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Precious Cargo: The Never Ending Story

Precious Cargo: The Journey Continues (accessible via the button below) is the chronicle of rescue tales--transporting, fostering, and volunteering in rescues as a single, dogless freelance woman in Los Angeles.

This is the ongoing saga involving rescue of that same single woman, older, hopefully wiser, and definitely more interesting with her canine partner by her side.

Precious cargo: the ORIGINAL BLOG

Train Your Troubles Away

1/11/2015

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Shouting is a volcanic eruption of frustration, spewing red hot rage upon anyone in its path. It is not a problem solver. It might feel good to the shouter to uncap and release some pressure, but it’s ineffective and usually detrimental to the shoutee and anyone else within range. 

I don’t believe one should ever do anything out of fear. Nor should they do something simply because the demand is coming from someone in front of them having a mental breakdown. They should be moved by clear logic toward a simple solution.

Having symbolically leveled my home with anger-lava, the rage went dormant and I sought to clean up the mess I had made using logic to achieve my goal.

Dogs are like two year olds. You can’t just tell them No. They gotta know why—kids do anyway. Dogs are less existential; they don’t need to know why so much as they need to know what to do instead. The same, I imagine, would work with children. To get rid of an undesirable behavior, give them something funner (and more acceptable to you) to do.
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Hayden is a forceful dog. He hasn’t been given any skills to get what he wants so he uses brute force—the most simple, direct way to get something. He’ll put his feet on the counter for a treat. He shoves his head under my hand to pet him. He sticks his nose in my face if he wants a cuddle. He does this because these are the only routes he knows of to get to the desired goal.

So in the past few days, I’ve been teaching him new paths.

First, jumping on the counter, although effective for immediately getting a treat, is unacceptable and a short-lived victory as they’re snatched away. Sit, stay, and be polite, and you’ll get an endless stream hand-fed to you that you can savor slowly without the bother of having to steal and scarf down the food in secret.

For shoving his head under my hand, I ask him to sit politely, and will pet him only when he does so.

For sticking his nose in my face or drooling on my laptop while I’m working, I ask him to lie down and only then do I reach down and pet him.

He still gets what he wants, but now I get what I want too.

And Tucker gets his civilized human back without all of her barbaric shouting.

As I watch Tucker with Hayden, I understand why Hayden used those tactics with me. Tucker does to Hayden what Hayden does to me that I find annoying. Tucker runs up to Hayden and presses a toy into his face and squeaks it. Tucker sits on Hayden’s head. Tucker rests his toys on Hayden.
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Tucker continually grabs Hayden’s leg to initiate play no matter how many times Hayden says, “No thank you.”
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Do unto others as you want done unto you, but most of the time we all just do to others what others do to us. We pay it forward in the only currency we know.

Tucker is beginning to trust me again. Now when Hayden forces himself between us, I don’t yell. I ask him to sit, and Tucker only backs away a few feet, ears down, eyes cast up to see if I’m going to explode. The more times I don’t, the closer and longer Tucker stays. Eventually, I’ll be back to petting both simultaneously.

As with most human-canine interactions, it’s the person, not the dog at fault. It is the person who needs to change, and so I have. If I do feel that Hayden isn’t taking to the “lie down” or “sit and stay,” I remove him from my presence all together. If he can’t accept what I’m giving on my terms, he gets nothing. No yelling, no cussing, I just put him in his crate so I can finish what I’m doing uninterrupted and then I let him back out.

I can only guess how many parents wish they could that with their children.

It seems like no one ever took the time with Hayden to teach him any skills other than “Come”—which, I admit is a good one; Tucker doesn’t even have a reliable Come. But it isn’t enough. Now, every night after our walk and before dinner, class is held in my living room. As you can see, it’s quite competitive… although I don’t know why since it’s the equivalent of a high school sophomore and a fourth grader in the same class.
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Hayden and Tucker reconfirm “Sit” and “Down” and then Hayden does “Stay” while I go over “Freeze” and “Bang” and “Spin” and other higher level tasks for Tucker. Hayden gets treats for lying there and staying put while I move about with Tucker. He hasn’t stayed put if I attempt to the leave the room, but we’ve only been working for a few days now. Give us a week, and he’ll be able to do it.

On our walks, as much as I dread them, I attempt to teach as well. I can’t teach heel or how not to pull as I struggle just to maintain order with two dogs. However, while we wait for the crosswalk sign to change, Tucker and Hayden sit and get a treat. If it’s a long light, Tucker does a few more in his repertoire and Hayden continues to master Sit, Down, and Stay.

Both dogs are extremely social. They want to meet every canine on the planet. After months of training, Tucker is able to walk by most dogs and just sniff the scent trail they left in the air, or if given permission, can approach and greet. Hayden is back to step one. In classic public school curriculum, I must teach to the lowest student, so sadly Tucker is forced back to step one as well. If a dog is approaching us, the dogs must sit, and “watch me.” Now that Hayden knows his name, I can get his attention and “watch me” is a half step beyond that. 

Last night, I received the greatest compliment. When I saw two people with one very unruly large dog each coming toward us, the dogs dragging their humans behind them, I asked Tucker and Hayden to sit and watch me. One person crossed the street with his exuberant canine. The other ran by with her dog three yards away and said between breaths, “Wow! Your dogs are so well-behaved!”  Tucker and Hayden’s focus was on me, waiting for their treat. I said, “Thank you,” and blushed with pride. She then caught up with her friend and continued to go on about what well-behaved dogs I have.
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It’s taken a year for me to feel like Tucker and I have reached an acceptable skill level to be out in public together. The skills aren’t just for the dogs, they’re for the people too. “Watch me” focuses the dog away from the distraction and it also focuses the human on the dog instead of letting frustration mount unchecked.

Hayden has come a long way in less than a week. I acknowledge that and am proud of him. The fun of fostering for me is watching a personality blossom. Timid dogs come out of their shells and gain confidence and learn skills. Hayden is confident and forceful despite his lack of manners—or perhaps because of that lack. I originally approached the situation as having to shove Hayden back—both physically and metaphorically. I used force against force. And that never works. Shaping, molding, and directing that force is how you handle it intelligently.

Teaching a dog skills is teaching yourself. It’s solving problems, avoiding conflicts, and keeping the peace. Shouting is a release, and although we all need to vent sometimes, if you solve the problem, avoid the conflict, and keep the peace first, you’ll find that you just don’t feel the need to vent that much anymore.
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"I'm not shouting. Alright I am. I'm shouting. I'm shouting, I'm shouting, I'm..."

1/5/2015

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Here’s what I’ve learned in the past few days: I’m an asshole. 

I’ve never been a patient woman. But I’ve always had endless patience when it comes to a frightened, insecure dog.

I don’t know what happened to that patience in the past year. Granted, I’m not yelling at a cowering chihuahua and making him cry. But I haven’t been terribly kind toward a gentle soul whose only desire is to show affection.

If anyone has seen me in a club (it’s happened only a handful of times) or a crowded bar, then they know that I have a personal space issue--which is precisely why I don't frequent those places. I thought it only applied to humans, but turns out I have space issues with dogs too.

Tucker is not an in-my-face dog. He’s a cuddler at times, but mainly sitting on my lap or falling asleep next to me or on my legs. There’s very little kissy-face. 

Hayden, on the other hand, the grateful, sweet boy that he is, knows no boundaries. He is in my face every chance he gets. His nose is at my wrist if I’m working in the kitchen. His tongue is in my hair if I lean over to get something from the floor. His head is under my hand if I try to pet Tucker. His face is in mine if I’m talking to Tucker.

All these things are completely reasonable for a dog who hasn’t known a lot of human affection but is great with other dogs. Dogs wrestle and romp. Tucker occasionally sits on Hayden’s head. Hayden has draped himself over Tucker’s back. They somehow manage to both chew on the same fourteen inch long toy simultaneously. They drink out of the same water bowl at the same time. Dogs have no personal space.
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It was clear from the first two days that Tucker did not appreciate me breaking the “no yelling” in the house rule. Granted some of it was due to a lack of sleep, as Hayden is a rise at dawn sort of dog and Tucker and I are not. I solved that problem by giving Hayden his own sleeping quarters in a giant crate next to my bed.

I sleep with guilt weighing heavily on me for not allowing him on the bed, but I sleep longer into the morning.

Hayden is beginning to learn his name but it isn't 100% yet.  Trying to get a dog’s attention when he has no name is frustrating. He also doesn’t have the vocabulary that Tucker has to know what I mean most of the time. Tucker gets the nuances of “turn around” or “back-back” or “can you please go to bed” or “you can’t be in here right now.” Hayden knows none of that yet. 

And it’s not his fault. I know that. So why am I such an asshole?

A dog’s inability to learn a command is not the dog’s fault; it is the human’s lack of imagination and communication skills.  I’m frustrated with myself.  

I know Hayden doesn’t understand the words so I try tone. I try stern. Then I try physical—a push backward. Then I match stern tone with a push. It just isn’t working. I’m a jerk for pushing away a dog who just wants to be near me. He’s not attacking me; he’s not going to maul me. He just needs to show his affection. Within forty-five seconds, I blow my top at the poor fella.

And now Tucker hates me. He’s frightened of me. He hasn’t heard me yell like this—ever. 

Hayden can read dog language. He and Tucker get along famously. But Hayden isn’t fully fluent in human communication yet. Pushing him away doesn’t deter him from coming back. “Stay” means nothing to him. And the most troublesome one for me is when I’m trying to relate to just Tucker for a moment, Hayden needs to come over and shove first his snout, then his whole body between us, and get in the way. Tucker has come to realize this elevates my stress, so Tucker will back away to avoid me yelling at Hayden. And that makes me more upset. 

Tucker seems sad today. I don’t know if it was my three blow-ups yesterday. Or my one today. Or if he’s tired from playing. Or not feeling well. Since Hayden doesn’t respond to his name, Tucker now doesn’t respond to his. It’s like he’s showing solidarity with the boy. Tucker wouldn’t even get out of his crate for me when I asked this afternoon. I had to drag him out because I know damn well he knows what I’m saying, but he didn’t want to associate with me. And then I gave him a reason not to want to associate with me by forcing him to come out.

A couple hours ago, I went to Tucker who was lying on his bed in my bedroom to see how he was feeling. Hayden trotted in and once more shoved himself into me. I said, “No, back away, Hayden” very calmly at normal volume. I tried again. I pushed him back and repeated myself. I shoved him hard, again telling him to back off. When that too didn’t work, I finally shouted, “Hayden, get the fuck away!” 

Hayden backed off, cowered and finally, finally, didn’t come back to me.

Tucker cringed and wouldn’t look at me. He tried to get out of the room. I held him. Tucker shivered. He was terrified of me. All I had wanted to do was see what was wrong with my kid, and I ended up being that thing that was wrong.

Tucker lay with his head on my lap, Hayden lay a few feet away, and I pet Tucker while all of us existed in silence and I tried to regain Tucker’s trust—and my own. After an unknown number of minutes, the energy shifted and peace was obtained.

I asked if the boys wanted to go outside before dark. I gently and slowly moved so Tucker got up and the three of us went outside.

There, the past was far away. Tucker and Hayden played and romped and Tucker smiled.
He had nothing against Hayden. It was me he didn’t like. And quite frankly, I don’t like me right now either. There is a saying to “Be the person your dog believes you are.” Well, I just shattered my dog’s belief system.

The boys romped around, using both interior and exterior locations for their tug-of-war/keep-away/chase/wrestling match. I heard the two of them go into the kitchen for what I presumed was a drink of water. 

Then it got too quiet. For too long. The length of time for a plan to be thought of, discussed, and executed.

“Boys, what’s going on in there? I don’t trust the silence.”

Hayden trotted out first, Ziplock baggie of treats in his mouth and Tucker brought up the rear. 

“Oh, no,” I said calmly as Hayden landed on the couch and Tucker stood by waiting to delve into the goods.

“No. Bad. That’s not something we do,” I said sternly but at conversation volume to him—mainly because I was trying not to laugh.

He gave up the booty easily.

“I blame you too, Tucker,” I said to my canine partner who had betrayed me for treats. “You’re in cahoots with him.”

I returned the treats to the kitchen, noting the wet paw tracks on the countertop.

How could I be mad? Tucker and Hayden had bonded. Disappointingly, I had given them a common enemy to band together against:  the crazy, yelling, human female who seems nice, but blows up if you get too close.

Re-reading the last sentence, I see this goes deeper than my dislike of being tongue-bathed by a dog with dental disease. 

Perhaps all this time my need to foster wasn’t to help others, but to help myself. Hayden is a far better dog than I a human.

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So let's get this a kid a home--he deserves it:
https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/31150513
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Let the Games Begin....

1/2/2015

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People often ask, “How can you foster? Don’t you want to keep them all?” They believe I’m emotionally stunted for not loving every canine that crosses my path. But it’s not that I don’t love them all; it’s just that I don’t fall in love with them all. I have a lot of guy friends—always have. Admittedly, some were ones I had wanted to date at one time or another but either they weren’t interested or the desire slowly fell away as I got to know them better. But the bulk of the guys have always been just friends--no romantic expectations whatsoever. On the rare occasions of me being with someone, I never gave up those guy friends just because I fell in love.

That’s how I look at fostering. A foster dog is just a friend of mine who is looking to find his special someone. I love Tucker; he is my happiness, my joy, my everything. But this summer, I began missing those foster-friends, just as I’d miss my guy friends if I only spent all my time with a boyfriend. Tucker and I found love with each other; it was time we helped other canines find that same connection.

It used to be that within 24 hours of unemployment, I had a foster dog. The need is great, and since I had been dogless, I could take any dog. They didn’t have to like other dogs, they could have separation anxiety, they could be skittish and fearful. Now that I have a rescue partner, any potential foster has to get along with him as well.

After over a year, on the final day of 2014, Tucker and I finally got our first canine houseguest, our very first foster-friend.
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Hayden is an older gentleman, older by his neglect than by chronological years. When Shelley pulled him from East Valley, she learned that this wasn’t this kid’s first time in the slammer. He did his first stint in 2007 when he had gotten out of his yard. His family came, paid his bail, and he continued to live an unknown life until a few weeks ago when he ended back up in jail for once more getting out of his yard. This time, his family didn’t want him back.

For Hayden’s eight years of neglect, he still is a puppy at heart. He has large skin tags on his ribs, his elbows have calluses from lying on concrete for years, the tips of ears are destroyed from fly strikes, and his mouth is lacking all his original teeth. But when Tucker asked him to play, he was all in.
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The two frollicked and rolled and wrestled in the yard. And when Hayden was worn out, he let Tucker know, and Tucker backed off--a bit. It seemed like a good fit. I had wished for a younger, more active foster for Tucker, but Hayden seemed playful enough and it would be good for Tucker to learn to just chill out with a friend.
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And so, rather than spend New Years Eve at some schwanky party all dolled up, or at a house party drinking and hanging with friends, I chaperoned the boys on their first evening together.

There was much play,
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And much love.
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I kinda felt like a third wheel.
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I watched and chaperoned and refereed. And I tried to think of a name for this gentleman. The shelter named him Beto. Shelley called him Duke. My first instinct was Ramsey, and attempted to go with that. This morning, two days in, I knew Ramsey wasn’t it either, but perhaps Rocco.

The sad fact was that this dog knew “Come,” “Come ‘ere,” and “Hey.” That’s right. He responded to, “Hey, come ‘ere.” When I told Christy that, the name of all names came into being: Hayden. It suits him well. A distinguished, intelligent older gentleman with a bit of a goofy side.
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It’s been some time since I’ve had to teach a dog anything. Tucker and I go to classes, but our learning is together and it’s unnecessary knowledge like tricks and agility and fun stuff. It’s been a while since I’ve had to teach a dog his name, and to sit and general in-home etiquette. 

We have a rule in our house: no yelling. That goes for me and for Tucker. He doesn’t bark and I don’t yell. So when I had to raise my voice to get Hayden to get off the kitchen counter, Tucker slid out of the room and curled up in a ball in his bed.

Tucker is a good size. He can be next to me in the kitchen while I’m cooking and his face is still three feet away from the food. But Hayden, with no boundaries and lanky German Shepherd build, is three inches from what I’m preparing. Now with less yelling and more coaxing, when it’s dinner time Hayden must be outside the kitchen (although his giant paws manage to be within the room.)
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As I walked the two of them together—something I had dreaded, as I hadn’t walked two dogs together since Husker & Riley in 2007 and they were minpins—my heart filled with pride at Tucker and the two of us. It isn’t often that I get to compare and contrast. But as Hayden sniffed and ignored my existence on the walk, and Tucker stopped each time I did and sat, awaiting a treat, how far Tucker and I have come together in the past year became abundantly clear. 

A year ago around this time, Tucker had busted through two soft-sided crates, ate a wooden stirring spoon he had extracted from the dish drying rack on the kitchen counter, consumed the bill of my favorite hat, and pissed and shit in the house. 

But love conquers all.

Tucker and I have bonded and found our rhythm; we are a team for life. He’s confident in my love for him and gets that any other dog is a guest—a foster friend that we both enjoy and love—but will never come between us.
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Hayden isn’t an easily-placeable dog. I imagine he’ll be with us until Tucker and I hit the road for a job—which hopefully is soon since I’ve been out of work for three months already. But that’s makes me even more determined to find that special someone for him quickly. Not just because he deserves to start his new life as soon as possible, but because he shouldn’t be shifted from place to place in rescue limbo.

I believe the perfect home for Hayden would be one in which someone has recently lost one of their two seniors dogs. The one left behind grieving and in need of a new friend, but no one in the family ready or willing to take on a young, spry dog at this time. Hayden still has a spring in his step and is ready to throw down if another dog is so inclined to a wrestling match, but he also wants to lie on soft, cozy bedding, gaze into a human’s eyes, and give kisses.

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If you’re interested in Hayden or know someone who might be, please check out his petfinder page (he might still be listed as Ramsey):
https://www.petfinder.com/petdetail/31150513
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    How It All Began

    Precious Cargo: The Journey Home is the manuscript that sits on my desk, having been written, edited, edited again, and then fully rewritten, and not yet published. It is the tale of a 29 year old single woman traveling across the country and back again driving homeless dogs from high kill shelters to rescues, rescues to fosters, and fosters to forever homes.

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    2014.12.01 Too Long Of A Hiatus
    2014.12.04 A Dog In Need Regardless Of Breed
    2015.01.02 Let The Games Begin
    2015.01.05 I'm Not Shouting
    2015.01.11 Train Your Troubles Away
    2015.11.06 Love: The Ultimate Free Pass
    2015.11.07 The Most Ridiculous Thing I'ver Ever Done For Animals
    2015.11.28 Learning Is Loving
    Love Is... Fear

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