White Boy Month

I usually try to update this blog about four times per month. Usually, that’s once a week. You may have noticed that this month, I am spectacularly not meeting that goal. That’s because Old Not-Faithful, my lap top, has finally bit the dust but good. Luckily for my, The Voice of Reason, my wonderful husband, bought me a new laptop this week. I’m so glad I married him for money. He’s so glad he married me for my cute butt, so I guess we’re even.

The Voice of Reason (don't worry, he's got a cute butt, too), the new lap top (GREEN!),
and the Little Squish (more about him in a minute).

I hate learning new technology, particularly when there was nothing wrong with the old technology. Except for, you know, the part where it wouldn't turn on anymore. I’m sure there’s a metaphor for dog training in their somewhere, but you’re going to have to find it yourself because I’m too busy swearing at my computer to figure out life metaphors. In the meantime, here’s the stuff we did this month that I should have written actually blog posts about but didn't because I was too busy trying to find the right combination of curses and violence to get my computers to work.

First, George came to stay with us for a long weekend. We *heart* George. He was adopted from ARLP a few years back, and we've always jumped at the chance to have him back in the house. He’s just one of those dogs who is fun to be around. One of the great things about ARLP is that dogs who pass through our program are always part of the family. In addition to continued training support, our program dogs often come back to us for other happy reasons like vacations and education programs and such. It’s such a wonderful feeling when you get to see dogs you helped save being successful in life. 

Jai, Rubi,and George.

In other news, Rubi shares toys. This is kind of a big deal because when I brought her home, Rubi thought walking by her when she had something good was a crime punishable by blood letting. She even lets Jai steal toys from her, which seems like a near miracle to me. Watching her try to steal them back, though, is hilarious. She’s figured out that I won’t let her take things from other dogs unless they give her permission. So she flirts, sending lusty sighs and play bows and butt wiggles to him. When that stopped working, she started making up stuff to be excited about – suddenly freezing, and then running to the door as if someone’s there, then stealing the toy back when Jai goes to see who it is. Jai’s figured this trick out, though, and I can’t wait to see how they try to out smart each other next. Who needs cable when you have dogs like these?

It's a *Goughnut*, people. Get your brains out of the gutter.

Speaking of which, since I have no computer and don’t watch TV, I’ve had to come up with other ways to entertain myself. This usually means training my dogs. So this week, I taught them all to lay in a box. At the same time. Except for Jai. I taught him how to lay in a box and look pathetic. That’s right: I could have done something useful like proofing Rubi’s mat work or doing impulse control with Jai. I chose to teach my dogs to hang out in a box. 

It was a huge success.

In other news, I have officially declared this to be Squishy Faced Dog Celebration Week. Squishy (seriously, that’s his name) is a behind-the-scenes ARLP foster dog, and he’s staying with us for a week while his foster family is on vacation. I’m all ready terribly jealous of whoever gets to adopt this little gem. Of course, that could be in part because he reminds me so much of Jai. Like Jai, Squishy comes from a fairly tragic background and as a result, has a few fear issues. And like Jai, Squishy intensely wants to be a normal dog and to believe that the world is a good, safe place to be. It’s heartbreaking and amazing and fun, and I totally don’t want to give him back when his foster family comes home this weekend. 

As our first official action of Squishy Dog Celebration Week, Big Squish, Little Squish, and I went for a run.
Little Squish thinks this was a Grand Adventure.
Big Squish thinks people who go running in Weather are morons.

While we’re passing by the subject of Fatty McCheesehead, Jai celebrated his first Alive Day on Friday. Alive Day celebrations are a military tradition – the celebrating of having a close brush with death and surviving – and it’s one that has carried across into rescue culture. In Jai’s case, it’s the anniversary of the day I picked him up from St Paul Animal Control. SPAC doesn’t get nearly the publicity of its neighboring shelter, Minneapolis Animal Care and Control, and if the right circumstances hadn’t met the right coincidences with the right karma, Jai would not be here with me today. And of course, I’m always happy for any excuse to celebrate my dogs.

The Advocate

Today is Martin Luther King Jr Day. So it seems fitting that last Friday, a few days before the nation celebrates the life of our greatest american civil rights advocates, I was asked to speak to a group of middle schoolers about what it means to be a pit bull advocate. As I sat down a few days before to outline what I was going to talk about, it occurred to me that I've never really given much thought about what it means to be an advocate. Looking at my own journey from middle school the where I am today, the best I could come up with was "I saw something I could help with, so I did." Unfortunately, that's a pretty short speech. Here's what I (with a little help from my friends) came up with instead:

Know your subject. There is a consistent theme in hate and fear: people fear what they do not understand. If a dog is growling at you, that is scary. But if you know that the dog is growling at you because it doesn't want you to take it's bone away from you, and all you have to do to prevent a bite is the leave the dog alone, the situation becomes much less frightening. Most people who are afraid of pit bulls have never met one. All the knowledge they have is from what others have told them. If people start telling others positive stories instead of staying silent and letting the tales of violence spread, then pit bulls become less threatening, less scary, and more like other dogs.

It's no good just to know the positive stories, either. You must know the weaknesses in addition to the strengths. Do pit bulls bite? Of course! All dogs are capable of biting, regardless of breed, age, or sex. Pit bulls are, however, one of the only breeds specifically bred to be tolerant of people while highly aroused. And for every pit bull that bites a person, there are a hundred more that are therapy dogs, service dogs, police dogs, and other outstanding members of society. And for every one of these stellar breed ambassadors, there are thousands more pit bulls that are simply pets and will live out their lives never having so much as lifted a lip against a person.

Be a good example. Not everyone can teach. That's okay. If you have a pit bull, you don't have to say anything. You can let your dog speak for herself. The more people see of pit bulls doing and excelling at ordinary things, the less unusual and exotic the seem. Even something as simple as walking down the street not eating anyone can be amazing to some people.

This doesn't mean your dog needs to be perfect. Play to your dog's strengths. For example, Maus is pretty sure that children are small agents of the devil, and at this point in his life, I don't think I'm going to change that. So I'm careful about situations I place him in where he might come in contact with children. This doesn't mean that he can't be a good example to others. A few months ago, Maus and I were asked to do a nosework demonstration for a group of fifth graders. I had the kids hide Maus's scent objects, and then had them sit in the middle of the room while Maus worked. Maus had fun because he loves scent work and none of the kids were trying to touch him, the kids had a blast watching a pit bull do something amazing. It was a win/win situation, and that's all you really need to be a good example.

Play to your strengths. I'm no good at talking to adults, particularly adults that I think might not agree with me. I mean, there's a reason they put me in the back of the tent with the needles at the Get Your Fix! fairs. But that doesn't mean I'm useless without my dogs. I have a lot to offer. Most people do, if they take the time to think about it. Do you have able hands an a little spare time? There's always rooms for volunteers to help with training classes, adoption days, awareness events, crafting, flyering for shots fairs, socialization parties - all you need to do is say you're available. Good at art? Deviant is coming up in a few months. Paint, draw, photograph, bake cookies (as someone who lacks that skill, I consider cooking an art). Good at computers? Make a website, write a blog, create a better operating system for rescues to use to organize stuff.

Do you have a voice? Tell a story about this awesome pit bull you know to your coworker or kids. Write your insurance agent or landlord or congressman about how wrong it is to judge any living creature on how he or she looks. Never underestimate the power of a simple thank you to those who don't work for money. The support of people who do not own pit bulls and may not have a person stake in the "problem" is a powerful tool.

Be kind. When your most powerful tool is education, the worse thing that can happen is for people to stop listening to you. One of the fastest ways to do that is with two words: "You're wrong." People don't always remember what you said, but they'll remember that not only are pit bulls vicious, but pit bull people are jerks, too. People, much like dogs, are rarely all good or all bad, and I often have to remind myself that just because someone doesn't agree with me doesn't mean they're a bad person. It's okay if I decide not to argue today if it means that I - or another pit bull advocate - have the chance to change their mind tomorrow. There is enough hate and anger out there, and I refuse to intentionally make more of it. After all, there's only this one world and we've all got to live in it, so we just as well be nice to each other.

The pit bull "problem" isn't really a dog problem at all - it's a people problem. People are the ones who want to see the world in black and white then there are so many vibrant and exquisite colors. Pit bulls are not all bad dogs, and people who own pit bulls are not all bad people. What we really need now are advocates who are willing to help open people's eyes and let the light in.

“Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that.”

                                                                   ~ Martin Luther King Jr.

My Personal Cheerleader

My butt hurts. This is because at the end of November, I decided I was a runner. And if I was a runner, than I had better start running. Seriously, that was my thought process.

I've tried to take up running before, and it’s never stuck. I have asthma and a bum knee and it’s cold out or it’s hot out, and then I realized that dude – I’m not getting any younger here. As I get older, I’m only going to get more decrepit and come up with more excuses, so if I want to cross “run a 5K” off my bucket list, I had better get going.

I've gone running now with each of my dogs, and it turns out that it takes more than a sound body to make a good running partner. All of my dogs are relatively athletic, but Maus, for example, believes that running is for people who can’t walk. Rubi is also a pain in the ass (figuratively, this time) to run with as she has only two speeds: “pee on everything” and “as if we’re being chased by zombie velociraptors with AIDs.”

"ZOMG!!! RUUUUUUNNNNNN!!!!!"
Photo by Paige

As should shock none of you who know her, Piper Ann is my favorite dog to run with. Piper doesn't get a lot of blog time by virtue of being the Good One. There’s nothing I've asked of her that she hasn't given me everything she’s got and then some. We've done rally, obedience, therapy work, hiking trips - anything I’m interested in, she’s game for. Piper Ann is a reminder to me what I could do with a dog if I could just stop adopting the crazies.

Not that I don’t love my crazies.

But it’s nice to go out with a dog and not have to obsess about people or other dogs or thresholds or weird objects or volume control.

There’s more to it than just good behavior, though; Piper an is an excellent cheerleader. I've been roughly following the Couch-to-5K running program. This program involves doing sets of running where you run for a certain distance and then walk for a certain distance and then run some more and so on. Piper Ann never seems disappointed when we have to walk – she’s spent most of her life walking and hiking with me. But every time we start running, she throws me a party: she play bows, spins in a circle, prances a bit, spins in another circle, and then settles into an easy, happy, trot. 

My favorite treat, though, is those rare occasions when we get to run with Piper off leash. Then when we start running, she bows, spins, and sprints out about forty feet in front of me, nubbin of a tail tucked and nose in the air as if there were a prize for most ridiculous run. She stops and bows, grinning and panting. She freezes, vibrating with excitement, nubbin in the air, until I catch up and bow to her. Piper jumps into the air, spins in a circle, runs in a circle, runs around me, bolts another forty feet, play bows, and waits. Repeat until I forget that my brain is almost as numb as my feet, my knee aches, my butt hurts, and my lungs feel like they've been donkey-kicked by a moose.

There's no moral or metaphor to this post. I thought I would at least strongly dislike running, and it turns out that I don't. It actually makes me feel a little invincible. I mean, if I have the mental fortitude to go jogging when it's four degrees Fahrenheit out, what can't I do? Piper helps me be invincible. She makes me feel like a better person. It's good, you know, when you've got a friend like that.

New Year's Absolutions

On January 10, 2012, a very dear friend of mine killed himself. The year really hasn't gotten better since then, and we're already at the end of it. People are pulling together their resolutions, picking out their flaws, and trying to figure out how to "fix" themselves for the new year. Trust me when I saw I can pick out my flaws, ruthlessly and effectively, any day of the year. I don't need the holidays to help with that - I've got all the rope I need, thanks just the same. So instead of agonizing over how to improve myself, this year I'm going to try something new.

I'm going to be not perfect, and I'm going to forgive myself for it.

I routinely fail to meet my own standards as a dog trainer. While it's easy for my to give people the benefit of the doubt, I regularly beat myself up for being too cranky, impatient, having poor timing, or pushing too hard. The love of a dog is not, in fact, unconditional - particularly the love of shy, neurotic, reactive, basket case dogs. They have standards, too. And I have met them. Not only met them, but exceeded them. My dogs adore me. They trust me when I do not trust myself. At the end of the day, their standards matter to me a whole lot more than mine do.

"The paparazzi want us to do what now?"
Photo by Paige.

I am not always a fantastic wife. I am sometimes irritable, rigid, irrational, and occasionally a flat-out bully. Worse, I know that I have sometimes left my husband bewildered and hurt from trying to navigate the black holes in my brain. It's okay. We work through it. He's not perfect either. Love is not a matter of perfection, but of finding someone whose imperfections compliment your own. Each year, our marriage grows stronger as we learn from each other - our mistakes and our successes - and grow together.

I am not a leader among people. It's okay that I do not want to be, and actively go out of my way to avoid leadership situations. It's alright that I don't want to be a leader. I am a good example. I am a force for change, a small part in a bigger ideal. I am replaceable, but that does not mean I am not important or valuable or skilled. I don't need to be flawless to be pretty damn fantastic. And I won't let "perfect" stand in the way of "pretty damn awesome."

I believe in the new year. I believe in the new month. In tomorrow and in the next hour. In the future, where no lies have been told, no cruelty committed, no friends treacherously failed. It is unspoiled. Dreams may yet come true, impossible things will be done, and I will have the courage to do that which has been too much for me in the grim battle of now. I will have the courage to be less than perfect, and to forgive myself my sins.

I believe that 2013 is going to be a great year.

Sometimes Cookies Crumble

Today, Rubi and I tried for her APDT C.L.A.S.S. BA title.

We didn't get it. She broke her stays - both of them - when dogs in another room started barking. She went right back down when I asked her to, but by then it was too late.

I'm not really broken up about it.

You see, a year ago, Rubi still whined like people were shoving splinters under her nails when she smelled the presence of strange dogs.

Two years ago, the sound of dogs barking could still make her lose her damn mind.

Three years ago, I despised her. She would also start screaming if she saw - or thought she saw - dogs as far as a mile away. And I do mean that literally.

In the years before that, she was shuffled around to so many homes, I've lost count.

She started out in someone's back yard with nothing but a bag of food for company.

So you see, we might not have passed the BA test, but I'm pretty sure "failure" is not a word that applies to us.

Do Good, and Disappear

“Do good, and disappear” is an old nursing proverb. Most nurses work with patients in crisis, and if all goes well, our patients are healed and move on with their lives, never needing our support again. It seems to me that “do good, and disappear” also applies to animal rescue.

Wash moves on to his forever home today. I have done everything I can to give him not a second chance, but the first chance he was born without. He’s healthy now, neutered, well socialized, and firmly started on his basic manners and training. I have chosen for him the home I feel is best suited for him, and it was a difficult decision.

I always feel anxious in the week surrounding The Big Day. Did I remember to tell his new family how much he likes to shred paper, and that if he doesn’t have any paper, he’ll steal the toilet paper roll out of the bathroom to destroy? Do they know that if they can’t find a shoe, to look for it behind the couch because that’s his favorite hiding spot? Will they remember to give him his last dose of dewormer next week? Will they have the patience to stick with him when he behaves like an ass, the desire to continue with his socialization and training, the love to cradle him in their arms years from now when he is ready to breath his last?

I think so, but I can’t see the future.

People often ask me how I can stand letting my foster dogs go. I hope they understand that for foster families such as mine, it is never, ever a matter of not loving our charges enough. We fosters simply know that sometimes the kindest thing we can do for a dog is to let them go. I know that Wash’s new family will be able to provide more attention than I can spare, more training than I have the motivation for, more time than I can squeeze out of my day, more money and resources and love than I have at my disposal. Still, to foster is to cut out a piece of your heart, hand it to strangers, and beg them to be gentle with it.

Wash will always be welcome in my home. I know there is a chance that he will be in need of a home again, and not necessarily by anyone’s fault. People lose their jobs, die, run into behavioral issues they can’t handle, and in other ways fall victim to life’s unpredictable nature. I have been Wash’s launch pad, and if need be, I will be his landing pad again.

If all goes according to plan, though, my part in Wash’s life is soon coming to an end. Updates, especially pictures, are water in the desert to foster families, and I hope that I might be allowed to see Wash turn into the dashing gentleman I know he will be. People usually pass along updates while their dog is new, but often forget as the newness slips away and they settle into the routine of life with their new dog. I hope that Wash’s family remembers me fondly in the future, if they think of me at all. I have helped Wash in his time of need, and I hope to now fade into a dream, never required to provide healing or heart to Wash again. In short, I have done good and now hope to disappear.

Reasonable Expectations

Every new dog that we bring into the house has help Rubi expand her communication skills, and Wash is no exception. Rubi loves puppies - Rubi loves everyone - but her usual play style of "body slam them until they make noise" is really not suited to a dog that weighs less than a fifth of what she does. As a result, when Wash first came home, I watched him and Rubi like a hawk. Their play time was extremely limited, and I brought out my clicker to help pin down for Rubi exactly how she should be playing with the puppy.

Wash, world's cutest Notweiler. 

I used my clicker to mark and reward appropriate play behaviors. When she chose to interact in a way that wasn't, say, pounding him with her ass or trying to fit his whole body in her mouth, she got a click and a cookie. I was particularly careful to mark calming and negotiation signals. Body language such as lip licks, look aways, mirroring the puppy's body language, and yawning, among other signals, cue dogs that they really are just playing, and that everything is okay. Rewarding her this way helped her to stop what she was doing and take a few seconds break, something that is very natural in canine play. It also helped reduce the amount of time that Rubi had to get aroused and excited over Wash. 

After many many many many short sessions, Rubi's play became much more gentle. She was laying down with Wash to play, instead of trying to stand over him, and she seemed to pick up on his body language much more effectively. I was able to be pickier in what I rewarded, choosing to click only the best play behaviors. Eventually, when it seemed that Wash and Rubi were finally speaking the same language, I weaned off the treats entirely, praising Rubi for appropriate behavior and checking in with me. I still keep play sessions relatively short, but I no longer have to stand over the dogs to make sure Rubi doesn't accidentally flatten Wash, or to make certain that Wash doesn't push too many of Rubi's buttons as puppies are wont to do. 

While I had a hunch that Rubi was capable of playing appropriately with a smaller dog, not every dog is a candidate for this type of canine communications training. Maus, for instance, would rather fall over dead than be forced to do something as undignified as play with a puppy. To say it another way, not every dog is dog park material. This is a hard concept for many people, and it is always hard for a trainer to have that conversation with a client where they try to explain to the client that the fantasy dog that they have imagined is simply not the dog that is at the end of their leash.

I don't expect Rubi to get along with all dogs any more than I expect myself to get along with all humans. On the other hand, I don't think it's unreasonable to be able to sit in the same room as someone you hate and be able to keep your damn mouth shut. If I can do it, so can Rubi.

A couple of weeks ago, we packed Wash off for a stay with Andy the Arm Candy while we dog sat MJ, another one of ARLP's program dogs, while her regular foster parents were on vacation. I was pretty sure that Rubi and MJ were not going to get along what with both being strong-mind, adult women, and sure enough, MJ wasted no time in letting me know that she wanted nothing to do with my dogs. As I said earlier, that's fine; I know that my house is busy and can be particularly stressful for new dogs (MJ is typically dog tolerant to social, by the way), and nobody has to like everybody. 

However, I do expect everyone to keep a civil tongue in their heads. 

MJ, owner of the World's Cutest Underbite.

I worked MJ and my horde of dogs with basic counter conditioning and desensitization. Baby gates are life savers at my house, so when I wasn't actively working with the dogs, I would cover the baby gates with a sheet so the dogs couldn't interact. For short periods, no longer than five minutes several times a day, I would uncover the baby gates and feed dogs cookies for looking at each other. When this was no longer exciting, I gave out cookies for looking away from other dogs. By the end of the week, MJ and the horde were able to have "free time" around uncovered gates for up to twenty minutes. I still watched carefully, though, and if they sniffed each other through the gate, I made sure that I was there to reward and redirect before things got, ah, interesting. 

Given enough time, I think I could have integrated MJ into the herd fairly well, but there's a difference between not swearing at each other, and living together in peace. There are definitely dogs out there that will never be comfortable living with other dogs. This is okay, too. It's up to us as their humans to provide appropriate social contact for our dogs. For some dogs, this means living with other dogs; for others, it means regular, structured play dates. And for some dogs, it means never being asked to exist closely with other dogs. Dogs, like people, are social creatures, but each dog and person is a unique individual with different needs, desires, and capabilities when it comes to coexisting with others.