Tag: Dogs

They’re Good Company

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Today was a tough day.  Very sad things going on for some friends of mine.  But, let’s see what we can talk about that’s not too sad.

Penny is our basset hound.  She’s one and a half years old so Camera Girl considers her a “puppy.”  Really, a psycho is what she is.  She attacks our German shorthaired pointer relentlessly.  I attribute most of this insanity to Camera Girl’s criminally lax dog training.  But I don’t rule out congenital brain abnormality as part of the answer.  Anyway, this dog dotes on me.  If she had her way, I’d spend twenty-three hours a day scratching her enormous ears and the voluminous folds of skin on her throat.  Suffice it to say she follows me around the house hoping for an ear rub.

But today I had to get into a suit.  White shirt, tie, suit jacket and pants, black leather shoes.  The whole thing.  I come down the stairs and she takes one look at me and goes berserk; barking and growling at me.  She doesn’t recognize me!  She’s dancing back and forth looking like she either wants to bite me or run away.  I’m yelling at her at the top of my lungs trying to get her to recognize my voice and calm down.  I’m also worried she’ll shake her jowls and splatter my suit with basset drool.  Finally, she runs into the living room while I go out through the kitchen door.

I came home four hours later and almost the same thing happens.  She’s barking and howling and carrying on.  So, I go upstairs and get changed and come down in my regular clothes and she stops and looks at me and acts confused.  She won’t come near me but she isn’t barking.  Slowly she shuffles closer, sniffing at my feet and looking hesitant.  Then finally she snaps out of it and accepts that it’s me.

Bassett hounds are supposed to be second only to blood hounds in their ability to recognize scents.  So, what the hell is wrong with this dog?  Now, sure I wear pretty much the same shirts, pants, shoes and socks every day.  But if I put on another suit of clothes, I’m unrecognizable?

What goes on in the tiny brain of this dog?  Apparently, I’ve become a very stable pattern in her mind and any small change to the details of my sensory image, whether scent, sight or sound immediately convinces her that it’s not really me.  Maybe she’s been watching one of the various versions of that classic of cold war paranoia, “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”  Apparently today I became one of the pod people walking the streets, disguised as her favorite ear scratcher.

Well, all is forgiven again.  I spent the requisite five minutes scratching her gigantic heavy ears and telling he she isn’t a psychopath.  It’s all lies of course but we somehow have to get through the day as a family.  So, I’ll make believe she’s a good dog.

But I will say she helped me get out of the funk I was in.  Dogs are useful, even crazy ones.  They take your mind off of big problems at least for a few minutes and from what I’ve heard petting them even lowers your blood pressure.  Well, all the yelling I did probably had the opposite effect but either way she was good company.

Update

 

Ed Brault In reply to photog.

I’m the same way. My “Wedding and Funeral” Suit and my “Military Funerals” Class-A uniform hang in a zip-storage bag in the back of the closet.

As for the Basset, well, it must vary by the dog. I visited my folks after a tour overseas, and their St. Bernard, who hadn’t seen me in nearly four years, shot straight to my car, expecting me to take her to the beach, just like my last visit.Brault0000001A

reply by photog

Yes, i think you’re right. It varies by the dog and this particular canine is a little high strung. Or just plain crazy, depending on your literary style.

Camera Girl Grows Up

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Camera Girl is acknowledged across the multi-verse as the worst dog trainer of all time.  Whereas children and grandchildren respond to and obey her enlightened methods of child rearing, her dogs on the other hand are completely wild.  This happens because she thinks dogs are perpetually infants.  And so, she coddles them and allows them to walk all over her and run amok.  Many years ago, we had our first German Shorthaired Pointer, Max.  He was a magnificent specimen of a very large GSP and I thought he was fairly well-behaved.  But one weekend I come home to find my youngest daughter standing on the couch because the dog had taken her socks while she was putting them on and was growling whenever someone came near them.

So, I went to get the socks from Max and he bit me.  I was shocked.  I asked Camera Girl, “When did this start?”  She looked sheepish and said since he’d started to mature, he had been getting aggressive.  I guess I’d been busy over the last six months and hadn’t spent any time training Max.  But now we were in a bad situation.  I didn’t want to lose the dog but I couldn’t have a large strong dog that might bite my kids.  So being a lunatic I put on a pair of cowhide gloves and winter coat and attacked Max.  I went for the socks and he went for me.  I grabbed him around the neck and threw him to the floor and pinned him.  Then I growled like a lunatic and bit him on the throat.  And I never had another bit of trouble from that dog again.  From that point on he worked for me.

Over the years Camera Girl has improved slightly.  But depending on the temperament of the dogs, she’s done anywhere from fairly well to really poor at training them.  Our latest pup is a female basset hound and she is feisty.  And she likes to chew on things, including me.  So, I started to follow Camera Girl when she was “training” Penny.  And of course, the dog was running the show.  She had this short legged chunky hound running around causing chaos and the only attempt at training was baby talk admonishments. So, I demanded that we get her straightened out.  Now luckily there have been great strides taken in dog training since my days of biting Max on the throat.

One training aid is a shock collar.  Well, actually it’s a combination buzzer/shocker.  Camera Girl is way too tender-hearted to shock the dogs.  But I’ve finally demanded that she start using the buzzer and use it consistently to get Penny to stop biting and jumping up.  This is actually also for her own good.  Basset hounds are very prone to hurting their backs and jumping up is a good way for them to do that.

And what do you know?  After about two weeks of consistent training the absurd puppy is finally, finally beginning to behave.  She hasn’t even tried to chew on my face once today.  And I’m overjoyed.  I think Camera Girl is finally beginning to grow up.  Any day now I’ll be comfortable enough to finally throw that ratty coat and gloves away once and for all.  And it’s a good thing.  I think next time the dog would win.

Wise Penelope

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Περίφρων Πηνελόπεια – Wise Penelope

Can you read wisdom in that gaze?  I’m not sure.  But Penelope she is.  Or Penny for short.  And her mistress, Camera Girl. possesses the virtues of Odysseus’s celebrated wife in abundance; patience, cleverness and faithfulness.  So Penny it shall be.

Is that the face that launched a thousand ships?  Well no.  But maybe a thousand smiles.

Goodbye Kaylee

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Our dogs aren’t our kids.  Maybe if you’ve never had kids they can act as replacements for that relationship.  But it’s still a mistaken idea.  Our dogs are not our children.  They’re our dogs.  But that is not a trivial relationship.

Dogs are intelligent, empathetic and loyal creatures that mistake us for family.  And so, we have lived with them for possibly hundreds of thousands of years until it’s become true.  We’ve formed a symbiotic relationship that is full of satisfactions and frustrations, misunderstandings and camaraderie.  In short, they become a part of our families and our lives.

But they don’t live long enough.  About every ten years, give or take, we have to say goodbye.  And that is truly terrible.  Three times before I’ve had to bring one of our dogs to the vet to be put down and three times, I’ve had to dig a grave.  I won’t say those days were the saddest of my life because losing a parent or a sibling or a child is incomparably worse.  It’s worse but it’s akin to the same feeling.  It’s terribly sad.  It takes the heart right out of you and leaves an empty feeling that hurts.

Next week it will happen again.  Camera Girl walks around the house crying and I feel pretty rotten too.  She’s planning what treats; ice cream and cake; to give her.  I’m picking a spot for the grave and figuring out how to arrange everything.  We’ve been talking about all the funny memories we have of Kaylee over the years.  It’s unanimous that she is the most lovable and loyal of all the dogs we’ve owned.  She will be missed.

Maybe having animals that don’t live as long as we do provides a foreshadowing of what we all must eventually experience; death and loss.  Maybe there’s some good that comes from it.  But it still feels pretty awful when it’s happening.  It feels like cruelty and betrayal and that you’re at fault.  It seems like they should live longer, maybe twenty years.  But I guess it would come to the same thing; maybe worse.

So, this post is a part of the grieving process.  Keeping dogs is a fraught experience.  We put a lot in, we get a lot out.  But the ending is an emptying of our hearts that makes you wonder if you should bring another dog into your house and life.  We still have a younger dog.  For the last twenty plus years we’ve kept two dogs.  But now we think about whether we should get a puppy.  Right now, we’ve said no, we won’t.  But I wonder.  Camera Girl is a hopeless dog lover and I know she’s always thinking about a puppy.  We’ll have to let time pass before we think about those things but I won’t be surprised if she changes her mind.  Old habits.

I can’t imagine what it is like losing a child.  When I hear about children dying, I’m horrified.  I was lucky in that my children were robustly healthy and never experienced any terrible accidents.  So, I have an enormous amount to be thankful for.

But having to bury a dog is a loss in the family and a thing to note in sadness.  Goodbye Kaylee.

Men and Dogs and Women

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A7 III with Sigma 150 – 600mm MC-11 adapter

Dog is man’s best friend.  But woman is dog’s best friend.  Or should that be mommy.  I went with Camera Girl to the vet’s office with Kaylee, our older dog.  She’s a 13-year-old German Shorthaired Pointer and she’s starting to wear down.  Camera Girl loves her dearly and has been very worried that she won’t make it through the winter.  Now this seems like an unnecessary concern.  Other than progressive arthritis and a certain amount of mental confusion she seems relatively healthy.  She still enjoys her food enthusiastically and can keep up her normal activities, only at a slower pace.

But because of her concerns I went along in case any bad news was forthcoming.  When we got there, we entered the office and the receptionist began engaging in the typical female baby talk that is reserved for pets.  Then we got to the examination room and the vet tech came in and she too commenced with the mewing and cooing that passes for woman to dog communication.  And finally, the vet showed up and she also began the embarrassing babbling.  Now I will admit that both the tech and the vet were pretty adept at their medical tasks.  They vaccinated Kaylee and cut her nails quite skillfully.  And the vet convinced Camera Girl that Kaylee will make it through the year at least.  But as a man it was pretty comical listening as three grown women coaxed and comforted a large dog as if it were a three-month-old infant.

Now, full disclosure.  I have a very soft spot in my heart for all our dogs past and present.  And since I’ve had to be the one holding them when the vet puts them to sleep for the last time, I know exactly how close is the bond between a man and his dog.  Of course, they’re not human and certainly not our children.  But they think they are.  And that obligates us to treat them as family.  Since they lack the wherewithal to be responsible for themselves in human society, we become their guardians and keepers.  So that’s the logical underpinning for our position.  But the emotional relationship is much, much closer to a parent-child relationship than anything else.

So, fine.  We treat them in many ways like children.  But why do these women pretend they’re talking to newborns?  Dogs have the intelligence of a young child in many ways.  And they have the ability to respond to verbal commands and prompts of all kinds.  Why do these women chirp at them in this embarrassing manner.  As a mother and grandmother Camera Girl has always been quite good at teaching and disciplining little children and once they’re beyond a year or so she speaks to children in English with a minimum of singsong and baby words.  Why does she insist on using it for dogs.  In fact, why can’t she discipline her dogs as well as she did her children?

For the majority of our married life, I’ve been at the office during the week and she was home with the kids and dogs.  And without exception she has spoiled every one of our dogs rotten.  All of her cooing and babytalk is useless in getting the dogs to obey her.  Finally in desperation she asks me to take over and I have to growl at the dog to get obedience.  And this is a very bad situation.  For larger sporting breeds bad training can be dangerous.  But my protests have always been in vain.  She just can’t treat a dog as anything but a baby.

But at last, there will be a changing of the guard.  When in the fullness of time we need to get a new puppy in the house I will be home much more of the time than formerly and I intend to train this dog.  And it will be a revelation to Camera Girl.  This dog will obey my commands immediately and unerringly.  This dog will be a manly chap who will eschew all baby talk and respond to the curt guttural syllables reserved for a dog in the field.  Sit!  Heel!  Down!  He’ll be used to good solid pats to the ribs when he succeeds in his chores and maybe a scratch behind the ear while we’re watching tv together.  I’ll allow this dog a modicum of self-respect as a carnivore in good standing.  No goo-goo gah-gah.  Sure, I won’t stop Camera Girl from chirping at the dog and lavishing affection on him but I will not allow her to undermine the training.

A man and his dog.  A woman and her dog.  So different.

A Man and His Dog

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Many, many years ago I read an autobiographical short story by Thomas Mann called “A Man and His Dog.”  It’s a very charming description of Mann’s life in a rural suburb outside I believe Munich.  His dog Bashan is a German Shorthaired Pointer (GSP) or, as he mentions in the story mostly of that breed, because he mentions some irregularities of his appearance that Mann hints should b a point of embarrassment for Bashan.

When my children were young, we found ourselves looking for a family dog and I thought long and hard what breed to get.  Camera Girl is a dog lover and any breed will find a place in her heart but I insisted that it be a manly and courageous breed because I see the value of having a capable watchdog in the house.  But I wanted a dog that had the even temperament needed around small children.  So, no pit bulls or bull mastiffs.  After a thorough review of the physical and temperamental characteristics, I selected the GSP as the optimal dog breed for us.  We ended up travelling about six hours each way to get the puppy and when I brough “Max” home he was an immediate hit with the children and settled in with his family.

And I will say that he lived up to the description for his breed.  The GSP’s are incredibly friendly with children in the family and tolerant of people around the home.  But they are extremely protective of their territory if another dog enters it and will fight ferociously against an intruding dog.  They are extremely smart and amazingly fast and agile.  And as one of our later GSP’s demonstrated, powerful hunters.  Our older dog Kaylee once took down a young deer that happened to be in a field that she was running in.  It was all that we could to get the deer away from her alive.

In his story Mann mentions that the pointers can make themselves a nuisance by their single-minded approach to the master of the house.  And in a sense, this is true.  Although Camera Girl is the primary dog walker in the house, the two pointers look to me for their marching orders.  Whenever anyone enters the property, they come to me and start complaining about the intrusion looking for leadership in repelling this invasion.  And as annoying as it sometimes is to have yapping dogs running around in circles when the oil truck comes down the driveway or the Fedex guy is dropping off a package, it is a good feeling to have loyal minions whose allegiance is to the king of the castle and no one else.

Over the years we have had other breeds too.  Early on we had a Newfoundland.  Up until six years ago we had a Bassett hound.  Both dogs were wonderful creatures that we loved immensely.  And they had their own unique qualities and characteristics.  But to my mind the pointers are the best family dogs I’ve come across.  And in a pinch, if a serious animal threat wandered onto the property, I’d feel better knowing a GSP was there to look out for Camera Girl and the grandkids.

So, when I think of a man and his dog, if the man is me then the dog would be a German shorthaired pointer.

A7 III with Sigma 150 – 600mm MC-11 adapter

14MAR2018 – Quote of the Day

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(I once took a class on Homeric Greek from a very distinguished professor by the name of Seth Benardette.  Besides many other strange characteristics, he wore a seersucker suit every day to class that summer.  I’ve always wondered if it was just one suit.  Now, Bernardette very strongly believed that great human wisdom can be extracted from Homer’s Iliad.  Not being a renowned hellenist nor any kind but a practical philosopher I suppose I should defer to his superior judgement.  But I’ve always liked the Odyssey better.  I think this scene where Odysseus meets up with his dog that hasn’t seen him in twenty years since it was just a pup is more interesting than Achilles and his offended pride.)

 

As they were thus talking, a dog that had been lying asleep raised his head and pricked up his ears. This was Argos, whom Odysseus had bred before setting out for Troy, but he had never had any work out of him. In the old days he used to be taken out by the young men when they went hunting wild goats, or deer, or hares, but now that his master was gone he was lying neglected on the heaps of mule and cow dung that lay in front of the stable doors till the men should come and draw it away to manure the great field; and he was full of fleas. As soon as he saw Odysseus standing there, he dropped his ears and wagged his tail, but he could not get close up to his master. When Odysseus saw the dog on the other side of the yard, he dashed a tear from his eyes without Eumaios seeing it, and said:

“Eumaios, what a noble hound that is over yonder on the manure heap: his build is splendid; is he as fine a fellow as he looks, or is he only one of those dogs that come begging about a table, and are kept merely for show?”

“This hound,” answered Eumaios, “belonged to him who has died in a far country. If he were what he was when Odysseus left for Troy, he would soon show you what he could do. There was not a wild beast in the forest that could get away from him when he was once on its tracks. But now he has fallen on evil times, for his master is dead and gone, and the women take no care of him. Servants never do their work when their master’s hand is no longer over them, for Zeus takes half the goodness out of a man when he makes a slave of him.”

As he spoke he went inside the buildings to the room where the suitors were, but Argos died as soon as he had recognized his master.

 

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