Living With the Highly Communicative Dog

Ruby is the most vocal dog I've ever had, and also the clearest communicator. It isn't that she barks excessively (animals on T.V. not withstanding), but that she has a range of barks, whines, grunts and growls that I am still learning to interpret after more than two years together. As i read in bed last night, she was growling in her sleep and it sounded like her 'play initiating' growl rather than her 'something unfamiliar in my environment' growl which I also heard last night on our walk when she saw the silhouette of the new horseshoe pit enclosures in the dark. Was she dreaming about playing with her sister or one of her corgi friends? 

Earlier in the evening, she scratched at the coat closet door where her tug toys are kept and exclaimed with her medium-pitched, pleading bark "we haven't played yet tonight!" Some might call this 'demand barking.' I call it a Border Jack keeping me honest. There's no short-changing Ruby out of her nightly tug game. Even if she lets me slide before dinner, when 8 o'clock rolls around she is ready for the Tug-a-gator or the Kong Wubba to be liberated from their closet confines.

Some of my favorite sounds in the Ruby repertoire are her soft little 'oofs' - her closed-mouth grunt-barks, which put me in mind of a toddler reaching for something they want on a too-high counter-top. This is Ruby's imploring request, not only for food, but for the living room window to be opened so she can watch for rabbits, for her ball to be fished out from underneath the sofa, or for anything else she wants. I usually understand exactly what she means. I think it's fairly polite and irresistibly adorable. She was 'oofing' at me last night from the bed after I got out of the bath - curled up with Big Sister and the ancient black cat, she wanted the whole family together so that she could go to sleep. 

At the opposite end of the range are her shrill, excited barks that are used for the aforementioned animals on T.V., those unbearable few seconds between when she knows I'm about to open the tug toy door and when I toss the toy to her, when she sees one of the gazillion rabbits that exist solely to taunt her on our townhome complex grounds. These are not my favorite barks, high-pitched and frantic, and these are the barks to be countered with a reminder cue, "shh" or "quiet" before I will let her have the coveted toy or chase the insubordinate rabbit (on leash).

Along with her voice, Ruby's eyes and ears communicate a diverse array of emotions. In her most common state of hyper-vigilance, Ruby's foxy ears stand straight up, vibrating vertically with inquisition. When she is tired or uncertain, her ears slide to a more horizontal position and somehow look even bigger. When she is sleepy and affectionate, her ears lay straight back making her look like an entirely different dog. Sometimes one ear folds onto itself at a comical angle - I haven't quite figured that one out yet.

That brings me to Ruby's beautiful, intelligent, extraordinary eyes. 'The Look' endeared me to her Petfinder profile that spoke of a deep understanding, a piercing entreaty, and a spark of mischief.  Sometimes it feels like Ruby's amber-green eyes look straight into my soul. The intensity with which she stares at me is both flattering and unnerving. There are layers of meaning in her gaze, and I think we've only begun to scratch the surface of the potential of non-verbal communication with animals. As this article states - dogs keep the conversation going constantly, the ultimate optimists. I love learning Ruby's language, hearing what she has to say, meeting her needs and increasing our bond through call and response with all of our senses.

Living Alone is Never Lonely with Dogs

I can't imagine two faces I would rather wake up to every morning.

I've lived alone in Denver for close to ten years now, with my dad staying with me off and on for the past few years. A friend said recently that she had never lived alone, and didn't know if she could. I'm an introvert who relishes solitude and independence, but without animal companionship I'm positive I would not enjoy it to the extent that I do. As much as I admire and aspire to the idea of a life-affirming wilderness trek like Cheryl Strayed in Wild, if I didn't have a dog along the journey would be missing something crucial.

More recently, with the addition of first Ruby and then Boca, I've become even more of a homebody as I leveled up in the dog crazy echelons. While I love brunches with friends and visits to the museum, the truth is that the place I'd most often rather be is home with my dogs. I just can't seem to get enough of watching them interact with each other, refining my own communication with them, and the simple reassurance of their physical presence. We enjoy each other without expectation, without a common spoken language.

We love spending time outside together.

Ruby is approaching 3 years old and has become such a sweet and happy girl. She is so affectionate and the quiet moments of the early morning when she is still sleepy and snuggly are one of my favorite parts of the day. She usually sleeps curled up near my pillow, while Boca sleeps at my feet. When Ruby wakes up she stretches herself across my chest, kisses my face and waits for her ear scratches, then will sometimes roll over cradled in the nook of my arm for belly rubs.  

A blissful Boca in a room of her own.

Boca remains the easiest dog in the universe. She is happiest laying around in various states of sprawl. In the sun on the patio, in her crate (the only time I ask her to go in it is when they get tendons, fish skins or marrow bones but she will open the door herself and sleep there every evening between about 8 and 10 when we go to bed), on the loveseat, sofa or bed. This morning she was curled up cozily on top of two pillows - a potcake princess and the pea. I've started playing tug with her regularly (Ruby plays tug almost every night) - she is a much more challenging opponent than Ruby and is still working on her manners, but she learned very quickly not to lunge and re-grip when she drops it, but rather to sit and wait for me to give the tug back. This nightly ritual of play with both girls has become very dear to me.

Patio sentries and formidable fly hunters.

I was thinking about how the personalities of Ruby and Boca compare and contrast both to one another, and to my previous pair of dogs, Lasya and Freya. Freya was fearful and slightly neurotic, clingy and affectionate. I felt she needed my protection. Lasya was perhaps the doggiest dog I've ever known - very in touch with her huntress side, calm and wise with no use for rules or regret. I felt protected by her.

In a similar way I have that balance with Ruby and Boca. Ruby is intense and hypervigilant, requiring my help to navigate an overwhelming world and channel all that energy. She is also probably the smartest dog I've ever known, and the smallest dog I've ever had (with the exception of my foster Chihuahua, Vlad). I feel fiercely and devotedly protective of her. Boca is unassuming, optimistic, humorous and determinedly relaxed, but I get a sense of profound loyalty from her as well. I feel safe with her. However the three of us negotiate our different roles, what's always is true is that we aren't alone. We are home, we are together, we are loved.

Are You Listening?

Recently I moved my Paso Fino gelding, Coro, who had been boarded over an hour away for the past year, to a new stable. My main goal was simply to have him closer to me, as I wanted to be able to visit and ride more often. I wanted an arena to ride in - it didn't have to be indoors - and ideally, some trails. Beyond that, all of my criteria were about Coro. I had several barn managers scoff at some of my considerations - mentioning that I wanted a place less busy or with more grazing -  and say things like "it shouldn't be about what your horse wants" or "who's running the show - you or your horse?" At 25 years old, with two significant health issues and having already experienced a lot of change in the last few years, my answer is that it is about what my horse wants, within reason. I know which conditions he does best under, and I'd like to see him thrive for ten more years. I wanted him to be able to graze most days, to have shelter in bad weather, an active but not stressful social life, and an individualized feeding program including his daily medications. If that meant I drive a little farther, don't have an indoor arena, or pay a bit more - so be it. After a month of searching, calling and driving, I did find that perfect place for my old guy - one I think we will both be very happy with. I did not choose the barn that was a short 11 miles from me, because it had no grazing. I did not choose the barn that had an indoor arena, a heated lounge and beautiful trail riding, because there were holes in the pastures and fewer turnout days. I prioritized Coro's needs and found a picturesque little red barn tucked away behind a hill that offers his own private pasture and a safe, airy run. He has already settled in wonderfully and I think I made the right choice.

My father believes that having pets at all is a selfish choice, and I see how this could be argued philosophically. Having rescue animals with known backgrounds, having seen exactly where they came from and how their lives are changed, I truly think my animals are better off with me and that Boca, especially, is so obviously grateful for her new home. Even if it is inherently selfish, I do my very best to make their lives as happy, healthy and fulfilled as I am able. I was raised to put animals first by a woman who ran into a burning barn to save our chickens and rabbits. You can see why my dedication to them might be construed as a little over the top, but I wouldn't have it any other way. I stumbled across an old blog post in support of shock collars the other day, and as disappointed as I was since this is a blog I regularly follow, I had to read its entirety as well as the comments. The most discouraging commenter stated that she "had" to use a shock collar in order to take her dog to the dog park or let it off leash - two activities that should be enjoyable to the dog, but because they caused it fear or anxiety and just were not within its realm of comfort, pain and intimidation was employed so that it could conform to the commenter's ideal of a "normal" dog. I find this rationale heartbreaking.

For me, it is far more important that I am interacting with my animals with softness, kindness and grace whenever possible, than that they are fitting into some cookie cutter standard of what they are "supposed" to do or existing in places of expectation. I have made many changes and compromises for Ruby and I do so without hesitation. I mourned the loss of some ideas I had about the dog I wanted her to be, but gained so much more in seeing the dog she is and what she has to teach me. There is nothing more valuable than her trust. In Boca, by some twist of tropical fortune, I very likely do have the farmers-market-dog, the coffee-shop-patio dog, but we're taking it slow. I am interested in conversation, not conformity, and I know that they have more to tell me than I could ever tell them. I think that if we are listening closely, if we let them "run the show" sometimes, our lives with animals can be infinitely more rewarding.