Walking Meditation 7/16

It is another partly cloudy day.  The last one I expect to see this week.  I could base my prediction on the local weatherman's forecast of lower than normal temperatures and thunderstorms.  Instead, I look at the trees for conformation.  The breeze grows stronger throughout the day and the silver undersides of the leaves are exposed.  The silver maple sparkles for a moment.  This is how I know tomorrow will bring rain.

We are walking, Marshall and I.  He is a good walker.  His toenails tap the pavement as he bounces next to me.  I call his happy walk "tip-tip-tip".  His head is up, his whippy tail reminds me of the Wacky-Waving-Inflatable-Flailing-Arm-Tube-Man outside the local Chevy dealership.

Marshall is a happy puppy.  I'm realizing as I write this that he only has a few short months until he is no longer a puppy.  He will be two in November.      People always think he is much younger and mistake him for a sixteen-week old Rottweiler.  The truth is we don't know what he is, a Heinz 57 mutt that most closely resembles a German Pinscher, the dogs that are the ancestors of Doberman Pinschers, Schnauzers, and Affenpinschers.

His prance has been passed down from three hundred years of working dogs.  Marshall walks with pride.  He has a job and he does it well.  I am currently working with him to be a service dog.  My service dog.

I am one of the thousands of people with an invisible disability.  People with Epilepsy, Autism, Diabetes, Alzheimer's, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and other serious psychiatric disorders fall into this category. Marshall is being trained in medical alert and response, certain tasks to help me in my daily life, as well as all of his public access standards.  

He is off-duty right now and enjoying the scents coming to him in the pre-rain breeze.  We stand for a moment in the shade of an oak tree, close our eyes and smell.   Someone is burning leaves and yard waste and from far away someone is grilling.  The scent of sun-ripened blackberries down the path beckons me.  I start to walk ahead, but Marshall is not moving.  He has firmly planted himself next to the tree.  

When I move closer, he nudges my knee.  It is one of his gentle alerts.  I take my pulse and realize I do, in fact, need to sit down and continue the deep breathing we were doing before.   The tightness in my chest builds then subsides and I breathe through it.  A few minutes later, I feel a tug on the leash.  Marshall is standing on the path with his happy wagging tail.  He tap-dances at me to tell me it's time to get going and I'm ok again.  It is time to finish our walk, side-by-side.

I am reminded at this point of a quote by Thich Nhat Hanh's "Faith as a Living Thing".  

Faith is nourished by understanding.  The practice of looking deeply helps you understand better.  As you understand better, your faith grows.  

My faith has been fed today.   And I think Marshall's has, too.

Oooh. Scary.

Next week I'm working with a client whose dog has some fear/angry/scary issues.  The owner isn't quite sure what happened or why it started.  She left for a week and returned to her house-sitter telling her that her dog was a monster and nearly attacked another dog while they walked through the park.

Before she called me, she was told to use a choke chain (ew!), prong collar (ew! ew!), not to take the dog for a walk until the "problem was fixed"  (what?), and she may have no choice but to put the dog down (omg!)

We'll meet next week to assess what is really going on, but from all accounts, I'm expecting this to be a case of fear-aggression, so I have been thinking about fear from a dog's point of view.

Most dog trainers constantly reiterate that it is important not to ascribe human ways of understanding fear to dogs.  They don't develop fear and learned responses the same way we do.  Their body language that shows fear to their own species is often causes fear in humans.   And when it comes to uncovering what is wrong, we can't ask probing questions and get insightful responses in the way we are accustomed to doing with our friends.  Dogs don't get to sit around and talk and decompress with their friends by shopping.  Or over a couple of beers and a game of pool.  Or coffee.  Or shopping.  (Did I say that already?)

 

According to most dog behavioralist texts, there are three reasons a dog responds out of fear.

-- Improper socialization as a pup.  Mainly that the pup did not get enough experience with different types of people, dogs, sounds, touch, and movement in its formative 5-14 week stage and so did not learn self-soothing techniques or how to react.

-- Trauma.  Sudden, abrupt, scary-as-all-get-out event that challenged the dogs way of understanding his world.

-- Genetic tendencies bred into the dog for a purpose or by shoddy and irresponsible breeders.  

 

Fear can come from one or more of these categories, plus another factor that can compound the fear:  progressive de-socialization.

 

Progressive de-socialization (or a similar term) is mentioned in a lot of dog training books as a cause of fear in dogs.  An example is usually giving with an aggressive dog escalating behavior until his family decides no one can come over anymore or if they do the dog has to be locked in a kennel.  Another anecdote is usually given with a dog that is displaying dog-aggressive behaviors on walks.  Eventually, the owners stop the walks and the dog is confined to the yard, never to socialize with others of his kind.

Whenever de-socialization is listed as a cause of fear in an article or book, I usually have an internal debate that sounds like this:

Research-Reading Me:  No.  It is not a cause.  It aids in conditioning a fear-full response.  Less experiences means less opportunity to learn the right response.  It is imposed by owners.   Separation is the trauma.  De-socialization should be a sub-category of trauma.   

 

Holistic-Spiritual-We-Are-One Me:  Without any trauma, adult dogs that were separated from social situations develop antisocial behaviors and fear-response aggression.  Without regular access to new stimuli and energies, dogs develop patterns to cope with stress that may not be socially appropriate in our world or theirs.  They have no release for their energy and no new way to channel their anxiety about a situation.  Yes!  Of course de-socialization is a cause of fear.

 

So, of course that debate got in the way of me writing this post last night because while I debated with myself, the afternoon sped away and it was time to meet a friend for dinner.

It was about ten o'clock when I came back to my house to see Ollie, Gus, and Marshall wrestling in the living room.  My two severely developmentally challenged dogs and my "normal" pup were all enjoying each other's company and interacting.  A dog that had improper socialization as a puppy (Gus), a dog with abuse trauma (Ollie), and a dog whose ancestors were all bred to protect and guard (Marshall).

 

That's when I decided it was too easy to intellectualize and cite references rather than see the answer that was right before me.

 

The root of the fear may not be as important as what we do with the fear itself.   It makes sense to recharge and maybe remove ourselves from the environment or fear-inducing situation for a moment, but not permanently.  When our fear impacts our ability to interact with others,  hiding away and watch the outside world go by from behind our windows and fences isn't really all that acceptable.  We stop learning.  We stop growing.  We stop being able to contribute.  And our bond to each other, our ability to be caring and present is slowly eroded until we are so unsure of ourselves that everything is... scary.

Instead of removing ourselves or our dogs from fearful situations permanently, we need to focus on gradually learning how to confront our fears in controlled situations.  This works best when supported by friends and family (and sometimes professionals).  It works best with opportunities to practice, and do-overs, and consistency.  Developing the appropriate response to address our fear makes for happy learning and productive engagement with everything that makes us whole.

 

And makes for happy dogs of all sizes and backgrounds wrestling on my futon.

Walking Meditation

Walking is a pretty spiritual thing for me.  It is a time to be aware of my body and my surroundings.  I am fortunate to live in an area where there are boardwalks and bike paths that go around lakes and into wooded areas.  The air is sweet and cool on days like today and the lake is fairly still.  Swans and ducks and the occasional egret or heron enjoy the marsh by the boardwalk.  Bullfrogs and turtles and leopard frogs rest on fallen branches.  It truly is a beautiful place to live when I take the time to notice it.

I very rarely bring my iPod along when I walk by myself or with the dogs.  I feel it breaks the connection down the leash as well as the time to listen to my body.  I use walking as a meditation frequently since I don't seem to be doing well lately with sitting still and feeling present.  When we walk, the dogs and I get a chance to see and smell small changes around us and within.

This week, I walked with Gus.  He is a Silky Terrier who stays with us most of the time.  His owner is a friend who is staying at our house for a while.  She works long hours and spends most of her days off helping her family.  We get the benefit of having him when he is not with her.

Gus was a former puppy mill puppy.  Through his puppyhood and early adolescence he was kept in an 8'x8' pen with four to five other litters.  Surrounded by so many dogs, he never learned how to develop the social skills or bonding needed for mental and physical development.  His only human interaction was being kicked out of the way when someone cleaned his cage or decided to change the water and food.

When the ASPCA had enough evidence to close the mill, he was taken to a rescue in Southern Michigan.  I found him onPetFinder.com.  My friend was looking for a Yorkshire or Silky terrier but also wanted to adopt rather than go through a breeder.  We drove out to meet Gus at his foster home in late December.

I knew immediately he would be a difficult rehabilitation.  While all the other foster dogs ran to meet us at the door, Gus only peeked out from around the corner.  It took almost an hour for him to let me pet him without shaking.  My friend had decided it was love at first site.  "He's going to need a lot of work.  I can help, but it's going to be a long road. It's not too late to change your mind," I told her as we walked back to the car.  She nodded sincerely but could hardly contain her smile as she said, "I know."

His vet records said he was about eight months old.  Our vet immediately showed us he was over a year old, perhaps older.  As I've watched him over the next few weeks, I became fairly certain he was closer to two years old.

Two years.  No human contact.  No positive play or dog interaction.

 

Sheesh.

He was certain every sudden movement was to be feared.  He had no understanding of how to relate to my dogs.  He hoarded toys and socks and guarded his food.  He cowered and lowered his head every time someone tried to pick him up or pet him.  We would joke that he 'hated how much he loved' belly rubs because he would be so happy being pet, but the minute you loosened your grip or moved he would run away.  And when it came time to put on a leash he fought ferociously and would nip and yelp.

It's been six months since he first came home and hours of classical and operative conditioning.  Now he enjoys snuggling and will fall asleep in my arms.  In May he learned how to entertain himself and play by himself.  He is becoming more consistent with 'come', 'wait', and 'sit' but that's about it.  We've had quite a few rough days.  A lot of days he feels like a chore and some days I threaten to give him to a traveling circus.  We have so much more work to do together and so much more training ahead of us.

Walking with Gus this past week strangers would comment, "What a cute dog!" and "What a happy puppy!" as they passed.  I looked down at Gus prancing beside me, bright eyed with a 'smile' on his face.  I realized I am seeing what other people see: a happy terrier enjoying his daily walk along the lake.

My walking message for mindfulness:

Take the time to realize small achievements toward your goals. Reward small progresses and use this awareness to see that others are working on their stuff too.

Ten Things I Learn From Ollie

My Ollie is a Rhodesian Ridgeback--81 pounds of pure muscle. Picture a carmel colored greyhound with a broader chest that could stand on his hind legs, put his paws on my shoulders and look me in the eye. (Thank goodness he's never jumped up in his life.)  Ollie is by far the most highly expressive and empathetic dog I've ever worked with.  He has an amazing vocabulary (over 50 phrases and names) and is able to figure out what is needed from him in a lot of varied situations.  He has dog friends of all sizes ranging from a four-pound teacup Pomeranian to a 90-pound husky.  Once he gets to know you, he is affable and goofy, and delights in showing off tricks he knows.

His neuroses and phobias, however, make him difficult to bring in public.  He has a history of abuse as a young puppy and is scared of men in baseball hats.  He is horrible at generalizing and I am never quite sure how he will react.  His fears include (but are not limited to): topiaries, fire hydrants, newspaper vending machines, rectangle street signs, red plastic cups--not blue, yellow, or clear, clear plastic forks, duffle bags, newspapers--but not wrapping paper, garbage bags, garbage cans, cardboard boxes, tight spaces, and anything out of its normal order or place.  When he is frightened, he does not bite or bark, but simply freezes and won't move except to look frantically from me to the offending object and whine.

He is the dog version of Dustin Hoffman's character in the movie Rainman.

 

Ollie teaches me so many things about living in a scary world.  And when I need time to recharge and evaluate my decisions, he is a great role model.

====================== 

1. It takes a lot of courage to 'come see' something that is scary. Even when someone you love and trust is telling you it's okay to come check it out.  Even if it is something you've seen a million times and weren't scared before.  You should always do a happy dance when you've done something brave.

2. It's frustrating when you know how to do something and someone else is still learning. You can either stay beside them and model the correct behavior or walk away. It's ok to do either, but not ok to interrupt the learning.  Don't show off.

3. It's good to let the little ones win. It's okay if a four-pound teacup Pomeranian thinks he can beat you in tug of war. He gets self confidence. You get to play. It's a win-win.

4. Diversity in friends is good.  You learn the best things about yourself when you have friends around you who think differently than you do.  It stretches your mind as you figure out how to play with them. Some are threatened by you when you move fast.  It's best to get on their level and move slowly. Some like to take care of you but don't really like it for you to take care of them. Be flexible and they will keep playing with you.

5. Help older friends.  Visit them regularly. Wait for them to catch up without being impatient. Let them eat first. Just because they can't get up doesn't mean they don't want to play. Bring them the toys and they will play from their bed.

6. If someone you love won't get out of bed, bring them a ball. Wag your tail. Look happy. If they don't get out of bed, sometimes the best thing you can do is be quiet, lay down next to them, and let them cry on you. Then, try the ball again. Don't whine.

7. When friends are sick, sometimes they just need you to be there or spend the night by their side.  It is comforting to have a friend close.  Sometimes friends are too sick to let anyone know.  If that is the case, whine until someone with more medical expertise listens. 

8. When someone is breaking a big rule, try to tell them yourself to stop. If they don't listen, it's okay to let someone with more authority know. Especially if your friend might hurt themselves. 

9. It's ok not to like something, but you have to try it first. And if you're creative, you can find a way to kind of like it. Swimming pools are a good example.  If you don't like swimming, find a friend  who does.  He can go swimming and gets the ball to fetch. You take the ball from him at the edge of the pool and bring it to whoever is throwing.

10. When you think your patience is exhausted or the environment is too scary, take a deep breath then leave the room or go outside by yourself for a minute. Run around. Entertain yourself. Or take a nap. Then you will be able to interact with others and play again.

What life lessons do you learn from you furry friends?

A good place to start

I've been quiet for a while, writing instead in my striped bound journal next to my bed.  I've been trying to find my center, what makes me happy and whole and feel connected.  Feeling pen on paper always adds a bit of connection and I desperately needed some.

 

I realized that I have been doing what I love for months, working with my dogs and donating my time to friends and family to help them with training issues with their pooches.  Not only am I doing what I love, but I find myself feeling a certain closeness to my spiritual nature and being more mindful.  When I actually pause and take the time to reflect, I am learning more through these interactions and learning how to apply spiritual teachings in a more integrated way.

When talking about animals and spirituality, I mean it in whatever way works the best for you.  My spiritual background is a hodgepodge of religions and belief systems.  I typically categorize myself as a Dirt-Worshipping Quasi-Buddhist who doesn't mind reading the Bible now and again.  This is less about me and more about interactions, so I'm going to skip the multi-post length novel and go straight to the Cliff Notes version.

Whatever your background or belief system, please know that when I say 'Energy' or 'Universe' or 'Spirit', I am doing my best to include everyone while being true to my own belief system.  I have a hard time conceptualizing a being up in the sky watching over our every move.  It doesn't help my paranoia or agoraphobia in the least bit.  I grew up in a Lutheran home though, and find myself saying things like "God forbid", "heaven", "hell", "angel", "saint", or "pure evil".  I don't believe in evil, although I think ignorance, cruelty, and misguided intentions abound in our world. 

 I may also differ from a lot of folks because I tend to see the key people whose writings are included in most major religions as just dudes.  REALLY SMART and AWARE and SPIRITUAL dudes who have a lot of good works, good teachings, and great writings.  Dudes that are all worth listening to at least once.  The best thing about this is that I'm also not bound to one way of viewing and love to hear other people's interpretations of words like 'spirit' and 'angel' and 'G/god' and 'faith'.  I try very consciously to remain open to all ways of thought and always encourage compassionate dialogue.   Even when I don't want to.

I believe in kindness and being self-aware so as not to hurt anyone intentionally.  And I believe we are all here to help and make a difference in each other's lives. It is in this way that I think our animals give us such an insight into how to be more compassionate, wholly realize ourselves, and integrated with our sense of spirituality.   Together, through sharing our stories and observations, we can walk together and learn from each other. 

 

In that respect, I am going to focus my writing here for the next two months on the lessons we learn from our furry friends.   This blog will discuss how understanding our animal's perceptions can strengthen our bond with each other in both the human and animal realm of existence and how to better communicate with them so our spiritual bond can deepen. 

I might even stick in a poem or two.  Maybe.

 

I'm partial, of course, to the animals that are sharing my daily life:

 

Orange Cat:  My orange domestic short-hair cat has been part of my life since 2002.  He was a field cat who moved in under our porch in Ohio and eventually weaseled into our hearts and onto our couch.  He is not my first cat, however.  MacBeth, Mittens, and Murphy were all large long-haired kitties, each one lovingly brought home after someone's barn cat had kittens.

 

Ollie B. Superbiscuit: A Rhodesian Ridgeback.  He is our first dog, adopted in 2006.  My father always had dogs and I grew up spending summers playing with his dogs Captain and Bess, and later Brandy.  

 

Marshall T. Wunderstrudel: Is our German-Something-or-Other, an 18-month old pup in training to be a therapy dog as well as my own service dog.  I plan to devote Thursday posts to working dogs and questions that readers have about the dogs, training programs, or how to get involved in their community with their animals.

 

I also have a soft spot for rabbits.  Winston F. Bunny passed last October after almost 8 years together, I learned an immense amount about how to be friends with a prey animal.   It is a totally different type of relationship and I hope that some of my insights will be enriched by those of you who also have little herbivores that are low on the food chain.  

So tell me:

What animals are a part of your life?

Gone to The Dogs

So, July and August are going to the dogs.

Here is me all dressed in my hippie-goddess floofy skirts and flip-flops, wearing a moonstone necklace and sandalwood rose perfume, toting my bound journal and a purple pen.

I'm going to step behind that screen for a moment and emerge... still me.

Now, here is me in denim and t-shirt and my orange running shoes.  Wearing my Serenity Prayer necklace.  Still toting my bound journal and a purple pen.

And a leash.  

(And sometimes Marshall's Service Dog vest.)

Ready to write about some stuff I've been up to.

ache

ache and ache

and pain, then pulse

and purity

with hope convulse

  

and vanity

all-too-surety 

half within 

and all without

haunted harlequin 

and parasols 

make-up maids

and poppet dolls

this my reduction

hollow tones 

and hollow halls

empty cures

and vacant molls

unsure hopes

and failing failing failing

distempered kisses

and counting breath

the whispers cut

and tongue unkempt 

silk screen torn

and then I wept

this is your seduction