Bela's Got a New #.

I have both reveled and struggled in being Bela's primary caretaker for the past 2.5 years. A real control freak, it has certainly provided me the means to control. What don't we control for our animals? We control their diet, their access to exercise, their environment...and even the strings of their hearts. Love them right; they will thrive and love right back. Love them wrong, or fail to love them at all -- and you will create a monster.


Not one for putting myself in the hands of others (we are far too malleable, I find) - I wondered if someone would eventually come along. Someone trustworthy. A father figure. A stepdad.


Someone did; and he is gentle and giving - to B and to me. He understands priorities, responsibilities, and indisposed to laziness...characteristics that line up with a Grade A Dog Owner, in my book.


And so, I changed our address to his. We headed to Petco. Bela freeloaded off the cookie bar while I tried to make sense of the tag engraving station.


I allowed him some input on the tag design (harder than you might imagine; trying like hell to co-pilot), but when the time came to brand our baby, I went back to the Commander I Am. As we stood at the machine, I contemplated back-to-back engraving...putting my number on both sides...you know...to cover all the bases.


I didn't for one minute consider him.


Him as home base. His number on her tag, along with mine.    


But he did.


The quiet boy who stood beside me spoke up. "Shouldn't my number be on there?"


Ah. Ah yes... Yes it should. It should be on her tag because it's all over my heart. It should be there because
you've proven to be both committed to her and to the very state of committment. It should be there; because you're here. Thank you for being here. For thinking it. For saying it.


When that machine engraved his number on the tag that hangs from her neck, it said so much more than for someone to call him if they find her. It said it all.

What's Not To Like?

I believe most dog owners would agree that it feels really nice when someone says they like their dog. But...why...? Why does it matter?

If you think she's attractive, do you think I am too?
When you like her spirit, do you liken it to mine?

When someone mentions they like her, my heart soars. I feel worthwhile.
This weekend, I thought someone was critiquing my ways with her, and I lost it. Cried like a baby and sought to make them understand. I then tried to look into my dramatic reaction and came up with the truth:
I have put my whole heart into caring for this animal. My whole heart. A giant chunk of my pie chart of time (and another giant chunk of the pie chart for money) - and I need the end result to be appraised at the value I put in -- no, no -- with the Added Value. I need you to walk around my dog like people walk through homes, commenting on the floors and the windows and the doors. Notice her fur, would you? -- I add fish oil to her food. Her teeth are pretty nice, right? Well, the toothpaste she uses has a pleasing poultry taste. Doesn't she walk well on the leash? I used a harness in the beginning of her training, and now she's a patient prancer.

She's my art piece, my project. She's my kid, my life's work, my love. She's the thing I decided to funnel my soul into -- and I'm just asking you to validate what I've done.

*But of course -- there lies the danger. The feelings or worth I have about ME can't be a result of how YOU feel about her. She and I are two different entities. (And as someone pointed out to me, we're actually even two different species. ;)

The Pack Life

Bela has always been more social with humans than with other dogs. She doesn't dislike dogs -- not at all -- but if she's selecting who to greet, she's going human. For a while, I thought maybe she had a checkered past with canines, that something bad had happened, forcing her to just put a little distance between her and her kind. But as time goes by, my theory and her choices are changing. She's begun acting as part of a pack. And I've been wondering if she just wasn't comfortable before...but as she ages, like good wine...she finds that she can get along just fine.


She had a pack back in Chicago - just her and the Two Z's. Zico and Zena were her first. They allowed her to warm up slowly, but eventually, they claimed her -- and she them. In Kentucky, she and Jack made up a 2-pac. (hah!) Here in Iowa, she played third wheel to Elvis and Veruka.


Elvis and Veruka went back to their primary provider yesterday, after having spent a good while in custody of my main squeeze. I have been torn up about their departure. He loves them, I love them, Bela loves them. Why and where should they go, then? Well...as things are, it's complicated; and there's no easy answer to that question. The simple fact remains that they are gone; and Bela has lost her participation in a pack once again.


Though seemingly solitary in nature, I'm here to tell you that the way her eyes popped out of her head at the mention of their names is enough to know --- she loves to be part of a crowd. She would tear out of the back door with V & E with a voracity never displayed when bounding out alone. She spent a lot of time with these guys, and overcame obstacles I didn't think she could. She ate alongside them! She shared treats, split time, and even conquered sharing bed space. A proud mother, I watched her grow in their company.


When her friends headed to their new digs yesterday, I brought Bela along in the car. As they exited and she tried to do the same, I held her by the collar and gently, repeatedly, told her that 'Elvis and Veruka go bye bye'. She watched them until they were out of sight, then sniffed where they'd been sitting, and laid down her head. I don't know how much she feels or how much she understands, but I didn't want her find them missing one day. I couldn't bear the thought of her entering what she knew to be 'their house' and not finding them there. She would have looked for them behind doors, in the garage, the basement, the backyard...she would have exhausted possibility and then still sought answers. Even though she lost them as playmates, I made sure she didn't wonder where they'd gone.


Last night, she slept alone in the chair, then alone on the floor, and then alone in the bed. She didn't look around, but she didn't look very happy either.


So she's available, people [and by that, I mean people with dogs]. She's looking for another stamp in her passport. She's hoping to belong to another group. I'll keep my eyes open for potential matches and ask for playdates if I see them. Like any good mother, I will work to make my baby happy.

Into The Great Wide Open

Bela had fans and friends in Chicago - people who witnessed her jump work every day in the public parks. We walked both in the mornings and at night with the neighbors. It was an incredibly social time for two incredibly social gals.

Now she and I take walks, always alone, usually in Hickory Hill park, a giant wooded and trailed area just around the bend from our residence. Hickory Hill is bound by not a fence, but it's enormous enough to feel as if it's its own sector of the world. You feel somehow safe and protected by its vastness.

Bela and I have now logged a little bit of (life)time together. This summer, I was able to leash-lessly lead her both to and fro our playing spot in Kentucky. She didn't scat once. So I thought we were picking up where we left off. Old-new habits die hard. "Here you go, sugar," I've said, countless times, leaning down to allow her a leashless trot. And so...she's been returned to the house by a neighbor. Flushed out of the woods by a team of cross country runners. Carried back to me by a group of young boys sledding. Apprehended by Julia, the 11-year neighborhood sage.

The first time I took her to Nic's parents house, we put her in the giant fenced-in back yard. A short while later, Nic saw a deer running behind the house. I, too, saw a deer running behind the house! Then we both realized it was a wee bit small for a deer. She'd broken free of the fence. Nic also has a fenced in yard, yet she's taken to the streets of his little town twice. She had previously remained in the UN-fenced backyard where we live without problem. But around the same time that her speedings-off picked up speed, she also began sprinting from the yard. If I so much as glanced away, she was gone. If I released the leash 2 footsteps in front of the door instead of in the doorway -- outta there. She had claimed the world for herself.

Releasing her in Hickory Hill has proven a growth opportunity. Within seconds, she's off  -- out of sight and then back in, over and over again, darting through the trees. I used to run in the direction she'd gone, yelling her name in a blood-curdling fashion. My legs would shake, my heart would quake, as a I waited what seemed an eternity. Now, I breathe in. I wink at the landscape. I twirl. Time doesn't stand still...it naturally ebbs and flows, as I wait for my sweet dog to come back.


After all of the panic and all of the fear, she has proven herself trustworthy. I can trust her to take off nearly 100% of the time she's not on a leash, but I can also trust her to return. The return on this gamble is quite literally her return. I take sausage and liver with me because she is not Hachiko. I say silent prayers each time I am surrounded by silence -- that is, the absence of the sound of her paws. 'Dear Lord, please bring her safely back to me. At which time I will reward her, kiss her head and then release her once again.'

I know there is a chance one day she'll run outside of the park limits and too close to the street. But chance can't chain her to my side. The woods are her new home and they welcome her. She is contained only by their inability to contain her.

                                    (she is the tiny brown dot with shadow in the middle)