagging noises that could only mean she was ill.
She was at the door, throwing up all over the rug and obviously very sick. When I turned on the light to my horror, the mess was bright red!!! Blood!!! How and what could that mean?? I was terrified. I let Gracie outside and tried to clean up the vomit. It was terrible. My heart began to race as I went over all the alternatives in my mind. Her owner was on a cruise. Difficult to reach. It was about 2:00 a.m. a bad time to call the vet, but I decided I should do that first.
I let Gracie in fully expecting her to collapse at my feet from some kind of internal bleeding. Instead, she trotted back to her doggie bed and calmly laid down as normal as could be.
Maybe I should observe her for awhile before I called the vet, I thought. I began to compose the message in my head. “I was awakened. . . she lapsed into a coma . . . her breathing is shallow . . . “ Of course none of these things were true except the telltale red stain on the rug and more vomit in the patio, also pinkish red.
Then I remembered. Her owner had left some pork for her to eat. It was left over from a bar b que they’d had the night before they left. She had mentioned. “I put some rub on it, but I don’t think it’ll make a difference.”
By this time, Gracie was sound asleep. She looked normal, a happy, healthy dog. Her nose was not dry, her breathing was regular. My frantic messages to owners and vets began to subside in my head. When I went to the refrigerator to look at the bagged pork, sure enough, even though it’d been cut up there was a reddish crusty look to several of the pieces. I explored further and found the rub in the cupboard. Papricka and of all things chili powder!! No wonder poor Gracie was sick.
Still, it was frightening while it lasted and I thanked the powers that be for sparing me the nasty task of telling the owners. Your dog died on my watch!
PACO
Another time I was certain I would have to tell an owner that her dog died on my watch involved Poco, the Chihuahua. We live in the Southwest, and there coyotes, scorpions and rattlesnakes are always possible dangers. On this particular evening, Poco and his den mates Friday and Ollie (two rat terriers) woke me again about 1:10 a.m. asking to go out. They were insistent with barks and much commotion. It wasn’t until I’d opened the front door to the fenced yard that I remembered – Coyotes!!!!
I immediately called the dogs to come back. Poco and Friday were frantically barking now at the far Southeast corner of the property, just where coyotes had a path from the wash behind the house to the rest of the neighborhood. Ollie dutifully came back expecting a treat, I’m sure, but Friday continued his barking only this time, Poco’s voice was not heard.
I immediately panicked. I remembered the owner had said not to let them out at night in the front. I’d done the unthinkable and I was certain poor little Poco had been taken by a fierce coyote who’d jumped the fence and grabbed the tasty little morsel.
Still, Friday continued to bark and not one sound from Poco. I was desperate now. I called loudly not caring it was early morning and the neighbors might be disturbed. Friday eventually came back, but no Poco.
I searched the house for a flashlight, cursing the fact I hadn’t asked about them before. It was dark out there even with the front porch light on and I wasn’t willing to go out until I’d dressed and put on a pair of shoes. I called and called for Poco as I maneuvered the rocky, naturally landscaped front year. I fully expected to find his little dead body or some telltale signs of his abduction. Nothing.
Sadly, with pounding heart I considered the options. This client had gone to attend a funeral of her younger brother and was in Indiana, two hours ahead of Arizona. I realized I was going to have to call her out of bed to tell her not only had she lost her brother, but she’d lost her dear little Poco too. And I was to blame!
It was one of the worst moments of my life. As I turned back to go into the house to make the phone call, there was little Poco sitting at the front door waiting to be let in. I felt relief like when one of my children had run out in the street and I was able to grab them before a car hit them. I was so relieved, but angry at the upset I’d just experienced. One more time, I had thought I’d have to tell someone their dog died on my watch.
FLORA
A sweeter dog than Flora I don’t know. She is obedient, loyal, happy and very, very cute. I don’t know her breed, she is one of those non-descript mixed breeds that works. Not a large dog, but not a miniature. A brown honey colored short haired lovely.
She also is one of those dogs who has to go out in the middle of the night and I could set my clock by her waking me at 2:15 a.m. each night. In her case, the spot to go pee was outside the fenced yard, and very dark as the house was in a natural area and private. I kept a flashlight near by and always leashed her as the owner’s had told me to.
This night, we went out as usual and she obediently went to her spot to do her business. Coming back to the house, she stopped and froze next to a patch of aloe and cactus. In another second she lunged, I saw the rattler poised and ready to strike and all in that same instance, I pulled her back away out of range. It all happened so quickly, I couldn’t believe it had happened at all. We ran back into the house. .As I relived the experience, it seemed a miracle she wasn’t bitten. But there we were safe and sound, back in bed none the worse for wear. The rattler was never seen again, and the owners did not have to be called to learn their precious dog was a goner.
1. Never leave the animals at night unless absolutely necessary and then for a limited period of time. (Daytime trips to the store, coffee dates, and various errands are ok under the time limits of what the owners say the pets can be left. In my experience this has varied from never to eight hours)
2 Keep to the animals scheduled feeding, nap, walk and bedtimes. This also helps with them staying happier and less stressed. The owners always notice when they come back that their “babies” are happier.
3 Be sure and get the name of the vet, emergency rooms and other contacts in case of emergency. Clients are always good about leaving this information
As you can see, I hold my responsibilities as important. After all, I am getting paid and much depends on the satisfaction of my clients.
You can imagine, then, when or if something happens to go wrong, what a stress it can be. Let me site just a few such “close calls and harrowing moments”.
GRACIE
Some dogs, Gracie the greyhound, being one of them, need to be let out at night on a regular basis. It’s not my favorite thing to do, wake up in the middle of the night or the wee hours of the morning, but I do it, let the dog do it’s duty and then stumble back to my cozy (or the client's cozy) bed and wait for them to wake me again for the morning walk, usually at 5:30 a.m.
One such night, I was awakened by Gracie not just rattling her chain collar to politely inform me “I must go outside now”, but to the retching and gagging noises that could only mean she was ill.
She was at the door, throwing up all over the rug and obviously very sick. When I turned on the light to my horror, the mess was bright red!!! Blood!!! How and what could that mean?? I was terrified. I let Gracie outside and tried to clean up the vomit. It was terrible. My heart began to race as I went over all the alternatives in my mind. Her owner was on a cruise. Difficult to reach. It was about 2:00 a.m. a bad time to call the vet, but I decided I should do that first.
I let Gracie in fully expecting her to collapse at my feet from some kind of internal bleeding. Instead, she trotted back to her doggie bed and calmly laid down as normal as could be.
Maybe I should observe her for awhile before I called the vet, I thought. I began to compose the message in my head. “I was awakened. . . she lapsed into a coma . . . her breathing is shallow . . . “ Of course none of these things were true except the telltale red stain on the rug and more vomit in the patio, also pinkish red.
Then I remembered. Her owner had left some pork for her to eat. It was left over from a bar b que they’d had the night before they left. She had mentioned. “I put some rub on it, but I don’t think it’ll make a difference.”
By this time, Gracie was sound asleep. She looked normal, a happy, healthy dog. Her nose was not dry, her breathing was regular. My frantic messages to owners and vets began to subside in my head. When I went to the refrigerator to look at the bagged pork, sure enough, even though it’d been cut up there was a reddish crusty look to several of the pieces. I explored further and found the rub in the cupboard. Papricka and of all things chili powder!! No wonder poor Gracie was sick.
Still, it was frightening while it lasted and I thanked the powers that be for sparing me the nasty task of telling the owners. Your dog died on my watch!
PACO
Another time I was certain I would have to tell an owner that her dog died on my watch involved Poco, the Chihuahua. We live in the Southwest, and there coyotes, scorpions and rattlesnakes are always possible dangers. On this particular evening, Poco and his den mates Friday and Ollie (two rat terriers) woke me again about 1:10 a.m. asking to go out. They were insistent with barks and much commotion. It wasn’t until I’d opened the front door to the fenced yard that I remembered – Coyotes!!!!
I immediately called the dogs to come back. Poco and Friday were frantically barking now at the far Southeast corner of the property, just where coyotes had a path from the wash behind the house to the rest of the neighborhood. Ollie dutifully came back expecting a treat, I’m sure, but Friday continued his barking only this time, Poco’s voice was not heard.
I immediately panicked. I remembered the owner had said not to let them out at night in the front. I’d done the unthinkable and I was certain poor little Poco had been taken by a fierce coyote who’d jumped the fence and grabbed the tasty little morsel.
Still, Friday continued to bark and not one sound from Poco. I was desperate now. I called loudly not caring it was early morning and the neighbors might be disturbed. Friday eventually came back, but no Poco.
I searched the house for a flashlight, cursing the fact I hadn’t asked about them before. It was dark out there even with the front porch light on and I wasn’t willing to go out until I’d dressed and put on a pair of shoes. I called and called for Poco as I maneuvered the rocky, naturally landscaped front year. I fully expected to find his little dead body or some telltale signs of his abduction. Nothing.
Sadly, with pounding heart I considered the options. This client had gone to attend a funeral of her younger brother and was in Indiana, two hours ahead of Arizona. I realized I was going to have to call her out of bed to tell her not only had she lost her brother, but she’d lost her dear little Poco too. And I was to blame!
It was one of the worst moments of my life. As I turned back to go into the house to make the phone call, there was little Poco sitting at the front door waiting to be let in. I felt relief like when one of my children had run out in the street and I was able to grab them before a car hit them. I was so relieved, but angry at the upset I’d just experienced. One more time, I had thought I’d have to tell someone their dog died on my watch.
FLORA
A sweeter dog than Flora I don’t know. She is obedient, loyal, happy and very, very cute. I don’t know her breed, she is one of those non-descript mixed breeds that works. Not a large dog, but not a miniature. A brown honey colored short haired lovely.
She also is one of those dogs who has to go out in the middle of the night and I could set my clock by her waking me at 2:15 a.m. each night. In her case, the spot to go pee was outside the fenced yard, and very dark as the house was in a natural area and private. I kept a flashlight near by and always leashed her as the owner’s had told me to.
This night, we went out as usual and she obediently went to her spot to do her business. Coming back to the house, she stopped and froze next to a patch of aloe and cactus. In another second she lunged, I saw the rattler poised and ready to strike and all in that same instance, I pulled her back away out of range. It all happened so quickly, I couldn’t believe it had happened at all. We ran back into the house. .As I relived the experience, it seemed a miracle she wasn’t bitten. But there we were safe and sound, back in bed none the worse for wear. The rattler was never seen again, and the owners did not have to be called to learn their precious dog was a goner.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Thoughts about Dogs as a Species
This came to me on the airplane flying from Seattle to LA, My computer was in the upper container and I was not willing to drag it out just to capture the thoughts. So, I've decided to put down what I remember those thoughts to be. I'd been reading Dog’s Mind by Bruce Fogle. This is what I was thinking:
I have always been fascinated by human behavior. That fascination has manifested in my life through, careers, relationships and personal growth work. When I began sitting with the dogs I also became fascinated with canine behavior and to a lesser extent feline behavior. Putting the two together was a natural progression.
For years I’d heard and seen that dogs and their owners look alike. My own personal experience of this phenomena was less grounded in fact than in observation. I did find some physical similarities at least half the time, and in my unscientific way, I tucked the information away for retrieval at another time. It was fun observing dogs and their owners at parks, on the city streets and naturally in the home as I began my house sitting career. (I was beginning to think of it more and more as a career and less as an income producing activity.) The observation of similarities in physical characteristics , emotional and behavioral characteristics were an integral part of my “job”.
Here is what I found in a very simple generalized way.
Overly nervous or anxious owners produced overly anxious and nervous dogs.
Strong independent owners produced well behaved and frequently self contained dogs.
Fat people had fat dogs
Eating disorders in people lead to eating disorders in dogs
Insecure women used dogs as emotional crutches
Many men were affectionate with small dogs contrary to the prevailing attitude that men and dogs should be the strong silent types.
Boring people had boring dogs
The drama and anxiety around a poorly behaved dog was frequently a way for an owner to remain a victim in life.
It wasn’t long before I began to generalize that almost all dog behavior was a reflection of owner’s behavior. It was about this time that I began to watch the “Dog Whisperer” and to read a few of the classic dog behavior books. Some of my favorites were “Year in the Life of a Dog” an elegantly written, soulful book about the strong bond between owner and his dogs, in this case golden retrievers.
I also read my very first book on dog behavior and browsed through many more. some gave good information, most reiterated the others. When I felt I'd absorbed enough information, I practiced with some of the dogs I sat with.
My first real insight came to me that no matter what the breed, a dog was a dog. The smallest Yorkie and the biggest Akita had more in common than their size indicated. Of course there were natural personalities and preferences as in any individual. The variables of breed, owner and environment, contributed to these individual differences in much the same way our own heredity and environment contributes to our. Yes, I knew it made a difference if the dog was large or small, it was a dog. A species in the same way we humans are a species.
I have always been fascinated by human behavior. That fascination has manifested in my life through, careers, relationships and personal growth work. When I began sitting with the dogs I also became fascinated with canine behavior and to a lesser extent feline behavior. Putting the two together was a natural progression.
For years I’d heard and seen that dogs and their owners look alike. My own personal experience of this phenomena was less grounded in fact than in observation. I did find some physical similarities at least half the time, and in my unscientific way, I tucked the information away for retrieval at another time. It was fun observing dogs and their owners at parks, on the city streets and naturally in the home as I began my house sitting career. (I was beginning to think of it more and more as a career and less as an income producing activity.) The observation of similarities in physical characteristics , emotional and behavioral characteristics were an integral part of my “job”.
Here is what I found in a very simple generalized way.
Overly nervous or anxious owners produced overly anxious and nervous dogs.
Strong independent owners produced well behaved and frequently self contained dogs.
Fat people had fat dogs
Eating disorders in people lead to eating disorders in dogs
Insecure women used dogs as emotional crutches
Many men were affectionate with small dogs contrary to the prevailing attitude that men and dogs should be the strong silent types.
Boring people had boring dogs
The drama and anxiety around a poorly behaved dog was frequently a way for an owner to remain a victim in life.
It wasn’t long before I began to generalize that almost all dog behavior was a reflection of owner’s behavior. It was about this time that I began to watch the “Dog Whisperer” and to read a few of the classic dog behavior books. Some of my favorites were “Year in the Life of a Dog” an elegantly written, soulful book about the strong bond between owner and his dogs, in this case golden retrievers.
I also read my very first book on dog behavior and browsed through many more. some gave good information, most reiterated the others. When I felt I'd absorbed enough information, I practiced with some of the dogs I sat with.
My first real insight came to me that no matter what the breed, a dog was a dog. The smallest Yorkie and the biggest Akita had more in common than their size indicated. Of course there were natural personalities and preferences as in any individual. The variables of breed, owner and environment, contributed to these individual differences in much the same way our own heredity and environment contributes to our. Yes, I knew it made a difference if the dog was large or small, it was a dog. A species in the same way we humans are a species.
Me and Dogs
It was after sitting with Sasha and Seiga, the standard and toy poodles, that I realized I could have a profound effect on a dog just by my presence and actions. Their owners were delighted when they returned from their three week trip to Africa to find not only was Sasha well and happy, she had begun to play more, she looked alert and she was less anxious than previously.
Of course, some of that has to be attributed to the fact that my job was to tend to the dogs, that my first priority was always their care and attention. They in fact, received more care from me than their owners might not have at their disposal, with busy lifes and the durgery of everyday doggie duties.
But then I heard comments like, “Oh, he never approaches a new person like that,he must really like you” or “ She just layed down and fell asleep while you were there, that’s unheard of for her.”.When I made my initial visits prior to sitting for a family for the first time it was a frequent experience to hear these comments.
I was fascinated by how and why that would be. Did I have an effect on the animals or on the owners or both? I suspected it was both.
I knew from my years as a Human Resource professional and as a therapist that I did in fact have an effect on people. I was energetically involved in life at all times, and I knew that others were drawn to me for that reason. I began to think this is what life is for. To be all that we can, whenever and where ever we can. Dogs and people sense that because the dogs like what they can understand and people yearn for the same thing. At least that's my thoughts on the subject.
Of course, some of that has to be attributed to the fact that my job was to tend to the dogs, that my first priority was always their care and attention. They in fact, received more care from me than their owners might not have at their disposal, with busy lifes and the durgery of everyday doggie duties.
But then I heard comments like, “Oh, he never approaches a new person like that,he must really like you” or “ She just layed down and fell asleep while you were there, that’s unheard of for her.”.When I made my initial visits prior to sitting for a family for the first time it was a frequent experience to hear these comments.
I was fascinated by how and why that would be. Did I have an effect on the animals or on the owners or both? I suspected it was both.
I knew from my years as a Human Resource professional and as a therapist that I did in fact have an effect on people. I was energetically involved in life at all times, and I knew that others were drawn to me for that reason. I began to think this is what life is for. To be all that we can, whenever and where ever we can. Dogs and people sense that because the dogs like what they can understand and people yearn for the same thing. At least that's my thoughts on the subject.
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
My Favorite Dog
Earlier I posted "Every Dog is My Favorite Dog" (see November 2006). A friend suggested I use that for my "book" if I ever write it. I'll consider it, but it's really more about sitting with the dogs, the experience, and the impact on my life.
Here then, is another "My Favorite Dog" story.
I frequently sit with a threesome of small dogs Clancey, Toby and Casey. Each is unique of course and all three make for a lively pack. This story is about Clancey, the West Highland Terrier (Westie) who is the oldest of the three. Clancey is a compact, determined little guy. He needs carrying up stairs to the dogs' sleeping quarters every night as his little legs can't manage the big stone stairs in the house where he lives. I lift him into my arms and the two other little dogs dance and prance up to the laundry room where they all sleep in their cages.
Clancey endures this transport with dignity and with no sign of protest. Once at the top of the stairs, he calmly slips from my arms and slowly follows the other two into the room for the night.
But this story is about a daytime event. I had gone out briefly to grocery shop and took a side trip to one of my favorite consignmnet stores,. It’s closer here than from my house so it was a treat to go. I bought a few things and since I kept my purchases on the hangers and as a convenience, the check-out clerk put them in a plastic garment bag. I brought it in on my return to the house and hung it on one of the towel hooks in the bathroom. Didn’t think about them again.
After dinner, as is usual, Toby was sitting with me on the chair, Casey was curled up on the floor and Clancey was in the bedroom where he prefers to go from time to time. I think he misses his owners.
All of a sudden Clancey barked sharply. At first I thought it was just a little alarm -- “a bird is outside” or “I heard a car too close” bark. Then it got frantic and didn’t stop. Well, we were all on our feet in a flash, and raced into the bedroom. Every imaginable scenario was going through my head. A coyote outside on the patio? A burglar? A snake in the bathtub or shower? What else could it possibly be?
Of course, it was the garment bag. He evidently had wandered into the dark bathroom and was surprised to find what he thought was an intruder. What a great watchdog he is!!!
I laughed and laughed, but was definitely relieved, turned on the light, showed him the bag, and we all resumed our evening.
Here then, is another "My Favorite Dog" story.
I frequently sit with a threesome of small dogs Clancey, Toby and Casey. Each is unique of course and all three make for a lively pack. This story is about Clancey, the West Highland Terrier (Westie) who is the oldest of the three. Clancey is a compact, determined little guy. He needs carrying up stairs to the dogs' sleeping quarters every night as his little legs can't manage the big stone stairs in the house where he lives. I lift him into my arms and the two other little dogs dance and prance up to the laundry room where they all sleep in their cages.
Clancey endures this transport with dignity and with no sign of protest. Once at the top of the stairs, he calmly slips from my arms and slowly follows the other two into the room for the night.
But this story is about a daytime event. I had gone out briefly to grocery shop and took a side trip to one of my favorite consignmnet stores,. It’s closer here than from my house so it was a treat to go. I bought a few things and since I kept my purchases on the hangers and as a convenience, the check-out clerk put them in a plastic garment bag. I brought it in on my return to the house and hung it on one of the towel hooks in the bathroom. Didn’t think about them again.
After dinner, as is usual, Toby was sitting with me on the chair, Casey was curled up on the floor and Clancey was in the bedroom where he prefers to go from time to time. I think he misses his owners.
All of a sudden Clancey barked sharply. At first I thought it was just a little alarm -- “a bird is outside” or “I heard a car too close” bark. Then it got frantic and didn’t stop. Well, we were all on our feet in a flash, and raced into the bedroom. Every imaginable scenario was going through my head. A coyote outside on the patio? A burglar? A snake in the bathtub or shower? What else could it possibly be?
Of course, it was the garment bag. He evidently had wandered into the dark bathroom and was surprised to find what he thought was an intruder. What a great watchdog he is!!!
I laughed and laughed, but was definitely relieved, turned on the light, showed him the bag, and we all resumed our evening.
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