Rosa the Dog, and the Five levels of alertness

My dog Rosa is very alert and aware of what is going on in her environment. I assume that most of this is innate, genetic, a result of the DNA of whatever breeds she, of non-pure bloodlines (a good thing, to us) is comprised of. It also may be, in part, to her early life, spent on the streets of Willcox, AZ, where she was found with her puppies and brought to the Humane Society in Tucson, from which we adopted her several years ago. We walk at least once each day in the local park, which is a “natural resources park”, most of which is in its natural state, except for trails, and is popular with other dogs and their humans. Also has lots of wild fauna, including lizards, rabbits, birds (including lots of mourning doves and hawks, especially Cooper’s hawks) javelinas (collared peccaries) and the occasional bobcat. 

Rosa has roughly five levels of alertness (identified by me). Level 1 is the general awareness, turning her head, looking around for movement. It is her baseline, and I keep track of it to see if it moves to a higher level. The next, Level 2, means she spots something that holds her attention for at least a few seconds. It could be the movement of one of the ground animals (quail, lizard, squirrel, rabbit) that I often do not see, and quickly goes away. Level 3 means she spots something of significance, mainly a person or dog or more usually both together, that requires attention. I give it; sometimes we have to wait or move to avoid them, and sometimes it is an old friend with treats! Occasionally, her perception of the dog is that it is not benign. Although sometimes related to size and whether it is barking or pulling toward us, or whether the owner has decided that they do not need to obey the law and common sense and have a leash on their dog, I have yet to figure out the dog radar that lets them know that the potential threat level is up. We do avoid them as best as possible, and ask her to try to stand down. That is Level 4.

Level 5 is coyotes. That response is unmistakable; it is marked by sudden loud barking, hard pulling (which involves Rosa’s colleague, Molly) and significant strength to restrain them from (unwisely, usually) chasing after the coyotes. When she reaches Level 5, I know it right away and look for where the coyote is; often it has gone past us and is nonchalantly moving in whatever direction it was headed. Coyotes are not usually interested in approaching people or good-sized dogs (they might chase after and try to snap up a really little on if it is unguarded), although they too are much more vigilant and threatening if they have pups. The big problem for me is keeping the dogs under control. Once in a while I actually spot a coyote before they do, and can try to lead them away, but it is hard to be more on top of this than Rosa is.

Her alertness and reactions are different from Molly’s. They are similar to some other dogs we have had, though even more vigilant. She is a wonderful dog, but walking her in this environment requires awareness and attention.

 

Molly and Rosa: Two fine dogs

 Our two dogs, Molly and Rosa, have many similarities. They are both female, and both tan, and about the same size, both came from the Humane Society, and they came to us within a few months of each other, Molly in November 2019 and Rosa in March 2020. For almost a year, we were a one-dog family, but our great dog Maggie was getting old, about 13, and we thought it was time to get a new housemate for her to train in how to be a great dog.

 Molly, who looks a lot like Maggie, joined us on a Thursday. Sunday we were at a concert (pre-COVID!) and a relative who was staying with them texted us to come home because Maggie couldn’t close her mouth. We did, fearing a rawhide chew or something was jammed in there, but we couldn’t see it, so off to the emergency vet (Sunday, of course). They said they’d sedate and examine her and call us back. They did, and told us she had a huge tumor under her tongue, and proceeded to discuss treatment options (e.g., cut out her tongue and feed her intravenously while administering radiation…) We said “no”, and came to visit her, one last time; she was sleepy still from the sedative but with her mouth hanging open we could see the tumor. We said goodbye, tears flooding our eyes. It was not the first dog we have had “put down” and won’t be the last, but it was humane and we were certainly not going to torture her with hopeless treatment.

 Two things stand out to me from Maggie’s last day, two realizations. One was that dogs don’t complain. I had taken her on our usual 1.5 mile walk in the desert that morning, and later Pat had taken her on another comparable walk. She seemed fine. Dogs seem fine unless they can no longer act it. The only thing that had been different for a while was that she was drinking a lot of water. People, I, could try to learn from this.

 The other thing is that we treat, are allowed to treat, dogs humanely. Maggie had a huge unresectable tumor, a cancer that was not going to go away no matter what was done, and was going to kill her. Our options were doing what we did or putting her through extended suffering made worse not only by surgery and radiation but by requiring intravenous feeding. That would have been no life for her, and would have been cruel and painful, for her and us. People, of course, are not dogs, but while presumably motivated by that in a positive way, and loving them if they are our family members in a way we can only love people, we all too often put them, and indeed put ourselves, in the same situation we wouldn’t put Maggie in. We don’t want to die, don’t want our loved ones to die, but extending life when it is no life, and is simply pain, is not humane. I don’t want it for me.

 So.

 For a few months, Molly was our only dog. Primarily lab, she was a warm and friendly and well behaved. This is in no small part because of how we choose our dogs. We have preferences, not for breed, but we don’t want puppies that have to be trained, don’t want little dogs, don’t want loud yippy or barking dogs. When we acquired our first dog, also from a shelter, going in and looking at all these caged dog broke our hearts. We chose him after asking the staff which was the “best dog”, and the choice was pretty unanimous. It has proven to be a pretty good yardstick. Molly was another we chose this way, although we had a little problem. After she was with us for a couple of months, we began to notice blood spots on the floor. And twerking. Really. She was only about 5 years old, and had been spayed, so it was worrisome – she was a survivor of nipple cancer. Could this be another in the uterus? So, to our vet.

 Who examined her and said: “She’s in heat.” We said, wait, we have a paper from the Humane Society that says she was spayed. He said I know, they sent me a copy of the paper. But no scar, and she’s in heat. OK. Brought her back to the Humane Society who did a blood test, verified she was in heat, apologized that they took the word of the other shelter from which she had come, and (later, after her estrus was over) spayed her.

 Then, now into the COVID pandemic, we looked at dogs on line, and met a couple in the outside yard at the Humane Society. We liked Rosa (well, then she had a different name), and she and Molly seemed to get along, so we brought her home. A 2-year old small German Shepherd mix (or maybe Jindo? Not that important to us), she is the one with the black muzzle while Molly’s is white. It took about a day to name her, and Rosa has stuck. She and Molly get along well, walking together, playing together, running together when they can get off-leash in a dog park or on a hike. Molly barks at Rosa to get her to play, and to run. Maybe it is because they are both female (we meet a lot of folks with dogs in the park where we walk and get lots of “expert’ opinions), or maybe just because they are both good dogs.

 But they are different. Molly heels while walking, Rosa needs to be in front and sometimes pulls. Our local park is a desert park, and there are lots of things to distract and entice them. In addition to the smells of other dogs, there are lots of ground squirrels, and rabbits, and Gambel’s quail scurrying around. And, while there is an occasional bobcat, and sometimes javelin packs, there are also the resident coyotes. At least one pack, maybe two. One big one, who I call Eddie (presuming, perhaps wrongly, that I can identify him), and lately up to five. One coyote is not going to attack two good-sized dogs, but a pack of four or five will, especially if they can get one by herself. Molly and Rosa are good dogs, but off leash they can run off chasing things, and have not yet reliably mastered “come”. And they tend to head toward, rather than away from, coyotes. This morning, right by our house two blocks from the park entrance, we heard a long series of howls. Both pulled assertively in the direction of the park. By the time we got there, it was done and we didn’t run into the coyotes, although we did run into a couple who had (and picked up and carried their little dachshund!)

 Molly started coughing and was off her food. She was x-rayed and blood tested and diagnosed with Valley Fever, medically coccidiodomycosis, a fungal infection acquired from spores living in the desert soil here in southern Arizona (and in the San Joaquin Valley of California, hence its eponym.) People in Tucson get infected often, and most are asymptomatic or have a flu-like illness, but it can be very bad. Same for dogs, although outside dogs like ours are almost certain to get it. So, a month or so later, did Rosa. Both are on antifungal medication, and will have to be for a year or more, but are doing great, not coughing, not short of breath, eating and running well.

 18 years ago today my older son, Matt, died by his own hand, and we miss him every day. Our other children and grandchildren are far away, and we miss seeing them. Dogs are good. Good dogs are better. Dogs you love are the best. They are no substitute for children and grandchildren, no substitute for children lost, but they are there for you, and that is great.

Spring in Tucson is not Spring in Toronto: But it's still Spring!

Maggie the Dog and I went for a walk in the desert again this morning; I’ve been away in Toronto for a meeting, so it’s been a bit. At 5:30am, it was chilly in Tucson, a shorts-but-fleece morning, although it started to get a little warmer when the sun came up. Still, in the mid-to-high 50s, it was at least 10 degrees warmer than the high temperature the whole time I was in Toronto! A friend from across Lake Ontario in Rochester, NY, wrote to me that it was darn cold for that time of year; certainly was for someone coming from Tucson where it was 97 the day before I left! (It has since come down a bit to a high in the high 80s.)

At least the temperature in Toronto (both outside and inside the conference hotel, where climate control always makes them the same everywhere) allowed me to wear my lovely Harris tweed sport jacket that I bought the last time this same conference was in Toronto, maybe 15 years ago. It was in a different hotel, and there was a tailor in the basement who was retiring and selling his handmade stock a discount prices, and I bought it along with two wool suits. Thus, two labels inside: one designating the fabric as a genuine Harris tweed made in Scotland and the other the label from Harrington tailors in Toronto. Mr. Harrington, who told me he began as an apprentice tailor in London (England, not Ontario) at the age of 14, may or may not still be alive, but the jacket is in great shape, and, with a windbreaker, kept me fine walking around Toronto, including a quest led by others, looking for an open Thai restaurant with a less-than-2-hour wait, as the sun went down and the temperatures dropped to low 40s. (We actually didn’t find one, but had a fine meal in a Chinese restaurant in Toronto’s Chinatown; a place in an old warehouse-looking building with a big mural of Chairman Mao looking down on us and a menu that probably had 25 items total, appetizers through deserts, instead of the characteristic many pages in most Chinese restaurants I have been to.)

Some of my colleagues had brought down jackets. And of course, many were from places that were no warmer than Toronto was. And, back here in Tucson, the first other person I saw walking her dogs this morning was wearing her down jacket at over 55 degrees, so cold is certainly perceptual, and 55 is perceived as cold here!

Anyway, it is getting to be late Spring, but there are still plants flowering. Here is some prickly pear, and most beautiful I think the Echinopsis, which flowered about 20 blooms two nights recently – all of them gone by midday the next day. Trying a third time to see if I can put up enough screen and chicken wire to prevent the whatever-it-is (ground squirrels would be my guess, since they are ubiquitous) from eating my tomato plants before they even get started (later we’ll worry about birds and hornworms – actually the screen should prevent birds getting in). Big hefty lizard in the yard now. If anyone knows what (plant I think, not animal) the spiky thing on the tree is, let me know.

 

And of course the obligate picture of last night’s sunset!

Christmas in the Desert

Even in the Tucson desert, it can get pretty chilly in the early morning around Christmas. On this Christmas Eve morning, it was under 40 as the dogs and I went out for a walk in the park, chilly enough for a lined jacket and keeping the cotton gloves on, but warmer than two days ago when the 26 degrees meant down jacket and hood and muffler and wool gloves. That night we had covered some of the cactus with sheets, and protected the arms of another with a plethora of Styrofoam cups (sorry, forgot to take a picture!).

Still, it is the Winter Solistice, and even leaving at 7:30am, and missing the red reflection of the dawn on the Santa Catalina Mountains by a few minutes (pic from another day), the sun was low in the sky that the first half of the walk was mostly in shade from the trees in the park and not warmed; of course, this is when the dogs stop most often to do their business. That it must have been some colder earlier was demonstrated by the frosted dew on the grassy part of park, not yet melted by the low sun. But it is quiet, even quieter than usual, with hardly any walkers (with or without dogs), joggers, or cyclists. Not sure I understand; you can take Christmas Eve morning off from running or biking, but the dogs need to be walked. I guess they’ll be out later…the only ones we run into, two friendly women with two friendly dogs, are generous, giving out treats to a receptive Fry and Maggie.

The birds in the trees all look bigger than normal, feathers puffed up to stay warm, the little house finches to the Cooper’s hawk. The quiet allows time to think, to reflect in this season that is an oxymoron of holidays of hope and positive thoughts as well as a time of painful memories of severe personal losses, that there must be good things in humankind to have created the sentiments that mark this time of year. While most of the news ranges from bad to worse, with leaders around the world, led by our own president, rattling sabers of war and spouting hatred in direct contradiction to the messages of Peace and Love that are ubiquitous this time of year. It is a time when the hearts of many are softened, at least a little; the time we re-watch films like “A Christmas Carol” and the Grinch and “It’s A Wonderful Life” to remind us that it is possible and, perhaps, even our world leaders can act upon the tenets that the religions that they profess to believe in are based on. And yet, as I feel anger rising at the irresponsible owner of the dog that left fresh poop in the middle of the path (someone must have been here earlier today, I guess), I realize how easy it is to not love. And I try to forgive, and hope.

I will not go through the litany of wishes for the many holidays celebrated at this Solstice, because I am certain that however hard I try I will leave out someone’s. But I will end with wishes common here at this time of year, and sincerely hope that they will come true:

“Peace on Earth, and Good Will to All.”

Hiking and dogs near Santa Fe

Lovely hike this morning, repeating the one of 2 days ago but earlier, just after sunrise, had coffee and breakfast after the dawn (see pic). It still got too warm for long-sleeve T after a while (though nice in the shade coming down the western slope of the hill). About 3 miles along ridges and valleys and down hills, past where the village of Trenza may someday be. The desert is so green from all the rain, it is almost a different place. Yesterday morning the rain, which is sometimes morning and sometimes afternoon, was threatening and it was still very wet from the rain of the previous afternoon and evening, so we took two shorter walks of about a mile, still getting a little wet and muddy, the dogs needing to be toweled off before coming into the small house and lying on “their” couch. The rain is much needed for some relief from the long droughts, and has usually been only part of the day, leaving us time to hike.

But that mud, from the trail, was nothing like yesterday afternoon, at least not for Fry. Despite the foggy, overcast morning, it cleared up and about 3 we took off along the ridge, around it, and down to just above the Cowboy Shack, where we head left for home across the valley. Well, at least Maggie and I did. Maggie had been drinking from the little canvas dog water bowl each time we stopped and I took some water, but not Fry. He was too good for that! Or maybe he had something else in mind. When we got to that turn, Maggie and I drank and went left while Fry trotted off to the right. He knew where he was going, and I did too, but there was nothing I could do about it. Down a little bit to the right, just before the Cowboy Shack, is a windmill-fed water tank; for cattle in the old days, now mostly horses. And, in the past, for dogs when we went further than there was water in the pack. Fortunately, Maggie has never done that, but Fry remembered.

So Maggie and I headed off and figured Fry eventually would catch up, which he eventually did (although not before I wondered if he might not find us, silly me, and I’d have to drive down and see if he was waiting near the closest road). And covered in mud, over all his legs, butt, and belly (pic). The water tank often overflows with mud around it at all the access points, especially when it’s been raining, which it has. It was a nice walk back, but back at the house I had to hook up the hose (and get something

on my arm from the grass that caused it to itch, but seemed to wash off) and hose him down. And then rub him down from a bucket to get the places I missed or couldn’t get too. And then he had to sit out on the deck for a couple of hours (in the shade, with a water bowl, and he likes it anyway) getting mostly dry before being toweled off and let in. What are the odds he learned a lesson? I wouldn’t bet on it! He didn’t take any water when Maggie and I did on this morning’s shorter hike, but fortunately (for me) there was no water tank, and he loaded up when he got home. If it stays clear, we might go on a hike that takes us by a different water tank this afternoon, so we’ll see…

In any case, the desert around Santa Fe is always beautiful, and maybe more so from all the rain (although fewer sunsets). The town is great; have had several lunches with friends (or sometimes alone) at favorite venues. Enough time for reading, writing, naps, and just enjoying the views. Sigh. Terrific!

Dog walking in the desert

So it’s been a few months of living in Tucson, through what passes here for winter (needing a fleece and sometimes even a windbreaker for a morning dog walk) to an early Spring, with midday temperatures in the 90s in March, to a more typical Spring in late March, with mornings in the low 50s going up to about 80. Terrific weather for both walking the dogs and going hiking, and beautiful with flowering plants, encouraged by heavy rains earlier in the winter. Learning (and sometimes re-learning) the names of flowers and shrubs: Arizona daisy, and mariposa lily, and lupine, and owl clover, as well as the common cacti and agaves and brittlebush and greasewood, and flowering ocotillo. Most of the cacti are not yet in bloom, but the buds are there. Not too many hikes to take dogs on -- Catalina State Park is one, but federal lands are out.

Walking the dogs has moved up a bit as you no longer have to wait until 7am for daylight; Arizona does not do daylight savings time, so it just gets light earlier. Out before 7 is quieter, in the wonderful gift of the Rio Vista Natural Resources Park that starts close by and goes up to the Rillito River (or, more often, dry wash) path that is a great asset, and joins with a whole series of other trails to make a bike loop almost around the city. Of course, also walking and running; however, the dogs and I stay to the dirt paths most of the time (although when there was water in the Rillito the dogs would splash in it).  The park borders houses (or their lots) at several edges, including a stables and several horse properties; horses also use the dirt paths. There is quite a network of paths through it, so we can vary our routes, and some of the quietest spots, where you are most likely to see a hummingbird or have a Cooper’s hawk fly by your face with a bird in its talons, are along the border fences. There is also a labyrinth to walk around to force calming, and great views of the Santa Catalina Mountains.

There is a more developed area, with parking lot and children’s playground and a big grassy area where people take their retrievers to throw balls; mine are part retrievers, but don’t retrieve at all, so we just tend to walk across or around it, to the part that is really fascinating for them, the myriad ground squirrel holes that they can dig their snouts into – and sometimes, if given the opportunity, dig away at crazily and so intently that it is almost impossible to distract them. Human hunters of buried treasure would be shamed. They see, but rarely chase, the actual ground squirrels or cottontail rabbits that abound in the park. There are coyote packs in the park, but so far we have had no direct encounters; I have seen one occasionally but the dogs have not. We do see the scat, but it doesn’t interest them all that much. We see lots of birds, quails scurrying across the ground, hummingbirds flitting in the bushes, cardinals and pyrrholoxia and even vermillion flycatchers (sometimes difficult to distinguish in bright sun), phainopepla (like black cardinals), finches of all colors. And hawks, but most are Cooper’s hawks that eat smaller birds, mostly medium sized ones like mourning doves, although this has not noticeably affected the doves' numbers; they are ubiquitous, distinguishable because their heads are too small for their bodies.

 

Morning is good for longer walks; we do pretty long afternoon walks also, but when the afternoon temperatures got above 90, we pushed off the later walk to 5 or later (if not cool, at least there is a bit of shade).Before 7am the paths are quieter, with fewer dog walkers, but they start to appear in larger numbers by that hour. There is a definite age pattern to who walks dogs when; in the early morning almost all older, as are the dog-free walkers, like me with sunscreen and often a hat. No one below 40, almost none below 50. On Sunday, as we drove off to hike at about 9am, we saw lots of young people (virtually all women) walking and often running with their dogs. The old folks are done by then. When the younger folks walk their dogs during the week, when I assume they are working (or going to school) I have yet to determine. Maybe they run with them later.

Anyway, I’m liking (so far) the time to do this granted by retirement. There is also more time to read the paper and be made crazy by the news, and sometimes to just have general anxiety, but if it gets too bad, I can just take the dogs for a walk…