Ziggy and the truck god

I don't want to compare Kira and Ziggy in a way that says one is or was better than the other, but I compare them to note that they are very different. I love the differences. One of the most noticeable differences is the way they are (were, in Ziggy's case) about the truck. Ziggy loved the truck. He could not get enough of it. Kira likes riding in the truck, too, but it's just a ride for her, just a means of getting someplace new. For Ziggy, it was all about the truck. It must be a guy thing. Even after a long drive, if you came home and made him get out of the truck, Zig would sit by the door waiting to get back in. He absolutely adored the truck and the truck god. Ziggy examined every single move H made, cocking his head left and right, trying to figure every thing out. When H put the key in the ignition, Ziggy watched intently. Whenever he buckled the seatbelt or rolled down a window, Ziggy watched his hand closely. And every gear change was of great interest. One day I told H to keep an eye out, because Ziggy was learning how to drive the truck. Someday Zig would just take the keys and drive himself to the dog store, the doggy park, and back home again. At least I HOPE he'd drive himself home again. You know guys and their trucks...they can just go and go and go. As I mentioned before, Ziggy would have been happy to just stay in the truck all day. ..put him in it in the morning, leave him all day with the windows wide open so he could take in all the scents, and come get him at night, and he'd be happy as a clam. Of course, we'd never do that, but he would have loved it.

Kira, on the other hand, gets into the truck, happy with the knowledge that we are GOING someplace. And she is just as happy to get out when we arrive at our destination. Yesterday, before I went to Lea's for our walk, H put Kira in the truck and lowered the window a little for her while I gathered my purse and coat. H stood on the porch talking to me, and before I could get out of the house, Kira had jumped out of the window and up onto the porch. You have to understand that this is a Dodge Ram 2500 pick-em-up truck! Humongus! The bottom of the window is at my eye level! And the window was only half opened when Kira jumped out! A lesson to us: never open the windows more than about two inches for her. Yikes! Scarey!

Right now, she is downstairs whining and whining because I am up here writing on my blog and she is down there. H is working on a project that requires him to come and go from the house. Kira wants us all to be downstairs in the living room with her. When we are there, she is so relaxed and happy on her comfy bed. It makes it very hard to write in my blog because the computer is upstairs. But I don't want her upstairs. Not yet...she is not quite trustworthy yet. She still doesn't get it about pooping on the grass. In her other home, she used the paved patio in the postage stamp back yard. We have had three accidents on our tile floor in the family room. It could have been worse: she could have used the new Persian rug. And really, she is a little bit of a brat. She really wants to be in her crate at night (it's her security blanket), but when she hears us upstairs, she starts her "woof woof wooooooooo" wolf howl. It's very soft, and actually rather sweet, if that makes any sense. You can't get mad at her. But I'd like to have a little more control over that. I'd like to be able to say "Quiet" or "Settle" or some other cue and have her stop making the noise. I know it can be done, but I don't know how to do it. I'm sure we are doing things wrong right and left. And still, she is a wonderful dog. We are very patient with her, and we believe everything will work out in time.

Anyway, my blog entries may be hit or miss for a while, until she understands that, even though we are not all together all the time, we are still a pack. She still has us. Forever.

More bonding

I took the truck today. Kira and I went to Lea's house, where we all went walking around the neighborhood to get the two dogs used to each other. It seems to me that German Shepherds do very well with other German Shepherds. So Kira and Cherokee did great from the start. Of course, I think Kira gets along with anyone who is willing to get along with her. She's very easy going. Especially compared to Ziggy, who wanted to be top dog everywhere, even among other GSDs.

So after our walk, and a cup of coffee at Lea's house, we all got into the truck and went to Old Town to walk around. The girls did great in the back seat of the truck. We walked from one end of Alexandria to the other, and back again, stopping at the doggy store. Kira was not the lest interested in treats, but Cherokee got a nice share. We met other dogs and people and heard many loud sounds, from one large dog lunging at the fence of a garden we walked past (and all FOUR of us jumped in surprise) to a loud and continuous horn from the Cherry Blossom paddle boat as it left the wharf (only Lea jumped with that one). We had a great two hours of walking.

I dropped Lea and Cherokee off at their house and came home with the truck, when a couple of friends stopped by to see Kira. I want her to get used to people coming to the door. Of course, she barked quite a bit, and didn't really stop when I said it was ok. Eventually she stopped, of course. And it was a lot sooner than Ziggy would have stopped, so that is good. They while they visited and we shared photos and tea, Kira rested quietly on her bed in the same room with us, quite content.

But the day was not finished. At 5:30, we went to see Nancy and Steve and their new dog. Like Ziggy's loss did to us, they really could not stand the "beagle shaped hole" (to use EO's phrase) in their hearts, and they filled it with a lovely little dog today. Um, a lovely as yet unnamed dog. Maybe Mina, maybe Dolly. We don't know yet. They'll come up with something.

Kira was a little hyper for a while, until we cleverly thought to bring in her bed from the truck, and she got comfy on it and stayed there until we were ready to leave. I really think it hurts her boney body to lay on the hardwood floors. Also, at Karen's, she was used to staying on the furniture. We'll have to remember the portable bed trick in the future.

So, it has been a week since we brought her home. I see a great future ahead for us.

None Shall Pass

I'm like the black knight in Monty Python's Holy Grail...if you come to my office, you can't leave without looking at photos of Kira.

She is a different dog, changing on a daily basis. She comes when you call her. She sits, she drops down. She gives you her paw. The last two days, I have taken her out into the back yard without the leash. Nervy of me, eh? But she is so very responsive to me when I call her. She started to go to the truck and I called her back. She came instantly. She responds to praise and love in a very rewarding manner. I'm working on her barking. She has started to bark when someone comes up to the house. Well, of course, she barks at the postman, because she does such a good job: he comes up onto the porch, she barks, and he leaves; every single time. Job well done! But I'm working on getting her to hush after I say it's ok. I don't mind one or two barks, but I'd like her to stop when I say "quiet" or "hush"... I haven't decided which one. But, no matter, both seem to be working. This girl is so smart. I'm going to have to come up with some mentally stimulating games for her really soon! She deserves it.

In the evening, after dinner, we have been sitting in the living room, quietly talking or reading, or even watching some television. She seems to really love that. On Tuesday, I suggested bringing her cushy bed into the living room so she won't have to put her boney body (we're trying to put more weight on her) on the hardwood floor and she took to it immediately, and has now stopped pacing. I don't think she has ever had so much quiet time. She has that German Shepherd herding instinct, and she's very happy when all of us are together in the same room, cats included. She wags her tail when she sees us. She doesn't come bounding up to us the way Ziggy would, but hey it's only been less than a week. We are getting the German Shepherd smile now...even other people have mentioned it. And one of my very favorite things is the "puppy ears." That's when she puts her ears down against her neck like a puppy and then drops her head down low, smiling. I know that is a submissive posture, but she is very happy when she does it. She seems very happy to be in a position of submission. Which is what my favorite Caesar Millan says: they don't want to have to be pack leader...they want someone else to take the job.

Tonight, both of the cats got onto her big soft bed and she whined about it. I told her it was her bed and she could chase them off of it. Not really expecting her to understand me, of course. But darned if she didn't just go over and lay down on the bed between them. Wolfie was sort of pushed off when she put her long body down, but Daily just took it in stride and shifted around a little the way he used to do with Ziggy. I really believed Daily would be sleeping with that dog sooner or later, but I didn't expect it SO soon. H took a couple of photos. When I get a chance, I'll post one.

Our happy family.

Kira, Smiling

The Stinkiest Kid Around

We got Ziggy in August 2001. Shortly thereafter, the 9/11 attacks rocked us to the core. I remember driving past the Pentagon on my way to work on that beautiful September morning and thinking of how much I enjoy my drive in to work...with my music, my Starbuck's coffee, a car I like to drive, and the beautiful GW Memorial Parkway. I was running a little late that day, after helping my son find some lost school work and dropping him off at school. Mine is not a long drive...probably 20-25 minutes from front door to office garage, not bad at all.

As I pulled into the parking garage in my building in DC, the guard asked me if I had heard about the "two cargo planes that crashed in New York." He didn't have any more information, and I had been listening to CDs instead of the radio, so I didn't know what he was talking about. So I parked and went into my office. When I turned on my computer to the home page, which was the New York Times, there was a photo of the first plane crashing into the first World Trade building. It was no cargo plane. Stunned, I called my husband, who told me all he knew and said he was trying to get more information. Suddenly, he said "Oh, my God, they've hit the Pentagon. We're at war." Overwhelmed with worry about my son, I said "I'm out of here! I'm going to get Thomas." Back then, I called my son "Thomas," before he became EO the elusive offspring, living his elusive life at university.

I shut off the computer and hurried to my car and got almost to the river before traffic stopped me. I was listening to the radio and watching all the people standing around outside with their cellphones to their ears and their faces to the beautiful skies, looking for the next plane. There were rumors that there were bombs at the State Department, and the World Bank, and that another plane was on its way. Driving along the Potomac, I could see not just black smoke, but huge orange flames over the Pentagon, well above the trees. It was a shocking experience. By the time I got to Teddy Roosevelt Bridge, it was full of cars, all leaving DC, and people were streaming across it on foot (the subways had been shut down). I did what so many other drivers were doing. I stopped and picked up as many people as I could take in my car and I drove them home. By the time I had done that, I realized that my son was probably safer at his school than anywhere. Later I found out that most of the students had gone to the library to watch the news and that most parents also left their kids at the school. Who would target a school, right? (Of course, we believed this before the DC sniper taught us otherwise.)

The world was eerily quiet when I got home after noon after delivering the people I had picked up. Ziggy was so happy to see me that early, but he sensed something was not quite right. The air traffic that usually goes down the Potomac and over my house was gone. The airports had been shut down. Every now and then a fighter jet flew overhead. Traffic noises were nil. The day was gorgeous. I had windows and doors open. I picked up my son and we sat with Ziggy on our wraparound porch and talked to neighbors making their way home. It would have been a perfect day but for the horror of the morning.

But this is not supposed to be about 9/11. It's supposed to be about Ziggy; it IS a dog blog, after all. And you are probably wondering why the title of this post is "The Stinkiest Kid Around." So, let me explain.

Shortly after 9/11, we started a major remodeling project on our hundred-year old house. We replaced trim on the outside and repainted all the German siding. We rebuilt the porch. And we turned the attic into a loft for our elusive offspring. Complete with full bath, two dormers, two roof windows, nice carpeting, and lots of room for stereo equipment, books, friends, you name it! Way more than any kid really deserves. But what the heck. Back then, he wasn't so elusive. When the contractors showed up, the not very aptly named Wolfie cat would slink upstairs and crawl under the sheets/blanket/bedspread on our bed and stay there from 7:00 a.m. until they left at 4:00 or 5:00. We always make the bed every morning, so it was very funny to see a lump in the middle of the bed, like some sort of deformity in the mattress. It didn't matter how warm it got, Wolfie stayed under the covers. Even in the winter, he stayed under the DOWN comforter. It's a good thing cats are really desert animals. Anyway, back to the dog part of this story. Ziggy, on the other hand, liked to greet the contractors when they came, and then he stayed downstairs in the back of the house. They all liked that dog. In fact, I think one of the guys would have taken him if he could have! But Ziggy was clearly our dog. And they were good to him.

I think I already mentioned that we don't have a fenced back yard. It was never a problem. Ziggy always came back when called, and if he started to go into a neighbor's back yard, I'd say "our yard, please," and he'd come back to me. But he was never let outside without one of us being close by.

One day, Ziggy got out. We think that when the new stove was delivered, one of the delivery guys let him out. Actually, we think someone kicked Ziggy or something because he didn't stick around the house. My son, who was in the 9th grade at the time, was at his high school about a mile away and, while changing classes with a friend, looked out the school window. "Hey!" says the friend, "doesn't that dog look a lot like Ziggy?" One look, and the elusive offspring says "It IS Ziggy!" And he went outside, called Zig, and walked him home and put him in the house. Then he called to tell me what had happened. I got weak at the knees at the thought of our car-stupid Ziggy crossing all those busy streets to get to my son's school. But then I had a different thought. Ziggy had never been to that school before. My son either rode his bike or walked to school when I didn't drive him. My thought came out as words: "Wow, you must be the stinkiest kid around!" Can't you just hear the "M-o-m" that brought on! But how else would Ziggy have found the school?

Anyway, we think someone kicked Ziggy because from that day on, he barked at everyone who came to the house, friend and foe alike. Well, actually, I don't think a foe ever came to the house. Or, if they did, I never knew about it, because they didn't stick around! What does a foe look like anyway?

Night and Day

What an incredible difference! Saturday night, we didn't put her in her crate. We left her in closed into the family room/kitchen with the crate opened and she gave us lovely wolf howls all night. Her voice is not nearly as loud as Ziggy, so it was not annoying. It did, however, keep us from getting a good night's sleep. But that was Saturday night, and we had Sunday to recouperate. Last night, we put her in her crate, after she had another nice long walk with H. I was, of course, unbelievably tired from all the walks. It's like all that exercise simply whetted Kira's appetite for more exercise, but it beat me up! I'm not used to all that walking up and down hills, at a quick pace. This morning, I awoke with sore calves, sore shins, sore ankles and sore thighs...but my heart was anything but sore.

This morning, H got up at 5:30 to give her a long walk. He was delighted that, when he opened the crate and ignored her to feed the cats, he found her standing behind him wagging her tail at him. How gratifying is that! He lavished her with praise. Then he let Daily loose to come upstairs and snuggle with me while he walked Kira. Daily had to make sure he was still my main man. He was so cute, stretched out next to me, patting me with his little kitty paw, putting his face into my hand, holding my wrist, purring and chirping at me. Where did these great animals come from! And yes, Daily is still my "familiar." Anyway, I got up at 7:30 (sleepy me!) and Kira met me at the door, wagging her tail! I walked her for 20 minutes, and then put her back in her crate for the day. She was fine with that. She is used to longer crate time...Karen's commute was so long that Kira had to be crated from very early in the morning until quite late in the evening. I supposed she was crated at night, too. For the time being, she will have to be crated at night and while I am at work, but her time in the crate will be shorter. I am hoping to wean her from the crate in a few weeks. I don't think crating is a bad thing. But I'd like her to have the run of the kitchen and family room the way Ziggy did. As it is, I am so happy that we really do have more time to spend walking and bonding.

This evening, I got home by 5:00 (I love my 20 minute commute) and immediately took her for a walk. We stopped to greet every dog we met, whether she wanted to or not, and we met lots of people who wanted to pet her. Several people commented on how she looks like a wolf. Actually, I think she does, too. My cave wolf.

A couple of blocks away from the house, I stopped to talk to one little girl and her nanny. She was maybe 4 years old, couldn't keep her hands off Kira's head, and Kira loved it. What a lovely dog. The little girl...Rachel was her name...said "Sometime, you can bring your dog to my house for a sleepover." I melted.

While I was talking to yet another group of neighbors and dogs, H drove up in the truck and we climbed in and rode home. Kira is remarkably comfortable in the truck now, and eager to get into it, ready to migrate again. Actually, I think she is quite eager to go for a ride.

So we got home, had a glass of wine, sat in the living room with Kira and just talked to each other. Kira paced a little bit, then found a comfortable place on the dining room rug and lay down to listen to us talk. This is new for her, I think. There are no other dogs for her to rile up, and I guarantee the only rise she would get out of the cats would not be to her liking. Ziggy got lots of warning scratches in the beginning.

Then we decided to take her to the pet store again to get some canned food (Karen's routine gave her half canned food and half dry food) to see if we can get her to eat. She's a "drive by" eater. She goes into the kitchen, eats two or three kibbles, then comes back into the living room. Then she returns to the kitchen for a couple more kibbles and returns to us. This goes on and on. (Maybe she is making sure we aren't going to disappear on her?) Anyway, we thought we'd try the canned food thing. When we got home, we put half a can of food on her kibbles and she ... dare I say "wolfed"? ... it down. Maybe we'll get a good poop from her now. In the back yard, I hope, not the house!

I think Lea is right. I think she will be a different dog within the week. I'm planning to take Kira to Lea's house on Saturday, and we'll walk our German Shepherd girls together. I'd like to take her to the doggy park this week, too. And I want as many friends as possible to come over so she can learn to "discern." That's a word I have heard used many times regarding how GSDs decide who is friendly and who is not.

I am learning as much from this dog as she is learning from us.

Easter, our first full day together

At the same time that we were signing the papers for Kira yesterday, my friend, Nancy, was going through the sad process of euthanizing her sweet beagle, Doobie. She and her family adopted Doobie a year and a half ago, knowing that Doobie was already probably 12, and in dire need of rescue, and probably not long for the world...the prognosis was that he might last another six months or so. The first time I saw Doobie, he looked deformed from malnutrition and probably abuse. He was so afraid that he would not come to anyone. Yet, he clearly WANTED to be loved and to meet people. Nancy and her family set about rehabilitating sweet Doobie and I watched an incredible transformation. The change was most obvious a couple of months ago when I came for a visit. As I came in the door, Doobie raced to greet me, all wiggles and happiness, with the most lovely healthy beagle body. He had many physical issues, including a problem with his renal system. Nancy took him to the vet. She fed him a special diet. She cooked rice and chicken broth for him and celebrated the way he would leap up onto his back feet and yodel for dinner. And it really did make him irresistable. My last memory of Doobie was of him in Nancy's lap, on his back with his head under her chin, ears flopped back, belly up, happy and so relaxed, waiting for his beer and the remote control. In one and a half years, Doobie went from an unwanted, abused senior dog to a beloved, happy member of a family.

We had Easter dinner with Nancy and her family. Despite her loss, she was ready to see more dogs in addition to her remaining little Valentine. So a friend brought two pugs and she asked us to bring Kira. We turned all the dogs loose in the huge fenced-in back yard and they ran and played like children. One of the pugs started grabbing sticks and racing around the yard and Kira raced after him. She may be fast and athletic, but she couldn't keep up with that pug for nuthin! They had us laughing so hard I thought my face would break. But what I loved the most was the way Kira would circle back to me periodically and brush her nose against my hand. She didn't quite want me to touch her necessarily, but she wanted reassurance. And when H called her, she came running all the way from the farthest fence (what a BEAUTIFUL lope!!!) to him...but didn't quite get to his hand. It took some coaxing. I honestly believe we will be able to go to the doggy park sometime this week, and that she will return to us when we call her.

She is slowly learning to trust us. This morning, we got up early, took her outside to see if she would do her business...she would not. We walked down to Starbucks and sat outside with her so that she would get used to people coming and going. She shook a bit, but I ignored the shaking and occasionally rubbed between her ears. I didn't want to encourage the imbalance. Sure enough, she got over the shaking, and people stopped to say how beautiful she was and to pat her. Then we walked home (up and down hills, again, sigh), and we made our breakfast. We took her into the truck (she now knows "up" means to get into the truck) to Pet Smart, where we all went into the store and got her a new tag with her name and our address on it. We took her to fill the truck with diesel. Then we went to see my friend Dorothy and her kids to introduce her to more people. We went home and she rested nicely in the back room until time to go to Nancy's. But before dinner, we picked up my niece, Kat. More people to introduce her to. Boy, is she getting socialized!

Around 5:30, we brought my niece back to the house and all had a cup of tea and relaxed for a while until time to drive Kat home. Kira is really getting to know this truck and the migration thing. When we got home, we invited her into the rest of the downstairs and she seemed to really like being with us. She lay down on the floor next to H and he petted her for quite while, even getting a sweet nibble from her. Ziggy used to do that. She learned that she is not allowed to get onto the furniture in this house (she ruled the furniture at Karen's house). We have the best cats in the world. They are totally, completely comfortable around her. I think Caesar Millan would be pleased with the calm energy that we are projecting. Of course, there is still so much to do with her, and I know I am making mistakes right and left, but I am just so happy with her. I'd like her to learn to pee and poop on command the way Ziggy used to do. But she is still just so off base.

I have noticed something interesting about her. Where you could speak firmly to Ziggy, and even raise your voice a little now and then to get his attention (because he didn't always hear you), you must be very gentle with this girl. Loud noises startle her right now. I do believe that this will not always be the case. We will see how things progress. I have not had to speak sharply to her, because she reacts very well to a noise I make to get her attention and to let her know when she is not allowed to do something. Like getting up on the furniture. She learns very fast. Here's a funny thing she does: she jumps up onto her crate to look out the windows! Her crate is at least 3 feet high. It's a little wierd to see her up there. We say "off" and she gets down. We are using that command for her to jump out of the truck, too.

There is so much to learn with her. Ziggy was completely different. First, he was unbelievably tough. He was a big, strong, protective male dog. He was completely unafraid. People, dogs, cars, cats. Except, he didn't like thunder or gunshots (from living in the country in Texas). Not that he heard gunshots where we live. But there was plenty of thunder. Ziggy responded almost instantly to commands, especially "come" and "wait." However, he often took his time sitting...I'd have to say "butt down, please." And then he would sit. Because he was so big and likely to knock you over getting to his dinner, I made him stay a respectable distance away while I prepared the bowl of food, then had him sit in front of the bowl until I released him...and, boy, did I love the way he would look up at me, waiting for the release. He was a sweetie. Sometimes, he had trouble remembering the first part, going a respectable distance away, and I'd say "excuse me." And he always woofed and went where he was supposed to be. I often said "excuse me" if he didn't do what he was told right away, and he always seemed to understand what I wanted. That's what I mean about how eerie it can be knowing that a dog understands what you mean. Well, Kira is learning quickly. Where Ziggy absolutely LOVED doggy treats as his reward, food does not seem to be an incentive for Kira at all. What seems to work for her is praise. How interesting.

I have so much to learn about her. So much to learn about myself. This becoming a dog person is quite wonderful, isn't it?

She's home, my beautiful new dog

We met up with Karen at the Adoption Day at Pet Smart and signed all the papers. Then we put Kira in the truck and drove the hour plus to Potomac Overlook Park, where (as Caesar Millan suggests) we walked her for an hour up and down hills...I think I was the only exhausted one of the three of us. Kira was ready to keep walking. So we drove to our neighborhood, got her out of the truck, and walked another half hour through our own neighborhood and park.

The most wonderful thing is how she responded to the cats! Oh my gosh! We kept her outside with us in the back yard for about 20 minutes, talking to neighbors (all of whom thought she was SO pretty!) and then, in the Caesar Millan method (I hope!), we had her sit politely, then invited her into the house, and limited the introduction to one room...well, the equivalent of one room: our family room and kitchen. She sniffed the cats, they sniffed her, Daily rubbed against her (Daily never met a dog he didn't like...seriously), and pretty much ignored her. She pretty much ignored them too. She won't eat yet. She REALLY misses her mom. She's very confused. We have a very calm household compared to her last one. So far, she has been great. She still doesn't come when we call. She knows the commands, but she doesn't respond. That's ok. She'll get there. Food doesn't work as an incentive...however, like Ziggy, she loves cheese! So H and I gave her a few little nibbles. She has SUCH a sweet way of taking the cheese from your fingers. Where Ziggy would grab the cheese, and often get your fingers, then be very embarassed, Kira delicately removes the cheese. She is SUCH a lady.

Damn! I love this dog. I need to do what the cats are doing. I need to ignore her and let her get her bearings. But it is SO hard not to touch her soft fur and beautiful ears. I want to KISS her on the face. I absolutely LOVE this dog! She is So different from Ziggy that I don't feel like I am trying to replace him. She is simply a new member of the family. We just need to acclimate her to her new surroundings. I will say that she needs lots of those LONG and exhausting walks. I can see that I am going to lose weight just keeping her exercised. Isn't that great????

I am really excited about tomorrow, when we introduce her to the rest of the downstairs. I want her to be able to come into the living room and be with us. If I understand the book (Caesar's Way) correctly, we need to let her stay in her crate tonight (it's her safety blanket), and then tomorrow we can take her for another long walk in the neighborhood and then bring her back, invite her into the house again, and introduce her to another room. H wants to take her out and work with her on the obedience commands tomorrow. Just the basics. Come. Sit. Stay. Down. But I don't know what to use as an incentive. Karen says it took her two days before Kira would eat when she got her from the breeder. She also says it took a couple of days for Kira to poop. It is going to be interesting, getting this dog used to us. But I so love her already, I can't help but think all will be well. After all, the way she reacted to the cats was beyond belief. And the way she took cheese from our fingers was so gentle. She is a very good dog. We just need to understand how to deal with her.

I know Karen is missing her tonight. It's her first night without her beautiful long-legged Kira. I called her as soon as we got home and told her about Kira's reaction to the cats. And I thanked her for trusting us to give Kira a good home. And Kira is really missing Karen. Trying to figure out what is going on. I refuse to feel sorry for Kira, because I don't want that negative energy to enter into our new relationship. I want to project purely positive energy (I like that alliteration). I hope Caesar is correct that "dogs live in the now." If that is the case, then Kira will come around quickly. We just need to be patient, calm and assertive pack leaders.

I love Kira. Beautiful Kira. Smart, gentle Kira. I am SO happy tonight. Let's see how I feel tomorrow, after a night of Kira without her two big brothers and Karen...stuck with two cats and us. I hope Karen calls a friend and starts on the bottle of champagne we gave her. As for me, I am totally exhausted. I need to get to bed early tonight.

Happiness!

I'm only here for a moment to report that I just got the call. Kira is ours! We are on our way to fill out the adoption papers and pick her up. First I spoke to the intake officer. Then Karen called me and we talked. She is happy and sad. I told her she could have visitation rights any time. And I'll keep her up to date.

OK, I'll say more later. But right now I must go. Yippeedoodles!

Cave Dogging (my story and I'm sticking to it!)

Shortly after we got Ziggy, I figured out how wolves evolved into the domestic dogs of today. It was through a process I call "cave dogging" and it goes this way: Cave men and women instinctively knew about the dangers of predators, like bears, and big cats, and wolves, and they were extremely careful of them. That's how they had to live their lives.

But one day, things start to get really interesting for the cave man and woman. They see this one wolf lurking around; they know to stay inside the cave with the fire going and big clubs around just in case. After a while, they notice the wolf carrying off the bones they had thrown outside of the cave and they think: "Hey, that wolf just wanted our left overs. Nothing wrong with that. Kinda keeps the old homestead clean with the wolf taking away the bones. And maybe, just maybe, that wolf won't be hungry for us if he gets those mammoth bones." So they keep their little ones close by and watch the wolf closely, occasionally tossing out a bone or two, but never have any problems. And the wolf keeps the big cats and bears away. Not a bad arrangement for a bone now and then.

Time goes by and the cave man is now actually tossing meat-laden bones to the wolf. Not just garbage bones. Cave man and his woman are clever. They see that the wolf is grateful and never hunts the cave folk or their little ones. There's no NEED to hunt cave folk because Wolf is full of bone meat. (Hey, this is MY story, let me tell it MY way) Wolf starts hanging out more and waiting for a nice handout. Wolf isn't going to EAT the very source of those handouts. Remember, dogs (wolves) are SMART! Regarding cats, however, I'm sure that if I shrunk to Barbie size, my cats would think I was fair game--but this is a dog blog, so I'll focus on the wolf for now.

OK, so now we have a wolf hanging out around the cave quite often now, hoping for a nice meaty handout. One night, Cave Man notices that fine young wolf is now at the mouth of the cave. He starts to panic, but notices that that Wolf isn't doing anything. He's just curled up in a ball, very comfy and warm from the heat coming out of the cave. (remember this is MY story and I'm telling it my way)

A few nights later, Cave Man sees that Wolf has moved to a position just INSIDE of the mouth of the cave. Not threatening, just sleeping. Cave Man thinks, "hmmm, Wolf is ok there, kind of pretty, too, so I'll just keep my club, woman and kids close by and watch him." After Wolf chases a few predators away from the cave, Cave Man thinks it's a REALLY good arrangement and accepts it. Now and then, he even starts to toss some spare meat, choice cuts, to Wolf. (Oh, yeah, you might have noticed Cave Man said "ok"...this was the first human use of the term "OK" too)

A few weeks later, Cave Man sees that Wolf is even FURTHER into the cave...still a respectable distance away, but definitely IN the cave. Wolf is not threatening, still pretty, and Cave Man leaves him there, but always careful keeps his club, woman and kids at this side just in case.

One day, he wakes to find Wolf curled up by the fire, with his head on his paws, looking up at him with big brown eyes and articulating eyebrows (yes, YOU know that look). When Cave Man goes on his hunt that day, Wolf lopes along after him. Wolf even helps Cave Man bring down the game. Cave Man reaches out with a piece of the meat and Wolf actually takes it. Just the meat, not the hand. This was the first Wolf/dog to decide not to bite the hand that feeds him. Cave Man thinks this is an EXCELLENT arrangement.

After doing this for a while, one day Cave Man and his family wake up to find Wolf stretched out next to them, keeping them nice and warm with his body. And he is SO pretty and SO soft. And hey, the kids really like this Wolf. As time goes by, Wolf leaps around like a puppy, playing with the kids, fetching a stick, helping with the hunt, keeping them safe, warning them of danger with his barks. His howling, however, is a little nerve wracking, and oh, my gosh the shedding! Still, Cave Man could never give up this wonderful companion.

And then the day comes. One morning Cave Man wakes to discover that Wolf has climbed into bed with him and his woman. In fact, Wolf has snuggled BETWEEN Cave Man and his woman. And what do you think they do? They both turn and hug their Wolf, what else?

So, I figured the whole evolution process out by watching Ziggy with the taboo rug. First he would lay a respectable distance from it. Then he'd lay right next to it, barely touching it. Then one paw would be on the rug. Then two paws and his head, with those big brown eyes looking up at me and the articulating eyebrows. Who could get mad at that??? So you smile and think nothing of it. Ah, but cave dog thinks, hey if I can get my paws on this rug, what else can I do? Before you know it, he is curled up on the edge of the rug. And then at your feet. And then ON your feet ON the rug squarely in the middle of the room.

Yup, that's what I call cave dogging.

Emotional roller coaster

We have not heard from the German Shepherd Rescue for two days, not since the home visit on Wednesday evening. Every day until then, someone had called or e-mailed to keep the process going. It was a whirlwind process, getting the application in, having them call our references, our vet, making sure everyone's shots were up to date, the house visit, assurances that we were approved and recommended. Then wham! Brick wall. H says he feels like a "rejected suitor." So I decided to e-mail the intake officer this morning, told her all of the above, and asked her if she knew what was going on. I also mentioned what H said. I got an e-mail back saying that she hadn't been aware that we'd had our house visit and that she would look into it and get back to me later today. I just wish I knew what person I should be contacting at the German Shepherd Rescue. We have talked to so many people, two Sues, a Debbie, a Lea, a Jackie, and one other person whose name I can't recall. Also, Kira's owner. We think Karen must be having the same anxieties as we are. I have friends who are trying to adopt a child from China, and I keep telling myself the anquish must be exponentially worse for them.

In the meantime, I have been working on an entry about what I call "cave dogging." I'm going to finish that and post it.

How Ziggy made me a dog person (Part 2)

I'm off work today, so I have lots of time to blog. I'm trying to be patient about waiting to hear about Kira. Part of me wants to keep e-mailing Karen to let her know we are still here and still want Kira. But the better part of me says not to "stalk" her. It is a decision she will have to make. I know she wants what is best for Kira.

In the meantime, I can continue talking about Ziggy. I have been happily distracted from his loss by the continuing Kira saga. But a day doesn't go by that I don't miss him. I wake every morning, expecting to see him. I have a wonderful view of the back yard from my desk as I write this, and it makes me sad that I will never see him play there again. The weather is warm right now, and if he were here, I'd be outside with him, pulling tufts of downy undercoat from his chest and hips, making happy birds and happy squirrels. He loved being groomed (however, he didn't like having his nails clipped, but he tolerated it).

So, what makes someone "a dog person?" My mother is by all means NOT a dog person. When she and my brother came for a visit at Christmas in 2001, I was so proud of my new dog and excited to introduce him to her. But she didn't want anything to do with Ziggy. Why? I asked, surprised that anyone could resist my beautiful dog. "He has secretions," she said. OK, laugh. I certainly did! "Secretions???" "Yes, secretions," she responded. She liked watching my cat (that was before Daily) interract with us, but she wasn't really interested in cats either. I don't know how my mother, who has no feelings for animals, managed to raise so many "Ellie Maes." My two sisters and I have had many critters. M currently has two cats and a cockatoo, and L once had 13 cats (again, from people dropping their unwanted cats in the country), and she even had a flying squirrel or two. I've had many cats, gerbils, hamsters, mice, fish, some rescued squirrels, and a dog (I hope to have many more dogs).

Mom knows her girls love their animals, but she doesn't want any herself. I have often wondered if my mother was so fastidious about the animals because she was once a nurse. But that doesn't work, because my friend, Lea, was a nurse once, too, and she has had many dogs and loved every one. She is neat and clean, but manages to have her critters, too.

Lea assures me that I am a dog person. She says that a day never went by that I didn't mention Ziggy. She says that I always had a story to tell about him. Until she mentioned it, I never knew that. But thinking back, there have been many wonderful Ziggy stories to share. And I love telling stories. Before I had Ziggy, I always had cats. And my surrogate sister, Tracy, had cats. Before she moved out to LA to try her hand at screenwriting, we used to tell each other amusing cat stories. Sometimes--no, I must say often-- we even repeated stories we had told before. But that never bothered us. One time when we were laughing about our repetition, I suggested that we could assign numers to the stories. That way, I could say "Hey, Tracy, remember #86?" Ha ha ha, we could laugh heartily at #86. That story was how Rocky trained me not to laugh at his klutziness by spraying the file cabinet when I did laugh at him (I learned early on to clap my hand over my own mouth to keep from laughing at him). Then Tracy could say: "And what about #93." And of course I would laugh heartily at #93, which was how her large cat, Baby, grumbled noisily all the way downstairs when he wasn't allowed outside. We had hundreds of such stories. They may not be so funny to YOU, but they were totally hilarious to us.

But this blog is supposed to be about dogs. It's a dog blog. In December, I taught Ziggy to "wipe his feet." We had a lot of wet weather, and the back yard can get quite muddy. So, when we came in the back door, I taught Zig to walk around the mat in a circle three times and sit, and called that "wipe your feet." Hey it was so CUTE and it worked beautifully! What I loved was how proud he was of himself when he did something I asked. I love that wonderful German Shepherd grin when he looked up at me. It was such a sweet moment. Whoever came up with that stupid "you can't teach an old dog new tricks" phrase didn't know a thing about dogs (or at least GSDs). Ziggy was 9 when I taught him that one.

My husband is the "truck god." Ziggy would have loved nothing better than to have gotten up in the morning, gone out to the truck, jumped in the back seat, and stayed there until evening. At the end of the day, you could have gone out and opened the door and asked "So, how was your day, Ziggy?" and he would have said "It was a good day." That is, if he could have talked. Of course, get real, I would never have left him in the truck all day.

He loved that truck and my husband. Every Saturday when H came downstairs in his jeans and weekend clothing, Ziggy lept up eagerly. He knew they were about to go out in the truck to do "guy things." That included filling the truck with diesel, dropping the shirts off at the cleaner, stopping by the wine store, stop at the doggy store and maybe even the dog park, go for a nice walk along the Potomac...whatever else guys do when they go out and do guy things in the truck. Zig always had a very self-satisfied attitude when he came in after one of these great Saturdays. He knew where he fit in. When Monday came around and H came downstairs in his suit, Ziggy was depressed. He hated Mondays.

Ziggy's vocabulary was astounding. Forget the usual "sit," "stay," "heel," "leave it" etcetera. He knew SO much more than the usual stuff. When the "truck god" went outside to do things, and somehow neglected to take his loyal companion with him, Zig would be beside himself because he couldn't see H. He had trouble deciding which door was the best one to try to see the love of his life (who else would I be meaning but H, the truck god). So one day he stood at the front door, trying so hard to see H. I said "go to the back door, Ziggy" not really expecting him to know what I meant. After all, a door is a door, right? Not hardly! He spun around and ran to the back door. That was a little bit startling.

But imagine this: before we cleverly moved the taboo rug into the loft, replacing it with a dog-friendly one, I used to say "get off the rug, Ziggy" and he would move off of it. But if I wanted him to sit on the mat inside the door and said "get on the rug" he got ON that mat. That's almost creepy! How did he know? Dogs are so incredibly smart. They are dumb, too, and do gross things, like eat kitty poop from the litter box (ewe!), and then they get sick from it. And they never make the connection...or maybe the "kitty treats" are just too yummy to them to care that they get sick from them. Ok that's enough of that topic, thank you very much!

Ok, I must quit now. I have other things to do around the house. Timmy warned me that this blogging thing could be quite addictive. He was right! But there are so many stories to tell. Later.

Answer to the "pompatus" question

OK, so EO kindly did the research and enlightened us as to "pompitus" or "pompatus" or whatever that super toker Maurice was talking about. By the way, EO means "elusive offspring," which I started calling my son when he became ... well ... elusive. University life causes elusiveness. It's good to know he keeps up with the goings on at home by reading my dog blog.

And the answer to my burning question was that "pompatus" is just a word made up by Steve Miller. OK, now that just plain makes me sad. It's like Rod Stewart's "Maggie May"...when he says "Wake up, Maggie, I think I got something to say to you...it's late September and I really should be back at school." All these years, I thought he had actually skipped some weeks of school for Maggie May. THAT meant something! But, if you know the UK school system, they don't even START school until the end of September. I learned that a few years ago when EO started his elusive life at university in the UK. Heck! That love-sick Rod Stewart probably wasn't even late for matriculation!

"Maggie May" never meant the same to me after I figured it out. All these years. So sad. So sad.

How Ziggy made me a dog person (Part 1)

Well, maybe Ziggy didn't MAKE me a dog person, but he certainly made me discover that I WAS a dog person.

I'm writing this post because the suspense of waiting to see if Karen will choose us or some other applicant is very stressful, and I like thinking about sweet Ziggy.

OK, so let me start with the fact that my husband grew up with dogs. His parents always had anywhere from two to six dogs at a time, as well as a multitude of cats (usually "barn" cats) and, later on after his dad retired, horses. I always liked the dogs, but never considered myself a "dog person." There was always a GSD in his life, until we married and had no room for one. Or so I thought.

Anyway, some time in 1998 (I think) the last GSD in H's parent's house had to be euthanized, and H's sister went about looking for a breeder for another one for her mom. She hit the jackpot when she found Ziggy. Zigfried von Wolfhausen was born (oh yeah, I'm now a dog person, and a dog person probably says "whelped") in November 1998, and H's father picked him out of the litter. When all the other puppies were not the least bit interested in human interraction, Ziggy was VERY interested in H's dad. And Ziggy was extremely young when H's dad got him for his mom. I think he was only about 6 weeks old and just weaned. Awfully young, in my opinion, but what did I know about puppies and when they should be removed from their mother? Anyway, we saw the family at Christmas and met Ziggy. My son was 11 years old at the time and couldn't stop holding the puppy sweetly in his lap. He didn't play with Ziggy; he just held him. At first H's dad fussed at him for "over-stimulating" the pup, but then he said "Never mind; the attention will socialize him." And that was the start of my son's infatuation with GSDs. Ziggy was well-loved and on his way to becoming an incredible dog. I thought Ziggy was delightful, but did not consider myself a "dog person."

Then, five months later, H's dad fell from a horse and broke his collarbone and two ribs. While he was recovering in the hospital, he had a heart attack and died. It was devastating for everyone in the family, myself included. He was a man who had come to understand people on a special level through understanding his horses and dogs. He could be very gruff, but I had discovered over the years that there was a huge heart in him, and a love for his animals that transcended his "gentleman farmer" attitude.

Ziggy was five months old. H's mom was, in my opinion, thrown into a deep depression that made it impossible to care for all the animals properly. Then she was diagnosed with lung cancer, further compounding the problems. Ziggy was raised by his "aunts" ... a Rottie mix, an Irish Wolfhound mix, a Black Lab mix, a Heinz 57 mix and a Bedroom Slipper (I mean, some sort of fluffy thing with no eyes, but with a grin that revealed tiny, really white teeth). Another beautiful GSD showed up, too. All of the dogs, except Ziggy, were rescues. People often just dump their dogs in the country and the big-hearted people, like my husband's mom, take them in. Thank Heaven for people like H's mom!

Sadly, the day came (in August 2001) that H's mom could no longer live on her own, and the dogs had to be distributed among the family in Houston so that she could move in with H's sister. Somehow, all but Ziggy went to a sibling. One day I was talking to H's sister on the phone and asked what had been decided regarding Zig. "We'll probably put him in a kennel until we figure something out," she said. I don't know where the words came from, but I immediately said "Oh, no, that would ruin that dog; why don't we be his foster parents until you decide what to do with him?" "Are you sure?" she said. (Hmmm, do you think I should have guessed that, maybe, the intent all along was to get us to take Ziggy?) "Of course!" I said, "We'll be his foster parents."

So the hub and the son drove from DC to Houston to pick up our beautiful Ziggy...and also to help move H's mom in with his sister. Three days after they returned home with my very first dog, I called his sister and said: "Don't expect to get Ziggy back. We've decided to keep him, ok?" "Are you sure?" she says (again with the "Are you sure" thing), basically wanting to know if we were up to it. Ha! He was ours from that moment on. Actually, he was "ours" on the first day of his "migration" from Houston with my husband and son.

The interesting thing about this whole experience is that, somehow, I was the one who suggested we take Zig, and I was the one who declared we were keeping him. Do you think they all used some sort of ... psychology ... on me? Something to make me THINK it was all my idea? I wonder...

Still, I did not believe I was a dog person.

More later.

Question

What IS the "pompitus of love"? I mean, that's why he's called "Maurice"...because he speaks of the pompitus of love. Sure, he's a smoker, and a joker, and a midnight toker. But what is a pompitus? Wait. Let me find my dictionary. Hold on...

Well, it's not in the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary. Wait. Let me look ... Nope, it's not in Dictionary.com, either.

Please. Someone tell me! What IS the "pomitus of love"? After all these years, I simply NEED to know.

Good home visit and a long story

We had a good home visit, I think. At least that's what the home inspector lady said. She liked the house setup, the yard, the cats, the fact that we are very familiar with the breed and its traits (the German Shedder, the bark, the aloofness to strangers, the size, the level of activity). She said she was going home to write up a sort of report and recommend that we be given the dog we wanted, Kira.

So, my feelings right now are on an upswing again. I believe she is ours. I mean, for goodness sake, her photo is my computer wallpaper already. It simply has to be. H feels like she is ours already, too. I'm surprised with how quickly he became attached to her.

This is interesting. I have had many pets. But I have obsessed this way only twice, both times after I lost a pet. First there was Rocky (short for Rachmaninoff, not Sylvester Stallone). He was a beautiful, huge, black cat that adopted us in Houston. His teeth were so large that they came out of his mouth like a sabre-tooth tiger's. Even so, he was a big sweety and we really loved him. When we moved to the DC area, we lost him from our apartment. It was devasating. We went to the local animal shelter to see if he had been brought in. I went from cage to cage, and I was sure at every one that I would find Rocky. I mean, really, even when I saw a black and white cat, I was sure it was my all-black Rocky.

At one point, H said, "Hey, look at this cat." There was this gray and white long-haired (Turkish Van or Ragdoll) cat (about six months old, but very large), on its back, reaching out of the cage with his big soft paws and patting H on the arm. H was charmed, but I just glanced at the cat and said, "Yeah, he's cute." Still focused on Rocky, I wasn't really interested. I wanted Rocky. I was very disappointed and we left. We never found Rocky, and it has haunted me to this day. I hope I never lose a pet that way again.

On the way home from the shelter, I started thinking about the gray and white cat and I couldn't get him out of my head. I called the shelter the next day and they said the cat (Toby, they called him) had to stay for three days to see if the owners came and got him. I asked to be put on the list to adopt him. They didn't have a list. I called the next day. No one had claimed him. I called on the third day and they said he would be available in the afternoon if no one claimed him. I could not stop thinking about that beautiful cat, Toby. And I loved his name.

Later, I called them again and they told me he was available for adoption. I was excited and said I'd be there and that it would take us a while to get there, and would they please hold Toby for us. No, they didn't hold animals. It was first come first serve. This was before there were cell phones, so the hour and a half drive from my office to the animal shelter was pure anxiety. When we got there, I was on pins and needles. But they said Toby was still available.

When I went back to see him, there was a young girl with her mom: "See, Mom? This is the one I want," she said, standing next to Toby's cage, and my heart practically lept out of my chest. There was NO way anyone was getting that cat away from me. At the same time, I felt guilty that she might feel the same way about Toby as I did, and still I wouldn't let go. But when the volunteer said "Honey, this cat is taken," the little girl turned away and went to another cat. I realized she was not as obsessed and I was.

And so Toby went home with us, and he was the most wonderful cat. We got him a mail-order bride (Sadie), and we had two teriffic cats for 16 years. Those two cats did everything together. They even went deaf at the same time (could it have been a virus?). And they had to be put to sleep on the same day. When I lost those two cats, I was ok. They were both very ill, with different issues, one with lymphoma, the other with spine issues. Even though I was alone for this one, too, while my husband and son were on a scout trip, I was ok. It was a sweet release, and I still had little Wolfie to keep me company. I missed those wonderful two inseparable cats. But I was ok.

But the obsession I felt with Toby was not there when we got Sadie, or when we got Wolfie, or even when we got Ziggy (there's an interesting story). It wasn't even there when we got Daily (and I absolutely adore Daily, my little familiar). It wasn't until I lost Ziggy in such a sudden and unexpected way that I became obsessed again. There is a parallel.

So, now I am obsessed with this absolutely gorgeous dog, Kira. I feel like she is ours already. We keep talking about what we are going to do with her. We want to take her in the truck to the mountains for a nice hike. I want to take her to Lea's so she can go for a walk with Cherokee, and make friends with another dog. I want my sad, mourning Daily to cuddle with her and make her feel like part of our pack.

OK, so I still haven't told the Ziggy story yet. I told a Rocky and Toby story. But those stories show how I have always been a cat person. I didn't really have a thought then about having a dog. It was always cats for me. And the hub was so patient. Cats were fine with him. He'd had dogs all his life. He used to say we should get a fine GSD, and I always laughed...such a big dog! Why not start small...you know, a miniature poodle. "No Fifi's !!!" says my son. "Absolutely NO Fifi's" and I always laughed. Ok, why not a teacup Yorkie? No, says the son, a German Shepherd.

And I laughed and dropped it. Ah, but little did I know what was in the future. And that is a story for another post.

Home visit

The home visit is going to be in four hours! Should I clean the house? Somehow, I don't think so. I remember how much fur my Ziggy shed in a day.

Is it even possible to be a dog person and have a clean house? Ha!

I have Kira's photo as my wallpaper on my computer. I am visualizing her in my life. I just know it will be.

So, I'll update when I have something to add.

And this is Ziggy, with his constant little companion, Daily. Daily misses Ziggy terribly.

This is Kira.

Karma?

Since writing that last woeful post, I got an e-mail from Karen. She says to let her know when the home visit is scheduled and that she will be making a decision "within the next couple of weeks." Yikes. That long. But then she wrote to say that Kira's name on her AKC certificate was the same as mine, and that Karen's middle name is also the same as mine. That must be a sign! How could it be anything but??? OK, so it may be a while before I write again. Otherwise, it will all be a rollercoaster of emotions slopped down on paper... er... electrons... whatever. I must step back and stop thinking about it.

Waiting and waiting

I just heard that our application has been approved. Of course there is another person interested in Kira and her application has been approved, too. I don't know how they will decide which one of us will get the dog. All I know is that I have (stupidly) allowed myself to get too attached and now, if I don't get her, I will go through that heartbreak all over again. What the hell was I thinking, looking at another dog so soon after Ziggy? So, now I feel like crap. And I want to cry. I just want this thing to be over. Either let me know if we have her or tell me we don't. I am so frickin' depressed (and after feeling so excited yesterday).

Kira Revisited

The hub got home this afternoon and I was SO glad to see him! Suddenly the world was much brighter. I'm sure part of my deep despression was the fact that, not only was Ziggy gone, but he was too. It felt like I had lost them both. But all is well. He is home. After I told him all about Kira he suggested we go out to see her. Tonight. We called Karen and she agreed. It was a long drive out there. But Wow! Kira immediately took to H. She licked him on the face, and walked right next to him. She climbed onto the sofa behind him and snuzzled. What a sweetie. Luckily, I made a better impression on Karen this time. I was much calmer because he was there. Also, I already knew about the barking dogs and the tight quarters, so I was well prepared.

Certainly, Karen loves those dogs. And they love her, too. She really did a good job socializing them. And, clearly, she wants what is best for Kira. I asked her if she was going to be alright letting her go and she got a little teary, but said she would be ok if she knew Kira was going to the best home. I think she likes my husband a lot better than me (not that I blame her, after yesterday's performance!). Kira so readily took to him, and he brightened with her. He was ready to take her home right then and there. They connected. I loved the way she pranced along next to him when we walked her.

OK, so I admit I am very attached to her. I want her to be part of our family, our pack. I hope Karen chooses us among the several people who have expressed interest in Kira. H wants her, too. He keeps thinking he has to get up and walk Ziggy, and he says he understands what I mean when I say there is a hole that only a dog can fill. I think Kira would help us move beyond the loss of Ziggy.

There will never be another Ziggy. There will be other wonderful dogs, but never another Ziggy. I think I am should make a Ziggy memory book.

I must get some sleep, and I hope I will sleep well for the first time in over a week. Not just because we have agreed we want Kira, but more because H is home again. And if we get Kira, it will be even better. For all of us. When H got home this afternoon, every time he walked into the house with his gear, Daily was sitting on the newel post, leaning out, looking for Ziggy. Once again, it was clear. That cat didn't have to talk for us to understand what was going on. It would be good for him, too, if Kira came to us.

Enough. I must sleep. I am exhausted.

Beautiful girl!

I met Kira. My friends Lea and Dorothy went with me...to keep me from getting too excited. I'm an emotional basket case. And of course, we had trouble finding the place (the Mapquest directions were a little confusing, of course) and I was getting a bit hyper with the anticipation, but they made me calm down. Such good friends. Anyway, Kira is a gorgeous three-year-old GSD. I really, really like her, but I have to say the experience was a little distressing. For odd reasons. Mostly because of my state of mind, being without Ziggy and without my husband.

My first concern was that I must not be trying to replace Ziggy. There will never be another Ziggy. My big, strong beautiful Ziggy, with his gentle but protective ways. And I am comfortable with that knowledge now. Kira is a female GSD and a lot less, well, what's the word, "assertive" maybe (?) than Zig. But she is very active. And although her coloring is sable, like Ziggy, she has much longer fur, and she is so unbelievably soft. I was a little distressed about how I would react to a GSD that was not Ziggy. I should not have been. I am very comfortable with this dog. Did I mention that I really, really like her? (I refuse to get any more attached than "really, really like" because I don't know what will happen next).

My second concern was that I wanted to meet her on neutral ground. I wasn't worried about meeting her IN her home, but I wanted to take her on a walk, just me and Kira. Her owner was happy to let me do that, but I felt really bad when I asked if I could do it my way, without the "haltie" and without the big collar business. Just with the leash looped through itself in the Caesar Millan way. I immediately felt so comfortable with this dog that I instinctively knew I could handle her that way. But her owner, Karen, seemed a little dubious. Still, she let me go, which was nice, because it was her right to be concerned. She didn't know me from Adam (Eve?). How could she know that I was comfortable with the dog and that nothing terrible would happen? For that matter, honestly, how could I know? But she did let me go. And Kira was a dream! She walked right next to me. She did not pull. It was a sweet, but short walk, because I didn't want to worry Karen about her dog. Still, I knew during the walk that Kira would be a good dog. Just that little walk! Caesar really knows what he is talking about when he says you need to WALK with the dog. You really do learn SO much about a dog that way. And I know you build trust...of course the walk was too short, and it really should have been done, in my mind anyway, out of Karen's neighborhood, someplace new. When we got back to Karen's townhouse, Kira tried to get ahead of me, and I wasn't having any of that. I was very gentle (in the Caesar Millan way, I hope) but was adamant that she would go inside on my invitation. Karen kept trying to tell me that Kira was used to being on her right hand side and used to going into the house first. In my eagerness to try to be a "pack leader," I said I hoped it was ok if I did it differently just this once so I could see how she reacted to my leadership. Karen was ok, but again, dubious--seriously, she was very sweet about it all. Kira, on the other hand, figured it all out so quickly. Dogs are so smart! Even though my energy became nervous because of her owner's discomfort, she still did what I asked. Then I went in and Kira sat there on the stoop until I invited her in and we all trailed into the living room to get to know each other better. I told Karen I felt I had upset her. Karen said no, that was ok because she'd have to get used to this sooner or later, but that I was just so "stern." Stern was her word. I was surprised by that... I didn't think I was stern at all. I just had expectations and didn't let Kira push me or run the agenda. But I think my anxiousness made me a bit too pushy. I really liked that Kira settled into step with me, but I think I could have done better. She is so smart. I don't think Kira thought I was stern. It bothers me that Karen thought so.

In retrospect, I wish I had been less anxious, more attentative to Karen. This must be VERY hard on her. On the other hand, I think Kira just took everything in stride. She was a little timid, but also curious. But the most wonderful thing! She's easy to interract with. I played with her ears. I held her muzzle. I picked up her feet one by one . I held onto her tail. I pushed her butt down into a sitting position and she was gently tolerant. And then she let me hug her! I love dogs that like to be hugged! Boy, did I tear up remembering how Ziggy loved hugs. And here was this lovely girl, letting me, a stranger, hug her.

My third concern, and the most distressing for me, was the environment. It had a tremendous impact on me. The townhouse was VERY small and very cluttered. Cluttered with dog paraphenalia...not junk...indicating Karen's absolute devotion to the dogs. There was a huge set of shelves running down the hallway, making it impossible for more than one person at a time to traverse from the front to the back, and dogs push past very quickly, almost knocking you over. Karen has three large dogs: two brothers and Kira. They constantly bark and feed off one another's high energy, but Kira is actually the instigator. I believe she would do so much better away from the other dogs, because ... well, I'm not trying to be mean about it, but there was absolutely no leadership in that household. I don't think Karen could fathom that because she is like one of the dogs...she is SO attuned to them, one of the pack, but not a leader. It seems to me that she regarded the dogs almost like naughty little kids, and taking a strong leadership position would be tantamount to not being their friend. She is extremely close to the dogs.

There is absolutly no question in my mind that she loves them. But as I watched Kira pace all around the house, from front door to back and around again, then setting up barking matches with the other two dogs and all the resulting mayhem, I had this sudden insight: Kira is desperate for exercise and space. I mean the kind of exercise that takes her outside for long walks, and a real back yard, not a tiny postage stamp courtyard paved with stone, where she had to squat and pee on the stone. She needs GRASS. Ziggy had such good bathroom habits. Kira needs the opportunity to develop such good manners. She needs to play the wonderful stick game. She has lots of squeak toys, but she also needs a big boda bone to help her keep her nice teeth clean. She needs to sit on my big wrap-around porch with me in the beautiful weather while I open the mail and drink a glass of wine. And then I could brush her the way I did Ziggy and make happy birds and happy squirrels (the fur makes such great nest lining). She needs to put on some weight...maybe 15 pounds or so? You can feel her spine, maybe from all the pacing. Karen feeds her a special diet recommended by the vet to help put on weight. We would continue that and do what was necessary to beef her up a little. And neighbors could walk by and tell her how beautiful she is. My friend, Lea, says I am already in "rescue mode." Ready to take Kira and give her a "forever home." But I think I am rescuing ME. I am the one who needs Kira. Maybe I am being unrealistic, but I honestly believe Kira and I would both blossom. I just have this gut feeling. She would be a challenge, but a good one.

So, about an hour ago, I called my husband and told him about her. I want him to meet her this week, if possible. He comes home tomorrow evening. I believe he will like her, too. You know, really, really like her. He seemed very interested in her. And very willing to bring her into the house. But he said we should probably do so with one condition...that she get along with the cats. Somehow, watching her, I did not feel like the prey instinct was strong in her. She's one of those "good shepherds." Although she's an "instigator" she also comes across as a nurturer. She was so sweet when she found a scratch on my wrist...she licked it for me! I have this feeling that, after an initial period of getting to know them (and after Daily does his train-the-new-guy session), she would do fine with the cats. She might end up with a few scratches on her nose in the beginning, like Ziggy did, but I think she would figure it out. And wouldn't it be nice if Daily had a sleeping buddy again?

Is it possible? Would Karen even consider us? She had another couple come out earlier today and she liked them, too. I think they really, really liked Kira as well. Maybe she will think I am just "too stern" for Kira...or not sympathetic to her, Karen.

SO, here's how it goes: I really, really like Kira. I hope the hubs really, really likes Kira. I'd love to see if she could deal with the cats. And I'd love to have her. OK, so having said that, I am comfortable with the knowledge that she will end up in a good home whether it is with us or with the other couple or even someone else. I think she will do very well away from the other dogs. I believe that Karen has come to that conclusion, too, and that it is very difficult for her. But I know that I need to calm down. Right now I'm more like my pushy Ziggy, rather than the calm assertive leader that I want to be.

Because I lost my Ziggy (and still get teary eyed), I cannot let myself get so emotionally attached to Kira that I could feel the grief of losing her, too, before I got her. So, I am determined not to become obsessed with her. If it works out, great. If we don't get her, I know there will be another dog. It will happen. The process of looking is rather exciting. Kira has the potential to be an incredibly great dog. She needs us. Doesn't she? It would be fantastic to go from the "really, really like" stage to the "absolutely love and must have" stage.

OK, so when I get a chance to write again, I want to talk about Ziggy and what a great dog he was. Of course I will update the Kira saga, too. It's all so exciting. This process does seem to help ease the pain and fill the part of me that needs to focus on a dog. Ziggy was happy when everyone else was happy, my smiley dog. It makes me happy to contemplate having another GSD in the house. But I really need to get out of this desperate mode, some of which comes from grief. It makes me into a fiend, and I know I'm really not one.

Painful losses and new beginnings

This is the very first blog I have ever had and it is a heady experience. My computer-saavy sister has one. My son has one. My niece has one. Now I have one. Yippee! But yikes, too. You open yourself up and it's a bit scarey.

But that's what I'm about to do. Open myself up, starting with a painful loss. One week ago, my beloved German Shepherd Dog got sick. I thought that, despite our best efforts to keep things safe, he had gotten into the kitty litter (dogs can be so gross). It's that new clumping clay, and we thought perhaps it was clumping in his gut. When he did not get better in a day, I took him to the vet and asked the doctor to give him something to make him better...a sort of doggy laxative. The vet did a physical examination and said he felt something, but he wasn't sure what it was. He took Xrays and came back with bad news. Our beautiful dog had what the vet said was an aggressive "hemangiosarcoma of the spleen." The growth appeared to be bigger than a grapefruit on the Xray. I could hardly hear what he was telling me. All I knew was that one day Ziggy was outside running with me and playing the stick game, so athletic and beautiful and loving. Then, suddenly, he was too sick to do anything, and unlikely to get better. Our biggest concern was that the growth could rupture at any time and kill him. I left him at the vet to be rehydrated and medicated while we figured out what to do. I did two and a half hours of research on line and realized just how severe the disease is. The prognosis was not good, even with surgery and chemo and any heroic measures you could think of. My gorgeous Ziggy was already almost 10 years old (albeit young at heart), and he would have spent several months recovering from surgery (I have no doubt that he would recover from surgery, despite the "geriatric" nomenclature) and then the cancer would more likely than not return within six months or so. I read so many stories of people who had done everything they could imagine, but there is no cure, just the possibility of a little more time. The outlook was so grim that my husband and I made the decision to let go of our sweet dog. It would not be fair to put him through any more. Sunday morning, I spent 45 minutes with him, giving him a full body massage (his favorite), and a head massage, and kisses and hugs (fighting tears all the while), and then told the vet we needed to do this before my heart broke in two. And it did break. My friend, Tracy, told me the best time to let him go was while he was still feeling good. But to me, I felt like I was betraying him. My head, my intellect, said it was the right thing to do, my heart said I was throwing him away. I had to do this alone because my husband was away for the week at training, returning this coming Monday. I was ok by myself, actually, as I didn't need any witnesses to my grief, and I didn't want to worry about how others were feeling about it all. But I did seem to come unglued when the vet said "he's gone." Wow! I hope I don't have to go through THAT again any time too soon.

Then, I came home to a quiet house. No big smiling face to greet me. No big bat-wing ears. No wag, wag, wag and happy bark. I miss him so much, and I am reminded each day of this wonderful missing soul. The cats are bereft. Daily Mews misses his constant companion. This morning he heard Wolfie in another room and ran in on his toes, expecting to see Ziggy. When he did not, his body visibly shrunk in disappointment. He looked at the back door, hoping, then came to me and meowed. He did not have to speak English for me to understand what had just happened. It was clear.

I think I have come to the conclusion that I need another German Shepherd Dog in my life. My sister went through a similar experience with her Persian cat. The cat was fine one day, then gravely ill the next, and gone the next. She needed to fill that hole and went on line to find another little cat. It's terribly lonely to lose a little buddy. I did the same thing. Mostly, I was trying to learn more about the disease that took Ziggy, but I stumbled upon the German Shepherd rescue website and started looking at the dogs' photos and reading about them. And one of them spoke to me. A female named Kira, who seems to come from the same bloodlines as Ziggy. She is an athletic looking sable colored GSD with the same physique as Zig, only a little smaller. I haven't been able to get her out of my mind. So I sent my husband a text message (he's out of town, training, until Monday), asking: "Would you be opposed to a female shepherd as our next dog? Just asking." He called me and said "No, not at all; why? What did you find?" He knows me too well! He agrees with me. We need another GSD. And even though I know I will have to say goodbye again someday, I really think I have a lot of love to give another dog.

I have started the process. I talked to Kira's "mom" this afternoon and learned more about her. She sounds like a really good match for us. So I'm going to meet her tomorrow afternoon and see what happens. I have told myself not to get too excited about her, that it may not work out. We'll see. I'll write tomorrow night, describing the meeting.