Shake, Rattle and Roll

Crate training update: I really thought I might be out of the woods  after Waffles went to sleep last night in her Thundershirt without even a whimper. Granted, it was very late and she had had a busy day, but this was the first night without any banshee screams and I was getting ready to give the Thundershirt a convert's endorsement. Come to think of it I still might, because Waffles was not wearing the Thundershirt when I left her in the crate this afternoon. I was afraid to leave it on her when I wasn't in the house because she has a way of slipping out of it and having it gather around her neck, so I placed her naked in her makeshift "den," and proceeded to get ready to leave her for  a few hours.

 

The screams started almost immediately and I turned up the radio in the hope that it would keep her company. "I'll be back little girl," I soothed. It did little good, but I reassured myself with the knowledge that she would soon quiet down and she could not break out of this crate as she has her x-pen. It helped that we had been having "trial runs" when I was home to get her accustomed and I had learned both of the above -- 1. that she eventually quieted and 2. she could not pull a Houdini in this style crate.

I was right! When I returned home several hours later -- a nervous wreck (my sister-in-law, a new mother, likened my trials to trying to get my niece used to her new crib) -- I found that indeed the crate had held. And, while the house was quiet when I opened the door, it took only seconds before Waffles began bellowing to get out. I turned the corner from the kitchen into the dining room where I left her crate and almost banged right into it. In her distress, it seems my 13 lb. pug had moved the crate, which has to weigh more than she does, at least 3 feet across the room. Well, at least she didn't get out.

I'd love to be able to allow Waffles to roam free while I am gone, but there is just too much traffic in and out of my house to allow me to safely do so. I can't trust that she won't sneak out the door, so we'll try the crate again tomorrow morning when I have to leave again. The training books assure us that dogs love their crates finding them safe, dark dens like they would have in the wild. I wonder...a cage is a cage is a cage...I might guess. I too balk at certain forms of security others feel I should embrace -- a traditional 9 to 5 job, for example. I'm going to keep trying the crate training for awhile, but I wonder if I were Waffles if I would be viewing this cage as my home.

Sadie, My Lady, My Love

The phone rang 20 minutes ago. It was my friend Jane leaving a message. Her pug "Sadie, My Lady, My Love" had died. "She is with her Lady from Connecticut," she said. Jane was referring to Sadie's previous and lifelong owner, who passed away earlier this year, resulting in Sadie's entrance into pug rescue where Jane recently adopted her.

Jane hadn't had Sadie long before receiving a diagnosis several weeks ago of a tumor in Sadie's head. The vet recommended she put her down right away, but Sadie was still eating and running around and Jane allowed her to live out her remaining days. Although she looked worse for the wear, Sadie remained fairly active up until this weekend where we all knew the end was near. Still, she didn't seem to labor and rested with the other pugs at our friend Joan's house where Jane was staying this weekend.

One of Joan's pugs, Soup, kept a deathwatch, snuggling up to Sadie and keeping her company throughout the night. Joan said she had never witnessed anything like it and wouldn't have believed anyone if they had told her the story, but I have heard other stories lately of animals doing similar things -- my friend Jon Katz's dog Red remained the constant companion to an ill sheep on their farm. I know people debate the emotional lives of animals, but it doesn't seem strange to me that living creatures sense and acknowledge death in this way, that some choose -- whether instinctively or consciously --  to provide warmth and comfort in light of an inevitable end. Life bends to death, to that which is most profound, and those living draw close together, to each other.

Jane and Joan returned home in time to spend Sadie's last moments with her. "God is good to me," Jane said, "I got those last moments with her and while it is always sad when a dog dies, this death was sweet."

Jane told me the other day that although she felt it a kindness to Sadie to give her extra time, some peaceful final days rather than putting her to sleep, she also felt it was a kindness to Sadie's "Lady," who loved her all her life.

"I would hope someone would do this for me someday," she said.

People also debate the spiritual fate of dogs -- do they go to Heaven, the Rainbow Bridge, or somplace else entirely? These are philosophical, ethical, theological questions that are challenging at best to answer. It is not so hard to see, however, that whether or not dogs have souls, they do our souls good. They make us look beyond ourselves, to address the spiritual. They keep us company on our journey, drawing close to provide warmth and comfort as we wend our way to an inevitable end. They become the stuff of religion, helping us ask the questions. In many ways they become the litmus test for what we believe.

Routine

My little Devil Dog still has a wee bit of hell in her, but she is settling down and getting into a routine here at the house. I'm not sure if the Thundershirt is having any effect on helping her become crate trained, although she did whimper instead of screech last night, but she is starting to act more comfortable. Every morning as soon as we wake up, I let the two pugs out of their crates and they run downstairs and outside to do their business and catch some sun by the pool.

 

Waffles, a country dog, has lived a relatively isolated life at least when it comes to neighbors, so she loves taking in the sounds of an active community waking up in the morning. She listens to the rumble of the trucks passing by, the click of the mailboxes opening and shutting, the yelps of other dogs, the crowing of the neighbor's rooster. When cars and trucks pass by the backyard, she and Alfie run to the far corner of the fence and bark -- consummate guard dogs. Alfie seems to enjoy the company, Waffles the activity. I sit and drink my tea each morning content to share in this routine.

Adamant Redux

A group of us attended the QuarryWork's theater production of The Importance of Being Earnest in Adamant, VT. This has become a summer tradition for me and my friends. QuarryWorks puts on three free productions each summer -- a musical, a children's production and a classic. The Importance of Being Earnest is this year's classic. Tickets are free but you have to show up ahead of the show to pick them up. This is community theater and the quaint, but scenic locations overlooking a quarry makes it seem even more communal. Attendees can pack picnic dinners to eat before the production begins. One year my friend Joan helped play the piano for one of the prodcutions so she knows a lot of the cast and crew. Flowers line the dirt path and the banks along the quarry. Tonight I captured some of these as I waited for the play to begin.

Waffles stayed at home with Alfie and my mother, who kindly agreed to keep an eye on her. The verdict is still out on the Thundershirt, but I will keep everyone posted. In the meantime, she was quietly sitting in her crate when I returned although I heard from Mom that she turned from Gizmo to a Gremlin when the crate door first locked.

Enjoy the pics of Adamant and if you ever have the opportunity go and check out a show. Tonight's was terrific and no less lovely was the natural beauty of this rural Vermont setting.

See the full gallery on Posterous

Thundershirt

The vet and many blog readers have suggested I try the Thundershirt, a jacket that applies gentle pressure, to help relieve Waffles' anxiety about being in the crate. Personally, I'm not all that sure it is anxiety. I think Waffles just doesn't want to be confined. She grew up in a house full of dogs where she basically had the run of the place and rather than being a nice little dog den, I think she views her crate as a prison. But, in any case I'm willing to try anything if I can get her to feel better about being confined while I am out on assignment or teaching. The vet also thought the Thundershirt might keep her from scratching her stitches from the spaying, so it seemed like a good investment. I purchased one today and am going to give it a try. So, here comes the Thundershirt!

The Conversation

Talk to me friend
Rooted in time
Sharing my field

Tell me your story
Let's have a conversation
About times past
Days ahead
A world moving on
A world standing still

Talk to me friend
Tell me your story
Of roots and trees
Leaves and branches
And Sun

Talk to me friend
Tell me your story
Of farmers and milk
Barns and cows
And Silage

Talk to me friend
Rooted in memory
Sharing my fate

Tell me your story
Let's have a conversation
To keep from feeling lonely
To remember who we are
In the Days ahead
In a world moving on
In a world standing still

Tell me your story
And you will know mine.

Present

Waffles' breeder and former owner, "Mama Joan," came over today to be with Waffles when she got out of surgery. Waffles was so sedate that she would lift her head for a moment and then fall back to sleep. On a conscious level I am not sure she fully realized Joan was there, yet, on another I'm sure she did. I'm sure she discerned the familiar arms that held her, the scent of Joan and the pugs who came with her, the sounds of her former pack, TarBaby and Egg, at play about her. I can't be sure exactly what she registered, but I think that however she perceives it, this animal understood that she was safe and loved.

Return to Sender

I have to admit that after my first couple of days with my "Devil Dog" Waffles I had begun to consider ways to sneak her back to Pugdom. I wondered if there was a way to delete my blog entries so no one remembered her. I know, these are horrible thoughts, but the sweet little girl I envisioned seemed to be replaced by a snorting, screeching, screaming banshee.

 

Monday night she discovered the trashcan in the bathroom and although I removed her right away and sent her to bed, the next morning she darted straight back to the bathroom, finding her way back to the trashcan and the trash, which she soon spread from one side of the room to the other. Alfie wanted to help in the redecorating, so she came over and peed on the bathmat. Then Alfie ran downstairs to the carpet where she began to do circles, rubbing her butt on the floor. Not long after I fed Waffles her breakfast, which she promptly regurgitated. What was it about pugs that I loved?
Last night I decided to try placing a "heartbeat" Teddy in Waffles' crate to help her sleep and her screetches seemed to subside, but suddenly Alfie was whining confused by the noise. And, the heartbeat, which was on a timer, only helped for so long. Waffles was awake in a couple of hours screaming again. This may have been more bearable if I didn't have to be up at the crack of dawn to bring her to the vets for her spaying. As I loaded her in the car, she began to make these loud horrible pug snorts -- I have never had this breathing problem with my other pugs -- and I began to fear that nasal surgery might be in her future.

Driving to the vet's Waffles sat beside me on the driver's seat because she had worked her way out of the harness in the back. Again, visions of a late night return to Pugdom filled my head. My friend Joan has so many pugs she may not even notice Waffles for awhile I thought. "What am I going to do with you," I asked Waffles. And, I still don't know.

But as I looked down at the petite, black bundle snorting away in the seat next to me, a new thought emerged. What if something happens to her? I am responsible. This is my little girl. My visions of sneaking her back turned to once again sneaking her away, this time from the veterinarian. But I did the responsible thing. Five hours later, the vet called to tell me she had come through fine.
Her report informed me that she was a joy and was very relaxed and comfortable recovering in her crate. Oh no, I thought and not for the first time, I got the wrong dog -- no way my Waffles is comfortable in a crate, but as she snuggled in my arms, letting out a long sigh, I had a vision of the future and realized that she might just be a joy.

Images of Waffles

There's more to her story, but for tonight here are some images of Waffles. Tomorrow she gets spayed.

See the full gallery on Posterous

The Amazing Pugdini

Well, Waffles has been here one day and I have to admit I am beginning to understand where that "Devil Dog" reputation comes from. She is a force with which to be reckoned and she cannot be contained.

I mean that literally. She HATES crates, gates, any form of containment and my house is chaotic enough that sometimes she needs to be contained. We're going to have to work on it. Today, I had to be gone for about five hours. I tried to leave her in an x-pen. I pretended to leave, but stayed behind to listen. She became so frantic I thought she was going to pass out. Next, I tried she and Alfie in my bedroom with a baby gate across the door. Waffles actually seemed better, but Alfie went frantic. Didn't seem fair to her to force her to be up there when she has her own x-pen downstairs that she loves. I let them out and then decided to try the two in Waffles x-pen.

I placed them in the pen and again tried to leave. Again, I heard Waffle's screams and screeches. I was just about to go back in and free the two when they came flying around the corner. Waffles, the Great Pugdini, had found an escape hatch and brought Alfie along. It was aggravating but funny to witness how proud the two seemed at themselves.

Finally, I placed Waffle upstairs in my room by herself and Alfie down in her x-pen. It went all right, but later after I had been home, I discovered Waffles had peed on the bed. Now it's bedtime again and Waffles spends a good hour screeching in her crate before going to sleep. I received a lot of advice today and I plan on trying a great deal of it -- everything  from lining her crate with bacon (okay, that's an exaggeration, but I kind of feel like that may be what it takes) to building her her own wing (again, another exaggeration, but at this point finding a clean, empty and safe place to leave her seems just about as impractical.

I'm not sure what tomorrow will hold. I've always liked circus stories, but would prefer it if my life didn't become one. Still, with the Amazing Pugdini hard at work I suspect my life will remain a bit of a circus for awhile.