On Dogs and Authenticity

It's a complicated, confusing world out there. I've been doing a lot of introspection about trust and honesty lately, about living my life authentically and presenting myself as nothing but wholly me in whatever circles I inhabit. I'd like that to extend to this blog, whether that means expanding its topics or writing more posts like this one which astonished and touched me with its responses and shares far and wide. This doesn't mean I'm going to be oversharing here on my dog blog, but I was reminded that what people are affected by are personal stories. While I'm dog-obsessed, I have far more diverse interests than just dogs, although I notice that dogs inform and influence unexpected aspects of my life.

Ruby and Boca have led the way with their giant ears and curious noses, opening up my world more than I ever imagined. Ruby's reactivity has given me compassion both for challenging dogs and the struggles of their caretakers. Boca's easy adapatbility and constant happiness with exactly who and where she is has given me an appreciation for the simple and the present. I can't begin to quantify the relationships these dogs have precipitated, from fellow reactive dog owners to trainers across the globe, fellow pet bloggers and my Paws on the Ground teammates who've become true and dear friends.  My road trip across the southwest with Boca allowed me both a unique time to bond with my potcake and a much-needed period of reflection and stock-taking, not to mention the opportunity to meet many of those aforementioned individuals I've come to respect and admire in person.

In navigating relationships old and new, I find we are so often doing this dance of expectation, second-guessing and self-doubt. We get wrapped up in old storylines or skip ahead in new ones. We protect others from the truth because we think it's kinder (it isn't). What I think so many of us love most about dogs is the absence of such dances. Dogs don't deceive us. We may do them the disservice of misinterpreting and anthropomorphizing their behavior but they are never anything but honest. If we take the time to understand their body language, they so clearly communicate their wants and needs, their fears and desires. They let us know when we've made a mistake and are endearingly, unfailingly willing to let us make amends. Every day, if we're listening, our dogs will ask and answer us. Last night a little girl wanted to pet Boca but Boca was more interested in sniffing the ground. The dog was still a dog, the little girl's night was still made. Ruby woofed at me while I was distracted by my phone until I got her tennis ball - the special one she found on our hike - from underneath the couch. It's a relationship made almost entirely of communication, and non-verbal communication at that! No wonder you see so many quotes and tshirts about loving dogs more than people, although I find many of them offensive.

I love people, and relationships, and deep connection. It's why I continue to write here and to reach out into this world. My purpose in writing about authenticity is to remind myself what I aspire to, along with warmth and openness. It struck me that these qualities were what so many people adored about my mom. Here is the part where I tell you that although positive training and reactivity have been a main focus of this blog, I have done very little training lately, and Ruby's reactivity is no better and possibly a little bit worse. I am always balancing acceptance and management. I've made some mistakes with the long line playing Frisbee where she's rushed at other dogs and hit the end of the line. I've since moved where we play and increased my vigilant scanning of the area to be sure we aren't surprised by people coming around corners. I'll also tell you that while I haven't been writing about it, the rescue group I belong to has saved around 150 dogs since the beginning of the year. We've had some terrible setbacks and questioned our mission and our judgment at times, but we're still here. It's what we can do: keep showing up, keep being true, maybe even pushing up against our comfort zones to be a little more ourselves than we were yesterday. 

On Dogs, Dating and Heartbreak

Because they have always been an integral part of my life, dogs have always inhabited the spaces around, in between, and in the absence of relationships. My decision to foster fail with Boca was in no small part because my long term relationship ended shortly after she arrived from her tropical island, and I couldn't bear another goodbye. In those days she spent a lot of time laying directly on my chest - a balm to my heartache - something she rarely does anymore. Make of that what you will...

After one devastating split, I spent my Christmas vacation home from college listening to goth music and painting morose paintings until the wee hours of the morning, at last collapsing in a tearful heap on my old twin bed with the family dogs: Basset hound Pansy and German Shepherd Ripley. My mom was exasperated with my bad attitude, my tender young heart's dramatic postulations, but those two dogs simply snored through my emotional swings, pressing close without judgment when I finally stilled.

I adopted my first dog in the midst of a break-up...a break-up from an unhealthy relationship that I would not have had the strength for without that beautiful being. I was embarking on a new life and in her I had a protector and confidante. Lasya taught me so much about what it means to be independent, joyful and free. Years and another dog later when I got divorced, there was no question who was taking the dogs, needy elkhound Freya and stalwart sentinel Lasya. I've lived alone for over a decade now, but it's never felt lonely with two pairs of captivating canines sharing my domicile, a house that wouldn't be a home without them.

These past two years I've been single in the most singular sense of the word. I've needed the time to heal, to determine where I've landed after more than fifteen years in a series of long relationships. I am not who I was at 20, 25, or 30...but what has remained constant are dogs. The two most important love languages for me are physical touch and quality time. It's no surprise that a life with dogs, who are perpetually waiting just to be near us, fulfills much of that need for connection. I seldom feel melancholy solitude when I have my dogs to care for, walk with and talk with. Their presence is a comfort without expectation, a cherished certainty.

Still...as much as I'd usually rather hang out with Ruby and Boca, humans crave human companionship. We are all drawn to our own kind. I've started dating again, which in itself is a fascinating experience, one that is surprising me. For someone that suffers from social anxiety, I've been astonished by how much I'm enjoying meeting new people. I cannot discount the effect that joining the pet store protest group and subsequent rescue organization that formed have had, as well as the way my virtual network of other pet bloggers and the experience of BlogPaws have bolstered my confidence and communication skills. Pets really are an introvert's armor.

In determining compatibility, my dogs are a big priority, even if not directly so. While I'm drawn to fellow animal lovers, having a reactive dog means that a partner with dogs isn't necessarily an easy fit. Ruby can't do normal, social dog things and even Boca wasn't keen on sharing her home with another dog. Although I rarely refer to myself as a dog mom, it can at times feel like I'm navigating the world like a single parent.

Scheduling can be tricky, since Ruby and Boca are home alone all day during the week, I don't feel comfortable leaving them in the evenings, at least not on a regular basis and not without some serious quality time, in the form of Frisbee, generous walks or training sessions. Understanding of my devotion to my dogs is absolutely imperative. One guy said in a message prior to even meeting "you need to figure something out with your dogs because it's going to seriously affect your dating life." You can probably guess what I "figured out" in regard to him! My dogs come first and if that's a problem we are done talking. I'm proud of my dedication to my dogs - an extension of my loyalty to whomever I love - and anyone that wants to be a part of my world will appreciate that.

From family pets to Ruby and Boca, dogs have been at my side through romance and heartbreak. They teach us so much about living fully, appreciating the present, accepting imperfection, loving unconditionally and reciprocal communication. They brighten my darkest days with their antics and affection, and bring deeper joy to single domestic life. Whether or not I find romantic love again, because of The Ginger Sisters and all the dogs that came before, I am rich in life and love and rescued over and over.

Living With the Highly Communicative Dog

Ruby is the most vocal dog I've ever had, and also the clearest communicator. It isn't that she barks excessively (animals on T.V. not withstanding), but that she has a range of barks, whines, grunts and growls that I am still learning to interpret after more than two years together. As i read in bed last night, she was growling in her sleep and it sounded like her 'play initiating' growl rather than her 'something unfamiliar in my environment' growl which I also heard last night on our walk when she saw the silhouette of the new horseshoe pit enclosures in the dark. Was she dreaming about playing with her sister or one of her corgi friends? 

Earlier in the evening, she scratched at the coat closet door where her tug toys are kept and exclaimed with her medium-pitched, pleading bark "we haven't played yet tonight!" Some might call this 'demand barking.' I call it a Border Jack keeping me honest. There's no short-changing Ruby out of her nightly tug game. Even if she lets me slide before dinner, when 8 o'clock rolls around she is ready for the Tug-a-gator or the Kong Wubba to be liberated from their closet confines.

Some of my favorite sounds in the Ruby repertoire are her soft little 'oofs' - her closed-mouth grunt-barks, which put me in mind of a toddler reaching for something they want on a too-high counter-top. This is Ruby's imploring request, not only for food, but for the living room window to be opened so she can watch for rabbits, for her ball to be fished out from underneath the sofa, or for anything else she wants. I usually understand exactly what she means. I think it's fairly polite and irresistibly adorable. She was 'oofing' at me last night from the bed after I got out of the bath - curled up with Big Sister and the ancient black cat, she wanted the whole family together so that she could go to sleep. 

At the opposite end of the range are her shrill, excited barks that are used for the aforementioned animals on T.V., those unbearable few seconds between when she knows I'm about to open the tug toy door and when I toss the toy to her, when she sees one of the gazillion rabbits that exist solely to taunt her on our townhome complex grounds. These are not my favorite barks, high-pitched and frantic, and these are the barks to be countered with a reminder cue, "shh" or "quiet" before I will let her have the coveted toy or chase the insubordinate rabbit (on leash).

Along with her voice, Ruby's eyes and ears communicate a diverse array of emotions. In her most common state of hyper-vigilance, Ruby's foxy ears stand straight up, vibrating vertically with inquisition. When she is tired or uncertain, her ears slide to a more horizontal position and somehow look even bigger. When she is sleepy and affectionate, her ears lay straight back making her look like an entirely different dog. Sometimes one ear folds onto itself at a comical angle - I haven't quite figured that one out yet.

That brings me to Ruby's beautiful, intelligent, extraordinary eyes. 'The Look' endeared me to her Petfinder profile that spoke of a deep understanding, a piercing entreaty, and a spark of mischief.  Sometimes it feels like Ruby's amber-green eyes look straight into my soul. The intensity with which she stares at me is both flattering and unnerving. There are layers of meaning in her gaze, and I think we've only begun to scratch the surface of the potential of non-verbal communication with animals. As this article states - dogs keep the conversation going constantly, the ultimate optimists. I love learning Ruby's language, hearing what she has to say, meeting her needs and increasing our bond through call and response with all of our senses.

Living Alone is Never Lonely with Dogs

I can't imagine two faces I would rather wake up to every morning.

I've lived alone in Denver for close to ten years now, with my dad staying with me off and on for the past few years. A friend said recently that she had never lived alone, and didn't know if she could. I'm an introvert who relishes solitude and independence, but without animal companionship I'm positive I would not enjoy it to the extent that I do. As much as I admire and aspire to the idea of a life-affirming wilderness trek like Cheryl Strayed in Wild, if I didn't have a dog along the journey would be missing something crucial.

More recently, with the addition of first Ruby and then Boca, I've become even more of a homebody as I leveled up in the dog crazy echelons. While I love brunches with friends and visits to the museum, the truth is that the place I'd most often rather be is home with my dogs. I just can't seem to get enough of watching them interact with each other, refining my own communication with them, and the simple reassurance of their physical presence. We enjoy each other without expectation, without a common spoken language.

We love spending time outside together.

Ruby is approaching 3 years old and has become such a sweet and happy girl. She is so affectionate and the quiet moments of the early morning when she is still sleepy and snuggly are one of my favorite parts of the day. She usually sleeps curled up near my pillow, while Boca sleeps at my feet. When Ruby wakes up she stretches herself across my chest, kisses my face and waits for her ear scratches, then will sometimes roll over cradled in the nook of my arm for belly rubs.  

A blissful Boca in a room of her own.

Boca remains the easiest dog in the universe. She is happiest laying around in various states of sprawl. In the sun on the patio, in her crate (the only time I ask her to go in it is when they get tendons, fish skins or marrow bones but she will open the door herself and sleep there every evening between about 8 and 10 when we go to bed), on the loveseat, sofa or bed. This morning she was curled up cozily on top of two pillows - a potcake princess and the pea. I've started playing tug with her regularly (Ruby plays tug almost every night) - she is a much more challenging opponent than Ruby and is still working on her manners, but she learned very quickly not to lunge and re-grip when she drops it, but rather to sit and wait for me to give the tug back. This nightly ritual of play with both girls has become very dear to me.

Patio sentries and formidable fly hunters.

I was thinking about how the personalities of Ruby and Boca compare and contrast both to one another, and to my previous pair of dogs, Lasya and Freya. Freya was fearful and slightly neurotic, clingy and affectionate. I felt she needed my protection. Lasya was perhaps the doggiest dog I've ever known - very in touch with her huntress side, calm and wise with no use for rules or regret. I felt protected by her.

In a similar way I have that balance with Ruby and Boca. Ruby is intense and hypervigilant, requiring my help to navigate an overwhelming world and channel all that energy. She is also probably the smartest dog I've ever known, and the smallest dog I've ever had (with the exception of my foster Chihuahua, Vlad). I feel fiercely and devotedly protective of her. Boca is unassuming, optimistic, humorous and determinedly relaxed, but I get a sense of profound loyalty from her as well. I feel safe with her. However the three of us negotiate our different roles, what's always is true is that we aren't alone. We are home, we are together, we are loved.

Loving My Little Life With Two Wonderful Dogs

A room full of dogs and books is my idea of happiness.

Happy Ruby Tuesday! While I don't do it on a weekly basis, my aim with the Ruby Tuesday updates is a more "old fashioned" blog post of the journaling type. Back before blogging became so popular, I had a LiveJournal account where I shared thoughts, poetry, pictures and travelogues. My account is still active, in fact, and while I don't write there regularly, I love having more than ten years of my life chronicled there. Some of my very favorite blogs lean toward the wordy, honest and personal, and so I like to have an element of that here, where I can look back on the daily details of life with Ruby and Boca, these two precious dogs that have been with me through some of the most difficult times and also at a time when I am doing some serious introspection.

Recently I said to a friend, when asked what my big life dream was, that I thought I would like to move to Spain and rescue dogs. She looked momentarily surprised, and I realized that wasn't what most people expect, especially now that I am single. No babies, no weddings, nothing very ambitious or extraordinary, but something very definitely including dogs. I'm incredibly grateful that I live in a time when that is becoming increasingly acceptable, and increasingly normal. Lately I've been simplifying, reevaluating. I'm finding that some things that used to be important to me (like fancy shoes and late nights out dancing) have fallen by the wayside, and some things I thought I'd never want (like living somewhere rural) have become suddenly intriguing. While  I occasionally hear things like I'm too wrapped up in my dogs, the great majority of my friends and family are supportive of my somewhat solitary, but personally satisfying lifestyle, and they get it when I just want to stay home with my dogs. (Either that, or I make a point of surrounding myself with only people who do).

During the week, life is largely routine, especially when incorporating the care and feeding of The Ginger Sisters into the few hours between waking and work, work and sleep. I find comfort in this routine, and waking up as I did this morning to find Ruby laying on her back, nestled into the crook of my arm and gazing up at me, is often the best part of my day. Right now my dad is living with me, and I'm blessed with knowing my dogs have company while I'm at work and can spend these warm afternoons sunbathing outside. The weekends are when the real fun happens: sitting on the patio playing ball with Ruby, making them special treats like the frozen goodies pictured above (Freezy Pups mix and Merrick PowerBites treats), walking through our little slice of wild marshland between the light rail station and the town house complex, photo shoots and silly trick training sessions, trips to visit family, outings to new places, or blissful reading breaks on the guest room daybed in the best light.

The girls are doing splendidly overall. Ruby has had some great moments (passing people fairly close on walks and not barking) and some not-so-great moments (going berzerk over horses on TV despite my efforts to DS/CC with peanut butter). I took her out for a training walk this weekend and she did very well with checking in and maintaining focus on me (which is a huge deal for her). My secret was using some of Boca's "pill cheese" - more on that in a moment - good old processed American cheese product. Her reactivity means a lifetime of management, but when I look at the big picture, I can see some remarkable changes. She is never relaxed outside, but I am seeing little moments when we are close to home where her body becomes looser and even get a tail wag once in a while. She solicits pets every evening (with very particular requests: inner thigh and back scratches).  Her relationship with Boca is beautiful to watch, and while they can get carried away sometimes with their play, I see a lot of really sweet, gentle interaction, too.

Boca remains her delightfully easygoing and goofy self - she is the first dog I've had who can happily take a nap at the vet's office. Unfortunately, we've still been spending quite a bit of time there. We had only a short reprieve from the Ocular Ordeal before she started developing an opacity in the other (left) eye. At this time it is not causing her any problems or discomfort, but the ophthalmologist is still unable to determine a cause. We are trying a long course of doxycycline in hopes that it will slow down any progression if there is a bacterial component. I'm not as stressed out about it as the first time, because at least we know the treatment/surgery route to go if it does get worse. After our appointment on Saturday, Boca and my dad and I discovered a pretty park full of little lakes and streams. It was refreshingly serene even though it was in the middle of town, and a place I could safely bring Ruby, especially on one of my Fridays off. We even spotted a huge turtle in one of the ponds!

Time seems to go by faster and faster - just like people are always telling you it will - and I want to make the most of this summer. Everything is gorgeous and green right now following our more than twenty consecutive days of rain. This weekend I hope to get a lounge chair for my patio, so I can read out there while the girls sleep in the sun. I have planted marigolds and tomatoes in containers and I am going to plant some herbs and lettuces as well. I want to scout out more places to take Ruby - taking Boca first is a perfect way to do so, and also gives me the opportunity to have some one-on-one time with her. I am hoping to attend BlogPaws in Phoenix with Boca next year, and need to be sure she is comfortable in more busy and crowded situations. We have some fun events coming up - a potcake fundraiser at a sports bar and a graduation party at a local park - which will be perfect practice! It's my favorite time of year (from now until October), and I'll be spending it with my two favorite girls.

What little things about life with dogs make you the happiest?

How My Dogs Led the Way Through Grief

There has been a great deal of loss in my life in the past five years, seeming to culminate after the big one - my mother's death in 2010 - with the deaths of a childhood friend, both of my old dogs and the letting go of my illustrious dream of a young dressage horse to bring up in 2013. I tend to have a delayed emotional reaction to things, which helps to explain why the end of 2013 into early 2014 were an especially dark time for me, and at which point my long-term relationship also disintegrated. Chance, fate, the universe - what have you - gave me two gifts around that same time. The first was Cheryl Strayed's book Wild, which I'd had on my shelf for years but was drawn to read as my fourth Mother's Day as a motherless daughter approached. While I was in no position to abandon my life in Denver and seek out identity and solitude in an existential wilderness expedition like the author, what the book gave me was permission to still not be okay, as Strayed hiked the Pacific Crest Trail four years after losing her mother to lung cancer. Our lives were different, but our mothers were radiant forces whose absence could not be quantified and which defined our unwillingly transformed selves. I clung to her words with such desperate gratitude, and the book and subsequent film remain deeply important to me.

The second gift was a red and white gremlin-eared dog with an endearing smile from a tropical island who had suffered hardship and loss of her own. I truly did intend to love her and let her go in order to continue fostering more dogs, but Boca's nurturing presence was an incredible comfort to me and from the beginning she seemed to know she was already home. In the way she intuited when I was having an especially difficult or lonely night and fit herself against me and pressed her chin to my heart, she offered a kind of mothering I had been missing. She was a perfect counterpoint to Ruby's intensity and whether hiking with both dogs or taking Boca on a solo walk, her cheerful untroubled personality was a balm to my anxieties. Boca was the sugar to Ruby's spice and the honey to my tea - she completed us in a way that made me feel sorry for who we were without her. The timing of her arrival into Colorado - into my life - was almost uncanny in its significance. I had no idea how much I would need her, how much I had been needing her.

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss my mother in ways vast and mundane. I wish she could have met Ruby and Boca and that we could have seen Wild together. It's incomprehensible sometimes that I still have to live the rest of my life without her. Surviving her loss prepared me in a way for the ones that inevitably follow and the ones that blindside in the midst of spring, but each one references the last until sometimes it can feel too much to bear. What keeps me asking, reaching, loving is the promise of two delighted faces every time I come home, two sweet warm bodies curled next to me every time I go to sleep. Every day, we walk and play and share and rescue each other. They've been witness to the discovery of strength I didn't know I had, wells of devotion to other living creatures I'd only ever skimmed the surface of before. The weight of loss is something I'll always carry, but with the journey flanked by two remarkable dogs who have taught me so much about love, acceptance, resilience and joy as well as forming my own small family that my mother would have been proud of, the weight is a little bit lighter.