Cute but stupid

This photo is actually from Christmas, but it's the same park and the same dogs, so I'm using it here.

I went to visit my family this weekend, for an early birthday celebration for my dad and to surprise my siblings. It was a beautiful few days and on Saturday, we went back to the big, open park nearby and took Dublin and Dally with us. (Photo above gives an approximation of what the day was like, even though the photo is from Christmas. Same dogs, same park, mostly the same people.)

The dogs were off-leash most of the time and stuck with us through all the trails. Dublin is very responsive, especially to my father and to her human, Dave; Dally, not so much. We shared the trail with sporadic mountain bikers and when we’d call Dublin to get off the trail, she’d do so immediately; when we’d call at Dally or gesture at her, she just stood there dumbly, staring at us. Dally is only 8 or 9 months old and she hasn’t been trained by her family at all, so I suppose this isn’t really surprising.

When Dublin spotted the creek, she went scrambling down a large embankment and splashed around the water. Dally tried to follow her, but since she’s overweight and clumsy, it didn’t go so smoothly. She ended up getting trapped in a huge vat of quicksand-like mud and Dave had to help drag her out of it. As my dad likes to say of dogs like her: “Cute but stupid!” After she emerged, she looked like a sad, shamed princess; she couldn’t even wag her tail, as it was so weighed down with mud. Poor baby. We hosed her down when we got home and she was no worse for the wear.

Side note: Is it ever appropriate to tell someone that their dog is overweight? Especially if they seem unaware of it? Dally is young, as I mentioned, but the poor girl already has a weight problem. I think she needs to lose 15 pounds or more; it’s noticeable, and even more so since I last saw her in December. Is that ever appropriate, do you think? If so, is there a gentle way to say it?

Breed love: Doberman pinscher

Regal doberman. Source: dobermanpuppiesblog.com

My father grew up with doberman pinschers and I have grown up hearing stories about his true dog love, Ebony. Ebony was his constant companion and, in my Dad’s estimation, The Greatest Dog Who Ever Lived. In his later high school years, after Ebony had passed away, my dad’s family got another doberman, whom they named Cheyenne. Dad painted Cheyenne as more reserved and protective than Ebony, but as an equally outstanding dog.

My dad’s mom, my grandmother, continued the family love of dobermans after she lived on her own and adopted Chance, a purebred dobe, from the local animal shelter where she worked. In my own life, we had childhood friends who owned dobermans and once or twice casually bred them and sold the puppies. Suffice it to say, I grew up among people who had an extremely high estimation of these beautiful dogs.

Source: Rebecca Enslein

Dobermans are known for being extremely intelligent and powerful. They have a pop culture reputation of being fierce and aggressive and they can certainly look very intimidating (especially when their ears are cropped, like the dogs featured above). Breed enthusiasts call dobermans “the Cadillac of dogs” for their beautiful build, clean lines, and regal gaze.

I have always thought fondly of these dogs and am happy to meet one whenever I get the chance to see one. But even though my paternal family has owned them for years, I have not interacted with many dobermans. For that reason, they are not at the top of my wish list, but this is through no fault of their own. If the opportunity ever presented itself, I’d count myself honored to live with these noble animals.

Doberman links:

• Doberman Rescue Unlimited
• Doberman Rescue of North Carolina
• Doberman Assistance, Rescue, and Education
• AKC breed standard for the doberman pinscher

Breed love: Irish setter

So glossy. So pretty and she knows it. Click for source.

My dad, who grew up with dozens of different dogs, had an Irish setter for a short period of time. The beautiful setter, however, did not last very long in his family. The dog had so much unchanneled energy that no one could keep it in a fence. The setter ran away countless times and finally escaped one day and was never found again. It’s a sad story for a such a beautiful dog, but it is perhaps a sage warning for anyone seriously considering an Irish setter.

Irish setters are famous for their hyperactivity and nervous natures. They are gorgeous and loyal dogs when their energies are properly utilized, but they do require plenty of attention and training.

Gazing into your eyes. Click for source.

Irish setters reached the height of their popularity in the 1950s and 1960s. President Richard Nixon, for instance, had a gregarious Irish setter named King Timahoe. It’s impossible to deny that these dogs are utterly beautiful. However, these sleek redheads come with fiery personalities. For that reason, I don’t think I’d ever get an Irish setter, but I’m very happy to admire them from afar.

Irish setter links:

• Save Our Setters
• Magnolia Setter Rescue
• Irish Setter Club of America

Dog people

Gertrude Stein, Alice B. Toklas, and their poodle. Source: LIFE Magazine Archives

Part I. Childhood Fear

Once upon a time, I was terrified of dogs.

This was not supposed to be my heritage. I was supposed to love dogs. But, in a strange turn of events, the whole reason I developed a dog phobia was because of my father’s deep love of dogs.

The story goes like this: When I was about six years old, my family was living in an apartment complex while we waited for our new house to be built. There wasn’t much to do around there and so my father would often take us girls out for walks. He was thrilled one afternoon to discover that one of our neighbors had a young, handsome doberman pinscher. Dad grew up with dobermans and was enamored with this dog. From then on, whenever he saw that the dog was outside, he’d take us girls out to watch and admire.

On one particular evening, we were watching this boisterous doberman chase a collie in frenzied circles around a patch of grass. I was clinging to my father’s leg, trying to avoid being run over by these whirlwinds of energy, but apparently I wasn’t paying much attention. The dogs, too caught up in chase to notice me, bowled me over and trampled me to the ground. They weren’t malicious in any way, but I screamed and cried like someone had deliberately tried to kill me. I was whisked inside–while I’m sure my father was shaking his head in regret over his totally wimpy girl child.

For years after that, I would cower in fear whenever I saw a dog. I was petrified around them and never dreamed of wanting one. For all my six-year-old mind new, dogs were bloodthirsty monsters.

Part II. What Changed

By the time I was 10 or 11, however, something changed. I wish I could remember what positive event changed my mind about dogs, but I made a complete 180 in my opinions about canines. I became obsessed with them.

Like today, back then I read everything I could get my hands on as a child. My all-time favorite Christmas present was a beautiful, glossy, hardback book of all the dog breeds. (Aside: I found this book on a recent trip home and brought it back to Charlottesville with me. I am not ashamed to say that I enjoyed reading it again the whole way back.) For my birthday, I asked for a subscription to Dog Fancy, which I read religiously. I watched the dog shows whenever they came on TV. I begged my mom to always let me go in pet stores so I could compare prices on the dog supplies list that I was already making (so, not much has changed). My sisters and I started a successful pet-sitting business in our neighborhood and I became a small-time expert on calming old Yorkies, walking rambunctious lab mixes, and chasing and capturing escaped West Highland white terriers. (My decision to never get a terrier was solidified during this time.)

And. Like today, I waited a very long time until I could get a dog of my own. When I turned 14 or 15, I finally got to pick out Emma from an adorable Aussie litter on my birthday. It was the happiest day of my young life.

Part III. A Family Who Loves Dogs

I often wonder what it was that triggered my switch from phobia to obsession. As I’ve grown older, the only hypothesis I’ve been able to create is that this shift was caused by the emergence of my family heritage. My paternal family is known for their love of animals, especially dogs. The Farsons would rather die than be accused of being cat people, although I’ve learned that they show kindness and sympathy to all animals. Even cats. Animals are a critical part of living. And to live without a dog in one’s life, well, what’s the point of that?

Although I never got to see my dad’s family that often, the Farson clan lived vividly in my mind from all of dad’s stories about growing up on farms in Indiana. His childhood always sounded so charmed and idyllic to me: Wandering corn fields with a pack of faithful dogs at his side, swimming in ponds, building forts. Dogs were always a central part of his childhood and I longed for them to be a part of mine.

Since I was little, I felt a deep connection with my dad’s mother, whom we call Gran. I rarely saw her, but I felt like she understood me. Gran is spunky, energetic, and hilarious. She is a woman who can fend for herself and always has. She raised five highly intelligent children, mostly on her own, and despite all of the obstacles that life threw her way, she is the most optimistic and joyful person I’ve ever met.

Gran is also devoted to dogs. She was likely responsible for the many dogs that my father grew up with. After her children had grown up and left, she worked full-time for the local animal shelter. She eventually adopted a lovely and devoted doberman named Chance, who was the true love of her life.

This Easter, Gran came to visit my family in North Carolina and I was thrilled to get to spend some time with her. Our time alone was spent taking Dublin for a walk around town and I loved every minute of it. I felt so much joy getting to share the company of this woman, my grandmother, whom I rarely saw and yet felt intensely connected to. We talked like had spent years together. And this was mainly because we saw eye-to-eye about dogs. She could read Dublin’s body language like I could. She suspected, as I did, that the Siberian husky we had just passed had likely tried to run away several times. She knew all of the breed stereotypes, all of the problems that keep dogs in shelters, all of the ways people could love dogs better.

My dad’s sister and her family recently went on vacation to the Outer Banks and left their precious, foxy mix breed Sadie with my parents for a few days. Gran apparently called the house four or five times to check on how Sadie was doing (probably nervous that my dad was roughhousing with her or teaching her bad habits, as he is wont to do). Mom joked that Gran would never have called if my cousins, her grandchildren, were staying with us. But the dog! The dog must be looked after.

My dad shares his mother’s devotion to dogs. He acts like Dublin is his dog. He taught her most of her Frisbee tricks, walks her around town, and takes her canoeing with him on Lake Norman.

I think the main reason that my parents don’t have a dog now is because my mother isn’t wildly fond of them. Her family had dogs, like most good suburban 1960s families, but they were not necessarily dog people. They were good and kind to their dogs, but their attention to dogs did not extend much beyond tolerated family pets. (My maternal grandfather may be the one exception to this family rule, for he is a universal animal whisperer. He can mystically charm animals that hate all other people, including squirrels, feral cats, and peacocks.)

But this overarching devotion, this need to share one’s life with a dog, that is something I inherited from my paternal family. That is my deep and lasting connection to the family that I rarely see and yet feel that I will always understand.

Did you grow up among “dog people”? Or did you acquire the trait later in life? Do you think it can be inherited?

The dogs of Davidson

Although I didn’t spend a ton of time with dogs this week, here’s what I learned from the two dogs I saw during my weekend with my family:

DUBLIN

My father and his true love, Dublin. Source: Grace Farson Photography

Dublin is a three-year-old chocolate lab mix who belongs to our dear friends and neighbors, a family with two young girls. Dublin was adopted her as a puppy from an adoption drive in our home town. My father, who loves dogs like I do, has adopted Dubs as his own dog most of the time. She adores him, too, which I think is quite evident from the photo above.

She’s very smart and great with the girls, Ally and Kate, who are 9 and 7. Dad plays Frisbee with her almost daily and has taught her to retrieve the disc by name and to get into different formations with a command (telling her “cross” means that she’ll run into the other yard and wait for the disc to be thrown over the fence). She’s excellent with the Frisbee and hardly ever misses a catch. Like most retrievers, she could play all day long. Dad has also recently taken to bringing her canoeing with him on Lake Norman, an activity that she reportedly loves.

Our best guess is that Dublin is mostly a lab, but we think she may also have some pit bull in her lineage, due to her stockiness and the shape of her muzzle. Dublin was a very excitable puppy, but now that she is three, she has the ability to calm down considerably and temper her activity level to those around her.

I saw her display this ability when I took her on a walk on Saturday afternoon with her young charges, Ally and Kate. The girls were especially keen to walk her on the leash and I decided that Dublin seemed calm enough to be handled by them. I was a little nervous about it–since I’d walked her before and she’d been like a firecracker–but Dublin walked sweetly and calmly by these little girls and was generally perfect the whole time. The only exception was when she saw squirrels darting around campus. I told the girls to just drop the leash if she started charging after a squirrel. This happened a few times and was an infinitely preferable situation than having the girls get their faces skinned up by being dragged along the sidewalk by this strong, stocky dog.

Overall, Dublin taught me that:

• Lab mixes can excel at Frisbee.
• High-energy dogs can reach a state of calmness–eventually.
• A three-year-old dog is very different, energy-wise, than a one-year-old dog.
• The mark of a great family dog is a dog, who even though young, can temper her activity level to her child companions.

DALLY

A golden retriever puppy. Not Dally, but they look pretty identical! Source: Daily Puppy

This is not Dally, but this fluffy puppy looks nearly identical to her. Our neighbors across the street, who have three young children, bought Dally as an 8-week-old puppy from a breeder in Oak Ridge (I think from this kennel). She’s now probably 11 or 12 weeks old and just as fuzzy and adorable as ever. Naturally, I had to go over and meet her–along with the rest of my family.

The family’s gorgeous backyard is partially fenced, but they don’t worry about sweet Dally, who was patiently waiting for her humans to return on the brick stoop outside. She bounded up to us, rolled over, kissed our legs, and playfully mouthed our hands. I was surprised at how gentle she was at mouthing; most retriever puppies I’ve met love to chomp their needle-sharp teeth into soft human hands, but Dally seemed somehow aware that gentleness was required. I wondered if this was something her doting family had already taught her.

Like all good goldens, Dally was extremely attentive and sweet toward all types of people and displayed no signs of fear when met with men, women, and children of all sizes (our family fairly swarmed their backyard). She also seemed very smart; I was impressed that she immediately obeyed the command “sit” from the family’s energetic 7-year-old daughter.

What I learned from Dally:

• A golden retriever puppy is one of God’s greatest and most adorable gifts to humankind.
• Families with young children should just get golden retrievers. Don’t even look at a terrier. Or any toy breed. Just get a golden. There’s a reason why they’re so popular with families with kids; their temperaments seem ideally suited to the hectic lifestyle of a young, busy family.

Breed Love: Standard poodle

Standard poodles on the beach. Source: Flickr

In my family, poodles got a bad reputation–for no fault of their own. My dad liked to talk trash about poodles, judging them to be frilly, sissy dogs who weren’t “real dogs.” For the most part, I confess that I agreed with him. My primary interaction with poodles were of the toy and miniature varieties, which I found to be yippy, demanding, and a little bit gross. But then I met a few standard poodles and my mind started to change about poodles.

Standard poodles, while preserving that pretty poodle appearance, are accomplished canine athletes, guide dogs, and obedience ring champions. Plus, they’re almost hypoallergenic! What’s not to love?

Standard poodles in black and white. Source: Flickr, user ddlou

I find myself taken with these attractive and highly recognizable dogs. You have to admit that they’re adorable. And loyal and super-smart and athletic. My lack of exposure to standard poodles keeps them from ranking in my top five breeds, but if an opportunity ever presented itself, I would be more than happy to welcome a standard poodle into my home.

Standard poodle links:

• Standard Poodle Rescue
• The Poodle Club of America
• AKC standard poodle standard

Pup links!

Kate Moss and a Great Dane. Source: Bing

Dog-related links from around the Web:

The Greatest Dog Who Ever Lived. I loved this post, because it reminded me of the great dog legends my dad would tell us about his childhood. Ebony, his doberman, was his version of The Greatest Dog Who Ever Lived. (When he met my mom for the first time, he once asked her if she wanted to see a photo of the only girl he’d ever loved. She wasn’t so sure, but then he produced a photo of Ebony from his wallet.) She’ll always live in my memory. (Tales and Tails)

See Scout Sleep. Fashionable and yet pleasantly demure dog beds from See Scout Sleep, featured on Design Sponge. (Design Sponge)

Reward-Based Dog Training: Without Using Treats! A helpful article on how to wean your dog off treats. (Whole Dog Journal)

Just Breathe. Another variation on the seemingly endless supply of “Keep Calm and Carry On” poster knockoffs, but I couldn’t help but feature it. It’s cute. And it’s also probably my life motto. (Pawsh Magazine)

Picasso’s Dogs. Stanley Coren reflects on Pablo Picasso’s relationships with dogs. (Modern Dog Magazine)

Dog on a Bed. Even though I’m not sure if I’ll let our future dog on our bed, I will always love photos of dogs on beds. (Shirley Bittner)

Bubble Beth. Exultant joy from this border collie, chasing soap bubbles. (BCxFour)

Woe. WOE! The caption and photo are priceless. (Save the Pit Bull, Save the World)

Get Low. Reason #524 why I will never get a terrier. (Animals Being Dicks)

Families raising dogs

Thinking today about stay-at-home moms raising dogs. Source: Flickr, user: hab3045

Did you grow up with great family dog? If so, you should probably thank your mom.

Although this family dynamic is clearly shifting today, a majority of women in previous generations were stay-at-home moms. Dad went to work, the kids went to school, and mom stayed home with Lassie. This means Lassie learned most of her habits and household behaviors from mom. Dad might have reinforced some strong-handed training early on, but Lassie spent the majority of the day with mom. Mom let her out, fed her, disciplined her, groomed her, maybe even walked her. This practice of mom as the primary caretaker and trainer of the family pooch may have fostered some of today’s gender imbalance among trainers and breeders in the canine world, a topic which I’ve speculated on before.

I think back on my own family, growing up with Emma, our Australian shepherd. We were a very unorthodox American family in that both Mom and Dad were stay-at-home parents. For a large part of our childhood, my father was a self-employed computer programmer who worked out of our home. My mother homeschooled the four of us and ran the accounts for the small business she owned with her sister. This means that all six of us were home, together, all day long. I realize today that this closeness of the family led to one very happy Australian shepherd. She got to be with her “flock” all day. This is a huge gift to any dog, but especially to a herding breed. Because of this, Emma never developed any form of separation anxiety.

But she did develop into a dog who didn’t get the proper amount of exercise and who suffered from a lack of consistent training. Early on, my fourteen-year-old self was responsible for training young Emma. I had read all of the dog books; I had been the one to pick out the breed and pick out Emma from her litter–and so I appointed myself as her trainer. Aussies are very smart and highly adaptable puppies and Emma was no exception. She was housebroken in a week and never made an accident in the house for as long as we had her. A few weeks later, she could consistently sit, stay, and lie down. We taught her tricks like rolling over, doing an army crawl, and hopping on her hind legs. She was very bright and eager to learn.

However, my teenage self made the mistake of thinking that training stopped there. We taught her how to do cute things, but we didn’t train her how to do useful things–like how to walk on a leash and how to stop barking. As I gained interest in boys and high school, I unfortunately began to lose interest in Emma. My mom became Emma’s primary caretaker. She fed Emma, she kept her clean, she made sure her heartworm and flea medications were administered. But Mom wasn’t especially interested in training Emma–particularly since my father was more interested in undoing all of the things I had taught her.

My dad loves dogs. He grew up with dozens of different dogs on farms in Indiana. He also loves wolves, though, and tends to think that dogs should be allowed to behave like wolves–at least, to be as wild as they please. In Emma, he found another playmate. Emma loved to tear around the house after him and he would egg her on. He loved making her jump on us while we were sleeping in our beds. He wrestled with her in the living room and enjoyed teasing her, inciting her to bark and snap at him. I was frustrated and distraught; I was watching my supposedly “perfect dog” be ruined. I felt powerless to intercept my father and address the bad behaviors he had taught Emma.

Together, Mom and Dad were on opposite ends with their approach to Emma–something I’m sure she picked up on. My mother wanted her to be obedient, calm, and cuddly. She was obedient if you asked her to do something, but she was rarely calm around my dad and almost never cuddly (probably because my five-year-old brother was always trying to use her as a pillow or as a miniature horse). On the other hand, my father wanted Emma to be his wolfish playmate, a gleefully wild animal with whom he could wreak havoc around the house. The poor dog was constantly getting mixed messages from her family.

I can only wonder what would have happened to Emma if my mom had had more jurisdiction over her. Maybe we wouldn’t have given her away. Emma didn’t deserve to be abandoned by her family. Even though it wasn’t my decision, I will feel guilty about that for the rest of my life.

Regardless of whether or not I end up being a stay-at-home mom, I hope that I’ll be a consistent and faithful parent to my dog. That’s what Emma deserved.