Hops in the Right Direction: Sometimes, You Gotta Play Mama Bear

I've gotten a few snide comments about my dog.  Usually it happens when I'm on a long walk or am out for the day with Prada, and I've got her in the belly bag.  Because you know, purse-dog stereotypes blah blah blah.  I've snarked back a time or two--in my polite way, of course.  It's amazing how far a, "yeah, it's great that there are more options for handicapped dogs these days, isn't it?" will go.  (Cue the stuttering and agreeing.  Because while plenty of people are willing to make fun of purse-dogs, not too many are willing to be an asshole about handicapped ones.  Kind of like people who are really nice--except to waiters.)  More often, I just grin at them to let them know I've heard and move on.

I don't think I should tell someone anything about their dog that I wouldn't say about their child.  Or, more universally, if you don't want to feel like an asshole, don't be an asshole.  Asshole.

Because sometimes, you've just got to play mama bear.

Naturally, assholes aren't limited to snarking on dogs with altered mobility.  Purse dogs, small dogs, dogs they've decided are a mean breed or just ugly, whatever.

Which leads me to an incident my dad described to me.  My folks were recently at a national invitational for rally obedience.  (Yeah, they got invited to nationals their first year doing it.  Dad and Linka took 3rd place in Rally 2, and tied for 6th in Rally 3, the hardest level.  Against the best dogs in the country.  Not too shabby, right?)  At the same event was a conformation show--the standard kind you see on Thanksgiving, for pure-breds only. 

Now, Linka is a pure-bred miniature schnauzer, but she has a small white line on her chest that disqualifies her from participating in conformation.  So Dad has no real reason to groom her within the parameters of conformation--Linka's got a cut on a variation of the standard, which is more suited to her active lifestyle/running around in the woods all the time.  Okay, okay, I'm done with the exposition.  Here's the actual story:

My mom was holding Linka during a break between rallies.  She wandered over to the conformation show to admire the dogs.  A woman with another schnauzer came up to my mom and asked, "What are you doing here?  You're obviously not here for conformation."

"No," Mama Bear said.  "We're not here for the frou-frou dog show--we're in the competition for smart dogs."

Hops in the Right Direction: It's Normal. Or Not, But That Doesn't Make It Abnormal--Just Confusing.

My dad and I talk dogs a lot.  He and his dog, Linka, are constantly training for the rally obediance trials they do, and of course Prada and I are always working toward new body confidence goals.  Needless to say, we never run out of things to talk about, and it's great to have someone to bounce ideas off of.

That's one of the best things about having a dog--I immediately have something in common with any other dog owner I meet.

And of course there's the pleasure and satisfaction anyone who has adopted a dog has.

But having a special needs dog changes things.  Not only do I have something to talk about with any other dog lover--which, as far as I'm concerned, is anyone worth talking to--I also have had a whole new world opened up to me.

Wait.

That sounds way too sappy, even for me.

How about this?

You know, having a tripod, is like, cool and stuff, because I never really thought before about how, like, it would make me a nicer, more compassionate person.  Dude.

(Okay, let's pretend I never wrote that.  That's atrocious.)

In all seriousness, though, having a "different" pet has made me re-evaluate the importance, even the necessity, of being physically normal.  Normal is what is.  My normal, and my normal with Prada, is different than other people's normal.  That would still be the case if she had four legs.  Or if she were the size of a Pyrenees.  Or if she were blind, or petrified of squirrels.

So, I figure that makes Prada no less not-normal than any other dog.  And maybe, by extension (it's a stretch, I know), that makes me no less not-normal than any other person.

Hops in the Right Direction: It Goes Both Ways

I've written in previous weeks how it's important to me to advocate for adoptable dogs, and I've seen so many examples of people doing so much to help dogs in need.

Sometimes, though, it's the dogs helping the adoptable people.  Last Sunday, Linka (with my parents, of course) and lots of other dogs participated in the Canine2IronDog Event near Oak Forest, Illinois, and they were raising money for FOSCIK, a group dedicated to providing for the basic needs of orphaned and abandoned children in Kenya.

If you're a dog-lover, then you know first-hand how a dog can be so good for you, and everyone has heard stories of dogs saving their owners from fires, warning them prior to a seizure, or cheering a child in hospice, whatever.  This is the first time, though, that I've heard of a group of dogs doing good for a group people in this way, and it makes me so damn proud on so many levels.

Via

(And guess who took second in their division?)

Hops in the Right Direction: What Happens When You're Not Looking

No, the title isn't a Weeping Angels reference.  (Well, it only is if you get it.)  Rather, so much growth occurs when you're not actively working towards it.

This week, I've been thinking about the adult I wanted to be when I was a little girl.  I wanted to be confident and have a decent job that funded the continuing adventures I wanted to have.  I wanted to be successful on my own terms and eventually be able to cut the financial cord between my parents and me.  I wanted to be satisfied with who I had become.  Pets, family, and great friends were a necessity, of course--and I wanted them to be satisfied with the person I'd become, too.  And sure, I wanted a bit of romance.  Who doesn't?

It occurred to me:  I've got that life.  Out of all the economic hardships, dumb choices, and plain ol' drama, somehow I ended up somewhere good.  And I think it started happening when I stopped worrying about it so much.

Let's back track a bit.  When I was in high school, I got sick.  Really, really sick.  At one point, my prognosis was, "Don't expect to see the end of college."  Obviously, it was a turning point for me--if I had a limited amount of time, I was going to fucking make the most of it.  Valedictorian?  Check.  Study abroad?  Check.  First complete manuscript by age twenty-two?  Check.  Fall in love?  Check.  I got an apartment and a full-time job right out of college, because I needed to prove I could do it.  I joined everything:  choirs, sports teams, theater groups, dance groups, bowling teams, pie parties, writers groups...  If it had anything to do with anything I was the least bit interested in, I signed up.  How can you experience everything life has to offer if I don't experience everything life has to offer?  I had a bad case of DO ALL THE THINGS.

Controlling every moment of my time gave me a sense of purpose and accomplishment.  It made me feel like I was going somewhere.  That feeling has lasted years after my illness went into remission and I was told I should have a normal, long life.

Okay.

What the hell does this have to do with Prada and tripods?  I'm getting there, I promise.

As I said, I only realized I was where I wanted to be when I stopped working so hard for it--my single-minded goal-setting had blinded me to the goals I was actually achieving.  I needed to stop and smell the roses, as it were.

I needed to let Prada do the same.

Don't get me wrong, it's not like I was training the bejeezus out of her.  We've taken four 6 week training courses in the last year and a half, and we practice several times a week, not every day.  But I have had a mental list of the things I want her to accomplish, in the order I want her to accomplish them.  A lot of the places I take her to, I take her to with the assumption that she will have some experience, and I want her to experience ALL THE THINGS.  In order.  By my mental list.

Sometimes, I'm kind of dumb.  Sometimes, I need to just let things happen in their own time

As long as I've had her, Prada has refused to eat or drink out of any dish deep and narrow enough that she had to sort of stick her head in it to get the food or water.  I bought wide, shallow dishes for her, and put that fear way down on my list of things to accomplish with her.  Getting her to heel nicely, sit properly, and wait politely were clear priorities for me, followed shortly by getting her used to surfaces other than the carpet she prefers.  When we travelled, I brought or scavenged a dish that would accomodate her fear.  It was something I (mostly) remembered to consider when taking her places--I couldn't depend on a Prada-friendly dish of water even at a dog-friendly event.

And then, at the rally event we went to, Prada got thristy when I had left her with my parents to run an errand.  (Okay, I had to pee.)  Without even thinking about it or making a fuss or balking at all, she shoved her head all the way into Linka's very deep, very narrow water dish.  And drank.

I like to think I've been pretty good about adapting the way I train to the way Prada learns.  Now I need to learn that I don't need to teach her everything.  Some things, she will learn without my interference.  Some of it is just going to happen, probably when I'm not looking.

And that will give us more time to just enjoy each other, which is kind of perfect.


(True:  I still have lots of goals  Long-term, I need to find an agent for that manuscript I wrote back when I was 22.  Short-term, I need to do my laundry.  Unless some helpful reader wants to offer to do it for me?)

Hops in the Right Direction: Come One, Come All

This weekend, I had the pleasure of joining my parents at a UKC rally and obedience event.  I've mentioned before that Linka and my dad do rally obedience, which is like an obstacle course with obedience challenges, but this was the first time they had tried classic obedience trials as well.

Needless to say, it went well.

The event was hosted by the wonderful people at the Northwest Obedience Club in Carey, Illinois.  If you want to meet a nicer, more welcoming group of people, well, good luck to you.  Several of their members act as rally obedience judges for both the UKC and the APDT (Association of Pet Dog Trainers), and get this:

Both associations allow amputee dogs to participate.  In the UKC, the tripod only needs to perform all the excercises exactly as they are printed.  A judge in the APDT may allow variations in the excercises with valid reasons.  So, for example, a judge may at their discretion allow Prada to compete even though she heels on my right side, which in formal obedience, is the "wrong" side, because she prefers a barrier (me) between her more vulnerable amputated side and the rest of the world.

Most of us dog-lovers only have one job for our furry friends:  to be really exceptional cuddlers.  There is a large minority, though, that really enjoys the challenges and cameraderie (and yeah, okay, ribbons) that can be achieved with performance dogs at obedience and rally obedience trials.  So it's pretty cool that several of these clubs recognize that even "handicapped" dogs can perform with gusto.