Ruffly Speaking

We get to see Harper more than most of the other puppies because Dave goes on convenient business trips and lets us have her for days at a time. But I haven’t seen her in weeks, and during that time she obviously began her transformation from strange spaghetti to Cardigan, because she doesn’t look like so much a pool noodle on stilts anymore :).

Dave says: Harper charmed EVERYONE at Sea Point Beach today. She ran up and greeted every person without jumping on them, chased all dogs big and small without barking, played soccer without nipping. Just a wonderful happy friendly funny dog. For me, a very proud evening.

Obviously, Juno needs to take some tips! And I am over the moon with that report. Harper’s, if anything, even more high-drive than Juno (which means that the two of them, when together, act like a giant furry blender, and unfortunately I am not exaggerating. That copy of The Trumpet of the Swan was, erm, not really readable in its post-ingestion state) and she really has believed that all children exist to be first knocked over and then thoroughly washed and then herded back to their parents. Evidently she’s decided that they’re soccer partners instead, which is fantastic news for Dave’s training skills and a good reminder to me that Juno needs to do the same.

Yay for our little heart-headed girl!

Clue is on day 13 now and still no sign of anything happening. She didn’t really get going until day 16 last time so I am not panicking yet but I do hate long heat cycles.

The great thing about this opportunity is that it’s not as desperately hoped-for as the last one was. I got my wonderful litter from her and, while a “spare” would be fantastic, I have her daughters to carry on with. Doesn’t mean I don’t want it to work this time, but it does mean there’s less tension. If she doesn’t make it happen this heat I’ll talk with the vet but my instinct is to spay her. I am seeing that she is putting more weight on her front than she used to; she still has no pain and she runs like an idiot but I am sure the pelvic bones are tightening up as she ages. I don’t even want there to be a question about whether it’s hurting her to carry a pregnancy.

I haven’t given an update on Bramble in a while; we’re continuing the nightly recall training. He has come an enormous length, really stunning. I can stand on the front stoop and let him out and he goes about his business and then, at my first whistle, comes bolting back. No more fear when I go get him – he knows he’s doing the right thing and he gives me about ten high-fives in a row when he runs over the doorstep. I have no plans to test him when the road is traveled, because he does need to have his little routine (he trots across the road and hunts for three or four minutes in the woods before he comes back, and I don’t want him meeting a car), but I am very encouraged that he’ll be able to begin joining us on our off-leash hikes even as soon as this winter.

Juno comes out with him and me every night to practice corgi-style off-leash training, meaning that she has to be under voice control and not follow him even when he tracks a toad or something really fascinating. She’s got a lovely little brain and is incredibly herdy; she does this wonderful thing where when she alerts to a movement she sinks on her own into a crouch and eyes it. She really thinks she’s a sawed-off border collie. She is also incredibly mouthy, which is our biggest challenge right now; when I praise her she leaps up and joy-bites me. Funny to watch, as I jump and scream, but not so funny to experience. She does the same thing to Friday and to her mom; she’s an equal-opportunity nipper!

Bronte is just wonderful. She’s our sweet, sweet girl. Her surgery scars are almost completely furred-over again and she looks amazing. The repair on her ouchie back door was flawless, just beautiful. Since the surgery she’s moving better than she’s done in years and she’s as happy as a clam. I need to get some video of her and some new pictures and update her “available” page but I’m in no hurry. She’s so lovely to have around.

I am going down to Hartford next week sometime; I would like to wait until after I breed Clue (assuming I breed Clue) but I am watching the home page and will swoop down there if there’s a dog that I think looks like The One. I cannot bring back a pit bull, as desperate as their situation is (I love them, but with winter coming I can’t reliably separate dogs at all times and I won’t bring in dog-aggressive breeds unless I can do so), so it will be some other breed but I haven’t the slightest idea what.

Enough rambling, back to work! A couple more hours to go before I can sleep.

People, just… NO.

Your dog is not your child. Your dog doesn’t WANT to be your child; your dog is completely confused by this kind of behavior. Your dog would be horrified if he could comprehend the statement.

Dogs who are “children” are usually the most lost and badly behaved dogs there are, because the relationship is entirely for the benefit of the “parent.” What parents do for children, the way parents behave around children, are nothing that a dog needs or even likes. They end up casting here and there for any kind of stability and strength and assurance. The soft ones go neurotic; the hard ones take over. Either way you have an unhappy dog trapped and being fed upon, asked to provide something it cannot and stay sane and healthy.

I love my dogs. I think they are just marvelous. I feel privileged to know them. But they are not my husband and they are not my children. I don’t mean that they are on the same spectrum but just further down it, like I might hand my kid a twenty but I wouldn’t do that to a dog. I mean that they are on a completely different plane; they are my dogs. They don’t need to be compared to the way I feel about my children or my spouse or my neighbor or the president of France.

I have enormous numbers of pages to read tonight, in a campaign known in my own brain as Thank You God For Giving Me A Project That Will Pay For Clue’s C-Section, so I can’t go on much longer than I already have, but just one more thing:

Why are the “baby” statements ALWAYS and inevitably and heartbreakingly followed by “I need to find a new home for my baby”? I’ve seen more “babies” rehomed than I’ve ever seen working dogs rehomed, more than I’ve seen even the dogs I consider neglected (like “yard dogs” or chain dogs) rehomed. It always begins with “Timba has been my baby for seven years, but now I broke up with the boyfriend/moved to a new apartment/got a different job/she bit someone/I am getting married and she needs a new home with someone who will love her like the baby she is.”

Dude, wake up. I have babies. You could no more wrest them from my grasp than you could tear my lung out, and the birth parents who choose to give up a baby go through the rest of their lives with one lung. You don’t give up a baby because you move to Reno.

What we have with dogs that we own is something very fine, very noble, very GOOD. It makes us better people. Turning it into a child substitution wrecks it on both sides. Don’t do it.