Category: adopted dog

Dog Training: Leave the books, go with a trainer

Yesterday my mom read me a story about a family who got a dog from a breeder. Read the story here.

The author, Jill Abramson, said the family watched the Cesar Milan tapes and bought the book by the Monks of New Skete.

I would just advise this family not to buy too many dog manuals or watch TV shows. (Why are you indoors watching television anyway? You should be out with the dog.) Instead, invest in a good trainer and learn modern techniques.

Some training tips are just plain cruel. My mom read about books that tell owners to stick dogs’ noses in water to cure them of digging. Yuk.

My mom has been training me to walk politely on my leash. She points out that I can hurt her when I pull too hard. Yeah, right. Just in case, she now carries a spray bottle with water and a pocket full of treats. When I pull on the leash, I get squirted very gently. (She has the setting on mist and can’t figure out how to change it. An unmechanical mom can be a blessing to a dog.)

And when I’m walking along, I get treats. “Treat!” my mom calls and I stop what I’m doing.

Who wants atired old chicken bone when you can have a fresh baked biscuit? Well, most of the time, anyway. Gotta keep the mom on her toes.

“Adopted dogs are better!”

My mom Cathy just read me an article from today’s New York Times. Takng the Plunge with a New Dog by Jill Abramson.

Apparently Ms. Abramson was mourning the loss of her beloved dog who died at 15. She decided to get some kind of golden retriever dog and to name the dog Scout. Her family went to a breeder and chose a small female, who came “almost housetrained.”

“So what do you think?” my mom asked.

“Who cares?” was my first reaction. “I’m still sleeping off the effects of yesterday’s Big Walk.”

(Have you noticed a trend in this blog? When the mom wants to exercise, the dog gets worn out.)

Naturally, I am all in favor of adopting dogs from shelters. There are so many wonderful dogs in all shapes and sizes. But it sounds like this breeder was responsible. The family had to apply for a dog and get accepted. That’s a good thing. My buddies at the Dog Park are mostly adopted and some of their first owners should have been screened a LOT more thoroughly.

But there’s one thing my mom agrees on, 100%. Ms. Abramson wrote:
“Although we are bonding, no one quite prepares you for the fact that a new dog makes you miss the old one. When Scout rests on her side, I see an image of Buddy, curled similarly, on our old rug in a house we no longer own.”

So true. My mom looks at me and sees Keesha sometimes, althogh it’s happening a lot less these days. Fprtimately, she thinks I channel Keesha when we’re out in public. “When people compliment me on a well-behaved dog, it’s like hearing echoes from the past,” she says.

Dog Wins Big At the Pride Parade

Yesterday my mom dragged me to the Pride festival parade. She just loves parades and she was hoping to see some really outrageous floats. This year, she said, it was pretty banal. Nothing really new.

I, on the other hand, had a marvelous time. So many people would ask, “Can I pat your dog?” Of course Cathy always said yes. One guy gave me a really nice butt scratch for about fifteen minutes while he sat on a curb and watched the floats go by. Some nice woman didn’t get upset when I leaned up against her and got golden hairs on her nice black sweater. “No big deal,” she said, as I snuggled closer. Who wouldn’t want to cuddle with a princess?

After the parade we walked around the booths at Seattle Center. Cathy’s always hoping to learn about some new service she’ll want to try.  Of course several people wanted to pat me. One of the people at Pacific Health Center’s booth insisted on rubbing my ears.

Cathy spent some time at the PAWS rescue booth, telling the volunteer all about how she rescued Ophelia from the Seattle Animal Shelter. How boring is that? She talked about Ophelia’s eye infection and how she saved Ophelia who was all yellow with liver disease. Even the volunteer had to stifle a yawn.

As far as I’m concerned, our day was a HUGE success. Cathy found a booth for Smiley Dog…a service she’s been hoping to get since she adopted me. “I can’t carry big bags of dog food,” she said. “We need delivery!” Smiley Dog delivers all over Seattle without charge. We just pay for my food, which, of course, is not cheap. Princesses must feast on royal fare.

Today Cathy told me we won a five-pound bag of dog food! I’m so excited. Maybe she’ll be motivated to increase my portion size?

A dog can dream. And that’s exactly what I’m doing today as I recover from our long day in the outdoors, under the coffee table where the cats leave me alone.

Should Adopted Dogs Get A New Name? Of course!

My mom just saw a post from @PepperDog on Twitter: Should adopted dogs get a new name?

Hardly a big question, given what else is going on in the world. As an adopted dog, I say, “If you’re up for adoption, the old cheesy saying is true. I don’t care what you call me. Just call me for dinner and treats.”

My mom changed my name right away. We were in the vet’s office. I was getting the onceover from that nice Dr. Claire at UrbanVet. Of course, I’d never seen her before, but she was very gentle when she poked and prodded. Cathy was saying, “I want to be sure she’s healthy.” I could tell Cathy (she wasn’t my mom yet) was nervous about getting another dog so I just went along with the program.  She kind of whispered to the vet, “Do you really think this is a good dog?” Somehow Dr. Claire kept a straight face and sakd yes.

Whew. For awhile I was worried.

Then we went to fill out the paperwork. The lady from the adoption agency had all my records. My mom said, “We are going to change her name. She has the same name as one of my friends and my friend would be very annoyed. I want to name her Gracie.”

Gracie? Where did that come from?

“Aw, she looks like a Gracie,” everyone said.

Later my mom told me, “You are named after the dog who was responsible for Three Dog Bakery. The founders wrote abook about her: Amazing Gracie. Maybe you’ll make me rich and famous.”

So far, my mom says, I’ve just brought her vet bills. But no worries.

My mom really wanted to change Ophelia’s name. “A little pretentious for a cat,” she said. “How about Furball?”

The staff at the vet’s office were horrified. “She’s such a nice cat! Ophelia’s perfect!” they cried.

Personally, I like Furball for Ophelia, because that’s what she is. But she’s a little pretentious and funny, too, just like her name.

Who cares? We’ve got a good home. Did I just hear my mom calling me for dinner?

Which dog to adopt? Go with your feelings…

My mom Cathy likes to read books about decision making. She has always been fascinated by career decisions and suspicious of guided decisions, such as juries.

Most recently she was reading a book called How We Decide by Jonah Lehrer. Lehrer cites all kinds of research showing that emotions make sense in some kinds of decisions while rational thinking works best at other times. When decisions are complex (such as buying a house), emotional decisions often have better outcomes, my mom says. (Can you tell she’s helping me with this paragraph)

My mom figures that’s how she’s made good decisions about adopting her animals. She cuts past the clutter. All three of us – me, Creampuff and Ophelia – were adopted by default.

Creampuff had been in a cage for three months in New Mexico. The shelter volunteers really pushed for her adoption. “We can’t keep her forever,” they said. Creampuff really wanted to be an indoor-outdoor cat and she’s been a little frustrated by Cathy’s firm belief that cats belong indoors. But she purrs a lot and she’s healthy.

Ophelia was the only spayed, declawed cat in the Seattle Animal Shelter when Cathy went to look. Personally, I think we should have checked out a few more shelters but Ophelia and my mom have bonded. Ophelia’s here to stay.

And then there’s me. My mom saw me on Petfinder, she says. She chose me mainly because I am a female dog who’s not too big. She asked a lot of questions but she took me sight unseen. Thank goodness she didn’t know about my chewing or pulling tendencies.

Luck? Maybe. My mom likes to think she’s just a great owner. Who cares? I just made a big decision to take another nap. That was easy.

Recycle your old collars and leashes

My mom always wondered what to do with my old leashes and collars. Today, via Twitter, she discovered that the folks at  http://www.BigDoggyBling.com will recycle doggie hardware to make new fashion accessories for rescue dogs.

I’m so glad she found this site. My mom doesn’t like to throw things away. She’s a great believer in, “Buy what you need…and only what you need.” My current leash looks just a little tired.

Recently she’s thinking of getting me a prong collar. She’s assured they don’t hurt me. She’s just determined to stop me from jumping and pulling, especially when I see a squirrel or an interesting stranger on the street. I’m not thrilled about the idea, but then again, my life could be worse. I get lots of exercise and have a whole fan club…even two cats to torture.

But it would be nice to get a new leash and collar every so often.

Michelle Obama walks her dog too.

My mom woke me up from my morning nap to share the story of Bo Obama, the new White House Dog. Here’s just one story.

Apparently Michelle Obama has not been wildly successful at getting her daughters to walk Bo. So she’s up at 5:15 AM walking the dog and she’s assumed dog training duties.

I have to congratulate Michelle on stepping up. Too many parents adopt a dog and then give it away when the kids get bored.  My mom wonders if that’s what happened to me, but I’m not saying. I believe in burying the past. I only dig up things at the dog park.

Adopting a dog is a commitment for life. And that’s a good thing.  I hope Michelle Obama realizes that she’s actually getting a great deal when she walks Bo early in the morning. There’s something about getting out in the fresh air and bonding with your owner, from my point of view. And my own mom Cathy says she loves waking up and looking forward to a walk with me.

Even when I go out to the dog park with my Aunt Sara twice a week, there’s something special about my walks with my mom. That’s our bonding time, even when I pull on the leash and most of our conversation is mom yelling, “No! Down! Stop eating things!”

Michelle Obama has a lot to look forward to.

Dog takes over cat’s bed: victory at last!

My mom rarely buys a dog bed or cat cushion. But a couple of years ago, she wandered over to the Cat Show at McCaw Hall. She admired the purebred cats and found someone who was selling handmade cat beds.

“The cats need their own space,” she said.

Huh? There are two cat condos in this apartment, plus two cat cushions. Mom didn’t buy the cat condos. She’s much too cheap. She inherited them from cat owners who were upgrading.

But Mom brought home this wonderful cushion. I immediately took it over. See? Purr-fect fit. After all, if you look at previous entries in this blog, you’ll see our ditzy housemate Creampuff in my bed and my crate. Stand back, calico cat! It’s MY turn.

A Dog Book that Deserves to be Rescued

My mom just read a book by Lisa Duffy, Tales From a Dog Catcher. Lisa spent four years as an Animal Control Officer in a small town in Westchester, New York, right on the Hudson River. She took the job to earn money for college. She worked closely with the police department to enforce the law and protect the animals.

My mom loves this book. She read some stories to me while I pretended to engage in my favorite activity, taking naps on my own corner of the couch. I would start to drift off and then I’d be riveted by what my mom was reading. A few times I even opened my eyes. (Today I’m sleeping extra to make up. A dog’s life, after all.)

Ophelia took up her spot on the arm rest of Cathy’s sofa. She spent 30 days in a cage in a shelter. She keeps reminding me that I had it easy in a foster home. Well, look who’s royalty…but I digress.

Some stories were heart-warming. The police officers in Lisa’s station sometimes adopted the animals that seemed hopeless.  A stray kitten was invited to join a litter of purebreds, like a guest invited for dinner.  A long haired kitten, no less. Hopefully not as high-maintenance as our own Ophelia.

A couple of times my mom started reading a story and then stopped. “Not for your tender royal ears,” she said to me. “And definitely not for Ophelia. That cat would have nightmares.”

People didn’t necessarily abuse their animals in this book, Cathy explained to us. They just thought their dogs and cats were disposable property.

My mom felt sad that this book is so good, but faces obstacles getting known to the world. “It’s not fair,” she said. “I’m reviewing boring, badly written books from big name publishers. I couldn’t put this book dodwn. And I am so fussy.”

This is true. Our coffee table is piled high with books she couldn’t bear to finish. “Life is too short,” she says.

“I know people don’t buy a lot of books tbese days,” my mom said. “But just put in a Purchase Suggestion to your local library. Go to the Amazon listing and get all the info. At least 50% of the time your library will buy the book. And you’ll have a happy evening for reading.

“And it’s also a good book to give your hard-to-please friends for birthdays and holidays.”

Cat meets computer

Look who’s taken up residence near Mom’s desktop computer. Mom’s favorite Computer Guru, the MacDaddy of Seattle, says cat hair won’t bother the desktop. Thank goodness!

Creampuff likes to sleep there. So we figure Ophelia just had to take over and establish dominance. Besides, it’s nice and warm.

We can’t figure out how she got up there. Ophelia’s not a jumper. She prefers hiding out in her cave.