Offering Support Through Pet Loss: What We Don't Want to Hear

Lowell and I have been very fortunate to have shared at least a decade and a half with many of our pets.  This also means that in the last couple years, we have had to cope with the aging, illness, decline, and ultimately death of a few of our pets, sometimes in close succession.  And as I write, we are preparing for the inevitable passing of our oldest pet, our cat River.

We have many kind friends and family members who have given us lots of empathy and support as we have faced these passings.  We also have been on the receiving end of sometimes awkward comments that, while I know were meant well by the speaker, have come across not quite so eloquently.  Acknowledging that it is hard to know what to say in these situations, I thought I would share my reflections on some things that - I believe - those facing a loss may not want to hear, in hopes that it might help others who are struggling to find words for such situations.

1) "XX age is really old for a cat/dog/etc."

I know my pet is old.  I am grateful that I have had so much time with him.  That does not make his imminent passing any easier to take, and is not a comfort to me in this moment.  In the case of River, I have had him almost half of my life at this point.  Lowell and I have had him our entire married life together.  Memories of wedding planning, showers, sending invitations, etc. all have kitten River in the backdrop.  If anything, the idea of being without him for the first time in seventeen years makes me feel even more heartbroken.

(Side note: This comment is also especially not helpful if I don't consider that an old age for that species of animal.  When our cat Milo died at the age of ten, suddenly and unexpectedly from a genetic heart condition, I felt prematurely robbed of many years I thought we would have together.  I consider ten to be middle-aged for a cat, and his loss was traumatic - I did not at all agree with sentiments that he had a long cat life.)

When an animal is ill, this comment also seems to imply ". . . so of course he's going to die."  Again, trust me, I am acutely aware that time is running out, and I fear any sign of illness in my geriatric pet could be the end.  Please don't remind me.

Which leads us to . . .

2) Please refrain from any comments or judgments about my decisions whether or not to pursue diagnosis and treatment.

(And please don't worry yourself about how much I may choose to spend.)

The eye rolls (at best) or harsh criticisms (at worst) for doing more testing, attempting treatment, or giving palliative care have been about the least helpful response I've received, and yet are remarkably common.

How much you do for an ailing animal, especially as they near the end of their life, is a personal decision influenced by a lot of factors, including of course, economic feasibility.  I have access to good vet care, we plan for such expenses in our budgeting, and we are willing to at least explore what we can reasonably do for our pets even when it doesn't look good.  And the reality is, sometimes even very old pets DO get better.  Not everything is fatal.  When Jade at age 14 was hospitalized with aspiration pneumonia, some people acted like we were crazy for treating him.  Recently when 15-year old Django spent three days unable to even stand (due to what we believed to be - and was - a fairly common temporary geriatric condition), I saw the shaking heads when I told people I had reason to assume he was still going to improve.  Happily the naysayers were wrong - we got two more years with Jade post-pneumonia, and Django is back to running his happy laps in the yard every morning.

Please also leave decisions about my animal's fitness for a particular intervention between me and my veterinarian.  When Jade had surgery at the age of 12 to make his breathing easier after his laryngeal paralysis diagnosis, I had many friends comment that they would never "put their pet through" such a surgery, as if my doing so was somehow cruel.  Jade had one kind-of-unpleasant day, then four more years of a good quality of life thanks to that surgery.  I think if he had been able to have a say, he would have voted for that option.  Again, he was a good candidate for the procedure, and there are many legitimate reasons an owner might choose differently, and that is their prerogative.

Look, I know that the answers I get might not be good.  I know that an attempted treatment might not work.  But never take away someone's hope.  We aren't necessarily looking for miracles here.  Maybe all I am hoping for is one more night with my pet curled beside me comfortably.  Please don't judge what value that night might have to our family.

And finally, the big one . . .

3) When or whether to euthanize is our decision.

That's it.  The only input we may want is from our veterinarian, and what we know in our hearts based on our relationship with that animal.

This one I admit really gets my hackles up whenever I hear someone comment on another owner's decisions about euthanizing.  Nobody wants to see their pet suffering needlessly, and nobody wants to lose quality time either.  With both Jade and Tristan, who were clearly ready to go, I nevertheless agonized for days afterwards about whether we could have waited even another day.  As I watch and wait with River now, I am again agonizing about trying to find that magical balance.  And that balance perhaps doesn't really exist, and so we do the very best we can.  Some of us may judge differently than others, on either end of the spectrum, but only we can make that choice.

Don't give me platitudes like "maybe he's saying it is his time."  We know our own pets better than anyone else does.  We are listening to them.  If I feel there is still a spark of life in them, if I feel they are still enjoying things, and if I feel their symptoms are being managed well enough to keep them comfortable, please believe me.  Likewise, if I no longer feel that keeping him alive is the humane thing, don't question that (and don't tell me about the miracle drug/herb/crystal/etc. that is going to fix him).

Let's be clear what this decision means - we are not putting anything "to sleep."  We are ending a life.  There may be no more significant decision we make in our pet's lives.  Let me make it in the way I can best find peace with afterwards.

Please understand that my interest in sharing these observations/thoughts is not to criticize anyone.  Death and mourning are not easy topics for any of us, and we all fumble with words at these times.  I also acknowledge that it is not in my typical nature to put together a list of "don't's" and I apologize for what may be a negative tone.  Blame it on my grief.  We know you can't make it better, though you really wish you could, and understand we don't expect you to.  Share a fond memory of the pet. Acknowledge the importance pets have to us and how hard their loss can be.  Just express sadness.  That's fine, and we are grateful for that.

As humans, we want to problem solve and make things better, and the great tragedy of life is that some things can't be fixed.  All we can offer each other at these times is our compassion and empathy, and that will do.

A Fragile Circle

It's summer time, and with it have come some exciting new additions and changes that I can't wait to write about and share.  However, I've been pretty silent here for a few weeks because I know that part of sharing the new adventures also means addressing a pretty big elephant in the room that I just haven't wanted to write about.

Within the span of four months this winter and spring, Lowell and I said good-bye to our first two dogs, Jade and Tristan.  Jade was 16 years old.  Tristan was 14 1/2.  We were blessed to have so much time with both of them, and their passings came at the end of a period of decline, so they were not a surprise.  We knew it was likely to be a rough winter.  That knowledge didn't make it any easier though.

Jade 11/28/99 - 12/23/15

Jade was our first dog, and I always say he changed our lives.  We adopted him as soon as we closed on our first condo, and brought him home the day after we moved in.  He was 11 months old, and we assume he was a lab/shepherd mix.  Behaviorally he was one of the most easy-going, stable, friendly dogs you would ever meet.  He had energy and drive to burn though, so we signed up for a basic manners class.  We were lucky to find a positive-reinforcement based trainer even back then who was not phased when Jade came bursting into class practically bouncing off the walls in excitement.  She walked over to us with some cheese, immediately got him working, smiled and told us what a cool dog he was and how much fun we were going to have with him.  She was right, and yet, how different a path it might have been if, like so many owners I have met since, she had condemned him for how unruly he was and kicked him out of class.  I remember her and her kindness every time someone walks into our classes now with an adolescent dog on overdrive.

She encouraged us to take agility classes, and helped us locate a flyball team, and dog sports and training rapidly became our obsession and took over our lives.  Every day became a new adventure for us and Jade - every day we looked for new ways to have fun with him.  The people, dogs, and experiences that road brought us to we owe all to Jade.

Jade excelled at flyball.  His fastest times were 3.9 seconds, and his turn on the box was amazing for a dog his size.  He was retired after achieving his Flyball Grand Champion award, and he is still currently ranked 36th in top point earning labs in NAFA.

Jade slowed down a bit when he was diagnosed with laryngeal paralysis and he had a unilaterial tieback surgery when he was 11 years old, which greatly improved his quality of life for the next several years.  He gave us a few scares in those last few years, as a side effect of the surgery makes dogs prone to aspiration pneumonia, which he acquired at least once.  He always bounced back, until on December 23, 2015, when his body simply had just worn out after such a long, full life.

Tristan 8/13/01 - 4/9/16

About ten months after adopting Jade, as we were getting actively involved in flyball and agility, our flyball captain showed us a 10-week old tricolor Border Collie pup when we visited her at an agility trial.  We took him home to spend the night with us, and while we fell in love immediately, I had cold feet.  Could we take on a second dog so soon?  I loved BCs and had wanted one ever since growing up with my aunt's collie, but knew all the warnings about what a challenging, intelligent high energy breed they are.  I felt we shouldn't get in over our heads, and let him go back to his breeder with our flyball friends the next day.  Lowell disagreed with the decision, and after I broke down sobbing taking down the spare crate that the pup had spent the night in, I came to my senses too and made some phone calls.  Two days later I drove to Canada to pick up Tristan.

Tristan was never really a puppy - he was wise from the time he was born.  I trusted him completely.  He was totally reliable off leash, never failed to come when called, was friendly and accepting of every human he met, and he could diffuse any situation and any interaction with other dogs.  To this day, I've never seen a dog more savvy and with better body language with other dogs than Tristan had (and in fact, several photos of him appear in a popular dog body language handbook).

Unfortunately, Tristan's life all too frequently was painful.  He had TPLO surgery for a partially torn ACL when he was less than 2 years old.  He struggled with ongoing back, neck, and shoulder problems throughout his life.  Through it all he remained incredibly stoic and tough, and he never gave up.  With diet, supplements, physical therapy, acupuncture, and chiropractic care, we kept him going, and it wasn't until just a few months before his passing that his activity became significantly limited.  His flyball career was short, but he managed to compete in agility for several years, even earning placements in CPE Nationals two years in a row as a veteran.

However, on April 9, 2016, Tristan woke up in too much pain.  His kidneys had also been failing, he was increasingly incontinent and uncomfortable, his vision and hearing were poor, and he was often confused, so that afternoon we helped him be free from any more suffering.

There's so much to say about those two, the dogs of our early adulthood, the dogs who started everything - but I still just can't.  But since I can finally look at them, I want to share two of the last pictures taken of them.

This is Jade on the night he fell ill for the last time.  We were sure that he was not going to make it through the night, so Lowell, Tempo, and I spent the night on the living room floor with him, my hand resting on his chest constantly to see if he was still breathing.  He survived the night, and woke up actually feeling somewhat improved, and we ended up having two more full days with him before it was clear he was just too weak to bounce back this time.

A couple weeks before Tristan passed, we were set to attend ClickerExpo.  We had rented a house outside town so that all the dogs could come, but we weren't sure whether we should go.  In the end, we went, and though it probably was physically hard for T at times, I think he enjoyed it.  Our friends and housemates for the weekend, Samantha and Catherine, gave him lots of attention, and he had one last adventure with us.  For our parts, we were a bit frazzled throughout the conference, knowing that our dog was dying, and we opted to miss a lot of the conference as we ran back to the house to care for and be with him.  It was all worth it.  This photo was taken on my phone by Sam on the last night we were there.  I was pretty numb thinking about facing another death so soon after Jade's, but Sam knew I would need to remember this last special trip, and grabbed my phone and took pictures of him.  I am so grateful she did.

Take pictures of your dogs.  Even/especially when they are old.  We know we want to remember them in their prime, in their youth, but you will want to remember their full life cycle too - the grey muzzles, the cloudy eyes, the sweet wise gaze.  Be grateful that you get to experience that stage with them because it is beautiful.  Enjoy every part of their lives, because they are never long enough.

I'll end with a quote I read the night after Jade passed, which expresses everything I've learned in the last six months:

"We who choose to surround ourselves with lives even more temporary than our own, live within a fragile circle, easily and often breached. Unable to accept its awful gaps, we still would live no other way. We cherish memory as the only certain immortality, never fully understanding the necessary plan." 

-Irving Townsend

Jade

Tristan

 

Emotional Bank Accounts: Neutral is Not Enough

This weekend, on one of the most beautiful days of the spring we've had so far, Lowell, Maebe, Fate, and I had paused at the side of a popular multi-use pathway in a well-traveled city park by our home in the middle of a mid-day run.  Fate and I were standing well off the trail, she was on leash and right at my side sniffing some grass when a roughly 50 year old man dressed in running clothes (yet presumably also under the influence of drugs or alcohol while out for some exercise) came running down the trail and rushed straight at Fate and I as he hurled threats and obscenities at us and physically threatened to kick Fate, coming within inches of us.  He continued his verbal assault at the top of his lungs as he continued to run down the path out of sight and earshot.  It was jarring, to say the least, and mostly Lowell and I stood there in disbelief.  I tried to not let the experience wreck my lovely day, and for the most part I succeeded.

The next morning though, as we were walking the dogs along the path again, I felt myself become irritated as I saw two female runners approach.  When we pass other trail users, we as a rule cue our dogs to step off the trail and stand to the side to let them go by.  I did this as always, but this time I felt a twinge of resentment and reluctance to share the path with a runner and felt myself wishing they weren't there.

On today's walk, we were passed on the road by a runner bearing roughly the same demographic profile as the man who threatened us, and I felt myself have a physiologic fear response as my sympathetic nervous system was activated, and I automatically clutched the leash to pull Fate closer to me.  Of course, like the vast majority of runners, this man simply wished us a good morning as he passed.

What went through my mind as I observed this involuntary reaction on my part was how many stories I hear from owners who can point to a pivotal scary event that impacted their dog's behavior in response to a certain trigger, whether it be other dogs, the veterinarian, cars, or toe nail clippers.

Lowell is a runner.  I am a runner.  Heck, we were on a run at the time.  We run with our friends, also runners.  One of our favorite weekends of the year every year is a three-day running event.  I encounter runners just about every time I leave the house.  Overwhelmingly the encounters range from neutral, to (perhaps even more often) friendly and cordial.  I usually have pretty good perspective and coping skills in general, but even with that healthy "bank account" of good experiences built up, I am having a temporary negative conditioned emotional response right now.  So, why do we expect it would be any different for our dogs?  And what if I didn't have that history of positive associations?  What if this was the first runner I had encountered, or the first time I'd gone to that park?  What if I had encountered a high proportion of other unfriendly runners in the past?

I hear owners all the time dismiss the importance of continuing to create positive associations and good experiences because their dog is "fine" with people, dogs, handling, noises, etc.  I tell them neutral is not enough - I want the dogs to LOVE these things.  I want them to work on building that bank account and creating the most resilient dog that they can.

Because the fact is, sometimes unpleasant things out of our control happen.  Even the best practices and habits can't prevent everything, and if we want to live our lives and let our dogs do the same, we are always running that risk.  The event this weekend happened on a popular multi-use path at a prime time of day on a gorgeous weekend when people were out and about.  We were minding our own business and had not been engaging the runner/assailant in any way.  The only way we could have reliably prevented that encounter would have been to sit in our living room on a beautiful spring morning and hide away from the world outside.  Which of course is no way to live.

I'll recover, because I know that overall the world and people are generally pleasant.  My genetic predisposition and past history tells me so, but still I'll appreciate every friendly runner who passes me with a wave and smile and helps remind me of that in the coming days.  And as for Fate - she's fine.  She wasn't touched and she barely noticed a thing.  Clearly her bank account is bigger than mine!

Things My Parrot Is Teaching Me About Dog Training #1

Probably anyone who has come within the slightest contact with me in the last six months knows that we have recently added some feathered family members to the household.  The first of these was Presto, a Congo African Grey parrot who we rescued from the Humane Society of Huron Valley in November when he was surrendered along with 40+ other birds in a hoarding case.  I've been enjoying living with and training a new species, and while Presto has spurred a growing obsession with all things ornithological, he's also helping me appreciate the art of animal training in general.

Presto and I have been working on a cup stack trick where the ultimate goal will be for him to stack multiple nesting cups.  I began by first shaping him to pick up a small cup and give it to me.  I then began presenting the larger cup underneath the small cup when he would pick it up, and mark/reward when he let go and the small cup fell into the large one.  I am now at the stage where I want him to make some effort to get the small cup in the right location, so I am holding the large cup in place (to make it easier to hit) and am rewarding for dropping the small cup so it at least hits the large cup - I'm not worried right now about it nesting correctly.  I'm holding the large cup next to the small one so he really just needs to turn his body a bit to drop his cup correctly.  My goal is for him to make some intentional effort to get the cup in the right spot, and rely less on my help (but as you will see, I do fall back on "helping" more than I want to).

When I am shaping behaviors, my goal is to as much as possible be striving for "error-free learning" where I am upping the criteria so gradually that the learner is able to make continual progress with minimal mistakes made and a very high rate of reinforcement throughout.  However, I have found myself getting a little bit stuck with this exercise in figuring out how to raise criteria enough so that we are progressing, but not so much that he starts making repeated mistakes.  I find that is the real art of shaping - splitting that criteria just right.

I've probably had a couple sessions too many in a row where I've messed up this balance - raised criteria too much, resulting in his frustration after repeated mistakes, and then my compensating by lowering criteria again to help him be successful.  So we've pretty much established a trick of him lifting the cup, me placing the other one below it, and then him dropping it onto the large cup.  I think we both felt a bit stuck in this exercise, and last night Presto, rather hilariously, showed me he was bored with it.  No doubt, dogs get frustrated/confused/bored too when our training gets stale or unclear, and they might begin throwing new behaviors out, but Presto tends to do it with flair.  I swear he has a sense of humor, and if he gets bored with something, it is as if he is showing me something he thinks is more fun instead.

In the video, you will see him offer a behavior I have never seen before at all, which struck me as actually a little bizarre - and pretty funny.  You might also be able to guess what his current favorite trick is - one I did a better job training so has a higher reinforcement history and therefore is a lot more fun for him.  Now I need to get that one under better stimulus control, clearly!

  

How often do we do this same thing with our dogs?   In our determination to "fix" our dog's weave poles, contact performance, heel position, etc., don't we sometimes drill the exercise to death until both the dog and we become bored and cranky by the very idea of it?  Sometimes the best thing I think we can do is set things aside, do something else for a while, and come back with a fresh approach to make the activity new again.  I know I had gotten into a rut in recent months with my dogs, just working on the same sets of behaviors over and over.  With our new approach to keeping things interesting, I literally am drawing a couple behaviors out of a jar each day now, and working on those.  In the last couple weeks we've worked on components of formal retrieves, agility, treibball, and basic good manners, and I think we are all finding it much more interesting.

I think we will put the cups away for a few days.  (And as I was writing this, it occurred to me that I might next try using an even larger cup as the destination cup, so he is more likely to be successful with less intervention from me.  We can then scale back down to the red cup over time.  But that's not for today . . .)

Barn Hunt

In our new effort to make training fresh again, Lowell and I are doing something we haven't done in a while - taking in-person lessons with our own dogs again!  Having decided the dogs could use a new activity, we decided to sign up for some barn hunt lessons with Tempo, Cadence, and Fate.  We thought it seemed like a fun option for all of them.  It is a terrier's dream for Tempo.  Cadence has done a bit of nose work in the past and enjoys it, and the physical demands of the sport are within his capabilities.  Fate just likes to do stuff.  Anything.  But, honestly, she tends to be so handler-focused, that an exercise like this where she needs to problem-solve independently is a good thing for her.

For anyone not familiar with barn hunt, it is basically tracking for live rats hidden (in safe, secure tubes) among bales of hay.  Lest anyone worry about the welfare of the rats, rest assured that all the barn hunt rats I have known are also loved family pets who are specifically desensitized to dogs and the tubes, are trained to go in on their own, and most I know are also given the choice on any given day whether or not they want to get in the tube to be the decoy.  I can tell you that the rat our dogs first learned on was so bold that he was trying to reach through the bars of his cage to get to the treats I was giving to my dog inches away.  I like rats.  I've had them as pets.  I wouldn't do any exercise that I felt was traumatic to them.  If you are worried, you can read more about barn hunt rat care here.

The way the terrier and the BCs took to the sport was quite different.  For Tempo, it is pure predation and terrier drive.  Once he saw the rat on the first day, he was hooked, but if anything his arousal and excitement becomes a barrier to him being able to think straight and figure out what is relevant.  His first couple runs tend to have a frantic, unfocused pace.  Rats! Hay! Barn! Smells!  Once he has bounced off every bale of hay a few times, he settles into it better and starts to think.  I think he finds the tube a bit disappointing though.  I think it is a little bit of a let down when he can't see the actual rat, so every now and then the instructor lets him have a little glimpse of the rat, which seems to make him happy.

When Cadence and Fate saw the rat in the cage at the first lesson, they were actually a little disturbed by him.  Once he was in his tube and they didn't have to look at him, they got into it as a nose work exercise though.  There is much less predatory drive at play for these two - instead it is a problem-solving task.  Cadence has done the most nose work, so he is picking the sport up the fastest of any of them.  His barrier right now is building confidence to climb up on the hay bales due to his coordination problems.  I can usually tell now if he thinks the rat is up high, so then I show him a safe way to get on the bales (which I'm told is legal as long as I don't touch him).

I think Fate honestly thought this was all a little bit stupid until halfway through the second lesson, when she finally started to put it all together.  Once the light bulb went on, she started straining to go between hides, so I think she's beginning to like it.

Here is a video of Cadence at his second lesson:


And one of Tempo:


(Lowell is asking if it is legal for him to use his body to block Tempo from attempting to jump straight off the top of the bales of hay - which he had already done once - and to guide him back to a safer climb down.  It was.)

Fresh Start

Wow, coming to my blog site today I realize it is approaching two years since I last made a post!  The reasons behind that I'm sure are varied.  When I started this, I was actively competing in dog sports with multiple dogs, and most of my posts were about those experiences and what I was learning along the way.

While my dogs, and dog training, are still huge parts of my life, competition hasn't been lately.  Dogs aged.  Dogs retired.  Cadence retired prematurely due to a random neurological event, and that more than anything took the wind right out of my sails for quite a while.  I had a lovely new agility prospect in Fate (and still do), but my heart wasn't into the competition anymore.  On weekends, we felt more inclined to stay at home with all the dogs and go for hikes, play in the yard, and do training games, rather than take only two of them off to a trial while the others sat home with only a mid-day bathroom break.

In addition, our training lives changed as well.  After a few years volunteering at the local humane society, we began teaching dog training classes to the public there.  Soon after we both became Certified Professional Dog Trainers, and we started our own training business.  Helping owners and dogs work through often difficult behavioral challenges has become a passion, and I feel grateful and surprised every day about the fascinating road this is leading me on.

Our own dog training never stopped.  We set up agility courses in the backyard.  We teach new tricks.  We continue to reinforce good manners in public.  We try new training challenges.  We meet with other trainer friends for training outings and pick different things to work on.  And we brought new family members of the feathered variety into our home and became fascinated by how they learn as well.  But without the motivation of competition or the ritual of logging and tracking my progress, I felt like things were getting . . . kind of stale.

So, coming back from ClickerExpo 2016 last week, I felt like I needed a new program to clarify my training goals, really start tracking progress again, and pushing myself to work towards a higher performance - whether that means competition (I hope so) or just my own pleasure at watching my dogs' (and birds') successes.  I got some great ideas about how to make sure my daily training stays fresh from my friend Chris's blog, and found a cool new on-line training log being started by the family of some trainer friends that while only in beta version is quite useful already!  I figured with these new ideas and tools, the last piece for keeping me accountable should be also resurrecting this blog, which, even if it is only for my own amusement and interest, is a nice way to see where we've been and where we are going.

So, if you are interested in watching along with my training adventures with some border collies, a terrier, and a couple of parrots, stay tuned, and I'll do my best to get back in this blogging habit.

When It Isn't a Training Problem

Early last week, our newest addition, Tempo, turned into a 12-pound walking behavior problem.  Now, even on his best days, Tempo is still a Jack Russell terrier who didn't receive one lick of training for the first six years of his life, but usually his cuteness still greatly outweighs his terrier moments, and we all like and enjoy each other.

Around last Monday, he became disagreeable about just about everything.  If he was inside, he didn't want to go outside.  If he was outside, he didn't want to come in.  If he was in the living room, he didn't want to go to the bedroom; if in the bedroom, he wouldn't want to go into the living room.  Don't even think about moving him.  If he was in your lap, you better stay put.  If he was laying down, don't dream of picking him up.  He didn't want to go to his crate.  If he was in his crate, he didn't want to even lay eyes on you, and he barked incessantly.  House-training became a thing of the past.  Mostly he glared at us, all "sideways-eared" as we call it.  Lowell was reminded of a Twilight Zone episode, pretty sure Tempo was trying to turn us into a cornfield.  Sometimes he made much uglier faces, and it was pretty clear what he was thinking.

By Thursday night, we were beside ourselves.  We felt like failures as dog owners and dog trainers.  We knew he was a "diamond in the rough" but nothing we couldn't handle, so how was it possible that he was actually getting worse?

Was he too stressed in a house full of bigger dogs?  No, it really didn't seem like it.  He likes the dogs, and even in his crabbiest moments, has never had any qualms with them.  Did he not like where his crate was, on top of the Border Collie's crates?  We moved it to the other side of the room on the floor, to no avail.  He was getting exercise, training, mental stimulation, attention, and quiet rest time as well.  We feed a good diet.  We think his life is pretty low-stress.  We use force-free training methods - never any corrections or punishments.  We knew what issues he did have (some impulse control and minor resource guarding stuff), and had been implementing positive training protocols to address those things.  What on earth were we doing wrong?!?

Friday morning he woke up, and refused breakfast.  He spent that morning mostly slinking around under the bed or the couch.  When he did emerge and let me hold him, I could hear from his (loud and constant) stomach sounds that things weren't settled right in there.  He was fussy and stretched a lot and couldn't get comfortable anywhere for very long.

He ate a small amount that evening, pepped up a bit, but continued to be a jerk and not himself.  Saturday he refused breakfast again.  Still behaving like a ray of sunshine.  He had one bout of diarrhea, still had a bit of a rumbly tummy, but no other symptoms.  We continued to monitor him, treat what symptoms he had, and were vigilant for any other changes or signs for more immediate concern.

Feeling crappy

Saturday afternoon, he came out of his crate from a nap, and was a whole new dog.  He ate, played, wagged his tail (well, his "nubbin"), jumped on us with kisses, played with his toys - "killing" them violently, and tore around the yard like a maniac.  His ears are pointed skyward again - not sideways and sad looking.  He is biddable (for a JRT), agreeable (for a JRT), and seems to genuinely like us again.  He only grumbled to himself once when we moved him over on the couch last night (like I said, he's not perfect).

I always remind the dog owners I work with to rule out physical/medical reasons for behavior changes, but this was a good reminder of just how subtle things can be.  I suspect now he hadn't been feeling 100% all week, but there were no other noticeable changes besides his personality.  I had started to wonder if he had a seizure disorder or some other weird brain stuff going on, and would have started doing diagnostics as my next step if his behavior hadn't improved, but still I really was puzzled and thought I would probably be grasping at straws there.  We are thinking he was having some stomach discomfort maybe related to some new training treats we tried, or perhaps some type of virus he picked up.  It didn't seem major, but enough to make him uncomfortable, and consequently unpleasant, turning his "training issues" into something resembling a much more concerning behavior problem.  We are glad that it seems to have passed without too much incident.

Sometimes things are obvious - the dog who is having accidents in the house turns out to have a UTI, or the dog who snapped at you when you scratched his head has a raging ear infection.  But sometimes it isn't that easily diagnosed.  If your dog suddenly undergoes a drastic behavior change, or if you are using sound, proven behavior modification principles and seeing no improvement at all, please remember to rule out medical issues as well.  Your dog will thank you!

What about you?  Have you ever had a training issue actually turn out to be a veterinary one?

Happy again after a day of play!

Hard Learned Lessons: On Goals, Fairness, and What It Means to "Quit"

"Being realistic about what a dog can and cannot do is an act of love." - Suzanne Clothier

Five years ago, I had big dreams and big goals.  I had been bitten hard by the agility bug, and I wanted to start a dog as a puppy and do everything right and one day have a world-level competitor.  I immersed myself in DVDs, seminars, on-line courses, books, you name it.  And I researched and researched and felt ecstatic when I put a deposit down on the puppy of my dreams.  When he was born, I knew the second I saw his photo that he was the one I'd have.  I picked him up in May five years ago, and haven't been apart from him for a single night since.  We fell madly in love with each other.  He and I are the same. Soul mates. We get each other, and we are a lot alike.  We set out with big expectations and big dreams.

That puppy was Cadence, of course.

Cadence is brilliant, clever, resourceful, passionate, energetic, determined, affectionate, funny, and charming.  He is also cautious, sensitive, particular, emotional, opinionated, and prone to worry.

Cadence loves long hikes on remote forest trails, swimming, running, camping, campfires, frisbee, soccer balls, chest rubs, playing with Maebe, and car rides.  He loves to learn, loves to do tricks, loves to problem-solve, loves to use his nose, loves to get as close to me as physically possible, and loves to play agility.  

He does not love chaos.  He does not love out of control motion.  And he does not love being at your average agility class or trial.

For all the genius, drive, and physical ability that Cadence showed from an early age, I struggled for four years to get him to feel comfortable in a group class or trial setting.  When I walked him into a building or a ring, what I saw was a dog who was stressed.  How could he possibly do agility (something he did love) when there was so much noise, so much motion, so many other dogs he didn't know, so much out of control?

Many times I questioned whether my goals were fair.  Whether they were realistic.  Whether they were worth it.  I saw a dog trying as hard as he could to ignore his discomfort all for my sake, and questioned how important something like agility was.

I was told not to give up. That I was doing such a great job.  That he showed such promise on the agility course.  

And I know what others who only saw him in that context must have thought.  That he was "reactive."  That I should medicate him.  Neuter him.  Get tougher on him.  Start punishing him.  These things all were said to me.  People all had their interpretations of his behavior, and what I should do, yet nobody acknowledged his (to me) obvious stress.  Maybe they also thought I should stop, but nobody ever said that.

To his amazing credit, he tried hard.  Harder than most of us would have.  If a dearly beloved friend or family member asked me to get up and sing at a public event, I couldn't, no matter how happy it would make them.  In fact, I'd probably actually resent being asked to do something so outside my comfort level.  But I was asking the same thing of Cadence.  And he did it, without resentment.  We entered some trials, got some beginning-level titles, earned a few ribbons.  I entered him for a full day at an outdoor trial in June last year, his first time at a venue other than where we normally train and trial, and he did a good job.  A few seconds here and there of distraction, but he ran each and every course with me and picked up a few more Q's.  I felt he was actually going to do this.

Two days later, life told me again what I had refused to hear for four years, but now in a way I couldn't ignore.  Agility was not going to be our thing together.  I have written here before that Cadence experienced a fibro-cartilaginous embolism which left him with some coordination problems in his rear legs.  In many ways we are lucky.  FCE is not painful, and he is not paralyzed.  He can hike, run, play, fetch, swim, and mess around on agility equipment in the yard.  What he can't do is safely perform competition-height equipment, especially in a state of arousal or stress.  At least that isn't a risk I'm willing to take.

I've spent the last year feeling sorry for him, feeling sorry for myself, and mostly feeling mad at myself that it took this to get me to accept things as they were.  He is so much more, so who cares about the agility? I've felt guilty, like this was the last desperate measure the universe had to take to get me to do the right thing.  And quit.  Quit those aspirations, those dreams, those expectations.  Quit trying to mold the dog I adored, who I never would trade or change for anything, who has given and taught me more than any other dog or teacher, and who has shaped my current life and future in amazing ways . . . quit trying to mold that dog into something else.  He can't be everything, but he sure as hell tried for me.

My regret is not having accepted this lesson before.  Rationally I know I did not cause his FCE.  But now that his physical condition has forced us to shift course, I regret not doing that for him sooner.

And this has me wondering about goals - the ones we create for our dogs and ourselves.  How do we decide what is reasonable? Realistic? Fair? Humane?  Just because enough training might get you to a certain point, is it right to keep on trying?  Should performance goals be the only ones we have?  Do we risk compromising more important ones in the process - goals for our relationships, our comfort, our happiness?  Yes, I believe that training would have continued to increase Cadence's comfort in the ring over time.  But who was I doing this for?

If I had changed course two years ago, and decided that all the many fun things Cadence and I do together are enough, would that have been quitting?  

Needless to say, it has been a year of changing goals and priorities.  Of changing my thinking about what is most important in my life with my dogs.  And in realizing that the path I ended up on, while not the one I expected to take, has landed me in an unexpected and exciting place. Agility continues to be a big part of my life, but now my primary dog training goals involve helping others understand and support their own sensitive, cautious canine friends.  And I like to think I'm better at that anyway.  

They say you don't get the dog you want, you get the dog you need, and while I always say our first dog Jade changed our lives, Cadence definitely changed it again.  Now he and I will write a different future for ourselves, and I'm learning to accept this.  I still grieve what might have been, but I am beginning to value the lessons learned.

What about you?  How have you made decisions about what is right for your dog?

Mostly-Wordless Wednesday

"Everything is not enough.  Nothing is too much too bear.
Where you've been is good and gone.  All you keep's the getting there."
-Townes Van Zandt

New Adventures

Cadence is now well past the 12-week point after his fibrocartilaginous embolism - past the point where the neurologist told us to expect the most improvement to happen.

So how is he?

He walks kind of funny.  We've finally put our finger on what he's doing - it seems like he would prefer not to trot (he CAN trot, and actually looks quite normal doing it, but it must be harder for him to get those neurons firing the right way to trot).  So, in order to compensate, he takes an exaggerated step with his rear legs, often swinging them out to avoid interfering with his front.  I think that is causing him to walk at a "pace" (both legs on one side moving forward at the same time), and creates the impression that his hip sort of "dips" with each step.  It looks weird, but so far he is able to maintain it no matter the distance or terrain, and doesn't worsen.

He is a bit clumsy at times.  It seems like he can do just about anything I've thrown at him - dog walk planks, standing on various-sized platforms, foot targeting, spinning, weaving, jumping.  But sometimes he falls walking across the linoleum floor in the kitchen.

The toughest, and most surprising, thing though has been the blow this has all had to his confidence.  He has always been a careful guy who sometimes needed to check things out before feeling comfortable, but he has always been one to recover quickly and to not give up.  But since his FCE, he has had occasional episodes of anxiety when out in the world.  Sometimes on a walk, he will put on the brakes, flatten, tuck his tail between his legs, and turn away.  Not all the time.  Not predictably.  And not paired with anything I can identify going on with him or the environment.  This kills me to watch.

This shouldn't be directly caused by the FCE, but clearly they are linked.  His rehab vet thinks that maybe it worries him that he isn't as comfortable in his own body right now.  Things work differently and take more effort, and some times maybe that just stresses him out.  We hope if he continues to get more comfortable learning how to move again, that this anxiety will pass as well.  We hope it is temporary.

So, I find places where he can run off leash with the other dogs (legally and safely) and let him practice negotiating the terrain on his own.  I schedule hiking dates with his favorite doggie-friends.  I let him pick a different route on the trail if one feels better to him.  I sit down on the trail with him until he feels OK again.  I hide treats among the grass and leaves and let him use his nose to track him down.  I ask him to do his favorite tricks.  We bring his best friend Maebe along for support.  I give him some natural supplements that are supposed to calm, and spray his walking harness with a "calming" spray.

He'll go weeks with no episodes and I will think he's gotten his courage back, then out of nowhere will have a little meltdown in the middle of the block.  I like to think we're making progress.  I hope we are.

At home, he is still my happy little lap dog who just can never get close enough to me or get enough chest rubs, and who makes me smile every time I look at him.  He swims, wrestles and plays chase with Maebe, and loves learning.  We do mini agility courses with low jumps, low contacts, and spread-apart weaves in the back yard.  He's working on some freestyle moves, even though I don't know that I will be putting dancing shoes on anytime soon.  He loves shaping exercises and figures the new tricks out as fast as always.  We're planning on taking a nose work class this winter.  And we're still going to physical therapy weekly, and hoping for some more progress.

We are no longer doing therapy dog visits, on account of the slippery wood floors and stairs at the facility we visited.  I also don't want to add stress on top of whatever is triggering his sudden bouts of anxiety.

Fate is coming with me to his agility class now.  I admit, that was bittersweet at first for me.  I adore her, love training her, and can't wait to compete with her, but at the same time it was hard to get used to not being there with him.

I want so much for him, but I am realizing that is about me - that he is actually happy with this quieter world.  He has all he has ever asked for.

And he is still the most handsome, charming man ever.  Maybe I am the only one who is wildly entertained by watching him stand in a glass box filled with water, but to see what a character he is, watch video of him waiting for the underwater treadmill to fill.  He loves water, and likes his treadmill sessions, but he does not enjoy the sensation of water slowly creeping up on him, and does his best to keep his tail and feet dry as long as possible.  It has become a regular source of entertainment for us and the staff.  I swear he is not doing what it looks like he is doing!

Mostly-Wordless Wednesday

"When there's a disappointment, I don't know if it's the end of the story. It may just be the beginning of a great adventure."

-Pema Chödron

Cadence's Re-Check

Cadence had his re-check with his rehabilitation vet last night.  It looks like he is definitely making some progress.  He performed much better on his neurological exam, especially the proprioceptive positioning test (or "foot flipping" test).  A month ago, when his right rear foot was turned over so he was standing on the top of his foot, my stomach sunk as I watched him continue to stand for what seemed like an eternity before realizing his foot was upside down.  Last night, he righted it instantly.  She also was able to elicit some spinal reflexes, which we couldn't before (though that may have been due to his high level of stress at the first visit).  Now that he equates rehab with peanut butter, he is a more compliant patient there.

His right leg muscles are still needing to develop more, but they have made improvement and are getting closer to being in symmetry with his left leg again.

For now the plan is continued rehab exercises at home, and we will continue with the underwater treadmill weekly and swimming when we can.

Functionally, he is doing pretty well.  Trotting at a slow speed seems to be mentally taxing for him right now and we believe this why he starts pacing, but we have some new ideas to work on that.  I'm trying to accept that he may always look slightly "goofy" when he walks, swinging that right leg out, but I'm gaining optimism that it won't really be limiting.

A few seconds of treadmill fun:

I've Got This . . .

Today I took Cadence outside to do some variations on our post-FCE rehab exercises.  I had some fitness discs set up to do some body awareness work with him.  As I had just been doing some contact training with Fate, I still had the teeter plank set up between two raised tables out in the yard.  Cadence had been doing OK walking along a plank on the ground, so we decided that if he was doing well with his exercises, we would see if he could walk across the elevated plank.  Of course, Lowell and I would be on either side of him, he would be on leash, have his assistive harness on, and would do it in a controlled manner. 

Cadence had other ideas.  Apparently bored with his exercise discs, this is what he did to my surprise, then horror, then delight . . .



After that excitement, we continued with the original plan.  Gave him a little bit of a new challenge with the discs today but he handled it pretty well:


Afterwards we did some post-FCE agility rehab:


It was a good day.

Old Dogs and Wine . . . Just Get Better With Age

Finally getting around to posting this - this was my favorite run from CPE Nationals this June with my 11-year old border collie, Django.  This Snooker run was our last run of the weekend.  I had worried a bit going in to Nationals about how well Django could hold up to three days of trialing at his age, but it turned out I had nothing to worry about.  We may not be the fastest out there these days, but we sure are happy together.

Here Comes a Comeback . . .

At CPE Nationals in June, I bought myself a silver bracelet with pawprints and the words "Overcome Every Obstacle" inscribed on it.  I thought of the training obstacles we all face, whether it is getting reliable contacts, combatting ring nerves (ours or our dog's), or keeping jump bars up.  At the time, Cadence was at a point where I was starting to enter him in trials regularly - not just one run here or there at a random trial - and I was so proud of the progress we had made as a team.  We had overcome so many of our training obstacles and in the process had formed a special relationship that I can't really describe.

Before the month was out, he had his "spinal stroke," and suddenly there was a new obstacle to overcome.  I wear that bracelet every day.

The neurologist told me Cadence could continue to play agility.  Right now, I disagree.  He doesn't have the coordination in his rear leg to safely do a dogwalk, teeter, or probably a tire safely.  But the rehab vet told us there was no reason we couldn't start to play around to see what he can do.  So we did . . .

Cadence Week 1 FCE Rehab: Don't Stop . . .

Now that Cadence has been diagnosed with a fibrocartilaginous embolism, we've been able to start him on some physical therapy, with hopes of restoring as much function as possible.  What has at least been nice is being able to return him to some activity.  As we initially assumed it was an injury, he was being rested at first, which wasn't making any of us happy at all.  This week, in addition to his rehab exercises, we have him up to walking over a mile at a time, and he has been able to run and play in the yard with Maebe again.  He even had a play date with one of his favorite girlfriends, Scarlett, and was able to play chase around the yard with her with no problem.

It's hard to say whether his gait is improving yet, but I think he has shown some improvement in his coordination.  Last week, when I asked him to walk across a dog walk plank (flat on the ground), he had trouble keeping his feet on it, but now he can walk across and even turn around. 

One thing this experience has driven home to me is the importance of doing body awareness and strengthening exercises even/especially with our healthy dogs.  All the exercises given to us by the rehab place were ones that I have done with Cadence regularly for years anyway.  So, I'm not having to train a new behavior in order to do the rehab, and I have a pretty good idea what his baseline pre-FCE was. 

Here is a video of what Cadence looks like walking today.  The very clinical term that one of our vets used to describe it is "wonky":


More interesting though, I think, is watching his progress over the last week with his exercises.  The determination on his face at about 1:57 of the video makes me smile every time:


"Why not think about times to come? . . . "

A Lightning Strike

A few weeks ago, on a leisurely evening stroll around our neighborhood, Cadence suddenly began walking funny on his right rear leg.  It didn't go away.

For a few weeks, we chased a series of red herrings, trying to figure out what was causing his gait abnormality.  Chiropractors, radiology specialists, rehab vets all weighed in, and were all rather perplexed. Finally we found ourselves at a veterinary neurology clinic last Friday having an MRI performed.

He has been diagnosed with a "very mild" fibrocartilaginous embolism (FCE).  Similar to a stroke, some spinal fluid has found its way into a blood vessel and blocked it, causing some rear limb dysfunction.  Most dogs with this condition experience some degree of paralysis.  For Cadence, his symptoms are at least only a gait abnormality when he walks, and some lack of coordination in the rear.  The neurologist thought that your average pet dog owner would not even notice it.  It seems more significant than that to me.

We're told this is about as predictable as being hit by lightning.  It isn't genetic.  It wasn't caused by trauma.  Having x-rayed and imaged just about every bone in his body now, we have confirmed that structually he is fit and sound.  Oddly enough, FCE tends to happen in younger dogs, often aged 3 to 6, who are active, healthy, and athletic.  Like Cadence.

The good news is that he is not in pain, and he will not get worse.  What remains to be seen though is how much functioning he will regain.

He had his first of what will be ongoing weekly visits to a veterinary rehab facility yesterday.  We have an assortment of exercises to work on daily to improve his body awareness and coordination.  We are going to do everything we can to get him in as good shape as possible.  We aren't giving up.

So this isn't what we expected, but this is our journey now.

Don't Stop Believin'

One year ago, after a miserably failed attempt to attend CPE Nationals in New York, I accepted with some sadness the fact that Django and I had probably competed in our last major agility event.  He is definitely in the double digits now (we assume about 11), and though he has had no issues, I know that eventually he will be nearing the end of his agility days.  I had decided to not even try to qualify for 2013, but continued to run him in the trials we entered with Maebe as she worked towards getting her necessary Q's.  Suddenly in December I realized that a) he was still running well, and b) he was getting close to qualifying.  So, we entered a flurry of end-of-the-year trials, during which he even unexpectedly got his CATCH-3 title, and in March, I decided to fill out a second entry form with his name on it.

A few months later, we were on our way to our fifth CPE National event in Springfield, Ohio, and I couldn't have been more grateful.  We spent three days playing together, and every run was like a joyful dance with a dear loved one.  I could talk about Q rates, course times, etc. but all I cared about every time we stepped to the line was his happy face.

I had concerns about running him for three days, but he only improved with each and every run.  I don't know that Django is one of those dogs that loves agility.  He likes it fine, but I know he loves me and is happy to do anything I ask.  He asks for so little, and having three days that were just about him and me was a great gift for both of us.

As we walked our final Snooker course, Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" was playing on the stereo in the neighboring ring.  The song continued to ring through my head as we ran the course - his best run of the entire weekend - and when we ran to the table to end the course, I took a second to kiss my teammate with tears in my eyes.

Maybe this was our last Nationals.  Time has to catch up eventually.  But I've thought that for about four years now.  Who knows.  What I know is we were given another chance to let go, celebrate, and enjoy the dance, which is what we did - what Django always does.

Sick Days

I've been home sick on the couch for the last three days with an annoying cold bug.  As all of us are usually on the go all day long, this forced down time has taken some adjustment.  People often talk of their pets' skills of empathy, and how they take care of them and watch over them at times of injury or illness.  Here is what I've learned about my furry nurses' caretaking styles:

Fate: "You aren't feeling well?  Then you just lay down and I will lay down COMPLETELY on top of you and not move for hours to make sure that you don't get up and overdo it.  You just lay there and get some rest."  Like everything she does, Fate throws her entire heart and soul into nap time on the couch and does it with great enthusiasm, something I didn't realize was possible.

Cadence: "I can see that you are sick, and I'm worried about you and so I need comforting.  Could you pet me and make me feel better?  Don't stop - it upsets me.  Did you just cough?!?  Hold me closer."  He is a sensitive guy, if a bit needy.

Jade is the pro, curling up alongside me and there for the long haul.  Of course, 13-year old Jade doesn't care to move for much these days, so this pace suits him well.

Tristan (not surprisingly) and Django (surprisingly) just sort of look at me like "Well, let us know when you are ready to do something again" and go off on their own.  They at least have the courtesy to not be too demanding for attention in the meantime.

All are better than Maebe, whose caretaking strategy is to sit on my head and try incessantly to lick my face.

Meanwhile the cats figure that since I'm home from work anyway, perhaps I could start serving lunch in addition to their morning and evening meals.

Fortunately for me, my human counterpart has better nursing skills than all of them.  Hoping we all get out for a nice spring walk soon before we all go stir crazy.

Twist of Fate

Early this fall, we were talking with a friend who was contemplating a third dog, and she asked if we thought we'd ever get a sixth dog.  Our answer was a simple "no."  It seemed pretty clear.  Sure, there would be the logistics - we'd need to get another crate in the van and the house, need to buy more food, dog supplies, heart worm medications, etc.  But mostly, I told her, we have such a nice balance with our five.  I couldn't imagine finding a sixth dog that could fit in seamlessly with our combination, who were all coexisting well, and who we were able to balance our time with according to all their needs.

Then in early October I got an e-mail.  Due to a variety of unfortunate circumstances, none of which were her fault, Cadence's littermate was needing a new home.  Would we be interested?  As anyone who knows me or reads my blog is well aware, I adore Cadence - am hopelessly smitten over him - and the thought of having his sister was appealing.  Especially when I looked at her photos, with the same bright eyes and happy expression that melt my heart daily - it was tempting, but we responded, thank you, but we just can't right now.

To make a long story short, about a month or so later we were driving to Canada to bring her home.  It is hard to explain what changed, but we came to believe that she was meant to be with us.  We've never gone wrong following our hearts, and we've come to trust the way our pets have all found us, whether we were looking for them at the time or not.  And so we settled on her new name:  Fate.

She settled into our household like she had been there all along.  We have never had such an easy transition introducing a new pet to the family.  Within an hour of arriving home, she was crashed on "her" spot on the couch and everyone was out and relaxed together.

Fate truly loves life, and is the happiest thing we've ever seen.  No matter what we are going to do, it is her favorite thing ever, whether we are going for a run, doing some training, taking a walk, or curling up with a book on the couch.  Her enthusiasm is infectious, if a bit loud at times.  (We were thinking of naming her Aria originally, which also would have been a fitting name given her impressive "singing" ability.)

Having two littermates now, it is fun to see their similarities and differences.  Both are incredible cuddlers, and are on either side of your lap as soon as you sit down, each nudging an arm for some petting.  Both have a lot of drive, but are sensitive at the same time.  Both love snow and make synchronized "snow angel dogs" in the yard after every snowfall.  And, if her one splash in the pond during a November run is any indication, both will be obsessed water dogs.

They also complement each other nicely in training.  Cadence is like the "head" of the two - he is smart, thoughtful, and a problem solver.  He picks things up quickly, thinks things through, and is a blast to clicker-train as he is so operant and clever and offers behaviors readily.  Fate, on the other hand, is all "heart."  She is full of joy and never gives up and would work and work and work all day doing anything you asked of her.  They are very fun, and I am loving the different things they teach me about training every day.

So, we are looking forward to many adventures ahead with our newest addition.  Funny how the right thing finds you when you didn't even know you were looking for it.  Welcome home, Fate.