More on Dogs: Navigating other dogs

Running into other dogs on a dog walk is a crap shoot. I am pretty unable to tell which dogs will cause my dogs to react, or which other dogs will react to mine, so I stay cautious, hold the leashes tight, and move or get ready to move off the path to the side. Many (?most) other people also do, which can create an “After you, Alphonse; no, after you, Gaston” situation, but we usually work it out. Some folks seem unaware (often related to looking at their phones and having earpieces in) and so I’m extra careful. And, while my dogs might react to small dogs and small dogs often precipitate the issue by barking a lot, I myself am more concerned about potential altercations with big dogs. There are a lot of both.

I try to anticipate what others are going to do, coming toward you or moving in the same direction. How soon, given their rate of speed, are they likely to catch up to you or you to them? Will they stop at a bottleneck, like, the entry to the park? It is not 100% but it helps. Groups of people, with lots of big dogs, are a particular problem, although I know their owners think their dogs are just peachy. One group has about 6 people and 6 dogs including a couple of (very well behaved) rottweilers and a curious off-leash small poodle. Nice folks but I try to keep my distance, and not run into them on a blind, narrow path (sometimes happens though).

Something I observed is that when the person/dog pair coming toward me steps off to the side before I do, but not very much to the side, just to the edge of the path, it seems to provoke my dogs; it happened twice yesterday, and almost a third time but with the same other dog (a lot of the trail is loops so can you pass people twice) but either they recognized it or it was more off the path. I wondered about this, and while I do not at all know I guess it is possible that they perceive a dog standing still right on the edge of the path as something like “lying in wait”. ?maybe? In any case, I have noticed that most of the time (nothing is always) moving past each other on opposite sides of the path, or maybe a little off it, is less likely to generate anxiety, barking, and lunging than one party standing still.

Timing and luck are a lot of it. This morning, we were walking down the street opposite the entrance to the park, and the dogs wanted to cross over. But, in addition to the truck coming down the street (it passed) there were two women approaching the entrance to the park, a total bottleneck, and moving remarkably slowly. And two people with two big dogs coming up from behind. I tried to time it to stay ahead of the latter and hope the former would move on into the park from the Z-shaped brick entrance. Nope. One of them hung out there. And coming out of the park was a woman I know, a terrific and wonderful person who has a big young dog that hasn’t completely mastered non-aggression. But she went out of her way to cross the street and go a bit down a side alley. And then inside was a man with a small dog that my dogs love to see because he spends time petting them. But now we contributed to the bottleneck! Not quite sure what purpose this entrance is supposed to serve…

Eventually, we got going into the park, and for the next 30 minutes only had a couple of widely separated interactions with other dogs and owners (including the ones staring at their phones with AirPods in who we had to negotiate around…)

Dogs, smells, alerts, coyotes...A walk in the park!

Dogs, like people, have distinct personalities. Of course, they are dogs, and thus have similarities and differences from people. They perceive things differently than we do, with smell being their dominant sense, while for most people it is sight, We verify things we hear, or smell, or touch, by looking at them; for dogs, they verify by smelling. The extent and complexity of their olfactory apparatus is impressive, and one of the things that I learned more about from

“Being a Dog: Following the Dog Into a World of Smell” (Simon and Schuster) by dog cognition researcher Alexandra Horowitz. One result of their focus on smell is that they tend to be focused downward, at the ground, following smells. In his book “Thunder Dog” (Thomas Nelson), Michael Hingson tells the amazing story of how he, a blind man, and his guide dog Roselle escaped from the 78^th floor of the World Trade Center on 9/11/2001. It is quite a story, but mixed into the main narrative is a lot of information on being blind – and what blind people can, in fact, do and accomplish – and guide dogs. One thing that stayed with me is how the dogs have to be trained to look upward and be aware on what is going on above their heads to avoid running their partners into objects that they themselves could easily go under. This is something I deal with every day walking my dogs in the park. They’re good dogs but not guide dogs, and as they occupy much of the path we are on, I have to be careful that I myself am not walking into a tree branch that is of no concern to them!

My current two dogs are also different in many ways; Molly pees and poops immediately and anywhere (sidewalk, middle of an intersection), while Rosa needs to go quite a long way from home and prefers to poop off the path, hidden, preferably on top of sticks, rocks, or even cactus that make it more difficult for me to pick up. Both stop and smell, but Rosa more often and for longer; Molly is more likely to stop, stock-still (“statue”) when she wants to make a point about the direction in which she wishes to go (or not go), and her smelling is largely directed by what might be there to eat (“edible” is not really the issue; this can include sticks and rocks!) Rosa also needs to be in the lead, and so after she stops to sniff moves up quickly to the front on the other side of Molly from me, and her leash can get caught behind Molly, causing her to instinctively stop and sit!

Rosa is also very alert to what is going on in the environment. Probably this is mostly also instinctive; both of the dogs were adopted at several years old and are not “pure-bred” whatevers, so I can’t look up if it is typical of her breed. She was also found wandering the streets of small-town Willcox with her puppies, so maybe the need to be aware was reinforced by her early life. Anyway, she is constantly looking around. She has several levels of alertness, which I note to decide if I need to take any action. The lowest level is “General alert”, looking and sniffing around to see if there might be anything to be concerned about. If a head turn only lasts a few seconds, I don’t need to pay attention. Then comes “Something alert”, where the head turn might last a bit longer, but does not show real concern. This most often means that a bird or ground squirrel or rabbit or lizard is moving nearby. Higher yet is “People/dog alert” when nearby, or approaching is a person, dog, or both (the latter being very common). This is something I do have to pay attention to, as it may require us to change our direction or step off to the side. Part of this can have to do with dog size; Molly and Rosa are good-sized, if not really large, and I am more concerned for their safety with dogs off-leash, especially large dogs. But yapping and aggressive little dogs can set my dogs off and mean I have to hold them back. One thing I know is I am pretty unreliable when it comes to predicting how my dogs and others will react to each other; it is a complex formula that is opaque to me (and probably has a lot to do with smell). I do know that other dog owners do not always have a great sense of how their dogs will react, sometimes conflating how they are with their own families with how they might react to others.

The highest level of alert is “Coyote alert”. While for me seeing a coyote or coyotes in the distance it is sometimes hard to tell them from dogs (often my first clue is “no person”), Molly and Rosa seem to have no difficulty, and react accordingly. Coyotes tend to avoid people, and while they have been known to pick off small dogs who were not being carefully watched (or held), they do not come after a person and two dogs the size of mine (although when there are pups, there can be a bunch of them, and the parent will often stand vigilant until all pass and can be intimidating). The issue is that Rosa and Molly want – very much – to chase them, and it takes a lot of strength to hold them back. If either dog were off-leash and ran after them, coyotes have their own tricks to lure them into traps where they will be outnumbered.

Overall, it is fun and interesting to walk with them, despite the occasional alarm. The desert is lovely, and in this season it is actually cold (not arctic or northern cold, but in the 30s) in the early morning when we do our first walk. I have had these dogs for several years, but learn more about them every day!

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.

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.”

It's too cold for you in Santa Fe! You'd hate it!

It’s cold out here southeast of Santa Fe, much colder than in Kansas City. Or, for that matter, Wichita, Liberal, Guymon, Dalhart or even Tucumcari, all of which towns I drove through, accompanied by Yonkel and Fry (neither of whom, it turns out, drive). There is snow on the ground from snows a couple of days ago, and the last leg of the trip, 40 miles up US 285 from I-40, was somewhat slowed by blowing and drifting snow (hey, the Galisteo Basin is a BASIN, flat, like high plains). Temperatures at night are in the teens, and in the 30s in the day. And it supposed to snow some more tomorrow or the next day. So stay in your nice balmy places further south or at lower elevation. You probably wouldn’t like it here.

On the other hand, there is the incredibly beautiful thing. I see great expanses of conifers (mostly juniper, but the piñons are beginning to return) white expanses, mountains in the (not too far off distance). And, of course, since we are not in Santa Fe, and you are frolicking in the warm weather, not a person around. I did drive to Eldorado for gas and groceries yesterday, but certainly not all the way (15 minutes) to Santa Fe, and today and probably tomorrow will stay here. I’ll go into town when Pat and the others get here, closer to Christmas.

We went for a lovely walk this morning through the snow, to the “back 40” (OK, it’s not 40, but it’s enough) to see the views over the Galisteo Basin. Fry is loving it; good old Yonkel stays closer to be near me. The black canvas duster with the sheepskin lining that Pat hates turns out to be perfect for keeping the wind out (oh, yeah, there’s wind too. Stay in Memphis). As long as your feet, head and ears are covered, the walk is great. Yonkel is barking at something I cannot see outside, but not too much last night. It was a “2 dog night” and they didn’t get up much.

I did, though. I opened my eyes around midnight and the eastern sky was full of stars. Got a little dressed and went out on the deck; no clouds in that direction, and so many stars I could barely find Orion in the middle of it all; most of the time, even down at the lake (and certainly in KC) that is all you can find. Among them, some planets, probably changing through the night. Straight east the Dog Star, Sirius, shining on my dogs, and right above the bright star Aldebaran from Taurus (they would have barked at that). This morning Sirius is replaced by the Morning Star, Venus. I couldn’t, of course, take pictures of the stars at night – it’s only a cell phone! – so I will share a couple of others, of the sunrise this morning, and of the reflected sunset on the Sangre de Cristo mountains to the northeast last night. I can’t write for long; the sun will soon be streaming into the “darkest” part of the house; the computer has been unusable in the main room since 7 am. It may be cold, but the sun is shining bright!

I guess I’ll just have to put on my cross-country skis and go see how the skiing is along the road. And then maybe it will be time for a nap.

Enjoy the warm weather!

Dogs, the lake and hunting

So we hear that the city and county have decided to allow hunting around our lake. But take heart: they have decided to not allow rifles, only bow and shotgun! Phew! Of course, they are allowing it right up to the road, which I walk the dogs on all the way down to the public dock. But today I hear that it is being done because the state of Kansas is paying them to do it. The state is broke, and cutting back on education, health care, senior services and everything else, but it has money to pay localities to encourage hunting! There’s something completely incomprehensible about that.

So yesterday, I walk the dogs in the morning as usual. I hope that their color of tan is not too much like a deer, but it is early on Saturday, and quiet. Amazing. No sounds of gasoline engines from cars, boats, planes, or lawn mowers yet. The walk passes without incident. Well, almost without incident. Fry, as usual, is off doing his thing. Every once in a while he comes back to check. We find our way to the camping/picnic area, and run into a lady with two mini dachshunds. Dachshunds are small with short legs, mini dachshunds are smaller, and these two were chub-balls so their bellies almost touched the ground. She was pleased to know that the dog down by the lake (Fry) was mine; Yonkel, she noted approvingly, stayed by me.

On the way back, though, in the woods around which the first housing road circles, Fry spied something and charged in. Yonkel, weighing prudence against excitement, hesitated a couple of moments and then followed. Not to be heard from for quite a while. I came home dog-less. After maybe 45 minutes I went out in the car, down to the public dock, and then back on that first road. There is Yonkel. He gladly gets in as I open the back of the car. A little farther on is Fry. He won’t get in, but is willing to trot alongside the car. I get tired of going so slowly, so leave him. He is back after another 45 minutes or so. OK.

This morning, we went out a little later, after 9:30am. By 10, they were both gone again, in the same woods, and I had kept walking and realized that they were not coming, so I headed home. They weren’t there. I sat down, worked for a while, worried about hunters. After about 45 minutes I went out in the car and re-drove yesterday’s routes. No luck. No dogs. No sound. Drove some more. Came back home. No dogs. Worked some more.

About 11:40, I get a call. One of my dogs had been stuck in the water and couldn’t get out, but this woman’s husband and another man pulled him out. Wow, am I grateful! I was wondering why at least Yonkel hadn’t returned! I quickly drive over there, to the first road. No dogs, but the two very nice men who had pulled them out are there; they say the one fell off the dock, they guessed. They have just headed off, generally in the direction of my house. I thank them and head home. No dogs. No dogs for a long time. I go back out and drive.

I go back to the same place, and the same two guys are still there. I just missed them, they say, they had headed out in the other direction. The older guy who lives there had heard the barking, and thought it was across the inlet at the picnic area. Then he looked down and saw the dog stuck in the water. It’s hard for him (the man) to get down the hill, so this other guy helps (not so young himself). He says that the other dog was sitting on the dock watching. I choose to believe that Fry was loyally staying by his friend. The one he had gotten in trouble in the first place.

I figure NOW they must be headed home; I can’t believe that at least Yonkel hasn’t had enough. But I go the other way to the public dock first to make sure, then come home. No dogs.

Finally, as the clock chimes 1pm, there is a scratching at the door, and there is a very wet Yonkel outside. Too wet, in fact, for this to have been from that episode over almost 2 hours ago. Incredibly, he must have been back in the water! How dumb can he get?

So I towel him down before bringing him in and putting him by the space heater, where he starts on the long process of licking himself off.  Now he is asleep. And still no sign of Fry yet. I figure he’ll get hungry after a while. In 2 or 3 hours. Oh, here he is! Couldn’t actually post the piece until he showed up (1:30)

And I was worried about them getting shot! They can get themselves into enough trouble without help!