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.

A Fetching Chase Scene

Playing fetch with a dog can be a very satisfying experience. You send some object off and it is cheerfully returned to you. It's a lovely, complete circuit.

I can't say that I've had the satisfaction of that completed circuit when it comes to receiving Kirby's DNA test results... Yes, I had the test kit for a couple of months before actually doing the test and sending it off, but now that it's done, I'm in a big hurry for the postman to fetch me the results. I haven't been this interested in getting the mail since I was in college, hoping for a parental check or a box of cookies.

On the subjects of DNA and fetching...I think we've pretty much confirmed that Kirby has at least some collie blood: sheltie, border collie, Australian Shepherd, something along those lines. As I've reported from our previous beach trips, Kirby is a natural born fetcher. Add to that his keen ability to herd us as we stroll down the beach, and I think we can be pretty sure of at least one bloodline on the DNA test. Kirby may have some definite terrier traits, but I've never met a terrier who would herd and fetch right out of the box. Kirby's eyes light up at the prospect of chasing a stick and his execution is near perfect...the stick is thrown, he makes a beeline for it (no stopping to smell jellyfish or roll on dead birds), he grabs the stick, turns on a dime and brings it immediately back to drop it at your feet. Kirby will do this over and over and over with the same gusto each time.

We made another trip to the beach this past week, where Baxter did his usual "take the stick and run off to chew it to sawdust" version of "fetch." Kirby, in the meantime, was doing a superb job of demonstrating his keen retrieving ability. Perhaps it was Kirby's success at pleasing the alphas with his fetching prowess. Or perhaps Baxter just had a wild hair. But all of a sudden Bax decided it was time to steal the stick away from Kirby before he had a chance to bring it back to us. What ensued was a chase scene that brought to mind a combination of Buster Keaton, barrel racing and Wild Kingdom.

Kirby realized that Baxter was gaining on him. He darted left, darted right, ran around us, between us, around us again with Baxter in hot pursuit. I have to say, for a 10 year old dog, Baxter was doing a spectacular job of keeping up with a dog 1/3 his age and his size. But every time Bax was just about to get his jaws on the stick, Kirby would escape by mere centimeters. After about a dozen laps Bax finally gave up and Kirby brought the stick back to us for more. By this time the two had attracted a smiling audience.

So we threw the stick again and the whole thing happened a second time. This time it ended in a dog tug of war and the whole fetching mood evaporated as the two of them finally decided it was a draw, dropped the stick and stood there panting and looking at us as if to say "now what?"

Next time I'm bringing the video camera...

More Beach, More Friends

We finally got both Baxter and Kirby all bathed and smelling sweet after the last trip to the beach when some dear friends invited us out for another day of frolicking...this time with Baxter's old pal Phoebe, the Portuguese Water Dog.


While we humans enjoyed the company of both local and out-of-town friends, the three dogs had a terrific time chasing balls, retrieving sticks and romping in the surf.

Kirby and Baxter did their usual dismantling of my husband's driftwood beach sculpture (a tradition in our family)...
With Portys and Griffons both supposedly having retrieving talents in their bloodlines, one would have expected both Phoebe and Baxter to out-fetch Kirby. Well, when everyone saw the ball at the same time, the big dogs definitely got there first. But we couldn't help laughing on a few occasions when Baxter and Phoebe did their usual anticipatory run-out-in-front-to-get-a-head-start-on-the-ball routines only to be surprised when the the ball was thrown in a different direction.

Kirby, on the other hand, waited to see what direction the ball was thrown in, THEN he started after it, got a significant lead and proudly beat the big dogs to it. And Kirby actually brought the ball back to us so we could throw it again. More evidence of that collie/shepherd blood in there somewhere.

To Phoebe's credit, she probably did more fetching than any of them. She has no fear of the incoming surf and LOVES to go out in the water to get the ball. Interestingly enough, our friends tell us Phoebe doesn't like to swim in lakes or rivers. Bax is just the opposite. He doesn't like the surf and only enters it up to his knees, and that begrudgingly. But give him a lake or river and he's diving in after anything we throw. Kirby doesn't much like water anywhere except when he's thirsty or getting a warm bath at home (which, oddly enough, Baxter hates...near-frozen snow melt is fine, warm bath at home brings on fits and shakes).

Go figure. Dog psyches. In any case, everyone had a fantastic time out there once again.

Beach Photo - 20 June 2008

I love this photo from our previous trip to the coast...Kirby got to the stick first, but Baxter caught up fast...

Blustery Beach: The Movie

Video of Kirby's first trip to the beach.