RIP Mr Flexi

Yet another flexi-leash has been put to rest.  They seem to last about a year or so.  I don't know if this is normal or if we're especially hard on them. I doubt the sand and salt water from our excursions to the beach are good for the mechanics of the leash.

This particular flexi has been on many excursions to explore the parks and preserves around the area. We've discovered the joys of Smyrna Dunes National Park, the nearest dog friendly beach. We've learned how absolutely wonderful St Augustine is - from the beaches to the hotels to the shops, restaurants and bars in the historic district. The flexi even kept Vixen safely nearby on the walking ghost tour.  Unfortunately, Vixen and the flexi will not accompany us when we return for the ghostly pub crawl.

Smyrna Dunes has been a terrific find!  It's $3.50 to park or you can buy an annual pass, which I will do next year. They have a pavilion with picnic tables, bathrooms, dog wash area and a nice display of the wildlife and fauna in the area at the parking lot.

There's a boardwalk as well as wide trails through palmetto brush to get to the beach. Dogs are not allowed on the boardwalk after 10:30am, so I just go prepared to walk a ways.  Once we get to the beach, even on a crowded day, there's plenty of room to spread out and have a little piece of beach to yourself.

St Augustine was amazingly sparse as far as crowds go, especially over Labor Day week-end when we were there. We had a whole patch of beach to ourselves.  The only drawback, which  may be why there's not more people, is that the beach is lined by condos and houses - very few hotels actually on the beach and there were no restaurants, bars or even mobile vendors on the beach.  Once you're on the beach, you're there with whatever you brought and that's it.

That being said, it was a beautiful beach and it was great not having many folks around so that we did not have to worry about kids or others bothering the dogs and vice versa. My friend allowed her dog to run off leash but Vixen is much more unpredictable and, therefore, stayed on the flexi the whole time.  That did not, however, prevent her from swimming and playing fetch in the waves till she was completely tuckered out.

I believe the sand, daily walks and many treks through brush, wilderness, lakes and rivers has taken its toll on this dear flexi.  This week we shall enjoy a trip to the pet store to choose yet another flexi for our next set of adventures.

Serendipity

So yesterday Vix and I headed out to the upscale neighborhood where I've seen what looks like a national park pull off and parking area for a trail.  I've been past this trail head and a few like it over the years thinking, "I really need to stop and check this out some time." Well, yesterday I decided to finally check one of them out.

We pulled up to the small parking area and pulled into one of the few shady spots left.  There were only two other cars parked there... that's how small. (I really should invest in a good digital camera.)  Anyway.... as we pulled in I noticed a man standing at one of the entrances and, not knowing if he was a dog friendly person and wanting to respect his privacy, I headed Vixen toward the left entrance opposite him. 

We circled around and ended up at this gentleman who, apparently, hadn't moved.  I commented on the heat and how beautiful the trail is.  He said he'd been coming here at least once a week for 20 years.  We chit-chatted for a bit and I commented on wishing the trail was longer.  He told me about one of the bridges being out and offered to give me a tour.

I, of course, took him up on his offer.  We headed out to the main road and entered an unmarked trailhead area where we entered another entrance to the trail that was truly beautiful and remarkable with all the cypress trees and the creek with fast moving water. 

As we walked my new friend treated me to stories about his aneurysm that was supposed to have killed him.  His wife had always loved one song and called it their song till this incident.  The doctors had told her that he was going to die but he didn't, so, several days later they performed surgery and he recovered but lost his short term memory.  During the recovery he suffered memory loss and didn't even know his kids, but not once did he forget his wife.  She changed their song after that to "Unforgettable".

I'm not doing justice to the story.  It was so touching that I had tears welling up in my eyes as he told it.

Mr. Peak entertained me for the whole hour with stories of how they met and his decision to leave the Air Force so that he could be with his family.  How he completed pharmacy school on the Dean's list all the while supporting his wife and their three kids - one of whom is mentally disabled. 

It was a serendipitous day. I thoroughly enjoyed the scenery, his patience with stopping to allow Vixen to play in the water, and, mostly hearing of how very much in love he is with his wife and family. She died eight years ago. :( 

Before we parted he pulled out of his shirt a little notebook that he explained was his "short term memory" and apologized ahead of time for not recognizing me next time we met. I'm horrible with names and will probably not remember Bill Peak's name, but I will certainly remember him and the sweet time I had hiking the trail and listening to his memories.

Hard to Believe

Knowing how fierce and fearless Vixen is, I am really finding this hard to believe....

Chihuahua Saves Border Terrier from Cougar

PHILOMATH — A local cougar picked the wrong backyard to prowl at Neabeack Hill on Monday night. Two small dogs — Rosie the border terrier and Chiquita the Chihuahua — charged the mountain lion after it jumped over a low-level fence, confronting the big cat, had a brief standoff and ultimately chased it away.

Pet owner Loren Wingert said her dogs are “invincible.”

“My dogs see something in the yard, they go after it,” she added. “Actually, they were pretty lucky. One little bite there and they probably would have been seriously injured, but they didn’t have a scratch on them.”

During the backyard melee, the cougar pinned down Rosie, who squealed, but Chiquita convinced the big cat to flee by barking ferociously.

“I think we’re more traumatized than they are. They’re fine,” Wingert said.

Championship

As I watched the dogs go first in the puppy class.  They bounced all over the ring wanting to run on the leash or play with the other puppies instead of walking at the normal pace.  I felt so much better and told myself this was just a “puppy thing” and that the instructors from our puppy school were way too serious. This was merely meant to be a fun thing for Vixen and me. 

The border terrier community is very supportive. I had already met a few folks through Teri and felt right at ease with them. They are a down to earth group, much like the dogs themselves. Very unpretentious and genuinely friendly souls they are.  They would freely give advice if asked, but only if asked.  It was wonderful.  

Thankfully, they also let me know when I was to go into the ring.  There are different “classes” for judging and then the winners of each class compete as they narrow down the field to the ultimate, “best of breed” title is awarded. I don’t think I ever did get the order right, but, thanks to the border terrier community, I never missed being in the ring when I was supposed to be.

I learned from them how to tell the difference between a Norwich and a Norfolk Terrier and much more about different breeds.  And, man, are there tons of different breeds, each one special and unique in their own way. Each one has its own gait and mannerisms, bred for different tasks and different grooming needs. For a dog lover, it’s pure heaven to watch.

Vixen wasn’t the problem in the ring, Mom was.  Thankfully, most judges tend to take the handler’s incompetence into consideration and actually judge the dog on the merits of the dog, e.g. how well the dog meets the standards for the breed. Most judges were very understanding and patient with this nincompoop of a handler. One smirked as I clumsily lifted Vixen to the table for inspection and told her I was new to the show ring. “You don’t say?”  she grinned as she removed my hands from petting Vixen’s head so she could check her bite and coat.

Early in our conformation experience, we entered the ring and I was instantly intimidated by the judge.  She was an elderly woman with silky white hair and a bright red, blue and yellow outfit adorned with schnauzer buttons and a hat that looked like something from the Kentucky Derby. She didn’t smile and that made me really nervous.  

I whispered, “This is one of our first times in the ring,” hoping she’d forgive any handling mistakes I might make.   

She just looked down at Vixen and said, “You’ve got her collar on backwards.” 

Smiling, I said lightly “I told you I was new to this,” in a tone that I hoped would lighten the mood.

She just glared at me. 

“Do you want me to fix it?” I asked.

“Yes” she said rolling her eyes and impatience in her voice.

I knew we were doomed and thought about just bolting out of the ring without even trying to finish the rest of the exercise. But, we made it through and it was one of our first shows together.  

Conformation Dog Shows is serious business.  Those shows take place in the mud, the rain and heat. People drive hundreds of miles, some of them in expensive RVs, all for a few short minutes in the ring. 

One week-end we got up dark and early to hit the road heading for Ocala for a show. We had to be there by 8:00 am to meet up with Teri and some other border terriers for a show. Ocala, Florida has a huge, nice showground and all the rings are outside.

It started pouring down rain halfway there.  The rain was so heavy that I thought a few times about pulling over to wait it out. When we got there, I realized that my shoes were in no way going to survive the mud and muck. I noticed that the pros at this were prepared with over-sized umbrellas, boots and covers for their shoes. Thankfully, Teri was prepared and even had an extra pair of overshoes for my feet. 

I was still a nervous handler and let Vixen set the pace for our “down and back” for the judge.  This is not a good idea. We trotted, no, ran down to the end of the ring and back, mud slopping onto the back of my legs and skirt. The judge said that would be great if we were auditioning for the Boston Marathon and would I please take my dog down and back again at a much slower pace.

I got better at handling Vixen and we did win points to get the coveted Championship Title added to her name. We even beat professional handlers at a few shows and, let me tell you, that is the pinnacle of pride right there.  The pros are practically invisible in the ring.  All you see is the dog, the perfectly behaved, impeccably groomed, properly paced dog. The pros know how to make even the mediocre dog look and act like best of breed. I wonder, though, how much they enjoy what they do; too many seem angry, stressed and downright miserable.

Conformation

Once we got the basic obedience commands consistent I was ready to start conformation training. One of the instructors at the school thought Vixen was way too hyper and I was too inexperienced to start conformation training yet.  I can be rather stubborn so I signed up for conformation classes anyway and, yes, Vixen did want to play with the other dogs in line instead of standing still and pretty for the judges. We continued anyway.

Entering the grounds of the dog show was like walking into a whole new world.  There were dogs of every shape and size, many of whom I’d never seen before.  There were tents everywhere offering all things dog related: grooming supplies, treats of all kinds, toys, breed related jewelry, art, clothing… you name it, if you can put a dog on it, it’s for sale by these vendors.  There is, of course, the popular food vendor selling everything from funnel cakes and deep fried candy bars to chicken salad sandwiches.

One room or section of the show grounds is packed full of dogs in crates, standing on tables and peering out of x-pens. Strange contraptions and hair dryers buzzed with the barking and talking while people worked feverishly combing and cutting coats; putting ears in these strange sock looking things; trimming nails. Every so often we’d have to jump out of the way as a dog and handler came rushing by.

At our first show we saw this strange little dog with no fur save the tufts of white, cotton like hair sticking up on his head and around his feet.  Also with this breed was the same dog covered with the cotton like hair and looking like something out of a Dr. Seuss book. We were so curious as to what this was that we approached one of the tables where this curious little dog was and asked what kind of dog it was.  

The gentleman wheeled on us, glared and yelled, “Get away!  She’s about to go in the ring!” 

“Ohhhh kayyyyy”  I said as we backed away slowly, now afraid to turn our back on the little man.

We retreated to the safety of the border terrier community and found out from them that it is a Chinese Crested.  They come in two varieties, hairless and “powder puff”.  Some of these little oddities have won “Ugliest Dog” contests, but the dogs at this show were regal and adorable.

We learned quickly that it’s just not safe to approach people inside the ring areas and reserved our “meet the dogs” questions for those who seemed to be relaxing and in no hurry to be anywhere.  Approaching a handler who is in the middle of grooming, heading to the ring or otherwise occupied is not wise. A good eye for body language helps to identify those who don’t mind questions and people petting the beloved show dog. 

It’s important to always be cognizant of where your dog is and what she’s doing, even though you are tethered to each other by a mere twelve inch leash. I was standing, watching the dogs in the ring and felt a tug on the leash. I turned to see Vixen on her back legs, little body stretched as far as she could go straining to smell the Great Dane’s arse directly in front of her.  Thankfully, she hadn’t actually used the Dane’s legs to support herself for this endeavor.

Training

I was tickled to pieces to finally have the dog of my dreams and she was smart. (I know all owners say that, but it’s true!) This was also my first AKC registered puppy. I was about to learn about a whole new exciting world that I never knew existed. Teri said that Vixen is “show quality” and that she wanted Vixen to participate in conformation shows to earn her Championship.  This is what culminates in The Westminster Dog Show here in the US and Crufts in Great Britan. Most dogs, obviously, never make it to that level.  The competitions are generally on a smaller scale and the dog wins points at the conformation shows based on whether it wins or not and how many other dogs it had to beat to get the coveted purple ribbon.

We signed up for puppy classes at one of the dog training facilities in our area. At our first class I felt like a total idiot.  Everyone else had relatively calm puppies compared to our little bundle of dynamite. They seemed at ease and as if they had been coming to puppy classes for years.

During “play time” when the puppies were allowed to run around off leash and play with one another, Vixen would run around as fast as she could inviting the larger puppies to chase her. Then she would jump in their faces, catching them completely off guard. I began to think she had been a kamakazi pilot in another life due to the way she would plow, head first into the sides of the larger puppies startling them. She became the master instigator strategically causing other puppies to be put in “time out” for bad behavior. Our furry daughter was the class clown. 

It didn’t take long for everyone to know Vixen.  As soon as we got out of the car she would jump up and down excitedly, smelling every blade of grass, every rock in the parking lot, tugging me toward the door. Once inside Vixen barked that extremely loud bark that caused the whole building to go quiet and look over at us. “Vixen is in the house!” She announced her presence with all the pomp and circumstance of Paris Hilton.

Occasionally I would fret that she just wasn’t “getting it” and just when I’d reach the height of frustration with my inability to communicate with her, she would do whatever lesson we were on perfectly. Almost like, “Oh, is that what you want?”  I think, too, I was the most animated human in the classes.  I don’t recall anyone else acting like they’d just won the lottery every time the dog learned a new command. 

Once she learned a command, Vixen was eager to do it over and over again. She would go so far as to run through her repertoire of commands in an effort to obtain the treat that was supposed to follow. This provided no end to the amusement during training classes. A “sit” would quickly turn into a “down” and then a “bang” (roll over) and then Vixen, pleased as pie looking up at me for her reward.

It was at one of these classes that we learned about a dog who was trained to ring a bell when he wanted to go outside. Vixen had learned that “outside” is where one goes to “go potty”.  When she wanted to go out she would quietly go sit by the sliding glass door and could go unnoticed longer than her bladder would hold out. We decided this bell trick was a wonderful idea and decided to try it.  We bought a package of Christmas bells at a craft store and hung one by a string next to the back door.  We then had Vixen ring the bell with her paw every time we went outside.

Vixen picked up on the idea rather quickly and, once she was fully convinced that ringing the bell was a command for Mom to let her into the back yard, she delighted in ringing the bell, even when there wasn’t any full bladder involved. Occasionally, Vixen would ring the bell while I was in the middle of something, so I’d tell her, “just a minute” and continue whatever I was doing.  Vixen might wait patiently or she might pull her paw back and hit the bell with all her might.  Then she’d turn her head and look at me, “I want to go outside, NOW!” Well, who could argue with that? 

We also learned how to “link” natural behavior to a command. One of our favorite tricks is “recon”.  This trick comes from Vixen’s fondness for stretching her back legs out behind her and pulling her body along the carpet with her front legs, head held high, grin on her face and tongue wagging away.  

Lessons

I took two days off from work to help our little bundle adjust to life with her new pack. At the risk of sounding silly, I was nervous.  This was only the second puppy I’d ever had in my whole life and I was completely responsible for this “clean slate” and making sure she became well trained and a dog that others enjoyed being around.  I had to make sure she got the right amount of exercise, mental and physical.  I had to keep her healthy and happy for, hopefully, the next twenty years.  It seemed to be a daunting responsibility.  Little did I know what Vixen had in store for me.

House training a dog can wear down even the most excited dog owner. Those little bladders can only hold so much.  The good thing is that potty habits are easy to predict for the most part.  Every time the dog eats or wakes up from a nap it will have to go to the bathroom – immediately! If a dog plays hard, it will have to go to the bathroom.  If a dog gets the “zoomies”, you can rest assured that at some point during the “zoomie”, the dog will pause, squat and pee. A dog who is not being watched will pee.

Every morning the alarm would buzz and I bounded out of bed, rushing at the first note from the radio alarm clock to the back yard with Vixen where I would give the command, “go potty” and then cheer like a banshee when she did.  This delight in her potty habits rewarded me with an excited, proud little bundle dancing around my legs. 

“I peed!  I peed, Mom! I’m such a good girl!”

Then, because puppies aren’t the only ones who have to go to the bathroom as soon as they wake up, we’d turn around and sprint to the bathroom with me calling, “My turn!” where Vixen would supervise my morning pee. She didn’t, however, get as excited about that as she did that it meant we would then be heading to the kitchen for breakfast.

All the literature on border terriers will tell you that they are extremely food motivated. This is an understatement. Border terriers live to eat, it seems. If a border terrier does not have an appetite, you can rest assured that it is either sick or very abnormal. Vixen could scarf her breakfast down in record time. This then meant another trip to the back yard for another “potty celebration”.

I have since learned that those little toys that hold kibble and require the dog to “work” to get the kibble out so they can eat are the most valuable inventions ranking right up there with the wheel and coffee makers. Border terriers can still work those toys like nobody’s business and it doesn’t take long for them to empty the toy, but it does buy some time for making my own coffee before the demand for a rousing game of fetch is bouncing between my feet.

After scarfing down breakfast, Vixen would follow me around the house like a shadow until I was ready to leave for work. She was fascinated with the shower, but not fascinated enough to enter the shower.  She’d poke her head in while I was showering and wait for me to put a foot out where she would then lick the water from my ankle and then look up at me as if asking for the next leg.  After drying the leg first I would then put my other leg out for the same tongue inspection.  This is how Vixen acquired the first of many nick-names.  “Inspector” was her persona anytime we were in the bathroom together. She inspected the ankles for cleanliness, the cabinets for toilet paper, the garbage can for empty toilet paper rolls or something else to play with, the shower for, well, I don’t know what she was looking for in the shower since she wouldn’t ever set foot in it….

Before leaving for work I’d put her in her crate, as we’d decided to crate train Vixen. She’d look at me with those huge, watery brown eyes and whine and whine and whine. Then she’d bark, obstinance reverberating in her whole body, ordering me to let her out of that metal prison.

This, I learned, is where buying an AKC registered dog from a responsible breeder comes in handy. I don’t know if there is already a patron saint of patience, but if either Teri or I were Catholic, I’d certainly nominate her for the title. This was only the first of many frantic calls to her about what turned out to be the most insignificant thing.

“Teri, I’m so upset.  There’s this problem.  Vixen hates the crate.  She’s threatening to turn me in for puppy abuse.”

“Tough love, Sonya.  You’re doing the right thing and it’s the safest place for Vixen to be when you’re not home.”

“But Teri, she’s whining and barking and I feel so bad.”

“She’ll get used to it.  I promise.  One day that will be her preferred place to rest. You’re being responsible by crate training her.”

We didn’t really question Teri.  She has so much experience and breeders like Teri take a great interest in their litters.  She is just as concerned about the safety, health and happiness of her puppies as the owners of those puppies. Teri said to do it, all the training material I read said to do it. I wanted Vixen to be safe and my carpet clean and dry so I toughed it out and, much to my surprise, Vixen did get used to it and now she can be found on lazy afternoons curled up in her crate.