Snow Dogs

We're in the midst of the snowiest period in our area in 40 years...It started 10 days ago and hasn't melted yet. And it just keeps coming. Of course, this is new for the dogs. Oh, we've had snow in the yard occasionally, and we've been up in the mountains playing in snow, but most of the time it melts out of the yard within a day or two. And it NEVER gets this deep here at home.

Well, the first few days were fun time -- lots of frolicking and chasing and snuffling through the white powder. Then the layer of ice crusted over the foot of snow, creating an ice rink for Kirby and some alarming post-holing for Baxter and the humans. By the time the ice thinned and another few inches of snow fell, the dogs were back at the playing, getting themselves totally coated in ice balls before returning inside. The only problem was finding a good place to do the business...on this count both dogs seemed to be getting a little annoyed. For Kirby, finding the perfect spot was made all the more difficult by the fact that the snow was deeper than Kirby is tall. So my husband flattened out a few trails and little areas for them.

For the most part, though, it's play time. Baxter sinks into the deep snow, so walking through it is a bit of a chore...still, the cold, crisp air seems to bring forth a whole new set of smells and the quiet of the snowcover, combined with fewer cars on the roads, means the birds and other wildlife are easily heard. I think Bax could stand out there all day...but we don't care to, so it's usually a bit of a chore to convince him it's time to go inside.

Kirby sort of plows his way through the snow as if he were swimming, eating snow all the way. Both dogs really enjoy eating snow and at first I didn't realize just how much water they were getting. One evening Kirby was pestering us to go outside at a time when he doesn't usually have to go (he has this way of wanting to go outside right in the middle of a movie and then goes about a teaspoon...it's just a way to get attention). So when he started his whining and his trips back and forth to the door, we just figured it was the usual. We made him lay down and wait. About an hour later we took him outside and the little guy made it about six inches from the front door and peed on the step. We felt AWFUL. He wasn't kidding. It was a classic case of "crying wolf." But now we know that all that snow-eating has consequences, so we're taking them out a little more often.

This brings me to the subject of brain freeze. Have you ever seen a dog with brain freeze? It's quite hilarious. Baxter tends to get it when chomping on snowballs...suddenly he stops, his eyes have a momentary look of panic and he pulls back his lips to show his teeth. Really handsome, that.

Anyway, this post is really just an excuse to post some cute snow pictures of the dogs. Kirby is sporting a a nice coating of little ice balls each time he goes outside. Baxter's feet become totally encrusted with ice balls and, upon returning inside, Kirby goes about helping him pull them off (the towel doesn't begin to touch it). Unfortunately the recent snow pictures of Baxter didn't turn out so well, so I've included a couple of previous show shots just so he gets equal time.

Such cuteness, eh?

Mutts and Purebreds

Baxter is a purebred. He is elegant and beautiful. Under that scruffy coat, his body has a perfection of proportion, form for function, that is a thing of beauty. He is the product of generations of breeding to achieve a set of unique characteristics that qualify him as an AKC-registered Wirehaired Pointing Griffon. But I still get a bit of pleasure when reading that the man who developed the breed, Mr. Korthals, was cross-breeding various hunting dogs and French farm dogs of unknown origin to get that lovely, scruffy mix of family dog and fearless hunter. It's the scruffy French farm dog -- the ones we've seen countless times roaming around the French countryside -- that give him his charm, I think.

As I've said before, while I recognize that the exercise of determining Kirby's various bloodline components is rather pointless, it is kind of interesting to me. We probably won't learn anything about him that we haven't already figured out in a couple of years with him, but you never know. There is some real value in knowing parentage. For example, when we first brought him into the vet for his puppy vaccinations, the vet told us that he looked like he had dachshund in him, and that dachshunds are more prone to having bad reactions to vaccines. He gave us instructions on symptoms and what to do if we noticed anything strange going on. That was one of the best examples I can think of for knowing something about the parentage of your dog. Fortunately, Kirby's long body shape was as good an indicator as a DNA test at the time.

Still, I think knowing his breed ancestry is mostly just a fun thing. But why? Perhaps it's because I, myself, am a human mutt of sorts. My ancestors came from at least six different European countries. When I travel in Europe, as long as I don't speak English, people seldom guess where I'm from (apparently my accent when speaking French doesn't sound remotely English...but my French isn't good enough to be a native speaker). I've asked people to guess where I'm from, and they usually pick some culturally mixed country like Belgium or Luxembourg or Switzerland.

I did have someone once tell me I look Irish. That's interesting, because Irish is the one bloodline that's closest to the old country (Great Grandpa came to the New World in the mid-1800s vs. the 1600s and 1700s for the rest of my ancestors). One British fellow once told me my nose and mouth look like the people from one specific area in Wales. I'm told the Allens (my maiden name) were originally from Wales, so maybe there's something to it.

Regardless of DNA, I'm a cultural mutt, as many Americans are. My relatives are all so removed from anything "old country" that we don't have traditions like my more purebred friends do. For example, I grew up in northern Iowa. Most of the kids I went to school with were of German or Scandinavian descent (sometimes both). My friends' families used to have exotic food traditions like making krumkake or lefsa or, god-forbid, lutefisk. My family had roast beef and mashed potatoes and apple pie. Nothing wrong with that! But it was just not very exotic. The closest thing to an "old country" tradition in my family was that my mother learned to cook from her grandmother, who was of French-Canadian ancestry and somehow managed to pass on the tradition of cooking with herbs and garlic. This constituted spicy food in our neck of the prairie. We ate really tasty roast beef.

A few years ago I undertook a bit of family history research (which unveiled the French-Canadian mystery of the garlicy food). I wanted to know more about where my ancestors came from. While it has had little influence over my day to day life, I think I just wanted to know something about my own DNA and my own cultural heritage. What I realized is that no matter where my ancestors came from, I will always be culturally an American, as were my parents and grandparents and great-grandparents (except the Irishman), and on and on for several generations before that. Perhaps the fact that my ancestors came over from their respective countries and intermarried with people from other cultures does somehow inform how I am. Perhaps this has stoked my wanderlust, my interest in learning about other cultures. Or maybe it's just fun to know.

Is Kirby a Schnorkieshund?

The massive numbers of people (uh huh) who voted on my poll re: whether or not we should have Kirby DNA breed-tested voted unanimously: YES. So I guess we'll be swabbing his little cheeks soon.

Next question is which test is best? The tests I'm currently considering are (the first two have holiday specials ending December 31):

The Canine Heritage Breed Test -- "identifies over 100 breeds" $99.95

DDC Veterinary Animal DNA Services -- "over 60 known dog breeds" and $68.00 plus free shipping. (How much is it worth for those extra 40 breeds?)

Happy Dog DNA -- "62 breeds identified" $54.95 plus free shipping.

I had one previous comment that recommended the DDC. I'd love to know if any of my readers have had experience with these and is willing to venture forth with a recommendation? Visuals for your consideration...

Bloodline Bingo Redux

Every now and again the subject of "what the heck is Kirby?" comes up. I recently received a comment on one of my earlier posts from someone else who had adopted a puppy that looked like Kirby and wondered if we ever figured out what he is. We see little Kirby look-alikes quite often, and it always makes me wonder if he is he a throw-back to some early black-and-tan terrier...with very old genes that manage to sprout out of lots of breed combinations?

As an adult, Kirby's looks have changed somewhat. His hair is longer, particularly his beard and head furnishings. His coat has turned more gray than black, giving him coloring almost identical to a Yorkshire Terrier. His longer-than-tall body still suggests dachshund or shorty Jack Russell. His tendency to herd us around and his love of playing fetch suggest some herding dog... And that bark sounds identical to any of the half-dozen or so schnauzers in our neighborhood.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter, but it's rather fun to play the guessing game. Still, from time to time I ponder getting one of those canine DNA tests, just to see what it comes back with (and if we're guessing anywhere close to the mark). I ran across the Canine Heritage dog DNA test. The video cracked me up. I'm not sure why. I think it was the expression on some of the dogs' faces. It sort of made me realize how silly the whole idea is. Then again, I've truly enjoyed some of the sillier moments in my life.

If any of my readers have used one of these DNA tests or has one to recommend, I'd love to hear from you.

French Dogs

As always, we encountered a number of truly handsome canines in France, all of whom made us miss our scruffy guys at home.

This little guy was running around marking his territory at the Basilica of St. Mary Magdalen in Vezelay. The woman walking him said he was a "teckel" (French for dachshund) and he came there every day to make the rounds. He had shorter legs, of course, but the resemblance to Kirby was remarkable.

This sweet black lab greeted us at the Chateau de Commarin. Well, actually, at first she didn't seem quite so sweet. Being November, a tad cool and and outside the visiting hours for the chateau interior, all that was open to us was the surrounding park. We each put our 2 Euros into the automatic turnstyle and entered the grounds. As we approached the gates in front of the chateau a black lab, who had been sitting patiently by the door of the chateau, stood up and began barking at us. She took a few steps forward, lowered her head and gave us a stern warning not to enter into the inner courtyard. Not being certain if she was friendly or not, we kept our distance outside the gate, separated by a moat and a bridge.

Sensing a curiosity in the dog, I said "hello" in French. Suddenly her ears loosened and her tail started wagging. I said "come here" in French and she started trotting toward us. Within minutes she was crossing the bridge and coming over to give us a cautious hello sniff. Once she had sniffed us and decided we were OK, she ran down the trail, jumped up on the wall next to the moat and waited for us to catch up to her. She then proceeded to lead us down the trail, around the chateau, through the sideyard and into the lovely gardens at the back. She checked back occasionally to wag and cheerfully took us around the entire castle grounds before she said her goodbyes and returned to her post in front of the chateau.

I can honestly say, that's the first time I've ever had a tour led by a canine. But she did an excellent job!

This adorable old French bulldog was sitting in the doorway of a little shop in Arles. That face...

Before I continue, I want to say that for years we have enjoyed traveling in France and have come to expect certain things. Sometimes cultural change is hard to take, especially when we want things to be just as we fondly remember them on previous vacations. But in at least a couple of ways, things in Paris are changing for the better. For example, the smoking ban in restaurants and other public buildings is GREAT. We could sit in restaurants and even bars in the evenings without choking on the blue haze. Of course, we had to pass through a cloud of blue smoke on the way in the door, but it was still an improvement not to have the "non-smoking" table a mere three inches from the "smoking" table next door.

People also seem a tad more casual in Paris than they used to be, and this is reflected in their dog behavior -- we noticed this time that the French dogs were, with few exceptions, far more friendly than they used to be. In past trips, particularly in Paris, we always remarked at how aloof the dogs were...no matter which breed, they would walk alongside their owners without ever acknowledging passers-by. Apparently that was the way dogs were trained and expected to behave. Well, on this trip most of the Parisian dogs we passed cheerfully looked up at us, tails wagging. Some even came over to say hello. In our experience, that wouldn't have happened even five years ago...

Another positive thing we noticed was a significant reduction in the amount of dog poop on the sidewalk. Anyone who has spent any time walking around Paris has, at some point, spent some time scraping off the bottom of their shoes... I don't know whether they're just doing a better job of sweeping or if "le pooper scooper" has also made its way to France, but either way, it's an improvement.

Sitting in cafes with dogs curled up under the tables is a very French experience, and it always makes us miss our dogs. Perhaps someday an enlightened airline will allow dogs to be in the cabin with their owners -- not just the teeny under-the-seat variety. We would buy spaces for our dogs to come with us on longer trips if we had the chance, and I have to believe a lot of other folks would as well.

Two Weeks in France...Missing the Dogs

Ok, this time I have a couple of pretty good excuses for taking so long to post here. One, I was in France for a little over two weeks and two, I had jetlag for most of last week and could barely spell my own name let alone blog.

But hey, excuses aside, we had a wonderful vacation in France. We really missed having Baxter and Kirby with us -- but fortunately, we were able to con my brother-in-law and my mom into taking turns dog-sitting/house-sitting the entire time. The dogs missed us, we're told, but I think they got the royal treatment while we were gone.

Of course, we saw a fair number of adorable, scruffy dogs while in France...most passing by too quickly to get a photo (got a couple, which will be shared soon). The French have managed to develop a number of breeds of dog that sport that adorable, unkempt look. Perhaps that's yet another reason I like traveling in France so much (that and the culture, the food and the landscape). Among the dog-related highlights of our trip were:

Spotting a Wirehaired Pointing Griffon in a small Burgundy town.
Meeting a Kirby look-alike at Vezelay (for some reason the wirehaired dachsunds in France have shorter ears than here)
Getting a tour of a castle garden from an adorable black lab (seriously, more on that later).

We had a wonderful time, and if you want to see a few of the photos, you can find our friend Kathleen's pics here. (I didn't bring my camera so must rely on Kathleen's and my husbands photos, the latter of which are still to come...)

A Little Off the Ears

I'm sure there's some excellent evolutionary reason for this, but I've noticed that, much like humans, our scruffy dogs have different kinds of hair on their heads than they do on their bodies. On both of our wire-haired guys, the body hair (fur?) stops growing at a certain length and is more course in texture. But the hair on their heads and ears is soft like human hair and it just continues growing until we cut it.

I'm sure that if we had never trimmed Baxter's ears, he'd have chestnut-colored locks down to his knees (I've considered letting them grow just to find out...I think the max we've ever let them go is about 2" below the bottoms of his ears). Baxter's head hair and "bangs" also seem to grow until we cut them (which is usually about the time we either a) can't see his eyes or b) he starts running into furniture -- both of which occur around the same time).

Kirby's ear hair grows similarly long, although because his ears are only half-bent, it mostly forms into little tufts at the tips of his ears that stick out to the side and bob when he trots down the street. Kirby doesn't suffer from the same vision issues as Baxter, but he just looks a lot better with his hair out of his eyes, so his bangs get a trimming now and again too.

Inspired by another Wirehaired Pointing Griffon we met at the dog park yesterday (a cute, oversized female that, based on her size and place of origin, may be one of Baxter's nieces), who had her ears trimmed close and looked very cute, we decided it was time to give Baxter a trim. We trimmed his ears to just below the earline and trimmed the top of his head to stand up more. He looks quite handsome.

While we were at it, we decided to trim Kirby's ears to the length they were when he was a puppy. We trimmed a little off the top of his head, but left the rest of his facial hair and beard alone. Interestingly enough, with the short, trimmed ears and the big beard, Kirby now looks a LOT like a Schnauzer. It really changes the shape of his head to see his little bent ears (they don't bend as perfectly as a purebred Schnauzer -- each ear bends at a slightly different place to give him a charminly asymetrical look...) I kind of miss the little bobbing tufts when he walks, but he's now cute in a different sort of way.

Pictures to come after the forthcoming bath...

Sit Up and Take Notice

Kirby is quite the communication stylist. He continues to develop his embouchure and now manages to make quite an excellent "aoo-aoo-aoo" when he is highly motivated to go outside. (We haven't quite gotten him to put a "t" on the end, but hey, it sounds close enough to impress visitors when we tell them our little guy speaks English.)

Kirby's latest development -- which I unfortunately missed today -- involved Kirby positioning himself between my husband and the television and executing a perfect sit-up, without prompting.

Any dog can sit-up, you may say. Thing is, we never really bothered to teach this to Kirby. His idea of a sit up has always been more like a jump-up-and-down-on-the-hind-legs sort of activity. He has seen Baxter attempt to do a sit-up...which, given Baxter's size and legginess, usually ends up being a cute but rather lopsided quick pass at the effort. So for Kirby to just plop down onto his bum and pull up into a steady, perfect sit-up was quite a surprise.

Tonight we tried to get him to do it again, to no avail. Apparently he doesn't do it on request. He did his usual bouncing and when I tried making him sit and pulling him up into a sit-up position, he wouldn't stay there (although when Baxter saw this, he himself executed a real sit-up, with an adorable air of "so there").

We have no idea where Kirby's random sit-up came from or when it will come back. I guess we'll just have to try to watch more television...

Forget Joe the Faux Plumber...Ya Gotta Love the Dog

Photo detail from New York Times

The media circus around "Joe the Plumber" (who turns out not to be a plumber after all) was a thing to behold. But in all the hoopla around this guy's 15 minutes of fame there was a labrador who absolutely charmed me with his genuine inquisitiveness -- perhaps the most genuine thing about the entire episode.

From Heal to Heel

While Baxter was subjected to obedience training as a youth, little Kirby managed to get a pass. For one thing, he was always so good at mimicking whatever Baxter was doing, he learned most of his commands without a whole lot of effort from us. But the one thing that a good obedience class helps a dog (and their human) learn is how to walk at heel or close on a leash without pulling hard. Of course, whether or not said dog chooses to pay attention to the command is another matter and mostly the fault of the human methinks).

Baxter is fully aware of the command to walk at heel or close. With biscuits in my pocket he's capable of near-perfect execution of any command. (Sans biscuits he prefers just a slight bit of tension on the leash, but he's been pretty good lately.) Of course, no dog is perfect, and with or without biscuits at stake, the sight of a cat running across the street will send Baxter into a lurching frenzy that ends up bringing my shoulder to the brink of dislocation -- thus the Gentle Leader.

Kirby, on the other hand, is smaller and much easier to control, so the pulling has chiefly gone unchecked. He can run full speed out to the end of his leash without so much as dislocating one of my fingers. Over the past 10 months we haven't been walking very long distances, but if we don't put his harness on him and just go with the collar, the gagging, wheezing and constant pull at the leash is even more unnerving. Shame on us for not ever teaching him to walk at heel or at least close (heel is actually a bit unnerving, I find, with a little dog...too close to being under foot).


So today we took advantage of the nice, cool, sunny morning to try to give Kirby a lesson. He is a quick learner. He's so responsive to any sort of harsh tone or movement, the mere act of barking a command along with a quick snap of the leash (no chain collar required) pretty much stopped him in his tracks. It took a few blocks for him to realize these were not just a chain of random jerking events, but once he made the connection, he was really quite good at checking himself when he got a pull going.

I know, this will take consistency and effort on our part to instill the importance of not choking himself every time he's out for a walk, but I think Kirby gets it. Now if big brother Baxter can set a consistently good example, we'll all be having a much better time on those long walks to come.

The Gloves are Off

Oh yes, word has come through loud and clear to Baxter that Kirby is now fair game. Yes, Baxter was the first to diagnose Kirby's health a couple of months ago (suddenly, it seemed, Baxter stopped treating Kirby with kid gloves and started treating him more like little brother again -- this actually prompted us to allow Kirby to exercise a bit more), but I think our concern over Kirby's welfare still had put a damper on the chasing and wrestling activity.

No more. I broke up at least three chases around the upstairs today. I actually let them go for a while until the pitch got to a level where I knew there would be tears from somebody...probably me.

Brothers. It's interesting how frequently the behavior of Baxter and Kirby resembles fraternal relations in my husband's family growing up, or so I'm told. In any case, a little part of me is happy to see all the frolicking going on.

Back on the Stairway Again

The stairway gates are open and Kirby now has free run of the stairs again. The little guy is gleeful. Just tonight he started his old game of carrying the orka toy up the stairway landing and dropping it. He then parked himself on the highest point from which he could still see the living room. It was so sweet to look up there and once again see his highness, the little lord of the manor once again.

Of course, even if Kirby's the little lord, Baxter is still the prince. Kirby's imposed lack of free stairway access has also hampered Baxter's ability to sit at his favorite perch, so I'm sure that in no time the two of them will soon be dukeing it out for the high spot.

In the meantime, it's just great to see him so happy to run with abandon. I'm sure the Kirby Derby will have a renaissance as well...

It's Official: Kirby is Heartworm-free!!!!!

The vet's office just called to let us know that Kirby's post-treatment heartworm test came back negative, and Baxter's "just in case" retest also came back negative. Needless to say, we are thrilled and relieved and looking forward to taking the baby gates off the stairway! Kirby gets his active life back (we sensed he was feeling good so have let him work into a bit more exercise as it is) and we're out from under that 10-month dark cloud since his diagnosis last December.

Whew!

The Follow-up Heartworm Tests

Today is the day... Kirby's vet said any time on or after Oct. 6 we'd be clear to have Kirby's 6-month post-treatment retest for heartworm. The vet also wanted to test Baxter again, just to confirm his last negative test.

So we packed 'em into the car (they were very excited) and took them in for their blood tests. We won't get the results until either late today or, most likely, tomorrow. So fingers are firmly crossed here and hoping for the best. It will be so nice to give Kirby back his full, frolicking freedom.

Salty Legs

Let me start off by saying I am not, by any stretch of the imagination, a "runner." I am a person who occasionally feels the urge to exercise at a slightly (slightly) faster pace than power walking. Sometimes it just feels good to, as my dad used to say about old car engines, "blow the cobs out."

This past week involved a couple of days of client meetings accompanied by rich food, so this morning was one of those times a run seemed like a good idea. I started off alone. I'd like to run in the company of others, but it has never quite worked out with my family. My husband is a runner, but he's much too fast for me. He actually runs. I usually do something more akin to interval training (run...walk...run...walk).

I tried running with Baxter a few years ago. Big mistake. He would go for quite a while at a perfect clip, right at my side, just long enough for me to stop thinking "watch the dog, watch the dog." Then suddenly he'd decide to check out that cat on the porch across the street and lunge in front of me. I dare not say what was going through my mind in those slow-motion moments as I sailed head first over Baxter's back toward an up-close experience with the asphalt. After the second time this happened -- the time I ended up in the emergency room getting seven stitches in my chin -- I decided I'd better leave the dog at home.

The nice thing about leaving the dogs at home is the wonderful greeting I get when I return. For them, it's both an opportunity to lavish enthusiastic greetings on one of the alpha dogs AND enjoy a tasty, salty snack (aka licking sweaty legs). It's a feeling I can only describe as being at once soothing and annoying.

Today was a rare day when I actually met up with my husband toward the end of his much longer run. We ran together for a spell (he had the patience to walk up a hill with me) and just having him there at my side boosted my stick-to-it-ness as we ran the last bit home.

On our re-entry, I learned that the alpha male's legs are far tastier than mine. We each got our respective greetings, and as the dogs ran back and forth between us, I got about two licks from each dog before they returned to #1 and attacked him like a pair of off-the-wagon dieters at a smorgasbord. He had to fight them off. It was actually kind of funny to watch.

Maybe when I get to the point that I can run the full route with the alpha male I'll be tasty too. For now, I'll just do what I can and keep a bit more salt to myself.

Pecking Order

My husband and I consider each other equals in the family. There's really no reason for heirarchy, and it's nice. But we live in a canine-inhabited household, and, if you ever wonder where you really stand in your family in terms of rank, get a dog or two.

Just who is the alpha of the pack is pretty obvious in our home. When I come in the door by myself, the dogs rush me and shower me with happy, bouncing, wagging, slobbery greetings. When my husband and I come in the door together, the dogs first rush him with happy, bouncing, wagging slobbery greetings, THEN they come over and lavish me with more of the same. I guess somebody has to be first, and in the dogs' world, that would be alpha male.

This became distinctly more apparent when we were taking care of our friends' dog. Suddenly we had three canines in the house and the new dog immediately understood the order of things. It was as if there were some unwritten rule on the door: "To all canines: When you're here, the big guy with the deep voice is in charge. In his absence, try to mind #2, but just know she's a bit of a pushover. Hide behind her legs when in trouble."

I've read that one reason dogs make such great family companions is because they are pack animals with a strong sense of rank and order. When the humans in the family assume pack leadership and offer up consistent, well communicated rules, the dogs seem happier than ever because they know what's expected of them and where they stand.

Sometimes I look at Baxter when he's sitting there next to me on a hot day, panting, with that giant pink tongue draping loosely over his huge canine teeth and I realize this guy could rip my arm off if he wanted to. But instead he treats me with respect (most of the time) and sweetness and a devotion I often feel I don't deserve. When it's just the two of us, he knows I'm in charge.

But when my husband comes home, the pack order shifts...and my husband becomes the undisputed top dog. Some say dogs give men this position because they have deeper voices and, to a dog, a deep growl has much more authority, whereas a higher pitch -- like the female voice -- is associated with play and affection. I think that's probably some of it in our family. The dogs are much more deferential to him. And let's face it, no matter how low I try to make my voice, I just don't sound as scary when I'm upset about something.

Also, the dogs clearly see the driver's seat as the alpha position in the car. Or Baxter does, anyway. If he's ever left in the car without being behind the gate, he will ALWAYS go and sit behind the steering wheel, even though it's the seat with the least room for him to lay down. It's the power position. And I have to admit, when I get the chance, I defer to the alpha to do the driving. This is not because I'm old fashioned or because I think he's a better driver. I just like being the passenger better than being the driver.

But when it comes to alpha-ness, there's more to it than that. As much as I hate to admit it, my husband does a better job of consistently enforcing the rules. The fact that I sometimes slip up and don't make the dogs mind some rule we set for them means they see me as just a wee bit more of a pushover than the alpha male is. Fair enough.

There are some special advantages to being the cuddly pushover. For example, I always get to find out first when someone wants something. I'm usually the first one to get the unwavering stare, the pawing and, in Kirby's case, the earnest little growly yowling. If I don't respond, they move on to the big guy and work him over. I used to do something similar with my parents when I was a youth.

Even though Baxter and Kirby never get scraps from our dinner plates, and we've taught them not to beg, it hasn't escaped my attention that I'm usually the one they sit next to when we're eating. It's humbling to realize you have been identified as the weakest link. And when we add someone new to the mix, say my mother, the dogs immediately shift their attention to her, hoping that we might forget to tell the visitor about the rules of the house and some tidbit of dinner will make its way down off the plate.

A few years ago we had a guest for Thanksgiving who had two charming habits that Baxter simply adored. 1) She fed her own dogs table scraps as she was eating and had no qualms about maintaining the same practice with other peoples' dogs, and 2) she dropped a lot of crumbs by accident. Baxter didn't leave her side for four hours.

Between the two dogs, pecking order is a constant negotiation. But at least it's clear to them that my husband and I are the top two, and I can live with that.

Hygiene and The Bravery Role Reversal

Brave Baxter and Cautious Kirby have a complete role reversal when it comes to acts of hygiene. Kirby embraces the opportunity to be combed, bathed and tooth-brushed. He actually comes running and requires little or no coaxing to stick with it -- just the closeness to one of the alpha dogs seems enough for him to almost seem like he's enjoying the process.


Baxter, on the other hand, trembles at the mere mention of the word "bath." I'm not exaggerating. In fact, if one of us goes anywhere in proximity to the bathroom and says "Baxter," he'll run for his bed and lay there, visibly trembling, until he's dragged away by the collar.


This morning Baxter's dog breath seemed particularly pungent, so we decided it was time to brush the big guy's teeth. As my husband loaded up the special dog toothbrush with special dog toothpaste, he literally had to fight Kirby off.

Baxter hid under my desk, shaking like a leaf.

I finally wedged my leg behind him and managed to push him out into the open, where my husband sat, waiting with the toothbrush. It was an ordeal. I'm not sure Baxter's breath smells any better -- he hasn't even tried panting at me since the brushing... Hey, maybe we're onto something else here!

Bravery, Bluster and Territorial Expansion

Baxter has always been brave in the face of uncertainty. He faces whatever life throws at him with the unflappability and curiosity of a gun dog. When he sees a new person standing in the yard or walking toward him on the street, he walks right up to them quietly...not in a particularly waggy, friendly way, but rather in the spirit of investigation. When there's a loud noise, Baxter runs toward it -- whether it be thunder, a gun shot in the woods or me dropping a kitchen utensil. When we're in a new place, he's an intrepid explorer, running ahead of the pack (as far as we'll let him go), sticking his nose into every nook and cranny. Whenever a box is opened or a bag is unzipped, Baxter is there with his nose right in it. And, as I've mentioned before, every single birthday gift and holiday package we've sent over the past nine years has had Baxter nose hair stuck to the scotch tape.

Kirby is a whole different animal. Frequently, when we open the door to go outside, he exits the house with a deep woof, as if to tell the world "I'm Kirby, I'm tough and I just wanted to let you all know I've arrived." Yet, when he is surprised by a new person in the yard or a neighbor coming out their door, his first reaction is an alarm bark. Any loud noises at all (even just a loud clank of a spoon in an empty bowl) send Kirby under the sofa. If it's thundering outside, we literally have to drag him out from under the furniture to go out and do his business. He'd rather burst than go where the noise is. And I certainly don't have to tell you the reaction when the local air show a couple of weeks ago brought in some fighter planes who made their big turns over our house.

Given these very different approaches to the world, Brave Baxter and Cautious Kirby have very different approaches to going for a walk. Baxter will go anywhere and will pull you there, even if he doesn't know where he's going. Kirby, on the other hand, has definite territorial boundaries. Inside the boundaries he confidently pulls, runs, jumps and frolics as much as a dog can on the end of a leash. He's taken to marking the local trees and light posts and knows all the best sniffing spots. But once you cross his invisible territorial line, he's a different dog. We practically have to drag him down the street. He won't sniff, won't do his business and every passing thing, be it a person, car or squirrel, causes him to hide behind my legs.

So now I've taken to expanding Kirby's horizons -- trying new directions. Today, as Baxter was pulling me forward and Kirby was pulling me backward, I decided to put Baxter's leash through the loop of Kirby's, so I just held Baxter and all of Kirby's backpaddling balanced Baxter's forward lunging. It actually worked for a couple of blocks, enough so that Kirby and Baxter eventually ended up walking side by side gently in front of me.

We may be onto something here...

Dog Days

Nice article and video in the NY Times... what better way to illustrate the dog days of summer than with dogs?

Though I must add that our 100+ degree days seemed a distant memory as I donned a RAIN COAT to go to work today... Ok, the thunder the other night was cool and the rain was kind of refreshing. But I can't help feeling like those of us who live in the Pacific Northwest make a sort of deal with Mother Nature: we will put up with the seemingly endless drizzle for nine months, just for the privilege of having a perfect summer. For me, a perfect summer involves rain showers that last a few hours, maybe a day. Then bring on the sunshine. Oh, wait, at this very moment the sun is out AND it's raining. Ahhh, Mother Nature has a sense of humor...

Time flies. So does inspiration...

My inner blogger has been busy, my outer blogger has not. Over the past couple of weeks I've thought of at least a half dozen dog-related subjects to blog about, but I was never in a good place to write them down. Now, here I sit. Nada. Let it suffice to say, it's been a busy couple of weeks. We've had a surprise canine visitor, a new work schedule and some hot weather to contend with. And out of all this, when I finally find the time and inspiration, will come a few stories.

Just not at the moment.

So instead I'll share another Kirby birthday photo...