Let #dogs in #restaurant patios. Have bistro owners provide #leashes to #parents of #unruly #children

Patio Lover

     New Mexican the Santa Fe newspaper, Letters to the Editor, July 22, 2011:   “Dog Diversion by Maria Huguera, Santa Fe: The new ordinance ending the ban on dogs at restaurant patios is a victory for social justice.  By giving the humorless grumps and control freaks of Santa Fe our dogs to glare at and disapprove of, we distract them from mo9re serious offenses.  Like hating gays and minorities.

     It also takes some of the heat off the uncouth parents who bring their beastly children to restaurants.  (And God forbid, to cultural  events.”

     I agree: beastly undisciplined children in public places are far worse than disciplined dogs.  The French, who allow dogs in public patios and street bistros, are completely right.  Aren’t dog kisses, even after they have licked their balls, more sanitary than our own?  

     My suggestion: restaurants should offer leashes to parents of children who are disturbing other patrons!

       "Lord, let me be the kind of person my dog thinks I am!" - Unknown

No Pictures of #leaping Gizmo: #dog faster than #camera

Third and last try: Gizmo opts out

     We tried to get a picture of Gizmo gracefully leaping on the bed.  Unfortunately, I was using my small Cannon PowerShot Elf camera, which had the disquieting habit of snapping the picture a half a second or so after I pressed the trigger. 

       He would jump on the bed, I would miss the shot and then I would pick him up and gently put him on the floor (however much Shih Tzu he is, the breed is prone to back injuries).

2nd try, same picture: is one leg in the air?

     That had two results: three perfect pictures of Gizmo already near Grace, who was on the bed calling him, … and Gizmo semi-permanently under the bed, refusing to get out.  When he did come out, he would not jump on the bed again.  

1st try: why did the camera wait so long to take a pic?

     Grace thought that, while taking his picture, I trained him not to jump on the bed.  I thought, but did not say, “Fat chance of that.”  I thought I might have confused him and so, taking the smartest route, Gizmo opted for under the bed.  The three pictures of Gizmo not leaping on the bed are attached.   

"To live long, eat like a cat, drink like a dog." - German Proverb  And beware when they want you to jump on the bed again and again.  

#Gizmo #Houdini #Dog #escapes #cage

yes, I can fly

     After two discovered dumps and a big wet spot in our closet three evenings in a row (yes, we love to go out, but one or both of us is with Gizmo most of the day and every night), it was time for decisive action.

     I left for my wine tasting class about an hour before Grace went to her clay sculpture class (yes, life for us is one continuous search for enjoyable ways to improve ourselves).  We brought in his cage/training device/humane restraint mechanism and, with a treat and a bone, Grace got him into the cage.  There would be no mistakes in our closet tonight.

     I got home about 15 minutes before Grace did and was greeted at the door to the garage by….Gizmo.  Happy to see me.  Leaping up to put his legs on my hips.  Running joyously ahead of me.

     When I got to the living room, I was amazed to see the cage partially taken apart.  The pan, which is fastened to the bottom of the cage, lay about three feet away from its original resting place.

     Furthermore, the cage itself was on its side, about five feet from the wall where it started.  And the door, with some of the metal that attached it to the front wall of the cage, was nearly detached and laying on the floor, allowing Gizmo to walk comfortably out of the cage.

     We do not know how long it took him to flip the cage on its side and knock open the door.  We do know that Gizmo was not apparently bored while we were away.

     However long it took, our closet has no “presents” from Gizmo on this night.  And this does not mean he is again housebroken.  It means only that he has discovered his inner escape artist.

“Bulldogs are adorable, with faces like toads that have been sat on.”  ~Colette

#Flying #dog: #Gizmo leaps to bed

When life is perfect for Gizmo

How can you call this a dog's life?

         With our permission, and only after we have awakened, Gizmo is allowed to jump about two feet up to our bed.   It is amazing and utterly graceful to see him do that: from a sitting or standing position, four paws on the floor, he suddenly, joyously and gracefully leaps/flies up to the bed.  It is a movement that would put Michael Jordan to shame, even in Jordan’s best day.

     Gizmo seems to fly, front legs tucked in as he rises effortlessly from the floor.

        Once on the bed, Gizmo has much to do: put his nose directly in our armpits.  Snuffle and shuffle into our sides.  Energetically and constantly wag his tail.  And, finally, turn over on his back, all four paws flailing the air, a huge grin on his face, wiggling and wriggling, while begging for his tummy, groin, armpits, face, neck, nose to be petted and massaged.  And we can never resist.

“Labradors [are] lousy watchdogs.  They usually bark when there is a stranger about, but it is an expression of unmitigated joy at the chance to meet somebody new, not a warning.”  ~Norman Strung




#Hughey Response to #Gizmo's goof: #dumping in closet

I hate being punished

Carolyn Hughey’s response to the previous Blog: Gizmo leaving large dumps in our closet:     (Hughey is a published author of finely honed romance novels and a chef beyond compare.)             

“I totally agree punishing or speaking sternly to Gizmo after the fact would have been a moot issue, but what I'm finding so humorous is that you're feeling guilty for leaving Gizmo alone all that time.  LOL   Been there, done that one.”  

      “I once decided not to date a guy because he wasn't excited to meet my dog. I mean, this was like not wanting to meet my mother.”  Bonnie Schacter, Founder of the Single Pet Owner's Society Singles Group

#Gizmo (Shhh) #bad dog, #poop in closet

A nano-second of Guilt

     When we return from dinner and a delightful visit with Alan #Questal, an internationally known, local guy who travels the world as a #Feldenkreis trainer, we find another ”mistake,” a rather huge dump (looked like Gizmo was saving up) in the back of our closet.  Again!

      We are of several minds about this: back in the closet on the tile floor was among the best places for him to have an accident, because it could be cleaned up by toilet paper and flushing.  Did he take that into account, avoiding the much-messier rugs?

        The punishment, an hour after the crime, was to rather quietly say "Bad dog," for which Gizmo looked properly chagrinned for a little more than a nanosecond. 

       We also plus a promised to ourselves to praise him for pooping outside.  But, the next morning, when walking him nearly 3 miles, I was given no opportunity to do that: Gizmo saving again?

       We considered the ultimate response to these somewhat continual “accidents”: the return of The Cage, which was so effective in preventing them in the recent past.  Perhaps, like most of the population of China under Mao, Gizmo just needs a little retraining.  

“A well-trained dog will make no attempt to share your lunch. He will just make you feel so guilty that you cannot enjoy it.” Helen Thomson

What to do about #accidents?

Punish or Praise for Pooping in our closet??

We came home latish last night, after seeing an incredible performance by Dee Dee Bridgewater at the Santa Fe Jazz Festival, and found a rather large dump towards the back of our closet in off the master bedroom.  What to do?                                                                                          It was a disturbing finding.  Gizmo had been so good, so housebroken, so calm for so long that it seemed to be odd behavior, until we thought about the day from his point of view: early morning, taken by car to a stranger who washed him and cut his hair, while keeping him in a cage until we picked him up, a terrifying experience made worse by feelings of abandonment.

           Then, after we brought him home for about an hour, we left for four hours for lunch with the artist Walter Wooten and his wife Mary.   More abandonment, after which we were home for less than two hours, gave Gizmo a short walk, and then went to Santa Fee for the Dee Dee Bridgewater concert, leaving Gizmo alone for more hours.

           But what to do?  Punishing him long after the deed seemed foolish and ineffective.  Praising him was avoiding any training at this point.

            Then I read a feature story in The Guardian, England, on the book “In Defence of Dogs” by John Bradshaw.   

          Quoting the key paragraphs:  “Many a dog’s life and behaviour have been spoilt by inappropriate methods of training involving fierce domination and physical punishment. This may appear to work for the moment but sets up more serious disobedience problems in the future.                  Take the case of the dog that is left on its own for a good while. The owner returns to discover that it has torn, scratched or chewed up cushions, newspapers, pens, sofas or clothing. Or it has made a mess on the carpet. It did this because it was lonely or bored or fearful that its owner might never come back.                                                                             Dogs live in the present far more than we do. If its master punishes it by shouting or beating an hour after the event, it simply does not know why. It won’t associate present disgrace with past bad behaviour. All it learns it that sometimes the beloved owner returns with anger not kindness. This confuses it and makes it more anxious about the next absence, and so more likely to misbehave.                                                      John Bradshaw has done experiments with several hundred owners that showed that obedience is far better achieved by reward than by punishment. Being commanded to sit or calling back to heel can be taught by reward - not necessarily food or ‘treats’ but approval, praise, a renewed show of love.”                                                                                                   So, no mention of Gizmo’s current “mistake,” but lots of praise the next time he does the right thing and poops outside.

#Gizmo's first #Santa Fe #grooming

apres grooming

So clean, so barbered. 

and the constant smile, with eyes we can see. 

Gizmo got a Santa Fe grooming today, with a bath.  His first in New Mexico.  We’re worried and wondering: how will he look?  Will the groomer hurt him?                                                          

Our previous dog, the Shih Tzu named Beowulf, fell off a groomer’s table and that was the beginning of his back problems.  We have reason to worry.

 Our friend and the woman who arranged his adoption, Ginny Weissman, suggested that his hair be cut and the hair between his pads be trimmed to help him avoid the burrs in our neighborhood.                                                                        When Gizmo returned, he looked beautiful, like a relatively short-haired movie star!  He was jumping around and difficult to get a good picture of.  He was also thirsty, hungry and anxious to urinate.  He also looked thinner and younger, a most successful grooming. 

"Dogs are better than children. Even my friends with children say that. As a dog friend of mine likes to say, children are for people who can't have dogs."  Anonymous.  

Warning: Santa Fe has #ticks

What ticks?  I got no stinkin' ticks. 

        We have had a warning: there are ticks in the Santa Fe area.  Must get tick medicine and search Gizmo’s long hair for the critters.              

        Good news: no fleas, they say. 

“I think we are drawn to dogs because they are the uninhibited creatures we might be if we weren't certain we knew better.  They fight for honor at the first challenge, make love with no moral restraint, and they do not for all their marvelous instincts appear to know about death.  Being such wonderfully uncomplicated beings, they need us to do their worrying.”  ~George Bird Evans, Troubles with Bird Dogs




#dog #ownership according to #Alexander #McCall #Smith

If you read to me, I will accept Grace or Norm as my Owners or Gods, whatever.

From “The Dog Who Came In from the Cold,” by Alexander McCall Smith, a Corduroy Mansions Novel: William has taken his dog Freddie de la Hay, a Pimlico terrier, to the veterinarian, where they are talking about the concept of ownership of a dog:

     “Can I call myself Freddie’s owner?”

     The vet sighed.  “It’s a bit of a minefield,” she said.  We get people coming in here who insist on being called their dog’s companion.  Sometimes they call themselves the animal’s guardian or carer.  There are quite a lot of dog carers in certain parts of London.  Islington, for example.  I don’t mind really.  The idea is that the pet – oops, can’t say that – that the animal has rights, has its own existence that humans shouldn’t seek to control.””

A #dog's contented #worldview by #McCall #Smith

In my worldview, I simply totally, constantly love you.

     From “The Dog Who Came In from the Cold,” by Alexander McCall Smith, a Corduroy Mansions Novel: The last page, on which William, Freddie de la Hay’s owner, is considering his dog’s view of the world: 

       “Dear Freddie, loyal Freddie; for whom there were no great existential questions because he knew at all times, and in all places what he had to do – which was to do William’s bidding and make him happy.  That was Freddie’s worldview, his Weltanschauung, and it was as good as any worldview, thought William.  We had to love somebody, and we had to want the best for that person.  Freddie knew as much be34cause it was in his nature so to do.”

     Thank you, Alexander McCall Smith.  
      "A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself." - Josh Billings

Words I really do not understand: “#Housebroken” and “#Fixed.”

Fixed?  I don't feel "fixed."

      When a dog is housebroken, he is actually fixed of the desire to go to the bathroom indoors.  Shouldn’t that be called “housefixed”?  Or “housetrained”?  Or even “CCC,” meaning Canine Crapper Control?

       When a dog is “fixed,” he is actually broken because he can no longer father or mother puppies.  Wouldn’t the better word be “broken,” or “snipped”, or “tubal terrification”?

      "If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you; that is the principle difference between a dog and a man." - Mark Twain

Early #morning #dog-owning #pleasures:

Is it time to let me jump on the bed with you guys?

      Why having a #dog is a continuing #pleasure:  In the mornings I usually awaken shortly before Gizmo does.  He takes a long, luxurious stretch and then finds me brushing my teeth.

     There follows a gentle sniff on my calf, a greeting accompanied by a furiously wagging tail.

      About that time we both hear Grace’s stirring in bed.   We go back to the bedroom where Gizmo waits for a nod from me, which means he can leap on the bed, where he is not allowed at night.  He shoves his cold nose into Grace’s armpit.  Then, tail thumping, he turns over on his back, wriggles with pleasure into her shoulder blades and offers us a smile of total madness and pleasure.

     When I join them on the bed, Gizmo the politician splits his attention equally between us.   It is as joyous and life affirming as a morning’s greeting can be.

     "Dogs are not our whole life, but they make our lives whole." - Roger Caras

What would #Hitler's #Talking #Dogs Say

     Maureen Dowd’s NY Times column in July 2011 was headlined: Hitler’s Talking Dogs.

    She revealed that, towards the end of WWII, Hitler’s secret weapons group was trying to kill “Allied officers with poison infused in sausages, chocolate, Nescafe coffee, cigarette lighters and Bayer aspirin.”

     Perhaps the most nefarious plot involved attempting to teach large, muscular mastiffs to “talk” to humans.  “This story,” she wrote, “set off a panting spate of “Heel Hitler,” “Furred Reich,” "Woofen SS” and “Arf Wiedersehen” headlines in British tabloids and plenty of claims that Hitler was “barking mad.”

     Yet the story left a big unanswered question: what were the dogs supposed to say?  

     “Take me to your leader who has a leash?”

     “I need a walk.”

     “I want to slobber on your crotch.”

     If my dog Gizmo were to be trained to talk, I would love to hear him say, “I love you,” although he does that every day with his eyes.  I would not like him to suddenly offering opinions on the clothes I wear, my political philosophy or the fact that I need a haircut.  My wife already takes care of that. 

“In order to really enjoy a dog, one doesn't merely try to train him to be semi human.  The point of it is to open oneself to the possibility of becoming partly a dog.”  ~Edward Hoagland


#dogs feel #guilt

yes, I feel guilt

     We found footprints on the white pillows on the couch in my wife’s office.  Obviously belonging to Gizmo.

     Grace easily cleaned them up, but for the first time in a while she looked sternly at Gizmo and, almost gently, said, “Bad dog.  For shame.”  Not shouting.  Not really scolding.  Just the gentlest of reminders that we didn’t want him or his dirty feet on couches in general and ones with white pillows in particular.

    Reaction: dogs DO feel guilt.  Gizmo went into full tragedy mode: he put his head down and looked up at her with his huge, brown almost eyeliner-ringed eyes.  He lay down at her feet, his shoulders hunched, his head down between his legs, but never taking his eyes from her, as if to say, “I’m so sorry.  Forgive me.”

     We did.

"We give dogs time we can spare, space we can spare, and love we can spare. And in return, dogs give us their all. It's the best deal man has ever made." - M. Acklam

#YouTube #favorites about #dogs

A collection of a few #YouTube favorites about #dogs:

guilty dog: http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=oXvJ8UquYoo&vq=large

Garnett Smith: I didn't know which dog to watch!!!
http://www.youtube.com/watch_popup?v=EVwlMVYqMu4&vq=medium#t=125

Ginny Weissman:

See How to Get Adopted:   www.youtube.com/watch?v=EmzgkMsf_GQ

“Dogs believe they are human.   Cats believe they are God.” Unknown

#Helmsley’s #Maltese: Trouble by the numbers

Leona & Trouble

Trouble

The World, June 11, 2011:  Trouble, the Maltese to whom #Leona Helmsley left millions when she died in 2007, has joined her notorious owner in the afterlife. A look at Trouble's charmed life

         When the "Queen of Mean" died in 2007, she bequeathed her beloved Maltese a whopping $12 million.   After a number of health issues left Trouble blind and sick, the aging pooch passed away in 2010.  Trouble was known to attack the harried staff.                          

          Here, a brief guide, by the numbers, to the life and death of the $12 million dog at age 12:                                                                                    

$2.5 billion -- Helmsley’s estimated worth when she died in 2007.  While leaving Trouble $12 million, Helmsley cut two grandchildren out of her will entirely.                                                                                           $100,000/year: 
Amount of Trouble’s yearly upkeep.       

$8,000/year:  Trouble's grooming

                                   

20 to 30/year:
  Number of death and kidnapping threats reportedly received by Trouble, necessitating a security guard

                                         

 $30 million  
Amount Oprah is reportedly planning on bequeathing to her dogs

       "The stone tells that it covers the white Maltese dog. They called him Bull while he still lived, but now the silent paths of night possess his voice.”  William Tymmes, “Epitaph for a Dog"

How to stop a #dog from #urinating on #strangers

My policy: Deny, deny, deny.

While walking Gizmo along the bike path in the El Dorado development, Santa Fe, NM, we saw a young mother with her shy, cute, almost two year old boy.  The mother said that the boy would like to pet our dog and we said, “Of course, Gizmo is gentle and loves people.”

             The boy carefully and tentatively reached out to touch Gizmo.  The mother helped, guiding his hand to the top of Gizmo’s head for a small pat.

            Then, as we were talking about how good Gizmo was and how nice it was that we were asked about petting our dog (some people don’t do that), I looked down.  And saw Gizmo lifting his leg.  Gizmo was about to wet/mark/urinate on the little boy.

         At the same time, I yanked back on the leash and shouted, “NO.”   He did squirt, but all of it apparently wet the sidewalk, a tribute to my leash yank.

            The mother, looking a bit abashed, said that the dog had apparently missed wetting her son.  “No harm done.”

            Maybe not to her son, but we were concerned.  First, Gizmo wet two women in the dog park in California.  Then, after lulling us into believing that behavior had been eliminated from his repertoire (and that he had taken my advice about that was not the best way to meet women), Gizmo suddenly wanted to pee on a two year old. 

           The books we have by Cesar Milan, the dog whisperer, did not directly address the problem of peeing on strangers.  Cesar: did you omit or not solve this problem?

             Saying NO and leash yanking seemed to be the right approach, but I am baffled about how to totally eliminate this behavior from Gizmo’s repertoire.  Help me!!!

                   "You can say as much as you want, but the (dogs are) picking up what is... inside of you." Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer.  (In view of my problem, this quote puzzles me: is Cesar saying that, inside of me, I wanted to urinate on a two-year-old human?  I hope not.)

Where the sleeping #dog lies

Yes, I think sleeping against a door to be most comfortable.  

        Ah, the problems freedom brings: Now that Gizmo is “housebroken” (does a more politically correct word exist for that level of training?) and his cage (or training pen?) has been put away perhaps forever, he can go anywhere in the house when we are gone, except near a plastic garbage can, which he seems to like to tip over.  And, at night, he can sleep where he wants, except on our bed. 

     Sleep time now apparently leads to a certain level of indecision on Gizmo’s part.  He begins by settling down with a long sigh in the corner near my side of the bed.  If we are reading and the lights are on, he prefers to be behind the door to the bedroom.

     During the night, I have found him on Grace’s side of the bed, blocking the way out of the bedroom, sleeping across the doorway leading to the bathroom (some nights this can be a high traffic area and we worry about tripping on him in the dark), and sleeping at the foot of the bed.  

     At this point, I do not know if he has a route and spends an hour or so in every place, or he moves around because he wants a change of view or is bored. 

     The other night he began yipping in his sleep and moving his legs, probably because of a doggy dream of chasing squirrels, rabbits or lizards.

“I had a linguistics professor who said that it's man's ability to use language that makes him the dominant species on the planet. That may be. But I think there's another thing that separates us from animals. We aren't afraid of vacuum cleaners.”  Jeff Stilson

When #Celebrity #dogs go #bad

Who me?  Not me!

April 27, 2011 NY Times…

         New York Times, April 27, 2011:  Summarizing this story about celebrities and their misbehaving dogs:  Samantha Ronson, the celebrity D.J. and former girlfriend of Lindsay Lohan, was mortified last year when the news media learned that her bulldog, Cadillac, had attacked and killed a tiny Maltese at her West Hollywood apartment building.                                   

       Elizabeth Taylor’s dog “treated the floors of friends as fire hydrants.”                                                                                                            Carl Paladino, while campaigning for governor of New York, suffered bad publicity “when his pit bull attacked another dog.”                                                                                                                        Paris Hilton’s Tinkerbell “was known to snap and bite.”                                                                                          In the White House, “the pit bull of Theodore Roosevelt was known for ripping the pants off a French ambassador.  Buddy was the Clintons’ cat-attacking Labrador retriever…  Barney, the Scottish terrier of George and Laura Bush, bit a journalist.                                                                         My comment: privileged owners who spend little time controlling their dogs are the bad guys here.

         “What counts is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog.” 
 Credited to both Mark Twain and Dwight D. Eisenhower

#Gizmo officially #housebroken. #good #dog!!!

I always wanted to be good.  

         As of last night, Gizmo no longer used the cage/enclosure/training pen.  Last night he was completely free to sleep anywhere he wanted.  He chose to sleep in the corner, behind my gym shoes, on the floor.

       The next morning, he got me up with a gentle snuffling.  No barking.  No “accidents.”  Just an enthusiastic greeting and a longing look towards the back door.

      We no longer cage him to prevent “accidents” when he is left alone in the house while we are out for the evening.  Grace was afraid that, if he was in a cage, an earthquake might trap him there and he would have no way to get water.

      AgaIn, when we got back, no accidents, no mischief (early on, he would re-arrange all the couch pillows  if we were away).  Just a perfect, good dog happy to see us and looking forward to relieving himself outside.

      So, let the word go forth: this officially, Gizmo Is Housebroken Day.   Hurray, hurray, hurray!

"An animal's eyes have the power to speak a great language" ~ Martin Buber

#Burr Removel: Hurts us as much as Gizmo

 NO PICTURES: NO ONE THOUGHT TO GET A CAMERA!

         In Santa Fe, while I am attaching a hose to water the newly transplanted bushes, Gizmo runs a few feet around the side of the house and vanishes.  When I look for him, he’s gone.  Disappeared. 

       I walk all the way up the gravel lane to the mail box, calling his name.  No response.  I begin to panic because of the coyotes in the neighborhood.   Calling him again and again, I quickly trot along the front of the house.

      Then I turn, reaching the wild side of the house facing the mountains and our beautiful view when there are no forest fires in that direction.  And, finally I find Gizmo.

        He is lying on the ground, licking one foot, then another.

        He has so many burrs stuck to his long fur that he cannot move without being in intense pain.

       I carry him inside, calling desperately for Grace, as his burrs stab me whenever he moves.

      There follows an hour devoted to removing burrs.  We are both on the floor of the laundry room.  Grace gets the dog-trimming scissors with the rounded ends, to be used if the burrs cannot be moved by fingers alone.

      We try to free Gizmo’s hair from the base of the burr, making it easier to take it off.  Sometimes Giz pulls his paw back.  He is being very nice, often licking my hand rather then putting up a fuss.  He struggles occasionally, baring his teeth and even giving not-too-powerful nips to tell me, “THAT HURTS.”  He never, ever bites.

     After 40 or 45 minutes of having burrs removed from his paws, ears, face, scrotum, chest, legs and back, he does struggle.  He really wants to be somewhere else.

     I hold on to him until he relaxes.  Then the burr removal continues.

     It comes down to one spine.   Stuck between his right, front paw pads.  And deeply embedded.

      Grace gets a tweezers and we alternate working it out.  I hold him and Grace tries to remove the painful reminder of the burr.  When she gets it out a little bit, but not all the way, we switch.  She holds, I tweeze.  Then I add my right arm around his neck as Grace holds his body.

      We also feel the pain.  This is something we do not want to do, but must to avoid infections and other complications. 

     The spine is removed.  Gizmo rapidly shakes his hair, runs to get water and then, amazingly comes back to us, indicating we are not only forgiven, but he’d like more fun, perhaps another walk.

     Grace and I need time to recover.  How does it feel when an owner must inflict pain on his or her pet dog?  Terrible. 

      We wish we could have avoided the entire experience, which resembled taking your children to the doctor for vaccinations.  A pet dog means that once more we are wearing our hearts on our sleeves, where our emotional and psychological reactions hurt us more and for a longer time than Gizmo probably experiences.  Loving a dog is not easy, not all the time.

“My little dog - a heartbeat at my feet.”  Edith Wharton