Did I just get had?

In the new house in Winnipeg, we have stairs. And Her Majesty refuses to do the stairs. I know she can, because she's done them once each way, but she doesn't. She does the stairs going in and out of the house, but not the stairs to and from the second floor. Instead I have to carry her.

Oh no my poor little dog she's so disabled!!!!!! Here, let me carry you, Your Majesty.

Fine. But I do insist she has to jump on the bed at bed time. I know she can, because she does it very easily whenever she wants. So I'm NOT going to lift her up on the bed. Even supposing it's a challenge (and there is no appearance of struggling when she does it), I still think she needs to do it to keep up her mobility. She has arthritis in her back end and I suspect neurological distemper, so I can expect her to be increasingly challenged, but the less she tries, the faster it's gonna get worse. Am I right?

Still, tonight, she was just NOT jumping on the bed. Just not. I asked her several times, and she looked at it and seemed to brace herself to jump several times, but then she decided to rest her chin on the edge of the bed and look at me mournfully instead of jumping.

No, dog. I am NOT lifting you on the bed. You have to keep working at it.

Staring contest.

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.

.

.

.

Then I got out of bed and lifted her up.

Now I'd like to know, is there something unusually wrong with her hind end today, or did I just get totally manipulated yet again?

Or maybe I don't really want to know.

Negotiating: we're doing it right

Our new V-E-T, Dr. Zheng, sold me some expensive glucosamine cookies for Her Majesty's arthritis. "They're liver-flavoured," he said. "Dogs love them."

Ha.

Her Majesty is not "dogs". She is Her Majesty. And she does NOT, as a rule, like dog biscuits. So sure enough, she didn't want the expensive glucosamine cookies. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh! I mean, bad enough that they cost a fortune, but I really want her to not be in pain. Sigh...

After several days of her refusing to eat the glucosamine cookies, I hit upon a potentially brilliant idea. Here in Winnipeg, I've found a brand of cookies that she does like. I call them "wolf cookies" because I can't remember the brand, I'm too lazy to look it up, and they have a picture of a wolf on the packaging. Cause allegedly they're made of what wolves would eat in the wild... or more accurately, they're made of what romantic city folk imagine a wolf would eat in the wild. But the important thing is, they cost a fortune too, and Her Majesty loves them. She's a dog of taste and wealth... at least she assumes the wealth is there. Cause she can't read my bank statement. But oh well.

So anyway, I took a wolf cookie and a glucosamine cookie, held them both in my hand, and offered them to Her Majesty, but with my thumb on the wolf cookie so she couldn't take it from me. Which she tried many, many times, of course. And every time I would move my hand to put the glucosamine under her nose instead of the wolf cookie. So finally she ate the glucosamine, and then I gave her the wolf cookie.

OMG I can't believe it worked!!!!!!

Totally. And I repeated this success every day thereafter. Which shows that a) she understood that I was offering the wolf cookie as a reward if she did something for me, i.e. eat the glucosamine cookie; and b) she was actually willing to compromise. Victory!

But then yesterday, I had been unpacking a box of stuff, and I stopped to give her her glucosamine. But she hates it when I move things around, so she wouldn't come into the room to eat her cookies. Oh well. I have things to do. I put both cookies on the floor and went back to unpacking. And while I wasn't looking, she crept silently (probably not, we have laminate floors and her nails click like mad) up behind me and ate... the wolf cookie.

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!!!!! You treacherous animal! You KNEW you're supposed to eat the glucosamine! Woe is me!

Ok, so I took out another wolf cookie, and offered her the glucosamine. And she ate the glucosamine and... didn't eat the wolf cookie.

OMG!!!!!!!!!!!!

See what she did there? She did her part of the deal even though she already had her reward. She has a sense of owing me something! After all these years she finally feels like she ought to do something for me once in a while!

I love you, little mutt. I really do. Please don't ever die.

Throw me a bone here, dog

Her Majesty and I are moving to Winnipeg in the new year. The decision was made October 15, but it's been a long time in the making, and part of the reason why is specifically because Her Majesty loves it here. But there are no jobs, so we have to get out of here.

Ok.

So first of all I had to dismantle our garden before it froze solid, which caused Tinky-Winky to have a meltdown and pee on everything she normally sleeps on. It was weird. But yeah, the garden was a major thing for both of us. It hurt me to have to do it, but I did it quickly and turned my back on it. Tinky-Winky took it a lot harder.

After that, I've been hesitant to make any further preparations. Tinky-Winky has never liked me opening the storage room door to begin with, because I make all sorts of loud noises that make her nervous. Now as soon as I touch that door, or try to move anything bigger than a book from one side of the room to the other (we have a bachelor apartment, you'll recall), she goes into a dark corner and shakes like a leaf until I pick her up, sit down on the couch with her, and do nothing but pet her or brush her for half an hour. And that's kind of a problem, because I need to empty the storage room completely, mark out the amount of space that's available in the car, and then refill the storage room with boxed things, ready to load in the car the day before we leave. And I can't do anything without her freaking out.

Sigh...

You know, dog, I realise that you don't know where we're going, or why, or how things are gonna work out when we get there. I realise that we've moved lots of places together and you never know how long we're gonna be anywhere, and you can't tell when we're never coming back to a place you like. I realise that you don't get to speak your mind or ask questions. I realise that you have no way of knowing how much your well-being and happiness have been at the centre of my decisions all along. I realise that you know we're gonna go for a long, long drive in a tightly packed car, again. Ok, so it is stressful. You're not in control and you never know what's coming. And yeah, we've lived here a long time, we're comfortable, and it breaks my heart too to leave it. But you're not the one who has to find us a place in Winnipeg. You're not the one who has to find a job and make this move work out, one way or another. You're not the one driving that damn car 2500 km. You're not the one who has to pack, and to leave behind the things you can't pack - yet again. None of your stuff is getting thrown out or left behind, I can guarantee you that. You're all worried, but you're not the one who has to do any of the worrying.

Ok, so I don't expect you to hold my hand and be supportive and ask how you can help today. But it would be nice if after seven years together when I've never let you down or let you want for anything, you could at least trust that I'm taking good care of you, and I always will, and if there is a little thumping and banging here and there, you don't need to make me drop everything to address your little prima donna act.

Sigh.

I think I'm gonna try to send her to Otis's people a few hours a week so I can get something done here.

Actually, LOVE is the best medicine

Last Friday, while we were hanging out in the Community Garden, Tinky-Winky started walking funny. I didn't see what happened. In fact, at first I thought I was imagining it, until somebody else noticed it too. Then I thought maybe the heat was getting to her.

But then, it was getting worse, so she couldn't even walk around the school for her bathroom breaks. And she was holding her head funny. So I thought maybe she had a pinched nerve. Then I thought, what if she had a stroke? But I dismissed this theory on the grounds that I'm paranoid because she's my littly-wittly-kins and I'm always worried that she's going to die.

Monday morning, however, as I carried her into the elevator, a neighbour asked me why I had been carrying her for days. So I says "I think she has a pinched nerve" and he says "what if she had a stroke?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaugh!

An impartial observer thinks she had a stroke! Oh no! She had a stroke! She's going to die! The horror! The horror!

Well. We'll see about that.

Of course the V-E-T is not here and won't be here until the 27th, but I have a trick up my sleeve. I made Tinky-Winky lie down with me, and held her close for a couple of hours, until I had to work. Then in the evening I did the same, and the next day. Immediately, there was a marked improvement, whereas previously she had been declining. By Thursday, she was able to trot and to jump up to lick my nose when I come home.

Now you might think it's a coincidence, or a superstition, but it's not. I tried it before when she had hemorrhagic gastritis, and since then I have read the real medical reason why it works. I'm Tinky-Winky's major attachment figure, and dogs are much more attached to their people than people are ever attached to anyone. Engaging in any attachment behaviour releases oxytocin, which is a strong pain-killer. And the best attachment behaviour is physical contact. So, by holding her close to me for several hours, I know that I'm giving her a very effective way to deal with the pain of whatever it was. And as the pain lessened, she was able to move more, which helped restore function that was impaired, whether the impairment was due to a stroke or a pinched nerve or a pulled muscle or any of the other theories that were proposed.

This morning, for the first time since last Friday, when we got to the Community Garden she went off running. I watched how she ran and there is still something funny about it, but she's running, she's smiling, she seems free of pain, and she's NOT DEAD. Praise be to God, the Compassionate, the Merciful! And also, thanks to Dr. Gabor Mate, who wrote the book in which I read about this oxytocin deal.

Pet your dog thin?

I was reading this book about addictions, and I learned some things. As you may or may not know, the brain, human or otherwise, secretes a variety of hormones to make us feel good or bad. I call the good ones "brain rewards". I knew this already. I didn't know that one of the brain rewards is oxytocin. One thing it does is induce labour, but also, it's a brain reward related to attachment activities, and an analgesic. And the important thing here is, attachment.

So that is to say, oxytocin is a brain reward that you get from interacting with other creatures.

What does that have to do with addictions? Addictions are a way to give ourselves brain rewards when we're not getting them through normal processes. Which is why people who say they eat to make themselves feel better aren't actually lying; they're just not creative about giving themselves brain rewards. So they eat, and get a brain reward related to eating. But that doesn't exactly replace the brain reward they're missing, so they keep eating.

Likewise with dogs.

Do I have a point? I do. Tinky-Winky and I are dog-sitting Carter again. Carter... Oh wait, I forgot to post my other post, so you don't know the back story. Anyway, Carter overeats. I explained that in the post I forgot to post. When he wants a brain reward, he eats. When he has no food, he asks his person for food, and she gives it to him.

Not me. When Carter whines, I pet him. Or I brush him. He loves being brushed. When I stop brushing him, he goes to sleep. Without having eaten.

Hmmmm...

My theory is, Carter cries because he needs a brain reward, not a food reward. If I pet him or brush him, he gets a brain reward, therefore he doesn't eat. Therefore he doesn't get fat.

On the other hand, it's also possible that he doesn't eat when I dogsit him because he misses his own humans. But I like my theory.

Doesn't matter anyway. Petting your dog lowers blood pressure for both you and the dog, and fills some time that you both would normally spend stuffing your faces.

You know what else? If you walk your dog, he gets exercise, therefore he's less stressed and difficult - and also less fat. Also you are less stressed and difficult, and also less fat.

Funny how doing the right thing for your dog also happens to be the right thing for you. Oh wait... Yes, that's easily explained by 12,000 years of living in packs together. Or maybe we formed packs together because we need the same things. Either way, spend more time petting, brushing and walking your dog. It's good for both of you. And besides, why would you get a dog if you're not gonna pet, brush and walk him?

Things that are poisonous

An anonymous reader commented that grapes are poisonous to dogs. Hmmmmm... Good to know. So for my own information, I googled what else is poisonous to dogs, thusly. But for those who don't want to read the article, here is a short version:

Alcoholic Beverages
Apple Seeds
Apricot Pits
Cherry Pits
Candy containing the sweetener Xylitol
Chocolate
Coffee
Grapes
Hops
Macadamia Nuts
Moldy Foods
Mushrooms
Mustard Seeds
Onions and Onion Powder
Peach Pits
Potato Leaves and Stems
Raisins
Rhubarb Leaves
Salt
Tea
Tomato Leaves and Stems
Walnuts
Yeast Dough

It should also have tobacco. And if you think people don't give their pets tobacco, my uncle had a sheep who did tricks for cigarettes. He ate the cigarettes. The uncle later died of lung cancer; I'm not sure what became of the sheep.

The black dog, or why retrievers should be banned

I think it was two summers ago, on a street that Tinky-Winky and I traverse on our daily walks, two households got puppies. One was a large black lab. The other was an even larger yellow... lab, or something. The yellow dog had a fenced yard. The black dog didn't. Therefore, the black dog was allowed to spend the days at the yellow dog's house, playing together in the fenced yard. Everything was copacetic.

Unfortunately, puppies don't stay small forever. The two puppies became huge, and for lack of training, they became unmanageable. The yellow dog was gotten rid of. The black dog wasn't. But since it wasn't invited to play in the fenced yard anymore, it got tied outside its house. All by itself. So it started to bark and jump up and down whenever people or dogs walk by. This was a nuisance, so the people fixed it with... a shock collar. Which doesn't really work.

Since I've been home for a few months, I started working on that dog. I approach her to pet her. If she barks or jumps, I leave. If she's quiet, I pet her. So it took months, but now when she sees me coming, she lies down quietly and waits for me to come to her. Then she rolls over on her back. Did I mention it took MONTHS? Most people are amazed how fast I can get their dog to roll over. This one took months. (On the other hand, I had Tinky-Winky full-time for 2 1/2 YEARS before she would roll over, which tells you something about how headstrong she is.)

The other day, I was petting the black dog, and she was lying down quietly. A human came out of the house, and immediately the black dog was jumping and barking. The human yelled at her. (Why? The dog barks, you yell; the dog thinks you're doing what she's doing, then she does it some more.) Amid all the noise, I said to the human "she's getting better though, isn't she?" and the human said "oh, I don't know, some days she's ok and others she's just impossible."

Hmmmmmm...

No, I don't think she's impossible at all. I spend two minutes with your dog once or twice a day and she's quiet with me. You live here and she barks and jumps at you. That seem funny to you? Well it doesn't seem "funny" to me at all. Your dog isn't "impossible", she's bored and lonely. She wants to play. With another dog, preferrably, but she'd be happy to spend time with a human. When is the last time you walked her? When is she ever allowed to sit quietly beside you? She's tied up outside all day, every day, all by herself, watching everybody walk by and pay no attention to her. Poor dog.

It goes without saying, the black dog is not getting walked. I've seen her walking with her human ONCE and I was all happy that they were walking, but it turned out she had escaped and the human was only bringing her home. I feel I ought to walk her, but honestly, I don't want to. For one thing, she's at the farthest point of our walk from home, so it's really inconvenient. I also hate picking up after large dogs. It grosses me out. Also, Tinky-Winky hates her. And also, inevitably, she's gonna be a huge pain to walk on leash for quite some time. I'm a construction worker, so I can handle a fairly strong dog, but I don't really like to spend my walks doing that.

Also, because she's such a large dog, she needs to walk fast, not dawdle along at Tinky-Winky's whim. Tinky-Winky on the leash is painfully slow, because she's uncooperative. Every two seconds she has to pee, or scratch, or tangle herself in her leash, or pick sticky tree things off her paw pads, or smell something, or otherwise find anything to do that isn't walking along with me. It's takes us forever to get anywhere. Take the leash off though, we're like the wind. But that's a story for another post. The point is, a two-year-old lab needs to move a lot faster than an ornery 12-year-old shiba. In fact, in order to get up enough speed to get that dog exercised, I'd need a bike. And that's not in the budget for this year. So, I'm not offering to walk the black dog, and I feel bad for her, but I just don't really want to take on her problems. I also get the feeling that her female human is getting annoyed by my interference with her dog.

So that's one reason people shouldn't have retrievers. I don't know a single retriever who gets walked. People say "they're good with children." Yeah, well, they're very patient dogs, but that's absurd. Teach your children to be good with dogs, instead of expecting the dog to put up with them. You know what "good with dogs" means? It means you WALK THEM. Teach your kids to walk the dog. Three hours a day, fast enough that the dog is trotting, not walking. Don't worry about the dog being "good with kids"; the dog is gonna treat your kids a thousand times better than you're gonna treat the dog.

Nobody should have a dog they're not gonna walk, and no one I know who has a retriever ever walks further than the couch to the fridge. Some say they need the dog to hunt with, but first of all they don't train it for hunting, and second, what are you gonna do with the dog the other 363 days a year? Tie it out in the yard and ignore it? That's nice. Some poor dog is gonna spend his or her whole life crying in your yard because you want to feel like a big man with a gun a couple weekends a year.

Here is how you know if you need a retriever: do you spend two to three hours a day, every day, even when it's raining or very cold, jogging, biking or rollerblading? If so, get a big dog. If not, do you spend two to three hours a day, every day, even when it's raining or very cold, walking? If so, get a dog that trots at the speed you walk. If not, get a ferret. Some people, seriously, even a bearskin rug is too much of a pet for them.

The other reason people shouldn't have retrievers is that they're so prone to cancer. I've read somewhere that 40% of retrievers get cancer. Is that true? I don't know. But they sure don't last very long. Cancer in a dog costs thousands of dollars. A friend of mine has a pug who just got diagnosed with cancer. It cost over $4,000 just to diagnose her. She's 5 1/2 and she will be dead in a month or two. Chemo could buy her another month or two, but there's no money left for chemo. I think spending thousands of dollars on a dog with high medical needs is a waste anyway, but you can always get more money, and you'd probably waste it anyway. But the bigger thing is, YOUR DOG IS GONNA DIE OF CANCER. Why would you buy a dog so you can watch it die of cancer at a young age? Even supposing you're completely selfish (which you probably are if you're getting a dog that you're not planning to walk), and you don't care that the dog is gonna suffer, do you think YOU are gonna enjoy watching your dog die of cancer?

So that's why retrievers should be banned. Some breeds get banned because somebody decided to stick the label "vicious" on them, instead of putting the blame on the owners, where it belongs. Well, "vicious" dogs are only dogs that have been mistreated. Retrievers have miserable lives with people who don't take care of them, and then they die a slow and painful death. Isn't that being mistreated? Just because they don't turn on people doesn't make it ok. So they should be banned, not because they're dangerous to people, but because people are dangerous to them. You want to feel like a big man, buy a Harley. It won't mind one bit sitting in front of the house day in, day out while you don't take care of it.

The “next dog” conundrum

It occurred to me yesterday that I’m worrying for nothing about what kind of dog to get after Tinky-Winky. Not that I won’t have to face that decision sooner or later, but most likely, it’s going to be much, much later.

Dogs in Tinky-Winky’s family tend to live about 16 years, short of violent death such as cars. Tinky-Winky is 11, but doesn’t look even close to that old, so I’m rather hopeful that she’ll have an exceptionally long life. Twenty is probably too much to ask, but 18 seems plausible enough to me. So that’s seven more years, praise be to God.

After she’s gone, I’ll have a few dog-less years. Partly to avoid the “rebound dog” thing, but much more because I have some projects I want to pursue in life that just aren’t compatible with having a dog. So for a few years, maybe, say, five years, I won’t be looking for another dog. And that makes twelve years.

So let’s say ten to fifteen years, plausibly, before I have to worry about finding a new dog.

But I still worry about it. Partly because I’m not sure whether the things that annoy me with Tinky-Winky are her own idiosyncrasies, or really “breed traits” that I’ll have to put up with again if I get another shiba. I can deal with the attitude (sometimes barely) because I love Tinky-Winky. I don’t think I’d tolerate it from any other dog. Of course I could argue that she was already six years old when I got her, and if I had had her from a puppy, I could have raised her differently.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

So should I take a chance on another shiba when the time comes, or am I better off to go with a less cute but “probably” more cooperative breed like a Norwegian buhund?

It’s not for another ten to fifteen years. Why am I worried about it now? Why don’t I let it go?

Who knows. Talk to The Brain about that.

Another thing that’s begun to nag at me in the Next Dog Conundrum is the realization that the next dog is probably the last dog I’ll ever have. Ten to fifteen years from now plus fifteen years of the next dog’s life means any subsequent dog would almost certainly outlive me, and I don’t want to do that to a dog. So the next dog is gonna be the last dog.

Again, why is this gnawing at me? Who cares? Why does it matter?

It shouldn’t matter. But I have several dog names in mind and I won’t have as many dogs as dog names. I don’t believe in imposing names on dogs anyway; I let the name come to me as I get to know the dog. So I’d like to name my future dogs WHMIS, Riddick, Satī, Shi Huangdi and Cheka, but realistically, at most one of those will happen. Which of these five dogs might cross my path? Each name evokes a specific personality in my mind. But at most one of the five will become real.

It really doesn’t matter. Not for ten to fifteen years. Right now my precious has stacked all her doggy beds and blankets in a neat pile and is sleeping peacefully curled up on top of the pile… with one ear toward the fridge and one ear toward me. The last thing I need to decide now is “shiba or buhund.”

But it keeps gnawing at me.

Terrierman rules!

I like Terrierman. He's full of sense. Here is some Terrierman wisdom: Terrierman's Top Ten Tips for Avoiding Expense & Misery.

Summary:

1. Avoid giant breeds.


2. Avoid "tea cup" dogs.


3. Try to get a dog weighing less than 40 pounds.


4. Avoid dogs with misshaped bodies.


5. Avoid flat-faced dogs.


6. Avoid merle-coated dogs, dogs with pure white coats, spotted dogs, and dog with blue eyes.


7. Avoid dogs with exaggerated features.


8. Avoid any breed with a disease named after it.

A friend of mine has a basset and is looking to buy an English bulldog. Sigh... How much do you want to spend on vet bills when these two dogs reach 7 or 8 years old? People have no sense some time. Buy a dog that looks like a dog, eh?

And this is also part of why the "she looks just like a little fox!" comment is so aggravating. Tinky-Winky looks just like a little dog. A dog is supposed to look exactly like that: proportioned body, coat to match the climate, pointy ears, pointy nose. Yes, pointy nose too. I always go "no she doesn't" and people say "it's because of the pointy nose." Dogs are supposed to have pointy noses. Having a pointy nose makes her look like a little dog, not a little fox.

It's really sad that dogs have gotten so misshapen (thanks to our efforts) that most people don't even recognize the normal shape of a dog when they see one.

What are you teaching, anyway?

Terrierman had a blog post about humane v. abusive training aids.

My first thought was, I don't have to ask myself whether I'm abusing my dog - I don't train her at all and we walk off leash as much as possible.

Then I started asking myself, what in the world according to Garp are people trying to teach their dogs anyway? I don't mean working dogs, obviously, but pet dogs. What do people train pet dogs to do? All they need to know is to relieve themselves outside and come when called. Both of which they do naturally.

Yes, I just said that.

Dogs naturally relieve themselves outside the house and come when called.

Yes, I mean it.

First of all, dogs don't like to live in their own filth. Left to their own devices, they'll foul somewhere other than where they sleep. Of course in a big house, that's lots of places they could relieve themselves without inconveniencing themselves, so it's a little harder for them to define where to go or not to go, but they'll still prefer to go somewhere else. As long as you're walking them regularly, often, and long enough each time, they'll wait for a chance to go outside instead of fouling the house. Voila, instant house-training.

Of course there is the odd dog who finds it normal to foul his territory. And then eat his feces.

Yes, that's disgusting.

No, it's not normal.

If your dog is doing that, there's something wrong with your dog. Probably caused by you.

Yes, I just said that, and I mean it.

Second, as to coming when called, yes, dogs do that naturally. They're pack animals. They want to be with the pack. They also want to obey the rules of the pack. So when you, the pack leader, call, the dog naturally wants to come.

Oh wait... That's right, you are not the pack leader, because you don't "believe in dominance."

Ok then. That would be why your dog doesn't come when called. You're not the leader, so who are you to tell him what to do?

My dog comes when called, and shibas are notorious for having poor recall. And if you watch her, you can see why: because she's making a conscious decision to come or not to come. If Tinky-Winky is busy with something, she'll come to me... once she's done. Or when my growling becomes menacing enough that it's not worth it anymore.

Is that inconvenient? Some times. Is it horrible? No. And I frequently inconvenience her by stopping to take photos, so I don't mind so much. I know she's coming sooner or later, she knows she's coming sooner or later. All good.

So what does that have to do with proving that dogs come naturally when called? Exactly because of what I just said: she chooses to come or not to come. Therefore, she doesn't need to be conditioned to do it. All we need is an agreed-upon signal for me to let her know that I desire her attendance. And this is very easy, because dogs naturally have that. I don't know what biologists call it, but I call it a "pack call" or "trail call."

Where did I get this idea?

I learned it from Tinky-Winky, thusly. She's a very quiet dog, but once in a while, she'll give one bark. One. A very specific sound that I recognized from the first time I heard it as one thing: "Mama, come help me!"

Why did I know what it meant instantly? Because humans and dogs have formed mixed packs for more than 10,000 years, I suppose. Also because my dog doesn't bark constantly, so it was immediately obvious that she needed something. Whether we're on the trail or at home, when she gives that one bark, I know she needs me. This is her "pack call."

I, conversely, developed a unique sound for calling her. I always call "Tinky-Winky, come!" in the same pitch and rhythm. Some times louder, if I think she's far away, and some times with a growly sound, if she's pissing me off, but always the same pitch and rhythm. Because I know she recognizes that sound as her pack calling to her.

Does it work? Absolutely. Before I figured it out, Tinky-Winky would get lost on the trail and be gone for hours. Now, I just give my pack call from time to time when she's out of sight, and she hasn't been lost since. Even if she doesn't come straight back to me, she knows where her pack is and she's reminded to keep up. That way she doesn't get absorbed with what she's doing and lose track of me.

Of course the way Tinky-Winky and I came to understand this is by walking off leash a great deal. So once again the answer to your dog training problem is: walk more.

If you walked far enough, often enough, and off-leash enough, your dog would be house-trained and come when called. And that's the only two things a pet dog needs to know. "Sit-stay"? Useless. Tinky-Winky doesn't sit-stay, and not once in four years together have we felt a need for her to sit-stay. She does, however, drop on recall. She does many tricks, in exchange for cheese. I think that's absolutely fair. I expect to get paid to do someone else's bidding, and so does she. But as for the two cardinal pack rules of "don't foul the den" and "come when the pack calls", I never had to teach her either of those. She's born with it, that's all.

At this point you may be disagreeing with me because your dog isn't house-trained and doesn't come when called.

Well, let me put it to you this way. Those are the two things your dog does naturally in his pack. If you can't even "train" him to do just that, you're a pretty piss-poor trainer. Maybe now would be a good time to start "believing" in dominance.

Second, you may be thinking that you can't possibly walk your dog far enough, often enough, and off-leash enough, because you live in some ungodly cityscape where there is nowhere to walk, plus you work for a living and you don't have that kind of time.

All right then. Get rid of the dog and get a cat.

I'm serious.

If you can't walk your dog far enough, often enough, and off-leash enough to prevent behavioural problems, you mustn't have a dog. Or at least not that dog. And yes, I said "mustn't", not "shouldn't". I'm not suggesting you get rid of the dog. I'm telling you. Get rid of the dog.

"Oh, no," you say, "I love my dog, it's ok that I can't do everything perfect, that doesn't mean I can't have a dog."

Actually, it does mean you can't have a dog. If you were keeping a child under such conditions that he'd start eating his own feces and losing track of the most elementary rules of human behaviour, you'd be going to jail. Whatever you think you're doing for your dog, the fact that he has behavioural problems is prima facie evidence that you're doing it wrong. Don't make me use the A-word, but yeah, your dog has problems because you are causing him to have problems. Either change what you're doing, or get rid of the dog. (Unless of course, the problems pre-date you having the dog and are decreasing the longer the dog is in your care.)

And as for the humanity of various training aids, it all doesn't matter. It's a dog, not a circus pony. Whatever you're using the training aids for, stop it.

What kind of dog digs for goodies?

Shibas, apparently. Here is Her Majesty, lying in the snow in -28C (-18F) eating something she dug up. I was wondering how she could lie in the snow for so long when usually she complains of cold feet, but then I noticed she was shivering as she ate. When she finished eating and tried to resume walking, her feet hurt so much she didn't go ten yards, and even after I warmed them up, all she could do was sit and shiver. So, I carried her back toward the car. After a while she felt better and walked on her own, but she wouldn't run. When we got home she had difficulty with the stairs, too, so I carried her to my room, put her under the blankets, and had a nap with her. She seems better now. Crazy animal.

But as to the question of "what kind of dog digs after things": all dogs do. Also, pigs do. And owls. And horses and cows dig through the snow to find food. And bison and moose. And ravens. And chickens. And many kinds of ducks. And bears and racoons. And of course, people. The question isn't what kind of dog digs, really, but what kind of ignorant person would ask such a question.

Dogs dig when they can get something good by digging. And they go after the smell of whatever smells like it's good to have. Why? Because so would you. If you could see that there is $100 buried just under the snow, you'd dig for it too. In fact, we people will grab any resource we find unattended, if we can. I pick up all toques, ski masks, neck warmers, gloves and sweaters that don't get claimed. I have tons of them. If I see money on the ground, I take it. At work, if we see a tool we need, and no one claims it, we take it. We're actually pretty respectful at my work, and try to find an owner first, but in a lot of places you just take what's there and too bad for the guy who left it lying around. Any unguarded doughnut is fair game, of course, and many people will eat someone else's lunch out of the lunchroom fridge, or their roommate's food, even if it's labeled. Those of us who don't are said to have "principles", but that just means we're going against our instincts.

The reality is, all creatures take resources where they can find them, and if they have to do a little digging for it, then they will. Because if something is good to have and you can take it easily and no one will stop you, you take it. Doesn't matter even what species you are, let alone what breed of dog.

Duh.

The life expectancy question

This shiba just died. She had her own blog too: The Misanthropic Shiba. Like I said, I don't care much for blogs about how much trouble shibas are, but that's not the point. The point is, she's from the same breeder as Tinky-Winky. I don't know her pedigree, but it seems like a useful guideline to answering the question of how long my precious might be around.

The breeder had told me 15 years. The vet says 9 to 12 years for a shiba. Hmmmmm... I need more data.

Unfortunately, the dates on the site contradict each other. Either she's born in 1993, or 1997. If it's 1997, I'm gonna assume it's not relevant to Tinky-Winky, because she's not two years away from death, at least not from old age. Recklessness is another matter.

So, let's say this dog was 16 years old. That gives my Tinky-Winky six more years. That's nice. I don't want her to die this soon.

The dog ate my nuts!

No, this is not a shameless ploy to get more hits. Tinky-Winky really ate my nuts.

See, I had a bowl of mixed nuts, which never happens because I don't believe in junk food. And I was walking around the house eating from my bowl of nuts, and Tinky-Winky was following me around wagging her little curly tail madly with that "I know you're about to give me something good" look on her face.

"Ha," I thought. "Dogs don't eat nuts, you silly creature."

To prove it to her, I put the bowl on the floor. She sniffed at it and licked some of the nuts tentatively.

"See," I thought, "she doesn't like it."

And I walked away.

And then I came back. All the almonds were on the carpet around the bowl. All the other nuts were gone. My first thought was of the "poor poor me" variety. I was really looking forward to eating those nuts.

My second thought was "aren't nuts poisonous to dogs?"

Uh-oh.

I googled it, and it's only macadamias. Phew! Of course I have no idea which nuts are macadamias, and if there were any in the bowl, but they're not "poisonous" as in D1-poisonous. (WHMIS class D1 is "materials causing immediate and serious toxic effects".) She's not going to drop dead. At least, it's very unlikely that she's going to drop dead from eating my bowl of mixed nuts.

And just so you know, I picked up the almonds that she had spit out on the carpet, and I ate them. Dang it, I was really looking forward to my bowl of mixed nuts.

Things I love about my shiba

Tinky-Winky weighs 22 lbs. Ideally, according to her vet and her breeder, she's "supposed" to weigh 20 lbs. Except her breeder lives on Vancouver Island and I don't think the vet spends a lot of time walking shibas in winter. In my opinion, Tinky-Winky is like a tiny polar bear: she needs that extra 10% to keep warm during the eight months a year that it's winter.

Also, she has a much thicker winter coat than southern shibas. I read blogs of people who own shibas in... Texas, or places like that, and their shibas are thin with little silky coats. That's nice. It's not suitable for here, and I don't think it's very authentic, either, because Japan is pretty cold in winter. Tinky-Winky grows a nice thick winter coat. It's still nice and silky to the touch, but it looks a lot shaggier than those Texas shibas.

Anyway, I'm not on about her coat here. I'm talking about her weight. 22 lbs. 22 lbs is a good weight when you have to carry your dog around the block to relieve herself. Considering I really wanted a Malinois (75 lbs) or an akita (up to 120 lbs), I'm sure glad I chose a shiba instead. It's the smallest dog breed I ever considered (*) and I'm reaping the rewards now.

*: I considered getting a chihuahua and naming her "Candy", to soften my butch image, but I wasn't serious about that. A chihuahua just wouldn't be me at all.

Eentsy weentsy cold feet

In just a few days, the weather went from -10°C-ish to -40°C-ish. Tinky-Winky's feet didn't adapt. She always gets cold feet at the beginning of winter, and she refuses to wear boots, so she has to live with it.

Except... I can't very well let her sit on the -40°C snow and cry until she accepts the consequences of her choice not to wear boots. So, for the last few days, I've been carrying her instead of walking her. We start out walking, then her feet get cold and she cries, and I pick her up and carry her. Every once in a while I put her back down and see if she'll walk.

Of course it would be easier to stay home, except, she won't relieve herself anywhere close to the house. I kinda think the physical act of walking helps her move her bowel, but she also has a mental block about going close to home. So, for days, I've been carrying her ten minutes from the house, setting her down so she can poop, and carrying her back to the house. I'm not sure she understands that she has to go before I'll carry her back home. Some times she just starts crying again every time I put her down, instead of looking for a suitable place to poop. And even though this is her fifth winter up north, she still doesn't seem to understand that her feet hurt more if she tries to go in the deep snow. Or maybe her need for privacy when pooping is greater than the pain in her feet from the deep snow. Yesterday, in -38°C, she pooped in the deep snow while balancing precariously on two feet.

The other problem with all this is that she's already not getting enough walking in Yellowknife, let alone when all her "walking" consists in me carrying her to her bathroom spot and back. So, the lack of exercise really comes out in vastly multiplied dog aggression.

Fortunately, today is a lot warmer: -31°C. Warm, eh? Well, warm enough for her to do our routine walk on her own. So now she's all about more walking. Hopefully we can get in some decent runs this weekend to get some of the vinegar out of her, now that the piss is taken care of.

(Yes, I just wrote a long post about my dog's bathroom habits. And it's still more fun than reading about babies! Muwahaha!)

Rumbly in her tumbly

I came home from work Tuesday night and I could hear the dog growling before I saw her. Specifically, her gut was growling.

Uh-oh.

Long before this blog, Tinky-Winky spent a week in hospital with "hemorrhagic enteritis", so I'm a little paranoid about rumbly in her tumbly. However, she was clearly not uncomfortable, not wishing to go out just then, and not throwing up. In fact, she lay down with me for a nap and fell asleep right away, with her gut growling like an angry tiger. In a way, it was comical.

When we went for our evening walk, her stool was normal, and the walking toned down the rumbling for a while, but it came back when we got home. She went to bed with her gut still rumbly. In the morning, she was fine again.

Hmmmm...

My theory is, it's because she had milk Monday night. Some times she craves milk, so I offer it to her periodically in case she's needing it. Then she drinks a few ounces of it and she's off it for a while again. And I know she's not lactose intolerant, because she eats cheese and she's fine with it, so what I figure is, she doesn't have the right bacteria in her intestine to process milk. Why? Because I had that problem in my early twenties. I grew up drinking lots of milk, then went through two or three years of almost no milk, and when I started up again, I'd get the same thing she had. Finally I went to the doctor about it and that's what he said: not enough bacteria, eat lots of yogurt to replenish the milk-digesting bacteria. I ate yogurt for a week and I haven't had a problem digesting milk ever since.

So, I'm thinking next time the dog is craving milk, I'm going to give her yogurt instead, and see if that solves the rumbly in her tumbly.