I made this gallery to illustrate how much more apparent the cohesiveness of our little pack becomes when we move off territory. Each of us is constantly aware of the whereabouts of each of the others. The dogs check in with me and almost always come when called. They tag after each other, often sniffing or peeing (only Cleo and Benny) on the same things. I’ve seen them all sniffing the same dog at once and usually they just go through the procedure and then take off all at once, having apparently satisfied themselves that the dog under scrutiny is no problem to them.  We had a couple of tense moments this spring with Cleo exercising her penchant for large intact males and leading the rest of the pack to the vicinity of a fine specimen; unfortunately intact males of any size are the kind of dogs that I need to keep Benny away from.  But we were lucky and got a leash on Cleo and “leave it” was uttered before things got out of hand with Benny.

Arlo is just about a year old now and is typically enamoured of playing with other dogs. He even plays by himself, tossing toys and catching it, or dropping objects in water and knocking them around with his paws. He is a natural retriever,  especially in water. He is low dog on the totem pole but cheerful nonetheless. He remains confident with new dogs but somewhat less so with new people.  He can be a bit of a toy hoarder, walking around with two raw hides in his mouth while Benny and Cleo ignore him. I take them away because I can see how much it stresses him to have to guard the objects. His submissive displays are high dramas often culminating in peeing. I try to stage manage them outside. He is physically daring and unafraid of strange objects. He jumps through a hoop easily. He is gentle with people but he can be clumsy. In general he exudes an air of happiness. He’s glad he’s a dog. He’s glad he’s alive.

The last three pictures are of the dogs eating the frozen marrow bones they got that after the walk that day. The way I see it is that the walk replaces the hunt for the domestic dog pack and as the hunt, if it is successful, culminates in sharing food so should the walk.

Both of these adult dogs have been very clear in demonstrating to the newcomer that he is #3, at least for now. The puppy has been appropriately respectful but only briefly cowering. In other words he gets the message and is respectful of his elders. He certainly has not been traumatized by the corrections Benny and Cleo have dished out to him. It isn’t strange to him. He knows it is the way of the world; he comes from a large and rowdy litter.

So how is it that this puppy and I have found ourselves together? There are many wonderful stories about how people and their dogs find each other.One can only marvel at the workings of a mystical destiny that brings together a certain canine with a specific human. Jon Katz touches on this element of the canine human connection in his wonderfully moving book, “Orson, A  Good Dog”. I realize that things had to fall out just as they did to cause the intersection of our two lives.

I had planned to spend five days at the cottage in early July but on my last day of work before the little vacation I was laid off from my job at the doggie day care for at least a month and possibly longer. Suddenly all the pieces were in the air again  and the nervousness and exhilaration of change and uncertainty was percolating in my mind. The inner turmoil was buffered by the immediate hustle and bustle of a departure for the country with 2 kids, 3 cats and of course the dogs. I came to the obvious conclusion and decided to stay in the woods by the lake as long as I was able . Who wouldn’t?

I had been thinking about finding a third dog for a while. My sweet old girl, Jessie had passed away in early April. I had been very sad and the pack felt diminished. Three was the number of dogs that felt right to me and pleased me. Three seemed a manageable number of dogs i.e. the number of dogs I could live with and still meet all of my other obligations, enough dogs to create an interesting pack dynamic, enough to be a bit of challenge on walks and dog park visits and definitely enough for my long-suffering husband. I had questioned whether or not I had the time or energy needed to raise a puppy. I was pretty sure that I ought adopt an adult dog. I had been religiously trolling the websites of various shelters and rescues in my vicinity. Just looking to feel that spark of recognition that would tell me, ‘this is your dog!’ Any dog that I adopted would need plenty of training. Jessie hadn’t but I couldn’t expect to be that lucky again. At least I could spare myself the demanding task of house training not to mention the middle of the night trips to the potty zone. That was what I was thinking.

Because I had extended my stay in the country I soon ran out of that essential staple, kitty litter. This necessitated a trip to the pet supplies and feed store in town where I saw a hand written ad that read, “Husky mix puppies. $20. Mountain Grove” . And  a phone number. I was consumed with curiosity. Husky crossed with what? Husky shepherd, I knew those guys. Was I ready for a dog like that? Or husky malamute, I’d passed on one of those last year and faintly regretted it ever since. He was an exceptional puppy, smart, tractable and sweet-tempered. I’d often wondered how he’d turned out. Pretty large, that much was a certainty.

I called that afternoon and was told by a teenaged boy that his mother was not home. He didn’t seem to know much about the puppies except that they were husky Labrador mixes and that there were twelve of them. I called again in the evening and left a message.

The next morning was a grey one and pouring with rain. The phone rang early as I was having coffee after taking the dogs on their first outing of the day. It was the woman from Mountain Grove. She told me that she had someone coming at 11 that morning to see the puppies and maybe I’d like to come around then too.  She also mentioned that she still had the whole litter. What an opportunity! I didn’t tell her that I was already intending to be there by 10:30. I wrote down the directions. I knew where it was.

As we drove along Bell Line Road in a downpour I explained a few things to my twelve year old daughter. I made it very clear that if any of these puppies looked sick we would not be taking one home. I also let her know that I, as pack leader, had the absolute final say on this whole matter. My daughter was so eager to have a puppy to cuddle and play with that she would have agreed to pretty well anything at that point. I reminded her that in the final analysis looks are not very important in a dog and in the case of mixed breeds hardly at all. They are far out weighed in significance by temperament and personality. What we were looking for was a healthy well balanced puppy who had not been traumatized and who had experienced plenty of positive interactions with people. We did not want a nervous puppy who shrank from the touch of a hand. In my mind, as the wind shield wipers worked overtime, I reviewed all the red flags that came to mind from the shy little creature with her back pressed into the corner to the bully who beats up all his litter mates.

We found the place easily and were met there by a  friendly well-spoken country woman with a tanned face. She had the look of someone who spent much of her time out of doors. Her place was small but quite beautiful with chickens, goats and horses. The countryside, hung with mist and rain, was rolling shades of green to a horizon ringed with trees. The dull skies made the colours more saturated. A lovely pastoral scene. No shadows. Unfortunately no camera either. I was far too preoccupied with trying to remember all the methods for evaluating puppies that I had ever read or heard about. I was wondering if I had actually learned anything. I so wanted to get it right. Just right.

“They’re in the barn,” she said, “I was going to let them out before you came but then I thought if you decided to take one… ” “They’d be wet,” I finished her sentence and we followed her into the barn. In one corner of the huge old barn was a makeshift pen. A dozen vigorous puppies tumbled and jumped and yipped in their eagerness to greet us. It was a little overwhelming. Where to start? What about the little blue-eyed blonde one? Or the reddish-brown one with very distinct husky facial markings and green eyes? And that one over there who so resembled a small bear….  It was not easy to think rationally. I am a sucker for puppies one at a time but this was intense! They were all beautiful, exuberant, and full of charm. I was not left to flounder for long. “Seven males, five females. That’s the pick of the litter.” She pointed out one of the three mostly black puppies. My daughter picked him up and began to admire him. Mean while I picked up a little blonde male and flipped him onto his back. Cradling him, I gazed into his eyes. He didn’t squirm at all. He just lay there and gazed directly back at me. Nice, I thought. With some dogs eye contact is not so easy to achieve. His looks reminded me a lot of Benny as a puppy. Maybe he’d even grow up to look like Benny’s brother….I stopped myself. It could be that this puppy was too passive. I went back out into the rain to get my dogs from the truck.  As we entered the barn Benny’s hackles rose. The sound of all those squealing puppies made him edgy. Cleo was more interested in sniffing the amazing variety of smells in the barn than checking out the puppies. The two puppies we were considering were out of the pen in a large open area. There was basic polite sniffing and Benny’s hackles went down. Cleo was too busy running in her usual basenji circles, nose to the ground, to do more than a perfunctory check. The blonde puppy crept away, tail between his legs, his body curled in a nervous appeasing gesture. The mostly black one made eager play bows to Benny and yipped excitedly. When Benny didn’t respond in kind and ignored his advances the puppy was unfazed. He bounced over to me and stretched up and pawed my leg. I bent down and he became a wagging fool. He had selected himself for us. We handed over the token $20 and said our thank yous and goodbyes. The woman said that she would keep the puppies for a maybe a month and then take them to the Humane Society in Kingston. By then their size and agility would have robbed them of the greater part of their cuteness and some important things wouldn’t have happened for them in the realm of bonding. Poor puppies! Such is the fate of  mixed breed puppies, if they don’t get adopted very young their chances are not that great of a happy forever home.

The conversation on the way home revolved around names. His litter name had been Mickey. I had trouble with keeping that name; I knew a dog called Mickey and the name could only evoke his image in my mind. My daughter was eager to name the new puppy Zorro. “He’s mostly black,” she said. “No, not Zorro.” I said, exercising my parental power of veto. I didn’t relish shouting “Zorro come!” at the dog park. Over the next couple of days we tried out “Oscar” but that didn’t quite fit him either. My husband favoured Carlos the Jackal because the puppy was, in the first few weeks before he had learned “gentle”, quite free with his little teeth. I wrote  down lists of names of people I admire composers, photographers, writers too. Can you name a puppy J.S.Bach? Ansel ? Eventually, he became known as Arlo. The name resonates with me as Arlo Guthrie, son of the great Woody, was a seminal figure of my youth what with Alice’s Restaurant and the Pickle Song. It does suit him as he is quite a muttly looking little guy. He has the open honest face of what I like to call “a good old dog”. Just the puppy to be named after a folk music icon.

Arlo’s summer was spent largely at the water’s edge. He drank the lake; he pulled things out of the lake. He discovered insects, frogs and snails. He found out how they taste. He learned to play fetch with a ball. If he fell in,he swam efficiently to shore and clambered out. Thunder storms provoked no fear in him. He learned about riding in vehicles. He bonded with his new pack. The second two months of his life were a period of intense learning which parallelled his development. There were structured learning sessions a few times each day to practice the basic stuff, “gentle”, plenty of puppy push ups, ” leave it” along with the much more joyful ” take it” and of course the eye contact and name recognition games were played daily. By the time we got back to Ottawa he was reliably house trained and crate trained. Leash walking was not going too well. Barking was under control, mostly, and he had some familiarity with basic commands. Arlo was still the same confident little character I had chosen from his litter of a dozen but now it was pleasant to be in a room with him. He didn’t mouth hands or bite clothes. He still needed a lot of supervision and reminders about staying off the furniture and counter cruising. The seeds of self-control had been sown and were beginning to sprout.

Reading this over at a remove of nearly three months it is interesting to remark that what I saw in Arlo then and the assumptions I made about him at the time are still true. What you see is what you get. That doesn’t mean that the puppy can’t be molded by education and experience but that each individual, human, canine and others, arrives in the world with certain preset parameters. Watching Arlo adapt to his environment when we finally returned to the city at the end of summer has been very interesting. It was not a difficult transition for him. It seemed to me in those first weeks back that Arlo was relying on the fact that his pack was intact to keep himself stable. His interactions with me were constant, training sessions, play time, feeding and affection. He knew were he stood with Benny and Cleo. These relationships were fixed constellations by means of which he could navigate any new situation. None of the rules had changed; “leave it” was still “leave it” and the almighty “sit” was still “sit”.

Coming next: the puppy becomes a teenager!

Rocky is a wonderful dog. My friend Dale is fostering him for BARK, Bytown Association for Rescued Kanines.Dale is a dog person who specializes in huskies. I met Rocky when I went with Dale to pick him up at the vet after his neuter. He had just been surrendered to BARK by his owners who apparently did not have time for him. He’s a year old. I sat in the backseat of Dale’s car with Rocky’s head in my lap and his eyes held my gaze all the way home. Although he was very stressed (Who wouldn’t be given the day he’d had!?!) he seemed to be calmed by quiet talk and gentle stroking.

I see Rocky most days when I take my dogs to play at Dale’s. He’s settled in very nicely. I wince to think that he will have to make another major adjustment when he gets adopted.  He really is a people oriented dog and loves interaction, a good candidate for lots of training and the bonding that flows from it. Rocky knows some commands in French but it will not be hard to make him a bilingual dog.  I must admit that he loves coffee and tries to lick the lid of my travel mug any chance he gets. When he makes eye contact with me, which happens a lot, (That’s a trait I always love in a dog because a dog who’s watching you is paying attention and is ready to learn and follow.) I imagine that he’s asking, “Am I your dog? Are you my person?” He’s so ready to bond and become someone’s best friend.

I have three wonderful dogs. If I had unlimited resources I suppose I would have more dogs, lots more dogs. I do love dogs and find their company rewarding; training dogs is something that I find very gratifying. If it were possible I would take Rocky home in a blink. We connect. It’s great. But I can’t. The point is that I’m sure there is someone out there for Rocky to bond with who can take him home. Meanwhile he’s in an excellent foster home where he is learning lots of important lessons. He feels secure there.But it’s not his forever home. So I’m planning to tell everyone I can think of who might be interested all about this fantastic dog who’s waiting for “his person” and his forever home.                                                                                                                                                                           There is a happy postscript to this tale! This week Rocky went home with his new owner, a young man who wants a jogging partner. I wish them years of good companionship. But I’m missing communing with Rocky over a coffee in the morning at Dale’s!

Dogs really are most interested in each other. They love to play and just hang out together. My three are having a great time in the backyard in September. Benny is the big blond; Arlo is the puppy and Cleo is the basenji. Observe all the “dog” being spoken in these shots!

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A great deal of life certainly unfolds with amazing rapidity for a  mother of ten who also shares her life with three cats, three dogs and a long-suffering husband.  All this activity drastically cuts into the time available for creative pursuits such as playing Bach on the piano, photography,  not to mention writing. Still there is an urge to write and blogging seems to be a more approachable form than say writing a novel or even a dog training manual. The thought of a large scale writing project is intimidating enough to produce a massive case of writers’ block.

So I’m intending to set forth here something in the form of a  journal, a record of my life with dogs, mine and other peoples’. I’d like to talk  about dog walking as that is what I’m doing these days.  It an activity that affords many opportunities for observation of the environment. The weather is hard to ignore when you’re out in it all the time.  The sky, the trees and plant life in parks and gardens provides a constantly changing scene. There is definitely a meditative quality possible for a dog walker and a special link that occurs between human and dog on a good walk. The walk has replaced the hunt in the contemporary dog’s repertoire. It is a bonding time for the pack. I think that it is good if the dog is given some food upon returning home, to the den. You should feed this snack to the dog with your hand thereby reminding him that you are a good leader and provider. If he associates your scent with the things that are desirable and even necessary to him he will bond with you and accept your leadership.

I’m thinking about leadership and pack dynamics quite a bit right now. Having a growing puppy in the pack makes for lots of interaction and drawing of lines in the sand. It is the best policy to avoid interfering most of the time in dog to dog interactions.  Manners always need to be corrected either by you or another of the dogs. Pack members join forces to raise a pup. Among the most satisfying interactions I’ve had to date raising Arlo are those instances in which I’ve seen Benny using good judgement in disciplining the puppy.   Arlo has been misbehaving, indulging in  what I refer to as “senseless” barking.  Benny will growl and show teeth and sometimes even lunge but not connect. Senseless barking ends immediately and puppy does a down. Benny will then make eye contact with me and I say, “Good work.” It only makes sense; Benny knows that barking like that is not allowed. Benny, who uses his barks sparingly and was taught to speak to request a door be opened, is not about to tolerate much in the way of “senseless” barking. In fact he enforces the rules as he has been taught them. That’s a real plus for me; if Arlo doesn’t know what I’m saying because I am less than perfectly fluent in ‘dog’ he never fails to get Benny’s meaning. Dog speak is nothing if not succinct. Pack leaders do not whine or plead or cajole. It’s crucial to remember that when dealing with your dog. A whining leader has zero credibility. Keep it short and to the point. Use your body at least as much as your voice. Dogs understand dog talk. They can learn words in any language as triggers for various behaviours or objects but when it comes to asserting leadership body language is the most effective.

As I see things now I need to make some strong leadership statements as Arlo grows up. He may challenge Benny and Cleo but not me. There are moments when it is tempting to give into his puppy cuteness and silliness and laugh at his naughtiness but that would be a big mistake. Of course he’s trying it all on.  I only have to imagine what he’s thinking. Maybe humans really do like to be jumped up upon. Maybe they really do want to chase me all over the house to recover their socks! Maybe they think my counter cruising is cute and that my tearing between their legs in the doorway is only puppy stuff. But no, his antics need to be interrupted firmly and consistently in a manner that gives puppy no reward for his undesirable behaviour. The “leave it”  command is invaluable and off is a big help too. I like to put him into a down when he gets silly. That doesn’t mean that I can’t play and be a little crazy with him but it happens outside, it happens when  I want it to, it doesn’t involve objects that aren’t toys, and I decide when it’s over.