September 2023 – From Four Sticks Farm

Back to School
On the first Tuesday of the month, new blue backpack loaded with the required supplies – water bowl, lint rollers, slobber towels, canine breath freshener and a bag of Newman’s Own Peanut Butter Dog Biscuits, the Happy Hooligan hopped into the silver SUV that serves as his school bus and headed off on a new adventure.

I work at a school in an adolescent residential care & treatment facility and am delighted to have a new officemate this year. Two weeks of perfect attendance in the books and Rowdy’s earned passing grades for his work as Start of the Morning Greeter and Study Hall Monitor, providing a cheerful calming presence that helps students navigate some of the rough spots.

After happy hellos for all his friends, he relaxes in my office until Periods 3 and 5, when he wanders around the library during Study Hall, accepting ear scratches, belly rubs, back massages, and whispered words of affection in return for tail wags and pooch smooches, with a new-found fancy for the flavor of hands steeped in Fruit Loops with a smattering of #2 pencil. He seems to sense when someone needs a little extra canine composure and settles in while they settle down.

A few of the students consistently engage in a ceaseless stream of adolescent chatter, to which Rowdy remains oblivious. He hangs with them for a while, then heads off to sit by someone else. Nothing personal, no judgement, just doing his job. From his example I am learning to take things in stride, stay neutral, and tolerate the constant, low-volume clamor that translates to white noise in teenage brains. In some cases, it seems the mumbled recitation of rap song lyrics actually motivates completion of a couple math worksheets. It’s no Barry Manilow, but the times they have a-changed.

After our short drive home, my golden guru generally clocks back in for a bit, to school the rambunctious rogue that is his roommate. Ruffian, the golden-hearted galoot, embodiment of enthusiastic charm covered in a creamy white coat, spooks at random, real-life objects, so in tandem with encouraging words from me, Rowdy works him past the trepidation. To date we’ve conquered a doorstop, the tv remote, and a water bucket disguised as a plastic ice cream pail, but the Swiffer® sweeper remains securely posted on the Silent but Scary list.

Neither has made peace with the vacuum cleaner, fundamentally frightening to all my goldens, so on that front they’ve bonded as allies in apprehension.

Ruff retains the title of Class Clown, with recess as his favorite subject but Rowdy endures the juvenile hijinks with remarkable patience. He’ll occasionally take Ruffian to task with a series of snarly barks, to which Ruff responds with an ebullient play-bow, followed by a series of leaps, spins and airs above the ground that would make a dressage horse proud and leave me with supple-spine envy.

Their relationship has passed the point of potential bloodshed or broken bones, so I’ve resigned my position as everlasting referee and learned to let them negotiate their own conflict resolutions unless lamps or limbs are threatened.

Elsewhere on the education front, about the time this post is published, Ruffian and I will be lining up, the behemoth in the back row of the class picture, as we begin our foray into formal training. Though older than the customary Obedience 1 enrollee, we’re starting with the basics to build a solid base and since he’s a quick study, I expect Ruff will sail through and soon be sitting, staying, and heeling on an acceptably loose leash.

Bonus points if he masters enough manners to dismiss from his playful puppy mind the delusions that climbing onto guests’ laps or ever-so-gently holding a human forearm in his mouth are included in the Solid Citizen Canine curriculum.

So, we’re back to, or better yet, still in school. Tolerating and teaching, leaping and learning, growling and growing, finding our way beyond the ABCs to peaceful co-existence.

With a little luck and plenty of perseverance, maybe even floor-cleaning tool toleration.

Among the constants on my Facebook feed are the postings of the “Lost Dogs MN” page, which feature notices of dogs lost or found around the state. Mostly I glance and scroll, but occasionally I drop down the rabbit hole, lured by a sad-eyed pup or a comment that makes me hope to read a “Reunited” announcement.

In early August I stopped on a post, studied the face of a bald-faced cream-colored golden retriever, and told George this dog may be the next new animal at Four Sticks Farm – strictly a courtesy comment because in matters like this George is nearly always out-voted 1 to 1.

Not that I was in the market for an additional dog. In fact, at the end of July, a mere one week prior, I’d been marveling at the ease and fun of life with Rowdy – how readily he responds to a remarkable number of words, spoken in a civilized, conversational tone, how he can be trusted in the house when home alone, how I can take him out in the yard without worry that he’ll run off, except for the occasional doe sighting, but he’s no match for deer and never gets to the pasture fence before the white tails have high-tailed into the cattails, at which point he executes an abrupt and immediate about-face and returns to me, out of breath but full of joy.

But sometimes, the universe, algorithms and the power of pet rescue groups exert a force the magnets of our hearts cannot repel. I lasted 2 days before contacting the animal control officer regarding the homeless hound, waited out the 5-day stray period (extended in his case to allow for extensive veterinary treatment) started the adoption process on Day 9, and brought him home when his vet care was completed, 18 days after seeing the fateful Facebook feed.

Ruffian (Ruff, Ruffles, Ruffino, Ruffinstuff, Ruffington, Ruffleupagus, or McRuff) met Rowdy, moved in, and made himself part of the pack. He’s sweet, sociable, charming, and compliant. A quick learner and a lover of ice cubes, he responded to his new name within 24 hours and recognized the sound of the freezer drawer sliding open within 48.

He takes his medicine, sits for treats, waits for his food, and chills in his crate. He did walk into a pane of glass next to the open front door, but I’m giving him a one-time pass on that one as the windows had just been professionally cleaned.

For an animal apparently abandoned in an uninhabited area of a wildlife refuge, he is admirably friendly and trusting – when spooked, which has been only by the sudden appearance of a couple scary objects (including the Swiffer sweeper, which even Rowdy still eyes with some suspicion) he’s quickly and willingly worked his way to acceptance with a few encouraging words.

Ruff’s outside time is spent on the deck and in the dog yard, where he finds twigs, wood chips and an assortment of herbs in the cedar planter, for taste testing, which may be a remnant of foraging at the refuge since he shows no inclination for chewing anything but his food, his toys, and small chunks of frozen water while in the house.

The hair on his many shaved areas (treatment for skin infections) is growing back, the muscle on his midsection is filling in, and the kennel cough is calming down. We will eventually start training classes and trail hikes, but for the next couple weeks, we’ll focus on recovery and relationships.

Rowdy is working to concede his only-dog status, handling the new guy with grace. His minimal growling is kept to an appropriate and generally acceptable level. Mostly, the quiet grumbles rumble when Ruff tries to worm his way between Rowdy and me, or between Rowdy and his beloved Big Guy, but Ruff’s response is always one of affable acquiescence. No offense taken, he offers a play bow, grins with his big pink tongue lolling out to one side and moves on.

Biskit and Chicago remain objects of fascination observed from the distance of the deck, and the cats have made themselves scarce around the house, conducting their surveillance under cover of the daylilies by the barn. Mace is too old to care about another galoot of a golden retriever, but I suspect Fennel will stow himself safely in the soffits when Ruff earns his all-access pass around the property.

So ready or not, we’re doing the dog adoption thing. And we’re ready. All of us.

Except the timid tabby at the top of the hayloft ladder.

Month: September 2023

Back to School

Ready for Ruffian