Still Here

Much has happened since my last post, which I offer not as an excuse, but as an explanation.

A rare week away from Four Sticks Farm involved a whole lotta get-away getting-ready and a little bit of coming-home catching-up.

The start of a new job took up part-time hours and full-time headspace.

Then came two vet visits, three days of dog-sitting, four favorite fundraisers, five high school hockey games, six college wrestling meets, seven volunteer events, eight canine classes, nine sister socials, ten PetsMart training trips, eleven friend or family dinners, and twelve days of Christmas. Or something like that.

No partridge, pear tree, or turtle doves (unless you count Mace, the barn cat, who gets very lonely in the winter, and therefore, uncharacteristically cuddly.)

No French hens or calling birds, except Biskit and Chicago if they see me outside anytime after 3:00 pm, as they are convinced that they will, indeed, waste away unless Someone puts out still more hay to stoke their internal stoves.

Pot bellies in many ways.

But enough with the Christmas carols. The holidays are over, winter solidly entrenched, with its cold temps and early nights offering the perfect excuse to stay inside and write. So, I will return to more regular posts, and may even fill in the gap with some of the unfinished updates of yesteryear. If I ever finish them.

In the meantime, know that all is well here at Four Sticks Farm.

Boone the Greyhound Boone enjoys his senior life, sleeping on any dog bed that Mocha with allow. He’s a little wobbly in the rear, but loves his walks and functions best when we keep him on the daily program. During an earlier ~~cold~~ frigid snap, we all stayed in for a few days, which left him a little unsteady and not too inclined to eat, but one trip to the wooded, canine snuffling smorgasbord called Bertram Park put him back on both his feet and his feed.

Boone has conceded to wearing his fleece jacket when we walk in temperatures under 25, but continues to refuse any offer of help hopping in the truck. His face has greyed, his eyes have clouded and his back end has weakened, but his determination has not.

Rowdy with a Snowy Face Rowdy is still rowdy in all the right ways. We enrolled in another Therapy Dog class, and managed to pass our TDI (Therapy Dogs International) test. We still have plenty of work to do, but with the stress of the test behind us, we can focus on the fun of working together. And a solid Sit/Stay.

Though the test anxiety has faded in the rear-view mirror, straight up the road looms the next summer library program. Since some of our young readers are already on record as solidly in the “Books with Boone” camp, “Reading with Rowdy” is going to have to bring it, and the pressure is definitely on.

So, with the new year comes anticipation for new adventures, appreciation for old dogs, and gratitude for people to share them with. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my blog. Check back now and then to see what’s goin’ on at Four Sticks Farm with rowdy Rowdy; Boone the brindle greyhound; Chicago, the Big Red Beast; his portly palomino pasture mate Biskit; Crabby Barn Cat Mace and Mocha, the Kwik Trip Kitten.

Here’s hoping that 2018 brings peace, health and happiness for all.

And for a certain happy golden hooligan, a solid sit/stay.

Books with Boone – End of the Chapter

Greyhound with book

Eight years ago, when only part of the partnership had grey hair, Boone joined me on the floors of local libraries in an effort to help children learn to read. His job description included only one requirement, which conveniently happened to be one of his strengths: lying quietly on a blanket. Young readers and readers-to-be sat next to him and shared their books with a four-legged friend, practicing their craft in the presence of polite and patient tutor.

Boone’s career as a reading assistant involved a bit of travel and though he loves the idea of travel, he’s not so fond of the reality. Car rides cause stress for him, but the appearance of the yellow tote bag or green fleece blanket created a Velcro dog who wouldn’t leave my side until he jumped into the truck. He recently started reacting similarly to the laminator and paper-cutter I use to make bookmarks for our readers so I found myself sneaking upstairs to prepare for our programs while he was deep in sleep .

Eight years is an impressive run for a dog who came into our home knowing nothing about the simple pleasures of family life – things like screen doors or staircases. He adapted quickly (except for the Christmas tree, an apparently irresistible Call of the Wild) learned a few obedience basics, but because he was not, is not and will not ever be, motivated by treats, toys, or high-pitched happy voices, that’s it. Just the basics. No fancy stuff, no tricks, stupid or otherwise.

Yet Boone, by simply being Boone, developed a loyal following for his regular visits to the Delano Library and his summer programs at the Maple Lake Library.

He’s spent hours on his fleecy blanket listening to children, encouraging them with his gentle giant presence and the occasional pooch smooch.

Some kept their distance, others couldn’t get close enough, and many found comfort and confidence with just a touch of the hand.

He loved his library friends, and they loved Boone.

Sadly, the strength of his spirit can no longer out-muscle the weakness of his joints, and because his hips can’t keep up with his heart, Boone listened to his last young reader this week. And while he enjoyed all the love that came with his library days, he seems happy to hang out at home, napping in any one of his favorite nooks, possibly dreaming of Biscuit, Dewey, Ike LaRue, Little Bear, Mudge, Rocket, Sam I Am, or The Cat in the Hat.

Dog resting

As Boone retires to a much-deserved life of leisure, his buddy Rowdy is training to pick up the program next year. One Boone loyalist already expressed a preference for “Books with Boone” over “Reading with Rowdy”, so my little golden retriever has his work cut out for him.

In so many ways…

That was Then, This is Now

Rowdy’s recent return to hosta-diving made me remember his enthusiasm for the sport last summer – when he was much smaller, and neither chasing a chipmunk nor pouncing on a squeaker ball. Then it was adorable.

Puppy in hosta

Now, maybe not so much.

Dog in hosta

In celebration of the first year of Livin’ the Life of Rowdy, the puppy I wasn’t sure I wanted, but am so grateful that I got, a little look at Then and Now:

First day

Patriotic Pup

Wishing all a safe, happy holiday, and sending gratitude to those in our armed forces.

God Bless America.

Dog and American Flag

Practice, Practice, Practice

What a difference a week makes. Inspired by the trifecta of last week’s humbling Don’t Be This Dog and Handler classroom demonstration, a friend’s gentle reminder to think with a Beginner’s Mind, and a little self-discipline, Rowdy and I practiced our Therapy Dog manners this week. Every day. In many ways.

We practiced loose-leash heeling, successfully completing a series of variable-speed hundred yard walks with the requisite loop in our leash, as long as no squirrels crossed our path.

We practiced waiting at the door: the back door, the front door, the truck door, the deck door, the barn door. Going out and coming in, he waited. Click and Treat.

We practiced greeting friendly strangers, inching our way to some semblance of self-control. Unless the friendly stranger is our favorite vet and she sits on the exam room floor. Or unless the friendly stranger’s waiting room is full of friendly staff and friendly strangers holding friendly cats and dogs. I’ve yet to find any edible more enticing than the opportunity for social engagement.

We practiced walking in the park, managing to Stay Calm and (Mostly) Heel On despite the distraction of baby strollers, hikers with walking sticks, ladies with water bottles, and sporadic pops from the nearby trap-shooting club. The couple with the exuberant yellow lab and the man doing tai chi dropped our grade a notch, but still, a successful session.

Though Rowdy and I are truly a work in progress, we are winding our way to the happy medium between playful pup and courteous canine, enjoying the process while appreciating the progress. We’re finding fun in our practice and learning lots about patience, poise and perseverance. And the joy of friendly strangers.

Golden Retriever

rowdy Rowdy

Gatsby, Norby, Zenga, Boone – all dogs I have loved and successfully trained to be registered Therapy animals. Rowdy will be number 5, and the one I expect(ed) will be the best, which, for those who knew The Great One, is sayin’ something.

But here we are, 2 weeks into our Therapy Dog training program, with a solid hold on Bottom of the Class. Not that Rowdy’s a bad dog of course, he’s simply being Rowdy. In every way.

This is a positive-reinforcement-only program, using clickers and treats, a method with which we had great success in our early days together, as you can read about here if interested.

But before I get to the treat part, which (Spoiler Alert!) ended a bit badly, some background: our homework after the first class included instructions to compile a list of our dog’s attributes, framed in a positive context, which theoretically compels us to frame our training approach with a similarly positive perspective.

So while some may call him distracted, nosy and unruly, I think of Rowdy as aware of his surroundings, interested in the world around him, and eager to engage with others. Click and treat.

Week 2 played heavily into that Distraction piece, but Rowdy bypassed Aware and moved directly into Red-Alert, just this side of panic, when he saw a boy in a wheelchair, and a baby in her Mom’s arms. The big group meeting on the other side of the curtain in our training room, heard but never seen, added a little more angst.

But we persevered, clicking and treating for the slightest indication of focus on the tasks at hand, which happened to include a lot of “Wait” practice – waiting at the doorway for my a-ok to pass through; waiting quietly while I greeted a “friendly stranger” played by our instructor; and waiting for permission to visit a “potential client” played by another student.

We’ve done enough doorway-waiting at home for that to be standard procedure. But denial of the chance to meet a new friend is killer for my gregarious golden, and the only reason Rowdy didn’t jump full force into my classmate’s lap is because I violated the No Restraining order and pulled him away. It will be our biggest challenge in this process, no matter how high the treat ante.

Even Week 1’s incessantly barking goldendoodle demonstrated restraint this week, so Rowdy and I donned our proverbial dunce caps as we got in the truck. We rode home in silent reflection of the evening’s events, contemplating our motive for participation in this class, and the mindset and methods necessary for success.

At least that’s what I did. Rowdy was apparently working on the method of digesting all those many tiny bits of kibble, chicken and rabbit treats that he’d earned for limiting his liveliness. Twenty-four hours later I picked up the last canine cow pie, grateful that all but one made it to the dog yard, and that all systems had now returned to regular go.

Of course the single miss wasn’t on the easy-clean wood floors that cover the entire main level, but instead landed on the 8-foot runner in the front entry. And of course that rug is laundromat-large-capacity-machine-washable-only.

Fortunately, Nature’s Miracle Pet Stain & Odor Destroyer and my Little Green Machine cleaned it up pretty well. Equally fortunate, it’s a dimly lit room.

So, we carry on. We think positive. We practice. We mince hi-value treats into micro bits.

And I stock up on carpet cleaner.

Dog with tennis ball

Please Don’t Eat the Zinnias

I love zinnias. I love their size and their shape and their colors and the fact that they remind me of my Grandma’s backyard, where I enjoyed many summer days in my childhood.

Boone likes zinnias too. Maybe he likes their size and their shape and their colors, but mostly he likes their flavor. For 2 years in a row now he has grazed on my patio pots, and given that my green thumb shades toward olive drab, this is disheartening.

Even more discouraging is that my big gentle greyhound has apparently shared his fondness for flower-grazing with his energetic golden companion, who has apparently accepted the old dog’s advice on herbal supplementation.

Also apparently, Rowdy was absent on the “Subtlety & Discretion in Garden Grazing” day. In keeping with the Greyhound Way, Boone nibbles politely and delicately, tearing little bits of leaf and snapping off the occasional flower head.

But Rowdy, with great golden gusto, picks out the good stuff…

Planters without plants

pushes over the planter…

Spilled planter

… and pees on the potting soil.

Dog peeing on planter

Maybe I’ll switch to garden art.

Real Life

The Plan

Leisurely morning with hot coffee and the Sunday Sudoku, spring cleaning the mud ponies, a ride on the Big Red Beast, a groundwork session with the Portly Palomino, a long walk with rowdy Rowdy, a couple pots of flowers to plant, a peaceful evening on the deck with a stack of equine magazines and a gin and tonic.

Nowhere to go, nothing urgent to do, beautiful weather, perfect day.

The Reality

The pasture is ready for grazing, except that we haven’t replaced the paddock-dividing ropes that we remove for the winter. And the 2 paddocks that won’t be grazed this week need to be mowed. And George is leaving tomorrow for a week and I need his help with the dividers. So, drink most of a cup of coffee, leave the Sudoku for the later, head out to mow the pasture.

Except that the mower is not on the tractor, so while George is making the seasonal implement changes, which involves a fair amount of sighing and slamming and swearing, I decide to use the time productively and start hauling chairs from the barn to the deck, which reminds of how much stronger I used to be, and how much more yoga I should do, and how much I look forward to a gin and tonic on the deck.

John Deere good to go, I hop on and enjoy the opportunity to ride (even if it’s not the horsepower on which I planned) get some sun, and watch my muddy horses, who realize this activity means the end is near for their 2 month meadow moratorium. They monitor the action closely, especially when George brings out the spools of Electrobraid that separate the big field into 3 paddocks for rotational grazing. Nickering and pacing commence.

It occurs to me that we’re out of dog food and stall shavings, and Country Store closes at 2:00 on Sunday. George can install the dividers without my assistance. More accurately, George would prefer to install the dividers without my assistance, so I head into town for dog food and shavings. And a bag of potting soil. Rowdy rides along – a peace offering for the long walk he’s not going to get.

Once home, I back the truck into the barn, open up the pasture for Biskit and Chicago who stop, drop (their heads) and graze before getting 5 steps in. Since the first spring grazing sessions are short to prevent over-indulgence and it’s serious side effects, I can unload the 20 bags of shavings and complete a couple barn chores in perfect Pony Pasture Time.

DogAndHorsesInPasture

30 minutes later, Rowdy follows me out to bring in the horses, his first full, free access to them. I’m cautious, since he is, after all, a golden retriever, full of joie de vivre, confident that all he meets are friends (except for those menacing trash containers lurking at the end of every driveway on our Tuesday walks, but that’s a different post) but all goes well. The horses have apparently seen enough of him to cross him off the Very Scary list, and are more interested in grabbing one last mouthful of fresh greens than responding to the antics of a herding dog wannabe.

While I’m securing the gate to keep the horses where they need to be (vs. where they want to be) Rowdy runs up with a big golden grin, reminding me of the reason I don’t let the dogs have pasture access. It’s all fun and games until somebody rolls in something dead.

DogInTub

As I finish Rowdy’s de-stinking spa session I realize Boone is due for his semi-annual bath and blowout, and since the tack room and I are already wet and full of dog fluff, we might as well make it a Two Dog Day in the grooming room.

Boone’s weakened back-end, combined with his general apprehension of things related to, well almost anything, means that giving him a bath involves my left arm crooked under his belly to support 74 pounds of sagging greyhound while my right hand shampoos, rinses and repeats.

So. Happy horses, clean canines, just a few flowers to plant and it’s G & T time. Well, actually, then it’s time to bring the horses in the barn for their Snack and Snooze. And as I walk out of the barn , I notice the horse trailer parked outside and remember that I’ve not yet checked the electrical connection for the lights. Which I should do before I need to use the trailer. And the truck’s right here…

And now it’s supper time for the inside animals. And I really need a shower. And the sun is setting. And we’re out of tonic.

But there is still the Sudoku. And white wine.

Friends Around the Farm

Though taken in the early days, this picture captures the essence of Boone and Rowdy’s relationship of mostly mutual tolerance. Mostly Boone’s tolerance that is.

DogsCleaningTheirTeeth

This is about as close as Rowdy and Mace have been, which is just as well since Rowdy believes all the world’s a friend, just waiting to be pounced upon, and Mace is armed with a full set of sharp implements, and not afraid to use them.

BarnCatCaution

Chicago’s only interest is that Rowdy may get to that grass that’s always greener.

DogAndHorseAtFence

No matter how much Rowdy begs, Biskit refuses to play the squeaky toy chase game.

DogAndPony

The Bickersons – Mocha and Rowdy frequently enjoy a good sparring match.

CatAndDogSparring

… with the winner claiming dibs on the dog food dinner.

DogAndCat

(Mostly) Minding Our Manners

Good news on the obedience school front: we’re showing signs of minding our manners. In Rowdy’s case, this means incidents of barking, chortling and lunging at classmates in motion have been minimized, so that others in the class no longer draw straws, cut cards or throw rock/paper/scissors to avoid standing next to us in line for Recall practice.

In my case, it means awareness, admission, and acceptance of the fact that Rowdy resembles his owner in his fascination with the antics of our associates, which occasionally (maybe even frequently) leads to distraction.

I have always loved to watch other dog/handler teams in our training classes, and this group includes such a fun variety of breeds that it’s a challenge for me to not get caught up in the mastiff’s casual amble to the exit gate as his owner calls him with great enthusiasm, contrasted by the seriously straight shot across the ring by the German shepherd. And the star pupil border collie, so focused and obedient that he not only moves immediately and directly toward his owner, but stops, drops and stays, when commanded to do so halfway across the mat.

After a conversation with a kind and experienced classmate, I vowed to concentrate on Rowdy, and what a difference proactivity makes! When I devote my attention to my own dog, and convince him to return the favor, we do pretty well. Raucous Rowdy shows signs of restraint. My party pup is growing up, and self-control is within our grasp.

Unless an instructor walks by with a squeaky toy – a bit of canine kryptonite to my little golden friend – but still, it’s progress in puppy steps.

All this behavin’ takes its toll though, and when we get home Rowdy gathers some of his favorite things and rests a bit. I’d like to think he’s processing our practice session, cementing his correct responses in his puppy brain for future reference, but suspect he’s more likely planning his squeaky toy acquisition strategy.

RowdySleepingWithHisBlanket