The New Work of Dogs

I just finished this wonderful book authored by Jon Katz, one of my favorite writers of canine non-fiction. All dog owners and lovers should read this unusual perspective on the roles our dogs play in our lives today. Katz has the ability to capture the essence of dogs and people and can help people learn how to get in touch with their social and emotional selves.

After profiling several owners and their dogs, Katz goes full circle by revisiting Montclair, NJ to learn what had happened to the people and dogs whose stories he told. He says, "The return visits reaffirmed an early thought: the story of dogs and people is sometimes the story of life itself. "

Katz also muses: "If we really knew dogs, would we be attributing to them the vast, complex panopoly of emotions that are unique to humans? See them as people when they are not? Would we acquire large, active working dogs for small apartments or townhouses in congested tracts? Would we refuse to train them? Beat and abandon them by the millions? Would we bar them from doing almost everything they naturally want and need to do, from roaming and sniffing to settling dog scores and chasing squirrels?

Perhaps it is and has always been the nature and fate of contemporary dogs to serve humans and then step aside or get left behind when their work is done. Many of us seem to feel that's the way we treat other humans now as well. Perhaps this fate is simply the price dogs pay for all the shelter, care, and affection their receive, a natural evolutionary extension of the time when dogs threw themselves in front of wild animals to protect their humans."

Katz spends time discussing the attachment theory and says, "Attachment theory as it relates to dogs isn't theoretical, to my mind, but highly utilitarian; it can sometimes help us understand the relationship and connections between the two species. Understanding that our earliest emotional experiences were formative, that we connect with animals out of our own unanswered needs for security and affection, can help us to forge a more realistic and satisfying relationship with dogs.

When the right dog connects with the right person for the right reason and there is clarity, self-awareness, and truth in the relationship, dogs are far more likely to be secure, happy, calm, and better behaved. Someone who understands attachment theory will see that crating a dog is not inherently cruel; that expensive toys and oven-baked biscuits that look like hot dogs fulfill human, not canine, needs; that leashing an aggressive dog is essential to the safety and well-being of the dog and others."

Review from Random House: http://www.randomhouse.com/catalog/display.pperl/9781588361677.html

From USA Today:

http://www.usatoday.com/life/books/excerpts/2003-05-14-new-work-of-dogs_x.htm

From Barnes and Noble:

http://search.barnesandnoble.com/booksearch/isbnInquiry.asp?z=y&EAN=9780375760556

KILLING FROST

I walked outside early this morning to see our first killing frost. The thistle was weighted with crystals and drooped in willing defeat. The grass protested under my shoe, the shards of ice unable to hold me. A killing frost helps put the natural world to a gentle rest to prepare for warm rebirth.

A KILLING FROST

by Jay Parini

Beside the pond in late November,

I'm alone again

as apples drop in chilly woods

and crows pull tendons like new rubber

from a roadkill mass.

Ice begins to knit along the ground,

a bandage on the summer's wounds.

I touch the plait

of straw and leafmold, lingering to smell

the sweet cold crust.

An early moon is lost

in sheer reflection,

wandering, aloof and thinly clad,

its eye a squint of expectation.

I know that way,

this looking for a place to land

where nothing gives,

these boundaries of frost and bone.

Tao Of Puppies

..... nourishing life,

shaping things without possessing them,

serving without expectation of reward,

leading without dominating:

These are the profound virtues of nature

and of nature's best beings.

from: The Tao Te Ching of Lao Tzu by Brian Browne Walker

Author Krista Cantrell is a cognitive animal behaviorist and quigong practitioner who uses Chinese medicine with animals. In her book TAO OF PUPPIES, Cantrell goes beyond the traditional training techniques to the source of creative power-tao. She guides the reader with exercises to learn how to follow the rhythms of nature and become an "intuitive" silent trainer.

The book shows the reader how to flow with puppy energy instead of fighting it. One discovers how to subtract rules, not add them. If you have a puppy, you have a furry ambassador of tao residing in your home.

"It doesn't matter how smart you are if you don't have the sense to honor your teachers and cherish your responsibilities." From: The Tao Te Ching of Lao Tzu

Quotes from the book:

"We need puppies to remind us to be mindful during daily life: washing dishes, eating a sandwich, walking to the mailbox, or playing ball. Puppies don't take anything for granted. We must pay full attention or the banana bread that we left cooling on the counter suddenly disappears, never to be seen again."

"Puppies allow us to experience the immediacy of life and not let it pass us by without recognition. Our inner wisdom grows as we look and listen for our tao teachings."

"Words cannot describe tao, but puppies, in their infinite ability to teach us, reveal tao and show us the way to joy."

Hannah Goes Shopping

Today Hannah and I decided to go shopping for a 6 ft. leather lead, recommended by our trainer for leash work. Our first stop was at PetCo where we found beautiful leather leads to the tune of $33.95. Too expensive for a still exuberant puppy who sometimes likes to grab the leash in her teeth and attempt to initiate a game of tug-o-war which is fruitless when I am on the other end.

Because Hannah loves toys and chewing, we looked at the chew toys. Since she is still rather short and can only see the bottom two rows of goods, she needed my help to find a toy that was tough and squeaked too. Squeaks are the number 1 criteria. So Hannah listened to the squeaks and chose the Tuffie ring. It looks just like the picture below, except hers is bright green. I gave it to her, and she carried it to the cashier where she willingly gave it up for scanning and to have the tag removed. Then she carried it proudly out to the car, minding her leash manners very well -- gave some bystanders a good chuckle.



Then we decided to check out the new PetSmart store in Newtown. Hannah loves these stores that welcome her and her kind. As soon as we walked in a young girl who worked in the grooming department came out to talk to us and fuss over Hannah. We checked out the bathing and grooming prices since Hannah is getting too big for our laundry tub.

We browsed the aisles and found a very nice leather leash. Hannah said she wanted brown instead of black. After we checked out the rescue kitties and bought a toy for Pumpkin and Kristie, Hannah and I went to Tyler Park for a walk and a short swim (only Hannah) in the chilly waters of the Neshaminy Creek.

TAMANEND

Tamanend was chief of the Unami (Turtle) clan of the Lenni Lenape in the 1680s. His name means affable (i.e., pleasant, courteous, and easy to talk to). In 1683, he signed treaties with William Penn to sell him four large pieces of land which eventually comprised Penn's Woods (Pennsylvania). Later that year, before a large meeting of various Native American chiefs and William Penn, Tamanand declared, “We will live in love with William Penn and his children, as long as the creeks and rivers run, and while the sun, moon, and stars endure.”

Friends of Tamanend Park, committed to preserving the park's natural beauty, have placed a cluster of weathered Delaware River boulders in the park to honor the Lenape Indians. The date, 1683, marks the year of Tamanend's partnership with Penn for a lasting peace. Five Indian names appear on the boulder: Tamanend, Wheeland (brother), Yaqueekhon and Quenameckquid (sons), and Weheequeckhon (sister's eldest son to be Tamanend's successor). Yaqueekhon signed a treaty document in 1692 and he is named in a council of the provincial government with Indians who well remebered Penn's first message to them: I desire to enjoy (this land) with you in Love and consent that we may always live together as Neighbours and friends.

When the land for a new park in Southampton was purchased in 1975, a contest was held to name the park. Prize winning entry was "Tamanend," a reminder of our historical heritage in this Indian.

An interesting history of Tamanend can be found on the Upper Southampton Township website.

Kyra and Immune Therapy

University of Pennsylvania Veterinary School, in cooperation with Childrens' Hospital of Pennsylvania, is conducting research in immune therapy on dogs with lymphoma. If successful, it will be tested in children with non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Philadelphia Inquirer published a story titled "Research's Best Friend" by Marie McCullough in the November 12, 2007 Health and Science section. Follow the yellow link to the entire article.

Kyra, a Rhodesian Ridgeback, begins

chemotherapy at University of Pennsylvania

Veterinary School in January 2006
(photo: U of P Veterinary School)

Autumn Color

This year the autumn color assaults my senses. Frequent walks in the woods of Tamanend present me with an unending palette of hues. I have been looking for unusual color combinations in leaves as well as identifying as many hues of color I see in the trees. Some leaves have as many as four colors: yellow with speckles of red and orange and green veins. So far my list of colors observed includes: varied hues of green, yellow, gold, orange, yellow-orange, burnt umber, burnt sienna, brown, tan, red, peach, purple, maroon.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, one of my favorite poets, captures the feeling of wanting to embrace every last image of the indescribable beauty before me in her poem God's World.

GOD'S WORLD
O WORLD, I cannot hold thee close enough!

Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!
Thy mists that roll and rise!
Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag
And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag
To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!
World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!
Long have I known a glory in it all,
But never knew I this;
Here such a passion is
As stretcheth me apart. Lord, I do fear
Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year.

My soul is all but out of me,—let fall
No burning leaf; prithee, let no bird call.

All photographs taken by me in Tamanend.

Cave In The Snow

After discovering Tenzin Palmo on the Global Oneness site, I was inspired to read her biography titled Cave In The Snow by Vickie MacKenzie. The book review from House of Hermits says:

"This book is comprised of three parts: 1) the life of Englishwoman Diane Perry up to becoming an ordained Tibetan Buddhist nun, 2) her twelve years of seclusion, beginning in 1976, in a Himalayan cave 13, 200 feet in elevation, and 3) her life after returning to the West. The middle part is of particular interest here because it illustrates an eremitic tradition in Tibetan Buddhism exemplified by the famous Milarepa in the 800's C.E. and by the contemporary Togdens, the latter an isolated community of ascetics possessing paranormal powers.

Tenzin Palmo (Perry's adopted name) learned of the Togden's female counterparts, Togdenmas, but discovered them to be nearly extinct, and resolved to reestablish their lineage. After six years in an isolated Lahoul monastery, she undertook a retreat in a cave as preparation.

The cave was actually an overhang on a natural ledge of the mountain. Open on three sides, Tenzin's associates walled in the structure, adding a door and double-glazed window. Ten feet wide and six feet deep, the spot had a magnificent view of the mountains and Lahoul Valley below, a nearby source of spring water, and profound silence and isolation. Her possessions included an old wood-burning stove piped outside, a wooden box for a table, a second for meditation and sleeping, plus a wall depression for housing books and articles.

The barren mountaintop was devoid of food, so all provisions were brought in, including kerosene, tsampa (a Tibetan dry bread), rice, lentils, flour, dried vegetables, ghee, cooking-oil, salt, soap, milk powder, tea, sugar, apples, and cut wood. The cave ledge she transformed into a garden bed which, however, only yielded turnips and potatoes - and flowers; other greens being consumed by rodents, her chief visitors.

She ate once a day, at noon, in keeping with a monastic tradition, always the same meal of rice, dhal (lentils) and vegetables, prepared together in a pressure cooker. "This meagre fare she supplemented with sour-dough bread (which she baked) and tsampa. Her only drink was ordinary tea with powdered milk. For desert [sic] she had a small piece of fruit.

The unrelenting cold was often minus 35 degrees F. in winter, though the cave remained relatively warmer. Tenzin lit her stove for her midday meal, but otherwise there was no source of heat, and she surely experienced much cold. Water was scarce in winter, rationed because the snow was not easy to melt. She slept upright in her meditation box.

"I was never lonely, not for a minute. It was nice if someone visited, but I was completely happy not seeing anybody," she told the author. However, there were animal visitors besides the rodents: wolves, a stoat, martens, a snow leopard (which she did not see but the footprints were confirmed by others). One chapter, entitled "Facing Death," relates an avalanche that nearly asphyxiated her in her cave. She left the cave only reluctantly when Indian authorities pulled her visa status, because an associate who had been renewing for her annually forgot to do so."

Some excerpts that particularly spoke to me were:

"Our minds are like junkyards. What we put into them is mostly rubbish! The conversations, the newspapers, the entertainment, we just pile it all in. There's a jam session going on in there. And the problem is it makes us very tired."

and.... "There is the thought, and then there is the knowing of the thought. And the difference between being aware of the thought and just thinking is immense. It's enormous... Normally we are so identified with our thoughts and emotions, that we are them. We are the happiness, we are the anger, we are the fear. We have to learn to step back and know our thoughts and emotions are just thoughts and emotions. They're just mental states. They're not solid, they're transparent."

and... "People are parched with thirst. Here people are hungry for real meaning and depth to their lives. When one has stopped satiating the senses one wants more. That's why people are aggressive and depressed. They feel everything is so futile. You have everything you want, and then what? Society's answer is to get more and more, but where does that get you? I see isolation everywhere and it has nothing to do with being alone. It's about having an alienated psyche."

and... "She teaches that 'being' is often better than 'doing' and that taking time out to be still and think is often a better investment for future productivity than cramming every waking moment with feverish activity."

video clip: The Nature of the Mind (Tenzin Palmo) http://www.globalonenessproject.org/video/Tenzin-Palmo/2

Meditation In Ginger

At times I will brew a pot of ginger tea. I add freshly grated ginger to water, bring it to a boil, and then allow it to simmer for about 20 minutes. It has lots of tang and is a warming, satisfying cup of tea. One night I took a cup of steaming ginger tea to my bath and enjoyed a relaxing soak by candlelight. This poem resulted.

MEDITATION IN GINGER

Bath's vapor trellised
with that of candle flame
and ginger tea.
Wavering candlelight
walking tight rope along tile grout --
rhythmically reaching for
balance.
Shadow bisects grouting
and stills in dukkha repose. . .
oxygen tangents the flame,
disturbing elusive
quiet.
Flame meditates in metaphor
as ginger steam entwines
with mirage of
stillness.

May 23, 2003

HACKLEBARNEY

Hannah's breeder put me in touch with a woman who adopted Topher, one of Hannah's brothers. After emailing for a few months, we decided to grab the opportunity to meet half way to meet each other and give Hannah and Topher a chance to have a reunion. Topher's adopted mom suggested Hacklebarney State Park near Chester, New Jersey.

What a great name, and what a gorgeous place. The leaf change was at the height of color and reminded me of Edna St. Vincent Millay's lines from God's World, "Thy woods, this autumn day, that ache and sag and all but cry with colour!"

The park is located in a glacial gorge of the Black River. The topography is rugged, and the hills rise from an elevation of 400 feet along the lower reaches of the river to a peak elevation of 804 feet.

The name Hacklebarney is believed to come from an ironmaster in the area named Barney Hackle. One story about the origins of the park's name suggests that a quick-tempered iron ore foreman named Barney Tracey was persistently heckled. Soon "Heckle" Barney as he became known, changed to Hacklebarney. Another theory is that the name is of Lenni-Lenape derivation.

Iron was discovered in 1740, and the area became noted for its forges and mining of iron ore. By 1867 at least ten mines were operating around the Black River in Upper Hacklebarney. In 1896 the last of the mines closed and led to economic depression in the area.

In 1924, Adolph Borie donated 190 acres to the state for a park in memory of his mother Susan Parke Borie and her granddaughter Susan Ryerson Patterson. The field house was constructed from materials taken from the remains of miners' homes.

FISHING WITH DAD

On those hot, humid summer evenings of my childhood, my Dad would often ask me, “Do you want to go fishing?” My usual answer was an enthusiastic “YES!”

There was something magical about going fishing with Dad. He was an expert fly fisherman who firmly believed in catch and release – so the fish would be good sport for another time. We also fished with barb-less hooks; it made it a little easier for the fish to escape once hooked, but was a challenge to the fisherman to land the trout expertly and gently. The battle was fairer that way. My Dad was an environmentalist long before it became vogue.

We discussed where we would fish that evening. It was easy. The Cumberland Valley abounded with beautiful limestone streams where trout fishing was sublime.

One of my favorite spots was Green Spring, a tiny stream that twisted through fields, woods, and a farmer’s pasture. When we arrived, we would park the car and start to prepare for our time on the stream. Hip boots were donned, bug repellant was applied, fishing jacket, with its many pockets was slipped on, net was hooked to the back of the jacket, and finally the fly rod was assembled. Dad would light his proverbial cigar; “The smoke keeps the gnats away,” he would mumble.

Then we would walk to the stream, to see if there was a hatch in progress. That meant we wanted to find out what kind of bugs were hatching and flying around the water. Finding a hatch was exciting. My Dad would cup his hands to capture a bug so we could examine it and try to match a dry fly. I was passionate about fishing dry fly. I loved casting the line upstream and watching the fly settle lightly upon the water and float towards me. The anticipation of a strike required careful observation of the lure.

Lighting on the water could make it difficult to track the fly. Obviously, in shaded water, a light-colored fly was easier to see, and in water reflecting sunlight, a darker lure was more visible. Riffles would often mask the fly in its splashing channels as the water tumbled between rocks and through varying creek-bed terrain.

Live fly activity would usually increase as dusk approached – the crowning hour for a fly fisherman. Unfortunately, the growing darkness carried with it a regret that the fishing would soon be over. Eventually, it would grow so dark, we could not see our fly on top of the water; therefore, we were unable to see the fish strike and respond by setting the hook.

The visions of Green Spring remain vivid in my mind. In the haze of a humid, summer evening, the creek sparkled and giggled as it flowed through the fields and woods. I recall sections of the creek by the trout that lived there.

A favorite riffle was the home of Flippy, a trout named for his habit of flipping his tail when he leaped out of the water. I have no doubt that Flippy allowed me the sport of catching him on several occasions. He would always give me a good fight, showcasing his trademark leaps. Did he know that he would be released?

Releasing a trout is an art in itself. A spent trout was to be guided gently to the angler and handled as little as possible. If the hook could be removed in the water, my Dad encouraged that. However, with my awkward, youthful hands, that was not always possible. I often had to lift the fish out of the water. If the trout rolled over on its side or belly-up after being returned to the water, Dad recommended massaging the gills gently to encourage oxygen flow. It always worked. Slowly the trout would return to an upright position, fin slowly, and then suddenly take off. Dad always thanked the trout for the sport.

As I worked the water, I entered the section of the stream that flowed through deep woods. Around one bend, there lived a huge trout; I had named him Tremendous. He was a worthy opponent for my father because Dad was an expert fisherman. I always fished that part of the stream with great respect for that trout. Dad was fortunate to hook Tremendous a few times, but was never able to land him.

Where the stream left the woods, it flowed past a beautiful farmhouse. The farmer owned a Brittany Spaniel named Zeke. When Zeke was loose, forget about fishing. Anytime the dog saw a fisherman, he came dashing to the creek in anticipation of “going fishing!” He would watch the line intently, with tongue dangling, and ears flicking forward at any unusual motion. My Dad used to swear that Zeke would “point” trout. When a trout was hooked, Zeke would make a flying leap into the water and retrieve the fish, bringing it back to the angler. Took all the fun out of playing the fish! But Zeke thought it was great sport!

This farm was also home to a herd of cows – black and white Holsteins. On evenings when the fishing was slow, I would set aside my rod and venture over the barbed wire fence to “talk” to the cows. I would moo my lungs out! Usually, the cows ignored my foolish attempts, but one night they, too, must have been bored. When they saw and heard me, they decided to investigate. Instead of plodding over slowly, they gallumped towards me. Even though I was a country girl, I was afraid of cows; I thought all cows with horns were bulls! I panicked, bolted over the barbed wire fence, and got hung up on the top strand. A barb ripped the soft skin on the inside of my thigh. No matter how I struggled to free myself, the barb stayed firmly imbedded. My father had to come and untangle me, all the while chuckling quietly to himself.

Another time, at that very same spot, Dad fell into the creek. Water flooded his hip boots and drenched his trousers and socks. He took off his boots and socks and hung them over the fence to dry while he proceeded to fish in his bare feet. Considerable time passed, and eventually Dad was ready to move on. He returned to pick up his wet garments only to find a cow lazily standing by the fence finishing off his socks.

As darkness settled upon us, our return to the car was accompanied by the smell of water and fish mingled with cigar smoke, sweat, and insect repellant. Our rubber boots would thonk and swish with each step as we exchanged stories and matched numbers of fish caught that evening. Tree frogs trilled in the background as the tips of our rods disappeared in the darkness. We would walk the final mile in silence – a father and daughter intertwined forever by their love for the outdoors and each other.

Water Dog

One of the joys of owning a Labrador Retriever is watching her in the water. Now that she is 5 1/2 months old, Hannah has found the courage to venture into deeper water and swim to retrieve sticks. Water play is done with exuberance. She splashes through the shallows until she reaches a drop off at which point she launches her body into the air and starts swimming. After grabbing the stick she returns to me, dropping it nearby, her body taut and prepared to rocket back into the water to retrieve again......and again......and again.

The story behind the Labrador Retriever is fascinating. The web site ALL LABS gives a brief history of the breed.

"The Labrador Retriever must be from Labrador, right? Not so, however. From all accounts Labs originated in Newfoundland. The name assignment may have resulted from a geographical association since Labrador is situated just northwest of Newfoundland and the sub-arctic waters of the Labrador Current flow down the east coast of insular Newfoundland. The name may also be explained by the origin of the word labrador, Portuguese for yeoman or laborer and the Spanish word for workmen, labradores. A related connection could be the village in northern Portugal called Castro Laboreiro where the dogs that guard livestock bear a striking resemblance to Labrador Retrievers.

There is a bit of mystery about the ancestors of the Labrador, appropriate perhaps given the amazing versatility of the breed. After all, how could one dog be so adept at such a wide variety of jobs, be capable of working under very harsh conditions and also have one of the friendliest personalities around? From the men who began to use the Newfoundland region for fishing in the mid to late 15th century, a rough and often seedy sort, to the aristocratic English gentlemen who refined and preserved the breed in the 19th century, the people responsible for the development of the lab were themselves a remarkably diverse group.

The fishermen used dogs to retrieve fish that fell off hooks and to help haul in swimming lines or fishing nets. These dogs needed to be eager to please, strong swimmers and small enough to haul in and out of the two man " Dory" type boats. They needed to have short, water repellent dense coats that could withstand very cold water and wouldn't ball up with ice or bring excess water onboard. Onshore, as temporary settlements gave way to more permanent ones, a retrieving dog would have been a very useful hunting companion. The St. John's area of Newfoundland was settled predominantly by Englishmen who brought these working dogs to England through Poole Harbor, Dorset, the hub of the Newfoundland fishing trade. These St. John's dogs became the most prized sporting dogs for the gentry who could afford to maintain kennels for controlled breeding.

Without written records from the earliest days to detail which dogs came from where and to whom they were bred, we can only speculate about the ancestors of these St. John's dogs. The black St. Hubert's hound from France, working water dogs from Portugal, old European pointer breeds and dogs belonging to the native Indians have all been suggested as possible predecessors. Certainly some mixture of these or others is logical since tradesmen from around the world frequented Newfoundland for several centuries, plenty of time to develop breeds with the desired working traits. Two distinctly different breeds resulted, the larger longer haired dog used for hauling that became the Newfoundland we know today and the smaller shorter coated retriever that led to our present day labs."