Bela revealed that she was hard to contain early in the game.
Mike had her in his mom's yard one afternoon, when he noticed she wasn't consistently present.
She was coming and going from...somewhere.
He found that she was quietly slipping out of the side of the fence, running around back by the train tracks (I do love that calming image...my dog trotting over train tracks, oblivious to anything but small mammals), and then coming back into the yard when she was done exploring. Wash, rinse, repeat.
There were bolder escapes as well. To be honest, probably one or two more than I can remember. (The brain will often turn off that which it doesn't want to recall.)
There are a couple that stand out, burned into my memory.
The horror of standing in the [Chicago Archdiocese] Cardinal's yard, watching Bela run 360's around the joint. Each second was what I thought could have been the last second before the second that I never saw her again. My head spun in circles, watching my dog mock my human desire to capture her.
The worst (can we really rate her runaways? yes, I think we can) was in Beverly. It was Thanksgiving Day. We took her to a lovely park and brought the ball out. She was into it. Oh, yes. And then...gone. In a flash. The residents of the house across the street from the park were outside. When they saw my god-awful expression and painful attempt to sprint, they yelled, "What's wrong?" -- "Our dog!", I exclaimed!
By the time I turned the corner - the one that Bela had turned a good 30 seconds before me (a LOT of time when you're talking about sprinting) and Mike a good 20 seconds (still a LOT of time when you're talking about sprinting), some other residents yelled the same inquiry, to which I responded the same.
They took no time messing around. They jumped in their van and headed down the street after my slow ass. Right before she hit 99th St. (a street with enough traffic to stop her, if you catch my drift), something happened. (God?) She turned. We threw her ball up in the air and the yellow caught her eye. We got her.
Mike and I were wheezing for a good two hours after the occurence. My legs shook for about 30 minutes (from a combination of fear and running faster than I am capable of running). Bela, on the other hand, was pleased as punch. She'd had a great little hunting escapade!
After a couple of brushes with Bela's boisterousness, I could barely take her to the park. I was paralyzed with fear. I was considering keeping her held up in the house, allowing her muscles to atrophy, running free no more. But I knew. Without her exercise, she's a miserable, miserable dog.
And we have been blessed with many months without an episode.
But recently, she has taken to running again. 3 escapes in 3 days. A terrifying percent of possibility of loss.
What is she escaping from? We don't think it's us. She seems to genuinely like us. I suppose she's escaping from captivity. She plans to return, but on her own terms and after she's done what she'd like to do. She needs wide open spaces.
I think the truth is that she's not escaping at all. She's a dog. She hears the call of the wild.
For now, we're avoiding parks with lots of trees (i.e. squirrels) and watching her like a hawk. (If you see her cock her head to the side, MOVE IN.) We give her treats every couple throws, to reinforce that it pays to return to us. I've enrolled her in another behavior class, to learn ways we can keep her tuned into us and only us.
Because she'll take a chance on a squirrel -- any one...but she's far too important for us to take chances on.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Riding in Cars with Bela
It became apparent soon after Bela's adoption that we would need a way to get her around. It became apparent, really, the day we needed to pick her up. They arrange it so that the dogs leaving the shelter have their neutering surgery the morning of. As not all taxis allow dogs, and buses certainly do not --there was no other way to transport her, save our feet and her feet, walking in conjuction down a sidewalk.
This was not a possibility that day, as I knew she would be drugged beyond belief. So I frantically searched for a way to get her home. A 'Dog Taxi' came to the rescue. The genius (or rather, guy with a van) behind this company took my request for a pick-up over the internet, called me to confirm, and showed up at the shelter, waiting for Mike to exit with our new dog.
Soon after, we bought Bela a car.
Now, I had not owned a dog or a car prior to this, so I was a bit out of my comfort zone. But we quickly navigated craigslist, found a 19-year-old white Volvo (I've always loved their boxiness!), and slapped down $1100 for it.
It is as unreliable as they come. It's been towed off the Dan Ryan Expressway from the middle lane --of FIVE -- IN TRAFFIC -- twice. It makes a constant whistling sound. Being whistled at by a person can be annoying. Being whistled at by your car will make you down right uneasy.
The car is almost strictly for Bela-centered activity. We rarely take it out for our own devices or pleasures.
It is for trips to the dog beach, the 44-acre dog park in Lake Forest, city parks outside of walking distance, and destination trips. Where we go, she goes!
She likes to ride with her two backfeet on the backseat, the two front on the center console, and her face in between our faces. She will occasionally rest her chin on Mike's extended right arm. When we reach a speed above 60 miles per hour, she climbs down onto the floor behind the seats, curls into a ball and lets the vibrations lull her to sleep, just like a baby.
Today marks one year of car ownership. The now 20-year-old machine dies roughly every 3 uses, and has no radio or cupholders, but I'll be damned if it hasn't given us some great car rides with B.
This was not a possibility that day, as I knew she would be drugged beyond belief. So I frantically searched for a way to get her home. A 'Dog Taxi' came to the rescue. The genius (or rather, guy with a van) behind this company took my request for a pick-up over the internet, called me to confirm, and showed up at the shelter, waiting for Mike to exit with our new dog.
Soon after, we bought Bela a car.
Now, I had not owned a dog or a car prior to this, so I was a bit out of my comfort zone. But we quickly navigated craigslist, found a 19-year-old white Volvo (I've always loved their boxiness!), and slapped down $1100 for it.
It is as unreliable as they come. It's been towed off the Dan Ryan Expressway from the middle lane --of FIVE -- IN TRAFFIC -- twice. It makes a constant whistling sound. Being whistled at by a person can be annoying. Being whistled at by your car will make you down right uneasy.
The car is almost strictly for Bela-centered activity. We rarely take it out for our own devices or pleasures.
It is for trips to the dog beach, the 44-acre dog park in Lake Forest, city parks outside of walking distance, and destination trips. Where we go, she goes!
She likes to ride with her two backfeet on the backseat, the two front on the center console, and her face in between our faces. She will occasionally rest her chin on Mike's extended right arm. When we reach a speed above 60 miles per hour, she climbs down onto the floor behind the seats, curls into a ball and lets the vibrations lull her to sleep, just like a baby.
Today marks one year of car ownership. The now 20-year-old machine dies roughly every 3 uses, and has no radio or cupholders, but I'll be damned if it hasn't given us some great car rides with B.
Thursday, September 15, 2011
The Hair Files
Bela's hair was the first thing that jumped out at me upon meeting her. Literally.
Mike and I were covered in it within seconds. She was jumping all over us, lovingly...wanting us to get to know her. We know her quite well now, but that loving jumping has never decreased, so neither has the hair.
I have two lint rollers (one without scent, one with the scent of Bounce, which means not only can I wear recently hair-covered clothes, but dirty ones at that). I have a broom and dustpan that likely consider themselves overworked and underpaid.
The comforter cover, which used to be what one could call a 'midnight' shade of blue, is now what a linen store would deem a heathered blue. The tumbleweeds that roll through our house look like no one has tended to the floor in months.
I find her hair in my hair sometimes. In my purse. In my shoes.
Mike and I traveled to California last year, only 2 months after adopting her. We were sitting at the top of a rocky cliff, looking over the water when he pulled off his shoe and found it full of her hair. He moved the strands through his fingers, and sent them off into the air. "And now it's like she's here with us", he said.
Though some may find a stray dog hair disgusting, or uncouth - I also see it as a token of her presence. There's a Bela hair? Oh, how nice, that she can be with me in the office today! What, another? Fantastic, that she was able to make this trip to the grocery store with me!
One day, we pulled up to a party. We were about to leave the car, when I looked into the rearview mirror to find a piece of cilantro wedged between my tight little teeth. I didn't initially panic, as I am a bit of a floss nut, and usually have a travel size with me in most bags.
But the bag I had that day was unequipped. I worked on the wedged cilantro with a fingernail, to no avail. I tried to push it in deeper with my tongue, so as to leave it still in place, but hidden to the partygoers. Nothing. I was about to head in to a meet-and-greet with a large herb in the forefront of my mouth.
I looked around the camel-colored car. Nestled into the upholstery were hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces of Bela's hair.
Let's just say that her hair found a new use that day....and that when I walked into that party, I was smiling brightly.
Mike and I were covered in it within seconds. She was jumping all over us, lovingly...wanting us to get to know her. We know her quite well now, but that loving jumping has never decreased, so neither has the hair.
I have two lint rollers (one without scent, one with the scent of Bounce, which means not only can I wear recently hair-covered clothes, but dirty ones at that). I have a broom and dustpan that likely consider themselves overworked and underpaid.
The comforter cover, which used to be what one could call a 'midnight' shade of blue, is now what a linen store would deem a heathered blue. The tumbleweeds that roll through our house look like no one has tended to the floor in months.
I find her hair in my hair sometimes. In my purse. In my shoes.
Mike and I traveled to California last year, only 2 months after adopting her. We were sitting at the top of a rocky cliff, looking over the water when he pulled off his shoe and found it full of her hair. He moved the strands through his fingers, and sent them off into the air. "And now it's like she's here with us", he said.
Though some may find a stray dog hair disgusting, or uncouth - I also see it as a token of her presence. There's a Bela hair? Oh, how nice, that she can be with me in the office today! What, another? Fantastic, that she was able to make this trip to the grocery store with me!
One day, we pulled up to a party. We were about to leave the car, when I looked into the rearview mirror to find a piece of cilantro wedged between my tight little teeth. I didn't initially panic, as I am a bit of a floss nut, and usually have a travel size with me in most bags.
But the bag I had that day was unequipped. I worked on the wedged cilantro with a fingernail, to no avail. I tried to push it in deeper with my tongue, so as to leave it still in place, but hidden to the partygoers. Nothing. I was about to head in to a meet-and-greet with a large herb in the forefront of my mouth.
I looked around the camel-colored car. Nestled into the upholstery were hundreds, if not thousands, of pieces of Bela's hair.
Let's just say that her hair found a new use that day....and that when I walked into that party, I was smiling brightly.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Hedonic Rewards
With the ownership of Bela, my experiences have increased tenfold. My life got bigger.
This past weekend, out at the tender hour of 7:00 a.m., I reveled in the newly-cool breeze around me. Still tired, my eyes were half-open as I stumbled around the neighborhood.
Then I saw the first and second of this year's leaves fall from their trees in front of me.
I felt so special. I saw them! I nearly heard them, in their quiet descent!
Who knows; they may have been the first of this season...or, even if not the very first - they were the first for me. And they were then - at that hour, in the peace of the morning with no one else around - because I was out with her.
All weather affects my life so much more than it used to. It's raining? - Shit. It's snowing? - Shit. It's pouring? - Ah, shit!
But her body needn't hail the storm clouds. Her joy to exit into the great outdoors is neverending.
Last winter, we stepped out the door and into the white. The Blizzard of 2011. I could barely see her in front of me, much less anything in my path. She was definately aware that things were not the norm, but she just tended to her business as usual. While I was in something like a mix between horror and awe of the environmental tempest around me, I was also so grateful! Had I not needed to take her out - let's be honest - I wouldn't have stepped into that monster! But what an experience!
Our night walks end the day together. No matter how tired I am before taking her out, I am rejuvinated with the bounce in her step. Her little hipswing catapults me into appreciation. For everything - for her, for my capable legs, for the place in which I live, for the weather, in all its states, for the sheer opportunity of the opportunity to walk her. I look up - I look around; I observe every single night sky from the sidewalk now.
I have seen so many moons since she came to me. I pray she stays by my side for many more.
This past weekend, out at the tender hour of 7:00 a.m., I reveled in the newly-cool breeze around me. Still tired, my eyes were half-open as I stumbled around the neighborhood.
Then I saw the first and second of this year's leaves fall from their trees in front of me.
I felt so special. I saw them! I nearly heard them, in their quiet descent!
Who knows; they may have been the first of this season...or, even if not the very first - they were the first for me. And they were then - at that hour, in the peace of the morning with no one else around - because I was out with her.
All weather affects my life so much more than it used to. It's raining? - Shit. It's snowing? - Shit. It's pouring? - Ah, shit!
But her body needn't hail the storm clouds. Her joy to exit into the great outdoors is neverending.
Last winter, we stepped out the door and into the white. The Blizzard of 2011. I could barely see her in front of me, much less anything in my path. She was definately aware that things were not the norm, but she just tended to her business as usual. While I was in something like a mix between horror and awe of the environmental tempest around me, I was also so grateful! Had I not needed to take her out - let's be honest - I wouldn't have stepped into that monster! But what an experience!
Our night walks end the day together. No matter how tired I am before taking her out, I am rejuvinated with the bounce in her step. Her little hipswing catapults me into appreciation. For everything - for her, for my capable legs, for the place in which I live, for the weather, in all its states, for the sheer opportunity of the opportunity to walk her. I look up - I look around; I observe every single night sky from the sidewalk now.
I have seen so many moons since she came to me. I pray she stays by my side for many more.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
The Facts of Life
You take the good with the bad. With all things in life. And so with Bela.
Her delightfulness is apparent.
People are constantly commenting on what a happy dog she seems to be. She loves all adults. She seeks out all children, with whom her gentleness is great. She is good at home and joyous outdoors. She listens to us, behaves and showcases her easy demeanor in all she does.
That said - there is a backhand.
You see, while Bela is a dearheart -- if she feels the need arises for her to flip the switch, she flips it...quite a bit.
I've seen dogs growl at her without reason, come up and steal a ball, lunge at her while she's walking by...she takes it all in stride.
But as of late, it appears that if her nose gives way to real threat, or she senses you are foe instead of friend, the bitch will bite.
My co-worker mentioned that Bela sounds a little like...well...me. Generally and genuinely, quite kind. But generally and genuinely, ready to strike. You give me the idea that you are not here for honorable purposes and I will charge. I will bear my teeth, not at all for the sole purpose of bearing them.
Sadly, I am now a little paranoid. When I see a possible standoff, I step her away from the foreign dog, whereas I used to just raise an eyebrow.
This withstanding, I can't help but also feel a bit proud. I've got a little girl who refuses to be taken as one. A real fighter. She bears the same name as not one, but four Hungarian kings. She wears it well.
Her delightfulness is apparent.
People are constantly commenting on what a happy dog she seems to be. She loves all adults. She seeks out all children, with whom her gentleness is great. She is good at home and joyous outdoors. She listens to us, behaves and showcases her easy demeanor in all she does.
That said - there is a backhand.
You see, while Bela is a dearheart -- if she feels the need arises for her to flip the switch, she flips it...quite a bit.
I've seen dogs growl at her without reason, come up and steal a ball, lunge at her while she's walking by...she takes it all in stride.
But as of late, it appears that if her nose gives way to real threat, or she senses you are foe instead of friend, the bitch will bite.
My co-worker mentioned that Bela sounds a little like...well...me. Generally and genuinely, quite kind. But generally and genuinely, ready to strike. You give me the idea that you are not here for honorable purposes and I will charge. I will bear my teeth, not at all for the sole purpose of bearing them.
Sadly, I am now a little paranoid. When I see a possible standoff, I step her away from the foreign dog, whereas I used to just raise an eyebrow.
This withstanding, I can't help but also feel a bit proud. I've got a little girl who refuses to be taken as one. A real fighter. She bears the same name as not one, but four Hungarian kings. She wears it well.
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