A while ago, I received an email from a reader who took issue with my opinion re: Jean Donaldson's teaching her dog Buffy to hump her leg on command.  I have received many emails on that one, to be sure, with some people practically jumping up and down in their defense of Jean's choice, others thanking me for speaking out.  It surely touched a nerve, and I still can't help thinking that if it had been a different trainer, and it had been a man or a male dog, folks might have had a very different response.  

But this one particular email stuck with me because it had such a disturbing notion within it,  After telling me they used to be a big fan of my work, the author wrote:

"Once you have contributed as much to dog training as Ms Donaldson has, then you can be as critical and judgmental as you are."

That is quite an interesting thought.  At what level of experience, expertise, "contribution" or ?? is one entitled to note that the Emperor has an interesting wardrobe?  If I remember the story correctly, it was indeed a child who pointed out what the adults refused to see:  the Emperor was naked. Not a wardrobe expert.

This world would be a very sad place -- indeed, it often is a very sad place -- if the only ones who could speak up and say, "I think this is wrong" were ones who somehow earned the right to do so by contributing "enough." 

Stanley Milgram's work on our obedience to authority comes to mind.  When someone in authority says X, Y or Z, a large percentage of the population will accept directions from that person, even to the point of committing appalling acts. There is a smaller percentage who says, "No." Not based on having equal authority, which is what the author of the email implies I needed to make my comments, but based on an internal compass.

When we set the actions of some as beyond reproach by anyone but their superiors or peers (and I consider myself neither with regards to Jean), the Emperor is set free to make some very poor wardrobe choices and not be held accountable. That never will work for me.  But that's me. Your mileage may vary.

Winter is a time for creativity, new projects, planning and making things happen.  I'm pleased to announce that one of the winter projects is now ready to rock and roll:   Quality of Connection Leads. 

I designed these leads to promote handler awareness, softness & subtlety, and the connection (not the correction). Crafted from top quality leather, these leads feature tight braiding, brass hardware and fine details.

Available leads:

• the BASIC  - a handful of quality leather that is both practical & beautiful
  
• the AWARENESS - featuring Suzanne's unique Awareness lacing (imported kangaroo lacing)
• the RANGER - a wonderful multi-purpose lead;ideal for professionals & multi-dog households
• the MARTINGALE - a leash/collar combination; great for multi-dog households
• the DOUBLE - designed for training with a head halter, this lead encourages handler awareness & sophisticated handling

Click here for a full PDF catalog and order form.   Order form only.  

SAVE!  10% discount on any order (excluding s/h and tax) by using this code on your order form:  FDPB10.  (Expires March 31, 2010)

Quality of Connection Leads

"you're going to love what you feel between you and your dog"

Today, I had a most delightful conversation with Judy Baker of SYSTEM SAVER.  For several years now we've been using and recommending wholeheartedly this wonderful product, and can't say enough good things about it.  It's one of those wonderful deals in life where good people produce good things that do good work.

System Saver made a life & death difference for our dear donkey Shrimp (sent home in Dec 2006 to "die at home" by Cornell - they did all they could, but had nothing left to offer her). 

This great product has helped so many animals here at the farm. (Maybe Judy would like to buy advertising space on our barn roof??) We use it all the time in the barn, which also could be accurately labeled as an Equine Nursing Home:

• 28 year old donkeys Shrimp (Cushings, cancer) and Freaky Deaky (arthritic)
• 26 year old horse Eagle (heaves, which is a horse version of asthma, kind of...)
• soon to be 35 year old horse Joey (an old body and darn few teeth!)
• 6 year old Gloucestershire Old Spots cross (big!) pig Professor Spot (arthritis)

How well does it all work for these guys?  Well, this fall, one of our large animal vets drove in with a student in tow, asking if she could show the student around our barn. My husband was bemused to overhear the vet pointing out the donkeys with the comment "Well, they should have been dead years ago." And pointing to Joey, "He's ancient but you'd never know it - looks great!" And re: Spot, well, he's the oldest pig in their practice that's not a pot belly. Eagle went from being close to needing inhalers and steroids to being beautifully controlled with good management and System Saver, and occasional medication in bad weather.

Dogs - well of course we use it on the dogs who need it.  Arthritis and old age being the two main reasons.  We used to use a glucosamine/chondroitin formula, with nice effect, but since using System Saver, no longer use that other product.

Our friend Wendy Herkert turned us on to this great product (she knows many wonderful things and is kind enough to share with us), and we've never felt so strongly about anything.  Strongly enough that when System Saver was having trouble with their website, I offered a bit of space here at Flying Dog Press to keep a few pages for them.  

But today, I'm tickled pink to steer you all to the NEW and beautiful SYSTEM SAVER website. Now this great product which can do so much for so many animals has a website which reflects the quality, the intelligence, the dedication and the love that goes into System Saver. (And as a fun kick I did not know about until today, the website was designed by a friend of mine who got involved before she knew it was SS, a product I'd turned her on to and that she uses herself and for her dogs --- small, wonderful world!)

Give it a try - your animals will thank you.  Be sure to tell Judy at System Saver that Suzanne sent you! 

JD Salinger died today.  The author of The Catcher in the Rye, he was once acclaimed as an "important writer."  All sorts of fame and fortune awaited him.  But Salinger turned his back on all that, retreating to live a private, quiet life in Cornish NH.  He wrote The Catcher In the Rye in 1951, and published his last work in 1965.  

He fought hard for his privacy, and the price he paid for this was the label of "reclusive" or, as the NY Daily News labeled him, a "fugitive from fame."  

Past my admiration for him as a writer, past the influence he had on my thinking, particularly with the beautiful Franny & Zoey, I have always wondered how his life might have been different without the many expectations of others as to what this "literary giant" could or should or might or ought to do. What any of us project onto another, what expectations we hold for others, these actions serve only to block us from who and what that other really is or needs to be.  Worse still, we will never know what the pressure of these expectations does in shaping the other's life. No question, expectations can deform a life, a conversation, a relationship, an experience.

I'm as guilty of it as any other person I know, though perhaps somewhere there's a lovely community of people without unfair expectations, folks who can truly let others be as they are not as they like them to be. I've put my teachers on pedestals so often that you'd think I did a pretty brisk business in the damn things. But I've learned to put down my pedestal building tools as quickly as I realize I've gone into my little mental workshop to whip up a new one.  I have come to understand how massively unfair it is to do put anyone on a pedestal.  They can't help but fall, being human, clay feet and all.  Becoming aware of my own expectations for any person is the only cure, and I work daily on this.  And I see the same thing - expectations & projections - with animals whose owners expect so much, so often unfairly, so blindly. I too have done this with my own animals, though the lessons are slowly sinking in. 

JD Salinger had the resources to retreat to his NH home, steadfastly refusing interviews or visitors, fiercely protected (by all accounts) by the local folks who understood what privacy meant, who guarded against claims to Salinger's attention, time, lifeforce that were born of --- what? Some person's self generated insistence that Salinger do what they expected or wanted from him.

Yet, the demands against which he guarded himself throughout his long life took a toll, ultimately shaped him, and unless he wrote about it, I doubt we'll ever know in what ways it did indeed alter who he might have been in a world where he could be both a gifted writer and just a man trying to live his life in a small town in NH.

Our expectations can weigh heavily on others.  Unlike Salinger, our animals do not have the resources or even the freedom to move away from that burden.  The obligation is, as it is ever, ours to be sure that we have not laden them with our expectations and needs.  This is also true in our human relationships, but in the relationships where we have greater power, the obligation becomes paramount.

In our quest for deeper, more humane relationships with the animals in our lives, it is a good thing to pause and contemplate JD Salinger.  Within ourselves, we must find the villagers who will fiercely guard the animals we love against our unfair expectations, against our need of them to serve us in ways that perhaps we have no right to ask them to do.

It is ironic that Salinger wrote of the pull of both the need to work to one's best for yourself and no one else, and yet, in Franny & Zoey, wrote of the obligation to answer to something higher, using your talent in response to another call for the excellence within us all.  Since reading this passage long ago, I have tried hard to be sure that I did my best not just for my own standards but for the Fat Lady:  

"Seymour'd told me to shine my shoes just as I was going out the door with Waker. I was furious. The studio audience were all morons, the announcer was a moron, the sponsors were morons, and I just damn well wasn't going to shine my shoes for them, I told Seymour. I said they couldn't see them anyway, where we sat. He said to shine them anyway. He said to shine them for the Fat Lady. I didn't know what the hell he was talking about, but he had a very Seymour look on his face, and so I did it. He never did tell me who the Fat Lady was, but I shined my shoes for the Fat Lady every time I ever went on the air again — all the years you and I were on the program together, if you remember. I don't think I missed more than just a couple of times. This terribly clear, clear picture of the Fat Lady formed in my mind. I had her sitting on this porch all day, swatting flies, with her radio going full-blast from morning till night. I figured the heat was terrible, and she probably had cancer, and — I don't know. Anyway, it seemed goddam clear why Seymour wanted me to shine my shoes when I went on the air. It made sense."

I know nothing of JD Salinger except through his own words, and what others have said of him. But I do know I am grateful to him, and glad that for whatever bit that he could, that he wanted to, he shared a bit of himself with us all. 

"Liife is a gift horse in my opinion."  from Teddy, by JD Salinger

Thanks, JD -- we barely knew ye...

On Monday, Dec. 14, our dear old girl Bee headed out for her evening walk with John, feeling happy & good, her daughter, son and granddaughter dashing through the snow with her.  Just a few minutes later, she collapsed, and died in the car on the way to vet just a couple of miles from the farm.

From the moment I last saw her to her death:  maybe 20 minutes from when she dashed out the door, eager eyed and tail wagging. 

We are stunned by this unexpected, unforeseen loss of a wonderful dog.  For Bee, it was quick, appeared painless (no struggle) and she went down in the midst of doing what she loved, and with John, the person she loved most.  And she died with his arms wrapped around her.

Not much else one can ask for in a death, I suppose.  If it were an option available to me, I'd sign up on the spot to go fast, unexpectedly, doing what I loved, with the ones I loved most.  I would have to leave a note, however, saying, "Sorry... had to go... thanks for everything."

The snow is fiercely beautiful in its silent demand that we abandon our restless, hurtling ways of moving too quickly through the moments, always racing elsewhere to there, rarely here.

Move too fast in hard falling snow and you are blinded, the tiny flakes combining themselves into a force that will not yield to man or machine, that will not give to haste, opening only to to deliberate shifts downward in our pace. 

Move at the right speed, pacing yourself to a snowflake's descent and you can move easily, can see the storm in its crystalline parts of intricate delicacy and infinite variety.

The snow holds you back from reckless expenditures of time, slows your feet, drags your gaze from the horizon, now gone, absorbed, swallowed whole in a white gulp. The snow holds you to this moment where the air is crisp and everything - man, tree, dog, field - is outlined in white, dusted in light so that you cannot miss the meaning.

"Be here, now," a message sent in a flurry of whispers so soft your own heartbeat, your own breath can drown them out unless you still yourself and join the swirl of life and listen.

I read.  A lot.  And a lot of odd things.  Glancing over at the nearby table, I see a book on prenatal testosterone, one on horsemanship, and still another is a dark, disturbing astounding novel.  Plus current issues of science, horse and other magazines.

But here are four books I can highly recommend:

• The Thinking Dog by Gail Fisher
• Energy Work by Nicole Wilde
• Speaking for Spot by Nancy McKay DVM
  
• Horse Boy by Issac Rupertson

I am not much of a reviewer, so I won't pretend to offer anything except my feelings about these books, all of them wonderful in their own way.

THE THINKING DOG by Gail Fisher is a wonderful book for those who would like to know more about clicker training, who may come from a more traditional dog training background, and who appreciate clear sensible writing.  Nicely detailed, full of real life experience & examples, written by a trainer who continues to evolve in her appreciation of dogs and ever richer training methdologies, The Thinking Dog has a lot to offer trainers of any denomination.  Fisher does a great job of avoiding the trap of drowning the reader in operant conditioning lingo, but does offer a wealth of ideas, step-by-step instructions, and the depth of her background & knowledge shines through. Available at Dogwise.com

ENERGY WORK by Nicole Wilde is a lovely primer on the ways that anyone can learn to use their hands, their minds, their intent and their love to offer comfort, support and healing for their animals.  Written in Wilde's clear, concise style, this is a guide to an area that intrigues many.  Wilde's immense respect for animals, and for the animal/human relationship and its many aspect shines clearly, as does her experience in using a variety of touches and techniques to soothe, support and help animals, whether they may be in crisis, afraid, hurt, facing death, or just to add some loving balm to any day.  An excellent launching point for an exploration of energy work. Available at Dogwise.com

SPEAKING FOR SPOT is a must have for all pet owners.  Dr. Nancy McKay has written a clear, compassionate and utterly sensible book on how to be an appropriate advocate for your dog (works for other pets too!).  Covering the span of a dog's life, SPEAKING FOR SPOT helps the reader understand how to be the voice for your pet, how to balance the respect for expertise with a need for critical thinking and clear judgement when an "authority" tells you to do x, y or z.  Above all, McKay shows readers how to move with assurance through many areas of life when a dog needs an advocate as well as the best possible care & choices on his behalf.  Belongs on everyone's shelf! Available at Dogwise.com

HORSE BOY is perhaps one of the greatest love stories I have ever read.  It is not for everyone, and some will find it very disturbing.  It is the story of a father (the author Rupert Issacson) and his autistic son.  Issacson notices that his son's sometimes severe behavior issues are altered by interactions with horses.  By an unusual interweaving of experiences and opportunities, he sets off for Outer Mongolia (really truly, not the allegorical!) and the horses and shamans of the Mongolian steppes.  Anyone who has taken even a brief vacation with a child will be staggered by the story of the man and his wife who undertake this long, difficult journey for adults -- and does it with an often violent, fecally incontinent, behaviorally volatile autistic 7 year old.  It is a story of faith, of love, of dedication, and a willingness to trust an intuition when "sense" says otherwise --- and when sensible responses and options have failed.  For those who understand the power of horses (and other animals to heal), for those willing to examine the notion that despite our Western diagnoses, there are many other ways to understand (and address) diseases and conditions, for those willing to be cracked open to feel even a small bit of the complex blend of love, fear, faith, hope, frustration, anger and soaring joy --- for those readers, HORSE BOY is wholeheartedly recommended. Available at your favorite bookstore or online.

With seasons turning here in the Northeast, blankets, hot tea, a sleepy cat and some dogs dozing around me calls for a pile of new books to be savored and explored.  

I spent September 5th at the grand old Saratoga racetrack.  Though I watched almost every race on the card that, I had gone with one sole purpose:  to see the great racing filly Rachel Alexandra in the Woodward Stakes.  Driving through Saratoga, a banner proclaimed, "Rachel Alexandra runs like a girl!"

Though I am hardly a die-hard racing fan, Thoroughbred horse racing has been a part of my life for decades, though in a relatively inconsistent way.  At age 11, I was furious to be forced to attend the Girl Scout picnic on Kentucky Derby day!!! Determined to not miss the race, I took my transistor radio with me to the dreaded troop event.  At the appropriate time (all afternoon I'd made many requests of adults all around, "What time is it, please?") I listened to the race. The winner was Arts and Letters.  To this day, when I hear his name, I am 11 years old, sitting on the grass in the afternoon sun, nothing mattering more to me than the imagined horses racing for the finish line. (note: a KY reader pointed out correctly that Arts & Letters did not win the Derby but ran second to Majestic Prince.  However, Arts & Letters did win the 1969 Belmont, which my memory somehow translated to the Kentucky Derby.  Explains my confusion when searching my memory banks -- why would we have a picnic in early May in NJ? too cold!  Early June is when the Belmont is run, lovely weather. Makes sense now! But at least my aging memory served clear on the winning horse.)

When Secretariat won the Belmont by 31 lengths, I was suppose to standing there watching him do it.  But my boyfriend at the time had forgotten to ask for the day off, so I was stuck at home, watching the big red horse run faster and faster and farther till all other horses that day were nearly 1/4 mile behind him as he powered across the line, racing against only himself, running for the glory of moving like the racing machine he was.  I cried with nearly every stride that horse took with Turcotte tucked on his shoulders, the famous blue & white silks a glorious windwhipped flag above the stallion's immense strides.  I am a long way from that afternoon of watching Secretariat win, but the thrill of his performance has never left me.  If I need to explain his feat to anyone, or even when I see the famous photo where he looms superhorse size with the far more mortal horses tiny in the background, I am often choked with the emotions born so many years ago.  

I've been privileged to see a few truly great horses in my time.  Including the mighty Forego, a freight train of a horse with the heart of a locomotive and the presence of a king. Watched these famous horses put in performances that decades later are recalled in detail with awe and tears for the beauty of it all, for the power, the guts, the utmost laid down without hesitation.  Rachel Alexander is one of those horses.

Although it required standing there for more than 2.5 hours to secure the spot, my friend Ginny and I made sure we were on the rail. Our planning paid off - nothing but the rail fence stood between us and Rachel Alexandra when she walked by for the post parade, though the crowd was 6 or 8 or 10 deep against our backs.  Seeing her distinctive face come into view was electrifying.  She gleamed, she pranced, she pricked her ears, and the crowd roared its blessing as she trotted by.  For a moment, it was all too much for her, and she unseated jockey Calvin Borel, who landed like a feather, holding her lightly.  She looked at him with that expression horses get when humans are unexpectedly unhorsed -- and even as murmurs of "Oh, that's not good, that's gonna cost her" went rippling around us, I saw her apologize to Calvin for being momentarily unsettled.  She calmed quickly, Calvin was thrown back up, and without a break in their connection, they went on, together, a love story in motion.  Time for the warm up gallop.

In a little while, Rachel Alexandra went by again, Calvin sitting on her as if at the end of a long relaxing trail ride, his legs stretched free, his face soft and smiling as she had told him a most wonderful story. Perhaps that is simply the face of a man who knows without doubt that he is sitting on the best horse he will ever ride.  In the photo I have of that moment, there is a comfortable balance between them.  He does not look like a man sitting on one of the world's most powerful racehorses.  He looks like a horseman riding his most beloved horse friend.  Rachel does not look intense or tightly wound, simply ready and able but wasting no effort until called upon.  I love this photo.  I have seen some of the world's finest jockeys ride, but there's something compelling about Calvin and Rachel and their shared relaxation and assurance at the moment just steps away from the gate.

To a non-horse lover, it is probably not possible to explain how fast our hearts were beating as Rachel and the others were loaded into the starting gate.  Impossible to explain the soaring hope and the thread of fear woven through it all as the bell rang.  (Ruffian remembered, Eight Belles all too recent, and so a prayer again for Rachel, one of so many that day for her.)  With pounding hearts, we watched her sail - out in front and holding on right through the backstretch though world class boys - Da 'Tara, Past the Point, Asiatic Boy - were on her heels.

As the horses disappeared, we kept an eye on the big screen showing the action that we could not see.  The fractions ticked by (dear God, so fast, too fast to maintain?) and Rachel Alexandra never yielded the lead.  As the horses went around the far turn and then into the clubhouse turn, I noted with astonishment that Macho Again who had been galloping last had suddenly switched gears and was making a charge at the top of the home stretch.  Always a fan of the come from behind horses like Forego, I knew better than to discount what a truly great horse could do even from the back of the pack.  Macho Again found a hole, came roaring through, and then, dear God, he kept coming like the wind. 

And ahead of them all, Calvin riding feather light on her as she ate the track with clean, powerful strides, came Rachel Alexandra, running hard and fast and beautiful as something can be only when it is aligned precisely with its destiny, its purpose.  Pressed hard, Rachel would not yield. Calvin asked, his body an urgent request against her spectacular body, his whip seeming to be a human need to ask in some other way what she was already answering with all of her being.

As they passed us, it was clear that Macho Again's heartbreakingly astounding run from dead last to Rachel's shoulder might actually break the magic spell this lovely filly had woven with her power and talent.  The crowd's screams of "GO! GO! Run like a girl!" gave to dismayed groans of "NO! NO!" as it looked as if he had caught her at the very last.  And yet even as my heart was fearing that she had lost, I could not help the tears of admiration for Macho - he ran a harder race, and he was something far past impressive - he was simply impossibly good.

Then the agony of a photo finish. The crowd murmured in dismay "He caught her" and in hope "She did it" but no one was certain.  The track camera stayed on Calvin and Rachel while the judges reviewed the photos, so we watched the big screen, wondering, hoping, saying foolish racetrack prayers, waiting..  And just before the official results flashed on the board, the outrider must have told Calvin because he leaned down and gave Rachel a thumping of delight and pumped his fist in the air.  Which is how we knew, before the numbers went up, that she had somehow done it, somehow held off Macho Again's fierce effort, somehow gone wire to wire without a speck of dirt on her exquisite face.  And what Rachel Alexandra had done was more than simply be the first filly to win the Woodward.  She had proven herself - again - to be one of the rare company, the greats, the unforgettables.

Rachel Alexandra won by just a 1/2 head.  Macho came calling, and asked very hard what she had left.  She had more than enough.  Calvin asked her to dig in and go, and dig in she did.  Simply amazing, her particular blend of beauty, power, skill and heart.  I later read that when asked if he had been afraid that Macho again might take the lead, Borel replied that he hadn't been worried at all.  Rachel simply wasn't willing to let Macho pass her.  

I took not quite 500 photos that day.  I got some lovely ones of Rachel.  One of my favorites was taken after the race, after the acclamation and glory shots of the winner's circle. It shows her walking back to the barn, gleaming wet from the post-race hosing.  Her lovely feminine head is level with her withers, her ears relaxed, her nostrils still flared with the effort of the race.  Her intelligent dark eyes are steady, clear, calm -- and tired.  As I snapped the shots of her and her entourage walking down the track, I wished there was some way to thank her for being all that she is. But  I could only stand there helpless with admiration and gratitude, watching her disappear into the golden light of a glorious summer evening.  Rachel walked down the track with the graceful beauty of the athlete who has given it all, and all was still within the realm of what a body can bear and not break apart.

Sometimes, you get to see history made.  Sometimes, greatness strolls past, looks you in the eye as it heads off to work.  Sometimes, what you see is burned into your memory and your heart. Rachel Alexander will stay with me for the rest of my days.

On September 5th, 2009, "runs like a girl" became a very great compliment indeed.

(with gratitude to Calvin Borel, Steve Asmussen and his team, and Jess Jackson & partners who all made it possible for a horse named Rachel Alexander to be her very best)

Labor Day hasn't yet arrived, and still, here I am, contemplating the days left in the year and how they will be measured out.  If only TS Eliot was right and coffee spoons could be used... but looks like it's going to be a flying finish to the very end, trying to cram in as much as possible before I take a deep breath and hang up my brain for a rest around the holidays.

Several friends have had health scares this year, and I had one of my own.  And all of us ended up contemplating our mortality a bit more than usual.  (By time you're my age, old pal Mort is a frequent guest who stops by for coffee on a regular basis.)  I am relieved to say that my own little scare was -- like just about all my serious health woes in my life -  dog induced.  Turns out that when you're laying in bed, and a 100 pound dog leaps over you and misses, and one of those big paws doesn't miss, you can develop quite a lump in your breast.  But it doesn't show up right away.  Nope.  That would be too easy an equation:  OW = lump & bruise.  Did get the bruise.  Didn't find the lump until a heart stopping moment nearly a week later.

I've read plenty of advice on how to find the right doctor.  Not one article, not even in Cosmo or Good Housekeeping or The Whole Dog Journal, bothered to mention that for people like me, a good doctor should possess a working knowledge of exactly what forms of breakage and damage can be inflicted on a person by her loving animals friends.  For example, years ago, I had to call my doctor at the time and ask if she felt my health might be endangered by the firm insertion of an inch or so of raw mouse spine into my instep.  There was a long pause before she answered.  I hadn't inserted the mouse, but rather stepped on it getting out of bed -- it was a gift from a cat who had thoughtfully eaten the back half, leaving me the front (and frankly, cuter) mouse half.  It is quite the wake up call to step sleepily from a comfortable bed, feel a sharp pain shooting into your foot, pick up your foot to look at what might be stuck, and find yourself staring at the equally surprised face of a half-mouse stabbed well into your sole.  We had very similar expressions, the mouse and I.  But I recovered.

Anyhow, my current doctor is a grand guy.  But he was on vacation, leaving me with a substitute doc who does not understand what animals can inflict on those they love.  She didn't get animals at all.  In fact, when I noted that my dog had landed on my breast with the force of a sledgehammer, and pointed out that the worrisome lump was located conveniently under the bruises left by the beast, she shook her head with authority.  "There is nothing a dog could do that could cause a lump like that!"  Left me wondering what kind of experiments they ran at her medical school.  I figured it wasn't worth the breath to list all the fun things i knew for a fact that a dog or even a small kitten could do to the human form. 

Many tests and pokes and prods later, a more reasonable doctor who understood dogs noted wryly that yep, being landed on by a dog that big surely could cause a hematoma that large.  He jokingly suggested I get rid of the offending canine, and more seriously recommended a follow-up ultra-sound to be uber certain in a few months. Not long ago, I had that follow-up, and all was well.  Though I do take evasive maneuvers more frequently when large dogs are launching nearby.

All by long way of saying that the year's already been fun, and I could do with a rest.  But Robert Frost did not measure stuff in coffeespoons but in miles to go before sleep.  I'm looking forward to the upcoming workshop at WOLF PARK in Battleground, IN, where I have the immense privilege of teaching with Pat Goodmann and of course the wolves!  After that, down to my old stomping grounds in NJ to teach for West Jersey K-9 SAR , which offers the bonus of old friends and familiar roads added to the joy of teaching.  I'm very excited to be offering the first ever RAT workshop (Relationship Assessment Tool) in the Chicago area in late October at For Your K9. And then - please do break out the violins and wailing women, grab a hankie 'cuz this is sad and hard to hear - it's off to Holland, Belgium and Italy to teach and sightsee a bit.  Belgian vet behaviorist Dr. Rudy de Meester is among my favorite people on the planet, and my four Italian friends (Monica, Ilaria, Roberto, Alberto) will make me feel like I've come home all over again. I'll even get to visit my grandpup Ilaria who is now a brood at the Dutch guide dog school (just had her first 11 pups!).

So exciting to be teaching in Europe again - the seminar attendees are quite unlike American audiences.  I once asked a very permissive dog owner in Italy if she would let a child act in such unruly ways as her dogs.  She shrugged and smiled, and said, "Si! Es a bambino, eh?"  I quickly revised my analogy, asking if she would allow a man to treat her the way her dog did, disregarding anything she did, showing no interest in where she went.  She immediately drew herself up, and with a sharp tone and angrily flashing eyes proclaimed, "NO!" 

I love the cultural differences, the food, the wine, the people, the dogs, the antiquity of it all. Some days I wake up just flat out astounded that this is my life -- all those years of scooping poop and watching dogs be dogs paid off in ways I could never have imagined.The amazing people and animals and places I get to see enrich my life beyond measure, and I have found some real treasures who have become dear friends.

So much to fit in between Labor Day and when my labor's finally cease in mid-December.  A flying finish, galloping through the days and miles with gratitude that this is my life's work.  A good gallop indeed... hope to see some of you along the way.  

HAPPY LABOR DAY!

A friend alerted me today to a disturbing video on YouTube.  It's been there for a while, though I was happily unaware of it until now.  With one click, I stepped into a new definition of abuse: a well known "positive" trainer displaying her female dog's new trick - humping her leg on command.

Anyone can see abuse in an animal that is beaten, starved, mutilated, hung or killed.  The Michael Vicks case still looms large as he tries to put his life back together post-prison.  That kind of abuse is clear. 

But what of the laughing demonstration of a trainer's skill in manipulating an animal into humping her leg on command?  Whatever the species, engaging any other being's sexual behavior for your own purposes IS abuse.  If this were a child or another human, charges would be filed.  If this were a man teaching this to his female dog, there would be outright hysteria.  If this were Cesar using humping behavior to prove that any behavior can be trained and put under control, there would probably be a march on National Geographic's headquarters.

This is not a beer drinking moron or senseless stoner armed with a video camera and hell bent on demonstrating their dog's willingness to hump a person.  This is a prominent, highly regarded award winning trainer/author's video.  When you view her proud presentation on how her dog humps her leg on command, YouTube offers up others similar in content, a motley collection of morons & stoners and humping dogs. The only difference is that the famous trainer has better stimulus control of the behavior than the morons do. Nice company for the trainer someone called, "the most rational voice in dog training today." (It's not attributed, but used to promote her latest DVDs.  Perhaps the author of that bon mot has a different definition of "rational" than I do.) 

The YouTube video is presented as a demonstration of "how ANY behavior can be captured, reinforced and cemented" -- an arrogant justification of a disrespectful, abusive interaction, though she hastens to assure the viewer "Nobody was hurt" and that she doesn't advocate anybody else doing it.   She then adds, "if you don't think it's 'appropriate' then avert your eyes." On that basis, we can merely look away from all abuse in dog training and elsewhere.  So simple... no need to protest or write letters or file charges - just look away if you're offended.  But we're not quite done with the whole disgusting mess as she smugly adds, "You just had to watch, didn't you?"

For me, yes, I did have to watch.  Because in order to criticize, I must actually read, see or hear what it is I am going to comment on.  Because when the founder & Director of the San Fransisco SPCA's Academy for Dog Training is the one chuckling that she could get some great obedience out of her dog if she used the humping as a reward, yes, I do have to watch the whole damn thing.  I watch in order to convince my disbelieving ears and eyes that the famous Jean Donaldson, award winning author and speaker at this year's conference for the Association of Pet Dog Trainers (APDT) is the one I'm watching.  (note: corrected 9/2/09 - Jean is no longer a member of APDT; is a speaker for this year's conference)

Jean notes early on in the video :  "I have no shame."  There's the truth spoken clear. 

Jean offers an appalling display of abuse of and disrespect for another being.  I find it immensely sad that this is promoted in any way as part of "positive dog training." She prides herself on not using aversives or choke collars.  Pity she hasn't learned that respectful training needs to also include the other being's mind, emotions and dignity.

Donaldson is a teacher.  And this is an instructional video.  When we see how things ought not be, we do have the opportunity to strengthen our resolve about what should be.  On that score, this disturbing video teaches all too well.