Sorry I fell behind on my weekly post. Things have been a little busy. To make up for the delay I am sharing two lessons. Hope you enjoy!
Something From A Crime Scene
A picture is deceiving. You can ask anyone who is house hunting online, they’ll agree. Not only is a picture deceiving, but it doesn’t tell you the whole story. There are websites and memes dedicated to photos that make you ask yourself “what the…?”.
If you did not harm anyone, did not verbally abuse or assault anyone, if you weren’t demeaning anyone’s beliefs, if you, and you alone were involved, then the reaction is on the person having it. Their reaction is their problem. It is not yours to take on. Someone, somewhere, will find a reason to be offended, even from the most well meaning situations.
In our home, we are HUGE Halloween fans. We like to call it our Christmas. The decorations and costumes can’t come soon enough, and the treats and snack often resemble something from a crime scene. We love all things creepy, gruesome, grotesque, and spooky. It’s the one time of year you can be nearly whatever you want, and it doesn’t warrant judgement.
Our costumes are generally homemade, and on the undead, chilling, WTF, side. We like to save the cutesy costumes for toddlers. That said, we don’t have any toddlers living in our house, so let the bloody Halloween nightmare commence. Mom was shopping for my costume online. She found a head band that made it look like scissors were jutting out of my head. Cheap felt and plastic. She ordered it immediately. She was so excited to try it on me. She tucked my ears in, tied it around my chin, and then fed me lots and lots of treats, while she snapped pictures. I have to admit, looking at the pictures made it appear as though I was the victim of a grooming gone wrong, however, I was still being fed treats in all of the pictures.
We immediately were so excited to share our amazing Halloween find. We posted it to my social media feeds, then we put it on some Keeshond forums, for all the Kee lovers to see. We posted it with a caption that said something to the effect of, Happy Halloween, bring on all things creepy, gross, and spooky. On one forum in particular I was reported, apparently several times. The people reporting the photo said that it was offensive; it was particularly offensive to those who rescue dogs.
HELLO!!!! *paws in the air* I AM A RESCUE!!!! so are Scrappy and Frankie. And we are over here living one hell of a good life. And wouldn’t that make Mom a rescuer?
Mom was annoyed that they pulled the picture. She said pulling the picture feeds into the problematic behavior. If it was a person, no one would have been offended. Anyway, Mom says she also doesn’t want me to write about this, because it too feeds into it. It gives it power when you give it attention. But my opinion is this was a great lesson, one that needed to be shared. Sometimes people will be offended at the things you do. No one needs to be hurt, abused, assaulted physically or verbally, demeaned, or belittled for offense to be taken. Sometimes people just need to be mad about something, that day, it was me. No one was hurt or shamed in the making of the photo, so their offense is theirs and theirs alone. I don’t have to take that on as my own.
An Old Man, A Prude, and A Cat
Today, I’d like to start with the lesson. Your lesson is, it takes two to have an argument. Let that sink in for a moment. I’ll wait. Okay, now that you’ve really absorbed it, I’ll follow up with a few short stories and some logic to back it up.
I live with an old man, a prude, and a cat. I really enjoy all of their company. I am a puppy and puppies are naturally rambunctious, curious, playful, still learning social cues, and pushing the limits. At home, I am in a sticky situation pretty much daily, simply because I am doing all those things that come naturally to a puppy. At least one, if not each, of my housemates is either smacking, growling, or snapping at me. Now, I could push harder for what I want when they let me know I’ve reached the limit. I could put my big boy voice on and respond with the same attitude. If I did that, what would the benefit be? Would I get what I want? Maybe. Does someone get hurt? Probably. If not physically, definitely emotionally. There is no benefit to arguing my point. I can sit back and wait. I’ll get what I want eventually. No one gets hurt and no relationships bruised.
At daycare they say I am “Mr. Happy Go Lucky, without a care in the world”. I like that. They told mom, a tiny puppy was poking at me all day and I let it happen. Don’t get me wrong. I am not allowing anyone to walk all over me. I just don’t care about it as much. I’ll remove myself when I feel the need to, but I won’t make a big stink over it. If I did, especially at daycare, I’d get a squirt from the water bottle, maybe a time out, maybe a call to mom, and maybe expulsion. That all sounds terrible.
Sometimes when Dad travels for work and Mom has a particularly long day my Gigi (that’s Mom’s mom) will come over to let us all go potty. The last time Gigi had to do this, she brought her dog Maisy. This was my first official meeting with her. I love everyone, and as I have said before, with each new person, there is potential for a friend. Gigi put Maisy out back then let us out too. Scrappy and Lola know Maisy. No one plays, but no one argues either. They just explore the yard separately, boring! I was excited to meet her. I ran straight to her. She showed me her pretty smile, she let me hear how deep her voice can get when she growls. I was impressed, so I pushed further. “PLAY WITH ME”!!! She was not impressed by my tenacity. She charged at me and gave me a piece of her mind, which was clearly saying “leave me alone you annoying little….”. Do you think I am going to take that from a tiny wiener looking dog? Heck yes! I simply sat down. I could have made a fuss, she was small enough that I could have powered over her. But, why? What would I have gained? Someone would have been hurt, Gigi would have left, which means I get locked back up in the kitchen, and that doesn’t sound fun, at all.
It takes two to argue. Side bar, can you picture someone arguing alone, that’s a hilarious visual. This is maybe, one of the best life lessons. Why, you ask? I’ll tell you, it changes your perspective, your attitude, and your well being. Arguing because you don’t agree, you’re annoyed, or someone won’t listen, will not change their perspective. It will lead to frustration, hostility, pain (physical and/or emotional), and maybe a bruised relationship, or worse. Arguing is pointless. It only makes the entire situation worse, when you are reacting in the heat of the moment. Let things simmer down. Consider approaching the situation when neither person is worked up about it, maybe just let it go if it is unimportant. Sure the squeaky wheel gets the grease, but remember, it is likely to be replaced if it continues to squeak.
Labels Are For Ice Cream
I was read an article called “What is a Therapy Dog” by Thomas C. Weiss. Here is the link if you have any desire to read it: https://www.disabled-world.com/disability/…/therapy-dogs.php . In this article, a Therapy Dog has a very lengthy definition. I am going to highlight some of the most important parts. It says a Therapy Dog is “a dog trained to provide affection and comfort to people in hospitals, retirement homes, nursing homes, schools, people with learning difficulties, and stressful situations, such as disaster areas.” “The most important characteristic of a Therapy Dog is its temperament.” “Therapy Dogs must be on-leash obedience trained and remain under control while presenting excellent behavior.””A Therapy Dog is one with a temperament that is friendly, patient, and outstanding overall…has the desire to visit with people, loves children, and interacts with other animals well, also interacts with other dogs they encounter in positive ways.”
Ya’ know what?!? I meet all of these requirements. I provide affection and comfort. I have a leash, I know all sorts of commands. I am patient and really quite outstanding. I love people, kids, dogs, cats, and if I were allowed probably squirrels. Okay, Mr or Mrs. interviewer, I will delve into my extensive resume to show you just how I check all of the Therapy Dog requirement boxes.
I am amazing at providing affection. My mom rubs my back and I do a little back arch to tell her that it feels just right. I will roll over so Mom can rub my belly, during which all my toes spread apart and I flash my toothy grin. Check!
Comfort is a particularly strong attribute of mine. Mom has what Dad likes to call “road rage”, she calls it “driving slightly aggressive”. Since I have started daycare, and a car ride is included in this venture, I get to see what happens on the road. They are probably both a little right. On daycare days, Mom will plop me into the passenger seat and run her hands through my fluff. I overheard her tell Dad how calm I made one ride home and that she wasn’t even quite sure how she got from point A to point B. She doesn’t drive any slower, but she isn’t calling people names anymore either. She is eerily quiet and that is comforting to everyone! Check!
I have a leash. I have lots of leashes, red ones, grey ones, black ones, super hero ones… you want me to match your outfit? I’ve got a leash for that. Check!
I am obedience trained. I know sit, no, paw, no, down, no, potty, no, good boy, no bark, kennel, no bite, and no. Check!
I am the master of patience. I don’t bark at Scrappy or Lola anymore when I have finished my breakfast and they are still eating. I lie next to them and respectfully wait my turn to steal what they leave in the bowl. It takes a great deal of restraint but I have become quite proficient at it. Even when Mom is chopping veggies, I just lie right under her feet and patiently wait for her to A) give me something, B) drop something, or C) break her neck trying not to fall or step on me. Check!
I am acing this interview. I possess all the qualities of a good Therapy Dog.
And for the final requirement. I love everyone! I will only slightly pull on that aforementioned leash when I encounter someone. I am an extrovert, squirrel, dog, cat, kid, baby, adult, probably even a skunk… the who, what, where, or when are unimportant details to a meet and greet. I should probably be pretty forthcoming here, bugs might present a problem. The larger ones in particular. They are just so yummy. If this interview leads to a job that requires me to work with slugs, cicadas, or praying mantis, you should probably find another candidate. I would not be your ideal fit. Check-ish!
Ah, who am I kidding? Yes, I am an overall outstanding dog. Yes, I possess all the qualities that I am supposed to, in order to be deemed a Therapy Dog, yet I am not a Therapy Dog. I might be one day, but I am not. At the moment I am more accurately the opposite. I am a little too enthusiastic about everything, especially food, and maybe a little too nosey for my own good.
Labels are made for ice cream, not living things. you can check all the boxes and still not be the sum of all the parts. We aren’t math, and we certainly aren’t ice cream. we are who we are. We can be funny, fat, obedient, malicious, noisy, kind, pleasant, but these labels aren’t WHO we are. They are only parts of us. Little minute pieces of a whole, that cannot be labeled by one specific word or phrase. We are much too much to be summed up by one word or phrase.
Continue to be those words or phrases that feel good and right to you and your true self, but be those knowing that they are NOT WHO YOU ARE, that is something much deeper and bigger.
Citation: Journal: Disabled World. Language: English. Author: Thomas C. Weiss. Electronic Publication Date: 2011/04/18. Last Revised Date: 2019/01/12. Reference Title: “What is a Therapy Dog“, Source: What is a Therapy Dog. Abstract: These Dogs come from a variety of breeds there is no perfect breed or mix of breeds that make the best Therapy Dogs. Retrieved 2019-09-14, from https://www.disabled-world.com/disability/serviceanimals/therapy-dogs.php – Reference Category Number: DW#100-7456.
Freedom
We live in a neighborhood that backs up to the Delaware Greenway. The Greenway is a scenic byway for walking, hiking, or biking with trails leading along areas abundant in culture and history. The Delaware portion of the Greenway, runs about 13 miles, the entirety of the Greenway runs the length of the east coast, from Maine to Florida. Because we live here, we have this incredibly beautiful walk available to us, and it is virtually in our back yard.
Scrappy and Lola used to run with Mom on these trails, that is, until The Doctor told Mom that Scrappy shouldn’t be running as his form of exercise anymore (Lola never liked to run). Now it’s just leisurely walks along the trails. They’ve seen deer, fox, snakes, frogs, turtles, racoon, and fish. Mom finds bones in the woods, she collects them, she is weird.
I enjoy walks, but not as much as I enjoy food. Lately I’ve been awarded the opportunity to go on “the walk” – a short version of it, with Scrap, Lola, and Mom. On warm days, I’ve learned that Mom will stop at the stream and let us play, if no one is around. The running water is very exhilarating and quite refreshing on a hot day. Scrappy and Lola run down the embankment, get a drink, take a dip, and go running back to Mom. So that’s what I did, the first time.
The second time, Mom didn’t just drop the leash. She actually unhooked me. Scrappy and Lola were already enjoying the water when I made it down. I like to play in the water for a minute, then I sit. The cool water just feels so nice on the backside! Scrappy and Lola completed their stream time, ran back to Mom, and prepared to finish the walk through the woods.
Me…
I ran up the embankment to Mom, then ran back down. Naturally I wanted her to think I wasn’t quite finished yet. But I had other plans brewing. I crossed the stream and went up the embankment on the opposite side. I looked at Mom and she looked at me. I think she knew what I was up to at that point. I could tell by the way she said my name in a low, slow manner. As soon as my name was done coming from her mouth, I darted off in the opposite direction, into the woods.
Let me paint the picture for you. I am disappearing further into the woods, gallivanting over, and under, and all around. Hello freedom! Mom in her ankle splint, climbing up the embankment with Scrappy and Lola, “running” (broken ankle, remember?) across the bridge to get to the side I ran to, and shouting “Kevin, come and get cookies”. LIAR! She is a liar, who lies. She didn’t have cookies, but i came back, because what if she did?
My stint in the woods was a blast, a true taste of freedom, unabashed, uncensored, dog being dog freedom. What’s the problem, you ask? For starters, my hip. My hip is a real problem sometimes. I ran so fast and so hard on those sticks, through those trees, over the boulders, that when I came back I was done. Sore and done. Once Mom hooked me back up, I lay down on the trail, and no amount of coercing, bribing, or dragging was going to get me back up. Mom was very annoyed at this point. She held onto my collar, took off the leash, hooked it to Scrappy, then wrapped the leash around her waist. She did the same thing with Lola’s leash. She then scooped me up in her arms and carried me the one mile back home. When we got home, she was exhausted. She said to Dad “imagine walking a mile with two dogs wrapped around your waist, and carrying a 25lb weight in front of you”. She then looked at me and said “no more off leash fun for you, Mr. Schmoo”, she calls me that sometimes.
Just to give you a glimpse into the future I required carrying one more time through the woods, to which Mom’s reply was “no more trail walks”. Then once more when we went around the block, to which she responded “you’re Dad’s responsibility now”. In general Mom has a three strike rule, I hit all three.
I am not a bad dog. I just do bad things sometimes. I think that’s true for everyone. We are all innately good, but sometimes we just need to test the limits and boundaries put upon us. Good dogs, as well as good people are going to do bad things. It’s okay to test those limits and boundaries. The thing is, being good doesn’t excuse me, or anyone else from the consequences of our actions. We have to be held accountable. We still have a price to pay. Walks with Mom, Scrap, and Lola are the price I am forced to pay. I am going to work really hard to earn that back, but for now… I am a good dog, who did a bad thing, and is suffering the consequences of his actions.
And The Beat Goes On
I am different, at least that’s what Mom tells me. She says I am not like any other dog she’s ever had; she’s had a few. She also says that is not necessarily a bad thing. I am the best dog she’s ever had (okay, one of the best). I may not be the easiest, but I am definitely the coolest, definitely the fluffiest, definitely the smartest, and definitely the most stubborn. The smart ones: we’re always tough. I think that’s true for dogs and people. We require a little extra to quiet our overactive brains. I don’t fall in line with what is expected of me. I fit the mold of “dog”, but I am slightly offbeat.
I learn quickly, you might even say instantly. Did I ever tell you, food is the best thing in the world? Well, add a treat into the mix and you are speaking my language- hitting my sweet spot. I WILL WORK FOR FOOD!!! I learned “sit” on the second command. I learned “paw” by the fifth, I learned “down” on the third; even with Scrappy sending mixed signals about what it means.
Scrappy loves food too. He loves it so much he will just run through the whole gamut of commands. If Mom says “down”, Scrappy will “sit”, “paw”, “down”, and immediately “roll over”, just to jump up and give “paw” again. Holy moley Scrap, that is a lot of work for one tiny treat. And to top it off he usually doesn’t even get the treat cause he didn’t do it right.
I pick up habits, both good and bad, in a flash (maybe that’s why they bought me the flash collar and leash…). One middle of the night response to a bark and I will keep it up for a week. One treat for using the bathroom outside and I’ll keep that up too. That’s the good and the bad of being smart and a little different.
I love playing with new friends: new dogs, new kids, new people, and cats too. I am just a puppy still, so social cues aren’t necessarily my thing yet (I said I was smart, not brilliant). Daycare has been wonderful at fulfilling this need for friends. New friends everyday. The problem is that you have to get in a car to get there. YES! That. Is. A. Problem. I don’t love the car. It is tolerable, but only because without it I am stuck here, with all the old friends, who don’t particularly like to play. Scrappy and Lola LOVE car rides, they can’t sit still and will squeal with excitement, level of love for car rides. If friends weren’t waiting at the other end of a car ride, I’d be out, and fast.
We have a reasonably sized wooden box filled with toys: tennis balls, field hockey balls, bones, rubber balls, rope, crunchy, squeaky, stuffed, all sorts of toys. Frankie has probably seven toys. Let me remind you, Frankie is a cat. He has his own room where he has water, a litter box, treats, a heating pad, pillows, couches, a climby thing, and his seven toys that he hasn’t lost yet (YET!!! I won’t tell you if they are under the couches or someone, I mean something else happened). Those toys, they are the toys that I want. The jingle bell rope balls, the feathery, shiny fish, the mouse with the rope tail. Frankie gets the best toys. Ours just don’t compare. So I go into Frankie’s room, put my front feet on his chair, and steal them. Every now and then I will try to steal one right from his mouth. He gets so mad at me he starts to growl. Growling with a toy in his mouth, how does that even happen??? Mom intervenes or Frankie runs with his toy, oooooorrrrrr, I win! I love cat toys. They are just so much better than bland old (or new) dog toys.
I am picky about my water source. I know I am a barge dog, but hey. Mom bought a bright blue, plastic pool for me. She filled the pool with water from the hose. I didn’t like the hose or the pool, or even a bath, which led Mom to believe that I didn’t like water. Well, guess what!?! After a decent walk with Scrappy and Lola through the woods, Mom stopped at the creek and let them go. WHAT!?!?! She never unhooks or drops leashes. I was shocked, and frankly a little annoyed that I hadn’t been unhooked. Scrappy and Lola came back to Mom, she hooked them up, then she let my leash go. Creeks! A creek is fun. Cool, running water with stones, sand, nature, and frogs, and fish all around. After so much excitement and exploration I just sat. I was so overwhelmed by all this wonderful, that I just had to sit my butt right in that cool, running water.
Have I mentioned that I love food? Mom didn’t want me to have people food. Do you remember when I said habits form easily with us smarties? She didn’t want that. What mom does allow: fruits and vegetables. Lola is picky. she love bananas, broccoli, and cauliflower, not much else. Scraps likes a lot, but not everything. I love it all. All except celery. Celery is NOT good. But give me a strawberry, blueberry, apple, banana… okay, I know these are pretty popular and usually crowd favorites; do you need to hear the other things? broccoli, cauliflower, sweet peppers (I LOVE sweet peppers), snap peas, asparagus, raw sweet potatoes, spinach, dragon fruit, and lemons. Much like myself, lemons take some getting used to, but once you get past the first three licks, and barks, and growls, it is actually tasty.
I march to the beat of my own drum. I don’t conform to who or what I am “supposed” to be, like, do, or think. I listen to what my body, brain, and heart tell me are right. I am authentic to my true self. It’s not hard to do. It does require a certain amount of not caring what others think. What they think, is unimportant to me, others that is. I am the only one that gets to live my life for me. That means I need to live my life in accordance with my wants, and needs, and desires, and happiness. When you start to worry what others think, you begin to lose that beat you were dancing to. The drummer is silenced. The beat will slowly turn to background noise, and then all together disappear. The beat comes from within. So, figure out what brings you that beat (the things that bring you joy). For me, it’s fruits and veggies, being smart, but remaining stubborn, making noise, running in streams or creeks, making friends, and cat toys. These are some of the things in life that make my beat, beat loudest. The louder the beat plays, the more authentic you are being to your true self. Find those things and rock the hell out; don’t let the beat fade to silence. Trust me on this one!