Monday, December 31, 2012
Monday, December 10, 2012
the little things
Do you ever just sit and ponder the weird minutiae of your dog's life? I do, obviously, which is why I am thinking about how Maya always runs to the last treat I dropped even if she's sitting by the first. Like this morning, when breakfast was dribbled out in a long trail starting in the sun room (where Maya was sitting), through the dining room, into the living room, and down the hall. Maya sat patiently, her tail swishing against the brick floor, and as soon as I told her to go eat, she bolted for the hallway. Why not start with the pieces of kibble lying within inches of her feet? Or all the bits she had to run over in order to get to the hallway? What makes the last few pieces special?
I have been getting involved with a local rescue group, albeit in a pretty minor capacity. The group got some dogs with severe fear-based behavior issues a while back and has been struggling with them. I guess I should say that I think there are some really big, really tough questions to be asked about the realities and responsibilities of adopting out dogs with serious behavior challenges. I've contributed to those discussions too, but in the meantime, I am simply trying to provide some support for foster and adoptive caregivers.
This is one of the things I really wished I had with Maya, at least for the first year: someone who could tell me that everything was going to be okay and then help me learn how to get there, or who could just look at my dog and help me figure her out. This person is usually known as a "trainer," but I didn't find one then (what I did find was an amazing amount of online support -- thanks you guys!).
I am definitely not a professional trainer, but I figure I am better than nothing (uh, I hope). At the very least, I understand how it can be to have a dog who doesn't show up in most of the books, can't go to see a trainer or cope with one coming to the house, and can just barely function on a day-to-day basis. It's a lot of pressure, a lot of stress, and a lot of isolation. Whether or not having an interested helper is going to make a difference remains to be seen.
What I do know is that a challenging dog teaches you to pay attention to the little things. The first time the dog can eat in front of you, or the way it holds its breath for a second when you stand up. The first time its tail tentatively curls up to wag in the frigid winter air. I still remember the first time I could get Maya out of our back gate and out for a walk while she maintained some semblance of self-control (almost six months after we got her, if you want a timeline). That was a big thing, but it was built on tens of thousands of tiny moments. Even if having someone to ask for help or celebrate a tiny victory is only a little thing, I am going to hope that it is one of those that matters.
I have been getting involved with a local rescue group, albeit in a pretty minor capacity. The group got some dogs with severe fear-based behavior issues a while back and has been struggling with them. I guess I should say that I think there are some really big, really tough questions to be asked about the realities and responsibilities of adopting out dogs with serious behavior challenges. I've contributed to those discussions too, but in the meantime, I am simply trying to provide some support for foster and adoptive caregivers.
This is one of the things I really wished I had with Maya, at least for the first year: someone who could tell me that everything was going to be okay and then help me learn how to get there, or who could just look at my dog and help me figure her out. This person is usually known as a "trainer," but I didn't find one then (what I did find was an amazing amount of online support -- thanks you guys!).
I am definitely not a professional trainer, but I figure I am better than nothing (uh, I hope). At the very least, I understand how it can be to have a dog who doesn't show up in most of the books, can't go to see a trainer or cope with one coming to the house, and can just barely function on a day-to-day basis. It's a lot of pressure, a lot of stress, and a lot of isolation. Whether or not having an interested helper is going to make a difference remains to be seen.
What I do know is that a challenging dog teaches you to pay attention to the little things. The first time the dog can eat in front of you, or the way it holds its breath for a second when you stand up. The first time its tail tentatively curls up to wag in the frigid winter air. I still remember the first time I could get Maya out of our back gate and out for a walk while she maintained some semblance of self-control (almost six months after we got her, if you want a timeline). That was a big thing, but it was built on tens of thousands of tiny moments. Even if having someone to ask for help or celebrate a tiny victory is only a little thing, I am going to hope that it is one of those that matters.
Maya at the back gate. I was so excited, I took a picture. Then I went inside and cried, because even our victories seemed to underscore how far we still had to go, and how hard we had to work for the most basic skills. Then I went online to celebrate, because I really was proud of Maya (and myself) for even making it this far.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Friday, October 19, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
ladyfingers = cookies
Obediently following Sarah's lovely request, I took more videos of Maya in action. This time practicing tricks, including the new "cross your paws" thing we learned last week. I always think I sound silly in videos, but this is especially true when I am using my special silly voice that goes with especially silly new cues.
The ten second version, showing just the new trick:
Isn't she charming? I'm biased, I know, but Maya amuses me endlessly; we spend hours being ridiculously entertained by one another. I also made a longer video that shows more of what an actual trick playing/training session looks like around here, although I edited it for length and to try to cut out repetitions...Maya knows plenty more tricks, but the camera is a big distraction (for me especially), so she had to do the same ones over and over while I fumbled treats, miscued, and otherwise made her life difficult. Poor baby.
The distraction for her, by the way, was a neighbor hammering something (or pounding things together in some way). It caught Maya's attention several times, so I told her to go take a look. Sometimes, all she needs is permission.
Of all the learned behaviors she exhibits, the one that gives me the biggest thrill is that Maya has finally learned to catch treats in midair! She really is brilliant.
The ten second version, showing just the new trick:
Isn't she charming? I'm biased, I know, but Maya amuses me endlessly; we spend hours being ridiculously entertained by one another. I also made a longer video that shows more of what an actual trick playing/training session looks like around here, although I edited it for length and to try to cut out repetitions...Maya knows plenty more tricks, but the camera is a big distraction (for me especially), so she had to do the same ones over and over while I fumbled treats, miscued, and otherwise made her life difficult. Poor baby.
The distraction for her, by the way, was a neighbor hammering something (or pounding things together in some way). It caught Maya's attention several times, so I told her to go take a look. Sometimes, all she needs is permission.
Of all the learned behaviors she exhibits, the one that gives me the biggest thrill is that Maya has finally learned to catch treats in midair! She really is brilliant.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
training projects of the moment
I am working on three things with Maya at the moment (okay, probably a million things at any given moment, but three things in formal training sessions).
Door manners.
At present, our door routine looks like this: Maya auto-sits when Brian or I reach for the door handle. We open the door and look outside to make sure that a pack of coyotes is not carousing on our front lawn (hey, it happened once), then we open the storm door and release her from the sit. Maya goes through the door and then stands at the other end of the leash, looking up and down the street for interesting things.
I am working on changing that last part to an auto-redirect onto me (or Brian), where Maya will go through the front door, spin around, and wait at the step with her eyes fixed on us. It sounds fancy, like the sort of thing one does to show off how well-trained and compliant one's dog is, but it's really just one more thing to increase Maya's basic comfort...if leaving the house becomes a cue to focus her attention on me, then it becomes less of a cue for her to scan the environment and seek out things to worry about.
Here are two videos. I took the first before we started training, the second about five minutes later, after about five or six repetitions. Maya looks sort of subdued/apprehensive in both videos, which is entirely because she does not normally go through the front door with a camera right in her face (sorry kiddo!).
Before:
After:
Being left in the car.
Just like it sounds, and definitely the most difficult of the three. Maya does not like to be left in the car, perhaps especially if she's still able to see us. There are multiple reasons for this, but the upshot is that she tends to experience more emotional distress in the car than in any other regular location.
At the moment, I am simply focusing on teaching Maya to eat food in the car while I stand directly outside that smudgy window. Some of the food is handed to her, some of it comes from a Manners Minder. Eventually, I'll start moving around and/or away, but for now, even eating a mouthful of breakfast takes Maya a significant amount of time and effort.
A more long-term solution may be to shop around for a crate that would fit into our back seat. I'd rather have Maya crated in the car anyway, but previous attempts proved that none of the brands we could find locally would both fit Maya and fit into our car. I may try again though, armed with a tape measure and ordering online.
Crossing her paws.
Every dog needs a repertoire of silly dog tricks to help while away rainy afternoons. This one is very easy to teach, and Maya is already well on her way to having it solidly down. Her gangly legs are so cute.
And that's it for this week. Many weeks, we do no formal training whatsoever, but it's always more fun to have a project or two in the works.
Door manners.
At present, our door routine looks like this: Maya auto-sits when Brian or I reach for the door handle. We open the door and look outside to make sure that a pack of coyotes is not carousing on our front lawn (hey, it happened once), then we open the storm door and release her from the sit. Maya goes through the door and then stands at the other end of the leash, looking up and down the street for interesting things.
I am working on changing that last part to an auto-redirect onto me (or Brian), where Maya will go through the front door, spin around, and wait at the step with her eyes fixed on us. It sounds fancy, like the sort of thing one does to show off how well-trained and compliant one's dog is, but it's really just one more thing to increase Maya's basic comfort...if leaving the house becomes a cue to focus her attention on me, then it becomes less of a cue for her to scan the environment and seek out things to worry about.
Here are two videos. I took the first before we started training, the second about five minutes later, after about five or six repetitions. Maya looks sort of subdued/apprehensive in both videos, which is entirely because she does not normally go through the front door with a camera right in her face (sorry kiddo!).
Before:
After:
Being left in the car.
Just like it sounds, and definitely the most difficult of the three. Maya does not like to be left in the car, perhaps especially if she's still able to see us. There are multiple reasons for this, but the upshot is that she tends to experience more emotional distress in the car than in any other regular location.
Have you noticed the anxious drool stains all along the top of this window?
Those are mementos of all the times you abandoned me in here.
At the moment, I am simply focusing on teaching Maya to eat food in the car while I stand directly outside that smudgy window. Some of the food is handed to her, some of it comes from a Manners Minder. Eventually, I'll start moving around and/or away, but for now, even eating a mouthful of breakfast takes Maya a significant amount of time and effort.
A more long-term solution may be to shop around for a crate that would fit into our back seat. I'd rather have Maya crated in the car anyway, but previous attempts proved that none of the brands we could find locally would both fit Maya and fit into our car. I may try again though, armed with a tape measure and ordering online.
Crossing her paws.
Every dog needs a repertoire of silly dog tricks to help while away rainy afternoons. This one is very easy to teach, and Maya is already well on her way to having it solidly down. Her gangly legs are so cute.
And that's it for this week. Many weeks, we do no formal training whatsoever, but it's always more fun to have a project or two in the works.
Friday, October 5, 2012
new things my dog can do
Three things Maya has done recently that made me particularly happy:
One, Maya played catch with a stranger (okay, "stranger"). The "stranger" threw the ball, Maya caught or chased the ball, then she returned the ball to within about a dozen feet and nudged it toward the "stranger." Then I picked it up and tossed it the extra distance and we repeated. Maya did not growl, charge, cower, or startle, although she did a certain amount of impatient barking (which is fine...the goal is a happy dog, not a silent dog!). What she mostly did was wag from the shoulders back, and try to use her terrific powers of mental telepathy to make the person THROW THE BALL AGAIN.
Two, Maya greeted a (human) friend of hers while I was standing right there. The "friend" works at the kennel at which we board Maya, and they are well-acquainted there, but Maya greeted her with soft, wagging enthusiasm, even with me present and involved. The person even petted her, right on the head, and Maya was fine with it. This wasn't a big deal, it was just delightful and easy, and I love seeing my dog so friendly with anyone.
Three, Maya walked away with that friend, to stay a few days at the kennel, and barely spared me a backward glance. She was so comfortable and happy to be in this familiar and safe environment, and I felt a big squeeze of knowing I'd done this one thing exactly right. Our kennel is also our vet's office, and Maya gets so excited when we pull up that she yodels with glee; she can stay there when we travel, or when we have visitors and don't want to negotiate the dog stuff; she can get vet care; she is safe; she is happy.
Maya's ability to feel safe and comfortable in the wider world has improved out of all recognition. Her ability to interact with other people remains pretty limited, and depends considerably on context, as these examples probably illustrate. She keeps growing, learning, and trying to stretch her comfort zone; I think she is amazing.
One, Maya played catch with a stranger (okay, "stranger"). The "stranger" threw the ball, Maya caught or chased the ball, then she returned the ball to within about a dozen feet and nudged it toward the "stranger." Then I picked it up and tossed it the extra distance and we repeated. Maya did not growl, charge, cower, or startle, although she did a certain amount of impatient barking (which is fine...the goal is a happy dog, not a silent dog!). What she mostly did was wag from the shoulders back, and try to use her terrific powers of mental telepathy to make the person THROW THE BALL AGAIN.
Two, Maya greeted a (human) friend of hers while I was standing right there. The "friend" works at the kennel at which we board Maya, and they are well-acquainted there, but Maya greeted her with soft, wagging enthusiasm, even with me present and involved. The person even petted her, right on the head, and Maya was fine with it. This wasn't a big deal, it was just delightful and easy, and I love seeing my dog so friendly with anyone.
Three, Maya walked away with that friend, to stay a few days at the kennel, and barely spared me a backward glance. She was so comfortable and happy to be in this familiar and safe environment, and I felt a big squeeze of knowing I'd done this one thing exactly right. Our kennel is also our vet's office, and Maya gets so excited when we pull up that she yodels with glee; she can stay there when we travel, or when we have visitors and don't want to negotiate the dog stuff; she can get vet care; she is safe; she is happy.
Maya's ability to feel safe and comfortable in the wider world has improved out of all recognition. Her ability to interact with other people remains pretty limited, and depends considerably on context, as these examples probably illustrate. She keeps growing, learning, and trying to stretch her comfort zone; I think she is amazing.
Saturday, September 22, 2012
an apple a day
We have two apple trees groaning in our front yard, and the neighbor's tree sometimes drops apples into our back yard. As we pick and process the fruit out front, excess or rotten apples get tossed onto the compost pile out back. Extra apples sit on counters, or in our fruit basket. All of which is to say that there are plenty of apples within the reach of a certain dog.
Maya does not touch or seemingly notice these apples. But if I pick an apple and carry it into the back yard, her eyes light up.
This is partly because an apple looks a lot like a B-A-L-L, and a little bit because fresh-picked apples taste best, but mostly it has to do with adding value. Adding/transferring value is one of those things that's useful to think about if you're trying to convince a dog (or other animal) that something is fun or delicious -- it's how we persuade them to enjoy their food more, or love being clipped onto a leash, or prefer to come racing back to you instead of pursuing a squirrel into the forest. Really, transferring value is just another term for dog training.
The big ways to transfer value have to do with classical and operant conditioning, and all that fun stuff. Those are important. But what amuses me are the funny little psychological tricks to make something more amazing.
For instance, most rats find anything forbidden to be incredibly desirable. The more you try to stop them from doing something, the more they want to do it. Obviously, this drives some rat owners totally bonkers (especially those with expensive carpets or accessible electrical cords). But it also means that you can make a very fun game out of pretending something is off-limits, and then getting the ratties more and more excited about trying to get it. Put a box on the floor, for instance, and try to keep all the ratties from going inside. We call this "the Pee Rag game," and, played fairly, it provides tremendous fun for all.
For both the rats and for Maya, my interest in a thing imparts greater value to it. Food in my hand is worth more than food on the ground. If I leave a tissue lying on the couch, a rat will probably make off with it eventually, but if I pick it up, I will attract the interest of all nearby rodents, all of them curious and acquisitive.
This is what is at work with the apples, which are common and boring until I pick one up. Once I've touched it, Maya wants it more than anything, and will eat it all up with tremendous, single-minded enthusiasm.
Besides finding this occasionally useful, I must confess that I find it flattering. Which is funny, of course, because it works both ways. I don't just mean that a sock on the floor interests me much less than a sock dangling from Maya's mouth (though there's that too), but that I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what she's doing, and why, and getting all excited about even quite trivial things (like apple eating). I can change Maya's opinion of apples just by picking them, but she changes my view of all kinds of things too.
Maya does not touch or seemingly notice these apples. But if I pick an apple and carry it into the back yard, her eyes light up.
The big ways to transfer value have to do with classical and operant conditioning, and all that fun stuff. Those are important. But what amuses me are the funny little psychological tricks to make something more amazing.
For instance, most rats find anything forbidden to be incredibly desirable. The more you try to stop them from doing something, the more they want to do it. Obviously, this drives some rat owners totally bonkers (especially those with expensive carpets or accessible electrical cords). But it also means that you can make a very fun game out of pretending something is off-limits, and then getting the ratties more and more excited about trying to get it. Put a box on the floor, for instance, and try to keep all the ratties from going inside. We call this "the Pee Rag game," and, played fairly, it provides tremendous fun for all.
For both the rats and for Maya, my interest in a thing imparts greater value to it. Food in my hand is worth more than food on the ground. If I leave a tissue lying on the couch, a rat will probably make off with it eventually, but if I pick it up, I will attract the interest of all nearby rodents, all of them curious and acquisitive.
This is what is at work with the apples, which are common and boring until I pick one up. Once I've touched it, Maya wants it more than anything, and will eat it all up with tremendous, single-minded enthusiasm.
Besides finding this occasionally useful, I must confess that I find it flattering. Which is funny, of course, because it works both ways. I don't just mean that a sock on the floor interests me much less than a sock dangling from Maya's mouth (though there's that too), but that I spend an inordinate amount of time thinking about what she's doing, and why, and getting all excited about even quite trivial things (like apple eating). I can change Maya's opinion of apples just by picking them, but she changes my view of all kinds of things too.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
three years and a bit
I missed Maya's gotcha day by more than a month. Oh well. Lately, we've had so many random celebrations that trying to hit a specific day would just be silly. For the record though, we've now had Maya in our lives for three years and a bit.
At this moment, right now, I don't think I've ever been happier with Maya. Next year, perhaps I'll read this and laugh, thinking how much better things have become. Time tends to give that perspective; right now, it's hard to imagine.
Maya remains a "hands off" dog, except to a select few. I have had Maya for over three years, and, in that time, I can count the number of people who've touched her on the fingers of both hands. Almost all of those people are professionals -- trainers, veterinarians and staff, and so on -- who are experienced in dealing with 'dogs with issues.' When I say that things are wonderful with Maya, I do not mean that every facet of life comes easily to her (or to me).
But ask me to tell you something wonderful about my dog and I can't stop talking. She is so smart. She tries so hard. She learns so fast, and thinks that learning is almost the most fun a dog can have. She is great company on a hike, or great company if I feel like lazing around the house. She is hilarious. She smells good. She has the best ears. She makes mornings feel brighter. She teaches me things about the world. She is a good friend. When I smile at her, her whole body lights up. When I sing to her, she dances.
This moment, right now, is a good one.
At this moment, right now, I don't think I've ever been happier with Maya. Next year, perhaps I'll read this and laugh, thinking how much better things have become. Time tends to give that perspective; right now, it's hard to imagine.
Maya remains a "hands off" dog, except to a select few. I have had Maya for over three years, and, in that time, I can count the number of people who've touched her on the fingers of both hands. Almost all of those people are professionals -- trainers, veterinarians and staff, and so on -- who are experienced in dealing with 'dogs with issues.' When I say that things are wonderful with Maya, I do not mean that every facet of life comes easily to her (or to me).
But ask me to tell you something wonderful about my dog and I can't stop talking. She is so smart. She tries so hard. She learns so fast, and thinks that learning is almost the most fun a dog can have. She is great company on a hike, or great company if I feel like lazing around the house. She is hilarious. She smells good. She has the best ears. She makes mornings feel brighter. She teaches me things about the world. She is a good friend. When I smile at her, her whole body lights up. When I sing to her, she dances.
This moment, right now, is a good one.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
dog jokes
I was digging up the tomato plot this morning, getting it ready for some transplants. Maya wanted to play, so she made up a game of her own. It involved pretending to be afraid of the shovel (she'd give a great, theatrical start of surprise every time I lifted it a few inches into the air) until she was sufficiently "scared," and then releasing the tension with great, grinning, looping zoomies all over the back yard.
Maya has been especially silly lately, perhaps full of the fun of springtime. When she makes up games that involve such imaginative elements, and then slides her laughing eyes over to mine to make sure I'm watching, I can't help but feel she's making dog jokes. It makes me laugh. It also made me wonder if I could tell dog jokes back at her, so I pretended to find the shovel quite startling too. Maya instantly flung herself into another round of zoomies, face alight with glee. My success at canine comedy thrilled me to an embarrassing degree.
It is amazing I ever get any yard work done.
Other games of the day included tug with a piece of grass.
And rolling around waving our feet at one another.
It's hard to beat a lazy, sunny Sunday afternoon.
Maya has been especially silly lately, perhaps full of the fun of springtime. When she makes up games that involve such imaginative elements, and then slides her laughing eyes over to mine to make sure I'm watching, I can't help but feel she's making dog jokes. It makes me laugh. It also made me wonder if I could tell dog jokes back at her, so I pretended to find the shovel quite startling too. Maya instantly flung herself into another round of zoomies, face alight with glee. My success at canine comedy thrilled me to an embarrassing degree.
It is amazing I ever get any yard work done.
Other games of the day included tug with a piece of grass.
Putting things on Maya's head.
And rolling around waving our feet at one another.
It's hard to beat a lazy, sunny Sunday afternoon.
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Maya says hello
There is the less-approved method of greeting...
...the greeting everyone can enjoy...
...and a certain amount of total WTF?.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
sweet mysteries
It's gorgeous again and I have no real thoughts. But here is Maya, seeking to unravel the mysteries of the universe.
Like eggs.
Or maybe why I don't go out and buy more treats after she has eaten all those I just gave her.
Happily, not everything requires such deep thought.
Like eggs.
And there is the ever-present question of why I don't give her all the treats.
Or maybe why I don't go out and buy more treats after she has eaten all those I just gave her.
Happily, not everything requires such deep thought.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Good Friday
In the dark early hours of Good Friday, tens of thousands of pilgrims walk the roads of New Mexico. In our area, they are walking to El Santuario de Chimayó, a particularly famous shrine. Some of them carry big wooden crosses, and some of them walk dozens of miles, but I am a little hazy on the actual theology involved...I live in a predominantly Catholic state, but am invariably surprised by whatever holiday is suddenly being celebrated.
But in the dark early hours of this morning, I left my own home.
And went for a very long drive to far-away places.
Pilgrims clogged the highways for much of the drive, but I was traveling against the flow. Different journeys, different goals. Mine was the usual:
The former owner of these two girls is heading off next week to start training in the Air Force. She was having a lot of trouble finding a good place for her girls, not least because one is shy and reportedly a little bit bitey. Which is not an unlikely outcome when you spend several formative days in your infancy sharing a small tank with a boa constrictor. The things that people do to rats.
I wrote to the former owner and asked if we might arrange some way to get these girls up here. Like most of my ratties, they've been through an impressive number of homes, and I am pretty sure they'll benefit from a little stability. Anyway, I think they are cute.
The former meal is a little anxious, so I'm letting her settle in at her own speed. But she is far from being the most fearful rat we've had. She is already nosing around my hand, and took a pea from me with extreme politeness, so I suspect we'll be friends before long.
Her friend is adorable, and comes with her own sad start in life (thoughtlessly purchased as a pet for a small child, which might not be so bad if anyone had bothered to take care of her). When her original foster mom got her, she was apparently catatonic and wouldn't interact at all. Until she met her forever friend, and began to blossom. She's a cheeky little thing now, and already climbing around on me.
But in the dark early hours of this morning, I left my own home.
And went for a very long drive to far-away places.
Pilgrims clogged the highways for much of the drive, but I was traveling against the flow. Different journeys, different goals. Mine was the usual:
The former owner of these two girls is heading off next week to start training in the Air Force. She was having a lot of trouble finding a good place for her girls, not least because one is shy and reportedly a little bit bitey. Which is not an unlikely outcome when you spend several formative days in your infancy sharing a small tank with a boa constrictor. The things that people do to rats.
I wrote to the former owner and asked if we might arrange some way to get these girls up here. Like most of my ratties, they've been through an impressive number of homes, and I am pretty sure they'll benefit from a little stability. Anyway, I think they are cute.
The former meal is a little anxious, so I'm letting her settle in at her own speed. But she is far from being the most fearful rat we've had. She is already nosing around my hand, and took a pea from me with extreme politeness, so I suspect we'll be friends before long.
Her friend is adorable, and comes with her own sad start in life (thoughtlessly purchased as a pet for a small child, which might not be so bad if anyone had bothered to take care of her). When her original foster mom got her, she was apparently catatonic and wouldn't interact at all. Until she met her forever friend, and began to blossom. She's a cheeky little thing now, and already climbing around on me.
They are both about a year old, and I think will fit into our main group pretty well. I'm just giving them a few weeks to settle in first, and getting to know them in the meantime. Fun!
But phew, that was a long drive. I am glad to be back home again.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
just kidding
Monday, April 2, 2012
my camera is fixed!
And it's spring!!
That's our apricot tree. Apricots don't grow especially well up here, because a late frost comes along almost every year and kills the blossoms. People complain, and sometimes chop them down, because they are essentially non-producers. But I love that early in the spring, before anything is truly green or any intelligent plant would dare to flower, the apricots are waving their useless blooms all over town.
That's our apricot tree. Apricots don't grow especially well up here, because a late frost comes along almost every year and kills the blossoms. People complain, and sometimes chop them down, because they are essentially non-producers. But I love that early in the spring, before anything is truly green or any intelligent plant would dare to flower, the apricots are waving their useless blooms all over town.
Maya loves spring too: the chipmunks are active again, delicious shoots of new grass are ready for grazing, the breeze is warm, and I am spending hours out in the yard with her. I've been getting our vegetable bed ready for planting, filling containers with spinach & kale seeds, and generally cleaning up our yard. Maya supervises it all.
Most of what I do in the yard fascinates Maya. Digging in the dirt is a group activity (although I had to ban her from helping me plant last year -- she carefully watched me put the tomato seedling into the ground and pat the dirt around it, and when I stepped back to admire my handiwork she promptly reached out her own front feet and smashed it flat. My Little Helper). She distrusts the hose, but likes to run circles around me when I rake. Her aim is to leap clean over the rake, mine is to to avoid a horrible collision. I carried a dozen cinder blocks across the yard the other day, which Maya inexplicably found hilarious; it prompted a massive attack of the zoomies and lots of doggy laughter.
Up in the mountains, there is still a little snow and a lot of mud. Delicious, delicious mud.
Updated to add: apricot trees are insufferable optimists. As of 7:00 tonight.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
a posy of noses
(clockwise from top left: Juniper, Puck, Neo, Pilot)
It's like a springtime novelty bouquet. All five ratties were in the box, though Nimbus's nose is out of sight, and so comfortable that they barely cracked their eyes open when I took a photo. Rat piles are the best.
Speaking of spring:
We are having a little thaw this week, so every time Maya goes out into the yard, she tracks in fresh mud. We do have some towels near the back door and, if I ask, Maya wipes her feet on them. My lazy side wishes we could teach her to wipe her feet even without being asked.
By the way, Pilot's top teeth are growing back beautifully. This is a huge relief to me, and no doubt to Pilot as well. She even chewed a little hole in my sweatshirt the other night, and is back to eating solid foods (like the almond sliver pictured here). I'm so glad to have my tiniest girl back to her usual naughty & adorable self.
One more nose.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
up on the mountain
It was so cold, her breath froze on her whiskers. The barbed wire fence was similarly frosted.
And the sun made things sparkle, but failed to warm us.
Maya, undaunted, wallowed chin-deep through frozen drifts.
Sometimes deeper.
She seemed to think that a sub-zero early morning snowshoeing trip was one of my best ideas ever, and who am I to disagree?
(P.S. it is very bad trail manners to let your dog wreck a ski track. But since at least one group of people and dogs had come along and wrecked it before us, I went ahead and let her. Shame on me, I know.)
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
delirium
I made my dog deliriously happy this morning. Emphasis on the delirium, because I used the B-A-L-L. Yes, we have to spell it out, and now it seems Maya is learning to spell, so we may need to find some other word entirely (she can also spell D-O-G and M-A-Y-A, which is making it harder and harder to talk about her without her noticing).
The ball is a controlled substance around here. I keep it locked away, or at least out of sight on top of the refrigerator, because exposure to the ball causes Maya's brain to have a critical meltdown. The breakdown begins the moment I pull it off the fridge. Maya's entire being is electrified, and her face splits into a dazzling grin. She cannot take her eyes off it for more than a split second, so she frequently tries to back out of the kitchen and then make the turn into the living room without looking. When she miscalculates, she collides face-first with the wall, but this doesn't seem to bother her at all. Nothing does, when the B-A-L-L is out.
The longer we play fetch with the ball, the more Maya's cognitive functions shut down. She obsesses, exhibits compulsive behaviors, and cannot hear or comprehend a single word that I say. Sometimes, she will get confused about which ball game we are playing (there are two: fetch and "find it"), and in the middle of a game of fetch will suddenly run off to try to find the ball. This happens even if I'm holding the ball right in plain sight...her brain is just melted.
And yet, it makes her intensely happy. Insane with glee. She never stops smiling, except occasionally when she takes a quick break from the game to have some extra-special time with her ball (she carries it to her crate and spends about five seconds mouthing it, eyes half closed, clearly getting some kind of chemical high from the experience). When I put the ball away, the obsessive-compulsive behaviors end abruptly, and Maya just lies in a heap of happy panting, brain re-booting and eyes shining.
After overwhelming her with ball endorphins, I completely broke her heart by delaying breakfast by several hours. When this happens, Maya becomes quite distressed, which we refer to as a "Crisis in Dog-land." We may or may not also flail our arms wildly, throw ourselves to the ground, and weep bitter tears while moaning, "Crisis in Dog-land! Oh no! Oh woe!" It is not all happiness around here.
The ball is a controlled substance around here. I keep it locked away, or at least out of sight on top of the refrigerator, because exposure to the ball causes Maya's brain to have a critical meltdown. The breakdown begins the moment I pull it off the fridge. Maya's entire being is electrified, and her face splits into a dazzling grin. She cannot take her eyes off it for more than a split second, so she frequently tries to back out of the kitchen and then make the turn into the living room without looking. When she miscalculates, she collides face-first with the wall, but this doesn't seem to bother her at all. Nothing does, when the B-A-L-L is out.
The longer we play fetch with the ball, the more Maya's cognitive functions shut down. She obsesses, exhibits compulsive behaviors, and cannot hear or comprehend a single word that I say. Sometimes, she will get confused about which ball game we are playing (there are two: fetch and "find it"), and in the middle of a game of fetch will suddenly run off to try to find the ball. This happens even if I'm holding the ball right in plain sight...her brain is just melted.
And yet, it makes her intensely happy. Insane with glee. She never stops smiling, except occasionally when she takes a quick break from the game to have some extra-special time with her ball (she carries it to her crate and spends about five seconds mouthing it, eyes half closed, clearly getting some kind of chemical high from the experience). When I put the ball away, the obsessive-compulsive behaviors end abruptly, and Maya just lies in a heap of happy panting, brain re-booting and eyes shining.
After overwhelming her with ball endorphins, I completely broke her heart by delaying breakfast by several hours. When this happens, Maya becomes quite distressed, which we refer to as a "Crisis in Dog-land." We may or may not also flail our arms wildly, throw ourselves to the ground, and weep bitter tears while moaning, "Crisis in Dog-land! Oh no! Oh woe!" It is not all happiness around here.
Sunday, February 5, 2012
a lesson in rat dentition
About a week ago, my daredevil rat, Pilot, took a flying leap out of Brian's arms and landed face-first on the brick floor. She knocked both her top teeth clean out, and spent several days being very shaken and sore, but is healing fast and well now. Still, it was pretty upsetting for everyone.
She jumped for no reason. Well, except for whatever reason suggested to her by the little voices in her head. Pilot has done this sort of thing before, and I imagine will probably try to do it again in the future -- she just leaps into the unknown with complete confidence in her own invulnerability. Pilot is approximately eighty years old in human terms, so you'd think she'd have learned better by now, but she hasn't.
This is Pilot, by the way.
It drives me crazy when my pets do dumb stuff for no (apparent) reason. Of course, it drives Maya crazy when I do dumb stuff for no (apparent) reason too. Keeping pet rats may well fall into this category for her. I know she find them interesting, but the whole not eating them thing is clearly a very frustrating mystery to her. There I am, with five temptingly plump, squeaky, fluffy creatures, all of whom come when I call them, and I never even take a nibble. Humans.
If Maya has trouble seeing inside the human mind, it is nothing compared to the difficulty I sometimes encounter when trying to see the world as my pets do. Consider Pilot's teeth, for example. Rats have the most extraordinary teeth. Twelve of them are just like ours -- the twelve molars that sit in the very back of the mouth and are used for grinding food up when eating -- but the other four are completely different. Here is Puck, showing a dainty glimpse of her ratty incisors.
There are two things most people immediately notice about rat incisors: first, the top two are a startling bright orange, which is normal and healthy but not at all the color we expect; second, they are huge, much larger (proportional to the skull) than human teeth could ever be. As Nimbus shows us here:
Less obviously, rat incisors continue to grow throughout the entire life of the rat. Pilot damaged her teeth last Sunday and then they fell out, one on Monday and one on Thursday. She already has a new tooth growing in, and I expect to see some signs of the second soon. Can you imagine? It's fascinating to watch; if all goes well, Pilot should have two brand-new top teeth within about six weeks. However, if the root of either tooth is damaged enough to make it grow back crooked, I will spend the rest of Pilot's life trimming her teeth back to make sure they do not overgrow (a dangerous and uncomfortable possibility). Since the thought of trimming teeth gives me the heebie-jeebies, I am hoping for normal regrowth.
But the best and most amazing part of rat teeth is how integral they are to the ratty umwelt. Rats use their teeth in a way almost unimaginable to humans, similar (but different) to the way we use our sensitive fingertips. In fact, when I meet a rat, I reach out to it with my fingers, because that's how humans learn about the world. Rats may steady themselves or the object of their attentions with their hands, but they investigate with their mouth, tasting, licking, nibbling, smelling, and otherwise gathering valuable information. They communicate with their teeth too, nibble-grooming one another (and sometimes me) with exquisite control over pressure, or grinding their teeth together in the ratty equivalent of a purr. Imagine trying to tell someone you love them using just your teeth!
My rats live in a different world than I do. It is a tactile and scent-filled world, and one filled with companionship. My rats spend upwards of eighteen hours a day in physical contact with one another -- piled up asleep, grooming, or just hanging out side-by-side. When they are not confined to a cage, they seek out this same physical closeness with me, napping on my feet or lap, sitting on a shoulder and pressing their bodies against me. Pilot, feeling awful and sore this week, would crawl gloomily into the palm of my hand and curl up there, falling asleep to the warmth of my skin and the rhythm of my pulse. Maya also sometimes seeks comfort in closeness, but physical contact matters far less to her than to the ratties.
But Maya, like the rats, relies heavily on smells. Rats scent-mark even more than (most) dogs do. Sometimes they use a dribble of urine, but rats also have scent glands in their wrists and chin that can be employed to mark practically everything they come in contact with. When our rats free range, they are usually in a single room, which I am sure bears a complex tracery of overlaying scent mapping. And when Maya comes in afterward, she drinks up these smells with intense enthusiasm, following rat trails around and learning about what they were doing. More often than not, she succeeds in finding the secret place where the rats have hidden their snacks. I suspect that Maya and the rats live in a world of smells to a degree that I simply cannot understand, no matter how much I crawl around on all fours and sniff corners. We are three species sharing a house and so much more, yet having distinctly separate spheres of perception and thought.
All of which is to say that I don't really know what Pilot's thoughts have been like this past week, anymore than I can truly understand the scope of loss involved for a toothless rat. But that doesn't mean I don't know quite a bit. I know her mouth hurts, but is healing. I know she is sleeping right now, with the press of soft rat bodies all around her and the smell of friends in her nostrils. I know she is always going to leap without looking, always going to gallop headlong into the unknown, and never going to take heed of her own limitations. I may not know everything that goes through her head, but I know who Pilot is.
She jumped for no reason. Well, except for whatever reason suggested to her by the little voices in her head. Pilot has done this sort of thing before, and I imagine will probably try to do it again in the future -- she just leaps into the unknown with complete confidence in her own invulnerability. Pilot is approximately eighty years old in human terms, so you'd think she'd have learned better by now, but she hasn't.
This is Pilot, by the way.
It drives me crazy when my pets do dumb stuff for no (apparent) reason. Of course, it drives Maya crazy when I do dumb stuff for no (apparent) reason too. Keeping pet rats may well fall into this category for her. I know she find them interesting, but the whole not eating them thing is clearly a very frustrating mystery to her. There I am, with five temptingly plump, squeaky, fluffy creatures, all of whom come when I call them, and I never even take a nibble. Humans.
If Maya has trouble seeing inside the human mind, it is nothing compared to the difficulty I sometimes encounter when trying to see the world as my pets do. Consider Pilot's teeth, for example. Rats have the most extraordinary teeth. Twelve of them are just like ours -- the twelve molars that sit in the very back of the mouth and are used for grinding food up when eating -- but the other four are completely different. Here is Puck, showing a dainty glimpse of her ratty incisors.
There are two things most people immediately notice about rat incisors: first, the top two are a startling bright orange, which is normal and healthy but not at all the color we expect; second, they are huge, much larger (proportional to the skull) than human teeth could ever be. As Nimbus shows us here:
But the best and most amazing part of rat teeth is how integral they are to the ratty umwelt. Rats use their teeth in a way almost unimaginable to humans, similar (but different) to the way we use our sensitive fingertips. In fact, when I meet a rat, I reach out to it with my fingers, because that's how humans learn about the world. Rats may steady themselves or the object of their attentions with their hands, but they investigate with their mouth, tasting, licking, nibbling, smelling, and otherwise gathering valuable information. They communicate with their teeth too, nibble-grooming one another (and sometimes me) with exquisite control over pressure, or grinding their teeth together in the ratty equivalent of a purr. Imagine trying to tell someone you love them using just your teeth!
My rats live in a different world than I do. It is a tactile and scent-filled world, and one filled with companionship. My rats spend upwards of eighteen hours a day in physical contact with one another -- piled up asleep, grooming, or just hanging out side-by-side. When they are not confined to a cage, they seek out this same physical closeness with me, napping on my feet or lap, sitting on a shoulder and pressing their bodies against me. Pilot, feeling awful and sore this week, would crawl gloomily into the palm of my hand and curl up there, falling asleep to the warmth of my skin and the rhythm of my pulse. Maya also sometimes seeks comfort in closeness, but physical contact matters far less to her than to the ratties.
All of which is to say that I don't really know what Pilot's thoughts have been like this past week, anymore than I can truly understand the scope of loss involved for a toothless rat. But that doesn't mean I don't know quite a bit. I know her mouth hurts, but is healing. I know she is sleeping right now, with the press of soft rat bodies all around her and the smell of friends in her nostrils. I know she is always going to leap without looking, always going to gallop headlong into the unknown, and never going to take heed of her own limitations. I may not know everything that goes through her head, but I know who Pilot is.
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