Author: Paul Handover

A Saturday smile fishy story!

But on this Saturday in November it really is a fish story, or so I thought.

Earlier in the month, I received an e-mail from Dan Gomez. It told of this tale from Grand Lake St. Marys:

A guy who lives at Lake Saint Mary’s (60 miles north of Dayton, OH ) saw a ball bouncing around kind of strange in the lake and went to investigate.

It turned out to be a flathead catfish that had apparently tried to swallow a basketball which became stuck in its mouth!!

The fish was totally exhausted from trying to dive, but unable to, because the ball would always bring him back up to the surface.

The guy tried numerous times to get the ball out, but was unsuccessful. He finally had his wife cut the ball in order to deflate it and release the hungry catfish.

You probably wouldn’t have believed this, if you hadn’t seen the following pictures:

oooo

Be kinder than necessary because everyone bites off more than they can chew sometime in life…

oooOOOooo

I loved the story but then wanted to know: was it true?

Sadly, the story is true but the location is false. Snopes.com researched this back in 2005. Hoax-Slayer.com wrote about it in 2007 after it “went viral”.

The true story originated in the Whichita (Kansas) Eagle on May 30, 2004. The man in the photo turns out to be Bill Driver, a fisherman at Sandalwood Lake who discovered the catfish with a taste for hardwood glory.

Two wonderful lessons to be learned from both the story and the story behind the story!

Don’t believe everything you read on the Internet and there’s always something fishy about a fisherman’s tale.

Have a great week-end.

The book! Chapter Seven.

Half-way through the month.

I have taken a break from book writing to get today’s post ready. I’m 100 words short of 25,000 words and will stick at it until I’m over the 50% word-count before the end of today, Thursday.

Very conscious that many readers having got very used to my usual style of posts may be finding the change a little uninviting. Not a lot I can say other than I understand. NaNoWriMo do encourage all those November novelists who are bloggers to subject, sorry to offer, their readers the writings!

oooOOOooo

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Seven

The year 2003 did not have a great deal left in it and in what seemed like no time at all, New Year’s Day 2004 had been and gone. By the middle of January of the new year, Philip had settled into the regular trip across to Angela, the country journey not anything other than a pleasant forty-minute drive from home with Angela’s place coincidentally not a million miles from Sandra’s kennels at Hennock, where Pharaoh had been born.

It was certainly a higher elevation than Harberton and, potentially, a place to become snow-bound. But as January rolled into February, and while there were plenty of days of Devon rain, snow did not arrive.

As Angela had intimated would be the case, Pharaoh was nothing other than a gentleman during his days of obedience consolidation with Philip. During February, when Pharaoh had become accustomed to wearing a muzzle, Philip started walking with Pharaoh around their favourite spots in Totnes. Indeed, the walk from the Safeway car park by the river, up along Fore Street, underneath Eastgate arch where the road became Totnes High Street and all the way up to the old Totnes Castle, was settling into a regular event, often on the way back from visiting Angela.

What was interesting to note was that the sight of Pharaoh, this large German Shepherd dog wearing a muzzle, caused much more consternation for onlookers than it did for Pharaoh.

They had been resting one afternoon on a bench by the Castle after a brisk walk up through the centre of Totnes, when Philip distinctly heard a man, father he presumed, speak to the little girl with him and caution her that the dog was a most dangerous animal and not to go near it, because nice dogs don’t wear muzzles!

When they were walking around the Totnes streets, while Pharaoh would occasionally mutter a low growl towards a person, or more often towards another dog, there wasn’t even the hint of an aggressive move. It was almost as though when Pharaoh was on the leash and wearing a muzzle, he had happily deferred his role as protector to Philip. No, not deferred but swapped roles as if Philip was both minder and protector of the two of them.

Then on the first Wednesday in March, at the end of their obedience class, Angela turned to Philip and said, “Philip, I can’t teach you two anything more. Pharaoh has got so used to your personality that he is way beyond rigid command formats. He can read your whole demeanour, probably better than Maggie.”

Philip mused privately that that didn’t take too much for a dog to know him better than Maggie.

Sandra added, “And there’s no doubt that you, Philip, can read Pharaoh’s demeanour as well.”

There was a pause.

“What I have been thinking is that it’s time to have Pharaoh use his fabulous teaching skills to work with some of the dogs that truly need some help. Could the two of you come over on Saturday, say at ten o’clock?”

“Angela, Saturday would be so much less of an issue than a week-day. For reasons I’m not sure about, my mentoring client list is growing at the moment.”

The rest of the week flowed by as the weeks so often do and Saturday was upon them. It wasn’t much after eight-thirty in the morning when he nosed his car down their driveway, closed the gate behind him and set off to Angela’s place; Pharaoh already curled up in the back of the Volvo.

“Oh, good morning Philip,” Angela called out as he parked the car in what was now his usual place.

“Let’s leave Pharaoh in the car for a moment while I talk you through the plan. Just follow me.”

Angela lead the way between a couple of barns and there, just beyond, was a fenced paddock, possibly a half-acre in size. There were a couple of bench seats elevated a few feet but some way back from the perimeter fence.

“Philip, this is where we are going to have Pharaoh work with the guest dog. She’s a female grey-hound that the owner wished to introduce to greyhound racing, at the greyhound stadium in Plymouth. Her name is Betsy . However, when Betsy’s owner, Gordon, took Betsy to the stadium the first time, she was so aggressive in going for the other runners that, even with a muzzle, a requirement for racing, Betsy was acting up to the point where it was impossible for her to be with any of the other dogs.”

“OK, understood so far,” Philip replied, “but how will Pharaoh engage with Betsy?”

Angela responded, “I suggest we let Pharaoh into the paddock together with your goodself. Then you slide out when you can, which I suspect will not be long, because Pharaoh will be fascinated by the smells of many other dogs. You can quietly settle back on the upper bench seat and when I sense Pharaoh is ready, I’ll have Gordon bring Betsy just inside the gate of the paddock, let Betsy off her leash, and stay quietly to one side.”

“OK, Angela, all understood. How do you expect Pharaoh and Betsy to react to each other?”

Angela smiled, “Let me just say that I have an extremely good hunch as to what will happen, but just for now I’m going to hold back on making any predictions!”

“Oh, you can go and bring Pharaoh over now, don’t want him to feel any rush getting to know the smells of the paddock.”

Philip walked back to the Volvo, let Pharaoh down from the car and lead him through to the paddock. Pharaoh happily followed despite being off-leash stopping only briefly to have a couple of pees.

Once at the paddock, Philip went through the open gate with Pharaoh and waited quietly just inside the gate. Pharaoh naturally started sniffing around and exploring this new environment. A few moments later Philip gently opened the gate, slipped out, re-closed the gate and lent across the top bar watching his wonderful dog. Angela remained where she had first gone to, leaning on the top rail of the paddock fence just to the right of the gate, looking in on Pharaoh.

She silently pointed to Philip for him to slip back and be seated on the elevated bench seat.

The sound of a car door being closed caused Angela to disappear back out between the two barns. Pharaoh had raised his head and was looking and listening intently towards the source of the sound.

A few minutes later, Angela and Gordon appeared, Gordon leading Betsy on a leash. They walked up to the outside of the closed paddock gate. Betsy started eyeing Pharaoh with a very direct stare.

Pharaoh started to walk towards them. Betsy gave a deep-throated growl causing Pharaoh to pause in his walk and observe her.

“Gordon, let me have Betsy on her leash.”

Angela took Betsy’s leash and very gently lifted the gate latch and cracked the gate open by six inches or so.

“Pharaoh, there’s a good boy. Pharaoh stay. Good boy,” came Angela’s softly formed words yet using her words as a cover to open the gate just sufficient for both Betsy and her to enter the paddock, Angela then closing the gate behind them.

There was a pause of perhaps a minute where nothing moved. Angela gently let her fingers run down Betsy’s leash and softly unlatched the lead from Betsy’s collar.

Again, Betsy’s eyes were fixated on Pharaoh and, likewise, he seemed to be assessing just what Betsy represented.

Angela softly slipped open the gate, slipped through and held the gate closed yet unlatched. She was confident there were not going to be any panics but it never paid to be complacent.

Pharaoh did a quarter-turn with his head to the left and seemed about to sniff the ground near his front paws.

Betsy suddenly growled and started towards Pharaoh but stopped in less than two paces. For Pharaoh had immediately turned his head back to face Betsy’s face full-on, giving her the most compelling message of perhaps rethinking what she had in mind. Well that’s the message that Philip saw in Pharaoh’s face. A facial look that Philip had never seen on Pharaoh before now yet, nonetheless, seemed utterly clear. So imagine what unspoken words were picked up by Betsy; that old business of dogs speaking dog to each other so much better than humans speaking dog!

There was a pause where nothing changed. Then Pharaoh, again, turned his head a little to his left. Betsy took a step towards Pharaoh but noticeable without the aggressive overlay of before.

Pharaoh turned his head and looked back at Betsy. However, now his facial message, as Philip interpreted it, was Pharaoh saying to Betsy that this was getting boring and that he still hadn’t finished sniffing out the new smells around here.

Then Philip saw, hardly believing his eyes, Pharaoh wander over to the far fence line, pee on an upright wooden fence post, and continue following the fence line around to the left, as in left from Philip’s perspective. Betsy stayed rooted to where she was. Not even turning an eye as Gordon came up and sat down next to Philip.

Any sense of time passing was beyond grasp. However, when Pharaoh had walked away from that marked fence post by, say, thirty or forty feet, Betsy almost imperceptibly looked at the fence post, possibly some twenty feet from her, and in what might be described as a casual gait, walked across to the post. She sniffed the bottom of the post where Pharaoh’s pee had run down to the ground. She sniffed long and hard and then turned around and walked a few yards in Pharaoh’s direction, he having now paused in his stroll along the fence line, his head turned back to watch Betsy.

The next action by Betsy brought an audible gasp to Gordon’s lips. For Betsy calmly and quietly settled down on the dusty ground, tummy against the bare earth, paws straight ahead, head lowered, eyes watching Pharaoh.

Pharaoh then turned in towards the prone Betsy, gently walked towards her, sniffed her rear quarters, walked around to the other side of her and just looked at her for a few moments. Then he eased himself forward, lowering his head a little. Their doggy world seemed to come to a halt for a few moments, then Pharaoh and Betsy came together and simply touched wet nose to wet nose.

Philip and Gordon both came down from their seats and stood next to Angela. Both of them couldn’t avoid noticing that Angela had silent tears running down both cheeks. Not a word was spoken, not a word needed to be spoken.

Gently, all three of them, Angela, Gordon and Philip, slipped quietly into the paddock and enjoyed what was happening in front of them. Almost as though their pleasure at the outcome was fuelling the moods in the two dogs, Pharaoh and Betsy each took up a behaviour that could only be described as a couple of dogs being relaxed and comfortable with each other.

Angela slipped out and returned a few moments later with some dog biscuits in her hands, the large chunky ones shaped roughly to look like a bone. She walked up to Pharaoh, stroked him on the head and offered him a biscuit. He took the biscuit and settled down to nibble it.

Angela then went across to Betsy and repeated the biscuit giving. Betsy settled down to eat her biscuit.

Upon coming back to the gents, she said, “OK, it all happened more or less as I anticipated. Pharaoh has given us a copy-book example of a strong, dominant teaching dog behaving in his natural role as a minder dog.”

Gordon was practically unable to keep his beaming face under control. He bubbled out the question, “So what happens next, Angela?”

“Well, I would like to repeat what we set up today one more time, just to be sure, although I have not the slightest doubt it will be fine.

Then, we’ll have Betsy and Pharaoh come again but keep Pharaoh to one side while I introduce Betsy to another dog that is dominant but not a teaching dog. In other words, more likely to trip Betsy into her old ways. If that happens we will bring Pharaoh in and he will adjudicate. Then next time round, we will introduce Betsy to an even less disciplined dog, again more or less aiming for the conditions where Betsy will learn a strategy for keeping her own temptations under control.”

Angela added, “There’s no doubt whatsoever that Betsy, sooner than you can imagine, will be a settled dog and ready to go dog racing if that’s what is right for her.”

Angela had a cheeky grin on her face, “Sorry, I meant what’s right for you, Gordon. OK, I’ll confess, I’m not a fan of dog racing!”

The book! Chapter Six.

Where Philip truly embraces the history, the very long history of man and dog.

I left Chapter Five with the lead character, Philip, having been given a detailed introduction into the social order of dogs, especially the roles and attributes of the three teaching dogs: Mentor, Minder and Nannie and realising that his German Shepherd dog, Pharaoh, was a Minder teaching dog (as he is in real life!).

One of our friends from our Payson days, dear MaryA, has been reading the chapters as they have been published in this place. Her comment in a subsequent telephone conversation was that she found it a bit too intricate, a bit too drawn-out. That accorded with Jeannie’s view.

It’s clear that much of the so-called fictional writing is highly auto-biographical. I have no idea whether or not the ‘novel’ gets rejected because of that, or even if rejection is even part of what follows when the 50,000 words are achieved.

But anyone who knows my real life story will not have too much trouble reading between the lines of the fictional account of Philip’s life.

The consequence of this is that, at times, the words flow very easily because it’s very real in my own mind. Thus too much detail, too much minutia, is a valid criticism. Then again, the pressure of writing an average of 1,667 words a day, day in and day out, makes ‘dumping’ lots of detail feel rewarding because one is keeping up. Just as an aside, at the time of writing this post, 3:30pm yesterday, Pacific Time, the NaNoWriMo counter shows that 21,720 words have been written against a requirement by the end of today, Day 13, for 21,677! I have written for about three hours today. I’m 43 words ahead!

OK, enough of that. Here’s Chapter Six.

oooOOOooo

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Six

Yet again his return to Harberton had him describing to Maggie outcomes so very different to what he had been expecting when he had left the house. It was starting to be an expectation. That, try as hard as he could to predict what he and Pharaoh were off to do, within a few hours of leaving home he would be returning with a report of events totally unanticipated.

However, these serendipitous and surprising events shared one common journey. That journey of Philip better understanding the reality of his relationship with dogs in general, and with Pharaoh in particular. The visit to Angela earlier in the morning being outstanding in this regard; he would forever look at Pharaoh with different eyes.

He spent the afternoon pottering about the house and after supper settled down in front of the fire and picked up the article that Angela had given him as he and Pharaoh left her place.

Twenty minutes later, having read the article, he looked across to Maggie, who had settled down in an easy chair just opposite him, the fire creating a mood of comfort and contentment all around, and said, “Wow, Maggie, I had absolutely no idea that the relationship of humans with dogs went so far back in time. This article is mind-blowing. It’s by a Dr. George Johnson who, according to his bio, is Professor Emeritus of Biology at Washington University in St. Louis.”

Philip went on to say, a smile across his face, in a more-or-less throwaway manner, “You know some day I must really understand what an emeritus professor means. Ah well!”

“Why don’t you read the article to me,” came Maggie’s reply.

“Alright, that would be nice. Let me skip the opening paragraph and go straight to the heart of what Johnson writes.”

He ran his eye down the page.

“Apparently, the author had a dog called Boswell who died from choking on a chicken bone, which sort of raises some questions, but anyway then Johnson writes in his second paragraph.

This week I found myself wondering about Boswell’s origins. From what creature did the domestic dog arise? Darwin suggested that wolves, coyotes, and jackals — all of which can interbreed and produce fertile offspring — may all have played a role, producing a complex dog ancestry that would be impossible to unravel. In the 1950s, Nobel Prize-winning behaviourist Konrad Lorenz suggested some dog breeds derive from jackals, others from wolves.

Based on anatomy, most biologists have put their money on the wolf, but until recently there was little hard evidence, and, as you might expect if you know scientists, lots of opinions.”

Philip looked up. “Is this OK for you? Am I reading clearly?”

“Yes, of course,” Maggie replied.

Philip again looked down at the paper, continuing, “The issue was finally settled in 1997 by an international team of scientists led by Robert Wayne of the University of California, Los Angeles. To sort out the evolutionary origin of the family dog, Wayne and his colleagues used the techniques of molecular biology to compare the genes of dogs with those of wolves, coyotes and jackals.

Wayne’s team collected blood, tissue, or hair from 140 dogs of sixty-seven breeds, and 162 wolves from North America, Europe, Asia, and Arabia. From each sample they extracted DNA from the tiny organelles within cells called mitochondria.”

Philip paused, took a couple of breaths, and carried on.

“While the chromosome DNA of an animal cell derives from both parents, the mitochondrial DNA comes entirely from the mother. Biologists love to study mitochondrial DNA because of this simple line of descent, female-to-female-to-female. As changes called mutations occur due to copying mistakes or DNA damage, the mitochondrial DNA of two diverging lines becomes more and more different. Ancestors can be clearly identified when you are studying mitochondrial DNA, because clusters of mutations are not shuffled into new combinations like the genes on chromosomes are. They remain together as a particular sequence, a signature of that line of descent.”

Philip again paused, looked up at Maggie. “Have to say I’m not completely clear just what the author is explaining here but, as you will hear, the crux of the findings is unmistakable.”

Turning back to the article, he continued, “When Wayne looked at his canine mitochondrial DNA samples, he found that wolves and coyotes differ by about 6% in their mitochondrial DNA, while wolves and dogs differ by only 1%. Already it smelled like the wolf was the ancestor.

Wayne’s team then focused their attention on one small portion of the mitochondrial DNA called the control region, because it was known to vary a lot among mammals. Among the sixty seven breeds of dogs, Wayne’s team found a total of 26 different sequences in the control region, each differing from the others at one or a few sites. No one breed had a characteristic sequence — rather, the breeds of dogs share a common pool of genetic diversity.”

Philip again looked up at Maggie.

“This is where it gets fascinating,” and looking back down, went on to read, “Wolves had 27 different sequences in the control region, none of them exactly the same as any dog sequence, but all very similar to the dog sequences, differing from them at most at 12 sites along the DNA, and usually fewer.

Coyote and jackal were a lot more different from dogs than wolves were. Every coyote and jackal sequence differed from any dog sequence by at least 20 sites, and many by far more.

That settled it. Dogs are domesticated wolves.”

The dog’s origin is the wolf. Philip paused, wanting the significance of this to settle over the two of them. Or, perhaps, better said, settle over the three of them, for Pharaoh was laying prone on his tummy with his head resting between both outstretched front paws. He was far from sleeping. One could almost imagine that he was as engrossed in the findings of Dr. George Johnson as Maggie appeared to be.

Philip continued, “Using statistical methods to compare the relative similarity of the sequences, Wayne found that all the dog sequences fell into four distinct groups. The largest, containing 19 of the 26 sequences and representing 3/4 of modern dogs, resulted from a single female wolf lineage. The three smaller groups seem to represent later events when other wolves mated with the now-domesticated dogs. Domestication, it seems, didn’t happen very often, and perhaps only once.”

Again, Philip looked up, “Maggie, just listen to this last paragraph.

The large number of different dog sequences, and the fact that no wolf sequences are found among them, suggests that dogs must have been separated from wolves for a long time. The oldest clear fossil evidence for dogs is 12,000 – 14,000 years ago, about when farming arose. But that’s not enough time to accumulate such a large amount of mitochondrial DNA difference. Perhaps dogs before then just didn’t look much different from wolves, and so didn’t leave dog-like fossils. Our species first developed speech and left Africa about 50,000 years ago. I bet that’s when dogs came aboard, when our hunter-gatherer ancestors first encountered them. They would have been great hunting companions.”

Philip put the article down on the low wooden table in front of the settee. Pharaoh rolled over on to his side and closed his eyes.

“Just think, Maggie, humans have had a relationship with dogs for fifty thousand years. It really does feel that we humans were only able to evolve from the life-style of hunter-gatherer to that of farmer because of dogs. By that I mean that dogs helped us to be such successful hunters; that we became so well nourished that we weren’t living hand-to-mouth, as it were. Plus that dogs could protect us as we cleared the lands and became farmers of nature’s bounty.”

There was a silence in the living room. A silence that flowed from both Maggie and Philip letting the enormity of these findings work their way into their consciousnesses. Fifty thousand years. It was almost beyond grasp. Surely no other animal has been so bound to the fortunes of humans as the dog. Philip had no intellectual or educational background, no objective means, to embrace this finding in anything other than a deeply subjective, emotional way. He couldn’t articulate what it surely had to mean for the animal species, dog, to have been living, and dying, in such close association to the human species, man, for fifty thousand years. “Phew!” was the only sound to escape his lips.

“Just going to step outside, Maggie.”

“OK,” she replied. “Oh, looks as though Pharaoh’s coming out with you.”

Philip and Pharaoh stood on that gravelly front level just down from the front door. It was a crystal clear night. In the cul-de-sac where they lived, the glow of room-lights from many other homes was shining out through drawn curtains in numerous windows.

Overhead, the scale of the night sky spoke to him. Those twinkling stars seemed to offer the same feelings of time and distance as those years of the relationship between man and dog. That distant starlight that had been journeying for inconceivable amounts of time arriving here, at this very moment, this very instance, shining down on man and dog that, likewise, had been on an incredible journey; shining down on Philip and Pharaoh.

Smart animals!

It’s not just dogs who can read us so well.

Millions of dog owners know how well their animals can read us humans; it’s been mentioned on Learning from Dogs many times before.

Try elephants.

There was a fascinating article on the BBC news website a few weeks ago that went on to explain:

10 October 2013

Elephants ‘understand human gesture’

By Victoria GillScience reporter, BBC News
African elephants have demonstrated what appears to be an instinctive understanding of human gestures, according to UK scientists. In a series of tests, researcher Ann Smet, of the University of St Andrews, offered the animals a choice between two identical buckets, then pointed at the one containing a hidden treat.

From the first trial, the elephants chose the correct bucket.

The results are published in the journal Current Biology.

The item included a short video that I am delighted to say is on YouTube. Here it is:

Published on Oct 10, 2013

African elephants have demonstrated what appears to be an instinctive understanding of human gestures, according to UK scientists.

In a series of tests, researcher Ann Smet, of the University of St Andrews, offered the animals a choice between two identical buckets, then pointed at the one containing a hidden treat.

From the first trial, the elephants chose the correct bucket.

The results are published in the journal Current Biology.

The scientists worked with captive elephants at a lodge in Zimbabwe.

Prof Richard Byrne, a co-author on the research, said the elephants had been rescued from culling operations and trained for riding.

“They specifically train the elephants to respond to vocal cues. They don’t use any gestures at all,” said Prof Byrne.

“The idea is that the handler can walk behind the elephant and just tell it what to do with words.”

Despite this, the animals seemed to grasp the meaning of pointing from the outset.

Ms Smet added that she had been impressed by the animals’ apparently innate understanding of the gesture.

“Of course we had hoped that the elephants would be able to learn to follow human pointing, or we wouldn’t have done the experiment in the first place,” she said.

“But it was really surprising that they didn’t seem to have to learn anything.

“It seems that understanding pointing is an ability elephants just possess naturally and they are cognitively much more like us than has been realised.”

Prof Byrne said studying elephants helped build a map of part of the evolutionary tree that is very distant from humans.

“They’re so unrelated to us,” he told BBC News. “So if we find human-like abilities in an animal like an elephant, that hasn’t shared a common ancestor with people for more than 100 million years , we can be pretty sure that it’s evolved completely separately, by what’s called convergent evolution.”

The researchers said their findings might explain how elephants have successfully been tamed and have “historically had a close bond with humans, in spite of being potentially dangerous and unmanageable due to their great size”.

But the scientists added the results could be a hint that the animals gesture to one another in the wild with their “highly controllable trunks”.

Ms Smet told BBC News: “The next step [in our research] is to test whether when an elephant extends its trunk upwards and outwards – as they regularly do, such as when detecting a predator, this functions as a point.”

That BBC article goes on to highlight:

Prof Byrne said studying elephants helped build a map of part of the evolutionary tree that is very distant from humans.

“They’re so unrelated to us,” he told BBC News. “So if we find human-like abilities in an animal like an elephant, that hasn’t shared a common ancestor with people for more than 100 million years , we can be pretty sure that it’s evolved completely separately, by what’s called convergent evolution.”

The researchers said their findings might explain how elephants have successfully been tamed and have “historically had a close bond with humans, in spite of being potentially dangerous and unmanageable due to their great size”.

But the scientists added the results could be a hint that the animals gesture to one another in the wild with their “highly controllable trunks”.

Ms Smet told BBC News: “The next step [in our research] is to test whether when an elephant extends its trunk upwards and outwards – as they regularly do, such as when detecting a predator, this functions as a point.”

Now just where did I pack my old trunk.

The book! Chapter Five

Was there ever a time when I wasn’t writing a book? 😉

Woke this morning worrying that pushing on with the book was not going to be easy (Chapter Eight) but then surprised myself by getting into some sort of groove and in a couple of hours had 1,300 words under my belt by 2pm.

Thus trying to find any connection between mood, fears and creativity doesn’t seem possible – thank goodness!

One other aspect that is coming through is seeing that some of the earlier completed chapters need some adjusting to better link the story to later chapters. So, I have to admit to a little editing going on, amendments that haven’t been applied to the drafts that have been published on Learning from Dogs.

Thus I’m showing my weakness to want to go back and fiddle with earlier passages against the advice of the professionals in focusing on only one thing: writing!

Ah well, only another 18 days to go!

oooOOOooo

Learning from Dogs

Chapter Five

Angela took a deep breath. “I guess we need to go back a very long way to get to the start of the story of dogs. Dogs are part of the Canidae species, the species that includes wolves, coyotes and foxes. It’s a species that scientists believe evolved millions of years ago. The evidence of when dogs and man came together is unclear, as you might expect from something so long ago. But the evidence is pretty clear that when the forerunners of modern man left Africa and started to expand out across Northern Europe and elsewhere, somewhere along that journey we see the first signs of the dog.”

Philip listened, utterly enthralled by Angela’s opening remarks. As much because Angela’s cosy, easy-on-the-soul personality belied her obvious depth of knowledge of dogs.

She continued, “My understanding, and I’m no scientist, is that our forerunners out of Africa were smarter than the Neanderthals, used language, developed tools and benefitted as hunters enormously because of their relationship with dogs.”

“In fact, I have a fascinating article from a real scientist, an American, George Johnson, who has done a lot of research into the evolution of the domestic dog. I’ll give you a copy before you leave.”

Philip took a long drink of the tea. Gracious it went down well.

“Angela, this is utterly fascinating and, yes, would love to read that research article by that American scientist. But, surely, that can’t have any bearing on today’s dogs?”

“Well, yes and no,” was her reply, going on to say, “Despite dogs these days having no awareness of the natural pack size and dynamics of their doggie ancestors they still carry the genetic imprint, for want of a better description, of the structure, the hierarchies, as it were, of those ancient times.”

Philip had a question come to mind. “What about feral dogs? Surely in some countries the number of feral dogs is huge, don’t they adopt pack behaviours of the early days?”

“That’s a good point, Philip, but even if feral dogs pack together, and they do for hunting and food-seeking purposes, feral dogs are such a mixture of breeds and temperaments that there isn’t a chance of a cohesive group coming together in the way that dogs did way back in earlier times when all those dogs would have been one doggie community.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Philip reflected.

Angela continued, “We are pretty sure that in the early days of dogs evolving from the grey wolf, they maintained a similar social order. George Johnson covers that well in his article. That is in a pack size of around fifty animals the group was guided by just three social differentiations.”

She finished her tea and went on to explain, “There were just three dogs who had a social role, a social status, in the pack. The first role was that of alpha dog, almost predominantly a female dog. Then there was the beta dog, this time usually a male. Finally, the omega dog that could be of either gender. That’s what was believed for years.”

Philip reflected how in common parlance the term alpha tended to be associated to the phrase alpha male.

Angela continued. “Recently, however, it’s become clear that these alpha, beta, omega terms and descriptions are a long way from being accurate. The more appropriate description is to see those roles under the general heading of teaching dogs with the additional sub-division of mentor, nannie and minder.”

“Are you following this?”

Philip immediately replied, “Oh yes, this is absolutely fascinating. I had no idea at all.”

Angela’s responded, “Well, I’ll finish off for this morning by briefly describing those differences within teaching dogs.

Let’s start with the mentor. This is a dog that is normally assertive by nature; quietly so. Not dogs that play much, unless flirting with the opposite sex. However, they do build the strongest bonds with other high ranking dogs of the same sex. In their position as a teaching dog they are dominant but in a way that trainers would describe as passively dominant. So they would always meet a dog with assertiveness but never with hostility. Mentor dogs relax other dogs less with the use of body language as such but more often because their presence just has a calming effect on most other dogs.”

Angela paused, “Philip, can I make you another tea?”

“No, I’m fine. Far too engrossed with what you are saying to want your flow interrupted by another brew-up!” Angela smiled.

“So, let me finish off describing mentor dogs. Often the mentor dog, when working in a group of dogs, will watch from the sidelines and only become involved if absolutely necessary. And, of course, that necessity is the mentor’s evaluation; almost impossible for us humans to interpret. As I like to say, dogs speak dog so much better than us humans speak dog!”

Almost as though he were listening and approved Angela’s last observation, at that moment there was a quiet moan of contentment from Pharaoh curled up, as he still was, on the cushion. Philip, with a bit of a shock, realised that he had forgotten that Pharaoh was even in the caravan with them. Not only in the caravan but sleeping on the cushion just four feet away. Angela’s words were captivating him.

She had paused on the sound of Pharaoh’s little moan and now continued.

“Mentors can be quite lazy! They have a very interesting and, to a great degree, a rather complex view of other dogs that they come in contact with. It’s a certain bet that we don’t know the half of it when it comes to understanding the mentor teaching dog. For example, they will support other teaching dogs where needed, showing, for instance, what to do in difficult situations if that other teaching dog is not coping. But the mental analysis and language used by the mentor dog in these circumstances is way beyond the comprehension of us humans, even those who have spent a lifetime studying dogs.

The last aspect of mentors, I should say, is that there is a varied reaction from other dogs to a mentor dog. Some dogs take great confidence in a mentor and whilst not necessarily submissive towards them, they are very respectful. But others find a mentor intimidating and will avoid making contact with them.”

Angela paused.

Philip was blown away, to use the modern vernacular term. Once again, he was dumbfounded that there was so much more to the dog world than he could have ever imagined.

“Want me to carry on with the other teaching dog roles?”

Philip didn’t hesitate for a moment with his reply. “I could listen to this all day. It’s stupendously interesting.”

“OK, then we have to look at the two other teaching dog roles that we know exist in today’s dogs.”

Angela kept going, “The minder is totally different to the mentor dog. In the sense of being different in the way they interact with the dogs they are teaching. When a minder meets another dog, they approach with the active intention of interacting with them. The minder dog is naturally assertive, often strongly assertive as your Pharaoh is, but ultimately not as strong as the mentor dog. When the minder dog meets another dog, in a teaching situation, they assess the new dog as it approaches and use appropriate body language in accordance to the other dog’s reaction to them. That makes them frequently more demonstrative than a mentor, and the minder dog will actively seek interaction within a few minutes of meeting a new dog. That interaction does not necessarily mean an invitation to play, far from it. If the minder feels the other dog is not ready for that level of interaction, they will converse with them, dog to dog, in a more subtle manner.”

Angela paused. “When I think about of all the teaching roles, the minder dog is the one role that is incredibly interesting, with so many different levels of communication going on.”

She continued, “For example, if the other dog is worried but shows signs of being ready to rush at the minder, the minder will stand firmly with their head side on to the dog. Eye contact is made intermittently as the minder determines whether the new dog is calming down or intending to rush at the minder.

The minder can stand firm and openly display assertiveness if they need to. Once the situation is under control, from the minder’s perspective, the minder will generally initiate status type activities from the other dog. Such as by marking then walking away allowing the other dog to investigate the minder’s scent. Or the minder may invite the other dog into a status game, often instigating a chase.”

Angela paused to sweep some grey hairs to behind her left ear.

“Then again, if the other dog shows signs at trying to drive the minder away, the minder will turn their head towards them and eye contact becomes stronger. They do not reposition any other part of their body. If the other dog shows signs of moving away, the minder will totally drop their body language and move away. The minder will then reassess the other dog from a distance, before approaching again.

Finally, and this is what makes the minder such a fabulous teaching dog, the minder will monitor other dogs closely and interrupt any unsociable or unruly behaviour. Unacceptable behaviour is stopped by the minder dog physically placing themselves between the dogs in question and remaining there until the tension has reduced. Once calm has returned the minder will usually walk away and monitor the dogs from a distance. In effect, the minder is policing a group of dogs, for the greater benefit of the whole group. Most dogs recognise a minder as a strong dog and usually respect them. Sometimes polite status games may be played when they first meet. Yet what is fascinating is that the minder dog, while a strong dog, does not naturally command respect in the way a mentor dog does. So you can have a situation where some dogs who have limited canine communication skills or are adolescent can challenge the minder.”

“Bingo!” Philip exclaimed. “Now I know what happened at that class at South Brent. I sensed that the Pit Bull had an unruly personality and Pharaoh’s reaction, I presume, was to signal to the Pit Bull that he was not welcome.”

“That would have been my guess,” Angela confirmed, then continuing, “So let’s look at the last of the three teaching roles, that of the nanny dog.

In many ways, the nanny is the most amazing of all the teaching dogs. Uniquely amongst the three teaching roles, a strong nanny can temporarily take on the role of a minder or even a mentor if needed. They are extremely generous dogs and are at their happiest when everyone else is happy, including other teaching dogs. What is amazing, considering that they can be of the same breed, within the same pack, yet they function so very differently to the mentor and minder teaching dogs.”

Angela scratched an itch on the side of her head, continuing, “The nanny dog not only relaxes a dog who is uncomfortable or anti-social but also extends to helping relax a mentor or minder belonging to the group. Mentors rarely get overly stressed in teaching situations but minders often take their role quite seriously and consequently can become tense when working. If a nanny dog sees another teaching dog, most often a minder, showing stress the nanny will consciously use their body language to reduce the tension of fellow teaching dogs as well. That’s why the nanny dog has been called by some as the clown dog. Not in the sense of clowning around but offering happiness to their fellow group members. It’s fair to say that of all the teaching dogs the nanny dog is more likely to be happy in most situations.”

Philip was in one of those rare emotional places, that of fully and comprehensively embracing the meaning of an aspect of his life. For evermore, a dog would not be some cute, cuddly pet but the modern, living embodiment of a species that not only has been with man for, literally, thousands of years, but has been instrumental in man’s development for the last ten or fifteen thousand years, most probably many more years before that.

“Angela, I’m practically speechless and, trust me, that doesn’t happen too often.” There was a wry smile on Philip’s face that connected with Angela.

With the corners of Angela’s mouth turned up in harmony with Philip’s mood, she said, “I’m so pleased. Despite having seen hundreds of dog owners over my years, I was always puzzled by how few were motivated to understand, thoroughly, what makes the dog the animal that it is.”

Pharaoh sensed some ending coming along and shuffled up from his prone position on the settee cushion to sitting on his haunches. He was looking alertly towards Angela.

She continued, “So let’s call it a day at this point. I’ll tell you what I think your plan should be.”

Angela stood up, stretched her arms and stifled a yawn with her right hand.

“Whoops, apologies, don’t know where that came from! Been talking too much, I suspect.”

Going on to say, “For a few weeks, why don’t you bring Pharaoh up here once a week, twice a week if you can make it, and we’ll reinforce the owner-dog relationship between the two of you. It will also give me a chance to get to know Pharaoh better, see how he reacts to some of the poor souls that I see here.”

She added, more as an afterthought, “But have to say that there is very little doubt in my mind that Pharaoh is a beautiful example of a teaching dog; a minder. I have no doubt that he would be fantastic in that role.”

Philip turned that over for a few moments. “Angela, you need to tell me what the cost of his training would be?”

“Well, normally,” she replied, “I charge fifteen pounds for a training lesson. But in this instance, let’s just run an open account for a while. Because, if you are happy for Pharaoh to be a teaching dog in helping sort out the dysfunctional dogs that come to me, then I would be paying you. Won’t be a lot, I’m here to tell you, but it’s all grist to the mill isn’t it.”

There was a pause before Philip went on to ask. “Angela, what’s your view about walking Pharaoh in public places, such as Totnes High Street, for example?” Going on to add, “I just want to avoid any conflict between Pharaoh and another dog, or, more importantly another person.”

“Good point, Philip. Of all the teaching dogs, the minder is the one dog that can make instant intuitive judgments of other dogs and other people. Totally beyond us humans to be in mental harmony with both the speed of a minder dog’s judgmental process and what that dog has instinctively cottoned on to. So rather than be less than perfectly relaxed when you are out and about with Pharaoh, get Pharaoh comfortable in wearing a full muzzle. They don’t bother them once they associate wearing a muzzle with being out in interesting places. Don’t leave it on Pharaoh at home or in the car, just put it on when you are going to be amongst people and dogs where there might be the slightest chance of aggravation.”

Angela added, “Mole Valley Farmers over at their store near Newton Abbot have a good selection.”

Philip was, indeed, a very happy man now.

“Oh, hang on a moment, let me get you a copy of that article about the history of the family dog, the article by Dr. George Johnson.”

A few minutes later Philip was swinging the car out of Angela’s yard and starting the return journey to Harberton.

Finding the source of the River Dart would have to wait once again.

The book! Chapter Four

A bit of a slog just now!

My sub-heading is further forward in time, as it were, than Chapter Four represents.

Because at the time of preparing this post for today. i.e. yesterday afternoon, while I am releasing Chapter Four to you very forgiving readers, in terms of my current position, I have just started Chapter Eight. So on the NaNoWriMo website, my word count is, or will be within the next hour, around the 16,500 mark, as opposed to the word count at the end of Chapter Four which was 10,100 words.

On one hand that feels like some achievement but the reality is that it is very close to where I have to be today, to achieve the 50,000 words by the end of November and, guess what, another 1,660 words has to be created tomorrow, and Tuesday, and Wednesday, and ….. I’m sure you get the message.

Anyway, enough of this waffling, I have words to write! 😉

Here’s Chapter Four that continued from Chapter three here.

oooOOOooo

Learning from Dogs.

Chapter Four

Upon his return to Harberton, Philip’s change of mood was unmistakable from that when he and Pharaoh had left the house a little over three hours ago. He opened the front door, allowing Pharaoh to push past him, as he always did, and stepped into the house.

Maggie was downstairs in their bedroom sorting through laundry. Philip, led by Pharaoh, went in to the room. He sat on the edge of the made-up bed.

“Guess what, Maggie!” he exclaimed. “We had the most amazing stroke of luck.”

“Come on,” Maggie replied, “Let’s go upstairs and I’ll make us some coffee and you can tell me all about it.”

As they sat drinking their coffees, Philip explaining the chance meeting with Angela and next Wednesday’s appointment, the grey cloud was breaking up and letting a fitful November’s Winter sun through the pair of full length windows that looked Southwards out over the tiny cul-de-sac where their house was situated. Maggie and Philip had lived here for some eight years, coming together to live here about a year after they had first met. Luckily, at that time Philip had been in rented accommodation in a farmhouse just a couple of miles away. So when Philip suggested that he and Maggie buy a house together, it was an uncomplicated move.

They had struck lucky in finding the property soon after this house had come on to the market. It was actually a converted stone cow-shed that had originally been built over two hundred years ago. The stone barn, to give it a more accurate description, was the typical Devon stone barn in that the cattle were accommodated, stable fashion, at ground level and the hay was stored on the level above. At that time, the barn would have been on the edge, and connected to, the open grassland to their West. But when the barn was taken out of agricultural use and sold, it had only a fraction of that pre-existing grassland attached.

The local guy who had done the conversion some twenty years ago had done it as an ‘upside-down’ house with the living rooms above the two bedrooms and family bathroom on the ground level. But despite it being a smallish house, it was full of character and Philip had been lucky to find out about it. In fact, from a casual remark over a pint of Devon ale in the Church House Inn, the local village pub. Philip had idly asked David, the publican, if he knew of any houses for sale in the village. David had put a hand up to halt Philip in mid-sentence and called across the bar, “Barry, someone wants to buy your barn!” And that had been that.

Before Philip knew it, Wednesday morning had arrived. Monday and Tuesday had been busy days for him. Since he had returned in 1993 from a few years living overseas, he had found himself being asked to provide mentoring support to a number of other entrepreneurs. Philip had been fortunate to start his own business back in 1978 after leaving IBM in the UK, and even more fortunate to have someone contact him in 1986 enquiring if Philip might be interested in selling out. Ever the salesman, Philip was delighted to close the deal and take a few years off bumming around the Mediterranean.

This part of South-West England had many who either wanted to start their own business or needed support in developing an already established operation. It wasn’t a great money-spinner for Philip but the connections and the variety of different businesses out there, plus so many fascinating entrepreneurs, made it very enjoyable. Plus he, himself, was constantly learning new ideas.

Of course, any reminiscences of the past had Philip lingering in the memories of those years from 1978 through to 1986, the years that he ran his own business. Way back to the early days of business computing. Back to a chance meeting with the sales manager of Commodore Computers UK at their Chiswick headquarters to the west of London. How he had become the sixth Commodore Computer dealer in the UK based in Colchester in early 1979 and been offered the opportunity of distributing a word-processing program for the Commodore ‘PET’. While he hadn’t a clue about computers, Philip had left IBM as an experienced word processing salesman. In a dramatic turn of fortune, Philip went from having trouble spelling the word computer to being able to offer the Commodore Computer with word-processing software for businesses for around a tenth of the cost of then ‘stand-alone’ word-processing machines. It really was a licence to print money.

He must have become lost in thought to the point where Pharaoh had to remind him with a nudge from a warm snout that they were going out and to, please, open that front door! A very excited Pharaoh bounced down the steps, he sensed something very different about this day.

Again, South Devon was offering typical November weather with low grey clouds and the promise of rain. Philip had Pharaoh’s regular leash plus he had grabbed the body harness that was such a gentle alternative to tugging on a dog’s collar.

As he drove across to Staverton to walk some of Pharaoh’s excitement away, before going on to Angela, his mind drifted back to those days of running his own business, reflecting on how quickly demand for his software had him setting up country distributors right across the world. In America, he had set up a distributor for the eastern part of the USA in Philadelphia in New Jersey, and in Southern California had likewise appointed a distributor, Danny Mitchell, for the western half of the US.

Dear old Danny Mitchell, what a character he had been. No, that’s wrong, it should be what a character he still is! Danny and Philip had formed a fantastic relationship that was still going strong today after more than twenty-four years.

It was a little after nine-thirty when he parked nose-in to James’ field gate. He let Pharaoh out of the car, locked the car doors and opened the gate to the upper field. Just for a change and just as much for the experiment, once the gate was closed behind them, he commanded Pharaoh to sit.

“Pharaoh, stay!” Philip quietly unclipped the leash. “Pharaoh heel!” Philip slapped his left thigh with his left hand, and set off down the grassy path. As he hoped, Pharaoh trotted beautifully to heel, even up to within a few yards of the edge of the woods.

“Pharaoh, sit!” Philip rubbed Pharaoh’s forehead, just where the blackness of his snout filtered into the black-brown hair across his wide, brown eyes. “There’s a good boy. Go on then, off you go.”

Pharaoh was away into the trees.

Philip found one of the stumps he used for such mornings, swept the back of his coat underneath his backside and sat down on the old oak stump.

The hour passed as gently as one could ever wish for and, as if on cue, Pharaoh trotted up to where Philip was still sitting just about when it was time to be off to Angela’s place.

Soon they were back in the car and Philip reversed out into the lane and repeated the car journey of just last Sunday. He couldn’t square the circle of the events since that Deborah Longland had marched them off, figuratively speaking, from her class just last Saturday afternoon. It seemed like a lifetime ago. That old chestnut came to mind; one of many that he was apt to use. The one about never underestimating the power of unintended consequences!

As they nosed again into Angela’s yard area, about ten minutes before eleven, she was there expecting them. This time the muddy overalls and red plastic boots had been cast aside for a pair of freshly laundered blue jeans, fitting snugly around her hips, over a pair of soft, walking shoes, topped with a cotton blue-and-white blouse showing from under a woollen pullover. Angela’s face declared more make-up than last Sunday.

“Morning Philip,” Angela called out in a bright and breezy manner as Philip closed his driver’s door behind him.

“Good morning to you, Angela. What’s the plan then?”

“It’s quite simple, Philip. Just walk him on his leash over towards that fenced off pasture, just where I’m pointing. Stop before reaching the gate when you are five or ten feet away.”

Philip opened the tail-gate quietly surprised that Pharaoh was in a very contented mood. Despite the lure of so many new sights and smells, Pharaoh sat on his haunches as Philip clipped on his leash.

“Down Pharaoh. Pharaoh sit. Pharaoh heel.” Bless him, Philip thought, he’s behaving immaculately.

As they came to a halt, Angela standing a little before the gate, Philip noticed that in the far left-hand corner of the pasture were two dogs. Philip was totally thrown by Angela’s next instruction.

“Philip, I’m going to open the gate a little and stand back. Just slip inside the field, let Pharaoh off his leash and then leave him to do just what he wants to do.”

“But Angela, I can’t guarantee that he won’t go across and be aggressive to those dogs over there.”

“Don’t worry, Philip. This is not as random and unplanned as you may think.”

Angela then unlatched the gate and opened it towards her by quite an amount. She then stood back.

Pharaoh looked at the open gate and the two dogs a good hundred yards from him in that corner of the field. Philip released the leash and stepped out. Pharaoh walked confidently in beyond the open gate and further on for about twenty-five yards. Pharaoh hesitated.

Then came the call from Angela that would be destined to be in Philip’s consciousness for the rest of his days.

“There’s nothing wrong with Pharaoh!”

Philip practically choked on getting his next words out. “Sorry? Not sure I heard you correctly? Did you say there’s nothing wrong? But don’t understand. How on earth can you tell so quickly when Pharaoh’s hardly even entered the field?”

“Philip, it’s very easy. Because my two dogs haven’t taken any notice of him. He’ll be fine. Let’s just lean on the fence and watch the three of them and I’ll explain what’s going on.”

Philip came up and lent his arms over the top horizontal rail of the fence, its height comfortably allowing the rail to run across his chest and under each armpit. Angela, being a little shorter than Philip, stood next to him with her hands on the rail.

“Those two dogs of mine in the field are Sam and Meda. They are both teaching dogs. Sam is a teaching dog, a male, that we would describe as a Nannie and Meda is a female teaching dog more closely described as a Mentor. Don’t worry just now, I’ll explain all later. Let’s just watch Pharaoh’s interaction with them for a while.”

Philip was silent, utterly overcome with emotion. He loved that dog of his so much and had been so worried these past few days that to have Angela’s endorsement of him in this manner was joy beyond joy.

He watched as Pharaoh came up to Angela’s two dogs, head slightly lowered, tail down, seemingly offering himself to Sam and Meda as a submissive youngster ready to learn.

Sam took no notice at all of Pharaoh as Meda partially encircled Pharaoh, sniffed his bum and then, miracle of miracles, softly touched wet nose to wet nose. Pharaoh noticeably perked up and as Sam came across to greet this new companion, Pharaoh’s tail gently wagged a return greeting. Sam then hung back as Meda appeared to take Pharaoh on a bit of tour around the field, sharing this smell and that smell.

“Do you know what, Philip,” Angela remarked, “I’m pretty sure that Pharaoh is another Mentor.”

She continued, “I can see no difference in their hierarchies. In other words Pharaoh is not dominating Meda, neither Meda dominating Pharaoh. I think you have a wonderful German Shepherd. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if I can’t use him teaching some of the poor dogs that come this way.”

Angela added, “Let’s call them in and I’ll make us a nice cup of tea and open your eyes to the magical world of dogs.”

With that Angela called out to her dogs and over they came, Pharaoh happily in tow. Philip was able to call him over to the car and Pharaoh jumped up just as happy as a dog could be.

Sam and Meda had parked themselves somewhere else and Angela pointed Philip towards a static caravan that seemed to be the customer’s lounge. Inside, there was a small gas burner and within minutes the kettle was singing out in the unique way that full kettles sound when they are warming up.

“Sit yourself down in the corner, Philip. Won’t be long. How do you take your tea? White with sugar, or …”

“Just white with no sugar, please Angela. Must say that I could murder a fresh cup of tea.”

“Tell you what, why don’t you go and bring Pharaoh to be with us in the caravan. This story about dogs could take a while!” Angela winked at him.

Moments later, Pharaoh was curled up contentedly on the opposite corner cushion. Shepherds, like most other breeds of dogs, but ten times more so, loved being in the company of humans chatting comfortably together.

Five minutes later, fingers around the warm, white china mug, steam rising from the freshly brewed tea, Philip was all ears to learn more about dogs in general and teaching dogs in particular.

Philip knew that he was on the verge of embracing dogs, in every single meaning of the word. It was a magical morning.

Potentially dangerous Jerky Treats.

With thanks to Cynthia for including me on her recent email.

oooOOOooo

FDA seeks pet owner help on dangerous jerky treats

From Associated Press October 23, 2013 8:17 AM EST

WASHINGTON (AP) — The Food and Drug Administration is appealing to dog and cat owners for information as it struggles to solve a mysterious outbreak of illness and deaths among pets that ate jerky treats.

In a notice to consumers and veterinarians published Tuesday, the agency said it has linked illnesses from jerky pet treats to 3,600 dogs and 10 cats since 2007. About 580 of those pets have died.

The FDA’s Center for Veterinary Medicine has run more than 1,200 tests, visited pet treat manufacturing plants in China and worked with researchers, state labs and foreign governments but hasn’t determined the exact cause of the illness, the FDA statement said.

“This is one of the most elusive and mysterious outbreaks we’ve encountered,” Bernadette Dunham, a veterinarian and head of the FDA vet medicine center, said in the statement.

Pets can suffer from a decreased appetite, decreased activity, vomiting and diarrhea among other symptoms within hours of eating treats sold as jerky tenders or strips made of chicken, duck, sweet potatoes or dried fruit.

Severe cases have involved kidney failure, gastrointestinal bleeding, and a rare kidney disorder, the FDA said.

Most of the jerky treats implicated have been made in China, the FDA said.

The FDA has issued previous warnings. A number of jerky pet treat products were removed from the market in January after a New York state lab reported finding evidence of up to six drugs in certain jerky pet treats made in China, the FDA said. The agency said that while the levels of the drugs were very low and it was unlikely that they caused the illnesses, there was a decrease in reports of jerky-suspected illnesses after the products were removed from the market. FDA believes that the number of reports may have declined simply because fewer jerky treats were available.

oooOOOooo

That FDA Notice is here. I have taken the liberty of republishing it in full.

oooOOOooo

Jerky Pet Treats

dog laying down

The problem

Since 2007, FDA has received reports of illnesses in pets associated with the consumption of jerky pet treats. As of September 24, 2013, FDA has received approximately 3000 reports of pet illnesses which may be related to consumption of the jerky treats. The reports involve more than 3600 dogs, 10 cats and include more than 580 deaths.

What we are doing

FDA is working with laboratories across the country to investigate causes. To date, testing for contaminants in jerky pet treats has not revealed a cause for the illnesses.

We have tested for:

Salmonella
Metals or Elements (such as arsenic, cadmium and lead, etc.)
Markers of irradiation level (such as acyclobutanones).
Pesticides
Antibiotics (including both approved and unapproved sulfanomides and tetracyclines)
Mold and mycotoxins (toxins from mold)
Rodenticides
Nephrotoxins (such as aristolochic acid, maleic acid, paraquat, ethylene glycol, diethylene glycol, toxic hydrocarbons, melamine, and related triazines)
Other chemicals and poisonous compounds (such as endotoxins).

Testing has also included measuring the nutritional composition of jerky pet treats to verify that they contain the ingredients listed on the label and do not contain ingredients that are not listed on the label. Another area of investigation includes the effects of irradiation and its byproducts.

Find out more.

What consumers can do

Watch your pet closely. Signs that may occur within hours to days of feeding the jerky treat products are decreased appetite, decreased activity, vomiting, diarrhea (sometimes with blood or mucus), increased water consumption and/or increased urination. Severe cases are diagnosed with pancreatitis, gastrointestinal bleeding, and kidney failure or the resemblance of a rare kidney related illness called Fanconi syndrome.

If your pet has experienced signs of illness, please report it to FDA. Once a consumer has filed a report with their local FDA Consumer Complaint Coordinator, or electronically through our safety reporting portal, FDA will determine whether there is a need to conduct a follow-up phone call or obtain a sample of the jerky pet treat product in question. While FDA does not necessarily respond to every individual complaint submitted, each report becomes part of the body of knowledge that helps to inform FDA on the situation or incident.

What veterinarians can do

The “Dear Veterinarian” letter to veterinary professionals explains how they can provide valuable assistance to the agency’s investigation, requests that veterinarians report to FDA any cases of jerky pet treat-related illness that come to their attention and, when requested, that they also provide samples for diagnostic testing by the Veterinary Laboratory Investigation and Response Network (Vet-LIRN), a network of veterinary laboratories affiliated with FDA.

oooOOOooo

I just mentioned this to Jeannie who says that while we do feed our dogs jerky treats, she is careful to purchase only those brands that are made in the USA.

Feel free to republish this howsoever you wish.

Picture parade sixteen

When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.

The last set of these beautiful photographs sent in by John Hurlburt.

If you missed John’s previous sets, then the first set is here and the second set here.

And don’t forget to read the closing remark at the foot of this post.

oooo

A few days ago, John sent me some more fabulous pictures. They are of a different style to the last three weeks but still very charming.

The first set of the new pictures from John will be next Sunday, a week from today.

You all look after yourselves out there.

Saturday smile, maybe?

Well, they say it takes all types to make the world what it is.

A few days ago, a neighbour sent me an email that contained a photograph.

My email response was, “Golly, it’s enough to drive me to drink! Am I sufficiently brave to make it Saturday’s post!!”

I very rarely use the ‘click to see more’ function in WordPress but the photograph really does seem to deserve ‘the grand entrance’.

Continue reading “Saturday smile, maybe?” →

The book! Chapter Three.

It seems to be taking over my life!

Here’s Chapter Three. But, in total, I’m close to having written 12,400 words, just a small margin ahead of the need for 11,670 words by Day 7 (I appreciate you will be reading this on November 8th).

So, yes, it’s relentless but while the story line is strong in my head, then it’s not off-putting.

Mind you, it is coming out rather auto-biographically!

Crossed my mind that I will need a page just inside the front cover to the effect, “Any similarity between these fictional characters and real persons is entirely coincidental”! 😉

oooOOOooo

Learning from Dogs.

Chapter Three

Philip’s drive home back to Harberton was altogether a different emotional experience than when he and Pharaoh had earlier headed off to the obedience class at South Brent. He just couldn’t get his head around what had happened. Why that one incident had branded Pharaoh as a dog with an aggression problem, why the trainer hadn’t been better prepared, and on and on. But as much as the thoughts kept running around his mind it didn’t in any way alter the fact that he hadn’t a clue as to why Pharaoh had behaved in that fashion, and where next this was going!

Accepting that this was the first time he had ever owned a dog, so he had no experience of being a dog owner, nonetheless his close bond with Pharaoh convinced him that there was no dark behavioural issue that needed dealing with.

Philip turned right off the Totnes to Harbertonford road, into the small lane high-sided with tall hedgerows that dropped down into the village into the village of Harberton. Less than a mile later he was pulling into the short driveway up to their house and parking in his usual place, next to Maggie’s red Ford Estate. Leaving Pharaoh in the car, he walked back down the driveway and closed the five-bar wooden gate at their driveway entrance.

Pharaoh jumped down from the Volvo as soon as the tailgate was raised. The one, small, positive thing was that it wasn’t raining. Pharaoh sniffed around, cocked his leg against the stone wall that fronted a raised flower bed and skipped up the four stone steps, across the gravel in front of the house and waited for Philip to open the front door.

“Is that you guys?” Maggie called down. “How did it go?” She added, “I wasn’t expecting you for another hour or so.”

Philip took off his raincoat and hung it up on the hooks at the rear of the hallway. He walked up the wooden stairs that led from the level of their front door to the living room on the first floor. Pharaoh had already settled himself in front of the black iron wood-stove in the corner of the room, hogging the warm glow that flooded out.

“So how did Pharaoh get on?” Maggie was keen to know.

“It was a disaster, Maggie.” Philip took a deep breath and continued, “Pharaoh lunged at another dog and the trainer concluded he was an anti-social dog with a problem with aggression. We are not welcome to return to her class.”

He sighed. “Still can’t get my mind around it but it’s fair to say I’m gutted!”

“What are you going to do?” Maggie enquired.

Philip eased himself down on to the settee. “Haven’t a clue just now to be honest. Want to sleep on it, give it a couple of coatings of thought, and just see what tomorrow brings.”

“I’m sure it will be alright, Philip.”

He mused on that last remark of hers. As much as he was so fond of his dear wife, Maggie did seem most times not to engage emotionally with him. Over his years of being a mentor specialising in helping those running their own businesses, and being on the receiving end of counselling from time to time, there was no doubt that people rarely opened up to their deeper feelings without a little bit of an empathetic nudge. He reflected on how simple yet how powerful was the question, ‘Tell me how you are feeling just now?’

Maggie had left the living area and climbed up the steep, wooden stairway that lead to their third-level mezzanine floor. This was where she worked for many hours of the day painting her miniature paintings that, Philip willingly admitted, were much in demand.

However, he would have so longed to sit close to Maggie on their settee as the Winter afternoon headed for twilight. He would even have settled for the offer of a cup of tea!

He must have been radiating some form of sadness, some form of angst, for Pharaoh softly raised himself from the fireside carpet and came across to Philip and gently rested his jaw across Philip’s right upper leg. No other way to describe that other than unconditional affection. A simple, yet powerful, gesture by a dog for a human. The contrast between Pharaoh recognising that Philip needed a hug, doggie fashion, and Maggie missing Philip’s need was stark. Oh well!

Philip awoke on the Sunday, a little before eight in the morning, and despite the weather still being poor with low grey clouds scudding overhead and the threat of rain ever present, he shaved, dressed, made himself a quick breakfast, grabbed Pharaoh’s leash, the keys to the Volvo and headed down to the front door. He had left Maggie asleep in their bed, presuming that she would know where he and Pharaoh had gone when she awoke.

Pharaoh, of course, immediately guessed it was walking time, despite it being earlier than usual. He bounded out of the front door down the few steps to the driveway and waited expectantly for the Volvo’s tailgate to be opened.

Twenty minutes later, Philip was walking Pharaoh down the grassy edge-line of the large twelve-acre field to his left, dark hedgerow to his right, the woods less than a couple-of-hundred yards ahead of them.

This tiny paradise deep in the heart of South Devon meant so much to Philip. Cut off from people, phones, the internet and all the consumerism of modern life, this was the place where he could restore some form of mental balance. He often wondered about what these lands could tell if only the ancient pastures and woodlands could voice their histories. The woods were known to be very old and when James was bidding for them, he only managed to win them by a nose from the Woodlands Trust who were going to preserve the woods for evermore.

But James and his Dad had done the job just as well. The woods were still unchanged from long, long ago. All that James had done was to convert three acres of the top grassland into a large bed for the planting and harvesting of Eucalyptus trees. There was a ready market for the trees in the floristry trade.

In the Springtime, the woods were glorious. The mix of larch, ash and old oak tree species that can only come from years and years of being left untouched were full of Bluebells. The dainty blue flowers practically covered the ground beneath the acres of trees. Goodness knows how many years that had taken.

Pharaoh, released from his leash, bounded off to check out once more whatever it was that he checked out each time they came here.

Philip, meanwhile, slowly worked his way into the depths of the woods. The sound of a long, steamy, locomotive whistle suddenly echoed through the trees. That was not uncommon as the line of the Dartmouth Steam Railway at this point ran alongside the quiet waters of the River Dart, sandwiched between the edge of James’ woods and the river.

The line, running between Paignton and Dartmouth, had been a victim of Government cuts, the so-called Beeching cuts, back in the late sixties but had been rescued by the newly formed Dart Valley Railway company and operated successfully ever since. The chuffing sound of the black steam engine, the rising of smoke and steam into the damp, valley air, a train consisting of three cream and brown passenger coaches, so perfectly matched the sense of earlier times, for the railway had been completed, if Philip recalled correctly, way back in the mid-eighteenth century.

The rear of the last coach, sporting a pair of the red-lensed oil lamps, disappeared from sight around the bend of the river bank. Philip returned to his thoughts.

When he had woken this morning, he was pretty certain that the judgment of Pharaoh was utterly wrong. Then shaving, as he looked at the reflection of his face in the mirror, always a good time of the day to make sense of stuff, the ‘pretty’ part of his notion ‘pretty certain’ washed away as simply as the shaving foam washed from his face. Philip would stake his life on the fact that Pharaoh was not an aggressive dog!

Nevertheless, as he stood under the trees, he had to admit that Pharaoh had acted in a way towards that Pit Bull that, at the very least, appeared to be anti-social.

What to do?

Then it came to him. Pharaoh needed to be observed with other dogs in a less stressful situation than that of yesterday’s obedience class. How about walking him on Dartmoor. It was a Sunday morning, not unreasonable weather for the time of the year, and there would be plenty of walkers out with their dogs on the Moor.

He called Pharaoh back to him, snapped the leash to his collar and walked back to the car. As he hoped his mobile phone was in the glove compartment. He stood outside the car for better reception and called home.

“Maggie, it’s me. Hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Hi Philip, no, was just making myself a coffee. Where are you?”

“Over at James’ woods. Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about this business with Pharaoh. So ended getting up earlier than usual and taking Pharaoh for a walk.”

Philip added, “Maggie, I’m going to take Pharaoh on to Dartmoor and see how he is with other dogs. Bound to be plenty up there. Will be back in an hour, two at most.”

“OK Philip. Give me a ring if anything changes.”

As he rang off, an idea came to him. An idea prompted by that view of the River Dart a few minutes ago. He had always meant to find the source of the River Dart. He knew it was somewhere up on Dartmoor but in all his years of living in South Devon he had never taken time to find the spot.

He would first go to Dartmeet, the place where the two branches of the young river meet, hence the name. It was a favourite place for walkers as there were lovely pathways along the river banks. When he and Maggie were getting to know each other, they had enjoyed Summer walks and picnics in the Dartmeet area.

In fact, this was turning out to be a brilliant idea as the back road from Staverton, across the A38 and on up to the Moor more or less followed the course of the River Dart.

He started the engine and reversed carefully out of the field entranceway into Sandy Lane. He loved driving along these narrow Devon lanes, always no wider than a tractor and trailer. What fascinated him was that when two cars or other vehicles came face-to-face, each driver seemed to know instinctively who had the closest grassy lay-by or field entrance behind them. There was never any argy-bargy about the issue. Except, that is, during the Summer months when some visitor to this part of the world tried out one of the lanes, or got lost. Then it was a case of stepping out of the car and saying to the other driver that you think the passing place is closer to them than it is to you. As often as not, simpler just to reverse back rather than suffer the ire of a tourist who wasn’t so hot at reversing in a narrow country lane. Philip early on in his Devon days had learnt to reverse using his wing mirrors.

He smiled in recollection of the day when he came bumper-to-bumper with a woman driver who simply couldn’t reverse her car. Almost immediately that time, another couple of vehicles had pulled up behind him so there was no choice other than the woman’s car had to be reversed. She was adamant that she couldn’t do it. But agreed to Philip sliding into the driver’s seat and reversing the car for her. Luckily only about three-hundred yards back. The other drivers had been very patient, indeed seeing the funny side of the situation.

Sandy Lane became Cabbage Hill leading them to the bridge over the A38, still busy as usual. Practically every square inch of the land either side of them was cultivated or cropped grassland. Yes, it was very rural. Yes, it was a very ancient part of South-West England. But all about them, the intensity of the agriculture, a very modern phenomenon, was unmistakable.

Once over the A38, the lane ran around the left-hand flanks of the village of Ashburton, just off to their right, and then at the top of Bowden Hill, the narrow road headed more or less directly, or as directly as any Devon country road ever did, towards the South-Eastern flanks of Dartmoor. A few miles later, at the start of Newbridge Hill, just a quarter-of-a-mile from the tiny hamlet of Poundsgate, the road forked. Philip started the turn to the left and noticed out of the corner of his eye a sign hanging from a tree at the start of the right-hand fork. It read: ‘GSD Club of Devon Meet – This Way.’

He braked to a halt and reversed carefully back the few yards to the start of the junction. He had never heard of the German Shepherd Dog Club of Devon. This had to be investigated.

He took the right-hand fork and within moments the lane was running through heavily wooded land. They must be within the edge of Dartmoor, he speculated, because it was well known that the lower flanks were heavily forested; all protected woodlands, thank goodness.

Five minutes later, there was a further sign pointing the way to a private lane. He slowly and carefully drove up the lane and, almost immediately, saw a professional sign: Angela Stokenham – Felsental German Shepherds. Dog Aggression Specialist.

Philip just didn’t know what to think, what to feel, just what on earth was going on. He was not a believer in the traditional religious sense but also didn’t label himself as an atheist. Tended to use the term agnostic when relevant to so describe himself. He had experienced much in his approaching sixty years to know that having some form of spiritual attitude seemed to make sense to him.

Thus, was it just serendipity that had brought him here or what! He drove slowly into a yard surrounded by many pens and buildings, stopped the car, and stepped out. He was aware of the sounds of barking coming from a number of directions. All Shepherd barks would be his guess.

The click-clack of a metal pen gate being closed caught his attention. He looked to see a woman turning to check that the gate latch was closed and then turning his way.

“Hallo, can I help you?” the woman called. “If you are here for the Club meeting you are about three hours too early.”

She walked towards him. Despite the grubby blue overalls that she wore, bottoms poked into a pair of red rubber boots, she exuded an attractive warmth. Her thick, auburn hair bracketed a pleasant face with little makeup. Philip noticed a blue and black necklace, close around her neck. He surmised that this was a working lady who was still in touch with her femininity.

“Hallo, sorry to arrive unexpectedly like this. I was on my way to Dartmoor to walk my dog, chose to come the back roads from Staverton and happened to see the sign for the GSD meeting.”

Philip continued, “By an amazing coincidence, I have my German Shepherd in the back of the car and just yesterday at the South Brent obedience class, he was accused of being an aggressive dog and we were told not to return.”

“My name’s Angela and perhaps I shouldn’t say this but Debbie Longland, I assume that’s the class you went to?” Philip nodded, “Well just let me say that you could do a great deal better.”

“I’m Philip, Philip Stevens and the dog in the back is Pharaoh, born last June. We live at Harberton, just to the South-West of Totnes.”

Philip was quiet for a few moments, then said, “Look I was on my way to the Moor to see how Pharaoh behaved with other walkers and their dogs.” Continuing, “Almost exclusively, I have been walking Pharaoh over at my nephew’s woods at Staverton. So I haven’t been getting him accustomed to other dogs as I should have been. Would there be any chance of you assessing him and offering me some proper guidance? I’m a first-time dog owner.”

“Yes, of course.” Angela replied. “That’s what I do here. However not even going to suggest you letting Pharaoh out now, too much going on, and just not the best circumstances for him.”

Angela took a small spiral-bound notebook from her overall pocket, opened it and looked through a couple of pages. “Can you and Pharaoh come here, say eleven in the morning, next Wednesday?”

“Yes, without any difficulty. Is there anything that I should bring with me?”

Angela responded, “No, just Pharaoh’s usual leash. Oh, and you might want to give him a good walk before you get here.”

She added, “That’s fabulous, I will see you both in just three days time.”

“Angela, thank you. I can’t wait for you to meet Pharaoh. Oh, and good luck with your meeting this afternoon.”

With that Philip turned and got back into the car, started the engine, swung the car in a tight circle and drove carefully out of Angela’s yard.

Glancing in the rear-view mirror, he saw that Pharaoh was looking at Angela and realised that there hadn’t been a peep from him while he had been speaking with her. Philip wondered if Pharaoh had been picking up the vibes of their change in fortunes.

Wednesday would reveal all.

Share this:

Learning from Dogs

Share this:

Learning from Dogs

Share this:

Elephants ‘understand human gesture’

Share this:

Learning from Dogs

Share this:

Learning from Dogs.

Share this:

FDA seeks pet owner help on dangerous jerky treats

Jerky Pet Treats

The problem

What we are doing

What consumers can do

What veterinarians can do

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Learning from Dogs.

Share this: