EnvironMental Monday: Claiming a Fur-Free Zone

It's shedding time in my household at the moment. Truth be told, with two long-haired, VERY active dogs, it's pretty much always shedding time. Fur flies behind my doors, gets stuck in nooks and crannies, and I'll inexplicably find a stray Killian hair in my soup every so often. It's not pleasant, but unless I'm willing to vaccuum every day (I'm not), it seems to be an inescapable part of having hounds. I can be a bitter woman with a cleaning fetish, I can get rid of my canine compadres, or I can suck it up and deal.

I've chosen to deal.

HOWEVER, over the past month, I did come to a rather revolutionary (for me) decision: I made my living room sofa a fur-free zone. There are two dogs beds on the floor, but for the past two years, both dogs have become accustomed to reclining on my aged sofa whenever they had the yen. Killian, in particular, loved to stretch waaaay out with his belly in the air, and snooze the day away. The result of that particular habit was that I almost never spent any time in my living room, because the couch was always covered with fur. Which meant that anytime I wanted to hang out and watch a little TV, by the end of the evening I would also be covered with fur. Having guests was always mortifying, as I'd frequently find myself explaining that the sofa wasn't so much my sofa as... well, the dogs' sofa.

So, last month I decided enough was enough. The dogs have the run of the rest of the house, they can sleep on my bed, I spend more on their groceries each month than I do on my own... I should have one place that's just mine, right? Indeed. I washed the couch cover, cleaned the living room from top to bottom, bought myself a handy-dandy little shelf for my TV and DVDs, and now keep a broom stashed lengthwise over the couch whenever I'm not there, to discourage any trespassers. The dogs don't seem inordinately distressed by this arrangement, and neither of them have attempted to get back on the couch since I passed the No Dogs on the Sofa decree. And me? I get to snuggle up and watch TV or read while the dogs are happily snoozing on their beds on the floor.

The Fur-Free Zone has definitely made my world feel much more human-habitable - and, I'm much more likely to take a little time and lounge with the hounds, now that there is a space I feel good about. And that's something everyone in the house can woof about.

Teaching Your Dog to Come When Called: The Elusive Perfect Recall

If you go to any dog park in America, you're likely to see the same scenario: at least one dog running wild, while the owner calls from the sidelines, "Here, Skip, come on. Come, Skippy. Coooooome on. COME!" This typically goes on for at least a couple of minutes, and sometimes longer, while the dog happily cavorts. While most dog parks have a standing rule that dogs are only to be off-leash if their owners have good vocal control of them, that invariably doesn't always happen. So, how does your pooch stack up in this quest for "good vocal control"? Does he come when called? Sit with a vocal cue from you at a distance? Leave items you'd rather he not devour, even when you're not there to physically drag him from the tempting tidbit?

Yeah... Mine doesn't, either.

But, we're working on it. We've been working for what seems like ages, on perfecting recall. Today while out at our equivalent to a dog park here in Thomaston, a couple of local Labs - Duncan and Tessa, who are total sweethearts - were playing when I arrived with Killian and Adia. They were playing while I chatted with their owner, Sara, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted Nilo, a local man with some mental and physical challenges, who regularly walks the park. I called for Killian and Adia, who - magically - came to me immediately, and sat very nicely while I put their leashes back on. Sara called for Duncan and Tessa; Tessa came right over, but Duncan bounded toward Nilo. Dunc is a big marshmallow who loves everyone, but he did jump a couple of times on Nilo, and never did come to Sara, despite how frequently she called him.

There are no judgments here, because I've been in the same boat on plenty of occasions. But, I have seen that scene replayed so many times with fellow dog owners, who become irate and frustrated when their dogs will not come when called. When Killian and Adie race for me when given the cue, I'm viewed as some kind of mystic.

It's not really a secret: I make it worth their while to come to me. I make it fun. In Patricia McConnell's stellar book, "The Other End of the Leash," she has a section entitled "Calling Your Canine to Come." I recommend that to anyone working on recall. Here is a portion of what she writes:

"There's nothing I can tell you in one short chapter that will guarantee that your dog will come every time you call. I taught my own dogs to come when 'called' by starting when they weren't too distracted by something else... I called with a clear, consistent signal like 'Tulip, come!' while I clapped my hands, bent forward a bit in a play bow, turned my body sideways, and started to move away. The microsecond that my Great Pyrenees, Tulip, moved toward me, I started cooing 'Good girl! Good girl!' and ran away faster. That action lured her in my direction and at the same time rewarded her with one of her favorite activities - a good chase game."

Nowhere in that passage do you see McConnell say anything about standing rigidly in one spot and shouting "COME!" in a low, rigid voice - which is so often what we end up doing, particularly when it's most important for our dog to come to us. We freeze up in that moment when a car is coming, or a strange dog is headed our way, or our beloved Skippy gets a whiff of eau de skunk and takes chase. McConnell states that in behavioral studies, dogs are more likely to respond favorably to high tones and repeated sounds: whistles, for example, or clapping. She further notes in the aforementioned section that, "If you look at domestic dogs and wolves, there's nothing described in the literature that means 'come right now'... Besides, humans don't have a 'come' signal either. Do you throw your magazine down and leap across the room when your spouse calls your name? Haven't you ever said 'Just a minute' when someone tried to get your attention? Surely our dogs say that to us all the time. 'Just a minute, I think I smell squirrel!' 'Just a minute, I smell food. I'll be right with you...' Is there a reason that your dog should naturally be more accomplished at obedience than you are?"

McConnell's point isn't that it's impossible to teach dogs to come - simply that it's not a command that comes naturally, and thus does take some work. The next time you're out and your pup is ignoring your desperate pleas to come, try a new approach: Lighten up. Run away from him or her. Whistle and clap your hands. Make it seem like what you're doing is completely fascinating, compared to that boring dead thing your dog is just itching to roll in. And, of course, if you haven't already read "The Other End of the Leash," you should definitely pick up a copy. It will change not only how you see your dog, but revolutionize your success as a trainer.

Rescue Hoarding: Inured to Chaos

This post is the second in my Rescue Hoarding series, the first of which can be found here.

"How does anyone live that way?" I asked my former partner once, when we were just starting out together.

He looked around thoughtfully. We were at Alice's - a woman who fostered for an established non-profit in Portland, Oregon. Alice lived in a modular home with an indeterminate number of dogs - so many, in fact, that the house seemed to literally be bursting its seams. They tunneled under floorboards, had broken windows and busted through doors. On one side of the house, two mutts were trying to scrabble past a window boarded with cardboard and duct tape. It was almost impossible to hear over the barking. Off to the side of the muddy yard, there was a pile of half-empty, moldy dog food bags. I stepped over a dead rat the size of a small dog.

"You get inured," he said after a while. "It doesn't happen all at once. Gradually, things that seemed unacceptable before just become another part of your day."

I looked at him, and realized he was speaking from experience. I'd seen the way Dave lived before I moved in with him: filthy carpets, a yard overflowing with soiled dog blankets, animals kept in dirty crates with no opportunity to exercise or be outside. That, he assured me, was not his fault - his last rescue partner had "bailed out," he told me. She'd lock herself in her room and refuse to come out, throw fits if he asked her to help him with the animals, hurl things at him if he didn't make her meals or do her laundry. Dave was the victim; I was fixing things.

I moved in and cleaned the carpets. Washed the mountain of dirty clothes in the laundry room, and then began tackling the soiled blankets in the yard. Dogs that hadn't been exercised for a month or more slowly began being integrated into play groups. One dog, a pit bull named Cara, had been locked in a back bedroom alone for a month. She had sores all over her skin and would spring like a Jack-in-the-box, straight into the air, the moment anyone paid any attention to her. The room smelled of urine and feces, and there were maggots in the dog crate where she slept at night.

"I don't want to live that way," I told Dave. "I never want my life to get like that." When I moved in, Dave didn't have a bed. The first night that I spent in the house with him, we'd slept on a rug that smelled of urine, with dogs on all sides.

"I never want to get that way again," he agreed. "That's not what I want - I want us to travel. See the country, see the world. There's more to life than this."

It turns out that not everyone gets "inured" the way that someone like Dave, a diagnosed animal hoarder, does. I certainly felt that line in the sand slipping for me over the year and a half that Dave and I were together, but it never reached a point where I was unaware of the squalor around me. In Kentucky, flies covered every square inch of our 750-square foot commercial kitchen; we'd spray the place down with Raid every evening, and then I'd dutifully wash the surfaces and sweep up insect carcasses afterward. Mice skittered across my feet while I was cooking. Every night, I washed the floor with bleach, watching maggot bodies curl in on themselves behind the garbage can, where they gathered regardless of how frequently I cleaned.

The difference between Dave and I, it seemed, was that he simply didn't mind the mess. Sometimes, he didn't even seem to see the mess.

"Just leave the dishes," he'd tell me at the end of a long night.

"If I leave the dishes, we'll have more flies in the morning. And more mice." We had no hot water in the kitchen. I boiled water on the stove we'd hauled all the way from the farm in Oregon, then dumped it into the huge, stainless steel double sinks.

"Suit yourself," he'd say. "I'm gonna go switch out the dogs."

We'd turned the gymnasium into a doggie-play-world, and the stage into our living room. Dave had a 62-inch TV that had made the move first from California to Oregon, then Oregon to Kentucky. We bought an outdoor swinging chair at Walmart because Dave said the rocking soothed him; sitting still made him nervous. We put a piece of wire fencing across the front of the stage, so the dogs couldn't get up there unless we invited them. We'd sit and watch movies while the dogs played in the gym.

In June of 2007, I went back to Maine for two weeks. When I returned, there were dirty dishes piled high, and two dead mice floating in the cold, greasy sink water. The maggots had multiplied, no longer isolated to the corner behind the garbage can. They squirmed rice-white bodies along the stainless steel countertops, in behind the food containers. Two months earlier, we'd lost two of the long-time rescue dogs to dog fights among the ranks, and one of the dogs we'd rescued locally was in isolation with a confirmed case of Parvo.

"This isn't working for me anymore," I told Dave in mid-July. I was wracked with guilt; most of my two weeks in Maine had been spent in tears, trying to imagine how I could turn my back on Dave and the animals. "Maybe if we just admitted the relationship isn't working... It's not that I want to leave," I continued. We were cleaning the classroom that had been converted into a sick room for Dobby, our Parvo patient. I was lying: I did want to leave. I wanted desperately to leave. But there was no way I could say that. "But if we stop pretending the romantic stuff is working, and just treat this like a business partnership..."

We hadn't had sex in over a year. Our conversations were limited to animal feeding, medication, rescue. Since moving to Kentucky in March, we had been sleeping on a foam pad in the former school library with at least ten dogs. I had ringworm, and over the past year had suffered through two bouts of cat scratch fever and had been at the center of a dog attack that left me with scars on my ankles, wrists, and elbows. Dave didn't say anything during my much-rehearsed speech. Dobby was romping at our feet - he was a big-eared, long-legged hound mix who, miraculously, survived Parvo and his month-long incarceration unscathed. Finally, Dave put the mop away and looked at me.

"I guess I'll have to think about that," he said. His eyes were cold, hard. I hated that look - Dave was a master of the scornful glare, a look that conveyed with a skill far beyond mere words that he was superior, the only one with an ounce of compassion. I was greedy and selfish for wanting to devote myself to anything beyond saving the animals who shared our home.

He left the room.

I realized then that I would never be inured to this. I would never be able to live in filth, to allow the animals to go without the socialization or care they required, regardless of what the ultimate goal might be. Dave didn't speak to me for the rest of the day, something I'd gotten used to over our time together. When I'd confronted him about our issues another time two months earlier, it had been a full seventy-two hours before he deigned to speak with me again. As with the other times, I broke first. That evening, I went to him and burst into tears.

"We don't have to figure this out right now," he told me. He gave me a hug, wiped my eyes. I nodded.

That night, I began plotting my escape.

Socialization and the Anxious Owner

The hounds and I had a great morning today, out in an open field behind the Thomaston cemetery - the place we go almost every morning to get the day started off right, with a little wild, off-leash romping and play. We were just sniffing and minding our own business when I heard galloping paws headed our way, and a moment later Duncan appeared. Duncan is a big, silly, barrel-chested yellow Lab who is absolutely terrified of Killian. A moment later, Duncan's sister Tessa, a submissive, pudgy black Lab, appeared alongside her owners.

It was a moment when it became clear just how far I've fallen from those days of running play groups with ten to fifteen pit bulls: I froze. Fought the urge to panic, remembering that the last time Adia met up with one of her good pals, she went berserk and attacked the unsuspecting pooch. Of course, they were both on-leash at the time. And Rosita, the other dog, is a high-energy hound who was bouncing every which way - something Adia doesn't take kindly to in even the best situations.

But, I resisted the urge to grab my dogs and run, and stood still for a moment, watching their greetings. Adia sniffed and started to get a little bit of an attitude, but when Duncan and Tessa both showed their bellies, she came trotting over to me for a treat, not the least bit interested in the other dogs. Killian was super interested in Tessa, and not at all curious about Duncan, once he realized that poor Dunc was too spooked to play. The owners and I started to talk, and gradually I began to relax. I realize that this is without question my biggest hurdle - this overt panic that strikes the moment we make contact with other dogs, and my conviction that everyone in the immediate area is just a breath away from disaster.

I have always wanted dogs that I can take to outdoor cafes, out on hikes, along populated areas. But, because I personally tend to get a little phobic in social situations, I completely overcompensate with my hounds, sheltering them until they become unsocialized and fearful. I did the same thing with my last dog, Moonshadow, and swore I wouldn't do it again. Well... Clearly, I've gone wrong somewhere. But now, as I mentioned in my previous post, it's time to remedy that situation and get everyone to a place where they feel okay making the rounds and saying hello. That includes not only people, but other dogs. Today was a step in the right direction - now I just need to get my confidence back, and create an environment in which everyone - dogs and people alike - feel as though they can comfortably co-exist.

Dock Dogs and the Union Fair

My brother and sister-in-law lassoed their brood, namely two-year-old Maya and four-year-old Maggie, and then packed my Mom and I in the mini-van, and the whole lot of us headed to the Union Fair this morning for some high-flying Dock Dogs fun. And, of course, a chance to check out alpacas and goats and things... Because, um, I freakin' love alpacas and goats and things. Seriously, I can't get enough of those guys.

Here are some photos of the big day. It was your typical country fair fare - rides and games, and of course our very favorite thing around here, Dock Dogs. After taking my nieces to the Dock Dogs event in Rockland in July, both girls have been all about diving dawgs. My youngest niece, Maya, is particularly enthralled with the notion of throwing puppies in pools. Maya's this sweet, gentle little soul who absolutely loves animals, and already has a great way about them, while older sister Maggie is flighty and wild, a sprite in little girl's clothing who likes to jump and dance and do all the crazy things that make unsuspecting puppies nervous. Both girls were great at the competition, though, watching attentively and learning the names of every dog, so they could follow their progress as the day went on.

Once we'd exhausted ourselves with the dogs, we headed to the other animals, which were great. And fuzzy. And big-eyed and smelly. Did I mention that I love farm animals? Here are some pics of the lovely time we had.

Dogged Challenges: Breaking Up the Co-Dependent Pups

I've been thinking a lot lately about what I want my life to be, versus what it is at the moment. Not that my life is bad, by any means - I get to write about dogs, wander the countryside, hang with my hounds, and generally have a good time. Not bad at all, as a matter of fact. BUT, there were many visions I had of how Life With Dogz (Stressing the Plural) would be, that, as yet, have not come to fruition. I'll start by saying that I recognize this is entirely my fault - I've had the hounds essentially since birth, so any shortcomings in training are resting solidly at my feet.

I've decided that this year, however, I'm going to work hard to get my dogs to the place I've always dreamed they could be. The goal? To have two dogs that I can take with me on cross-country treks, on hikes or neighborhood walks, that I feel comfortable and confident enough in to bring to events, participate in classes, etc. I'd like to have both dogs certified as Canine Good Citizens by the time my birthday rolls around again next August.

In order to get to that place, the first step is to admit you have a problem, right? Of course. So, here we go... The issues I'm facing at the moment, and a game plan for how to address them:

(1) Adia: Adie is a 45-pound, three-and-a-half year old border collie mix. She has high energy, and I have always dreamed of getting her involved with agility - she's super smart, super athletic, and loves having a job to do. When she was a pup, I took her to an obedience class, which means she's better socialized than her brother, and generally very people-friendly.

Adia's biggest challenge is her reactivity to other dogs, which has escalated over the past six months or so. Recently, she's started attacking even dogs she used to be friendly toward, when we go up to say hello while she's on leash - though she does continue to play well with other dogs she knows while off-leash. She also tends to be skittish in crowds, and gets easily freaked out and quite nippy around children.

(2) Killian: Killy is an 85-pound, three-and-a-half year old border collie/Australian shepherd mix. He's a pretty laidback guy, who loves to play with other dogs and would be happy staying outside all day long, as long as he had company. He's not quite as bright as his sister (I say with great love), but he's very eager to please and loves to be by my side at all times. I would love to ultimately get him involved in Rally to boost his confidence and give him a focus apart from his little sister.

Killian, unfortunately, did not attend an obedience class when he was little, and is extremely fearful of strangers (or any humans, really, with the exception of those he knows very well). He's starting to get better about this, but I believe he'll always be timid around loud noises, fast movement, and any unpredictable behavior. Ironically, I believe that Adia is much more likely to nip than Killian, in the face of any perceived danger. Killian just tries to climb inside me when he's freaked out; Adie strikes out.

The problem I have with both dogs is that I have unfortunately raised the two most codependent pups on the planet. Adia isn't as bad as Killian, since she's naturally more independent and has had some experience being on her own with me. Killian, however, has never been alone without at least a few dogs around him, and so being on his own is tantamount to being beaten. In fact, when I try to leave him alone, that's exactly what it sounds like: as though he's being physically beaten. He cries, he screams, he claws at doors and generally makes a big old nuisance of himself.

Before I can address any of the behavioral issues either of them has, I have to be able to work with them separately. Soooooo... This week is devoted to breaking the ties that bind. Teaching Killian that he won't die if his little sister is out of the room for more than two minutes. I have a big crate, I have a couple of marrow bones, and I have lots and lots of resolve. The plan: to gradually increase the time that Killian can stay alone in his crate, (hopefully) happily chewing on a marrow bone while Adia is out of sight.

So, that's this week's mission. I'll keep y'all posted on my progress.

Boatyard Dogs Extravaganza

This weekend, I had an opportunity to cover Rockland's eighth annual Boatyard Dogs competition, as part of the Maine Boats, Homes, and Harbors show. Things were already hopping when I arrived Sunday morning, with vendors selling anything and everything a boat lover could ever use - and plenty of non-nautically-themed items, as well. Good food, boat rides in the Rockland harbor, book signings, and even an instrumental quartet to serenade passersby.

In amongst all of this action and revelry there were, naturally, plenty of dogged happenings. The Humane Society of Knox County and Camden-Rockport Animal Rescue League were both well-represented, with booths featuring adoptable dogs and kittens. Walker and Price were the two HSKC dogs, a couple of big, goofy dolls who charmed everyone in their paths. Walker just completed training through K-9 Corrections, a program in which prison inmates work one-on-one with shelter dogs to teach basic obedience skills in order to make the dogs more adoptable. It's a great program, run by obedience trainer (and my former mentor) Marie Finnegan, through HSKC. Here's a shot of Walker and Price wrestling in the middle of foot traffic during the Boats, Homes and Harbors show:

Camden-Rockport Animal Rescue League's booth was swamped all the livelong day, as they were clever enough to bring along two of the fuzziest, most squeezably soft kittens to ever grace the planet. Both rescues raised much-needed funds and awareness for their stellar programs.

Here are a few other pics from the great event. You can read all about the Boatyard Dog Trials in the next issue of Downeast Dog News, hitting the 'Net (and Maine news stands) on September 1.


Two-Time Boatyard Dog champ Pancho Villa


Crowd fave Scout Tucker shakes off the water with his retrieving wunderkind, Lyla


Hazel the senior black Lab sits patiently through a lecture during the Trials

The Dumbing Down of America

In Fully Vetted's blog today, there was a question regarding how much "Vet Speak" is too much - in other words, when does technical jargon get in the way of conveying a clear meaning to the patient. Some of the comments that followed talked about the necessity of "dumbing down" our language in order to be understood by the masses, a conversation I quickly got sucked into. This meant that I lost sight of the larger issue: speaking to individuals about medical concerns is significantly different than talking to them about, say, Shakespeare or the complexities of the conflict in the Middle East. When speaking to a patient, medically trained individuals - whether vets or physicians - can be extremely intimidating. The tendency is to assume that these individuals know everything there is to know, and that we, as the patient who knows virtually nothing there is to know, should just go along with whatever they say. The more educated and confident among us may question a medical professional every step of the way, but there are a great many people out there who were simply not brought up that way: the doctor tells you something, and you do it. You pay the money for the prescription, get the procedure they recommend, never question cost or quality of care.

And so, in medical circles alone, I actually think it is vital for the medical professional to make sure that the client understands every aspect of what is happening. If this means "talking down," then so be it. Ultimately, a patient or a client would much rather feel like an idiot who's been talked down to for an afternoon, than be uninformed about a life-saving procedure or a life-threatening condition.

NOW, with all that said... In every other circle on the planet, I believe it is critical that those who have the ability to "elevate the level of discourse" (as noted in the Fully Vetted blog) do exactly that. In development, it has been proven that parents with a large vocabulary and good communication skills raise children with a large vocabulary and good communication skills. When did it become acceptable to lower expectations in our society, rather than continually raising them? With the Internet, we have at our fingertips the most extraordinary vehicle for communication and education in history, and yet we consistently cater to the lowest human denominator, rather than the highest. If more individuals took ownership of their ability to communicate and elucidate on a global playing field, the world - and the Internet - would be a better place.

Interview with Ted Pidcock of Teddy the Dog Apparel

I got an e-mail recently from Sarah Rondeau of Teddy the Dog apparel. I'd never actually heard of Teddy the Dog, and I didn't know Rondeau, but the e-mail asked if I would consider doing a review of their clothing line if they sent me a free t-shirt of my choice. Since I'm a shameless fan of Free Stuff, I agreed with little to no resistance, though I did request the opportunity to actually speak with someone from the company to find out if there might be the possibility of a bigger story in there, rather than just a simple review.

The result was an interview in July with Ted Pidcock, founder of Teddy the Dog. Pidcock is a well-spoken, amiable fellow with a long history of working with some of the best clothing manufacturers in the country, including Tommy Bahama, Ecko, and Wrangler. With Teddy the Dog, Pidcock has combined his team's manufacturing and marketing expertise to create a fashionable yet comfortable clothing line featuring the iconic, non-breed-specific Teddy the Dog. T-shirt slogans are cute-with-an-edge, targeted toward individuals who, Pidcock says, "know how to laugh at themselves, have a good time, and be their own dog." Slogans like "Dirty dogs have more fun," "Friends don't let friends fetch," and "Cats don't know sit," all feature Teddy behaving in a most un-Lassie-like way, as he embraces the very American pursuits of life, liberty, and the ability to do your own thing, regardless of your species.

Since May, Pidcock and the Teddy the Dog team have been doing a large-scale marketing push to increase brand recognition. Facebook fans have skyrocketed from "two or three hundred" in May, to twenty-five hundred a month and a half later. Now, in mid-August, that number has increased to nearly four thousand. Pidcock tells a story of going to a trade show where a die-hard Teddy the Dog fan had been pitching t-shirt ideas for some time when he suggested "Cats don't know sit." "I thought it was a little edgy at first, but we gave it a try - it turns out, it's been one of our most popular shirts so far," Pidcock said. "But that's just the way it is with Teddy - there's just something about him that people really like, he captures the imagination."

Over the summer, Pidcock et al hosted a contest when Teddy went "missing," awarding a $200 shopping spree for the most original essay speculating about Teddy's whereabouts and activities during his absence. According to Pidcock, the entries were flying in up until the final hour, when the grand prize was awarded to Jenny Carranza for her tales of Teddy living the good life south of the border. There's really no telling what Teddy will be up to next, but, according to Pidcock, "He's a dog who knows how to have fun, so that's what he'll keep doing." And, no doubt, the clothing inspired by the dog who can't be tamed will keep tickling us all with its wit and wisdom, as inspired by Teddy the Dog.

EnvironMental Monday: 'Tis the Season (Flea Season, That Is)

I'll admit it: I'm not a huge summer fan. I like spring, I love fall, and I've gotten a little loopy over winter in the past few years. Summer, however, just seems to bring out the worst in me - I don't like being hot and sweaty. I don't like bugs and allergies and summer traffic. I look good in wool coats and winter hats, but shorts and t-shirts are considerably less flattering.

My dogs are, likewise, not summer fans - which is another reason I'm less than thrilled with the season. The biggest reason, by far, that I'm not a Girl of Summer is the propagation of summer pests. Most notably, fleas and ticks. Up to this point, I've never had a big issue with either: ticks are common enough around these parts that a "tick-check" after every woodsy hike is a must, both for humans and dogs, but thus far I have been able to avoid the Dread Flea.

Until now.

The dogs are scratching, the house is covered with excess dog fur, and the other day I found a flea on my leg. Stop the world, I wanna get off. I really hate fleas.

So, today is a De-Fleaing Day. I'm not typically a fan of products like Frontline, but I picked up a dose for each of the hounds. I've mixed a salt and vinegar solution to spray on carpets and upholstery, which is supposed to kill the little buggers. I have quarters for the laundromat, as I will be doing laundry from now until, oh, the end of time - curtains, blankets, towels, anything and everything that could serve as home to nesting fleas. The dogs will be bathed. The floors will be washed. Diatomaceous earth will be sprinkled in every crack, cranny, and crevice. And then, when it's all done, I'll wait twenty-four hours and do it all over again - it's recommended that Flea Frenzy Victims vaccuum daily, wash down surfaces, and bathe their dogs frequently for at least a week in order to kill all critters good and dead.

The alternative is a flea bomb, but the concept freaks me out a little. All those chemicals released into air that the hounds and I breathe just seems... Unnerving, somehow. For now, I will go the labor-intensive route, scrubbing and re-scrubbing until my house is squeaky clean and, ideally, no self-respecting flea would even consider setting up camp here. Fingers crossed, we'll all be flea-free again in no time.

Rescue Hoarding: A Personal Narrative

Since starting my website just over a year ago, I've gotten a few inquiries from people who are - or at least think they are - working for, or involved with, rescue hoarders. For those unfamiliar with the term, rescue hoarding is the term given to individuals who take on more animals than they can reasonably care for, under the guise of rescuing these animals from homelessness, abuse, or euthanasia. It is becoming increasingly common for such people to organize themselves as non-profits, actively taking donations in order to bring in even more animals, who will ultimately be neglected and in all likelihood will never, ever be adopted out.

For a year and a half, I lived with an individual who was ultimately convicted of animal hoarding. It's an odd thing to try to describe to outsiders what our lives were like, as it's generally agreed that one would have to be nuts to live under such conditions. In order to try and put some of my experiences in perspective, I've decided to begin posting the story as it began and ultimately unfolded. I have no idea if this will be helpful to others or not, but it is my hope that individuals who either see the potential to become hoarders themselves, or who are concerned they may be working with a hoarder, may find information and support through my story.

For the next few months, I will post periodically of my experiences with Clean Slate Animal Rescue, which I co-founded in the spring of 2006. The experiences I had in the year and a half subsequent to founding the rescue are difficult to describe: my partner and I saved lives, worked constantly, traveled many miles. I learned more in that eighteen months than in my entire life prior to that time. During the final months that I spent with the rescue, I watched our hard work unravel as my partner continued to take in animals that I knew we could not care for and would never place. We lived in isolation; the health of the animals began to decline; no money was coming in, while plenty of it was going out. I began plotting my escape in the spring of 2007, whispering my plans to my family during late-night phone calls when I could get time away from my partner. In November of 2007, I left Kentucky with my two dogs and what few belongings I could bring along without arousing suspicion, telling my partner that I would be gone for two weeks. I had an apartment and a new job waiting for me in Maine.

Leaving behind the animals I'd come to love was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I wish there had been another way for me to help them; I think, often, of the ways I could have handled things differently, ways I could have been more proactive about assisting with adoptions or insisting we take no more animals in. I regret, everyday, the cowardice of my leaving, and wish I had understood my partner's mental condition better, so that I might have alleviated some of the suffering that ultimately took place in that building. In February of 2009, I learned that my former partner had been charged with animal hoarding; 362 animals were found inside the school, the living kept in rooms with the dead. I read reports online, scanning the photos for pictures of the dogs I had helped to rescue. The faces I had known were now scarred and battleworn, their fur patchy with mange, their ribs showing as a result of malnutrition and neglect.

A story like this doesn't happen overnight. In the coming months, I'll do what I can to tell things from the beginning - those first tentative meetings in Oregon, the gradual escalation, the trek cross-country, the final unraveling. There are no monsters in this story, there is no clear bad guy. Animal rescue is a complicated world, and hoarding is an illness that the mental health community is still struggling to understand. If my story can help the animals or the individuals impacted by the phenomenon of rescue hoarding, then I believe it is worth the telling.

How to Walk Multiple Dogs: Creative Strategies for the Dual Dog Walk

Life with your dual pooches may be smooth sailing most of the time, but double dog walking duty can make for stormy seas, if you don't take the proper approach. Here are five tips to make walking your doublemint pups a pleasure, not a chore.

(1) Start with one pup, and build from there. Walking puppies is simple enough, because they're... well, little. But if you have more than one medium- to large-sized dog, try walking them singly first to determine what collar will work best and how they react to distractions like other dogs or cats running across the path.

(2) Use the right equipment. If you're walking with pulling pooches, try a head collar or no-pull harness to keep them in check. Stay away from extendible leashes unless you are completely confident in your ability to control both dogs, working instead with sturdy four- to six-foot leashes. There are also a number of tandem leashes on the market for walking multiple dogs, which are built for safety and comfort.

(3) Try a safe test run first. Before you head for a busy city street, try walking around your yard or a fenced area nearby first. Are you being dragged from one end of the yard to the other? If so, you may want to try some more individual leash training before taking your pups into the wide world.

(4) Can you handle the ultimate distraction? Most dogs have an Achilles' heel - one thing in all the world that makes them sit up and take notice. Whether it's a cat, squirrel, bicycle, or another dog, can you handle both pups when that one, ultimate weakness is just down the road? During your test run, try adding as many distractions as you can and see how well you do.

(5) Invite a friend. If you have a walking buddy to hand one of the leashes off to if things get rough, it will make a big difference in your confidence level and, thus, the way that your pups respond to your commands. During your first few walks in the world, bring along a friend. Do your best to walk your pups yourself for the entire trek, so that by the time you're ready for a solo flight, you'll know you can handle it.

Follow these simple tips and before you know it, you'll be a master at the dual dog walk. Your pups will be better behaved, you'll all be healthier, and the world will truly be yours to explore.

Behind the Scenes of a Rescue Transport

Loaded crates in my old Oregon living room, after the November 7 transport

November 7, 2006
2:00 a.m. - My former rescue partner, Dave, is on the phone with the volunteer rescue coordinator at the Merced County Shelter, California. Dave's dogs - Cheesecake, Spoon, and Tiger - are passed out on the living room floor, and I am trying desperately to stay awake while Dave reads through the list one more time. The list is Merced's weekly PTS - Put to Sleep - list, and it is endless. Can we take another medium-sized? Three more littles just came in - is there room on board? What about a large dog; any hope at all? Yes to the medium, yes to the littles, and I run through the list before we finally give a yes to one large dog - a Great Dane/pit bull mix the shelter has fallen in love with.

Finally, at 2:30, we have a rough estimate of the number of dogs Dave and I will be transporting on our leg of a twelve-hour trek from Merced, California, to Portland, Oregon. Twenty-five dogs are scheduled to come up, and - as usual - Dave gives the okay for however many spayed or neutered cats may be available.

The next day, we will drive Clean Slate's Dodge van three hours down to Eugene, Oregon, to meet the transporter from Merced. The cats will be released into the Clean Slate Cat Interaction Center, while the dogs will be distributed to area no-kill shelters in Oregon and Washington that have agreed to take them on.

We sleep fitfully for a few hours before rising early the next day; there's much to be done. Crates are cleaned, Clean Slate's resident sixteen dogs are exercised and fed early, and the van is loaded as efficiently as possible, with every crate we can find.

3:30 p.m. Time to hit the road. We are scheduled to meet Harlin, the Merced transporter, at 6:30 that evening in a Mobil station parking lot. It's my first pick-up - I've been on the receiving end of plenty of transports, but this is the first time I'll be present during the "big switch" - the lengthy process of transferring multiple dogs and cats from one vehicle to the other.

6:00 p.m. We reach Eugene a little early only to realize that we've forgotten to bring emergency leashes. I get the time-worn speech from Dave: "We should have a checklist - when I did this in California, I always had a checklist. Why don't we have a checklist?" Lacking the checklist, Dave and I go to Target and pick up three cheap leashes from their limited pet section. By now it's time to meet Harlin.

6:35 p.m. True to his word, good old Harlin is waiting for us in a giant suburban with his nephew. Harlin is about sixty, with a bit of a paunch and a kind face. There's no time to get acquainted, though - our charges have been crated for ten hours now, and we need to get them back to Clean Slate as soon as possible. Because of timing, logistics, and the inherent danger of trying to walk twenty-five plus dogs on a busy highway, everyone is simply transferred from Merced to Clean Slate crates as quickly as possible. Curious on-lookers stop to watch; one woman wants to know if we are breeders, while a police officer stops when we transfer Nick - the Great Dane/ pit mix - into our van. I can only imagine what he's thinking, as we rush through our job silently, unloading dog after pitiful dog, on this cold November election night in Eugene.

7:30 p.m. Everyone is loaded, and we bid Harlin and his nephew a fond farewell. The final tally, in our cramped Dodge van? Thirty dogs and seven cats, all of them exhausted, cranky, and terrified. Because we've run out of crates, I hold two Chihuahuas - one tiny aging fellow I name Fitzgerald, another a little sweetie pie named Red - in my lap for our journey home.

10:30 p.m. We return to our usual chaos. Dave and I agree to turn all of the Clean Slate dogs out first, before unloading our cargo for the night. The Clean Slate pups get a quick potty break, an even quicker dinner, and are returned to their rooms. And now, the real fun begins.

11:30 p.m. I break out my trusty clipboard, and begin recording as we remove each dog and each cat from its crate for inspection. Most everyone looks good, however there is a crate filled with four Chihuahua pups who are terrified, nipping, and refuse to come out. An emaciated beagle pup doesn't look like he'll make it through the night, another Chihuahua pup is clearly bloated with worms, and for a moment we think we've already lost a skeleton of a poodle, lying quietly in his crate. Upon closer examination, we realize that he is, in fact, okay, but he'll need attention. We also have a very, very pregnant retriever mix, and the much-talked-about Dane/pit mix hasn't stopped barking since we arrived.

3:00 a.m. Everyone - with the exception of the four Chihuahuas, who still refuse to leave their crate - has been exercised and fed. The cats have been released into the Cat Interaction Center, and everyone has been catalogued for distribution the following day. Exhausted, I go upstairs and collapse, while Dave continues on through the night. It's another fitful night's sleep - a house filled with forty-six dogs is not exactly a quiet place, to say the least - before another action-packed day.

November 8, 2006 -

The Democrats have reclaimed both House and Senate, which is encouraging. Dave and I, on the other hand, have done nothing to reclaim our own space. I wake at 7 a.m. to find Dave's 84-year-old father already hard at work, taking the small dogs out one by one to the exercise pen for a little fresh air. I help out with this daunting task before doing morning rotations for our own dogs and getting the morning feeding under way. The cows are mooing, the dogs are barking, the cats haven't been fed yet, and I am wondering whatever happened to my quiet little writing life in Portland. It has never seemed farther away.

That afternoon, we have determined who will be staying and who will be on their way. Dave and I know the local rescues well enough to know their strengths and weaknesses - we give the heartiest souls to a Portland rescue with a great adoption record but a less impressive facility and foster network. The more fragile - including our quaking poodle and two aged cocker spaniels - go to a shelter in Woodinville, Washington, where they will be fostered until they find their forever homes.

Seven of the dogs will remain with us, either because of illness or because they are too clearly traumatized to make yet another transition. The exception is our boy Red, who, it turns out, was not meant to be on the transport and has a home waiting for him way back in California. The other dogs are Nick - who is too large to be considered adoptable by any of the participating rescues; Skippy, the emaciated little beagle who soon becomes my special project; a trio of two Miniature Pinschers and a fluffy white fellow who are all terrified after leaving their lifetime home due to a nasty divorce; Rainne, a golden retriever mix whom we soon learn is also very, very pregnant; Fitzgerald, the frail old Chihuahua who kept me company on the ride back, and - of course - Red.

Within two months, all but one of these pups will be in loving forever homes. Rainne is the exception. On December 14, 2006, she gave birth to five beautiful pups - including my much-loved Killian and Adia. After that, Rainne was pretty much a staple at Clean Slate. Though she only had one litter of pups, she was a mom by nature, and it became her job to set straight any pups who happened along at the rescue. And now, as I sit in my living room far from Clean Slate and everything that came after my departure, with Killian and Adia sleeping soundly nearby, I am amazed yet again at just how much forty-eight hours can change one's world.

If you're interested in learning more about rescue transports, contact your local shelter. You can volunteer to simply be a driver, house animals (less than thirty-seven, for sure!) overnight, or help out with gas and transport costs. Whatever your interest, I guarantee there is a place for you to help in rescue!

EnvironMental Monday: The Case of the Mad Pooper

In Dog Star Daily recently, there was a great article about how to properly dispose of your pooch's hazardous waste. And while EnvironMental Monday is typically about your home and immediate environs, it seems to me that there's nothing more pertinent to the world around us than the waste we put in it.

There is no dog park where I live, however there is a fairly extensive cemetery where many of the neighborhood pups go for their daily constitutional. I've always tried to be a considerate dog owner, cleaning up after my pups whenever we hit the mean streets or the quiet side lanes. After a bit of research, I've learned that such clean-up is about more than simply keeping the sidewalks clean. According to the Dog Star Daily article and some supplemental research I've been doing, canine feces has a wealth of micro-bacteria that are downright dangerous for the environment, and can pose serious health concerns if the poo leaches into groundwater. Check out the aforementioned article for some great tips on how to dispose properly of your dog's waste; I've actually just ordered a Doggie Dooley Pet Waste Digester myself, and I don't think I've been this excited about mail-order since my last Patricia McConnell shopping spree.

Unfortunately, however, not everyone reads Dog Star Daily. Despite having plastic baggies at our disposal, there are a few negligent dog owners sharing cemetery space here in Thomaston. One of my dog-walking neighbors has a ten-year-old daughter who has become slightly obsessed with the subject - she's a little like the Harriet the Spy of junior dog owners. She has nicknamed the worst offender the Mad Pooper, and apparently stalked me for some time before we actually met, convinced that it was I. Once she realized that I was not, in fact, the Mad Pooper, she turned her attention to others who frequent the "park." I have actually seen a few people there who turn a blind eye when their pups are squatting - one who even walked away while his dog defecated ON a gravestone! While I typically have a hard time making waves and don't want to upset anyone, even I feel that something has to be done. A woman whose young son is buried in the cemetery often writes letters to the editor of our local paper, pleading with dog owners to clean up after their pooping pooches.

So, how is it in this day and age that dog owners who otherwise appear very intelligent, can be so ignorant when it comes to a matter affecting not merely aesthetics, but the physical health of others? Are they really that callous, or merely uninformed? Now that I understand more about the potential health consequences of a poo-infested public space, I feel more equipped to talk to others when I see them walking without that all-important plastic baggie. With a little effort and some much-needed education, maybe we can eradicate the Mad Poopers among us.

Low Cal Treats for the Pudgy Pooch

Recently, I talked a little about upping the exercise ante for your pudgy pooch. That is often easier said than done, however, particularly when you have a dog who has become used to the sedentary lifestyle. An overweight dog may find exercise uncomfortable, taxing, or downright painful. Your job as a responsible, loving caregiver, is to turn that around. The best way to do so is often by incorporating food into the exercise regiment. However, you'd be amazed at how calorie-dense many of the commercial doggie-treats are. Here, then, are a few healthful alternatives that will get your pup running for his leash

(1) Reduced fat string cheese. One "bar" is about 70 calories, and most dogs are wild about cheese. Cut it into pea-sized pieces and refrigerate prior to the walk, so that you can grab a handful on the go.

(2) Apples. Yes, that's right... Apples. Unlike carrots or celery (which many dogs are actually nuts about, as well), apples are sweet enough to satisfy most meat-and-potatoes pooches. If you have a dog that is easily food motivated, apples may be just the thing for him. Excise the core and seeds, cut into small pieces, and refrigerate.

(3) Sandwich meats. Oh, the response you'll get. The thing to know about processed sandwich meat is that it's often packed with salt and preservatives. To avoid that, choose an all-natural turkey or chicken from your local deli. As with the other treats, cut into small pieces and refrigerate.

(4) Doggie treats. Rather than using calorie-dense, preservative rich bones, try for a higher quality treat like freeze dried lamb or liver. Pea-sized or a little larger is the most desirable size for training, and will keep the calories to a minimum.

I like to make kind of a doggie-version of GORP for my walks, mixing in the aforementioned apples, deli turkey, string cheese, and high-quality dog treats like freeze-dried lamb. I make a mix with enough for both the morning and evening walk the night before, and keep it in a sealed container. That way, it's a simple matter to just go to the fridge, fill the Treat Tote, and get going.

One final note to keep in mind when you're up against the battle of the bulge: calories definitely do count. Remember to factor treats into your dog's daily calorie allocation. Consider replacing breakfast with treats given during walk time in the mornings, and you'll be sure to see results!

EnvironMental Monday: The Shedding Conundrum

For the past couple of weeks, coming home has been a little less of a pleasure than it once was. The reason? A hot summer and two very hairy dogs means we are shedding to beat the band. I have hardwood floors, which technically should make things easier, but my oh my... how the fur does fly. Killian's hair comes out in great, thick clods, while Adia's is fine and wispy and tends to accumulate behind doors and in darkened corners. This past weekend I decided I couldn't take it anymore, and laid waste to every stray hair, every errant furball I could find. Here's what I learned about de-shedding a shed-upon house:

(1) The Swiffer is a brilliant invention. I've had vacuum cleaners that were supposedly made specifically for pets, but I have yet to find one that's actually all that effective. In my experience, the most thorough way to go is to do a clean sweep first, and then follow up with a Swiffer. I honestly didn't think my floors would ever be that clean again.

(2) I'm not sure what it is about glass that makes it so appealing to pups, but my dogs have licked every single window, mirror, and picture frame within reach. If you're a friend to the environment and thus try to stay away from commercial cleaners, try 3 tablespoons of lime juice, 1 tablespoon of white vinegar, and 3/4 cup water mixed together in a clean spray bottle.

(3) Dog beds are your friend. There's something about having a fresh, clean dog bed in the room that - to me - just makes things nicer. It also helps ensure that your pups aren't shedding all over the couch, and makes the atmosphere more pleasant when you just want to hang out. I recommend having a bed in every room you spend time in - I splurged and bought five this weekend, which was pricey. Though I would love to say I go high-end on this stuff, I just don't have the money. If you have a Costco or Sam's Club nearby, that's the way to go. You can get a good bed for about $20 at either place; the covers are removable for easy cleaning, and they last a good, long time (provided, of course, your pup doesn't chew them to pieces).

(4) De-clutter your dog's toy box. For some inexplicable reason, I have a really hard time throwing out my dogs' old toys. It's not as though I have any sentimental attachment to them, but they do pull out that old, decapitated stuffed bear now and again for a game of tug... As a consequence, headless Charlie stays in the toy box, along with a whole slew of other, equally maimed puppy toys. This weekend, I started fresh. I threw out everything but the high-end toys, and paid a visit to the local Goodwill to restock on the stuffed toys that they go through in a matter of minutes, avoiding any toys with beaded stuffing and removing the eyes myself to avoid any potential choking hazards.

I'm always amazed at how much more content I am in a clean house. My entire outlook changes - making dinner is a pleasure without a sink full of dishes, and bedtime feels almost luxurious with fresh sheets and fluffed pillows. I don't know whether my pups are merely responding to my change of mind, or whether they genuinely prefer things tidy themselves, but either way they seem more at ease at the end of the day. So, if dog fur and window streaks have you feeling down and out, take a day to regain control. A few hours of cleaning can make a world of difference to your state of mind - and that's great news for you and your pup!