Béla does not know fatigue; it is not compatible with her muscles and bones.
At the first vet visit, she was given a good once-over, and then was declared to be 'the size of dog that cannot get enough exercise'.
That sounded daunting and soon proved to be. I used to take her out for 3-mile runs in the morning before work. I thought they were good enough to put her to sleep for the day. The evening we ran 8 miles showed me what a fool I'd been. We returned - me so tired I could barely find the strength to shower and eat...she, on the other hand, wolfed her dinner, sat on the couch for about 45 min. and then got up, like 'So....what are we going to do tonight?' She insults me.
It is useless to impose my tiredness upon her. A couple walks per day won't do; a jaunt around the block may as well be nothing. So it is back and forth to the park, rain or shine. Run her, jump her, wear her out. Go home and pray that it was enough for her to rest comfortably; and to allow you to do the same.
If you shorted her, you will pay. She will rise from her chair and stand in front of you, staring you down, tail waving wildly! behind her. It actually is intimidating. She looks rabid.
She is always ready for play, always looking just a liiittle tooo alert. My niece decided to re-introduce Bela to me one day. She ushered Bela towards me, and said, much like an emcee: "HERE'S BELA!...YOUR TRUSTY, EXCITED DOG!" She really did nail it with those adjectives.
In order for maximum efficiency in her workout, there is a park programme. Throwing a ball, waiting for her to return it to me and throwing it again would be a waste of time. So: Throw Ball #1 long, prep Ball #2 for pop-fly on return...and if a Ball #3 is available, grab that and give a second pop-fly in opposite direction. Keep her on her toes. If she lays down to rest, allow her that, but remember that rest here means confrontation at home.
No matter how annoyed I am, putting on my shoes to stand in a park and juggle balls like a magician, every time I'm there, I am happy to see her happy. I delight in her dogness.
A passerby in a park paid her her highest compliment one day. He paused, observing her, and then said, "Now THAT is a professional dog.
She is a wonderful dog...a trusty, excited dog -- she is A Professional Dog.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Monday, January 2, 2012
Feeding the Beast
People often remark that Béla is too skinny. I'm not talking strangers, coming up to me on the sidewalk - but close friends and family. "She's too thin!," they exclaim - as if their weighing in on the matter will make me feed her more.
She's not too thin; I think we are just used to seeing a lot of fat dogs. She looks like a fine-tuned athlete. She is the Jillian Michaels of dogs.
When we adopted her, she was apparently 'heavy'. I thought she looked great; but both the adoption center and the vet recommended weight loss. She was at 42 lbs. and she was to lose 'a couple'. After fixing her new food regimen and adding excercise to her daily routine, she did start losing. We realized she had gone too far in the other direction when she stepped on the scale and came up at 34 lbs. So then we upped the food and added even more treats, none of which displeased her in the least.
When she eats, she does seem a little savage. She eats in 30 seconds or less, each and every time. She barely comes up for breath. The proponents of her gaining more say this, too, is an example of her being starved. Nah. She likes food. I can take down a 6-inch sub in like 2 minutes, so I think we're on par. It's exciting to eat; that's that.
The holiday season proved very fruitful this year. She ate her regular meals, along with a plethora of 'special treats for a special day'. She also managed to steal cat food from 3 seperate houses, and a couple lbs. of dog food from a friend's back porch. She had a bit of ham on Christmas Day, and then rounded things out by eating a plastic candy-cane tube filled with foil-covered rolos on New Year's Eve. Her poop has been glittering red and green ever since.
I too, overate - sugar cookies thrown down the hatch so quickly I often couldn't remember if I'd eaten two...or seven?.. But the holidays are over. No more of this one pig ear per night. No more string cheese appetizers. No more entire dog biscuits. (I usually break them in half...hell, sometimes, even into thirds!)
The good news is that she hasn't tipped the scales. She's still at her healthy 37-lb. weight and loving life.
She's not too thin; I think we are just used to seeing a lot of fat dogs. She looks like a fine-tuned athlete. She is the Jillian Michaels of dogs.
When we adopted her, she was apparently 'heavy'. I thought she looked great; but both the adoption center and the vet recommended weight loss. She was at 42 lbs. and she was to lose 'a couple'. After fixing her new food regimen and adding excercise to her daily routine, she did start losing. We realized she had gone too far in the other direction when she stepped on the scale and came up at 34 lbs. So then we upped the food and added even more treats, none of which displeased her in the least.
When she eats, she does seem a little savage. She eats in 30 seconds or less, each and every time. She barely comes up for breath. The proponents of her gaining more say this, too, is an example of her being starved. Nah. She likes food. I can take down a 6-inch sub in like 2 minutes, so I think we're on par. It's exciting to eat; that's that.
The holiday season proved very fruitful this year. She ate her regular meals, along with a plethora of 'special treats for a special day'. She also managed to steal cat food from 3 seperate houses, and a couple lbs. of dog food from a friend's back porch. She had a bit of ham on Christmas Day, and then rounded things out by eating a plastic candy-cane tube filled with foil-covered rolos on New Year's Eve. Her poop has been glittering red and green ever since.
I too, overate - sugar cookies thrown down the hatch so quickly I often couldn't remember if I'd eaten two...or seven?.. But the holidays are over. No more of this one pig ear per night. No more string cheese appetizers. No more entire dog biscuits. (I usually break them in half...hell, sometimes, even into thirds!)
The good news is that she hasn't tipped the scales. She's still at her healthy 37-lb. weight and loving life.
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
My Little Schoolgirl
Béla recently completed her 3rd dog course. She has yet another diploma, and has won yet another end-of-class challenge. The first challenge she won was a Sit-off. This was was a freaking obstacle course, WITH various focusing tasks thrown in! Nothing can shake her.
The class she just finished was coined 'Middle Management', a class designed for dogs that are young, in between 1-3 years, basically suffering from the 'Terrible Two's'....
The first class I enrolled her in was the highly-suggested Beginning Behavior course, located in the adoption center she hailed from. The second class, Agility - was also highly suggested, per people at various dog parks who witnessed her flying through the air.
*I would like to note that the wonder of those who have seen her fly is...er, noteable. One guy filmed her on his phone, from afar - and then told me he was going to play it off as his own dog!
Enrolling her is always exciting, as I cannot know what behaviors will come out or what useful information we'll leave with.
Attending class with her in the classes is always heart-stopping. I'm nervous, for both her and myself. I would like to come off looking smooth and suave as a parent/trainer, and I'd like her to look calm and accomplished.
I wonder how she feels when we jump in our jank car, heading somewhere other than an open green space. Does she think, 'Aw, mom, do we have to?', or is she happy to socialize and showcase her abilities?
As a youngster who was forced into some classes and begged herself into others, I am no stranger to the classroom. In my childhood, my mother enrolled me into the following classes/clubs:
Karate
Cooking
Swimming
Gymnastics
Ballet...& Tap...& Jazz
4-H
Sign Language
Brownies -- into Girl Scouts -- into, yes -- Junior Girl Scouts. (That sash was FULL when my time there ended.)
Obviously, one or two of those sucked more than the others. The swimming thing didn't take. The whole hanging with livestock thing is but a bad memory. But my mom made sure I knew...if I wanted to do the good stuff, I had to put my time in with the geek stuff as well. No dance if I didn't go to 4-H that week. So every Wednesday, I pledged my hands to greater service, my heart to greater loyalty (oh God!, it's all coming back!).............so that I could shake it on the subsequent Monday and Tuesday.
I have enrolled Bela into the classes for the same reasons I believe my mom enrolled me.
I want her life to be so big! I want her to encounter so many different people [dogs], situations, places and things! I want her head to spin with the variety and spice of life!
While the classes are costly and time, too, is not free - I will continue to enroll her in various courses, over the years. I may have her dabble in dock-diving (I swear she would be so good!), try her hand at Tricks 101 and...maybe even take a paw-painting class.
(I'm kidding on that last one. I don't think such a class exists. If it does - people are more whacked than I thought.)
The class she just finished was coined 'Middle Management', a class designed for dogs that are young, in between 1-3 years, basically suffering from the 'Terrible Two's'....
The first class I enrolled her in was the highly-suggested Beginning Behavior course, located in the adoption center she hailed from. The second class, Agility - was also highly suggested, per people at various dog parks who witnessed her flying through the air.
*I would like to note that the wonder of those who have seen her fly is...er, noteable. One guy filmed her on his phone, from afar - and then told me he was going to play it off as his own dog!
Enrolling her is always exciting, as I cannot know what behaviors will come out or what useful information we'll leave with.
Attending class with her in the classes is always heart-stopping. I'm nervous, for both her and myself. I would like to come off looking smooth and suave as a parent/trainer, and I'd like her to look calm and accomplished.
I wonder how she feels when we jump in our jank car, heading somewhere other than an open green space. Does she think, 'Aw, mom, do we have to?', or is she happy to socialize and showcase her abilities?
As a youngster who was forced into some classes and begged herself into others, I am no stranger to the classroom. In my childhood, my mother enrolled me into the following classes/clubs:
Karate
Cooking
Swimming
Gymnastics
Ballet...& Tap...& Jazz
4-H
Sign Language
Brownies -- into Girl Scouts -- into, yes -- Junior Girl Scouts. (That sash was FULL when my time there ended.)
Obviously, one or two of those sucked more than the others. The swimming thing didn't take. The whole hanging with livestock thing is but a bad memory. But my mom made sure I knew...if I wanted to do the good stuff, I had to put my time in with the geek stuff as well. No dance if I didn't go to 4-H that week. So every Wednesday, I pledged my hands to greater service, my heart to greater loyalty (oh God!, it's all coming back!).............so that I could shake it on the subsequent Monday and Tuesday.
I have enrolled Bela into the classes for the same reasons I believe my mom enrolled me.
I want her life to be so big! I want her to encounter so many different people [dogs], situations, places and things! I want her head to spin with the variety and spice of life!
While the classes are costly and time, too, is not free - I will continue to enroll her in various courses, over the years. I may have her dabble in dock-diving (I swear she would be so good!), try her hand at Tricks 101 and...maybe even take a paw-painting class.
(I'm kidding on that last one. I don't think such a class exists. If it does - people are more whacked than I thought.)
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Memento
Fall has ended; my dog-walking gear must change. The vest I have used so routinely certainly looks more abused than used. All three zippers are broken. It's stained. And it never really fit that beautifully in the first place. I should toss it, I say to myself. Don't be a hoarder.
But as I prepare to throw the mustard-brown vest away, I pause. The pocket conjures up more than pockets usually can. I recall the day I found the pocket dripping onto the hardwood floor. It was a steady drip, rather quick. I was perplexed. How on earth did a section of my jacket get soaked without my knowledge?
And then I realized...Béla and I had been out a little before, and I had her "obey-me" treats in that there pocket. It was saliva-soaked.
Once I understood the substance, I was even more in shock! How could she have lost THAT MUCH saliva, sucking on my pocket? How long had that taken her? How did I not notice her, standing near the kitchen chair, oddly still, eyes glossed over, like a child sucking its thumb?
"Gross", I exclaimed! "Béla!"
I checked the pocket. The once hard, crusty dog cookies resembled crumbs of biscotti, after the coffee. I couldn't even feed them to her. (As if I should have!...rewarded such behavior!?) But I wanted to feed them to her, for sure. For all of her hard work. For really loving food, the way I do. I get it. I have eaten a piece of cake that I had thrown in the garbage. We are but one, I said to her, lovingly. (And...actually...she was less savage in her endeavor. She was simply trying to get a cookie out of a pocket -- not a piece of cake out of a garbage can. Oh - and also, she is A DOG...)
Reminiscing, I hold the jacket close. So many walks with her in this! So many treats dispensed from these [now dry] pockets! Fully-equipped with two outer, zippered pockets and even an inner, perfect for holding all the needed items: keys, phone, poop bags, treats. I admit, I also liked the way the color was similar to that of her fur. We looked like we belonged together.
I am paralyzed in my attempt to put the vest in the garbage. I liken it to a baby blanket. An item that recalls a soul. A token that reeks of love. I'm not sure what to do with it. I might up-and-toss it, in an effort to 'own less, live more' or some bullshit theory like that... I might cut out a swatch and put it in my jewelry box, for the day that she comes sweeping back to me, in a wave of recollection, while attempting to adorn myself. I might just hang it back up in my closet, tattered and torn, filthy and worn....so that every single time I put it on in the future, the past is with me as well.
But as I prepare to throw the mustard-brown vest away, I pause. The pocket conjures up more than pockets usually can. I recall the day I found the pocket dripping onto the hardwood floor. It was a steady drip, rather quick. I was perplexed. How on earth did a section of my jacket get soaked without my knowledge?
And then I realized...Béla and I had been out a little before, and I had her "obey-me" treats in that there pocket. It was saliva-soaked.
Once I understood the substance, I was even more in shock! How could she have lost THAT MUCH saliva, sucking on my pocket? How long had that taken her? How did I not notice her, standing near the kitchen chair, oddly still, eyes glossed over, like a child sucking its thumb?
"Gross", I exclaimed! "Béla!"
I checked the pocket. The once hard, crusty dog cookies resembled crumbs of biscotti, after the coffee. I couldn't even feed them to her. (As if I should have!...rewarded such behavior!?) But I wanted to feed them to her, for sure. For all of her hard work. For really loving food, the way I do. I get it. I have eaten a piece of cake that I had thrown in the garbage. We are but one, I said to her, lovingly. (And...actually...she was less savage in her endeavor. She was simply trying to get a cookie out of a pocket -- not a piece of cake out of a garbage can. Oh - and also, she is A DOG...)
Reminiscing, I hold the jacket close. So many walks with her in this! So many treats dispensed from these [now dry] pockets! Fully-equipped with two outer, zippered pockets and even an inner, perfect for holding all the needed items: keys, phone, poop bags, treats. I admit, I also liked the way the color was similar to that of her fur. We looked like we belonged together.
I am paralyzed in my attempt to put the vest in the garbage. I liken it to a baby blanket. An item that recalls a soul. A token that reeks of love. I'm not sure what to do with it. I might up-and-toss it, in an effort to 'own less, live more' or some bullshit theory like that... I might cut out a swatch and put it in my jewelry box, for the day that she comes sweeping back to me, in a wave of recollection, while attempting to adorn myself. I might just hang it back up in my closet, tattered and torn, filthy and worn....so that every single time I put it on in the future, the past is with me as well.
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
En Route: Walk This Way
I've always been one for walks. I grew up in the country, where walking the dead-end road after school was really, my main pastime.
Walking in the city involves many more diversions, turns and possibility. I like to let whimsy guide me, the route varying according to the fickleness of my feet.
Acquiring a dog only made my walks more pleasant - albeit a little more frequent, a little longer & sometimes entirely dependent upon a need to defecate.
I imagined that Bela and I would amble along, appreciating sights and sounds, never knowing where our path might take us.
Not the case.
They were not kidding when they said dogs are creatures of habit. For the route (different routes according to time of day) must remain the same...or my four-legged friend just won't go.
In general, I honor this apparent need of hers. But every now and then, I'll see something that urges me to deviate from our normal route.
That man lurking next to a tree 1/2 a block up? We're turning left here, missy. An actual barricade - like streetwork? We're detouring, just like the sign tells us to, sweetheart.
I admit that occasionally, I try to re-route her due to a selfish desire. Bela! -- there appears to be the loveliest tree up ahead on the right....can't we go see it?
She simply cannot oblige.
If you try to move her in the 'wrong' direction, her anger emerges in the form of a standoff.
"Hey....walk this way, Béla", I say.
No -- THIS way, Kelly, she replies, her head held high.
While I can often alter her stubborn stance with a bribe (i.e. liver chews), for the most part, I give in.
I put the treat back in my pocket, shake my head in wonder and affection, and continue down the path she has chosen.
Walking in the city involves many more diversions, turns and possibility. I like to let whimsy guide me, the route varying according to the fickleness of my feet.
Acquiring a dog only made my walks more pleasant - albeit a little more frequent, a little longer & sometimes entirely dependent upon a need to defecate.
I imagined that Bela and I would amble along, appreciating sights and sounds, never knowing where our path might take us.
Not the case.
They were not kidding when they said dogs are creatures of habit. For the route (different routes according to time of day) must remain the same...or my four-legged friend just won't go.
In general, I honor this apparent need of hers. But every now and then, I'll see something that urges me to deviate from our normal route.
That man lurking next to a tree 1/2 a block up? We're turning left here, missy. An actual barricade - like streetwork? We're detouring, just like the sign tells us to, sweetheart.
I admit that occasionally, I try to re-route her due to a selfish desire. Bela! -- there appears to be the loveliest tree up ahead on the right....can't we go see it?
She simply cannot oblige.
If you try to move her in the 'wrong' direction, her anger emerges in the form of a standoff.
"Hey....walk this way, Béla", I say.
No -- THIS way, Kelly, she replies, her head held high.
While I can often alter her stubborn stance with a bribe (i.e. liver chews), for the most part, I give in.
I put the treat back in my pocket, shake my head in wonder and affection, and continue down the path she has chosen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)