Class is over, and since we still have some cheese left, as we walk to the car Honeybun is still prancing, her eyeballs locked on her owner and her owner’s cheese. I guess we need to buy some cheese before next class.
Letter from Malta... Oct. 2
Sounds like you are now pack leaders. Now you can relax a bit! Just don't become human food dispensers..... That will not keep the respect. You have to continue to go left when she pulls right.... go slow when she goes fast....... you lead..... Never follow. You want someone to lead that you trust. You respect. That is consistent. Not someone that just gives you cheese. When they run out of cheese .................what is left?
I am so proud of both of you!!! (And don't tell anyone I said that- cuz they wouldn't believe it anyway! - I just don't say that sort of thing) lol
“Stay away from poodle people..... They are all crazy" - Malta Doganisms 16:12-14.
You and Asherel have performed a miracle. Most people would have whined and whined and never stepped up to the plate. You actually did it.
Life is settling into a routine. Every morning, the dogs greet me, Honeybun prancing and licking- the only time of the day she licks, and Lucky whining and curling around my legs. Then Lucky goes back to sleep, but Honeybun sits nearby, alertly poised with one ear skewed, eyes dark and bright, waiting. She doesn’t whine, or nudge me, the way Lucky does when he wants something. She just sits there, every muscle tensed, willing me to get up, collect her leash, and say the magic word. When finally I have finished my coffee and breakfast, read my emails and my Bible verses, and moved towards the door, she leap ups and races in her funny, dainty footed prance to the door. There she waits, wagging her tail, and cocking her head. If by some mistake, I move away from the door, she sits, eyes dark and unblinking. When I return, she is still there, waiting.
Then the ritual begins that is meant to teach the dogs calmness, and that I am still the one in control, not the puppet they believe me to be who would not miss the morning walk if my life depended on it. Both dogs are told to sit on the rug in front of the door. Lucky races up to me, and screeches to a sitting halt. He can pretend to be a very obedient dog when he wants to be. Honeybun will usually take a more leisurely approach to the sit command, though in the end, she knows if she doesn’t sit, we don’t walk, so she eventually acquiesces. Next I snap the coupler leash on them, and they remain seated, in theory, while the accoutrements needed for the walk are gathered. Lastly, the whip is tucked under my arm. I have not used the whip in weeks, except to wave in the air to accentuate points when chatting along the way. However, there is no doubt that if it is left behind, Honeybun will revert to the feral beast she had been and I will be without defense. Finally, the door opens. The dogs quiver with excitement, but they remain sitting.
"Wait," I say, as their entire being is poised like a slinky at the top of a staircase.
"Okay," I then proclaim, and the reason for canine existence is realized as they catapult out the door.
No longer cringing when meeting strangers, I now welcome them. Inch by hard earned inch, Honeybun and I are both recognizing something we didn’t know before- people can do something more than just drain and annoy you… they can even be a source of joy, and soft chewy treats. I encourage them to pet my dogs, but hand them a treat first. This invariably leads to chatting and life stories being exchanged and I am learning the fine art of neighborliness. Honeybun is very happy with this new procedure, and now wags anxiously when people stop to chat with us. She occasionally still lunges on the leash towards them, but now with wagging tail and drooling lips, looking for the treat that strangers have come to represent. I even begin letting little children pet her.
Everyone loves to pet her because she has such a luxurious soft coat. Lucky for all his idiosyncrasies, is by far the sweeter creature, and loves people. He even greets the chemical- covered Terminex worker with loving licks and tail thumping ferociously. However, Lucky's coat is a wiry terrier mess. He is very cute and funny to look at, but not so sensual to pet. Honeybun is soft as a cloud, and lowers my blood pressure every time I stroke her.
Thus, our walks and our life become almost mundane.
Asherel now begins to pester me about when we can tackle agility classes. I discover some discouraging facts. Honeybun may be purebred, but not in the eyes of AKC. AKC intends to change the rule in 2010, but this is still 2009 and they will not allow mixed breed dogs to enter any of their events. There are other dog organizations that sponsor agility trials, but they are not nearly as numerous or locally available. Lloyd informs me that if Carolina Dogs are "foundation stock" pending acceptance to the AKC, I can then apply for purebred status based not on her lineage, which we don’t know, but on her traits as characteristic of the breed. I write to the AKC and discover that Carolina Dogs are not yet accepted as foundation stock. They inform me that the breed association has to apply for foundation stock status, and as of yet, the Carolina Dog Association (CDA) has not done so.
The association is headed by a lady who seems to have singlehandedly saved the breed from near extinction. It is considered a "rare breed" by all the major kennel clubs, except the AKC. All the information to apply as Foundation Stock is collected, she tells me, and ready to file with the AKC when it is beneficial for the CDA to do so. Apparently there is not yet enough breeding stock, in her opinion. She explains to me that one of the problems with rare breeds that apply to AKC is upon acceptance, the breeding stock is "closed". No new blood can then enter the lineage of all future pups. There is then the very real danger of inbreeding, which is exactly what happened with the famous “Laughing Dog" (which I had never heard of, but apparently it is not laughing any more- filled with genetic problems that inbreeding causes.)
Malta is disgusted as I relay all this information to her. As she collects discarded dogs like toasters at a wedding shower, she grows increasingly furious with breeders and organizations that promote breeding. It isn’t even the snobbery of the whole purebred designer dog that irks her- it is the idea that several million dogs each year are already being euthanized. What insanity makes anyone think we need more dogs, even fancy ones? Dogs do a fine job of overpopulating even without breeder’s assistance.
At any rate, once CDA is ready, and Carolina Dogs(CD) are accepted by AKC, I can send photos of Honeybun and if she is accepted as characteristic of the breed (which she is, I claim with my snoot in the air, that pesky sense of pride invading my lovely character again ) she will be able to get an AKC number. However, I discover another big problem while perusing the CDA website. Honeybun is in every respect a perfect Carolina Dog- except purebred Carolina Dogs cannot have purple spotted tongues. Honeybun has a purple spotted tongue. In a fury, I do intensive research that takes at least a full ten minutes. My careful research reveals that purple spots are melanin, pigmentation, like freckles, and any breed can have them, and many purebreds do have them. Thus, it rankles me that our perfect Carolina Dog might be denied purebred status because of purple spots on her tongue.
Actually, she has other imperfections as well. Her flopped ear is considered a major flaw, according to the breed standard. Her pink nose is a minor deduction. Black noses are much preferred. Her funny curve in her tail is an anomaly. However the only trait that disqualifies her from the breed is the purple tongue. Can I convince the CDA to let purple spotted tongues be allowed in the breed standard? The more I consider the purple spotted tongue issue, the more I wonder if there is a devious undertone that explains why Honeybun has been abandoned. Not content to own a dog that has likely been dumped because she was discovered to be pregnant and thus more costly to an irresponsible owner, I create a compelling mystery, complete with villainous, money grubbing creeps, similar to the plot of 101 Dalmatians. Soon I am convinced that Honeybun was bred as a prize winning Carolina Dog. At great expense, she is mated with another champion Carolina Dog, with high hopes of beautiful and costly pups to result. But alas, the dastardly breeder has not noticed that Honeybun has a purple to
ngue, since she certainly never wants to lick him. When the pups are born, they all have purple tongues, and the cruel breeder tosses them into the SC swamps.
A quick internet search reveals how much non-purple tongued Carolina Dogs (CD) sell for. I am quite sure the CD breed was resurrected altruistically, but purebred pups sell for $800 each. None of those pups have purple tongues. Is it possible someone had bred Honeybun, hoping to make money on her pups, until they were found to have purple spotted tongues? Had she really been dumped along with her brood because of the color purple? Malta laughs at my theory and insists the whole Carolina Dog breed thing is a joke. They are just brown dogs and can’t I just be happy about that?
Undeterred, since I now desperately want an exotic dog worth bragging about, I exchange several emails with the CD organization head and begin to read some of the fascinating articles on her website, with postings from National Geographic and the Smithsonian magazine. I am awestruck. The Carolina Dog is a genetically distinct breed, and considered to be one of the few "primitive" breeds which were with early Americans and maybe even cavemen. Ancient pictures show dogs remarkably similar to the CD. They are nearly identical genetically to the Australian Dingo, and it is surmised, crossed the land bridge that once existed over the Bering Strait. They also have remarkable traits, unique to the breed, which we have already noticed in Honeybun. Not only do they build dens, but unlike domestic dogs which will crawl under a porch to bear young, CDs will only bear their young in the distinctive earth dens. They also dig "snout pits", or small holes, which they then seem to be eating out of. The theory is they are actually eating the dirt for the nutrients it supplies. They enter estrus as often as three times more frequently than other breeds, and the experts theorize this is to allow them to have as many pups as possible before the inevitable onslaught of heart worm disease kills them, a hazard of living in the swamplands of the southeast where they roam in feral packs. They are suspicious of strangers, even if raised from puppies in domesticity. They are very aware of status and pecking order, and will seek to establish pack hierarchy in whatever pack they find themselves (thus perhaps the issue of dominance and aggression early on with Lucky). They are described as "fox like”, calm, intelligent, and aloof. Hunting in packs like wolves, their fur and body is uniquely adapted to the southern swamps where feral packs still exist. The numbers are dwindling, and breeding programs costing thousands of dollars have kept this remarkable piece of history from extinction.
After reading all the articles, I am a little ashamed of worrying about the purple tongue thing. The CDA assures me we will be able to show Honeybun in plenty of agility trials, and we could claim her as a CD. The CDA will support our assertion that she is a Carolina Dog, even with her purple tongue. She tells me many other agility trials outside of AKC are available, if I am willing to travel a little to find them. How ironic to discover we have been entertaining "angels unawares", with our little American Dingo! Who would ever have thought that starving miserable creature was royalty waiting for her crown?
Malta is characteristically caustic in her response while listening to my boasts of the magnificence of our canine treasure.
"They want to increase the gene pool of Carolina Dogs? Gimme a break. Just what we need, more dogs. More dogs for me to find discarded on the roadsides. I want to, just for giggles, start a breed registry of ‘4 legged Brown Horses’. Do you know that there really is a ‘Blue Eyed Horse’ breed registry? Do you really want to give money to the AKC, filled with people who work so hard to increase the dog population while people like me mop up the mess they create?” No, I really don't, when she puts it that way, but I do want my enthusiastic daughter to have opportunities to show her dog in Agility classes, and the best local opportunities are clearly AKC.
While talking with an AKC judge at our next rally class about our dilemma, and the Purple Tongue issue, I discover even she didn’t know that breeds other than Chows could have purple tongues. She is also surprised by the "Purple Tongue Standard" on the UKC website regarding CD. As far as she knows, no other breed standard specifies a dog cannot have spots on their tongue. I find that I am enjoying chatting with the class members now. I have confessed to my ignorance regarding dog shows and breeds, and really everything except how to smack a whip. They are surprisingly willing and happy to share their knowledge and don’t seem to be laughing behind their hands. I look forward to our classes now almost as much as Honeybun, though would enjoy them even more if it was me scarfing down lobster and filet.
Meanwhile, Lloyd is teaching new confusing Rally signs, and encourages Asherel to go first through the course. Honeybun has been excitedly waiting for this moment. She has the routine down now, with four classes under her tail, and understands that keeping her eye on Asherel means food, lots of good food. We feed her only a small dinner on class night to keep her motivated to work for the “cookies”. She is becoming a class star, with less than five hundred leash tugs now, thus down to only about 150 disqualifications. After all our struggles, I am determined we will see this journey through to my daughter's dream ending- competing with this dog in agility trials.
“Look Mom,” exclaims Asherel, as they gallop off the rally field, “She’s smiling!”
I look but I don’t see a smile- I see countless dollars still to be tossed into classes, and travel to distant competitions, with hotel bills, and harried schedules.
On a mission, I call the World's Premier Carolina Dog Agility Trainer (I believe he is also the only Carolina Dog Agility Trainer). His wife answers the phone. She is a sweet older woman who currently owns six Carolina Dogs. Her husband is the Agility trainer, and their dogs have won several national titles.
Nearly twenty years ago, her husband had gone to the pound and fallen in love with a feral dog incarcerated there. He took the snarling, anxious dog home. Little did he know that this wild dog was a Carolina Dog. Years of work and training tamed the wild dog, and it became a beloved pet. It had died a few years back, but its picture and triumphs in the Agility ring over the years are all over the Carolina Dog website.
This sweet lady spent an hour on the phone with me, assuring me that there are plenty of agility contests by the various other Kennel Clubs, including USDAA, UKC, ARBA, and a bunch of other initials that stand for things related to dogs. When Honeybun is ready, purple tongue or not, she will find places to strut her stuff. Encouraged greatly, after hanging up, I realize chatting with a total stranger has just brightened my day. Honeybun actually licks a new neighbor that pets her on our walk later that day.
Rally class continues into week five. By now, Honeybun flies into the car on Wednesday night, tail wagging in its upright position, as she knows the treat bag signifies fun and food. She begins to approach strangers while wagging her tail, knowing people represent meatballs and cheese sticks in that place. She even begins to greet other dogs with a wagging tail, and sometimes flops into "play position". Asherel enters the building with a jaunty stride. She approaches the poodle lady, and asks how the poodle’s week has been. Then she veers off to the Corgi owner and reaches down to pet his friendly head.
“How is Max?” she asks. Asherel approaching and speaking to people is almost as surprising as Honeybun not attacking all the dogs.
My sister Wendy calls to tell me she will be in town for one night and day. Wendy lives on the West coast, and I rarely see her. While I no longer rake her with my fingernails, we have many differences, not the least of which Wendy is not a dog lover. She is a little afraid of dogs, and finds their shedding, sniffing, and licking disgusting. I am delighted to have her stay with us.... but ask if she remembers about Honeybun? When we were still early in our Honeybun adventure, she had written to me telling me she did not intend to visit.... ever.... while we had that wild dog.
“I won't let her bite you," I promise.
Her friend Joe will be dropping her at our house. It will be an excellent test of how far Honeybun has come.... unless she chews them up, in which case we will ne
ed to reassess her progress. I reassure Wendy that Honeybun is reformed, though I do not bore her with all the doubts and caveats that lurk inside my head. She agrees to spend the night and next day with us.
When the doorbell rings heralding their arrival, both dogs careen into the front door, barking and crashing against it. Wendy and her tall friend, Joe, step back. Wendy looks worried. I am worried.
"Back!" I command. Lucky backs off, but then as I jerk on Honeybun's leash and demand that she sit, Lucky runs around me back to the door. It is as though Malta and the whip and the “dreaded roll” and the classes had never happened.
"GET BACK!" I yell again, angry now. I have been raving about our progress and these stupid creatures are making me look like a conceited liar. I may indeed be one, but am ticked off at their lack of gratitude in exposing me.
Both dogs are straining and barking as the door opens. Without even saying "Hello", I hand both of them a treat.
"Here," I command, "Tell her sit, let her sniff your hand, and then give her the treat."
They both comply, a somewhat terrified look on their faces and the dogs instantly calm as they snatch their treats.
"Pretend they are furniture," I order.
I think Wendy trembles a bit. There is momentary flashback to all those years of torment she brought me by being so darn good at everything. However, I do not have more than a fleeting moment of smug satisfaction. Honeybun is leashed but Lucky is free to stick his snout in both their crotches with his usual rude greeting.
I'm Listening With a Broken Ear Page 12