Ridin' the Rails

Barry, the dogs and I took a ride on the Downeast Scenic Railroad (http://www.downeastscenicrail.org/ride/) this morning. What fun that was. The rail's staff are all volunteers and very passionate about all things rail. It made me sad to think how much this part of life (railroads) has disappeared just during my lifetime.

And, I never knew it was as complex as it is. For example, I didn't know there was a pattern to the train whistle - two long, one short, one long equals crossing ahead. And, every mile along every railroad in the country was marked with a stone (granite, I think) pillar.

I remember reading somewhere that we should preserve the rail corridors for the time when we have a high speed rail system. But, alas, that isn't to be.

The dogs were amazingly good on the train. Spirit worked the crowd from her position under the picnic table. (Well behaved and 'owner restrained' dogs are allowed only in the open air car.) Spirit had been on our commuter rail; however, it was a totally new experience for Willow. We used classical conditioning to pair the loud noises with a yummy treat from Bark Harbor. Soon, all was well and Willow was laying under the table getting up only to play with the kids who wanted to pet her. It was a great experience.




This is Spirit having some fun, bonding time with her dad on the train.

Thanks to the volunteers. Highly recommend this slice of history. Dogs who aren't sound sensitive may enjoy the ride if they enjoy human attention and just like hanging out with their people.


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Location:Ellsworth, ME

Notes on taking five Goldens into Bar Harbor

We took all five dogs into Bar Harbor yesterday. Walking them around town led to several lessons:
1. For a lot of people seeing five quiet, well-behaved dogs walking together is a major event. Many, many asked us if we were a club. Many more felt it was a major 'event' - one worthy of photography! A number of folks wanted a picture of the dogs - some with the human in the picture, some just of the dogs. I was shocked. I guess we live in such a dog-centric world that this seemed unremarkable. Not so.
2. Thank goodness I've taught all the dogs good restaurant manners. We had five dogs at a table with four people and, aside from one deciding that he needed to stretch out, no one knew they were there.
3. My two Goldens are bilingual. They are fluent in Aussie! Having seen them around Goldens for a week it was so wonderful to watch them erupt into fluent Aussie when they met a family of three in town. All play and frolic from my guys.
4. Even if you have a good loose leash walk, taking water-loving Goldens on a walk along a path that is on a cliff above the ocean produces pulling on the leash. Enough said?


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Location:Green Lake, Maine

Getting my mom in memory care

I really rely on my dogs in stressful situations...they provide an unconditional presence that helps me to be able to cope.

This was very obvious this weekend as I was moving my mom into memory care. This was one of the hardest things I have ever done. All my training in geriatric care and dealing with emotions didn't prepare me for the feeling that I was abandoning her and that I should be caring for her myself. (So much for all those years of therapy and learning to 'individuate.'. I know that my caring for her isn't an option; we haven't lived together for the last 37 years and have seen each other maybe twice a year during that period. And, we can't be in the same room together for more than a few hours until we are both ready to leave. I have exactly no caretaker genes in my being. But, there is something so visceral about the imperative to care for my parents. It amazed me and terrified me at the same time.

I remember being 18 and planning to leave home to go to Colorado for the summer. My mom got really sick the entire year before the trip - all during the planning. She got so ill that she didn't even get out of bed and my dad relied on me to take care of her, of the house, of my sister. I became so stressed I'd wake up at night with hives.

Shocker for me, the week after I left she was up and fine. Yet another version of, "Don't abandon me...".

It was back this week. It has to be some really old, incredibly neurally encoded piece of emotion - so far below consciousness that I didn't even know it was still there.

So, how does this relate to my dogs?

I am so attached to my dogs that I really wish they had been here with me. It would have given us something more comfortable to focus on. I also think that they help calm me - all that research on the impact of petting a dog just is so true for me. And, it was even specific - I wanted to have the Willow dog there. That surprises me...she isn't my 'soul dog.'. She's softer, more comfortable and seems to support me in a way I've not experienced previously from a canine. I wanted Willow to take care of me.

Is that fair? Who knows... But, if I could have had anything in the world to help me cope with this situation that is what I would have wanted.

And, I guess that makes sense, doesn't it?










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Location:30,000+ feet

A Great Dog

I wandered over to Jon Katz' blog. (I'm on the iPad so just search,"Bedlam Farm Journal.") Here's what he says ...

"What makes a great dog?

A great dog enters your life at an important point, and helps define it.

A great dog is happy in your presence.

A great dog prefers you to almost anything, except possibly food.

A great dog makes you smile. And laugh.

And opens your heart and soul, if you are open to it.

A great dog connects you to people.

A great dog communicates with you, beyond consciousness,

beyond words.

A great dog teaches you patience.

And makes you vulnerable to such a great love.

A great dog is a great thing..."

He's talking about his dog, Lenore.

For me, Tucker is a great dog. He is all of these things to me.

But, he is much more. He is a troubled dog - he is often an afraid dog. He didn't have many people friends when he was grown. (This is despite the fact that he was called 'Crush' - his litter name - before he was 8 weeks of age.) Something happened. Was it me? Was it my neediness? Was it one of the rabies vaccines? Was it who he was?

Sarah, one of my first teachers of dog behavior, once spat cheese his way to reward him. This was when he was three or four. Ever since that day if you push your lips like you will 'spit' toward him - he turns away and leaves. One trial learning.

I want to see him for who he is. And, almost everything I see in him is a reflection of me.

It brings me back to what I was listening to yesterday - I was thinking about the neurobiology of attachment. I was also thinking about mirror neurons. I was thinking about why dogs fill such a voice for me. Tara Brach (Meditation and Psychotherapy) was talking about how our mom's mirror us and how important that is for children in developing attachment. I was thinking about how important dogs are for many of us. I was thinking about how my own 'attachment' to my mother, my parents, wasn't/isn't great. I was thinking about mothering and how hard it is to mirror another when we don't know who we (ourselves) are. I was thinking about how dogs may be evolutionarily programmed to mirror us - and I was thinking of what a gift that is to those of us who were never mirrored.

Tucker is a great dog.

"A great dog enters your life at an important point, and helps define it." Tucker came to me before I learned to teach, to train. Any skill I have in that realm came as a result of my having to learn to live with (and keep safe) a difficult dog. His fear led me to have to be a better handler, an aware and more centered person.

"A great dog is happy in your presence." I learned to 'lead' to 'be' with calmness. This formed a place of holding for Tucker - certainly not physically. He never liked to be touched that much. But, our relationship was a 'holding' one, none the less. He 'held' me and I him.

"A great dog prefers you to almost anything, except possibly food." It felt good to be someone's 'special' someone...the important someone. And, he was mine.

"A great dog makes you smile. And laugh." Yes. He does. And, I hope that I make him happy.

"And opens your heart and soul, if you are open to it." I've learned courage. I've learned strength. I've learned not to be defined by the behavior of the dog who is with me. I've learned that it is ok to not be perfect and to not have my dog be perfect. I've learned to accept embarrassment for the good of another.

"A great dog connects you to people." Tucker is the pivotal connection to many of my women friends. We may not see each other (except on Facebook) but we do keep in touch. We understand what it is to love and to work at that love.

"A great dog communicates with you, beyond consciousness, beyond words." All I can say is 'yes." I'm not sure what Katz means by this sentence but, yes. I feel a connection. I experience communication. I 'know' this dog at a depth that I don't often allow myself to know others.

"A great dog teaches you patience." Enough said?

"And makes you vulnerable to such a great love." And, being present when that love is uncomfortable.

"A great dog is a great thing."

Tucker is a great dog.


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Waiting

These are the end days. We're waiting on Tucker's death. He is happy. He doesn't appear to be in pain. He is engaged. It's very bizarre to wait on a 'certain' death.

I'm struck by how surreal it is when you know (with fair certainty) that there are only a few days (or even a couple of weeks) left.

I'm a planner. I like it when things are neat, arranged, finished. I take great pride in completing tasks - checking off lists. How do I sit with the uncertainty? How do I not know when?

Every moment is precious ... it may be my last with him. And, yet, I have other dogs, a job, a home, a wonderful husband, friends. They all need and want my attention. Who am I kidding, I want my attention again. How do I wait?

I don't know how you do this. I don't know how people do this when it is someone they love.

I'm caught in the not knowing.

Meditation helps. Fleeting moments of just sitting with what is. No denial, no hope - just is.

I want to be present. I'm afraid that I'll have to leave to go back to Florida to put my mom in the memory care unit, that I will leave and he will die. I won't be there. It is my greatest wish to be there with him. He has been there for me. I want to be there for him.


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