RIP Remy: 29 September 2012 – 09 July 2021

 

Remy

Not long ago I wrote a tribute to our sweet little Kirby who passed in January 2021. It took me months to muster up the ability to write about him without completely breaking down into tears. I finally came to terms with my grief by realizing that it is a gift: to grieve the loss of someone – human or animal – means you have loved deeply. And to love deeply is the ultimate blessing of life.

Now, as I sit here with a blank page in front of me, a million thoughts, images, pictures and memories swimming in my head in a sea of emotions that ceaselessly rise and fall, I am faced with grief yet again and writing yet another tribute – this time for our younger dog, Remy. He was a middle-aged dog. About the same age as me, in dog years. Too young to die. 

I didn’t think I’d be writing another one of these for at least five years. And here I am, barely able to type the words, even though I earn my living as a writer. This isn’t work. This is about love. About devotion. About respect. About how dogs are family in our household and how their loss leaves a space in our hearts that constantly reminds us of what pure love is. 

Remy was my birthday puppy. Well, almost. In late summer, a few months after the devastating loss of our wonderful Wirehaired Pointing Griffon Baxter, who passed away in April 2012, we cautiously decided we were ready for another dog. Kirby, our little rescue terrier mix, was getting all of our love and attention, but he seemed as lost as we did without his big, scruffy lifelong companion. Baxter had been such an amazing dog, on so many levels, we decided to get another Griff (it’s what Griffologists call the Wirehaired Pointing Griffon in common parlance). No, we didn’t expect the dog to be another Baxter (he was one of a kind), but there were a number of aspects about the breed we found extremely unique, quirky and special and we wanted that energy around again.

We did some research and ended up connecting with Lisa, a veterinarian/breeder in California who had a litter of Wirehaired Pointing Griffon puppies due to whelp at the end of September, and we got on her list. Because Griffs are so unique – they are wicked smart, extremely emotionally connected to their people (think Velcro dog), very goofy AND they’re also completely gonzo as puppies and require a lot of training and exercise – breeders are very selective about who gets to adopt one. Having already had a Griff for 13 years, we were quickly approved. I distinctly remember her saying we could get a pup because, “Well, you know how they are, and you can obviously handle it.” 

I followed the progression of the pregnancy and birth and documented it in this blog, starting in September 2012. I was hoping for a puppy on my birthday, when the mama whelped all but two of her large litter, and our guy missed it by just a few hours. I still considered him my birthday boy. I think it was still September 28 somewhere in the world when he was born. Maybe Hawaii.

We drove down to the Sacramento area to meet the litter of pups when they were about seven weeks old – we smothered ourselves in puppy kisses and sweetness and marveled that while some puppies were all over us and some were all over each other, one of them seemed to just be looking for trouble somewhere. As it happens, that was our boy. We went down again two weeks later to pick him up and thus began our wonderful life together.

He was a spirited pup from the beginning. Clearly not the bottom-of-the-pack, roll-over immediately type of Griff our Baxter was as a puppy. While Remy was a much more assertive and strong-willed pup than Baxter ever was, he was also extremely well socialized and loved absolutely everyone he met, particularly children, and particularly little girls. (That’s a testament to the breeder, who ensured he was socialized around dogs of different sizes, got along well with cats and had regular encounters with her daughter’s brownie troop.)

Initially Kirby enjoyed being the grownup. He lorded his seniority over Remy and it almost worked at times, until Remy got to be about the same size (which was a matter of about two weeks, Remy being a big dog). When Kirby was a puppy, he was relentless in his pestering of poor Baxter, who, at age seven, really didn’t want a little brother. Now the tables were turned. This blog and picture capture it well. 



Despite the wrestling, Remy and Kirby were fast friends. They continued to enjoy “wrestling” all their lives together, thanks to Remy getting down on his belly to make it a fairer fight. In a remarkable feat of selflessness, Remy always let Kirby think he was “winning.” They cuddled up together at naps, used each other for pillows and frequently spooned on the dog bed at night. They were best buddies in a way that Baxter and Kirby never managed to be.

In case you wonder what people mean when they say that Griffs are clowns, this pretty much tells it all...

We had a little scare -- ok a BIG scare -- when Remy was nine months old. He had been a very good boy around the house, very trustworthy, not getting into things, until he wasn’t. One day he rather suddenly became ill -- wouldn’t eat or drink, trouble with the bowels. An evening trip to the veterinary ER led to an X-ray and an emergency surgery in which the vet removed an 18” long unbraided rope toy that was lodged in his intestines. We had thrown that toy away a few days before because it was getting too chewed up…and he managed to gingerly fish it out of the waste basket without disturbing anything else in there. After all, it was his toy (a toy we never let him play with while unattended, by the way). Being young, he healed quickly and was none the worse for the wear, but we thought we might lose him and it was awful. Remy never raided the garbage or swallowed anything troublesome again.

He would NOT wear a cone. As in he completely freaked out. So we got him an inflatable donut collar. He LOVED it. In fact, he walked around with what appeared to be a sense of pride and specialness. We couldn't help thinking he looked like a Renaissance portrait... This is a later picture from after his neuter surgery, but you get the idea...

We lived in a townhome at the time, but it was our dream to purchase a little piece of property somewhere in the country where the dogs could run with abandon. Until then, it was leash training. Again, Remy decided he needed to be in front at all times, and our training skills were not up to the task of taming Remy’s sheer will. He never did manage to walk perfectly at heel or comfortably on a leash. I take that back. In obedience class he was perfect. He was a perfect teacher’s pet, and when it was in front of the class and the instructor, he was a model pupil. 

But at home, outside, on walks, with distractions everywhere, his pointer instincts took over and he felt compelled to be out in front, sniffing out every bird (or cat or squirrel) hiding in the bushes. The Gentle Leader, while annoying to him, helped. But the pulling was largely our fault. Because we lived in a townhome the only place he got to really run was at the dog park, and for that we felt a bit guilty and wanted to let him have his walks with enthusiasm. With more work and copious amounts of treats, he got a bit better. Not a lot.

The dog park was a whole other thing. Initially it was fun and he played very well with others. Then, one day, out of the blue, a couple of huskies ganged up on him and attacked him and he screamed until we pulled the dogs off him. He wasn’t physically bleeding anywhere, but the injuries were psychological, and he was never the same after that. 

Thinking (wrongly) that it would be good for him to “get back on the horse,” we tried the dog park again. After all, it was usually a nice dog park with friendly dogs. It happened again. Different dogs (also husky mixes) ganged up on him. Some of this was probably due to hormones, as I described here in my blog “My Dog’s Nuts.” 

We didn’t want him to be fear-aggressive, so we engaged in some training and socialization to get him back to the point where he trusted other dogs again. After all, we wanted to take him to the beach, and having him cower and fear-growl every time he saw another dog just wasn’t going to work.

He was finally feeling pretty comfortable around other dogs, so we enrolled him in the aforementioned obedience class, which he loved. He was a star pupil. One night, in the waiting area, he saw his friend, the trainer who had helped him get over his fear of other dogs. He greeted her with his usual waggly enthusiasm when, out of nowhere, a big, white husky (what is it with huskies?) blindsided him and clamped onto his muzzle. Blood. Stitches. The woman who lost control of her husky apologized profusely, was asked to withdraw from the class and, to her credit, she paid the vet bills. A few more positive encounters with friendly dogs helped a lot, but, for the rest of his life, Remy always approached other dogs with extreme caution. 

When we moved to the country in 2014, Remy and Kirby finally had a big yard to run around in, and Remy was as happy as a dog can be. He didn’t have to interact with other dogs – just Kirby. And trips to the beach were almost like neutral territory where he could just avoid confrontation and run and wrestle with Kirby and swim and body surf (yes, once he discovered he could swim out and ride the waves in, he did it over and over and over).

The beach was our happy vacation place. We were never sure if Remy couldn’t hear us yelling in the wind and mist (the Oregon Coast is a windy and misty place much of the time) or if he simply chose not to hear us, but early on, he had a penchant for just running off. This surprised us. Griffs are usually close working dogs, and Baxter was never out of our sight.

Remy, however, had a mind to do what pleased him, and on one of our first couple of trips, he took off heading southward, toward some seagulls, and he just kept going. We thought we might have to drive to California to retrieve him. He did eventually turn around and notice that we were tiny specks in the distance, screaming and frantically waving our arms. He decided he’d better come back. 

For a Velcro dog who followed us everywhere in the house – even so far as wanting to come into the bathroom with us – a he had a whole new gear when he was outside, particularly if birds were involved. 

After a couple of years in our new little farmstead, we were fortunate to adopt three adult hens and a lovely coop from a friend who was getting out of the Portland backyard chicken thing and wanted to rehome her little flock. The birds didn’t think much of the dog, but Remy was absolutely obsessed with them. 

Chicken watching ended up being one of his favorite pastimes. He was, after all, a bird dog, even if we had never trained him to hunt. Every time he went outside he had to do a few passes by the chicken pen, and he’d usually stop and point and quiver, as if to tell us “Hey, there are big, fat birds over there, why isn’t someone doing something with them?” 

The chickens have a pretty big pen, but we like to let them out to forage for grubs and worms in our yard. Trying to avert disaster, we kept strict rules on who got to occupy the yard at a given time, making sure the bird dog and the birds kept their distance. Remy did manage to get outside at the same time the chickens were roaming the yard on a few occasions (human error). He absolutely reveled in chasing them and flushing them. The hens were not amused. A couple of times he even managed to corner a chicken, but he never laid a tooth or claw on any of them. He just quivered and held them there, excited and proud. What a good pointer!

While he was a gonzo boy outside, in the house Remy was a totally chill couch potato with one exception: If we were outside and he was in the house and could see us through the window, he would bark and whine and lick the glass and jump up and down (I have dog nose smears on the sliding glass door of my office that reach at least five feet high) incessantly until we either let him out or put him in a room without a view. Then he’d just lie down and nap. It was a sort of separation anxiety. He never exhibited separation anxiety when we left the house, but the thing with Remy was, if we were around, he had to be with us. 

This closeness was part of what made Remy so special to us. Griffs are known for being extremely connected and communicative with their people. That’s why they make excellent medical alert dogs (a friend of mine has one and trains others).

Remy relished gazing into our eyes. When he was in the same room with one of us (which was pretty much all the time) he was usually touching us – sitting on a foot, leaning against the chair, lying down with a leg stretched out to touch whatever part of us was closest. Remy knew that my elderly mother, who lived with us, was frail and moved slowly. So while he would sometimes get the playful zoomies or run smack dab into Jamie or me while racing for the ringing doorbell, he would always come to a screeching halt and gently saunter around Mom, giving her hand a gentle nuzzle as he went by.

This is how I watched the World Cup.

While little, lap-sized Kirby preferred to lie on the floor next to us, Remy was a 75-pound lapdog. He liked to join me on the sofa in the evening, as we watched movies. He’d stretch out over my lap and lie there with his butt hanging off one side and his head draped over my knees or on my chest. Whenever I didn’t feel well, he would put his paws on my stomach or my chest and look me straight in the eyes, as if to say “I’m here for you.” 

One of his quirkier habits was to pull his favorite towel (yes, a bath towel was one of his most beloved toys) between his front paws, and suck on the corner. We called this “nucking.” He could do it for remarkably long periods of time, always seeming to be in his own little world of comfort. Sometimes he would sit on my lap and nuck at the same time. If he ever felt anxious, for any reason, a few minutes of nucking would calm him right down.

Like most every dog, Remy loved routine. Every morning, after breakfast, he would follow me into my office in the back bedroom, stationing himself in front of the sliding glass doors to watch the goings on in the yard and orchard while I worked at my desk. Once he had taken in the landscape, he’d pad over to my chair – a ball – and lean against it, snoring away while I typed on the computer.

When Kirby passed away, Remy was out of sorts. He would go and lie down on Kirby’s favorite spots. It seemed like he was waiting for Kirby to come home. We were sad, and Remy was a constant comfort, coming to us often for reassurance (which wasn’t exactly unusual). There was a Kirby-sized hole in our lives and in his – he had never been an only-dog. He got extra hugs and extra car rides. (Kirby never liked to go in the car, so we’d leave them home together to keep each other company when we ran errands.) Remy LOVED riding in the car, so, in the cooler months of winter and spring, we’d take him with us pretty much everywhere. 

Then it began. One beautiful late spring day in mid-March we were sitting outside under the maple trees and Remy was running his rounds of the yard, looking for ground squirrels and pointing at the chickens. When he came to me to check in, I noticed that his lower eyelid on one eye looked inflamed. I figured he’d gotten into something, but on examination I couldn’t find anything. Maybe allergies. We decided to watch it for a day or two and if it didn’t get better, we’d take him to the vet.

It didn’t get better. And we soon found out that getting into a vet during the pandemic was a surprisingly long and complicated process due to special precautions and all those newly adopted “pandemic puppies” needing care. When we finally did get an appointment, the vet wasn’t exactly sure what was causing the problem, but she also noted his lymph glands were a bit swollen and wanted to do a biopsy. The biopsy was inconclusive, but showed some abnormal cells. She wanted to run another test. 

In the meantime, she said, try to get an appointment with an oncologist, just in case, as specialists were running weeks out on getting appointments. Oncologist? Our hearts sank. The “inconclusive” gave us hope that it was something else, anything other than cancer. After all, he was his normal, energetic self.

It took us a couple of weeks to get Remy into an oncologist. At the first visit (remote for us, due to Covid-19) we waited in the car and the oncologist called us on my cell phone to deliver the news -- the additional test confirmed that Remy had lymphoma. Not just lymphoma, but Stage 5, B-cell lymphoma. How could this be? He was so normal in every other way?! With Lymphoma, days and weeks make the difference between going into remission with treatment and not. 

We broke down – it just...wasn’t...possible. Our beautiful, energetic, vibrant, athletic dog couldn’t be that sick. But he was. Within one week his blood work had shown significant decline in his red and white blood cells – it was in his bone marrow. They recommended we start chemo immediately, but they gave us choices – levels of treatment (or not) and walked through all of the scenarios with us, prognosis for survival 1 month, 3 months, 6 months, a hope of remission. Some dogs went into remission for a year, even two years. It would be expensive. It would give us hope. It would allow him to be with us longer and to make sure his last months of life were filled with joy and play and love. Chemo was our best hope. 

In dogs, the objective of chemo is to prolong quality of life not just life. So, unlike humans who can make such choices for themselves, with dogs they give lower doses of chemo, enough to try to get the cancer into remission without making the dog severely ill and miserable. We opted for the gold standard: the CHOP protocol.

I won’t go into the entire thing here. It’s just too hard. But it was a roller coaster. Some drugs worked really well for him. Others did not. He went into temporary remission. Then it came back. After chemo he would be fine – then suddenly sick for a day or two, not eating or drinking, then he’d bounce back and be his normal self again. But throughout, he aged. He weakened. He lost his beard and moustache and looked like a different, but still handsome, dog. We commented that it was as if he had aged years in a matter of weeks.

One morning something just wasn’t right. He didn’t want to eat or drink (nausea, we figured) and only wanted to lie outside and look into the orchard and smell the wind. We called the vet and took him in just to check his vital signs – they were OK, so we took him home and gave him lots of love and time out sitting in the yard, smelling the wind. Instead of getting better as the day wore on, as he usually did, his condition worsened, so we decided to take him to the ER. Remy passed before we got there. It felt like a nightmare.

We knew cancer was a terminal illness, but lymphoma is one that carries some hope of remission. And we’d held on to that hope. We’d become used to him bouncing back and we’d stopped assuming the worst. Then the worst happened so incredibly fast. We were devastated. In shock. To this day I still can’t quite believe how quickly a vibrant, healthy, energetic dog can be completely ravaged by cancer. And while I know we can’t change the past or second-guess any choices based on hindsight – because it does absolutely NO GOOD – I still think if I’d known it was his last day, we would have just continued to sit with him in the orchard, smelling the wind. 

At the beach, early in his treatment.

We don’t regret trying to prolong his life – had we not done chemo, given his diagnosis, we would have been lucky to have another month with him. We got three and a half. And while we hoped we’d get years more, we made sure we made the most of that time, knowing those last few months might be our last months together. It gave us time to do some of his favorite things, go to some of his favorite places and spend more time cherishing each moment. We did a lot of snuggling. A lot of napping together. A lot of extra love and treats and car rides and gazing into each other’s eyes. He adored the affection and we adored him. Those months were intense, and having that extra time with him was special. But losing him, even though anticipated, was not something I was at all ready for.

The roller coaster of emotions was now a flat, full-tilt grief. The house was empty. We did the math, and we hadn’t been without a dog in 23 years. There was now a Remy-shaped hole in our lives, along with a Kirby-shaped hole that still had us keeping his dog bowls under the sink. Every pattern, every habit of every day involved Remy. We found ourselves hesitating at all the moments when we would have been doing something with him or for him – preparing his meals, giving him carrots as we made salads, saying “let’s go to work” as we headed down the hall to our offices or “we’ll be back, you be good” whenever we went out. I was missing the vibrant, breathing, loving being who nuzzled me and kept me going all day, reminding me that there is more to life than work. Suddenly, with him gone, I found it hard to focus on my work at all.

Having a dog for a shadow all day is a comforting thing, and it’s one of the things I miss the most. I miss the sound of his big, fuzzy feet padding around the house. I miss his huge sighs and the spinning around a half-dozen times before he laid down. Remy was ever-present, always available to give and receive unconditional love and affection. Every day his abundant, positive energy – even when he was sick – was a reminder to live life with joy. 

For weeks we went through the motions of each day, constantly feeling like something huge was missing. Two dogs, with whom we shared our lives for many years, closer than most of our human family, gone – in a time when the loss of human life was also great (that’s another story I won’t go into here, because this is a dog blog). 

We realized we were suffering two kinds of grieving – both the loss of our beloved dogs, Remy and Kirby, as unique and wonderful individuals, and the loss of our decades-long experience of living with canines. We had an overflowing abundance of dog love flying around us with nowhere to land. So it landed on every dog we met at the beach, passed on the street, saw under a patio table at a restaurant (we live in Oregon where people eat outside at restaurants with their dogs). It took me nearly a month and a half just to get to the point where I could write this. And, eventually, that loving energy led us to a serendipitous introduction to a dog rescue organization…more to come on that story.

Remy was a unique soul. Sweet, loving, the most needy and affectionate dog I have ever known (Baxter, also a Griff, was as affectionate, just a tad less needy). Like Baxter, Remy was a dog who seemed to have the unique ability to read our minds and see into our souls. He knew our intentions before we made them known overtly. Remy was a complete clown who kept us laughing with his antics for eight-and-a-half years and reminded us to live every day with joy.

Remy was special. And I consider myself fortunate to have known him, to have loved him, and to have been the recipient of his constant, unwavering affection.

Remy, we will miss you for all of our days.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Remy!

Remy - 2 Years - Newport, Oregon (29 Sept. 2014)

On September 29, 2014 Remy turned two years old. He was almost my birthday puppy -- Remy's mama began delivering pups on September 28, 2012 and I had my fingers crossed for a birthday puppy. Alas, the whelping went on into the wee hours of the next morning and that is when Remy came into the world. So we share a great "24 hours" of birthday. This year we spent our birthday weekend in the coastal port town of Newport, Oregon in an apartment that overlooked the harbor, complete with NOAA ships, fishing boats and dozens of noisy sea lions on the rocks to watch (and listen to 24/7).

Remy - 2 Years - Newport, Oregon (29 Sept. 2014)

While being the ripe young age of two might signify adulthood with many other dogs, Griffs maintain at least some of their gonzo puppy energy and attitude well after two. It's just part of their charm. Remy is no exception. He still has that teenage-puppy joie de vivre, that unbridled enthusiasm for all things and a playful spirit that, I hope, will never leave him.

In terms of the big things, though, he really has matured into a nice, adult dog. (Note: I am only half-jokingly knocking on wood as I type this, because making the following types of statements in the past has seemed to almost invite trouble...)

I'm pleased to report that, at this point in his young life, Remy is pretty darned trustworthy. He doesn't counter surf (thank heavens). He doesn't mess up the furniture (though I do believe, based on the mysteriously rumpled afghan and warm dent in the pillow, that he occasionally gets up on the "invitation only" sofa while we're gone...).

He no longer chews on shoes. We made an early attempt (10 mos. old) at giving him freedom to roam about the house while we were gone for short periods. We had left him inside while we were out working in the garden or on a short trip to the store and he managed to stay out of trouble, so we began to trust him. Let is suffice to say, with the humans having lost the heels and insoles on several favorite pairs of shoes and Remy having major abdominal surgery to remove an 18" long rope toy that was lodged in his gut (a discarded rope toy he pulled from a wastebasket I might add), we decided he wasn't ready for that level of responsibility.  Remy spent a few more months being crated every time we left the house.

Eventually we mustered up the courage to try again for longer and longer periods and, I'm happy to report, he has proven himself to be very trustworthy. No more chewed shoes or missing toys. No evidence of wastebasket surfing either. He doesn't like it when we go without him, I'm sure, but he gets it. When we start putting on our shoes he gets all waggly and hopeful. Then we turn on the music or the TV and puts on his best hang-dog look, walks over to the rug and lies down, usually with a big sigh. And every time we come home he greets us with that full body wag and look of pure joy.

He is learning patience. He waits for the "go" sign before rushing out the door (usually) and before diving into his food bowl (always). He doesn't jump on people (ok, there's the occasional overly-enthusiastic greeting, but he seems to know the difference between people he can jump on and people who would be horrified by such an act).  He treats my 88-year-old mother like the queen of the house. While he bounds through rooms on window deer patrol, at times running into us and stepping on our feet, with Mom he slows down and gives her space. And when she's home alone with the dogs, Kirby keeps watch by the door while Remy lays at her feet like a protector.

There's more to work on, for sure. Like consistent recall (particularly at the beach). But more on that later.  In honor of Remy's second birthday, I just want to express how very proud I am of the wonderful, responsible dog he is growing up to be!

The Beach is the Best

Yesterday we went to the beach. This wasn't any ordinary trip to the beach, it was our almost-annual beach trip with some friends, two of whom are Canadians who make it a priority to visit Oregon's beautiful beaches on every trip out here.

Remy and Kirby haven't been to the beach for a while. Between work on weekdays and the whole process of packing up the final items at our former house and getting it ready to sell, we just haven't been feeling like we could take a day off for a beach trip. That's a shame. Oregon's beaches are so lovely in the summertime. They're also filled with people. So we all picked a Tuesday, hoping it would offer that perfect mix of being able to take a day off and getting the weekend tourists out of the picture.

Great strategy. We left early and when we got to Indian Beach there weren't very many people there and no other dogs. It was mostly us, a handful of intrepid early risers and a bunch of surfers taking advantage of yesterday's big waves.

After making sure there were no major obstacles to us removing the leashes, we let the dogs off. Remy, Kirby and our friends' dog Vito took off in fits of joy, chasing after thrown balls, running through the surf (though Kirby, being the terrier-type he is, wouldn't go in past his knees).

Remy's first definitive act at the beach was to storm a crumbling sand castle and claim it as his own.

Then Remy noticed something...dark, human figures bobbing on the top of the waves a ways from shore. Now THIS was interesting. (We usually go to long beaches without a lot of big waves, so he had never seen surfers before.) Remy had to go investigate. He launched himself into the surf and swam out, braving the breakers, to greet the surfers.

Fortunately, the first surfers he came upon were dog-friendly and they gave him a happy greeting. Satisfied, he decided surfers were OK and he could leave them to their business. He proceeded to body surf his way back through the waves and rejoined our group. He spent the rest of the morning fetching bumpers and balls, approaching friendly people and attempting to climb barnacle-covered rocks (not cool). I think he learned that lesson pretty quickly and amazingly his paws, now sufficiently calloused, didn't seem much worse for the wear.

What was really fun was seeing just how much in common Remy, a young adult Griff, had in common with our friend Emerson, who is a tall, athletic 16-year-old. I swear, those two were like twin brothers of different species. They both had no problem braving the cold Pacific waters and spent most of the day running around, tumbling in the surf and climbing things.

At one point Remy caught sight of some small children walking up the beach with their parents. Putting on his full body wag, he approached them (Remy loves children and becomes gleeful at the sight of them or the sound of children playing.) Unfortunately, the parents were NOT friendly. They grabbed the kids and hid them behind their legs and started shooing Remy away before he even had a chance to approach the cute little child in the pink hoodie and her big brother. Remy had a toy in his mouth that, I'm sure, he intended to show the little girl in the pink hoodie, but instead, recognizing he wasn't wanted (this is progress) he gave a muffled bark and turned away.

Editorial Pause: I'm sure those people had their reasons. Perhaps the parents had had bad encounters with dogs on beaches before. I'm sure a lot of people do. I get that. But there's always a little piece of me that becomes sad when I see parents instilling fear and keeping their children from having any sort of healthy relationship with dogs. Those kids will encounter dogs their entire lives and mommy won't be there to protect them. I just hope they get over their parents some day. There are certainly unfriendly dogs in the world. But when a happy, scruffy Griff comes at you with a full body wag and a big orange toy in his mouth, that should be your cue that this dog's most likely OK. The way I see it, teaching kids that ALL dogs are scary probably isn't a wise thing if you want your children to grow into well-adjusted adults.

In any case, I have to say, I was proud of Remy for recognizing that not all people want wags and sloppy dog kisses and friendly toy-sharing. He's finally old enough to understand that. And I feel a lot better about taking him to the beach now.

I'm focusing on Remy, as Kirby is an experienced beach dog. Kirby was, of course, a little herder the whole time. At one point I had to turn back to go pick up a poopy bag I had set down and, seeing that I was leaving the pack, Kirby had to accompany me and try to guide me back to safety. He succeeded. Job done. It was a good day for Kirby.

Vito, a Lagotto (Italian Water Dog) was in heaven, of course, and he and Remy had a great time playing in the surf, stealing each other's toys and getting as wet and sandy as caninely possible.

Yes, it was a good day all around. And the people had fun too.

Renaissance Remy

My husband just couldn't resist. Remy does have that Dutch Renaissance painting look about him, doesn't he?

Lampshade vs. Donut

We tried the lampshade on Remy -- he did the most amazing, backward, furniture-destructive freak-out dance I've ever seen. So we took it off and dug out his old inflatable donut we had from a puppyhood mishap. He was SO EXCITED to see the donut, he put his head into it willingly and strutted around the house like it was the mark of something special. He loves that thing so much, even though it's not big enough to prevent him from reaching his stitches, he hasn't once tried to lick them since we put it on him. Psych!

Oddly enough, our Baxter LOVED his cone and used it like antlers...

My Dog's Nuts

No, Remy is not crazy. Rather, he was an adult, intact male dog. Until today, that is. Now he's an adult, neutered male dog. TMI? Perhaps. But I thought I'd take this moment to ponder the whole neutering thing and talk about the rather interesting medical and social aspects of waiting until a dog is an adult before having him neutered.

Despite my being an advocate for spay/neuter all of my adult life, I found myself feeling ambivalent about the whole neutering thing with Remy. I think this is mostly because I hate the thought of putting my dog through any sort of medical danger or pain. And somehow it seems different than our previous dogs because Remy's 21 months old.

Historical Context: We've always dutifully neutered our pups at about six months of age. This is what the veterinarians and pretty much every social organization devoted to dog care, rescue or overpopulation prevention advises. If you neuter at six months, they say, the dog is still too young to have much going on in the way of hormones, they don't develop as many hormone-related behaviors, the wee gonads are easier to remove and your dog will be healthier and live a longer life.

All goodness, right?  Not exactly.

When we got Remy, his breeder, who is a U.C. Davis-trained veterinarian, requested that we wait until Remy was at least 16-18 months of age (full adult size) before we neutered him. Waiting even longer is better, she said. The influence of the sex hormones would help with his bone growth, which would in turn help him avoid problems like hip dysplasia and ligament tears. Apparently the sex hormones in dog puberty play a critical role in signaling the bone growth plates to stop growing. Dogs neutered before they reach their full bone growth don't get the same chemical signals and they tend to have longer legs and higher rates of joint and other musculoskeletal disorders as a result. Our first Griff, Baxter, definitely had longer legs than most Griffs I had seen in dog shows. And he suffered from lower back and hip joint pain in his senior years. Anything we could do to help prevent that in Remy was OK with us. See below* for more research on this point.

I didn't mind waiting. In fact, I thought it was an interesting opportunity to see what an adult, intact male Griff is really like. I'll be honest here -- based on what I'd heard as "common knowledge," intact male dogs are always marking in your house and riding your leg and getting into fights and other such things. They are aggressive and sometimes dangerous and it's best to prevent those behaviors before they start.

But is this really true? Or are we largely basing or societal assessment of male dogs on a few ill-behaved, poorly trained, aggressive dogs whose owners kept them intact for all the wrong reasons? After all, I don't see the dogs at Westminster tearing each other apart. And the intact cafe dogs in Paris seem to get along pretty well with each other.

What I found out:
Some intact male dogs are perfectly nice, friendly dogs who don't mark your house, don't ride your leg and don't pick fights with other dogs. Remy was one of those dogs. But often that didn't matter. See Social Observation #2 below.

Social Observation #1 (aka, What I learned from walking around with an intact male dog): There is a stigma about having an intact male dog in the U.S., particularly here in the PC, leftie, dog-loving Pacific Northwest. People cast glances. They comment. Despite neutering being a rarity in places like Europe, the U.S. has done an excellent job of reducing shelter populations and euthanasia of unwanted dogs (though there is much more to be done) by putting the PR out there about spaying/neutering your pets. This has translated into a culture where just about everyone has their dog neutered before it reaches adulthood. You just don't see dogs with testicles walking around much here.

Ever since Remy passed the 6-month mark, people have asked me (sometimes repeatedly) "So when are you going to neuter him?" Many of these people are my friends and family (and if you are one of those people and you are reading this, please know I mean no offense. I probably would have asked this same question a couple of years ago.) But after a while, and after having to answer this question a few too many times, I rather began to resent it. (Even though I fully admit to being one of those spay/neuter promoters myself...I'm entitled to a little cognitive dissonance, aren't I?)

Is it society's job to police the neutering of dogs?
Well, yes, sort of. No one argues that the "ounce of prevention" early neutering has had on reducing the number of unwanted animals and preventing the far-too-prevalent euthanasia taking place in shelters across the country is a good thing. Of note, Best Friends Animal Society estimates the number of cats and dogs that are still euthanized daily in U.S. animal shelters at more than 9,000. That is frightening.

But this is our dog, Remy. He is a beautiful example of his breed. We had talks with his breeder about him potentially being a show dog. And the whole point of being a show dog is to get a championship status and then put the dog out to stud to further enhance the genetics of the breed. Somehow we just couldn't come to grips with having Remy be a show dog or a stud dog. While I still promote adoption of dogs from shelters and rescues, I have no problem with the responsible breeding of pure-bred dogs. We just weren't sure that was something we wanted to get involved with.

Social Observation #2 (aka What I didn't expect...):
Many (and I mean more than half) of the neutered dogs we encounter on the street, at the beach, in the park, etc. behave differently toward an intact male dog than they do toward other neutered dogs. Unfortunately, this different behavior too-often manifests itself as aggression. I stopped counting the number of times Remy has been confronted with growling, teeth-baring, fight-picking aggression from what seemed like perfectly normal, neutered dogs that approached him and smelled his nether-parts. It's wagging and sniffing for starters and within three seconds it all changes.

When Remy was a pup, this wasn't a problem. He just groveled, went into duck-and-cover mode on his back and all was well. But when he got to about 12 months old, things changed. The level of aggression from other dogs went up considerably (at this point we stopped taking him to dog parks, due to dogs ganging up on him and attacking him). And, at this point, Remy decided he was a big boy and he wasn't going to take it anymore.

The strange social thing that happens among the HUMANS accompanying these aggressive, neutered dogs is an assumption that if a dog gets into a fight, it's the intact male who started it. Even if it's not.

Unfortunately, the "is this a friendly dog or not?" thing started coloring our walks with Remy on leash and at the beach. Every time we encountered another dog, we weren't sure if it was going to be "wags and friends" or "hackles and teeth." We didn't want this to become such a pattern that Remy would become wary of other dogs or leash-aggressive. And we really didn't want OUR fear of this to rub off on Remy and make this happen.

So why neuter Remy?
 This is a decision I've been grappling with. The research out there, from what I've seen (and I've looked at a lot) doesn't show much in the way of statistically significant health benefits in neutering a male dog. Prostate and testicular cancers are pretty rare in dogs, from what I've read. (I have heard of enlarged prostate in intact males, though, and there are some health benefits in spaying females, such as a reduction in mammary cancers, which are more prevalent.)

"Behavior" is the main reason cited by most credible sources as a reason to neuter male dogs. I knew that, I just didn't expect that it would be the behavior of other dogs toward Remy that would compel me to want him to be accepted in our local dog society.

Honestly, that is one of the biggest reasons we decided to have Remy neutered. We want to take him on walks, to the beach, out on the hiking trail without worrying that he will be assaulted by other dogs. We also don't want him catching wind of a female dog in heat and adding to the aforementioned dog overpopulation problem. We have no desire to breed him, and there are no major health risks identified to date associated with neutering a dog after it has reached adult bone maturity. His breeder was OK with it.

But will it make a difference in his behavior now that he's already an adult?
Our breeder and the research suggests it will:

"There is an erroneous feeling that neutering males before puberty is necessary to prevent some problem behaviors, such as urine marking in the home or aggression toward the owners," said Dr. Benjamin L. Hart, a distinguished professor emeritus at the UC-Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. Research done at their center and cited in their paper* shows that neutering males in adulthood, after the onset of problem behavior, is as effective in changing the behavior as neutering before puberty is in preventing the problems.  -- JAVMA News

Ok, Remy doesn't have these particular problems, but I've heard enough from others who had their adult dogs neutered to believe that this will make a difference in how other dogs behave around Remy and it will make a difference in how he reacts to other dogs.

We decided to go through with it.

I don't want to think the human social stigma of having an intact male dog in a largely neutered-dog society had anything to do with it, because that's MY issue, not Remy's. But I do hope that neutering him will help him be better accepted by his peers. He'll be able to run free at the beach, go on hikes and sit under the table at any of Portland's progressive, dog-friendly restaurant patios without getting into a rumble. At least that's the hope. And knowing he'll be less likely to try to escape the yard and that there won't be any scruffy-faced, mixed breed puppies running around our neighborhood with Remy's genes in them is a relief as well.

I am glad we waited to neuter him until he reached maturity, though.

Not long after we got the neutering advice from our breeder, the U. C. Davis veterinary school published a now-much-publicized study on Golden Retrievers that has called into question the practice of early neutering. The study, which was published in the Journal of the American Veterinary Medical Association, showed a correlation between early neutering and a higher incidence of musculoskeletal disorders and certain cancers. Specifically:

Of males castrated early—defined in this study as before 1 year of age—10 percent had hip dysplasia, double the occurrence among sexually intact males. Cranial cruciate ligament tears were not diagnosed in any of the sexually intact males or females, but in the early age–neutered males and females, prevalences were 5 percent and 8 percent, respectively. Lymphosarcoma was diagnosed in almost 10 percent of males castrated early, three times the rate in sexually intact males. -- JAVMA News

I'm not a statistician, but those numbers were enough to give our veterinarian (and, apparently, many others) pause and the study has sparked some interesting debate on the risks and benefits of early spay and neuter vs. neutering later or not neutering at all.

For shelter dogs with an unknown future, early neutering probably makes sense. But for family dogs who have people who will love and cherish and watch over them, waiting until the dog reaches bone maturity just makes sense. Why take the risk?  You may catch a few sideways glances from folks who see your intact male at a year-and-a-half old, but if it's best for the dog, who cares? And for all those folks who ask: "When are you going to neuter him?" it's a teaching opportunity.

On Spiderman and Being a Big Boy

"With great power comes great responsibility." 

-- Spiderman's Uncle Ben

The cool/interesting/challenging thing about having a young adult Griff is that their bodies mature long before their brains understand how to use all of the strength and speed.

For us, the hard part about getting a puppy (Remy) after having a senior dog (Baxter) who knew the ways of the world was suddenly having a big dog that is fairly clueless and hell-bent on figuring things out, sometimes the hard way. The fun part about watching Remy mature is watching him figure things out and seeing those ah-ha moments when he finally gets something.

Remy is suddenly "getting it" on many fronts. For starters - he now knows that all humans are not to be treated the same way. When we first moved my mother in with us, Remy didn't understand that he can't ricochet off of an 87-year-old the way he does the younger members of the family (not that he should be ricocheting off of anyone, but if you have a teenage Griff or Labrador or Golden Retriever or any other big, active, super-friendly dog, you know what I mean). Now Remy doesn't (usually) jump on us, but he will do the "full body wag and lean" with such fervor he practically knocks us over. Yet he has a whole different standard of behavior with my mom. With her, he approaches enthusiastically but gently. He wags in front of her and puts his big head under her hand for a pat. Wow. He figured that out all by himself. And, as a result, he and my mom have bonded, big time.

This whole "getting it" thing will be a theme of blogs to come. I just felt like sharing what a joy it is to see Remy figuring things out for himself. While I love puppies, and I'm sure I will miss that puppy energy and long for another puppy some day, right now it's wonderful to see what a lovely adult dog Remy is growing into every day.

Invisible Fence - Part Trois

Today the leashes came off. Well, Kirby's leash has been off for a week, but Remy's been dragging a fluorescent orange one around...just in case. The Invisible Fence trainer came for our fourth and final session with the dogs and Remy and Kirby were put to the test. Actually, the big tests came BEFORE the trainer got here.  A couple of days ago, our friends brought over their adorable Lagotto, Vito, who does not have a collar for the Invisible Fence. Vito is pretty trustworthy when it comes to sticking around his people, so they let him off leash to play with Remy and Kirby. The dogs stayed inside the flags and played. But at one point, Vito wandered outside the flags. Remy and Kirby ran along with him up to the flags and stopped, letting Vito wander by himself in the orchard.

This was a major deal for our guys. Trust me on this.

Earlier today, before the trainer arrived, my husband was out with the dogs, initially on leash, when a deer went bounding by. Remy caught sight of it and was immediately at attention. In a bold move, Jamie let the leash go and Remy ran straight toward the deer but stopped at the Invisible Fence and just watched as the deer continued bouncing down the field.

YES!  This thing really appears to work.

Test #3 (also before the trainer arrived)... Remy was out in the yard playing with his new ball. Our front yard is on a bit of a slope and at one point Remy dropped the ball and it began to roll downhill toward the flags. In a heated panic, Remy ran for the ball, retrieving it just as it was crossing the line, and quickly pulled it back into the yard. He probably got a little correction out of the deal, but he saved the ball and definitely seems to get the "go back into the yard where it doesn't sting my neck" message.

So the trainer arrived about an hour later. Leash off this time. As if on cue, another deer trotted by, but Remy was so busy wrestling with Kirby we couldn't get him to pay attention to the deer. Priorities, man! The trainer finally managed to call him over, but Remy was so busy waggling at the trainer, he totally missed the deer, which was now bounding off down the field. Kirby, who was shaking the grass off after the aforementioned wrestling match, also missed it entirely.

I had a business call to attend to, so I left my husband and the trainer to do most of today's session with the dogs. They walked all over the property, outside the "fence," up the driveway and all the places Remy and Kirby love to go that are outside the flags. The boyos stayed inside. Whining, but inside.

The computer readout on the collars said they had "tested" the boundaries a couple dozen times each (that includes both the the outside perimeter with the flags and the inside unit, which is about half the correction level of the outside unit and now keeps the dogs away from the cooking area in the kitchen...). This is OK and normal, says the trainer. They must test it to hear the tone and make the associations with what happens if they don't heed the warning.

Frankly, I was a little surprised at how often Kirby tested the system. He appears to stick with us wherever we go and never gets close to the flags outside. But being the little dog vacuum that he is, I'm guessing that when no one is around Kirby's probably scanning for crumbs in the kitchen and setting off his collar when he just can't resist that little bit of something just on the other side of the boundary...

So what's next?  Well, the trainer made the final adjustments to the collar settings, reminded us about how to maintain the system and ensure the batteries are always working. Voila, we're done. The trainer felt confident that Remy and Kirby know the rules and are choosing to obey them.

Will I ever feel 100% confident in a fence I cannot see?  Probably not. But knowing the dogs have faced some of their greatest temptations and still stayed behind the fence helps me get 98% there. Honestly, I can't say I would trust a physical fence 100%. Maybe even less than 98%, knowing that if there's an obstacle, both Remy and Kirby have the brains and ability to figure out how to either get over it or under it.

In any case, they won't be left out there unattended. As it is, I have to say it is wonderful  to see the dogs running around our property. They just look so happy to be out there and to have that freedom to roam in places they've been looking at from the end of a leash for so long.