Learning from Dogs

An introduction to my scribbling!

Last Summer, Jean and I signed up to a couple of evening courses at our local extension college, here in Payson.  One of the courses was creative writing, something we have continued this year.  That, plus encouragement from a number of writers (thank you all so much) who subscribe to Learning from Dogs, has pushed me to taking writing more seriously.  Therefore, from time to time, I’m going to indulge myself by publishing a story on Learning from Dogs.

The following story is fictional in that the event did not take place, but the names of all concerned and the location are real!

Messages from the Night
by
Paul Handover

Dhalia heads for the hills!

“Jean, where’s Dhalia?”

“Don’t know. She was here moments ago.”

“Jeannie, You take the other dogs back to the car and I’ll go and scout around for her. Oh, and you better put Pharaoh on the leash otherwise you know he’ll follow me.”

“Paul, don’t worry, Dhalia’s always chasing scents; bet she beats us back to the car. Especially as it’s going to be dark soon.”

Nonetheless, Paul started back down the dusty, dirt road, the last rays of the sun pink on the high, tumbled cliffs of granite. This high rocky, forest plateau, known as the Granite Dells, just 3 miles from their home on the outskirts of Payson, made perfect dog-walking country and rarely did they miss an afternoon out here. However this afternoon, for reasons Paul was unclear about, they had left home much later than usual.

No sign of Dhalia ahead on the road so he struck off left, hoping she was somewhere up amongst the trees and the high boulders. Soon he reached the first crest, panting hard in the thin air. Behind him, across the breath-taking landscape, the setting sun had dipped beneath faraway mountain ridges; a magnificent sight. Suddenly, in the midst of that brief pause admiring the perfect evening, a sound echoed around the cliffs. The sound of a dog barking. Paul bet his life on that being Dhalia. Just as quickly the barking stopped.

Challenging walking country.

The barking started up again, barking that suggested Dhalia was hunting something. The sound came from an area of boulders way up above the pine trees on the other side of the small valley ahead of him. Perhaps, Dhalia had trapped herself. More likely, he reflected, swept up in the evening scents of the wilderness, Dhalia had temporarily reverted back to the wild, hunting dog she had been all those years ago. That feral Mexican street dog who in 2005 had tentatively turned away from scavenging in a pile of rubbish in a dirty Mexican town and shyly approached Jean. Jean had named her Dhalia.

He set off down to the valley floor and after 15 minutes of hard climbing had reached the high boulders the other side.

Paul whistled, then called “Dhalia! Dhalia! Come, there’s a good girl.” Thank God for such a sweet, obedient dog. He anticipated the sound of dog feet scampering through rough undergrowth. But no sound came.

He listened; no sounds, no more barking. Now where had she gone? Perhaps past these boulders down in the steep ravine beyond him, the one so densely forested with pine trees. With daylight practically gone he needed to find Dhalia very soon.

He plunged down the slope, through tree branches that whipped across his face, then fell heavily as his foot found empty space instead of the expected firm ground. Paul cursed, picked himself up and paused. That fall had a message; the madness of continuing this search in the near dark. This terrain made very rough going even in daylight. At night, the boulders and plunging ravines would guarantee a busted body, at best! Plus, he ruefully admitted, he didn’t have a clue about finding his way back to the road from wherever he was!

The unavoidable truth smacked him full in the face, he would be spending this night alone in the high, open forest. It had one hell of a very scary dimension.

He forced himself not to dwell on just how scary it all felt. He needed to stay busy, find some way of keeping warm; last night at home it had dropped to within a few degrees of freezing. Paul looked around, seeing a possible solution. He broke a small branch off a nearby mesquite tree and made a crude brush with which he swept up the fallen pine needles he saw everywhere about him. Soon he had a stack sufficient to cover him, or so he hoped. Thank God that when he and Jeannie had decided to give the four dogs this late afternoon walk, he had jeans and a long-sleeved shirt on, a pullover thrown over his shoulders. Didn’t make Dhalia’s antics any less frustrating but he probably wasn’t going to freeze to death!

The air temperature sank as if connected with the last rays of the sun. Paul’s confidence sank with the temperature.

He lay down, shuffled about, swept the pine needles across his body, tried to find a position that carried some illusion of comfort. No matter the position, he couldn’t silence his mind. No way to silence the screaming in his head, his deep, primeval fear of this dark forest about him, imagination already running away with visions of hostile night creatures, large and small, watching him, smelling him, biding their time. Perhaps he might sleep for a while?

A moment later the absurdity of that last thought hit him. Caused him to utter aloud, “You stupid sod. There’s no way you’re going to sleep through this!” His words echoed off unseen cliffs in the darkness reinforcing his sense of isolation.

He was very frightened. Why? Where in his psyche did that come from? He had spent many nights alone at sea without a problem, a thousand miles from shore. Then, of course, he knew his location, always had a radio link to the outside world. But being lost in this dark, lonely forest touched something very deep in him. Suddenly, he started shivering.

The slightest movement caused the needles to slip from him and the cold night air began to penetrate his body. He mused about how cold it might get and, by extension, thanked his lucky stars that the night was early October not, say, mid-December. So far, not too cold, but soon the fear rather than the temperature started to devour him. What stupid fool said, ‘Nothing to fear but fear itself!’ His plan to sleep under pine needles, fear or no fear, had failed; he couldn’t get warm. He had to move.

He looked around, saw a boulder a few yards away, like some giant, black shadow. No details, just this huge outline etched against the night. Paul carefully raised himself, felt the remaining needles fall away, and gingerly shuffled across to the dark rock. He half-expected something to bite his extended hand as he explored the surface, ran his hand down towards the unseen ground. Miracle of miracles, the granite gently emitted the warmth absorbed from the day’s sun. He slowly settled himself to the ground, eased his back against the rock-face and pulled his knees up to his chest. He felt so much less vulnerable than he had laying on the forest floor. Paul let out a long sigh, then burst into tears, huge heart-rending sobs coming from somewhere deep within him.

(continued tomorrow!)

Fourteen seconds of a lovely heart-warming dog moment!

More fabulous photographs.

On the 26th January, I wrote a piece about some computer challenges that I was having called Oh, to be a dog!  I included a number of gorgeous photographs of dogs that had been previously sent to me by Katie S.  There was such a lovely response to those pictures that it seemed timely to offer some more.

Here they are.

"A life without a dog is a mistake"” (Carl Zuckmayer)

When you leave a dog behind because he “grew old", your children will learn the lesson. Maybe they will do the same to you when you are an old man. Think about it….

“Women and cats will do what please’s them, dogs and men should relax and get used to the idea” (Robert A. Heinlein)

"Love is when your dog licks your face, even if you leave it alone the whole day" Anita, 4 years old

"The dog knows, but does not know that he knows“ (Pierre Teilhard de Chardin)

May you be at peace.

A peek at a very interesting article in the February issue of National Geographic magazine.

Big thanks to Bob T. here in Payson for sending me a recent email that contained the one line, “There is a lengthy article entitled “Mix, Match, Morph” in the February issue of National Geographic.  I strongly suspect you will find it of interest.”   Understatement big time!  The article is wonderful.   It is also available online!

The premise behind the article is, as the opening words reveal,

Three breeds, Copyright National Geographic, photo by Robert Clark

How to Build a Dog

Scientists have found the secret recipe behind the spectacular

variety of dog shapes and sizes, and it could help unravel the

complexity of human genetic disease.

As is made clear early on in Evan Ratcliff’s text, the huge variety in the breeds of dogs is a very recent occurence,

For reasons both practical and whimsical, man’s best friend has been artificially evolved into the most diverse animal on the planet—a staggering achievement, given that most of the 350 to 400 dog breeds in existence have been around for only a couple hundred years.

And later Ratcliff writes,

The breeders gave no thought, of course, to the fact that while coaxing such weird new dogs into existence, they were also tinkering with the genes that determine canine anatomy in the first place­. Scientists since have assumed that underneath the morphological diversity of dogs lay an equivalent amount of genetic diversity. A recent explosion in canine genomic research, however, has led to a surprising, and opposite, conclusion: The vast mosaic of dog shapes, colors, and sizes is decided largely by changes in a mere handful of gene regions.

What is critically being discovered is,

Already, more than a hundred dog diseases have been mapped to mutations in particular genes, many of them with human counterparts. Those diseases may have a whole array of mutations leading to a risk of disease in dogs, as they do in us.

It would be wrong, without permission to reproduce the article, to include more but you can quickly go here and read it yourself.  Except I can’t resist closing with the last sentence from the article,

After all, he points out, there are millions of dog lovers out there willing and eager to help with the fieldwork.

Ain’t that the truth!

And don’t miss the fabulous photographs of dogs taken by Robert Clark which you can see here, another example of which is below.  Robert Clark’s website is here.

Chesapeake Bay retriever, 48, Photograph by Robert Clark

A gorgeous set of photographs underlining the many truths about dogs!

This has done many rounds on the Internet but I hadn’t been seen it before.  Ergo, I am indebted to Michele N., here in Payson, for sending it to me.

The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue. - Anonymous

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face. - Ben Williams 

A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than he loves himself. - Josh Billings 

The average dog is a nicer person than the average person. - Andy Rooney 

Dogs love their friends and bite their enemies, quite unlike people, who are incapable of pure love and always have to mix love and hate. - Anonymous

Anybody who doesn’t know what soap tastes like has never washed a dog. - Franklin P. Jones 

If your dog is fat, you aren’t getting enough exercise - Unknown 

My dog is worried about the economy because Alpo is up to $3.00 a can. That’s almost $21.00 in dog money. - Joe Weinstein 

Women and cats will do as they please, and men and dogs should relax and get used to the idea. - Robert A. Heinlein

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

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

If you think dogs can’t count, try putting three dog biscuits in your pocket and then give him only two of them. - Phil Pastoret

And the final image ….

Something new for the New Year – stories about dogs!

Preface.

Before I met Jean in December 2007, she had been rescuing feral dogs in the Mexican beach town of San Carlos for many, many years. Over those years, Jean must have rescued and found homes for 60 dogs or more.  In the month that I met Jean, she had 12 dogs and 6 cats at her home.  Ten months later, September 2008, I flew out to be permanently with Jean with my German Shepherd, Pharaoh – that’s him on the home page of Learning from Dogs - taking the total up to 13 dogs.

When we moved up to Payson, Arizona in February, 2010 we brought all 13 dogs and 6 cats with us, much to the amazement of the US Immigration officers at the US-Mexican border town of Nogales!  Indeed, our particular officer left his booth excitedly to explain to his colleagues that our dogs and cats represented a border crossing record!

So many of the dogs that have passed through Jean’s loving arms have stories to tell.  Thus over the coming months, Jean and I will offer you, dear reader, those stories.

Here’s the first, written by ‘Dog Lady’ Jean about gorgeous, sweet Paloma who, despite her age (Paloma that is!), is alive and well here in Payson.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Paloma, December 29th 2011

Paloma

The old white dog padded down the dusty pavement. Sway-backed and dull-eyed, her teats, heavy with milk, grazed the ground. An anonymous creature in a cruel world. The pavement sizzled in the afternoon Mexican summer sun blistering her tired feet, but she could not hurry. She had to conserve her energy. Her pups were soon coming and finding a safe place to give birth to them was her priority. The beach that had been her home was not a good place. .. needed cool shelter. She would find it.

She was alone among a sea of human legs in this scruffy Mexican beach town. No-one noticed her plight. No-one cared. She was used to it. She had long been adept at finding dried fish, discarded tortillas, sometimes a tasty morsel thrown by a tourist sunning in front of the big hotel.

This would be her eighth litter and she was very tired. As a puppy she belonged to a family with small children. There were plenty of leftovers. But when she became pregnant they drove her to the beach, threw her out and left her to fend for herself.

Her babies were always beautiful. She had Labrador in her genes donating a coat that was pure white. Humans always took her pups; she could only ever hope their fate was always a better one than hers.

Anonymity. She had perfected the art; never make eye contact, move low to the ground, escape the stray kick with a quick sideways leap.

She remembered at the very end of the long beach there was a house with a pool. Plenty of water. Onward she padded.

The lawn surrounding the pool was moist with sprinklers and the hibiscus hedge close to the house made a safe nest. Soon she had dug into the damp earth a big enough hole to curl into; it was cool under the canopy of red flowers.

A human voiced shouted, “Carlos, get that dog out of the hedge.” Then the long hose filling that tempting pool was turned on her and a burst of water hit her in the face. She uttered a low growl. Carlos, the gardener, backed away, “Señor, the dog, she is having babies.”

The owner of the house turned abruptly and went inside. He picked up his phone, made a call to the local English lady who over the years had acquired the nickname ‘Dog Lady’. He practically shouted down the phone, “I have a dog in my hedge having pups. You had better do something about it or I shall dispose of them, and I won’t be pretty about it!”

‘Dog Lady’ was used to this. Had been many years since she took on the practically impossible task of rescuing Mexican feral dogs and she was well-known for never turning a dog away. In less than 15 minutes, she had walked to the fine house overlooking the beach and quietly looked under the hedge. As anticipated, the dog was incapable of being moved, her focus entirely now on the safe birth of her pups. With appropriate feminine wiles, the white dog’s human saviour persuaded the disgruntled owner to allow the mother dog a stay of a few days. ‘Dog Lady’ promised that she would take them away as soon as possible.

“She’s a mean and wild dog, you’ll never tame her,” came the angry response from the house owner.

‘Dog Lady’ just smiled and said nothing.

But every day she took food to the white dog then sat quietly close by on the grass reading her book. The white dog had just the one pup, which ‘Dog Lady’ called Solovino, the Spanish for ‘comes alone’. The mother dog she called Paloma, Spanish for ‘Dove’. Many white dogs in Mexico were called Paloma and maybe years earlier that was what the children named her as the name did seem to resonate with this gentle dog.

Patiently, ‘Dog Lady’ moved closer and closer until Paloma would take meat from her hand, rapidly followed by allowing her ears to be caressed. Ten days later, while Paloma was eating, ‘Dog Lady’ picked up the little Solovino and put him into her car. Paloma’s response was immediate; she frantically ran to her child, her mothering instinct so great that she leapt without hesitation into this strange vehicle. Paloma and Solovino were safe.

The house owner graciously admitted that he had been taught a lesson in empathy and how sorry he was for being so rude and cruel.

Back at ‘Dog Lady’s’ home, a quiet sanctuary for so many dogs over the past years, Paloma and Solovino were quickly settled into a cool room. Paloma soon utterly trusted her ‘Dog Lady’ human companion and became the tame and loving dog she always wanted to be. Her shining eyes embraced her new world and she even regained her figure! Solovino grew quickly and found a wonderful family home in Tucson, Arizona.

Now some 6 years after ‘Dog Lady’ rescued Paloma from under that hedge, she is a beloved part of the Handover family. Indeed, she travelled in peace in February 2009 with her twelve dog friends from her sanctuary in San Carlos, Mexico to this dog paradise in the Arizonan forest just outside Payson.

Paloma will never want again.

Copyright © 2011, Jean Handover

When I was living back in South-West England, in the Totnes area, I had plenty of time to get to know Neil K.  Neil has the most wonderful sense of humour and an ability to look at the world rather differently than the rest of us.  I offer this tribute in acknowledgement of the great items that Neil passes to me for inclusion in Learning from Dogs.  This one is no exception.

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The Story of Adam & Eve’s Pets 

Adam and Eve said, ‘Lord, when we were in the garden, you walked with us every day. Now we do not see you any more. We are lonesome here, and it is difficult for us to remember how much you love us.’

And God said, I will create a companion for you that will be with you and who will be a reflection of my love for you, so that you will love me even when you cannot see me.

Regardless of how selfish or childish or unlovable you may be, this new companion will accept you as you are and will love you as I do, in spite of yourselves.’ 

And God created a new animal to be a companion for Adam and Eve.

And it was a good animal and God was pleased.

And the new animal was pleased to be with Adam and Eve and he wagged his tail.

And Adam said, ‘Lord, I have already named all the animals in the Kingdom and I cannot think of a name for this new animal.’

And God said, ‘I have created this new animal to be a reflection of my love for you, his name will be a reflection of my own name, and you will call him DOG.’

And Dog lived with Adam and Eve and was a companion to them and loved them.

And they were comforted.

And God was pleased.

And Dog was content and wagged his tail.

After a while, it came to pass that an angel came to the Lord and said, ‘Lord, Adam and Eve have become filled with pride. They strut and preen like peacocks and they believe they are worthy of adoration. Dog has indeed taught them that they are loved, but perhaps too well.’ 

And God said, I will create for them a companion who will be with them and who will see them as they are. The companion will remind them of their limitations, so they will know that they are not always worthy of adoration.’ 

And God created CAT to be a companion to Adam and Eve.

And Cat would not obey them. And when Adam and Eve gazed into Cat’s eyes, they were reminded that they were not the supreme beings.

And Adam and Eve learned humility. 

And they were greatly improved. 

And God was pleased.

And Dog was happy.

And Cat . . . 

didn’t give a shit one way or the other.

Yet another fabulous example from dogs.

This is a guest post from Joelle Jordan.  Let me broadcast my gratitude for this lovely story. For two reasons.  The first is that Joelle is very generous in sharing her fine work and the second is that at the time of me putting this Blog post together, 4pm yesterday, I really needed a helping hand – have been short of time all week-end.  So thank-you Joelle.  Here’s her story.

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Joy is a difficult commodity to come by these days. I don’t mean entertainment, I don’t mean a good laugh, I mean pure joy, where, even just for a single moment, all worries and doubts, frustration and anger are lifted as though by Atlas.

Like so many other humans in our world, I often find myself in a constant state of stress. There always seems to be something to worry about, whether it’s money, job fulfilment, the state of my relationships, getting the house cleaned, finding time to get to the market, and more. If given the chance, I know we all could spend nearly all of our waking hours (and some of our sleeping hours, too) worrying about something. We spend so much time on the many things that inevitably work themselves out, and so little time on things that will create a memory and a crystal moment of joy.

Jordan and Charlie

My little dog Charlie spends his time in the completely opposite fashion; spending his waking hours seeking joy, and committing less time to things that worry him.

Charlie seems to exist normally in three states of being; content, happy and utterly joyful. When I see him in an emotional state other than these, it nearly breaks my heart. I wonder why this little carefree being who brings such happiness to my life should be anything less than blissful at all times.

I notice something about how Charlie handles his stressful moments, however few and far between they may be. A recent example just occurred. My partner and I are teaching him how to behave on a leash. He has generally not given us any problems on a leash and took to the activity rather quickly. My partner can easily walk him to the corner and back, and he happily accompanies her, listening to her commands and responding, exploring his world in the safe company of his mama, creating a nice outing for them both.

However, his behavior closer to the house is less than stellar, barking at people (especially children who are frenetic and loud) and other dogs, generally forgetting that he is neither a big dog nor in charge of everyone, and just acting rather rude. A change in behavior from his human friend and he learned quickly that running after something and barking while on the leash earns him a very sudden and not so gentle stop, all powered by his own momentum, his harness jerking him off his paws and backwards. After the first incident or two, he ran back to me, the little boy that he is, placing his paws on my leg as I squatted down to him, burying his head in my chest. I assured him that he was fine and stroked him, and told him, “You can’t do that, buddy, see what happens?”

Here is where the story could turn into his utter contempt of the harness and leash. Rather, though, after a little stroking and encouragement, he became ready to try again. This time, instead of running and barking after the children at play in the neighbor’s yard, he calmly walked with me to the end of our driveway and then sat quietly and watched them shoot hoops. When it was time to go in, we walked back to the front door, accompanied by the cheering compliments of “Good job!” and pats from my partner. I saw him begin to walk a little taller and prouder, somehow understanding about a job well done and lesson learned. He trotted through the front door in search of his brother, our Chihuahua Jordan. His happy tongue dangled in wait for the promised treat. The stress he’d been seemingly engulfed in was simply released, gone. It was experienced and then just let go.

Perhaps I’m slightly jaded; after all, it was just a simple leash lesson. In truth, this little animal has no responsibilities except to be cute, not to pee in the dining room and not to chew on things. He has no bills to pay; his only worry is probably something vague about his supper. Sometimes, when letting them out of their crates, Charlie is less happy to see me (master, mama, food giver, spoiler) but is nearly bursting to get at and play with his big brother Jordan. Personal feelings (hurt and otherwise) aside, isn’t there a lesson to be learned here? He continues to teach me.

I watch his eyes. I have since I’ve known my little guy; I find them to be fascinating. In Merle’s Door, Ted Kerasote describes Merle as a “four eyed” dog; a dog that seems to have eyebrows (darker fur over his eyes ) that help express his feelings. Charlie is also a four-eyed dog.

Stanley Coren, the astute canine psychologist from the University of British Columbia, has also noted that these “four-eyed” dogs obtained their reputation for psychic powers “because their expressions were easier to read than those of other dogs. The contrasting-colored spots make the movement of the muscles over the eye much more visible.”

Case in point: the other morning Jordan had burrowed under an Indian blanket for it was a little chilly. Charlie, on the other hand, was in simple need of something: play. Jordan, however, was warming and had no interest. Charlie looked up at me, and held a conversation with me with only his eyes: Mom, make him play!

“He doesn’t want to play, bud, I’m sorry.”

He’s under the blanket! That’s the best time to play!

“But he doesn’t want to play right now, Charlie.”

Distraught. His eyebrows were high but off to the side, the classic cartoon expression of distress. If his lip could’ve quivered from holding back tears, it would have. A soft whimper.

How can that be?

It was a less than joyful moment for Charlie, but it was something out of my power to control. All I could do was redirect him. I enlisted him to come help me with the laundry. This is a favorite past-time of his because there are dryer sheets to be rooted out and torn to shreds. As I moved the clothes from the washer to the dryer, I saw that my boy had found his joy again but not in search of dryer sheets: he had jumped into the basket of dirty laundry and discovered a plethora of good and interesting smells, one of my t-shirts now covering his head like a scarf.

He was in heaven for probably the fourth or fifth time that morning.

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Joelle in speaking about joy echoes a part of yesterday’s sermon that I hope to write a little about before the end of the week.

A guest post from Joelle Jordan

A couple of days ago, out of the blue, in came an email with this article attached.  Was sure that Joelle and I didn’t know each other but so what!  One of the lovely aspects of this wired-up world is the ease with which like-minded people can communicate.  It’s a pleasure to publish Joelle’s story.

Charlie's first day!

I had been resistant to getting a new dog. We couldn’t afford one; we couldn’t afford the time to train a pup, the sleep deprivation, the continual puppy proofing the areas he would reside in, the contingent poop and pee cleanup. We couldn’t financially afford the shots, the toys, the food, the new crate. It was just too much stuff all at once, and we were just getting established as a couple and as a family.

That wasn’t the true reason I didn’t want a dog. I had been resistant because of a dog I’d had before, the dog I left behind. I loved this dog with all my heart, he was my “first.” I did not want to disrespect that dog by replacing him. I always questioned if my decision to leave him behind with my ex was right. My head always said yes, but my heart always said no. This left a war inside of me of enormous proportions that I could only allow to play out as it would, a sort of inner-Vietnam that ended only with withdrawal, but not with surrender.

So I put my foot down for a long time. “No, no dogs.” I would add the caveat the sake of mollification: “Not yet.” Maybe someday. Maybe someday I would be ready. Maybe someday our home situation would be perfect for a puppy. That would be when we could get a puppy: when we were independently wealthy and didn’t have to work and had all the time in the world to train a pup the proper way. Yeah, then.

I added another caveat to my “no dogs” edict: “I’ll know my dog when I see him.” I knew I would know the right dog for us when I saw him. It would be a chemical thing, like falling in love. I would not be swayed by cute fluff balls and wide expressive eyes. I would not be swayed by the tug of puppy teeth and the scent of puppy breath through a cage as we wandered through the aisles of a rescue. I would not be swayed; I would not be swayed until the perfect time when we were independently wealthy. In this way, I could save our money, our time, and my heart. I would just use my intuition (which I heretofore had never had) to know the when and the which one.

My partner continued to try to bend me, showing me pictures on the internet of homeless pups and rescue pups. She tried every breed; I saw terriers and shih tzus, Pomeranians and Pekinese, Maltese and min-pins. I saw every mutt with a happy, drooly, grinning face, and heard every sad story about why the owners could not keep said dog. And my response was always the same: “Oh, yes, he’s so cute, but no, not yet.”

What it came down to was that I was not ready to forgive myself. It’s not as though the dog I left behind wasn’t loved; I knew my ex loved him as much as I did. I didn’t leave him in some rat hole; it’s a two bedroom, one bath with a fenced back yard. But circumstances dictated that I leave, and leave my boy behind. Did that kind of behavior even warrant the luxury of having another dog again? I wondered in silence but responded with “No, not yet.”

Until one day, while trolling the internet for that love match for me yet again, my partner turned the screen towards me and said, “Baby, look.” Two males, pug crossed with dachshund, both auburn with black muzzles. Their mother had died shortly after birth and their father had gone missing.

I looked.

“Wow, they’re really cute,” I said.

I’m sure my partner was shocked that she didn’t receive my standard, “Oh, yes, they’re so cute, but no, not yet.” She could only pause and let me look at the picture.

“They’re only two hours away, and they don’t want a lot of money, just to cover the shots,” she offered.

“Yeah, they’re really cute,” I responded again.

Something in me said that’s your dog. I knew in theory that it would happen like that, but I was surprised that it actually did happen.

Two days later my partner and I were in the very nice home of some very nice people trying to rehome the last two of the surprise litter of their two lost but beloved house dogs. I sat cross-legged on the floor, and the daughter put the pups down about three feet from me. They were barely bigger than hamsters, just eight weeks old to the day. One of them walked right to me, as though he knew me, crawled in my lap, as though my lap were his home. The other had nothing to do with me, had nothing to do with either my partner or me. The first pup explored me, my fingers, tasting, smelling, intent. I looked up at my partner as I cuddled the warm ball of fur to my neck, and our eyes met. She smiled at me and fished through her purse for the nominal rehoming fee.

That little guy rode home most of the way with me, on my chest, staring into my eyes as I stared back into his. He studied me hard, calmly, gazing, as though memorizing. I thought perhaps that he was imprinting me (as I was him) but I think it was more than that, now that I think back on it. I think he was singing The Byrds, as sometimes he still sings, even now, softly, as he lays against my leg as I write this about him, “To everything, turn, turn, turn, there is a season, turn, turn, turn, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”

I’m sure all you lovely readers will agree that is a very moving story.  Thank you Joelle.

Today, delighted to offer a guest post from author Garth Stein

Garth Stein and dog!

But first to how this came about.  Way back in June, I was contacted by Wiley Saichek who signed off his email, Marketing Director, Authors On The Web.  To be frank, I hadn’t heard of the organisation before.  Wiley invited me to participate in something he called a Blog Tour on behalf of Garth Stein. It was connected with Garth’s latest book, The Art of Racing in the Rain.

Jeannie had read it some time ago and thoroughly enjoyed it.  The book had been next to my side of the bed for weeks but, ironically, the demands of my own writing had just got in the way of me reading it.

Anyway, back to the Blog Tour!

Apparently, the ideal was to have the guest post published on Learning from Dogs during the period July 18th to August 1st but I dragged my heels waiting and hoping that the story from Garth could include a picture of Comet.  The picture has not been forthcoming so here it is anyway.  I shall be reviewing Garth’s book The Art of Racing in the Rain as soon as I can get around to reading it.

A Game Called Fetch, by Garth Stein

People often ask me about my dog, Comet.  They want to know if she was the inspiration for Enzo, the dog narrator in my book, The Art of Racing in the Rain (and the young reader version, Racing in the Rain:  My Life as a Dog).  And the answer is, flatly, no.  Enzo is a singular character, I tell them, and has no predecessor.  Comet is goofy and silly, and is very much not Enzo.  But she’s still very smart–in her own Comet way–and has taught me much about the world.

When Comet was just a pup, she hated being left at home; she didn’t like the responsibility of having the house to herself.  She would always get into some mischief:  eat an entire bunch of bananas, for instance (having peeled them first!).  Or claw her way into the pantry looking for cookies.  But one day, she communicated her anxiety in a way that was so clear, so unmistakable, there was no doubt at all as to her feelings.  We went out for a couple of hours, confining her to the kitchen/dining area of our house.  And when we came home, there was a perfectly round, undisturbed puddle of urine on the dining room table.

Now that is a statement.  Message received.  Since that day, whenever we get ready to leave her alone in the house, she willingly–one might saygratefully–finds her crate, curls up, and waits for us to secure the door.

While Comet may not be able to wax eloquently about philosophy and popular culture as Enzo does, she did teach me an important lesson this summer.

Comet loves playing fetch with a tennis ball.  She always has.  And she will run herself into the ground chasing balls, so that my arm gets sore throwing a ball for her with my Chuck-It, and I find myself neglecting my cooking duties, my lawn mowing, my reading, my writing, and even my children…all to throw a tennis ball for Comet.

This summer I purchased a GoDogGo.  It’s a ball launcher with a bucket of tennis balls and a delayed feed, so one can teach one’s dog to play fetch with herself.  A brilliant idea!  The machine spits the ball, the dog fetches it, drops it in the bucket, the machine spits it again.  Ad infinitum.

And so one weekend this summer, I decided to teach Comet how to use this machine so I could do other things that needed doing, like cleaning gutters and grilling chickens.

Well, she got the idea right away.  Launch, fetch, drop.  She was really quite good.  And then I taught her launch, fetch, drop-in-the-bucket, prepare for re-launch.  And she got that, too.

“I have the smartest tennis-ball-dog on the planet,” I thought.  “She picked this up in ten minutes!  Now I can go have an iced tea while she plays fetch with a ball throwing machine.”

But it didn’t work.  As soon as I stepped away, she lost the thread.  Ball launch, ball fetch, ball dropped in the bucket.  Instead, she dropped it next to the bucket and stared at it while the machine ground its ball-throwing wheels in anticipation.

“Come on, Comet,” I said.  “Drop it in the bucket!”

I dropped the ball in the bucket, the launcher launched, Comet fetched, and dropped the ball at my feet.

“In the bucket,” I said.  She wagged, sat and barked and waited for me to drop the ball in the bucket.

I spent two days teaching her how to drop the ball in the bucket by herself.  Sometimes she’d do it for me–so I knew it was possible!–but the moment I stepped away to attend to some other business, she lost her ability to drop the ball in the bucket.  She’d stand over the ball and bark until I came to help her.  It was a miserable time.

As Sunday evening arrived, my wife came outside to see how our training was going.  I expressed to her my frustration.  “She knows what to do,” I said.  “She just won’t do it.”

My wife watched as I put the ball in the bucket and the launcher clicked, ratcheting up its gears.  Comet had gotten to recognize the clicks that meant the ball would soon be launched, and she sunk to her haunches, tail wagging, staring at the launch tube.  And then with a thwack! the ball sailed across the yard and she took off after it, recovered it, dropped it at my feet and barked happily.

“She won’t drop it in the bucket,” I said, bewildered.  “She wants me to drop it in the bucket.”

My wife smiled at me my sympathetically.  “Comet doesn’t want to play fetch with a machine,” she said.  “She wants to play fetch with you.”

And I realized, in my effort to make my life more efficient, in order to multi-task one more thing during a busy day, that playing fetch is not about economy and efficiency.  It’s about playing fetch.

The ball launcher sits in the shed gathering dust these days, but the Chuck-It is always in use.  And while Comet might like to spend every waking hour of every day playing fetch, she realizes that I have to put the ball down at some point to cook dinner or play with my family or write a book.  But she’s okay with that.  Because when we do play fetch together, that’s the only thing we’re doing–we are focused on each other, and that’s what the game is all about.