220202 the universe happens

Feb. 2 

I said that I would let the universe bring me my dog. I pushed the river a little, let my community know that I was looking for a dog, told my real estate person, the county facebook page. But I stopped looking at Petfinder. I stopped googling bouvier puppies. I wanted to rescue someone who could rescue me right back. I did not want to stress about it, I trusted that it would happen, the right dog, the right time. *

The universe has acted.

This is Rocky, I kept his own name - a new name may evolve, but I am letting that be for now. He is nine and I felt it might be a disservice to his past to change it now, though a name is much more significant to me than to him. His life as Rocky has been happy and he learned in those years what he now brings to this relationship.

I wanted my companion to be a personal support dog, at my side at all times (I am retired and home 24/7), knowing not to knock me down or pull me with the leash, to sit quietly by me, sleep by me, to listen to me, (because I talk to myself out loud all day long and I imagine it drives K crazy, so now I can just be talking to the dog). Some of this I was willing to teach a dog. The less the better really, since I am not yet completely well, and I have other work to do. He must be obedient. Sorry, I wish that I could let him be his own person, but though I honour his sentience there is some way here that he is the dog who lives with me, and must be trained to obey. It is my fervent hope that this suits his idea of a good life and that he understands that I, and his good man before me, had to teach him his side of our realaction ship - don't you love autocorrect? - and that it will be fun. This might make a good subject for a book. Maybe it is already.

Okay: I need the dog to do as I ask, consistently. "Consistently" is a double-edged word, sword, such that I must be 100% consistent in my training, for him to be consistent in his response. Otherwise it is, "Once, just once, in 1972, there was a cookie..." .

Change of vocabulary, which after all can drive ideas: I ask, then, because I need him, that he do as I wish consistently, and I share my home, food, and snuggle, and love. He must be a guard dog but not be dangerous to visitors, something most dogs are good at, if well-socialized. My other dogs knew a bad guy when we passed one on the street, but they only kept an eye while we passed, they didn't try and kill them!

*****

Rocky came yesterday to live with us, I didn't need to think about it: he is nine years old, from a nearby town, needed a new home. His owner knows my son-in-law Tal, and Rocky has come to me direct without a "broker".  He took to everything well. We had a few hours to get settled before bed. I kept him close, spoke to him and touched him lots. He spent most of the night on my bed with me. He will be allowed only on my bed, and no sofas either. ** I like having bed-dogs - it is a warm and friendly practice. K and I sleep in separate rooms because we both sleep so differently and neither bed here is even a double, (though we have slept, in our thirties, ourselves and our baby in a single). I feel lonely at night, now and then; I am used to K or a dog, or three! 

He brought his own blanket and pillow, but I put down two more layers under his blanket for warmth and comfort. 

He looked hopefully at my bed, so when I invited him, up he came to sleep by me.

Today has been beautiful, it melted, and every thing dripped and the roads ran with water and became, instead of snowy, an inch or two deep in mud. I drove to town for a few groceries and, of course, took Rocky. He must be with me all the time for a while, until he is bonded and feels safe to wait at home for me. He hopped into the back seat, where I had spread the car blanket. 

The road, running streams. 

When I came back to the car, this:

I took Rocky for a walk down the road to the chicken woman's farm. He is excellent on leash and obeyed the slightest tension and turned his head often to see if all was okay, would return to my side in a moment if asked. I soon had no fear of his pulling me off my feet. This is a salient point given my recent disability. Blackie joined us before long. He and Rocky seem fine with each other, they want to play and run and see what each other is made of. (?!) I was concerned about it; this is Blackie's hill in the dog realm, and since  they both have their - I can't think of a polite word - , they might fight. Yesterday, the neighbour was so kind and came down with Blackie on leash so that they could meet. Rocky was off-leash with his owner. It went well. They both contained their urge to pull rank. Perhaps they are well-matched, being equally mature, large, Estrie-raised dogs, well-socialized with other dogs and people. My concern now is their running off, like teenagers, and staying out late at night. Blackie tripped along with us, running four times the distance we walked and arriving at the same time. We stopped at the bottom of our road, to introduce Rocky to the chicken woman, who is a quintessential wise, country woman. I wanted her to know about him, and be able to recognize him if he ran by, haha! She reminded me that she has cats whom she doesn't want bothered, (laughing again), oh! but so well, I only realized the hint in her words now! The return walk was uneventful. 

Rocky is sturdy, well-built, with good shoulders and hips and short but dense hair. * He seems to be in good health. He has been grieving the death of a friend, and now he must miss his family of nine years and learn to live in a new place, like some eighteenth-century orphan in a novel. Nine years old, "As old as I am!" said Indre. He has excellent manners (so far), knowing not to go in the brown bin or the déchets (organic waste, and regular garbage), not getting personal, not nosing for people-food, and staying out of the kitchen. He is very like Betty, my first dog, who was pretty good but a little independent. She was a bouvier cross, and sometimes thought she knew better than I.

In the snow, a pro.

Tonight then is one day since, Groundhog Day (we often watch the movie on this date), Found-dog Day. Of course, Rocky will be on good behavior for a few days, until he begins to feel at home. Then he will let his hair down. * Like children, dogs will push limits to find out more, I don't know more what, maybe more about how they fit. But I have done this before, three times with dogs, a few more with children. Rocky thinks I'm nice, so that's an in.

Last night, by my desk:

Today, on his new mat from the charity shop:

Next thing I know, he's lying almost on my feet, comfortable now:

I think that the time dogs spend in the moment helps their adjustment; that, and knowing a lot about how things are without being told, except for physical language, oops, and their voices (oops twice), but they also smell, which is squarely in the "non-verbal" area of communication, and hear undertones. Their sense of smell, of sounds, air movement, these are "in the moment" senses, filling up their mind, pushing out worry, or sad thoughts. I can only imagine the technicolour landscape they inhabit, a Fantasia of sounds - what and how far away, of sight - seeing a different spectrum of light, and smells, moving on eddies and whirls of air, like water or smoke, "visible" to them. ** There is not room for a yesterday, for the most part. I am sure a memory surfaces, especially if they are feeling lost, but "Oh! we're going out?". They feel happy about that and ready for the present adventure. I have seen enough rescues who learned a whole new way of how to be with a new human, to know that these gentle wolves ( barf now, haha ) can learn to be happy, well-adjusted and loving with their new person. Rocky hasn't been rescued from a harmful situation, but he did need a new home, and I need him.

(Oh, great, he's snoring.)

It is melting tonight, and from time to time I hear thuds and thunder as great slides of snow fall from the roof. This small mountain fell:

This is why we keep an emergency woodpile in the mud room! The woodshed door has to be excavated!

I am feeling blessed and grateful. "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." ***

Be well. February is short and then, March. There is usually a t-shirt day somewhere in March.

Mumma Yaga

* Two references, "push the river" from the Van Morrison song and from the movie, Pretty Woman, a take on the line, "rescues him right back".

**  Like the "things I want a home to have" list, we have a dog list in our minds, no drooling, NO SERIOUS SHEDDING! Rocky is shedding just now like an old mink coat. Stress, says Rain, can do it. Oh, well. Drool is worse. He doesn't drool.

*** Fantasia, 1941

**** Casablanca, 1942