Feeding Puppies Living Down the Lane

Saturday is my day to do nothing or clean house, whatever comes first. My dogs and I enjoyed chicken livers for lunch. We had our feet up on the porch doing nothing, when I thought about the puppies.

With all the wonderful animal advocates on the island these babies may have been rescued already; I wondered, but mixed a tray of kibble with a coating of liver, yum, just in case.   

  

They ran around my car barking, clearly excited to see the food I bring, and then scurried into the hole in the fence for safety.

I’m guessing that the only time they’ve been handled is when the culprit snatched them from their mom for a car ride to the country.

Lovely Larita

If anyone will catch them again, they need some pleasant time with a human, so I toss liver soaked kibble at their feet. They still act as if they don’t know what kibble is and they hesitate to eat, but soon they gobble what I toss a safe distance. Tossing and talking. Tossing and talking; gradually they calm in my presence, but are far from trusting to the point where I realized they are in a fear period of development. Since I know a thing or two about puppy development, I spent more time tossing and talking before putting the food trays down.

Moselle watching.

Curly leaning into the dish.

Frightened little puppies leaned into the food dish as if something would grab them. I left so they could finish their meal in peace.

In the rear view mirror I saw a couple of the Counselor Ridge Crewe crouching towards the food. These are dogs so betrayed by man that I can’t get near.

Studying Dogs

Another year of studying dogs is beginning to be more interesting than ever; that’s dogs for you. In my years living with a dozen or more Rottweilers and/or Bullmastiffs in a fenced ten acre compound I saw them co-operate, communicate in various ways.

I wish humans were intelligent enough to speak dog, the way they understand us; most of all I wish I could speak dog.

My big guard dogs did a perimeter patrol when the spirit moved them, but they went to dog shows, school fairs, nursing homes, so we had activities. They worked as a team when cornering wildlife in our yard. A family of coyotes lived just the other side of the fence. My pure bred, Champion stock stayed near the house, but heaven help anything that strayed in too close; in short they were not obsessed with interlopers.

Here in Puerto Rico, the stray dogs, having been accepted by a household, become very possessive. There is a network of trails in the woods. Remember tracking wildlife when you were a few years younger? We don’t have wildlife; we have farm animals, rodents, mongoose, and various size lizards. Dogs and cats are sort of wildlife.

Pet dogs have puppies, survivors get a free one way trip to a better part of the island, where they get their asses kicked by dogs already living there or beaten off by a man driving them away with a stick. Dogs wander through the woods in search of a meal and safety.

The Sato Hill Crewe patrols the woods like the devil will sneak in to steal their last sandwich. Now, that our baby Border Collie is patrolling I’m seeing the more subtle cues these dogs send. 

This was written before Dominic went missing. His obsessive personality raised the level of perimeter protection; I learned much about my group’s communication while he lived here.

There has been a recent cull; neighbors from down the hill told me about ten dogs that were poisoned and another stolen from a yard. Perhaps that’s why there’s less activity in the woods.  

Life with dogs in Puerto Rico gives me a very different vantage point of our relationship with dogs. In Illinois I always saw dogs as belonging to someone or in need of rescue; here I see dogs visiting people who feed them, but belong to no one.

Because of the density of the dog population where I live, threat warnings have become ritualized with an obligatory howl to sum it up. Dogs are dumped regularly, the survivors learn from the old timers in the neighborhood. The traits and survival strategies a dog must have in order to live on the street are easily observed. In  a maybe not so odd evolutionary twist small and cute does well; some woman will take small and cute in over night! Smile.

Dogs fascinate me as much today as they did almost a hundred years ago. 

A Little Dog's Journey Home by Chi-Ping

When I came to Sato Hill; or actually, the day I was unceremoniously dumped, I cried, curled in a corner waiting for my people to return for me.

Lost, mourning, I worried what they would do without me. Would they be scared in the night without me to alert them to danger? Would they miss the scent of my presence the way I missed theirs?

I gave myself credit for being a spectacular intruder alarm. From my tiny room I could hear a leaf fall. Strange sounds deserve an all out panic bark! Suppose something bad happens! My barks alerted them to danger!

From my very first night on the street the neighbors where I landed received the benefit of my alarm services. They rewarded me with leftovers.

Mourning my world lost, without a clue to go home, I brooded, but the neighborhood Satos/street dogs stuck their noses up my butt. Until you die, you’re just part of someone else’s show. I had to stand up to these Satos to show them I wouldn’t be cast as their victim or whipping girl. They nosed me around some, but then they liked me.

I thought about my family, my life in the room, how happy I’d be when they came in to see me. Outdoors is a big scary place; my mind felt turned inside out.

The two neighbor ladies fed me well, when Blondie and Stormy, who died, weren’t around, but never gave me water. Stormy showed me where to go for water and how to hunt mice to supplement sometimes meager leftovers. I came to the road a fat little animal. Stormy taught me about life in the neighborhood, but I stayed close to where I got dropped believing they loved me and would come back for me.

One day just when my tail was beginning to wag again, the woman up the hill threw a towel over me. I did my best to bite her, but the towel got in my way. The next thing I knew a man held me on his lap. In a warm, kind voice he said, “Good Girl, you’re going for a car ride.”

I wanted to tell about the fiasco my last car ride was, but instead I nestled down onto his big hands, staring at the woman who grabbed me.

After that everything blurred. Blondie said that they fixed me. Huh? Back on the street I prowled my neighborhood with Blondie; until one night Blondie and I were taken away from the island.

My introduction to a pet carrier, followed by a weigh in at the airport and I flew to New Orleans chewing my way through the fabric until she shoved something for motion sickness down my throat.

From then on we walked city streets tied to the woman. People, who knew there were so many, people with dogs tied like we were. Blondie barked and barked, but none told her why people were tied to us. Great packs of children played baseball or football across the street from where we lived. We could smell strange creatures living in sewers and squirrels chattered, mocking us from above.

I didn't like being tied or behind a fence, so one day I snuck past dad, the man with the loving voice.  The woman, who grabbed me in the towel, called me; was she kidding?

Wandering where I pleased, I allowed her to follow a couple of feet behind me, like she could ever catch me, hah!

A lovely lady I hadn't seen before called me by my new name, “Good Girl!”

I ran to her, she scooped me into her arms. I felt safe again. She handed me over to mom, who put me on the leash to walk home.

A few months later we were back in the airport on our way home. People admired how well I walked on leash with my head held high and my erect tail slicing the air.

Men outside the Aguadilla Airport doors greeted me, “Boriqua dog, that’s a Boriqua dog. Welcome home Boriqua dog.”

An hour later we were back home on Sato Hill.

A Sato Hill Dog Day

Lizards, rats and mice beware the sato hill gang hunts at dawn. After a night sprawled on easy chairs and the sofa sleeping safely with nary a care, they’re ready to go.

They get kibble twice a day, so hunger isn’t a primary motivator, unless you count taste bud preferences.

The morning air fresh and cool calls them to stretch, look for a pet and then head to the door. Some morning furious sniffing near the house is required. Who came on our porch? Where are they? Who do we kill for this trespass? And on the trail they go.

Other mornings, if I step on the veranda with them, the dogs all come up for a pet goodbye and off they go to work. They each want their “kiss” before going. Even Blondie, who would bolt up the road in hot pursuit in previous years, must have a little love before she leads the hunt. Now that Lucky and Robert Redford are older they wait only to say goodbye to “mom.”

They’re very good boys that way, which drives Chi-Ping nuts. She guards her position as beta and alpha wanna a be. She has trained them since puppyhood to back down to her muzzle snapping and snarling; oddly enough, they still do in many instances. Other times they’re so focused on what they want, that they don’t even notice her. Poor girl.

The gang returns a couple of hours later or when I serve breakfast. Late morning through the heat of the day, they’re reclined like vacationers under the fans.

The boys were dropped off here as puppies, so this is the life they know. Chi-Ping knew about a year as a street dog. Blondie grew up in the street, where she spent years as an un-loved perra de calle. I see how each is affected by life experience. That’s the ability to handle each dog in such a way that nothing over stresses the dog.

Each of these dogs are so vastly different. Anthropomorphically I feel like I have two seventh grade boys, a precocious spoiled brat, and a big moody teenager.

Those of us who become aware of our dogs personalities enjoy them as individuals, not just the dogs. And about the human traits, I’m kidding. Chi isn’t precocious, she’s more like a little old lady accustomed to her own way.

Enjoy your day!

May dogs be with you!!

A Puppy's Hood in Puerto Rico

Finding her place in the pack as it mobilizes, eight week old Darla avoids Chi-Ping who snapped at her earlier for giving play bows. Chi takes her crabby old lady role seriously enough to discourage pups from over stepping a Chi boundary.  Darla brings up the rear, giving Lucky a lick on the corner of the mouth as she walks past, towards Robert Redford to give him a corner mouth lick, and then she gets along Lucky’s right side to take her position. The crew tiptoes to the edge of the plateau to look over the side at our neighbor trimming his tree with a machete.

Blondie, the only dog not upset over this turn of events, stands nearby. The man trims his tree paying no notice to the dogs sizing him up only twenty feet away. Robert Redford decides it’s not worthy of his attention, returning to the porch. Lucky watches longer, but comes to the same conclusion. After they leave, Darla peeks over the edge to see what the fuss was about. The man returns her gaze, so pell-mell she catches the boys. Chi vanished a second after she saw it was the neighbor.

In the late afternoon the dogs hunt mostly lizards in the tall grass. With keen forward ears they zero in on prey. This time of day most rats are in their dens. I hope they’re not after the neighbor’s chickens. They got another one yesterday. Darla bounds straight up the side of the hill to come sliding down. Soon she’ll run the ridges like the boys.

A disturbance on the road commands attention, so one by one they leap the single step, running across the carport to investigate. Darla didn’t make it first try so she backed up a foot for a running start and on to join the guard dogs.

Learning canine behavior, the rules of the road for her world is important. A dog not knowing how to get along with other dogs is as dysfunctional a person not knowing how to get along with other people. Gees, maybe, that’s not a good choice, but you understand that having a good foundation in your own culture helps you understand the rules of somebody else’s road.  

Lucky teases Darla with a toy, shaking it in her face and then running around the house with her in hot pursuit, if a tad late. Everything is going well in her puppy life now; I hate to think of finding the forever home she needs. I can’t keep her, Robert Redford and Lucky need homes. This isn't good for them long term.

I pray for wonderful people to adopt these amazing animals. 

Puppy Found in Bucket Update

Darla, aka puppy in the bucket, my happy little girl still can’t manage that single step. The white of her eye is now visible, the eye color no longer blue. After a whimper she, all on her own, runs around to the carport ramp, running fast as she can, wagging her tail all the way.

Darla found in 5 gallon bucket 2 weeks ago

Lucky, all of seven months, plays big brother, allowing her to snuggle up to his belly at night. Love energy emits, when he nuzzles her neck; a tiny growl, a playful nip Darla gives from her upturned head.

Named for my late friend, Darlene, Cajun queen from New Orleans and Saints fan extraordinaire, Darla at about seven weeks of age is thriving at the moment. I say at the moment because skin issues need to be addressed, worming and vaccination; neutering can wait. In two weeks her size more than doubled; she starting to be socially conscious. What do I mean by a quizzical remark like that about a dog?

Darla looks to see what the other dogs are doing when I’m giving them treats. Jumping around, barking, behaving like a baby brat didn’t get rewarded; sitting gets the treat. Darla just gave her first sit for a treat; I’d say that’s rather smart; wouldn’t you? 

I understand pack behavior as it presents in wolves, but the behavior of free ranging dogs here reminds me more of coyotes where I lived in Illinois. These dogs here hang together, buddy up because they live with me. If I were out of the picture, I believe Blondie and Chi would stay together, but Robert Redford and Lucky would go separate ways after hanging together long enough to mature.

Darla just took her first towards being a good human companion, a tail wagging big step. From the other dogs she’s learning to look for signs of provocation. She no longer bounds into another dog’s meal. She will carefully advance to snatch a nugget on the floor. The older dogs growl and snap just as fast, so my smart tiny girl learned stealth, which only works to a point. Dear Darla learned to stay close to mom, jump at her feet, she’ll make certain dear Darla has enough to eat. The others back off, they know the rule to stay away from the cat’s food and when mom’s around, Darla’s too.

Lately, it seems the norm that puppies are found with skin conditions. I’m going to take the time to learn more about the mites or mold or whatever the dogs get. When we treated Lucky and Lola for mange my head was elsewhere, I don’t remember much about that time. I don’t think this is mange. This looks like something Lucky had after the mange. It seems like it wasn’t difficult to treat or I might remember it better.

Think about puppies discarded like Darla.

Think about this. 40 veterinary teams with trailers neutering 40 dogs three days a week for a year would have neutered 249,600 dogs.

Can a veterinarian make a down payment on a trailer, work of the balance due by neutering a documented 120 dogs a week for a year for a nominal fee to cover expenses?    Is there a way to work that out?

40 teams, 40 trailers almost a quarter of a million dogs neutered in a year. Isn’t this doable?     

Christmas Eve on Sato Hill

Beautiful boys bound through the grass, this spring’s puppies grown into active adolescents live like this is their neighborhood; it isn’t. It belongs to the humans who live in the houses. They have the power to snuff out a life at their will. Generations of dogs have suffered this plight.

My neighbor boy just sixteen, a human child shows off his motorcycle to cousins’ delight burning rubber, oh what a sight with smoke billowing up from the road. His mommy is calling with impatient voice; he ignores her until the call softens to a plea. “What,” he calls in Spanish, of course. A child on a short leash, the adolescent stretches his bonds. He kept his bike running, enjoying cousins’ approval. Oh, did mommy get mad, but it did her no good. She stormed in her casa doing whatever loud things you can do in a house to communicate anger.

From the garage, the toys came out, the best, a trike, cousin tried tearing ass down the road. Girl cousin in a pretty dress bounced up and down on the balls of her toes. Mommy forgotten; acceptance, approval passed around. Here come the dogs from Sato Hill, Lucky, Robert Redford, led by Chi-Ping, the terrier. Blondie barked fiercely from inside the in the house.

Ruff, ruff, the sound of defense, Robert Redford, Lucky, and Chi barked, slowing down at the bottom of the drive to assess the situation before plowing across; Chi stopped, the boys held ground behind her, or as guys in the states say, backed her up. Lucky held tight watching Chi’s every move, but Robert Redford, the handsome golden boy trotted directly to the center of the group despite having been knocked in the snoot. He walked right up to the girl, of course, looked her in the eye, surprised her, she looked back didn’t seem to know what to do, her brother, a young man walked to her with a dominant stride. Red cowered, unsure; my neighbor’s cousin walked past him without much notice.

From the porch I cooed, “Chi-Ping, there’s a good girl, come on, good girl.” She looked over her shoulder. I knew she was mine, if I could bring her in. “Goooood girl, what a good girl,” I wooed. She looked at the activity in the street. “Where’s my good girl?” The look on her face said, oh, what the heck. Her head in a neutral posture she trotted up to the house. The wooing continued with spaced praise.

Robert Redford trotted up to Lucky, who held fast, barking to build up his courage. Ruff, ruff is the sound of the bark; I’ve heard it so often in the dark. Chi came and wanted her petting, which I gladly gave, and then quickly put her in the house. Lucky, now in the lead, Robert Redford had his back. “Lucky, good boy, where’s my good boy,” that’s all it took, lucky for me. I praised him all the way back until he gave me a sit, so proud of himself. I’ve worked with him since he was a pup. I’m not ambitious these days so we do what we do when I think about doing it; it’s a shame, but Lucky came back with Robert Redford trailing. They came in the house for treats all around Smoki, the cat never questioned his participation.

Mommy next door called in a loud piteous voice, the cousins got in a car, burning rubber up the hill waving out windows a friendly goodbye. Neighbor boy’s shoulders slumped, as he walked in the house where mommy spoke to him in very controlled tones, her voice faltering, somehow she managed.

Lucky and Red went back out on the porch, found a spot, rolled on their backs to snooze. Geri, another neighbor came out with a huge piece of fried dough, at least that’s what it looked like from the porch. I got a bad feeling, so I called the boys, who jumped up ready. We walked towards the front door, me talking and squeaking. Geri whistled the tune he plays for the dogs when he wants them to come. I squeaked louder and told how good they were. They wagged their tails following to the door, when I opened it out pounced Blondie and Chi, who I hadn’t really thought about, so they all took off for Geri and his fried whatever.

Chi-Ping stopped, gave it a sniff, but trotted off to another neighbor’s yard. Blondie loves this guy, she’s known him longer than me, so she allowed herself to be pet, but wouldn’t accept his offering. Robert Redford, rarely shy, held his tail and head low, walked over to Geri, who pet him with one hand and fed him with the other. With gift in his mouth Red scurried away. Blondie, ho had stepped aside, came back to Geri for petting. He’s very affectionate with the dogs. I wonder why he calls Adri to scream and yell about the dogs being lose, when he calls them coaxing them down to the killing ground, where dogs get hit in the road or other hellish things. I’ve asked him not to so many times.

My husband died six months ago and it’s Christmas eve, a weird time for me. Enjoy each other, and of course the critters. 

Learned Something

People never cease to confound, a man with a walking stick stood at my neighbor’s gate. The dogs charged down our driveway barking, cautiously they barked from our side of the road, when Robert Redford with head submissively low and humble tail wagging crossed the road. The man seemed to ignore him, so he sniffed his leg gently. The man whacked him in the nose so fast.

Blondie doesn’t like men messing with her friends, so she waited for an opening. He kept an eye on her while gabbing away, and when he turned to go she went in for a nip. He thankfully was quick, but she circled him barking all the way up the hill, when he left, with Lucky bouncing and barking without a clue of what it was all about.

Chi-Ping barked in the house, a blessing because the fast little bitch will circle around for a nip when a man is facing off with Blondie. She can be a handful of trouble. I should really find these boys a home before jerks like this ruin my lovely guys’ attitudes. 

All this man had to do was say, “Hey, Boy,” Robert Redford would have wagged his tail some more and walked away. He just wanted to say, “Hi.” The man didn’t need to crack him so hard. The sad part is that if he had talked to “Red,” Blondie would have stood down, ending the alert.

Sweet red boy ran right home to mama. I told him what a good boy he was to come to his mom, some petting for reward. I may be lazy about training lately, but I’m not one to miss an opportunity. “What a good dog,” as Barbara Woodhouse used to say.

Just when I thought it’s time to go in, teenagers , who not more than a week ago, stopped their car at the bottom of my drive long enough to yell, “Mother fucker,” to the boy, who lives across the street from me, are standing at his gate, calling his name. The three dogs on the porch with me growl as one. From inside Chi growls like she’s crazy out of her mind to get out. Our readers know what a drama queen she is. The boys must have made up; they went in the house to the relief of all.

We all learned something this weekend before Christmas. Robert Redford learned that coming to mom is good. Blondie learned how intimidate this man. Blondie scares this guy; it’s so much fun, Lucky learned; let’s bark and bounce. I learned what Baby Hueys my boys are. The man learned that he’s a heartless, stupid idiot, if he understands English. The asshole part I do think he got. My neighbor boy doesn't speak any English, but his friends swear at him in English; doesn't that strike you as funny?

Dog Blog

This blog began when I was keen to describe the behavior I witnessed in the feral island dogs. How a dog runs his life without direct control of an owner or responsible human fascinated me. The danger and suffering appalled me, so my world expanded to learn the laws of Puerto Rico as they pertain to animals by taking the Animal Control Course  and going to conferences, such as the Caribbean Animal Welfare Conference.

Through these experiences I've met some incredible people, who have a calling. They’re on a mission from God. These aren't saints in the way I remember saints, but more kind of like Blues Brothers mission from God good guys, I mean really interesting people with great stories, doing excellent work, so I’ll be introducing you to them.  

Some dog behavior like rolling the coconuts down the driveway to break them open is too cool; it has to be shared, but now, I do it through the voice of Chi-Ping, whose behavior speaks volumes to me, which is described accurately, save the anthropomorphic undertones. ;)

The Animal Movement of Puerto Rico has become a living organism or maybe a hive of activity, I just know it’s taken on a life of its own. As this movement gains momentum I hope to describe it to you; it's a beautiful thing.

Those of you who are able to read in Spanish are in for a treat because the writing of Maylin Carretero Alberich is exquisite. From time to time I’ll be sharing some of her work, which can be seen on her blog, http://lasangreverde.wordpress.com/

Your comments are welcome; feedback is a source of learning for me, thank you. Tricia Carr

Street Dogs Hit the Beach by Chi-Ping

Blondie burst out of the car like she would rip up all comers. Tom, Dick and Harry were wondering who was with me because it’s always me and Lucky with mom at the beach on Friday, which is now officially my favorite day of the week.

Blondie struck each one of those skinny Saldinaros beach boys with her chest knocking them over one, two, three, while they were still shaking I moved in barking fiercely. Blondie pinned one, I chased two into the bushes; I’m the best, my tail is so high I can’t stand myself. I knew Blondie and I would rule.

Mom said this was why she never took us to the dog parks in New Orleans. Bullies, us, I don’t think so. We just have to have our respect; it’s the first rule of the street. We’re supposed to behave like pets and be all sweetie- sweetie. The Saldinaros would shag our hinnies out of there. They’d like to go to our homes and be pets, so we let them know who’s in charge of the beach when we’re here.

Running and barking at the shore; what more can you want? Blondie likes to swim; who knew? Watching her made me confident enough to go in the water almost to my back. It was so exciting being in the ocean. Even better than chasing the birds, no I think chasing birds is better.

You’d be surprised how quickly you get tired running at the beach. Soon we were sprawled out on the sand near mom and Marcie, who were sitting in chairs next to each other talking, while this ten or twelve week old pup romances Marcie. He knows that she’s the one who took Hatty home from here and he thinks she’ll take him too. He sits there staring at her wagging his tail. What a little suck up; I can’t stand it.

Before we left mom gave the beach dogs some of our food and water. We tried to jump out of the car to get it, but mom stopped us. She said we were too fat and needed to go on a diet anyway. Oh, that woman can be cruel.

We slept all the way home. Mom’s right about one thing. A tired dog is a happy dog.

Look at Lucky

Look at Lucky rolling around on his back in the grass, just showing his balls to God. That’s right, Old Girl, God gave them to me and will be proud to see how they’re growing. Why, I lifted my leg when I peed this morning. God will be delighted with my early progress. Lucky gave the toothy grin he impresses Blondie and Chi-Ping with when they hassle him. Chi barked from the porch. You’re not fooling anyone with a submissive smile. Lucky slithered side to side like a snake, and then suddenly thrust his hips in the air. Soon, I’ll be putting this equipment to use.

Chi-Ping’s eyes bulged. You’re not but a minute old. Do you think the grownup machos are going to let you at any lady? I’m a pi-bull, Chi-Pi old girl. Lucky sat erect, arched his neck displaying an already strong male profile. You bad little puppy, Chi-Ping barely barked out, as she play bowed to him.  Not so little any more, I’m bigger than you. Chi-Ping barked threats. Cute or not, I’ll put some holes in you.

Blondie and I are the house dogs, we rule. Not the way I see it, Lucky proclaimed. You and Blondie spent all day at the neighbor’s house or in the street. Robert Redford and I go in the house, during the day, when you’re gone. We get treats and gravy on our kibble. Yesterday I slept in the bedroom while mom worked on the computer for three hours. I didn't have an accident in the house, the way some do. Go ahead Chi-Pi get in my face, growl, show your teeth; it’s only a matter of time until mom likes us best.

I hate smart-alecky puppies. Chi-Ping grrred. 

Meet Lola by Chi-Ping

Look, Lola’s eyes don’t have a yucky discharge today. They’re clear, not sicky looking. She sniffed me just as I came out the door this morning. Her nose has been grey, dry and cracked, but today it’s black, cold and moist. As mom would say, “Saints be praised.” Don’t ask me, I don’t understand it. Why she would praise a football team when good stuff happens I’ll never know, but she does all the time. Frankly, you humans are a mystifying lot.

I hot foot it down to Geri’s to see what’s happening/ que pasa, but then mom was playing good morning with Lucky, Robert Redford and Lola, while the coffee brewed. Hold on I’m coming to join the game. You can’t play good morning without me. With the game already in progress I raced around the porch with my butt tucked well under me to cut corners. Mom loves it when I do that. I’m the center of attention with mom yelling woo-hoo,woo-woo. The critters in awe of my speed looked on, while my tail curved like a c to the left as I skittered the corner with toe nails grabbing, and then that stupid Robert Redford pounced on me. I flipped that impudent red dog on his back so fast, as I grabbed his throat mom told me to go easy, be a good girl. She just doesn't understand that I must teach him respect now, while I can. This mutt is going to be three times my size or more, easy my well rounded behind.

     Blondie went straight to the street, when the door opened. She lived here as a street dog for so many years sometimes she doesn't remember where she lives. We love the neighbors. They've been good to us. This is the face of trap, neuter and release whether mom likes it or not, this is what we’re going to do.

After a light breakfast I joined Blondie for a trek up the road. People are staying in the house where the old farmer lived. Sometimes they bring a pit bull male, we must check out all activity close to home. The yellow lab we chased off a couple of weeks ago is still hanging out near the vacant house where the little girl Eileen used to live before her mother got cancer. The satos on the peak raised hell last night so we took the long road to visit Blondie’s cousins.

Thirst drove me home. Ours is the only place with a fresh bowl of water waiting all day long. My tongue was hanging way out when we get to the bend in the road above where we live, but not a puddle in sight. Blondie dawdled sniffing some darn thing. Intruder alert, the barking comes from the house; I’m coming slowly, carrying my head low to take some weight off my tired butt. I didn’t see Lola and Lucky crouched, stalking me from the top of the drive until Lucky barked a threat. Being a resident I told them how not funny I found this behavior, but they maintained the crouch, so I stopped to assess the situation, when Blondie came along side me, then Lola and Lucky dropped low and gave us the little tail wags of one who has done wrong and is sorry.  We paused briefly to accept the apology before getting a drink.

Neither Blondie nor I could get over Lola and Lucky giving us a threat display. We decided to spend the day on the porch with mom and dad.

Big Easy Fine, but Give Me My Island by Chi-Ping

Hey, Y’all,

I promised to tell you about New Orleans. What a drag! We couldn’t go anywhere without mom hanging on the line. The one time, I got out of the house on poppy, she chased me until I met a lady who offered me solace from my pursuer, and promptly betrayed me turning me over like a sack of potatoes.

City Park scents under those old Live Oak Trees hold history, not just the scent of the day. I could tell you stories, oh my! Birds, I mean big birds by the lagoons, waiting to be chased. I didn’t like mom too much then, she always spoiled fun. Blondie just enjoyed having her with as if it were a special treat or something. In fact they’re pretty similar, neither one of them is too bright, but they surprise you sometimes. She never did let go of us outside.

Did I tell you about the two obnoxious puppies mom brought in from the road? She calls the black little pit Lucky. When he sees her he sits with his little chest sticking out, showing off his white stripe, like he’s some kind of good boy or something. She tells him how good he is; he soaks it up like a pad of butter, the little suck up. I growl at him every chance I get. Who wants a needle tooth monster chewing your hind quarters? Or eating your food? Robert Redford, they’re actually talking about keeping him for real; are they nuts? If we go back to the little apartment in New Orleans near City Park with a golden retriever, we’ll never fit.

Squirrels in the tree, rapidly become no fun at all, if you can’t run around barking. They drove Blondie nuts; she couldn’t get over prey she’d never seen before. That and they sat on the lower limbs taunting her, “chatter-chatter” shaking their tails. We knew what that meant.  I trained my attention on prey I could catch, cats. They were everywhere, if that slow woman would speed up, I’d have been catching some. New Orleans, that’s in Louisiana, the hunters’ paradise. Blondie and I have never seen or smelled critters like these before. One day we were walking on the Delgado Campus, Blondie stuck her nose under a bush and there was a Muscovy, a huge ugly duck laying right there an inch from her nose. I was stunned, what would happen, I stared at Blondie and the Muscovy, who were eye-to-eye. Mom pulled Blondie back before she could do anything, but then Blondie began to jump up and down, screaming, “Did you see that duck?” She went nuts, barking her fool head off. Mom started laughing and stood there while Blondie got it out of her system and we went home. Mom told poppy that Blondie had a brain freeze, which gave her time to get Blondie away from the duck. They had a good laugh about this. That duck didn’t move either; I didn’t hear her saying it had a brain freeze.

Blondie and I rode in the SUV all over Louisiana. We liked riding. And then one day we went on a ride to Florida, which is a long way. The SUV broke down at midnight in a dark overgrown stretch of road in Alabama. I got scared. I had to go something fierce, but in a tone of voice I had not heard from mom before she told me, no, not now!

Mom praised God and science for cell phones. A little while later the tow truck dropped us off at La Quinta. First thing we went for a potty. After a slow walk with lots of sniffing, mom had a plan. She said we had thirty hours to catch our flight in Orlando and we could do it.  

We flew back to Puerto Rico. When I strutted out of the airport a man yelled to my mom, “That’s a boriqua dog!” She smiled, nodded her head. The man called out to the other men, who looked at me, “That dog’s come home.” They cheered for me. My tail flew high; my mouth hung wide open happy face.   

Satos in the Big Easy by Chi-Ping

That cranky cat from Illinois mewed in a tiny helpless way, when she said, “Do you want some leche?” As if he knows what leche is and I don’t. I’m a Puerto Rican dog, I know what leche is and I want some. Give it to me! The old bugger cat hopped from a chair to run across the counter to lap up the leche. She told him how precious she thinks he is.

My English is not too good but, when I hopped on the table yesterday she made me understand not to do that again in no uncertain terms. After only two weeks in New Orleans I could tell life was going to be very different from our little road on the hill overlooking the lake. For one thing I have a big bed, but I ‘m forced to share it with Blondie, the two humans and that bossy cat, who has to have his head on her shoulder.

Blondie and I ruled the road in Guatajataca, running to investigate any disturbance. We chased people, other dogs, cats and even some cars we don’t like. Here she takes us out on “walks,” which means we drag her ass where we want to go. She likes to be drug often, so every couple of hours we take her out on the twenty foot lines that retract when we come back to see how she’s doing. Blondie likes her a lot; me, I have my doubts.

Smoki, the cat, likes to perch in the window howling and complaining to the street cats about how he has such a hard life and doesn’t like what they feed him. Here near City Park in New Orleans cats roam the streets like dogs do where I come from. Smoki grew up in a kennel. He says he’s never seen some many cats in all his lives. He now knows there is a cat heaven in which cats run the streets listening to jazz music. Blondie and I just want to chase some, sink a tooth into one just because we do that when we’re excited. Smoki should only know he’s living under the same roof as a cat killer. Maybe that’s why he sleeps on her shoulder or in the high window in the kitchen. No matter, Blondie and I planned to get rid of him before long.

All the dogs in New Orleans pull people. I mean here we are near City Park wanting to run, sniffing everything before tuning in to the finer smells in life like garbage with a woman tied to the other end. She’s slow. She’s praying with her mind on God and nature. I try to tell her to forget dreaming about life and nature; get out there, live, sniff, laugh and be happy. Let’s forget about the leash. You won’t forget where we live.

I never knew what I was missing in Puerto Rico. This city has more cats than you can count; catch the kitty is one of my favorite games. The tantalizing scent wafting up out of the storm drain puts my sense on high alert. It’s even more interesting than watching squirrels run in the trees. Catching one, that’d be a four treat day. We should get squirrels in Puerto Rico; wouldn’t that be fun? I’ve never seen a storm drain like this; how do I get down there? What kinds of creatures live in storm drains? 

Earning Dogs' Trust

Hi,

Chi-Ping’s voice comes through clearly to me, as her body language tells her tale. Teeth on hands ready to bite or nip, whenever we touched her, was her standard behavior. The touch varietal didn’t matter: slow or fast, completely still, light to heavy pressure all the same. A hand resting only on her chi resulted in teeth on hand, ready to bite hard, if necessary.

Do people really con themselves into believing the dog likes to be tickled or handled roughly, when the dog puts its teeth on us, just because the tail is wagging like crazy? Sadly, this is the relationship many dogs endure. When I began touching Chi-Ping, she would sting my hands sharply. Clearly she took no pleasure from my touch, but kept coming to me asking to be touched. Hmm, there’s a push me-pull you.

The months we lived in New Orleans both dogs came in and out of the house several times a day. We had no access to a fenced yard from the house, so we developed a lovely leash routine before getting close to the door. They had no fear of going through the door. Both dogs raced around the small apartment in wild abandon when we came home.

 We returned to Puerto Rico. Deep lack of trust issues resurfaced for both Chi-Ping and Blondie. Blondie acted as if she were a “Sato” again. An invitation to come in caused her eyes to become big with fright, like she didn’t know what to do. At first I called her in, to me. She whined while stepping in place. A good rule of thumb is to NEVER ask more than another can give, so I went outside, thumped her and played with her as we often do. Blondie de-stressed and walked in with me.  Smile, I knew how lucky that was.

Blondie fears going in the house occasionally, but more often just refuses. The difference is most easily read by her ears. Ears forward, she wants to go in, but is afraid. Ears back means, “I want to stay out here.”

A trail of treats worked frequently with other dogs, so I gave her a few cheddar cubes, which she loves. Gobble, gobble up the trail she went. In the entry Blondie picked up the cheddar and looked right in my eye before walking away from the big stash of cheese just inside the door. Screw you and your cheese was clearly implied.

We worked through the fear issues to the point that when Blondie becomes afraid, I tell her what a good girl she is, and she’ll come to me. Blondie prefers to be in the house at night. Chi-Ping changes her mind from night to night. Before I went to San Juan she wanted to be out at night. Since my return, Chi-Ping sleeps by my feet. In New Orleans she would push her back between my breasts. Despite our sleeping proximity, I could feel our distance. I have yet to win her trust. Do you find it as interesting as I do that Blondie the street dog, who grew up wild, has less trust issues than Chi-Ping, who spent less than a year on the street?

I hadn't found my voice in a while. Staying with the wonderful Animal Advocate, Adrienne Galler Lastra gave the dog fix I’ve needed. Thanks, Adri. It’s good to be back. Tricia

  

  

Street Dog to City Dog Travel Complications

As the first golden rays of sunshine hit the tips of our palm tree, Blondie and I were doing our good morning ritual with all the thumping and stroking she loves. Still full from yesterday, she snubbed a small bowl of food until Chi-ping stuck her nose in it.

 Why is nothing ever as simple or straightforward as I think it should be? Where is the easy button when you need it? Am I talking about getting her in a crate or for a car ride or to walk on a leash; hell no!


Our reservations are for JetBlue and Southwest, they do not take pets larger than will fit under the seat, I had no idea, leaving at 4 am on Friday out of Aguadilla, on the west end of the island where we live. Blondie’s only way off the island is the evening before American airlines shipping in San Juan a 2 hour drive each way. What a long night and morning it will be for her, if I can’t figure out better!


Our flight arrives before noon on Friday, so we can pick her up as soon as we get in, but that’s such a long day for her, wow, an introduction to the rest of the world all alone, I hate it. What choice do we have?


Shipping Blondie is going to cost way more than my husband will want to know. This is where it takes courage to do what your heart says instead of what the brain tells you to do. I can be such a coward, so we’ll see how this turns out.


Meanwhile Blondie will be taking that car ride today, since we have an appointment with the PetVet in Isabela this afternoon. My car, when we bought this car, I swore to my husband no dogs in this car, shit I am such a liar, well, I really meant it at the time.


Please, say a prayer this ride goes without complications, so far Kirt (husband) is not giving me a killer hard time, which is subject to change with every new event.



Blondie laughing !



Oh, this morning my neighbors got the memo: Do NOT feed the pudgy blonde girl!

Socializing Feral Dogs pt. 3

I don’t use food initially because a dog that becomes a food whore is more apt to lose it when stress/fear overcomes the desire for food. Getting accustomed to me without fear just feels like a stronger foundation. I bring food in 3rd phase because I want the food to diminish the reaction to crazy human moving.

By the time we get to phase III, the feral dog should be relatively calm in your presence and interested in what you’re doing with the friendly dog. Back pedaling should cause the feral to follow the friendly dog.


With Blondie, a semi-feral Puerto Rican street dog and Bonita, Blondie’s feral daughter, I would play the good morning game in which I bent at the waist telling Blondie, “Good morning”, while thumping her sides. She was my friendly facilitator with Bonita.


Blondie followed my back pedaling and cheery voice, Bonita followed her. They both liked the game with tails wagging. When Bonita noticed the game change, she went to her safe distance to think it over.


With the next morning came; no retreat, soon I thumped Bonita for the first time. She shot across the floor like she had been touched by a red hot poker. When she reached her safety zone, she turned and glared at me. Clearly, I had violated her trust. I will never forget the seething look into my eyes.


By violating the rules of our relationship, I established that she expected me to behave in a certain way. She didn’t fear me; she was mad at me. I always loved her spirit.


My qoal in phase II is not to touch the dog, but to get the feral comfortable with stupid human movement. Sooner or later something always happens so the hands fly up into the air or we slap our side in laughter.


Social dogs need to be child safe, so the human Bonita trusted most became a child. I threw my hands in the air, saying weeee. Startled, she retreated behind her mother. The dogs were about fifteen feet away when I did this. They both looked; I tossed them dog cookies. Soon my idiotic behavior meant treats are coming.


I chose to save the treats for this; instead of using them from the beginning. At this point, I started having friends come over to give treats to the dogs. None of my friends throw their hands in the air and act nutty like I do, so the dogs accepted them even taking treats from some hands.


Sometimes, I wonder if I should have used treats sooner. I didn’t because I thought of show dogs I’d seen turning down freeze dried liver. I mean; where do you go from there?

Socializing the Feral or Semi-feral Dog Phase One

If the feral dog is safe with other dogs, introduce him to a socially skilled dog that is well bonded with you. Give them time to become buds. Once they bond, your k9 ally will pull the feral into your energy field.



This is a huge step; patience, please. Happy talk the friendly dog, pet and focus on the friendly dog only. There should be stillness, a quiet deliberateness in your movements. Be aware of your body postures, no stances where you are bent at the waist. Avoid facing the dog frontally, oblique is best. If the feral stands in front of you, fine, but he probably won’t.


Bonita, the feral I worked with the most, always came up behind me. When she built her confidence up, she began bumping me in the back of the calf with her nose.


Your facilitator dog will do wonders for teaching the feral that you are not a crazed monster about to attack at any moment. I don’t know where a feral dog would get that, but it will need convincing.


Taking this approach with a k9 facilitator, you’ll spend frequent, short times in the dog area; not the hanging around all afternoon, as you would without the dog.


After enough repetitions the feral knows that you are coming in the enclosure to pet and talk to the other dog. The feral lying comfortably in a corner is the end of the first phase.


Watch how the feral signals stress in the beginning. Absence of fear/stress signals demonstrate that a minimal level of trust has been created.


WARNING: At this phase, DO NOT be tempted to talk to the feral! DO NOT look at the feral trying to make eye contact. If eye contact occurs, make your eyes soft, then look back to whatever you were doing. Go back to talking to your facilitator dog, if appropriate.


Once you become predictable to ferals, they will relax. . Congratulations, and then begin phase two.

Animal Control is Not One Size Fits All

What does a street dog do? How do they survive? Do they have any quality of life or are they just poor suffering creatures best put out of their misery?



As I got to know a few satos/ Puerto Rican street dogs, I discovered how much motivation and opportunity the feral dogs have to improve their communication skills.


When I got past being shocked and appalled at dogs not having homes with full food dishes and pillows, I looked to see what they do have.


Gradually I began to understand the social structure of a neighborhood of free ranging dogs. Their lives are humble and often harsh, but they find time to run and play. Unless they are sick or injured, we don’t do them a kindness by killing them. I mean putting them to sleep.


So I am terribly at odds with those who collect and euthanize the island dogs.


If you want to know how a dog thinks, you look at what they do. Dog lovers all talk about the things our dogs do, how clever or how silly. Do we shade our impressions with our own thoughts or beliefs? Of course! And don’t you think that our dogs pick up behaviors because of us? Hah, every time I hear the dog in the kennel giving a death scream, I know the answer to that one.


At times I’ve felt selfish because watching dogs go about their lives without our guidance intrigues me completely. The premise of my dog training school has been to improve our relationship with dogs. It’s not enough to have a bag of tricks on how to control the dog’s behavior. When I show people what the dog is saying, they pick up on it. The street dogs have taught me to be a good canine interpreter. I pray to learn Spanish as well.


In the course of studying the satos, I’ve learned how important they are to the ecology. Do you know how fast rats breed? It’s like bunnies on steroids. Do you know what rats eat? Everything! People tell me that they pick their fruit green to get it before the rats.


So if you don’t think Puerto Rico has a rat problem; thank a sato. If you do think we have a rat problem, perhaps we should talk about an island approach to animal control.


I welcome your thoughts and opinions. Thanks, Tricia

Street Dog Class In Session

I didn’t enjoy the dynamics of Stormy, Blondie and Owl as much as I did Stormy, Blondie and Bonita. The biggest difference is once Blondie accepted that Bonita’s presence didn’t mean less for Blondie, she wasn’t still posturing and threatening. Stormy bites and bullies Owl regularly. The male breeding imperative or as a human male I know once put it, “Be afraid; be very afraid.”


Blondie and Stormy taught Bonita each day; it was fun to see. Blondie teaches Owl. I see them hunting on the side of the hill. He does very well with the gimpy rear leg even when they wrestle and chase around the house. Stormy comes up to stop the fun. Blondie always sides with Storm turning on Owl.


Blondie has taught Owl the art of rat hunting. He has that sporting dog eagerness for the hunt. That group has far more virtues than I realized. You can see him thinking as he chases his prey. Some dogs just seem to make a mad dash. The dogs hunt and kill rats, whether they eat them or not. The dogs brought us a couple this week.


The trio acts like a pack at the doggy meet and greets. They seem to back each other up. Owl and Blondie back Stormy. Both boys bolster Blondie’s status. Owl just stays behind the two; he’s just there to learn. I have a feeling, if he were to make a mistake pissing off a dog at the get together; he might be on his own. That could change.


Watching the neighborhood meet and greets makes me think; all that is left of this ritual for pet dogs is the information they leave in scent marks. Wow, I always thought that the scent marking WAS the deal. I realize now that it’s more like an outdoor assembly hall, where messages are left.


Next breeding season Owl will migrate to where the bitches’ pungent odor calls. In the last five years, I’ve seen a fair number of dogs float past.


It’s taken that long for me to see loving dogs as the archetypal predator. Even the abandoned pets like Owl learn to survive, when they hook up with the savvier satos.


Seeing how the feral dogs survive, I have new respect for our fox and coyotes back in Illinois.