Rescued into Retirement

Always Remembered

2009-01-14T16:47:00.001-05:00

In Memoriam

2008-11-24T14:35:00.003-05:00

Booker has to be lounging proud at the bridge, because his gorgeous hound dog face is featured in the American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue 2009 calendar.

H-Mom and Man-Dad just got theirs in the mail. They both almost started all this crying stuff again. Booker looks just perfect for December. He is happily luxuriating on the leather sofa, his favorite place, and giving the camera that sad, tired coonhound look.

If you need a calendar full of gorgeous dog photos, check it out. The purchase benefits Rescue. H-Mom really loves looking at the hounds. What a remarkable group of all-American dogs.

We are so sad that Booker didn't make it. It's nice to have him in the calendar to show everyone our "poster boy."

This post is from Madison's blog, With Love, Madison. She is the new pup, kissing faces and putting smiles back in place.

special assignment

2008-10-29T17:16:00.007-04:00

There is a puppy spreading love and healing hearts in our home.

Come say hello at "with love, Madison"

Booker left big shoes to fill, good thing this little girl has some very very large paws!

The Calm

2008-10-20T07:41:00.004-04:00

The support of every one of our blogging friends has been astoundingly comforting. We have cried through reading your comments, which have made us feel better even though each one inspires a new flood of tears.

Thank you for caring about Booker and about us.

Thank goodness that we found the strength to make a hard decision instead of making excuses for dangerous behavior and tempting fate. That would have been a crueler ending all the way around.

Friday morning, Booker came sheepishly out of his kennel. He knew he was "in trouble" for something, because he had to spend the whole night in there. He certainly didn't remember exactly what he was "in trouble" for. H-Mom hadn't trusted his behavior overnight, and also was worried about a frozen pizza-related bowel explosion.

He ate his breakfast and then was thankful that he was invited out the door for a quick ride to the dog park.

His last morning, he chased Bella, the husky, in circles around the giant lawn and lost her in the woods, when she slipped past him and left him waiting for her in the palm fronds -- he was poised expectantly and she was already on the other side of the park. Booker trailed and treed a "raccoon" on the roof of the tiki hut shelter, barking with determination. He peed on the vending machine, more than once.

Sandy, a friend of H-Mom, who is the companion of Annie the little corgi - also a rescue dog - has volunteered for years at the Humane Society. She was very supportive and also had the advantage of knowing Booker and having watched his rehab-in-progress. Others at the park shared a story of a man who worked in Husky rescue --- a real breed pro --- had worked with a young female for over a year and then had her turn on him in a vicious attack. He was also heartbroken to decide that the best thing was to have her euthanized and released from past demons.

No one wanted anyone at the Humane Society to second-guess H-Mom. The personnel there are so used to people dropping off pets that just don't fit their lifestyle any more. This wasn't a case of a pair of chewed expensive shoes, or pee on the carpet, or barking (LOL ... absolutely not!) or of simple "pet ennui" ... so Sandy went with to the Humane Society.

All the dogs had had their hour romp together. Booker was happy, panting and tired. He hopped into the car and flopped out.

The Behaviorist at the shelter talked with H-Mom at length and concurred with every decision ... everything had been done that could be done, and Booker didn't need to head into the realm of "dangerous dog," with legal and health issues, which is the place that he had tried so hard to get out of, but just couldn't.

He was treated kindly and with compassion by everyone at the H.S., euthanised privately with H-Mom soothing him, and left for the Rainbow Bridge with nothing but dignity and hound-dog grace.

Everyone at the H.S. was crying along with H-Mom, she got hugs all around, and many soothing words. One volunteer talked about a dog she had adopted who, after many months, just snapped and almost killed her cat. Then turned on her.

There will always be glimmers of failure and guilt, but the knowledge that we did the right thing is steadfast.

Friday was rugged, fighting back tears all day and evening. Saturday morning in the wee hours, we had an overwhelming sob.

Now we are calm. There is a hole in our hearts and we know that there is the place for a new companion. Booker left us with unbounding appreciation for the sound of a tail thump on the sofa, a wet nose on your face in the morning and a sideways glance that says, "I've got your back on this one."

Untenable Rage

2008-10-16T20:55:00.005-04:00

Well my heart is breaking tonight and I am fighting back the tears. We had another DOG INCIDENT ... my daughter left a frozen pizza on the counter (stupid yes I know ... but we are the HUMANS and it is our house ...) and Booker grabbed it and then had an absolutely terrifying rage episode -- he lunged at my daughter on her way from her bedroom to the kitchen and bit her foot. He released his grip and clamped down on her calf. She called me, hysterical (afraid and hurt and confused ... she was crying and crying) and I had to call David to go home and deal with the situation ---

He got there within minutes, and Booker was in the kitchen RAVAGING the frozen pizza. Booker charged out of the kitchen and attacked David at the front door. He bit him twice. He made punctures in David's motorcycle boots. What would he have done on bare flesh? Booker tore his jeans. Booker wouldn't listen, he wouldn't acquiesce, he was a snarling, biting, barking terror. He doesn't "just growl," or "just snap," he ATTACKS. Like an insane cujo attack dog ready, trained, willing and fully capable of killing a mountain lion. I have no illusions about my ability to "control" him. If I would have been the one to run home to save the teen-human from Booker, he would have attacked me too. He crosses a line and he loses all sensibilities and ability to "behave."

David managed to wrestle Booker into his kennel. Jail. Booker sat there for hours, staring into the living room, glassy-eyed.

We cannot live in a home where we need a tranquilizer dart gun to get a swiped pizza away from the dog.

Booker has rage syndrome. Abuse, starvation, brutal hunting training. Something clicked a crazy switch in this dog that is not un-doable.

I am a realist.

Food is his trigger. He is dangerous. He should never have been deemed "adoptable," but who would know until he was in a normal, family situation. There was no pizza on the counter in the vet clinic that nursed him back to health after he was found abandoned.

Now. This is a dog that I have worked so hard with ... SO HARD. We have had the professional trainer consult. I have FIXED every single one of his issues, and believe me, there were many -- lunging at bicycles, going demonic over open car doors, food bowl aggression, toy aggression, pulling on the leash, manic fence-chasing at the dog park -- you name it, I have worked my ass off with this dog. I am really good with dogs and I have no illusions about what to expect or how to train one.

We were ready to sacrifice shoes to a chewer. Swab the decks after accidents. Do short sessions of obedience training that require repetition that could drive you nuts. Manage our environment and spend every minute anticipating behavior and misbehavior.

And I really really love him. omg He is my RESCUE dog and I really put everything into rescuing him. I spend hours a day with him, from the dog park to on-leash walks to training training training. He can hold a SIT STAY in the hallway while I walk all the way down to our condo and come only when I release him. At the dog park, I shout GO HOME and he goes to the gate to wait for me. EVERYONE at the dog park (and there is a "regular" crowd of about 10 people for the 7am time we go) has made comment after comment after compliment about all the work that I've done with Booker and how much he has changed, improved, how admirable he is.

So tomorrow I am going to take him to the humane society and have him put to sleep. The rescue that we got him from said that if ever we cannot keep him, we have to call them to take him back. But they SHOULD NOT rehome him. He is dangerous. It's just a matter of time before he really does some damage that requires a hospital episode. He couldn't be trusted with young children, not at all. Or with visitors.

I don't have to rationalize this. He has a serious, untenable mental defect.

arrghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh I am going to cry all day tomorrow.

Full Moon

2008-10-15T11:28:00.009-04:00

Booker was acting all buggy last night. We went for our 9:30ish walk and he was just ... off.

On the way home, I noticed the full moon.

What do you think? Is there a connection between dog behavior and a full moon? Man-Dad says "yes" ... his dogs have always been a bit loopier when the sky is shining with a huge yellow-white orb.

The moon was illuminating the New River last night, making the yachts glow. This morning, it was still hanging in the sky, almost at the western horizon.

Booker is at doggie daycamp today. Working out his weirdness. He was just too agitated to leave him in his kennel. I am at the gallery all day and the street is starting to come to life (is "season" finally here?) It's a bit unsettling here for Booker; he gets cranky when his nap attempts are constantly disturbed by people making dopey faces at him through the gallery window. The guy with the pitbull yesterday, who walked past and then backtracked to encourage a "window fight," put us both over the edge.

So dog camp is a good idea for today. And maybe H-Mom will get a SALE at the gallery today.

7 x 7 with photos and video!

2008-10-14T12:25:00.009-04:00

Our big friend, the dude, Mango, tagged us to complete the 7 x 7 challenge, so here it is. H-Mom even took a photo of the girl Booker loves, just for this post.

7 Things I Plan To Do Before I Die

1. Go 'coon hunting one more time so that H-Mom and Man-Dad can see how good I am at it -- Man Dad has to bring his gun and flashlight
2. See a Treeing Walker at the Westminster Kennel Club
3. Steal a whole ham from the kitchen
4. Eradicate fleas and ticks from the earth
5. Make all humans treat their animals HUMANELY
6. Pee on every single vertical surface in Fort Lauderdale
7. Hear the Teen-human say "I love you Booker"

7 Things I Do Now

1. Bark a lot, loudly
2. Chase all the other dogs at the dog park, barking the whole time
3. Find imaginary raccoons in the trees at the dog park, and bark like a wild dog
4. Tell the other dogs in the building that I prefer a PRIVATE elevator, by barking loudly
5. Fling lots of foamy white slobber when I bark
6. Pretend that I'm barking by inhaling and exhaling and making my cheeks puff in and out and looking like I'm in a silent film, barking
7. Bark in my sleep, but only in a low rumble

7 Things I Can't Do

1. Maintain a level head and calm temperament at all times -- every once in awhile, I just SNAP
2. Make my nose stop leading me to things that get me in trouble
3. Resist sneaking on H-Mom and Man-Dad's bed when there is thunder
4. Pretend that I don't care when I hear the deli bin open in the refrigerator
5. Fetch a ball more than one time, maybe twice, per session
6. Pee it all out, in one big leg-lift, because I always save a little bit for the next tree and the next and the next
7. Stay away from my blog-friends ... I'm addicted

7 Things That Attract Me To The Opposite Sex

1. Girl dogs who are a little bit bossy, even a little bit bitchy
2. Hair that blows in the wind
3. A vaguely aloof air
4. A girl who runs like an antelope and actually pretends like I can catch her
5. A girl dog who is polite around my H-Mom and KNOWS that H-Mom belongs to me
6. A dog who knows how to make me jealous by paying more attention to BRUTUS the studly one-year old Doberman ... don't ask ...
7. A girl who doesn't even flinch when I bark

The picture above is of Kaylee, my best girl friend. She is such a show-off. I try to look like I don't really care, but everywhere she goes, I am just a few paces away. See me acting like I'm really more interested in some odor in the grass? Nope ... I've got my eyes on her at every minute. Isn't she beautiful?

7 Celebrities That I Admire

1. Droopy, the star of Dumb-Hounded. He looks like a Treeing Walker to H-Mom.

1943- Droopy - Dumb-Hounde
Uploaded by iToons

2. Elvis and Leon, the hound dogs in Black Snake Moan-- H-Mom spotted them when she was watching the movie with Man-Dad and she shouted, "Look at the Coonhounds!"
3. Old Dan and Little Ann, the hounds in the children's classic Where the Red Fern Grows
4. All the hounds working in Search and Rescue, especially the awesome Bloodhounds
5. Duke, Jed Clampett's Bloodhound on the Beverly Hillbillies
6. Huckleberry Hound, with his southern drawl and plodding determination
7. Elvis Presley, because he said he wasn't nothing but a hound dog, how cool is that?

7 Things That I Say Most Often

You've got to be kidding, right? I say everything often!

1. Awhooooooooooooo
2. Awhooo Awhoo Awhoooo
3. Awhoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
4. Woo Woo
5. Awhoo
6. Wo Wooooo Wo Wo Wooooooooooooooooooooo
7. Awhoo whoo whooo

If I had it my way, I'd always be talking, who CARES what I'm saying!

7 who get to do this now

If you haven't done it, go ahead and go for it!
We need another:
Short one
Tall one
Young one
Old one
Long-haired one
Short-haired one
and a
very unusual one!
Shout out if you fit the bill ...

Modeling 101

2008-10-11T10:33:00.008-04:00

This is what all the excitement is about: H-Mom emailed a photo of Booker to the American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue. Maybe, she thought, they would like to use it on their 2009 calendar?

It's a great photo. Truly a "Booker" moment. Who could resist those eyes. That lazy hound dog attitude. He would inspire donations. He would encourage adoptions.

They emailed. The photo is perfect for December. Booker, calendar dog.

Man-Dad is already figuring out the list of people who get Coonhound calendars for Christmas presents. There is excitement in the air.

But H-Mom used the photo online and before she did, she changed the resolution, so that it isn't suitable for print use. And she didn't save a copy of the high-res photo.

Now. The challenge. Recreate a moment.

That's why she was up in Booker's face the other day, taking photos when it was really nap time.

We tried again this morning. Me and Booker. The sofa, the lighting, the red and green holiday blanket. Booker was feeling unusually submissive. He kept rolling over for belly attention.

H-Mom would pull his leg one way and his rear end would go the other.

She would adjust his ear and his tongue would fall out.

She tried to tempt him into photographic submission with a toy and his eyes slid to half-mast.

It doesn't matter. This hounddog is full of personality.

Hillbilly Dog

2008-10-09T19:28:00.005-04:00

Halloween Face.
Scarey Teeth.
Hillbilly Mouth.

H-Mom was trying to get a photo of Booker's nasty teeth. They are Hillbilly Teeth: broken, missing, worn down, chipped.

Booker was patient for about 5 minutes.

Then enough was enough. He growled and snapped.

Enough photos. And this was worse than being at the dentist. Who wants a camera in front of your embarrassing teeth.

Especially when it's just about time for a nap.

Back off with that camera.

Deluge

2008-10-05T13:21:00.004-04:00

We decided to go for a good walk yesterday evening. Actually, H-Mom decided to go for a good walk. Booker looked at the sky and thought better of it. But he is the one on the end of the leash and H-Mom is the boss, so off we went.

The whole day had been a drizzly mess, with off and on rain showers, but you know H-Mom ... what's a little rain?

We made it west along the river to the Andrews Street drawbridge, over and then halfway back home on the north side of the Riverwalk.

Then the sky opened up. A downpour. A deluge. H-Mom ran for one of the gazebos and tucked up along the protected side, Booker with his tail tucked between his legs looking at her with an "I told you so" hound dog look. It was Booker and H-Mom and a WTF with a bottle of vodka and an assortment of black garbage bags, watching the sheets of rain roll past.

This was not one of our 10-minute tropical downpours. This was a soaking of oceanic proportions. It was not ending in 10 minutes, 20 or 30. This was hours worth of rain.

H-Mom called home to report in. Not lost, just under a quasi-shelter. But definately stuck. Man-Dad was in Chicago, so he couldn't help. The teen-human doesn't have a license yet. No cash for a cab, and what cab would smile upon a soaking wet coonhound?

The WTF was sucking on his bottle and saying something about DOGS.

H-Mom decided to brave the rain. Booker wasn't so certain and was having some serious wavering of confidence in "the leader."

H-Mom ran for the 3rd Avenue drawbridge. The street underneath it looked dryer, at worst. It was raining so hard that after five steps, H-Mom couldn't even see where she was running.

Under the drawbridge, there was a convention of 15 WTFs. It was a WTF downpour party. With strange blankets and smokes and bottles of off-brand alcohol. H-Mom and Booker huddled under the pigeon nests, with the thumping of cars and trucks crossing overhead.

And then the teen-human called. She was coming to the rescue, with a golf umbrella and soaking wet sneakers.

But she went the wrong way. It was all very confusing. Booker was trying to convince H-Mom that we lived in a different building. A closer building. The rain was completely disorienting.

Somehow we all met at home. Wet beyond imagination.

This morning, Booker greeted H-Mom's "Let's go WALKING!" with some skepticsm.

"Walking with you," his eyes said. "What an offer."

Dog Park Morning

2008-10-01T12:07:00.015-04:00

This was a dog park morning. It is great to watch Booker run. He used to be sore and lame after a good run at the dog park, but he has built up his muscle tone and his stamina and now he has no problem getting off the sofa after playing hard in the morning.

Run, and bark. At the dog park, Booker is free to use his "outside voice" -- with no restrictions. It is called "Bark Park," after all. We deliver!

Inside, it is important that he keeps barking to a minimum so that the neighbors don't call security. They have visited once or twice, in the first couple of months of Booker living with us, and we have to keep the barking under control.

Noses to the ground

Living in a condo, we take regular walks with Booker: 6am, 12noon, 5pm, 10pm ... and when it is cool enough, we make certain that the walks are a respectable distance. Or time outside - David likes to sit with Booker and watch the boats on the New River and then do "agility training" by having him jump from fountain wall to fountain wall.

But there is no replacement for a good leg-stretching, muscle-singing all-out run. A brisk walk on a leash will get business done, but Booker's natural gait is much snappier than the one he uses when walking at my side.

Emily, the "old lady" of the park

Bella the Husky -- she barks high and shrill, Booker barks low and very loud

The popular "pool flop" ... it is Florida and even the morning gets steamy!

Booker is the unofficial coach and referee of the dog park. He loves to run after a group of dogs, barking as they tear across the grass, and then stand at the edge of the resulting rumble, barking, making certain that everyone knows what terror the other dogs are engaged in.

Annie the corgi: throw the ball again!

Barking and peeing make a dog very very thirsty!

Get your life preservers

2008-09-30T11:20:00.009-04:00

Last week at high tide, the Atlantic washed over the seawall along A1A. The ocean was surging in the wake of the storm that hit North Carolina. At 8 in the evening, the street was swamped. Seaweed and sand roiled along the sidewalk.

When the tide receded, all that remained was a sandy skimcoat to remove with backhoes and streetsweepers. Everything was "back to normal" by mid-morning. We were actually hoping to splash in the ocean along the street for our morning walk, but no such luck.

Dogs are not allowed on the beach in Fort Lauderdale, except for a few very limited evening hours, three days a week on a 1/2-mile stretch of ocean at Sunrise. We purchased a permit to walk on the west sidewalk before 9am, so there is no sand between Booker's toes, only the temptation of salty ocean breeze and the sound of the surf.

Save a coonhound

2008-09-24T19:29:00.007-04:00

This is the photo of Booker, from the American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue Web site, that inspired our unanimous "That's our dog."

He has tested, strained and challenged every once of dog savvy that we thought - and think - we have. He is both a rescue and a reward.

He is the coolest dog I have ever lived with. He is smart, he is dignified, he is earnest, he is independent. He tries really hard. He gives 110%. And he looks great on the leather sofa.

Coonhounds are infinitely "American" dogs. Unfortunately, the traits that were bred into them are often their undoing, as well.

Read this sad, thought-provoking article in the Tuskegee News.

We want to add a comment: Coonhounds make incredible house dogs.

They have even been known to adapt to condo living.

The sky

2008-09-21T17:44:00.007-04:00

H-Mom is back. She had a difficult trip, but it is a trip that has made her thankful for a lot of things. Like being home. Like having a family. Like having a dog.

Like walking in the morning and watching the sun come up. Like appreciating the clouds, and the calm, and the vastness of the sky.

She is already looking forward to that bit of peace tomorrow morning.

A dog's point of view

2008-09-13T10:20:00.010-04:00

Okay, so let's say that this very high strung and anxious visitor flies into your life on the coat-strings of a hurricane.

She comes into your home.

And she makes herself comfortable in the teen-human's bedroom.

This is a room where you (as the D-O-G) have only recently re-won the privilege of hanging out. And you have a big blue cushion on the floor, and when you are being very good and very obedient, the teen-human allows you to curl up and go to sleep. And the teen-human bosses you around alot, and you work really hard to maintain your current state of "being in good graces with the moody 16-year-old girl teen-human."

So, this visitor puts a zipped travel bag in the room. Right on top of your blue cushion. THE special blue cushion upon which you are so pleased to have earned the rights to being welcomed again.

And then you go to sleep. No one is home, except you and that V-I-S-I-T-O-R. And the travel bag is right on your cushion.

Then the visitor barges into the teen-human's room (a very sacred place, which you, as a dog, are KEENLY aware of) and wakes you up and GRABS the travel bag right off of your cushion.

You see, as a DOG, you thought the TRAVEL BAG was now yours. It was, after all, on your special cushion. And, even though you have no TEETH (being the hillbilly dog that you are) and even though you can't rip the travel bag open, you have the nose-of-all-noses ... you have a HOUND DOG NOSE, and you KNOW what is in the travel bag.

You KNOW that, in the travel bag, there may be (or at least the remnants of) a:

See, you should work at the airport as a bag inspector. You should screen for contraband. You should capture and confiscate whatever your nose dictates.

You become CUJO and go after the visitor. Who, in your eyes has little to no RIGHT or AUTHORITY when it comes to being in your house, because even though you, as the DOG, are accepting that you are the bottom entity in the pack, even BELOW the teen-human, you are still IN THE PACK, the visitor IS NOT. And you are the only pack member in the house. The pecking order, to you, as the dog is very obvious. Especially when it comes to a travel bag that involves a sandwich.

Then the teen-human comes home from cross-country, drags her tired body into her bedroom and flops on the bed. And you make the MISTAKE of growling at her. And she is ready to evict you again. PERMANENTLY. And then Man-Dad comes in, and you growl at him. And all this time, NO ONE knows that there is a SANDWICH in the mysterious TRAVEL BAG that somehow has landed on YOUR CUSHION, and by every law in dog-dom, is now YOURS.

Until, all of a sudden, TEEN-HUMAN figures something out. She is becoming quite a DOG WHISPERER. Her relationship with the D-O-G is becoming very complicated and, actually, very special. Their friendship has been hard-won.

TEEN-HUMAN says: "THERE MUST BE SOMETHING IN THAT TRAVEL BAG, BECAUSE BOOKER IS BEING VERY AGGRESSIVE ABOUT IT!"

And then the visitor confesses to being a sandwich horder. See, she was fleeing a hurricane, and didn't know if she would ever have a meal again.

And the travel bag is cautiously removed.

And sandwich evidence is taken away and destroyed.

And peace is returned. Booker shared the sofa with the visitor all evening, watching CNN and the Weather Channel, and didn't even think twice about the TRAVEL BAG INCIDENT.

No one is making excuses for your behavior, as a BAD DOG, but they understand it. You have food issues, and they are BIG issues, and that was really an unfair test. With all the factors of high emotional tension in the house, a visitor, invasion of territory, desertion by the rest of the pack, and inaccessible food. A very unfair test.

The fury of Ike

2008-09-12T19:09:00.006-04:00

On Monday, we thought that IKE was going to send my sister, her daughter and the C-A-T to our door, refugees from South Beach in Miami.

This afternoon, we picked up David's mother, who IKE has sent to us as a refugee from Houston. How ironic, to flee a hurricane by flying into another hurricane-infested state.

And now we have a dog issue. David had to run to pickup the teen-human from cross country practice.

He left his mother alone at the condo with Booker.

Booker was sleeping soundly, on his cushion #2 in the teen-human's bedroom, which is where Mom is staying. She walked quietly into the bedroom -- alone in the house with Booker -- to get something out of her bag.

And Booker started out of his sleep, barked, growled and lunged at her. She was afraid he would bite.

He has completely gotten over his aggression toward my daughter. She is asserting herself and we all are careful to not startle him out of sleep, and to "boss him around" regularly. We have never had a single incident of aggression toward guests. Booker is friendly, playful, hospitable when teenagers invade the house. He is fine with my sister and her daughter. He is polite but aloof with cocktailing friends.

This is troubling. We must not leave her alone with him for at least a few days of acclimatization. She needs to be liberal with the treat jar. And assertive with the commands.

Thank goodness he didn't bite.

Blog Award

2008-09-12T18:14:00.012-04:00

Our friend Cocoa the Beagle gave us this award. We love it! And guess what? We love the photo of Cocoa so much that I have it on my desktop! So: THANKS! We are a fan of your blog too!

Here are the rules of this award:

1. The winner can put the logo on his/her blog
2. Link the person you received your award from
3. Nominate at least 7 other blogs
4. Put links of those blogs on yours, and
5. Leave a message on the blogs that you've nominated

We would LOVE to give this award to all our friends, but that's just too much cut and paste and link and paste, so we are passing this award to these blogs that might be new some of our loyal readers:

Wimsey
The Lurchers
Biggie Z
Ragracers
Rubber Slippers in Italy
Key West Collies
Wandering Spirits Kennels

Stop in and say hello to these wonderful bloggers. Enjoy!

Pure exhaustion

2008-09-11T19:18:00.004-04:00

Doggie day care worked. When David picked Booker up at 3, the front desk called over the speaker, "Booker, your Dad is here to get you!" The report was that Booker played well with others, even a couple puppies, and that he only barked when the staff members left him alone in any area. It's "cageless" boarding, so the dogs are engineered into compatible groups and given run of various play areas, both indoor and out.

He is so tired tonight that David couldn't even get him off the sofa to go outside for a pee. He rolled off and then laid down on the floor and wouldn't move.

A tired dog is a happy dog, right?

Our own little calm before the storm

2008-09-10T11:34:00.006-04:00

These lazy mornings in the gallery after the dog park are becoming a real pleasure. I am so fortunate to be able to bring Booker with me instead of leaving him in his crate at home for hours on end. He has made friends up and down the street, people who stop in for a quick hello or a few minutes worth of wrestle-petting.

Next week, I am going out of town, though. We think that the best option will be to have Booker go to doggy daycare. That will be five days, from open to close.

Tomorrow is a test run. I'll take him over in the morning and David will pick him up after work. If there are issues, we have a few days to find a "plan B."

EDIT! Boy are we lucky that we planned a trial run. Camp Canine requires a Bordetella vaccination. Booker got all his shots on Monday, but NOT that one. The vet only does that upon request for dogs that must have it. So the vet is faxing his records to Camp Canine and I am running up there tomorrow morning at 8am to get the missing shot. Then I will drop Booker off for an experimental day at doggie daycare.

Good thing David didn't find this out on Monday morning, after I was already gone. That would have been a major wrench in his day. He will be fine dropping Booker off in the morning and picking him up after work. That is assuming the day goes smoothly tomorrow.

Treats

2008-09-09T16:19:00.002-04:00

The gallery is such a cool place to spend the morning.

Where did he go?

2008-09-06T10:23:00.003-04:00

So, the "No SWIMMING - Alligator" sign at the dog lake is gone.

But there is no explanation. Did they catch him? Did he walk away? Did he never exist in the first place?

All of the dog owners are mumbling nervously.

Who will be the first to let their dog leap into the cool water? Is it fair to wait for a naive "weekender" and then gather around to observe the outcome? How long will it take for everyone to forget the 'gator intrusion?

It this, then that

2008-09-05T18:10:00.005-04:00

We are making plans, just in case IKE really does slam Miami and Fort Lauderdale. We will be safe in our 19th story bunker. Hurricane glass, lots of supplies, candles and radio. H-Mom's sister and niece will evacuate from South Beach, though. And they would come to hunker down with us. They would be bringing along: We are imagining that the storm outside will divert Booker's attention from any feline disruption in the condo.

Coonhound on a Bike

2008-09-02T19:01:00.001-04:00

Motorcycle fans! Coonhound fans! Unite! We saw Booker on a bike and he looked great!

Water Hazard

2008-08-29T16:51:00.006-04:00

The dog lake is closed at Snyder Park.

There is an unwelcome visitor, and everyone hopes that he is not staying.

In Florida, dog owners know that dogs should not be allowed to swim in water that may be home to alligators. This includes canals, rivers and retention ponds. Alligators have even been found in swimming pools and, last spring, in someone's kitchen. That 8-foot intruder made the evening news - it crawled in through the screen door. Read the story here!

Alligators migrate in search of new territory, and when they find a place they like, they are determined to stay.

Dogs are in more danger from alligators than humans, because the thrashing motion of a swimming dog closely resembles the reptiles' natural prey. A dog is no match for an alligator's expert predatory skills. There are often news stories of pets lost to a gator's jaws when walking too close to the edge of a canal or taking a swim in a marshy area.

Maybe our dog park authorities will call in Tom Hardwick, who is often featured on Animal Planet's "Miami Animal Police," snaring ornery gators and other troublesome creatures.

Until the alligator is removed, Booker will stay on dry land and concentrate on the raccoon invasion, real or imagined.

Portrait for the Estate

2008-08-27T10:37:00.012-04:00

Painters have included dogs on their canvases for centuries. Last year's Best in Show: the Dog in Art from The Renaissance to Today at the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston attempted to "explore the use of dog imagery to illustrate major cultural and social concerns in Western culture." [NOTE: click on VIEW THE SHOW, it is great fun!]

Animal portraiture was becoming increasingly popular by the beginning of the 18th Century. British animal portraiture reached great heights through the anatomically detailed works of George Stubbs, the naturalism of Thomas Grainsborough, and the romanticism of Sir Edwin Landseer. In the colonial United States, travelling portrait painters, like Amni Phillips, were paid by wealthy families to portray their dogs partaking in everyday life.

We photograph our dogs, collect breed-specific auto decals, mugs, afghans and more. We blog about our dogs. The ultimate expression of how much our dogs mean to us can be captured in custom portraiture, as it has been done for centuries. This lush portrait, RAINEY, is an incredible work of art created by Sherrie Rose (srosepaints@yahoo.com). She works from photographs and creates manor-worthy pieces in an old-world style. RAINEY is acrylic on canvas, 48" x 48" unframed.

Morning History Lesson

2008-08-26T11:23:00.016-04:00

Man-Dad is golfing this afternoon, so he took the car instead of his work truck. Man-Dad is a real golfer. He doesn't get in nearly enough golfing, and this afternoon is a work-golf-function, so that is a bonus! Doesn't Booker look sad sitting by the golf clubs? Clubs out mean that Man-Dad is leaving soon.

That left H-Mom without transportation to the dog park, so it was a "power walk" morning instead. It was dark when we left the condo before 7am, and we headed along the riverwalk on the south side of the New River. Up and across the Andrews Street drawbridge ... around to the riverwalk on the north side of the river, then west through the Riverfront, Old Fort Lauderdale, and the Symphony Center.

H-Mom decided to walk all the way to the end of the paved riverwalk path, which goes to Sailboat Bend and Cooley's Landing, the site of the Cooley Massacre. Sailboat Bend is a long stretch of slips and ramps that is full of sailboats. Lots of boaters live in or pass through Fort Lauderdale. With the Atlantic, the New River, and its series of canals, Fort Lauderdale is a boat-friendly destination. Booker and H-Mom walked along the dock planks all the way past the sailboats. It was both early and a workday, so the docks were very quiet.

At regular intervals along the docks are signs warning boaters to be aware of the New River's most quiet, gentle residents: manatees. They are very shy, and don't move quickly. They are constantly in danger of being injured by boat propellers, and there are cautions everywhere to help protect the manatees.

It is very rare to see them from the shore, but boaters often see them floating along in the New River. If we look out the window of the 19th floor elevator lobby down to the river, on very rare occasions we can spot the large grey silhouette of a manatee coming to the surface for air before disappearing casually back to the deeper water.

The very west end of the river walk is Cooley's Landing, where there is a historical marker for the Cooley Massacre. In 1836, William Cooley returned from a trading trip to find his wife, children and the children's tutor brutally murdered by Indians. Cooley was one of the original settlers of the area that is now Fort Lauderdale. He cultivated and milled arrowroot, and at first maintained a friendly relationship with the Seminoles. The conflict and attack on his family sent many white settlers running from the region. This was one of the precipitating events of the Second Seminole War, and the establishment of a military outpost that was named Fort Lauderdale.

White man's settlement of indigenous people's lands has contributed many tragic stories to our country's history. The Seminole Indians were eventually pushed deep into the inhospitable Everglades, where they adapted and tried to maintain their culture.

Today, the proud Seminoles are the only Indian Tribe in North America never to have signed a Peace Treaty with the U.S. government and one of a handful that was never conquered. The tribe operates out of headquarters in Hollywood, Florida; the Seminoles own more than 96,000 acres statewide, with much of its reservation land located deep in the Everglades on the Big Cypress reservation. (Remember Anna Nicole's death? It occurred under Seminole jurisdiction at the Hard Rock Hotel in Hollywood.)

In modern Fort Lauderdale, there are more curious potentially life-threatening hazards than Indians. One study suggests that more than 150 people worldwide are killed by falling coconuts - 15 times more than are killed by sharks. Although these figures may not be well-documented, it is suggested that pedestrians avoid walking under coconut-laden trees, and that you do not park your car under palms.

On the way home this morning, H-Mom and Booker passed city trucks doing their regular "coconut removal." We don't want tourists bonked on the head! Booker is getting so accustomed to his "city life" that he doesn't bark at huge trucks, WTFs or other dogs out enjoying the morning very often any more. And he has absolutely no interest in coconuts, either.

On the topic of ears

2008-08-23T19:23:00.006-04:00

Our friend Barley blogged about his ears. Actually about how his H-Mom calls his ears "potato chip ears." That made us laugh. Sometimes Booker's ears look like potato chips, too.

They don't ever stand up -- he's got floppy hound ears -- but they twitch up and down and back and forth and they are remarkably communicative. The wrinkles in his forehead and his soulful hound dog eyes help with Booker's tendency toward overemotional expressiveness.

But WAIT! Check out Copper's ears! If you are looking for a dog with absolutely remarkable ears, Copper is your guy! He is up for adoption through the American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue. He is a liver Bloodhound. He rocks. He has some tracking experience, too. Those long ears help "sweep" scents up from the ground so that they go in his nose, where they are essential for doing things like tracking. Or "mantrailing." They are very useful ears, if you are a Bloodhound.

H-Mom is in love with Copper. She can't stop looking at his ears.

Of course, Booker has great ears too. Booker's ears even turn inside-out and then go back to right-side-in all on their own. Not Bloodhound ears, but EXCELLENT ears, right?

Artful existence

2008-08-22T12:43:00.006-04:00

Booker is spending some mornings at the gallery, from opening until about 1 or so. Today he has been here for more than six hours! He is doing great - that is a record!

It's very quiet on the street in the summer, as it is "off season," and few people come in. H-Mom thinks that gallery-time is good for socialization ... and that the handful of humans who come in and out help Booker perfect some important things like not-rushing-the-door and not-trying-to-barge-out and staying-calm-somewhere-besides-home. These tasks are actually a lot of hard work. When Booker lays down-- IF Booker lays down -- it is only for a short respite from watching out the window.

And then something exciting happens.

These are some of the exciting things that occurred just this week:

Landscaping crew removed all the pavers in the median with sledgehammers. That made lots of noise.
Two giant chestnut horses with mounted police clomp-clomped slowly past on the street. These creatures were AMAZING and FRIGHTENING and STRANGER THAN FICTION ... much bigger than raccoon! It was very obvious that Booker has never seen a horse before.
Quite a few people opened the door just to say "HI" to the "DOG." That kind of annoys H-Mom because Booker gets all riled up and it's not even for a s-a-l-e. Sales are important to H-Mom and this is a slow month. That is good for Booker visiting the gallery, but it is not good for H-Mom's bank account.
The "DUCK" drove by. The "DUCK" is a huge amphibious vehicle that hauls tourists up and down the street. We think they go in the water somewhere too. It is very tacky. All the tourists shout "quack quack quack" on command, which is very silly, as they do not look anything like ducks.
Man-Dad stopped to say hello. He snuck in the backdoor and had Booker totally confused. What was Man-Dad doing HERE? That was fun and very exciting.
The mailman comes everyday and is becoming a f-r-i-e-n-d!
Booker got brave and decided that the leather chair is much, much more comfortable than the cement floor.

H-Mom has a little dish of snappy-snacks and Booker gets one whenever he gracefully manages the in-and-out of pedestrians. Now Booker comes over to the desk when he has been well-behaved to request his reward.

He still has to wear his citronella collar because sometimes he is a little "tightly wound," as H-Mom is starting to call it. She is sure that it is a Coonhound thing ... and she forgives him for it every single time. "Tightly wound" is kind of a creative personality trait, anyway, right?

Here, let Booker take you for a quick tour. He hasn't peed on a single thing. Booker has great respect for the arts:

After the storm ...

2008-08-19T17:21:00.011-04:00

At the gallery yesterday, when H-Mom opened the front door in the afternoon - she saw a hint of sunshine - she knew that Tropical Storm Fay had passed. It didn't matter what the Weather Channel was reporting: the parakeets had returned. They were fiesty, arguing and pushing each other from palm frond to frond. Settling back in after having been so unceremoniously dislodged by the evil weather. (Thank you, Google images ... H-Mom doesn't have a telephoto lens!)

Those of us who live and work in downtown Fort Lauderdale have become pretty oblivious to the troops of green monk parakeets that quarrel in the trees of the Las Olas median, or fly from wire to wire in the alleys.

The brightly colored and loud-voiced birds demand attention from out-of-town visitors. People often stop outside the gallery window, with their heads and cameras turned to the palm trees. The parakeets create quite a bit of excitement. Most Americans have seen parakeets only in pet stores, zoos or Caribbean-themed bars.

Immigrants, monk parakeets are native to South America. The Fort Lauderdale parakeets have descended from birds that were released by their Floridian owners on purpose or by accident. Urban legend contends that many were freed from Parrot Jungle by Hurricane Wilma. They have established stable, feral communities in Fort Lauderdale. The birds are self-sustained breeding colonies, established populations that have easily adapted to Florida’s climate and ecosystems. Birds that seem tame are most likely recently escaped or abandoned pets. Wild birds rarely tolerate people, and can be befriended only with dedicated attention.

Although not native to Florida, here the monk parakeets cause only minor ecological distress. The main problem the birds create is for local utility companies such as Florida Power & Light. They cause hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage to electrical equipment because they often build their large, communal stick nests on electrical transformers. The bulky nests get wet during rainstorms and fall, causing short circuits to electrical transformer boxes.

In the late '60s and 70's, Florida Fish and Wildlife Service attempted to eradicate the wayward parakeets. The effort was abandoned because of the huge scale of the bird invasion. Now, there is a market for captured parakeet chicks. Trapping and selling monk parakeets is legal in Florida because it is a non-native species.

We don't encourage our visitors to climb after parakeet hatchlings, however. Every once in awhile, there is news item on an industrious parakeet hunter who got tangled -- and fried -- in high voltage wires.

Rain rain go away

2008-08-19T13:38:00.004-04:00

H-Mom is a nut.

She put on the yellow slicker that Man-Dad bought her at the marine supply store. It is "foul weather gear" for boating types.

Then she snapped on Booker's collar. And off we went. Yes, to the dog park.

In the wake of Fay, which wasn't tragic, but which was windy and very very wet. And H-Mom said "COME ON, BOOKER, LET'S WALK!"

Like that was supposed to be exciting or something. Like that was a really great idea.

So walk we did, in the pouring rain. Are you surprised that there was no-dog and no-one else there? And rain was running off Booker's ear tips like little rivers, and streaming off the brim of H-Mom's slicker hood.

No-dog and no-one else ever showed up. H-Mom made Booker stick with it for about half an hour.

"Well," she said outloud to NO-ONE, "We don't have a yard, so this is necessary exercise."

OKAY. CAN WE GO HOME YET?

It was so rainy, in the wake of tropical storm FAY, that H-Mom didn't even have the camera out. Now, don't you think that would TELL her something?

Fay Closing In

2008-08-18T09:05:00.005-04:00

H-Mom was smart and got to the dog park with Booker early this morning. We got in an hour walk, with Booker OCDing just a little over the potential of raccoons in the trees. H-Mom had to be vigilant and refocus his attention on the walk. He played with the usual set of dogs too.

Minutes after we got home, the sky opened up. Thunder, lightening and sheets of rain thick enough to obliterate the view out of our 19th floor windows. We are "hunkering down," as we should only get strong winds and lots of rain. Booker is "hunkering" in the bathroom. That seems to be the best place to take cover from thunder booming. For our coast, Fay will be closer to a tropical storm than a hurricane. We won't evacuate even if it gets bad. Our building is only three years old, with certified hurricane windows and a generator. It would be uncomfortable without air conditioning, but we would be safe.

David is a building inspector, and he feels safe here. He says, if a pickup truck comes hurtling through our window, 19 floors up, everyone in Florida has a lot more to worry about than some rain and wind. And, we would probably be in more danger on the road, trying to escape in a traffic jam of evacuees.

Walks will be a challenge if the weather really deteriorates. Booker isn't a "walking in the rain with the one I love," kind of dog.

Booker on the Arts

2008-08-13T11:16:00.005-04:00

Booker is spending the morning at the gallery with H-Mom.

Booker is an art- and culture-friendly candidate. Posing at the gallery window is a great opportunity to take a stance in favour of local and state arts and humanities councils, and to advocate for support of the NEA. Booker is vehemently opposed to cuts in school art and music programs, believing that these are integral to the development of well-rounded, diverse, critical and creative thinkers.

Actually, Booker has a propensity to over-vocalize; H-Mom accessorized him with the citronella collar.

Shhhhhh ... no one appreciates a bombastic candidate.

The candidate's motorcade will be taking him back to the home office for some downtime around 1. A few hours is enough campaigning today.

Tennessee Lead

2008-08-12T11:59:00.013-04:00

Very few people in South Florida recognize Booker's breed. We are a region densely populated by little condo-perfect dogs -- all fancy purebreds and designer crossbreeds -- with a few high visual-impact large dogs, like borzoi and afghans, thrown in.

"Wow, that's a beagle on steroids!"
"What kind of beagle-mix is that?"

We get those all the time.

Fort Lauderdale has a hefty share of the Domicile-Challenged (as our friend Biggie Z refers to them ...) also known as WTFs for their frequent outbursts at innocent citizens and tourists.

Yesterday I was walking Booker along the river, where many of our local WTFs (another Biggie Z-ism) hang out. Actually at times, it looks like a WTF convention around here.

Anyway, more than once, the older black men in the generally eclectic WTF population have addressed us, often loudly, and often with very southern accents.

"Hey, lady, my bossman had some of them coondogs."
"That's a Walker hound, isn't it ma'am."
"I used to keep them Walkerhounds for hunting, lady."

Yesterday, one of them looked at us and asked excitedly, "That's a Tennessee Walker, ain't it missus?"

His friend jumped up, annoyed. "No, that's a Treeing Walker," shouted his bench buddy.

George Washington Maupin (Left), Tennessee Lead and William J. Walker (Right) (courtesy Google images)

I smiled. "Actually, he's a Treeing Walker, and they were bred from a dog named Tennessee Lead originally."

"SEE," shouted the first one and he began whapping his buddy with a rolled up newspaper.

Booker and I beat a hasty retreat along our riverside path. David has suggested that I don't walk along the river any more. We are fairly water-bound. The options are not many. And as long as the WTFs appreciate a good coonhound, I guess we are okay.

Sign at the Tennessee-Kentucky stateline (click to enlarge) marking the trail of Tennesse Lead, a stolen hounddog. (courtesy Google images)

Art inspired walk

2008-08-11T10:06:00.009-04:00

Much of South Florida sits on Coral Rock, which is as much as 4000 feet thick in some areas, covered with just a few inches of topsoil. Coral Rock quarries provided building material for homes and other construction in the early days of South Florida. Because Florida is perched on Coral Rock, when building here, construction crews must dig into the rock, which is at or below sea level. Keeping water at bay is a particularly Floridian effort. At job-sites, pumps run non-stop until foundations are excavated, set and waterproofed.

Coral Rock is beautiful, traversed by crystalline white patterns accented in grey and black. By our home, there is a public park with an installation of monolithic sculptures constructed of natural Coral Rock. It is titled Accordant Zones, designed by artists Neijna and Smyth. The installation explores the juxtaposition of sculptural elements and landscape, speaking to history, ecology and archeology.

Booker and H-Mom like to walk along the low Coral Rock wall, all the way to the giant disc at the west end. It looks like it will roll away, perched on its side. Each piece of coral is textural and intriguing, laced with the imprint of creatures that long preceded us.

Which direction looks interesting today?

Job Description: Commander in Chief

2008-08-08T18:09:00.014-04:00

Booker P. Washington.

A name synonymous with integrity and strength in defense.

An American original.

A working dog, strong of heart and tireless, with a record of proudly and bravely standing up for his country.

He has earned accolades (or at least attention) for vocally and persistently identifying border breaches.

He has proven his dedication to national security by tirelessly identifying enemy cells.

He has fearlessly entered hostile territory in pursuit of threats to his fellow citizen.

Booker P. Washington.

A candidate strong on country.

Note: This may be a shamelessly biased candidate endorsement.

"needs" game on Google

2008-08-06T12:36:00.006-04:00

Our friend Snuggle Puggle played the Google "needs" game. It sounded amusing, so we gave it a go ... just type your name and the word "needs" into google and list the first items that come up.

booker needs good negotiating skills to secure artists

H-Mom thinks not. If Booker was in the gallery when artists came a-callin' they would immediately be won over, no negotiation needed. All he would need to do is give them that over-the-shoulder-don't-you-LOVE-me look that hound dogs specialize in, and it would be a done deal.

Booker needs to run for federal office

OBAMA? McCAIN?
No! Booker P. Washington. Headed for the big White House. Lots of trees, lots of bushes and plenty of space that needs marking by a true-blue, American classic: Coonhound.

Booker needs extra pounds

H-Mom is still upset. One of the building maintenance guys said, "BOY he's getting fat." Now H-Mom is paranoid that they were actually referring to HER butt, not Booker's, but still. Booker does not need extra pounds. Booker is just fine. She asked EVERYONE at the dog park, "Do you think my dog is fat?"

That's like asking your husband about your derriere ...

Booker needs the help, trust me

We all need help. Trust me. Booker's help is on the way. It's in the plan. It's on the agenda.

Thoughts on a Kong

2008-08-02T12:22:00.013-04:00

Before H-Mom got this crazy idea that a COONHOUND would be the right breed for the family. And before she did all this research and saw how COONHOUNDS go all crazy in the woods, and how they often are kept only tied or chained or in wire pens, and how they are "THROWN AWAY" when they become an expense or slow down or don't hunt productively. Before she found out that they are difficult to rehome because they are often thought of as hunting dogs and not at all as PETS.

Before all that, I have heard that H-Mom and Man-Dad were looking for a Labrador. They even did tons and tons of research. They registered with "South Florida Labrador Rescue," and had a home visit! They talked black, chocolate, yellow and even RED. They set out all the photos of the Labradors that Man-Dad used to have. He loved those Labradors. They put up alerts for adoptable Labradors.

They found a Labrador breeder in South Florida who had a 2-year old female needing a home. (She was not quite a Show star and was not going to be bred.) They even went to visit this Labrador.

They were serious. Serious about a Lab.

There is evidence:

They had even BOUGHT some toys, expecting a Labrador.

Note that THIS Kong is a "WATER" Kong. It is made for throwing INTO the water so that a retriever-minded dog can leap into the water, swim, grab the floating Kong, and then return it to the pitcher. This Kong is specifically designed for a game of ... water fetch.

Then H-Mom and Man-Dad got a call from American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue. "Booker can come and live with you! We can ship him this weekend!" Actually, H-Mom and Man-Dad got this phone call when they were on the highway, on their way home from visiting the beautiful, water-loving black Labradors at Surfside Labs. That's where they met the sweet 2-year female that they could have.

Now, look at this foot:

Here, Booker will hold it up for you. Look carefully:

There is no webbing on this foot. It is the tidy, cat-like paw of a Coonhound. It is large-padded, well-clawed, for giving traction when tracking, and for clawing up a tree after cornered raccoons, bears and mountain lions. This is not the foot of a water retriever. There are no webs. Nothing duck-like here.

The only interest that Booker has in water is cooling his paws if there is a puddle on a hot road or quickly powering through it if the scent he is on comes out the other side. There is no Coonhound "joy of water just for the sake of water."

So the only thing that a Coonhound could possibly do with a WATER KONG is make like it's a RACCOON and kill it. Shake it really hard and growl. Shake the living daylights out of it some more. And then suggest that a Coonhound can do that much, much better than any Labrador could ever do, looking up at H-Mom and Man-Dad with those big, always mournful-looking Coonhound eyes.

Dog-Friendly Gallery in Dog-Friendly City

2008-07-31T19:15:00.016-04:00

Yes, we are a dog-friendly gallery! Of course! (thanks for asking, Jake and Just Harry ... come and visit H-Mom, she would be thrilled!)

Everyone on the street is talking about planning a "Yappy Hour" for the downtown Fort Lauderdale shopping district - Las Olas Boulevard. "Yappy Hour" would feature a hundred adoptable dogs from the Humane Society, wearing "Adopt Me" bandanas; "dog specials" at the restaurants with dog-friendly outdoor seating; and, "Dogs Welcome" signs in the windows of participating merchants, along with bowls of biscuits, drinking water, and poopbags (H-Mom added that last one).

Does anyone else live in a city that does something similar? We think it would be great fun if Fort Lauderdale "went to the dogs" for a day.

H-Mom tried to think of an artist in our gallery - Las Olas Fine Arts - who paints DOGS, and she found some wonderful paintings by Dominic Besner, an incredibly talented young Canadian artist quickly earning international acclaim:

Greyhounds racing ...

Roulement de tambour pour une course de 3, Mixed Media on Canvas

Dog in a tutu? It looks like a dancing greyhound:

Tutu des Flandres, Mixed Media on Canvas

There was an awesome huge painting with three Borzoi in the background, but H-Mom cannot find the image. The gallery represents very contemporary artists. The best thing about the gallery, from a dog's point of view, is the highly polished cement floor - always cool when it's hot outside!

Meeting of the minds

2008-07-29T14:24:00.005-04:00

Will these two have a meeting of the minds? Is there an uneasy truce? Is the teenager becoming a "pack leader" or least a 2nd lieutenant? Can Booker ease into the position of dog ... #1 dog ... BUT dog.

I have to sell a couple paintings at the gallery so that I can hire our trainer/guru/behaviorologist. Argh. It is a very slow month, and add the economic woes to that. Where are our Europeans with good taste in contemporary art and happy Euros?

Help on the way

2008-07-26T10:56:00.003-04:00

Well H-Mom got home from the gallery late last night and Booker's blue cushion was moved BACK into Samantha's bedroom.

The meeting with Mark, our prospective behavior/training consultant, evidently has turned someone's opinion around. She has undug her heels and uncrossed her defiant teenage arms.

The three of us sat in the living room to talk - Mark told us about the philosophy of Sit Means Sit. Booker clambered onto the sofa and curled up quietly right behind Samantha, his muzzle up against her thigh. Booker sighed and fell asleep.

"He's obviously a very sweet dog, with a calm, loving disposition," was Mark's observation. He listened to Booker's history. "The one thing that you have to know is that dogs live in this moment, going forward," he emphasized. "Booker doesn't hold grudges. He isn't still angry at you about the kitchen towel. He has forgotten that he bit you. You have to go forward."

Mark talked for awhile about dog behavior in general. Booker may have had a tough start, an abusive past life, starvation and fear, but he is well-cared for now, his stomach full, his bed soft. THIS is Booker's reality, and he needs to be taught, with no hesitations, how he needs to behave to conform to OUR lifestyle today, going forward.

Sit Means Sit uses non-forceful (no yelling, no punishment) verbal commands with a stimulus collar -- very light attention-commanding "buzz" almost like clicker training. Mark gave Samantha and I a demonstration with his dog, a giant German Shepard. Astounding. That dog was regimented, perfection, frightening ... we don't need Booker to be that kind of dog, but 1/4th ... gee ... 1/8th of that would be a gift.

As everyone who knows dogs has commented, Booker is testing us constantly, pushing around his will for premiere pack-position and trying especially to bully Samantha. She is a sweetheart, a gentle soul, a lover of small rodents and lazy cats. Booker is really new territory for her and she needs to learn how to interact with him, as much as Booker needs to learn his boundaries.

Some observations from Mark included:

Booker was a hunting dog in his prior life, he had a rigorous job. He needs a NEW job ... he is a dog with a temperament modeled and calmed by knowing exactly what is expected of him.
Aggression within the "pack" (family) is NEVER acceptable
Booker should obey every command without hesitation
Everything in the house -- food included -- belongs to the leaders, and he is allowed to have it only with permission. That includes a beef fillet laying on the coffee table. (Well, maybe the countertop, hahahaha)
Almost every dog is trainable, there is no reason that we should not expect that Booker cannot have perfect and trustworthy behavior at all times
The humans have a lot of work to do --- that would be US

Mark charges a flat fee of $690 for unlimited lifetime training. (Samantha asked me to clarify whether that is for the lifetime of the OWNER or the DOG.) We can also put together a package that deals directly with Booker's aggression/bullying issues, start the process of training both the family (especially Samantha, who is very receptive to input from Mark) and the dog, and then go from there.

P.S. Thank you everyone for your encouraging and insightful comments. Our family team really believes that when you make a commitment, you make it and use all the resources you have to make it work.

Bringing in the Pro

2008-07-24T20:30:00.002-04:00

Well. Booker bit Samantha. The quiet, gentle teenager of the house. It's not a bad bite, actually, not much more than a scratch on one finger.

But it was frightening. And Samantha, in her determined, non-flexible way, has closed her door, literally. She has had enough. Booker is high maintenance.

So tomorrow, we have an appointment with a trainer, Mark Coe of Sit means Sit. I need a different perspective. I need someone to tell me "yes, stick with it," or "you will never be able to trust this dog."

Our family has 7 months invested in loving Booker. He is a great great dog in so many ways. He doesn't chew or destroy or mess, he is crate-trained, he is housebroken. He doesn't bark inside. He walks like a dream on the leash. But I don't want to feel like I have to rationalize and "forgive" his huge failing as a housepet. He has this "cujo" demon that is not acceptable to wage upon anyone in the house. It feels dangerous at times and while I feel confident that I can deal with it, I do not live alone.

I am thinking good thoughts for the rescue -- the TOTAL rescue -- of Booker. We will see what tomorrow brings.

Meanwhile, the small human is barricaded in her room.

Something to prove

2008-07-24T17:22:00.009-04:00

Booker got wind (with his hound-dog nose) of a rumour about his less than manly behavior during recent fireworks and thunderstorms.

This morning, he hit the dog park with something to prove.

It took less than 5 minutes for him to determine that a raccoon was up a tree. He then opted to spend his park-hour aggressively trying to dismantle the banyan, climb it, or get someone to SHOOT the 'coon.

H-Mom gave up trying to coax him away from the tree. "If that's how he opts to spend his time at the dog park, let him at it," she said.

"At least it's good cardio," a friend observed.

After an hour, he had to be snapped into his prong collar and led away, howling, from the park. His frustration was tangible.

Booker was so wiped out, he couldn't even stand for the car ride home. The photo is blurry because he was panting heavily.

Please, don't infer that Booker is a coward, or less-than-worthy hunting partner.

At least not within earshot ...

Excellent Camouflage

2008-07-23T12:16:00.006-04:00

Boy this guy had terrific camouflage. He almost matched the tree. Rick just about grabbed him when he was "rubbing the trunk" to dislodge little lizards for Davis to chase. We left this prehistoric-looking creature alone. He was almost a foot long and no one wanted to clean up guts or pull his carcass out from between Davis' teeth. If Rick would have grabbed it, he probably would have jumped a mile and H-Mom would have screamed. She's not scared, just easily surprised.

It was thundering all morning while we were at the dog park. No rain, big noise. Booker is having minor panic attacks, ever since the Fourth of July. The rumbling in the sky had him hanging close to H-Mom all morning. He was whining and acting a little agitated. It was a bit embarrassing in front of the all the other dogs, who didn't even look at the threatening clouds, and their humans, but everyone was very understanding.

We are beginning to suspect that his first "home" in South Carolina determined that Booker wasn't going to be much of a coon-hunter. He is a natural tracker, knows how to "tree," and has a great choppy tracking bark. But, the sound of a shotgun might have sent him running to the next county. Or perhaps he associates neglect and abuse with loud explosions. Whatever it was, it's a bad memory for Booker, and he has been having some Post-Traumatic Stress for the past two weeks. If there is a loud BANG, he melts into the picture of a dog under heavy military attack. He cannot get home fast enough, his tail between his legs, slinking furtively along the pavement, until he is safe behind the condo's Hurricane-rated (and sound-proof) windows.

Name Game

2008-07-22T13:22:00.005-04:00

Booker was tagged by Brandy to play the NameGame. Here goes:

What is your name?

Booker

If you could change your name, what would it be?

Booker P. Washington. It's much more formal and has a dignified air.
Although, those of you who know me, KNOW what the "P." stands for.

What is your pet's name (it can be a webkinz or a real pet)?

My imaginary pet is CatDog.

If you could change your pet's name what would it be?

DogCat. The DOG would have to come first.

What is your brother or sister's name?

As far as I know, I am alone in this world. It is a lonely world, like a CatDog world. Except for my forever family, of course, which includes Samantha, who is kind of like my H-Sister, although she wholly disapproves of any hint of anthromophism. This would probably include my referring to her as "H-Sister." She believes that H-Mom is obsessed in a most unhealthy and frighteningly tenuous manner.

If you could change their name, what would it be?

Ahhhhhhhhhhh .... how about SamCat? meowwwwwwwwwwwwww ...

P.S. We will defer the tagging to those in the know. Our circle is growing, but still quite limited and we see that many have already been tapped to play the Name Game!

Shopaholic

2008-07-19T13:14:00.005-04:00

H-Mom is obsessed.

At least that's what David says. She bought a little bag that clips on the leash. It's for carrying poopbags and a tiny ziplock baggie of treats for bribing Booker into good behavior or rewarding him for things well-done. This is by "Bella Bags" and she found it at our favorite place for shopping, The Doggy Store in Fort Lauderdale.

Little things make H-Mom so happy.

Fairy Ring

2008-07-18T17:46:00.007-04:00

A Fairy Ring appeared magically overnight in the park where we walk every day.

It was beautiful, a symphony of giant, sparkling white mushrooms. H-Mom doesn't know what kind they are, but she thinks they are a poisonous type from what she found on the Web. Anyway, we didn't touch them. The ring was too pretty. Some people say that a Fairy Ring is bad luck, but others say that it predicts very good fortune, and might even be a sign that there is hidden treasure! In folklore, Fairy Rings are said to be the place where elves gather at night to dance.

When H-Mom was growing up in France, she knew lots of people who went "mushrooming" on the weekends. People are very brave to eat wild mushrooms -- we would hesitate to taste them even if they were collected by an "expert." We will stick to buying our mushrooms at Publix.

Wild mushrooms are plentiful in South Florida in the summer, which is our rainy season. They appear when a few days of heavy rain are followed by dryer, sunny days. This is exactly what the weather as been this week. Golf courses are not very keen on them, as they pop up very quickly and ruin the "look" of the course by creating a circle of dead grass or discoloration. Lawncare resources call Fairy Rings a "disease."

Booker didn't smell anything interesting in our Fairy Ring, so we didn't disturb a thing. Maybe the fairies will come back and dance again tonight.

It looks more like magic than "disease"!

Hatchling

2008-07-17T12:07:00.010-04:00

Look what H-mom and the H-mans spotted at the dog park this morning. None of us dogs noticed it, which is really good because Rick's Golden Retriever, Davis, is lizard-crazy. Davis chases them and KILLS them. He is fast - a lot faster than most lizards! This isn't just a "regular" little Florida lizard. It is a green iguana hatchling. Can you see the markings on his tail? He was hanging onto the fence really tight and not moving at all. He was bright green, which is the only reason anyone saw him at all. He should have been hiding in the trees. There, he would blend right in.

Iguanas are not native to Florida, but they do very well if they make it out of captivity and into the wild. They are not protected because they have overrun many areas. They dig holes in gardens, undermine seawalls and eat vegetation. In the garden, they make a huge mess. Last summer, Fort Lauderdale authorities encouraged homeowners to "humanely dispose" of iguanas found in their yards. A heavy shovel was recommended. They are not aggressive, and usually run from people or animals, but they can deliver a wicked bite, have very sharp claws and can SLAM you with their long tail. They can grow in excess of 5 feet.

H-Mom just loves a "nature moment." She whipped out her phone and was taking pictures! She has lots more of this guy, but this is the best one.

Negatively No Dogs

2008-07-16T11:22:00.007-04:00

This looked like a really really good spot. Booker sniffed, he circled, he sniffed, he circled and then he dumped.

Well, Booker can't read. And can you SEE the sign in the photo above, anyway?

Thank goodness H-Mom always carries bags. She is diligent about leaving no trace of our visits.

That is one of our pet peeves. Or, you could say, peeves about pets. It's simple enough to "pick it up" and really part of being a responsible and courteous dog owner. There are trashcans AND bag dispensers on almost every block along our walking paths. Even in the park. Just because WE enjoy the company of a dog, doesn't mean we want to step in YOUR dog's mess! It is unbelievable how many people pretend that they haven't noticed what their dog is up to. Even at the dog park. Can you believe that H-Mom walked over to one man and HANDED him a poop bag? HAHAHAHAHAHA, she said, "Everyone here helps keep our park clean for everyone else."

H-Mom's idol, Victoria Stilwell, agrees: A War in the Neighborhood.

H-Mom wants to say to everyone, "Good morning ... and THANK YOU for picking up after your pooch!"

Condo Coonhound

2008-07-15T12:22:00.007-04:00

Listening for the elevator to stop on "19" with that bing

Sitting politely on the elevator to get to "G"

Exiting and entering through the service entrance as requested

Of course, with that coonhound nose,
Booker can even find the correct door in a long, monotonous hallway

Rainy Season

2008-07-15T11:45:00.013-04:00

In southern Florida during the rainy season, the weather usually moves fairly quickly from the west to the east, so if it's raining by Man-Dad's office, he calls and then we know that if we want to get a good walk in, we better get moving.

If this is what the sky looks like, we pick up the pace to get our business done. Sometimes you can see the rain coming, it's a sheet of gray coming down from the dark clouds to the ground.

Fort Lauderdale is known as the "Venice of America" because there are more than 300 miles of navigable water, including the Intracoastal Waterway, the New River and a myriad of canals, working their way from the Atlantic Ocean to the Everglades.

We live right on the New River, and one of the best dog walks is along the Riverwalk, which runs a few miles along both the south and north sides of the New River, in downtown Fort Lauderdale. We cross the drawbridges at Andrews and at 3rd to get around, which makes downtown living convenient even though the New River passes right through the city.

We start out by going under the drawbridge. If it starts to pour, we can hang out there for a bit so we don't get soaked. We walk up one side of the New River.

Then we have to walk over the drawbridge. The cars and trucks make a very odd, deep rumbling noise when they drive over, but Booker is very tolerant. It's easy to be happy when you are going for a walk, as long as there is no thunder!

We walk back down the other side, and over another drawbridge. If there is a tall boat, the bridge goes up and everyone has to wait. Booker thinks that part is very boring, and it's usually at the end of the walk when we are both dragging from the humidity anyway. Note the huge yawn ...

Deep Seated Issues

2008-07-14T22:58:00.006-04:00

Booker is doing much better around other dogs when he is on-leash. He is being calm, walking quietly and doing his best to not "pitch a fit." That would include barking, growling, lunging, howling and leaping around. And more howling.

These three dogs send him into fits of mania, though. What is up? Maybe memories, and old deep-seated issues? Did one of these guys steal his dinner on a regular basis? Pick on him and bite his ears? Bully and berate him?

If you look like any one these three, kindly keep your distance. No offense, we just don't get it and Booker's not talking.

Pet Crazy

2008-07-14T12:50:00.003-04:00

H-mom is watching Animal Planet. She should be exercising, but she is procrastinating. Of course, she just spent an hour power-walking with Booker, so that counts for something.

Still, the DVD is in the player and she needs to get to it.

Animal Cops is on TV. They said that at the Humane Society of Broward County, 1000 people visit every weekend looking for a pet to adopt. The Humane Society places over 8000 animals a year. The narrator said, "South Floridians are pet crazy."

Crazy? HEY! That's a good thing!

Now, about that exercise ...

Inhumanity of Man

2008-07-03T19:11:00.008-04:00

When Maple Sugar first appeared on the ABTCR site, I was enchanted. Look at her face. Look at those eyes. What a gentle soul this dog seemed to have. She needed saving, critically.

"How about a bloodhound?" I asked David, only half kidding.

I keep flirting with the thought of a second dog, and I know that it would be a hound. The thought of two dogs in a condo is daunting. Impractical. Insanity. Still, Maple Sugar had a hold on my imagination. Then she disappeared from the Rescue site. "Wonderful," I thought, "she has been adopted! She wasn't meant for us ..."

I read this the other day. It is heartwrenching. David teared up when I relayed it.

"Maple Sugar is at peace. She was a red Bloodhound who spent almost all her life tied up and forgotten. Finally at 2 years of age, her owner abandoned her to fend for herself. Maple had a long road ahead in her recovery from chronic emaciation and heartworm disease, but she maintained a very loving and gentle personality and was so grateful for any small kindness. Maple experienced the joys of a soft bed, regular meals and love for the first time in her life during her short time in foster care. She gave up her struggle today, while being held by her foster mom."

Some of these gorgeous dogs can be saved. For some it is just too late. Who could be so cruel as to let this happen to a living creature? Furious, sad, astounded ... there is no list of words expressive enough ...

Evidence of an Escape Plot

2008-07-02T10:34:00.011-04:00

Booker has been really well behaved lately, when left alone at home. With the exception, of course, of the "Ham Salad Incident." We go out the door and he curls up on the sofa.

Yesterday H-Mom left to open the gallery a bit before 10 a.m. Booker had an hour at the dog park and a brisk walk before she left. Then he hung out with Samantha and got another walk before she headed out around 2 for her internship job.

Was all quiet? No complaints about barking. The anti-bark citronella collar is very effective.

When H-Mom and Samantha got home together around 4:30, the front door was unlocked. She turned to Samantha. "That's weird, did you lock up when you left?"

"I think so," Sam nodded. Samantha is very diligent and extremely security-conscious. It's not like her to leave the door unlocked.

We went in. Booker was very pleased to see us. Goofy, silly pleased. He was acting odd. He was acting guilty.

This is what we discovered:

Scratch marks by the front door. The paint is chipped and marred with nail trails. Note how the door would be easy for a crafty dog to unlock - you just push down on the lever and then on the handle. He got it unlocked, but not open. That didn't work, so he moved to try his new technique on another.

Look at this! Light coming through. H-Mom's bedroom door is open a crack! Booker pushed the handle down and let himself in!

The pillows and throw are mysteriously messed up. Are those pawprints on Man-Dad's side of the bed? Guess all that attempted breaking and exiting deserved a nap!

H-Mom and Samantha tried really hard not to laugh. Naughty dog! What if he would have gotten out the front door and into the hallway? Would he have gone and waited for the elevator? Next time everyone is gone, he will be in his kennel, where he can't get into mischief and plot an escape.

Where did Booker go? Seems he is hiding behind the sofa.

The Ham Salad Incident

2008-06-30T12:37:00.009-04:00

Booker's doppelganger, CRAZY-CUJO-DEMON, reared his ugly, aggressive head this weekend.

I am in the bathroom, getting ready to go out to dinner, and I hear David saying sternly, "Release. Release. Release. Give it. No, Booker. Release."

Booker was braced on his cushion, in our bedroom, with a deli clamshell from the garbage. The remnants of deli ham salad in the corners. This was absolutely a "score" ... doggie scavenged treasure. Booker was not giving it up. Forget release. Forget give. No way on the "no." Booker was bearing his teeth and growling. I envisioned blood. It wasn't pretty.

"KENNEL," I shouted, probably not the right command, but I was shaking. The Doppelganger frightened me. Booker beelined for his kennel, with the ham salad container clenched between his teeth. I slammed the kennel door closed and Booker attacked the wire. I was terrified. And angry. I was trembling. Disappointed.

I am H-Mom. What was this all about? Booker was growling menacingly at me. He is MY dog ... My shadow ... My "good boy!"

A serious lesson.

When you rescue a dog, you are taking on all of his baggage. Booker has food aggression ISSUES (no lower case here) and we know this. We are making progress, but he will probably always have issues. He may have been starved, abused, left to fight with a pack for his food. We have gotten past the food bowl guarding and turned dinner time into a friendly interchange. We control the food and we are kind, giving and generous. But a real delicacy, knabbed from the garbage? All bets are off.

The thing is, this was really my fault. I left the garbage bag, untied and half-full, on the floor in the kitchen, leaning against the can. It was ready to take down the hall to the trash shoot. And then I got into the shower. As Samantha has so astutely observed, Booker is an opportunist. Put out bait he will take it. And then, as we have seen, it is his.

If Booker had been picked up by animal control or dropped off at a shelter, he would have failed the food aggression test. He would have mangled that dummy hand. I do not doubt for a minute that he would bite and gravely injure to protect his food. He probably would have been euthanized as unadoptable. Because he came through a breed-specific rescue, he has slipped through the rigorous adoptability testing and landed in our lives.

And we love him. There are so many wonderful things about him, incredible calm, noble temperament, patient demeanor, quiet devotion ... the list is already, after five months, long.

There is no option but to work with this. And diligently create an environment where we avoid these confrontations. If he gets something he shouldn't have, we have to remember, in that adrenalin-filled "NO" moment, that we have to approach Booker calmly, engineer a TRADE. We will be able to gradually, very, very gradually, quash the doppelganger.

Snake with a collar

2008-06-27T10:42:00.009-04:00

Can you find the snake in this picture?

We saw this tiny little guy on the sidewalk at the dog park. At first H-Mom thought it was a crazy earthworm. It was writhing around like an insane nightcrawler on a hot sidewalk. Then it got its bearings (some dog must have disrupted it from the lawn) and wiggled with that distinctive s-winding snake motion back to the grass and leaves. It was very, very petite and only about 6 inches long from head to tail. The body was shiny black with a brilliant, thread-thin yellow ring -- like a bright sunshine-colored dog collar -- around its neck. H-Mom likes to GOOGLE everything she discovers. Now we know that this tiny snake was a southern ringneck.

from Florida Conservation on the Web: ... the most abundant snakes in Florida are seldom more than 12-14 inches long. Although common in most gardens and backyards, these diminutive snake species are easily overlooked due to their secretive habits.

A good representative is the southern ringneck snake, a distinctive little snake that is shiny black or dark gray above, with a bright orange or yellow neck ring. The belly is a startlingly bright orange or yellow with a row of black half-moons down the center. Ringnecks spend most of their lives under mulch or leaf litter, where they feed on small lizards, earthworms, slugs and salamanders. They are fairly social and often are found in groups of two or three.

The ringneck is one of the least aggressive animals in the world and almost never attempts to bite people. Even if it should try to bite, its mouth and teeth are too small to cause a wound. When seriously threatened, ringnecks defend themselves by thrashing about and expelling musk. The four to seven eggs laid in midsummer hatch 40-50 days later into tiny snakelings, only 4 inches long!

Under the Banyan Tree

2008-06-26T18:58:00.017-04:00

One of the things that Booker does best is pee on everything vertical. Even some things horizontal. He has peed on his friend Lexie, who was laying in the water-filled blue plastic doggie pool at the park. He peed on the agility tunnel right as Kaylee was running through it. He lifted his leg on the foot of someone sitting on a park bench. He made a bulls'eye on a coffee mug set next to the park gate.

Yesterday he peed in the dining room. A really big, rug-soaking pee. This is actually very unusual, but because it wasn't a "marking" leg lift, he must have really, really had to go. He must have drunk way too much water at the dog park that morning, and was bursting before the usual allotted walk time. An earlier pee-outing after the after-the-dog-park nap is in order.

There is a Banyan tree in the park next to our condo building. The Banyan is a fig with the ability to spread laterally from the original trunk by using aerial prop roots. Small roots grow out of the branches at regular intervals. The roots grow downward to the ground, attach themselves to the soil for nourishment and form a new trunk, or prop. Old trees can cover very large areas.

This one is about 1/2 a block wide in area. The park isn't fenced, so Booker cannot go off leash, but we all try to be very patient and move slowly from trunk to root to upright. Can you imagine? This tree is a pee-intense dog's dream. There is a new target in need of marking every step.

I took this ridiculous little movie of Booker demonstrating his talent today. Pretty funny. Obviously, didn't realize that the camera was set on video - like the toes? One of H-Mom's new goals is the honing of her videography skills.

Yesterday Booker's nose found something pretty gross, but very cool, by the base of one of the larger banyan trunks. Don't look too closely if you have a weak stomach. He sniffed at it gingerly, but didn't bark or touch it. I read somewhere that hounds don't like death - they are great hunters with a good scent and something alive at the end of the trail, but don't do well in Search and Rescue as cadaver dogs because they get depressed. All that remains of Booker's discovery is fur that looks like tangled Spanish moss and little ivory colored bones. Carcasses don't last long in the tropics, between bugs, lizards and the heat. It is too large to have been a squirrel, so we are guessing a raccoon.

Booker backed away carefully and went about the more important business of his walk.

Dog Joke for June

2008-06-25T22:21:00.005-04:00

An older, tired-looking dog wandered into my yard;

I could tell from his collar and well-fed belly that he had a home

and was well taken care of.

He calmly came over to me, I gave him a few pats on his head;
he then followed me into my house, slowly walked down the hall,

curled up in the corner and fell asleep.

An hour later, he went to the door, and I let him out.

The next day he was back, greeted me in my yard, walked inside,

resumed his spot in the hall and again slept for about an hour.

This continued off and on for several weeks.

I had become more curious with each day,

so one day I pinned a note to his collar:

“I would like to find out who is the owner of this wonderful, sweet dog

and ask if you are aware that almost every afternoon your dog comes to my house for a nap.”

The next day he arrived for his nap, with a different note pinned to his collar:

“He lives in a home with 6 children, 2 under the age of 3 years.

He's trying to catch up on his sleep.

May I come with him tomorrow?

Rumble

2008-06-24T12:44:00.006-04:00

So what is this all about? In the last few days, Booker has let a little rumbling growl go when Samantha walks into the room. She is a quiet, soft-treading young human ... perhaps she startles him a bit.

Sometimes at night, she shows up next to my bed, me half-asleep and gives me momentary heart pause.

I have asked her to announce herself when she enters a room, even a quiet "hello, Booker" will work. So that he doesn't feel unsettled or threatened by her creeping presence. We don't want this to get to be a habit.

Besides, Samantha is the "distributer of treats." She taught Booker how to "lay down" "shake" and is working on "roll over." The "roll over" is a difficult one, as Booker has no interest in being belly up to get a treat!

Perfect Morning

2008-06-18T12:22:00.012-04:00

Booker's perfect morning:

Short Car Ride to the Dog Park

Some Investigative Work in the Woods

Back Home for a Low-key Game of Keep-away

Settling In for a Long Nap

danger ... danger ... danger

2008-06-17T12:16:00.008-04:00

Today there was one of these horrid things dead in the parking lot at the dog park. Road squish.

Yesterday, there was a huge one hopping around by the poopbag dispenser.

It's an invasive, non-native species of Florida, called a Bufo Toad, or Cane Toad. They are extremely poisonous - excreting a milky substance from the glands behind their eyes. Chomping on one of these guys is fatal within minutes for a small dog, and will kill a large dog in a matter of hours ... seizures, respiratory failure. Not a pretty picture. The secretions will cause severe skin irritation to a human.

When we saw it at the dog park yesterday, one of Rick's golden retrievers was after it -- he grabbed his dog and shouted for everyone to look out. The dogs were quickly moved to the smaller fenced off area of the park, and then we carefully caught the toad with an aluminum bowl and flung it over the brick wall. This is a serious invasion -- we all have to be vigilant at the park now, especially if our dogs will chase or mouth the loathsome creatures. If you find one in your yard (they love to eat dog food -- so DO NOT leave a bowl sitting outside!) the recommended method of disposing of them is to seal in a ziplock and FREEZE it for three days. I don't think i want a Bufo next to the Lean Cuisines!

Booker has no interest in them at all. The dog park is beautiful, and there are many things much more intriguing than a hideous, and deadly, toad. Booker likes to lead the way down the middle of the paved path, checking out the doggie-crowd and baying for everyone to follow him.

I had no idea that this danger was hopping around our neighborhood. We didn't have these guys in Chicago, where the whole city becomes a giant freezer in the winter.

Chicago Sports Fan

2008-06-17T12:06:00.007-04:00

Look what arrived! Now Booker can sit on the sofa with David and cheer -- WOOFFFF! -- for the Cubbies! When we moved from Chicago to Fort Lauderdale, we brought our sports team loyalties with us ... Bears, Cubs, Bulls ...

Right now the Cubs have the "BEST RECORD in ALL OF BASEBALL." That's a direct quote from DAVID the #1 Cubs Fan of all time. He grew up on Waveland and went to every single game, all summer, when he was a kid. The Cubs ... WINNING? ... dare to dream. At least we are all doing our part by wearing the right colors!

Look at this!

2008-06-16T08:43:00.004-04:00

Thanks, Kess! This is so cool ... we are having fun blogging and we are making friends! You are so awesome for sending along these acknowledgments.

Allison Rose

2008-06-14T11:26:00.010-04:00

Booker's blog had a visitor!

Allison Rose signed the guestbook below. Allison Rose even sent me a rather catty e-mail:

Hi Booker, We haven't met yet but I smelled you all over my Snuggle-Buddy last night! Now I'm seeing photos of you and her and I'm becoming a jealous kitten !!

Seems that she is one smart cat, and smelled the evidence of my couch-sharing yesterday with Mia. I hope she doesn't hold it against me for too long.

I would suggest a playdate, but that would probably not work too well. I've seen some cats lounging on front steps, and don't seem to mind them, and watched a few meander across my path when I'm walking, and I don't blink ... but ... if they looked a little too much like a raccoon (not that I'm IMPLYING anything!) I might just lose it.

This "Allison Rose" is one lucky cat because Mia is very obviously an "animal person."

A tired dog is a happy dog

2008-06-13T15:37:00.013-04:00

This is what we love about the dog park: it makes us very very tired. Every morning, we try to spend at least an hour at the dog park. We get home around 8 a.m., and the day hasn't even started yet for most Floridians. South Florida is definitely not a morning kind of place. But it's great for morning kind of people who like some quiet time. There is only a handful of great dogs and congenial people at the dog park when we get there -- right when the gate opens at 7 a.m.

We get back up to the condo, make the bed, empty the dishwasher and do other little things, all before most people in the building have woken up! Then we can just laze around. Lazing around is a major talent, after sniffing, of hounddogs.

Later this morning, Samantha's cousin came over to hang out by the pool. Booker budged over a bit and let her share "his" sofa for a minute. He got some gentle ear rubs and a belly scratch for being so courteous.

Sniffer

2008-06-12T17:51:00.009-04:00

Booker is the best sniffer at the dog park. He was born to sniff. I think he sniffs every single blade of grass, individually. Once in awhile, he takes a break to run and bark, which he does simultaneously.

Then, more sniffing. And finally, more sniffing.

My sister took a walk with us awhile ago. She asked me, "Does he always walk like that?"

"Like what?" I responded.

"With his nose on the ground?"

"Yep," I responded, "and he even bumps right into things that get in the way of a good sniff: a street sign, a pole, a hydrant, a park bench."

Booker might just be the best sniffer, not just in the dog park, but in all of Fort Lauderdale.

A good night's sleep

2008-06-10T17:07:00.007-04:00

A $273 trip to the vet netted us all a very quiet night. Booker doesn't have fleas, but they are biting him - feasting and then jumping off, or dying, thanks to the Advantix. But he has bites and is allergic to the saliva, just like some people have an over-reaction to a mosquito bite. The vet gave him a steroid shot, which equalled almost instant itch relief. And, a prescription for Comfortis ... with promises that this will keep the little buggers OFF. And, a prescription ointment for the sore spot that he chewed on his belly.

I feel like I'm poisoning my dog, but the itching has got to stop ... he is driving everyone nuts and he isn't resting properly. Last night he slept quietly through the night and was bright and playful at the dog park this morning. In retrospect, the entire last week he has been out-of-sorts.

Booker weighs 58.9 pounds. Funny how the scale struck terror in my soul ... I watched the numbers fluctuate and actually found myself holding my breath for a lower number. What a chick-thing. Like Booker cares what he weighs! The vet said he looks great: nicely muscled and lean. Dr. Gonzalez also looked at his teeth, or I should say his "missing teeth," and guesses that perhaps some of the breakage and loss is because of antibiotic dosing when Booker was a puppy. The vet said that nothing needs to be done about it. Thank goodness, I was thinking major dental surgery, implants (haha), veneers (hahahaha) and big South Florida-style cosmetic dentistry bills. Booker does have a herniated umbilical cord, though, which needs to be repaired, not with urgency, but in the near, rather then the far, future.

I am at the gallery all day today. I am shopping for designer dog collars on eBay. Booker wears an "accessory" collar for his tags and then his prong collar for the leash. He can slip out of a flat collar in a houdini-like instant. The prong collar is escape-proof, and Booker heels very obediently when it's on. It looks intimidating, but is more humane and effective than a traditional choke chain, and there is nothing good about Booker backing out of his collar and taking off toward the street.

Happy Birthday to Me!

2008-06-06T10:40:00.003-04:00

Booker gave me a birthday card this morning ... David wrote in it: Happy birthday to the best mommy ever. Thank you for saving me.

Awwwwww. Made me get all mushy ...

the card from David was pretty good, too.

Neighbors

2008-06-02T13:10:00.004-04:00

This is the kind of dog that lives down the hall. There was one, and now there are two. The one barked and barked and barked all the time. Especially when we walk past their door. So the humans got another to keep the first one company and quiet. It keeps it company but not quiet. Now they BOTH bark and bark and bark all the time. But they are pipsqueaks and they don't bark very loud. We never see them live and in person. We wonder if they ever get to go outside.

Coonhound Theme Music

2008-05-31T12:10:00.005-04:00

This is great! Booker wants to go visit! He thinks he recognizes a relative ... we will bring a dish (something that smells good!) ...

Leash Issue

2008-05-28T12:18:00.001-04:00

Training a dog is always a work in progress. We've made pretty spectacular strides in the the four months that Booker has lived with us. He arrived via Delta Air Cargo from Birmingham Alabama on January 26th - that would have made his four month anniversary a couple days ago.

Accomplished so far:

Completely housebroken (no marking, etc)
Trustworthy out of kennel for extended periods unsupervised (except for a couple instances of stolen kitchen items, like a container of Fish Rub)
No more bike or motorcycle barking, growling and lunging
Completely stopped fence aggression at the dog park
Eliminated food aggression (although we have also banished major food treats, like raw bones)
Minimized open car door/SUV/truck aggression
Diminished toy aggression
Controlled separation barking
Just about washed out the rusty chain stains from his chest

We have judiciously employed training tools to reprogram Booker, who was a obviously a only recently retired coon hunting dog. The shock collar (which is now sitting unneeded on the kitchen counter) saved our daily outings to the dog park from being an impossibility. A citronella spray collar is reminding Booker to reserve his barking for outdoors. David and Samantha may laugh at me, but I've found the advice and techniques we needed for most of our training challenges.

Our experiences in the condo lobby and elevator, though, are creating some leash aggression in Booker, who is very obviously an alpha dog, but not an aggressive one. He exhibits no submissive behaviors at all with other dogs, rather greets calmly and then continues on his way, fairly aloof, but polite. He will stand his ground in all scenarios, which is very seldom (never?) an issue at the dog park, but is troubling when we are assaulted by a pint size furry terror in the small confines of the building. Booker will let loose with his huge coonhound bark and brace for an anticipated attack. He has begun barking even before a dog barrels impolitely into us, which makes me uncomfortable, which he is obviously sensing. I don't want this to become a bad cycle that feeds unacceptable behavior. I want him to ignore other dogs when he is on leash, and to interact calmly when I give permission.

I think (don't laugh!) that I have found some help again, this time from Canine University. I need to get some really good treats and concentrate on positive engagement with me when we encounter other dogs.

Now what to do with the tiny toothy terrors on zippy-leashes? I may resort to a greeting that adds "Please control your dog" to my usual "hello, how are you?"

Tick Terror

2008-05-27T13:30:00.000-04:00

These little things are just disgusting. They are really a problem in South Florida, and definately the terror of the dog park. I keep checking Booker for ticks, but I have been looking for big ones, the kind that I used to pull out of my dog Flagon, when we lived in Paris. They got to be the size of a watermelon seed.

Actually, we used to stick watermelon seeds on our skin and scream "TICK" ... that's the size of the ticks I am accustomed to.

Here, in south Florida, the ticks - the male ones - are tiny, like a speck of black pepper. Now this presents a real challenge, because I need readers just to see the computer screen. Imagine trying to find a miniscule, insidious tick when you can't see black block letters on a white screen, right in front of your face. Now I have to refine my search, buy the strongest magnifiers, and check for tiny little terrors. I need to stock up on alcohol, hone the tweezers, get a flea/tick collar and make this a daily ritual. I do not want these things in my house. It makes my skin crawl just thinking about them.

Booker is on K9Advantix as prescribed by our vet. But he has had some suspicious bumps. And he continues to scratch, like only a hound dog can scratch. I don't have a problem pulling them out, but I have to find them first. I really am buying stronger readers.

a little bit of Coonhound history

2008-05-22T17:11:00.000-04:00

I find it very intriguing that Coonhounds are a relatively new breed, most dog breeds being recognized by the UKC in the 1940's. All six types share English Foxhound or Bloodhound ancestry. The Treeing Walker shows this very obviously. Coonhounds are truly an "American invention." Black and Tans and Plott Hounds were only recently shown at the Westminster. Watch the Black and Tan judging. Treeing Walkers are considered a rare breed. (Boy, Booker looks skinny five months ago in this photo from the rescue site! Pricey dog food and muscle-toning exercise really make a difference!)

There are six types of Coonhounds: Black and Tan, Plott, English, Bluetick, Redbone and Treeing Walker. Here is a great overview.

Tracking Trash

2008-05-20T14:00:00.000-04:00

A friend of mine from the dog park grew up in Minnesota, where her brothers, cousins, uncles, etc. had Black and Tans, for hunting raccoon. She is a dog lover; she has the most gorgeous 7-year-old Mastiff, Tinkerbelle, and a gangly German Shephard puppy, Buddy. She is a wonderful dog-person. I love walking with her, I love talking with her. She brightens my day, as do her dogs. Tinkerbelle is so huge that she wears little girls' belts as collars -- sparkly, pink, purple, heart-decorated confections. Tinkerbelle follows us slowly around the park, exasperated but patient. Buddy is a great wrestling partner for Booker.

She knows lots about Coonhounds. "I'd be embarrassed to tell you how they treat those dogs," she said one day.

Then she shares little factoids.

Working to train coonhounds from trailing deer, which makes them useless as raccoon dogs, hunters fill a bag with deer scent, tie it around the puppies' heads, and then beat them.

I'm serious. Rescue a coonie: American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue.

Raccoon (AKA "coonhound crack")

2008-05-20T12:59:00.000-04:00

Behavior Modification Part II

2008-05-16T16:58:00.000-04:00

Well I hate to admit it, but I am resorting to a number of "devices" in the training of Booker. We have the basics well under control, the "sit" "lay down" "shake" "kennel" and all that stuff, and we did those the old-fashioned way.

But this dog has come with some real baggage. Deeply ingrained behaviors triggered by "hunting dog" stimuli, like a pickup truck (or black SUV) opening doors, closing doors and driving off. Or people and dogs coming in and out of the gates at the dog bark. Or the school bus. The baggage is really psycho, jumping, barking, growling, basic dog-freak-out-break-with-reality stuff. I mean, Booker can go totally nuts.

At the dog park, he would run the parking lot length of the 6-foot fence, like a demon dog, trying to jump or scramble over, in order to join any departing party. Barking, frothing, growling. All the reassurances I offered about there being no gunracks in sight were useless. Discipline didn't work. This dog was a nutcase. I was afraid he would take the fence apart, or clear it in his mania. And other dogs at the park were agitated by his behavior. Twice he was taken by the neck in a motherly calm-your-self-down kind of way, once by a matronly black lab and once by a surly little jack russell. His bad behavior was upsetting the psychic order of the park.

So, upon the advice of a man with a hunting-trained Brittany, I bought a shock collar. And I used it. For about a month. And then left it on for another month. And now, Booker's dog park demeanor is the picture of calm. His "join the pack and get to the hunt" behavior has been rerouted, deprogrammed, eliminated. He is the the picture of calm, greeting newcomers at the park gate, and he just donates a coonhound bay to announce the departure of his friends. I haven't even put the shock collar on him for the past two weeks.

In the last couple weeks, Booker's separation issues have arisen at home again. Perhaps we were oblivious all these months, but our downstairs neighbor - a bit of an overly wound hothead - has complained about barking on Saturdays. Actually, he complained about "10 straight mornings of barking," which is impossible, but obviously there is some level of problem. We have done the patient wait outside the door, come back with a spray bottle routine, and are careful not to reward Booker with our attention, and we carefully eased him into our departure each time. We were doing the best job we could of allaying abandonment anxiety.

This sucks. Booker is settling in and he likes his new life so much he doesn't want us to leave him. He is part of the family and he won't lose it. So he is barking now. And driving some neighbors nuts.

To David's fiscal horror, I invested in another doggie device.

A couple days ago, I bought a citronella-spraying no-bark collar.

This morning I left to pick a friend up at the airport, having first strapped the collar around Booker's neck. It was positioned perfectly. Booker was oblivious. I was confident. I called the home phone from my cell, answered, set the phone on the bar counter and walked calmly out the door.

BARK. BARK BARK. BARK. BARK BARK BARK. I listened in horror to my cell phone. It was terrible. The collar seemed to have no effect at all. I drove out of the parking garage, listening. BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK. I pulled around the front of the building, jumped out of my car by the valet stand and took the elevator upstairs. BARK BARK. BARK BARK BARK. I stormed in the door, sprayed Booker with the water bottle, put him in his kennel and left again. This time my phone disconnected in the elevator. Sweet silence.

When I got home from the airport with Vicky, I took off the collar. Booker was unphased. I held it out to show her what had been promised. I blew in the direction of the little microphone. Nothing? No spray, no hiss, no citronella.

Of course, I probably should have turned it ON first.

Fast forward to attempt #2.

Technology works, but only to the competance level of the user.

Sunrise

2008-05-08T20:53:00.000-04:00

This morning I took a walk with Booker. It was intended to be just a quick turn around the block, a one-poo-bag walk. But, I needed to clear my head and center myself.

We ended up in the center of Rio Vista, along a canal that connects to the intracoastal. It was just after 6 am. The sun was rising. It was cool, humid and fresh. We walked for one and 1/2 hours. It was cathartic.

I love having a walking companion. He was compliant, calm, sensing my mood. He walked resolutely beside me, looking up to make certain that I understand how hard he was trying to be well-mannered.

We got home and I got back into bed. I slept for a couple hours, and woke up in a better place. There is a lot of stuff going on, and I can get through it.

how much walking?

2008-04-30T10:35:00.000-04:00

I feel highly accountable about having made a choice to have a dog in a condo. Especially a dog that was a hunting dog in his previous incarnation. I imagine woods, endless exercise, excitement and lots of space. Although the reality may have been too many hours in a wire-fronted cage, chewing his teeth to the gumline and howling insanely for attention. Still, I have moments of trying too hard not to let "condo" become a bad place for a dog.

A friend told me that without 30 minutes of walking a day, a dog will go "psycho." This, I believe is from the Dog Whisperer. (Actually, Millan suggests a 45-minute powerwalk every morning, with the human enforcing good walk behavior.)

Booker gets alot more than 30 minutes, which is generally somewhere in the form of:

20 minutes at 6am
90 minutes at the dog park (running off leash) or 60-90 minute power walk -- for example, three miles from the beach to home
30 minutes at 3-ish
30 minutes at 6-ish
30 minutes at 10pm or later

When I take Booker out for the 30 minute walks, we do just that - we WALK. A different route every time and I try to get up to a good pace for at least part of the time, although there is always a lot of sniffing that needs to be done.

I make a really diligent effort, and David and Samantha contribute significant leash-time as well.

I will tell you one thing, "psycho" often has nothing to do with walk time.

The indignity

2008-04-26T11:53:00.001-04:00

Booker was getting more than a little gamey - let's say "houndy" - by yesterday. After our morning at the dog park, he was treated to a trip to the groomer, on special request from David. No frou-frou hairstyling for him, just a really good suds and water bath. I won't even say "shampoo." Air dry, no blowdry. Manly treatment.

The lovely ladies at Continental Pet have afforded Booker a privilege. When he is done with his bath, he is allowed to sit with his leash wrapped around a post on the wrought iron gate separating the grooming area, to wait for me. "It's amazing," she said yesterday, "when he is in a drying crate he just howls and howls, but he's more than happy to sit politely at the gate and wait for you."

Booker is settling in. I think he is getting more secure. I think he knew that I would come and pick him up.

He looked a little put off though. I think it was the orange and yellow bandana tied jauntily around his neck. Booker pouted all afternoon. I left it on just to share the visual with David.

A good chase

2008-04-21T11:05:00.000-04:00

One of our dog park friends, a beautiful golden retriever, is obsessed with lizards. He chases them with the full intent and focus of a game dog. He stops at every trashcan and waits for Rick to shake the liner to send the lizards - who are sitting inside waiting for flies - running for the palm trees. Mercer goes crazy, darting for one 3-inch blur and then another. He'll take on an iguana, too.

David dodged this 5-footer on the golf course last weekend. Perhaps they should hire dogs to chase the iguanas (which dig and make a general mess) like they have dogs to rid golf courses of geese in Illinois.

Booker doesn't care about lizards at all. This a good thing, because when we go on our long walks through Rio Vista, there is a lizard every few feet on the sidewalk, sunning itself until interrupted by our approach. They dart for the shrubs and we don't even break stride.

Squirrels don't merit Booker's attention. The squirrel population in Florida is less numerous and markedly scrawnier than that of Chicago. The other morning, two of them stopped in front of us and chattered aggressively at Booker. He didn't even give them the satisfaction of a coonhound bark. He doesn't care about cats either, and there are quite a few, lounging in the sun on brick walkways.

The other night Booker did get agitated over something in a tree along the Riverwalk. His nose went into the air and he froze. Then he started to zigzag under the tree, testing the air. He looked happy, like he was remembering something.

Now he wants a car ...

2008-04-19T11:04:00.001-04:00

A Coonhound and a Lamborghini.

Perfect.

Wearing the Wrong Coat

2008-04-19T10:46:00.000-04:00

A lovely couple came into my gallery, Las Olas Fine Arts, a couple nights ago with the greatest looking dog. I thought at first it was a young Wolfhound, but that wasn't quite right, I knew. The woman sat on the leather sofa at the front of the gallery and the dog flopped sweetly at her feet. The concrete floor in here is not easy to get a footing on, and the dog slipped into a nice lay-down, chin between its giant puppy paws. She had a wiry yellow coat and a short-haired face with soulful brown labrador eyes. Her pink rhinestone-studded collar, usually a small dog accessory, was a nice touch on her thick neck.

The woman told me that the dog - 8 months old - was a labradoodle, and had been abandoned by the puppymill breeder because she had the wrong texture coat, giving her an odd and markedly non-designer dog appearance. They had rescued her three months ago.

They also had issues with food aggression, because the puppy had been fed communally at first and then neglected and underfed. The woman told me that it took about two months to get past the growling over food.

Her husband laughed. Now, he said, the only problem was the pool. The dog was asserting ownership and everyone had to request permission to take a swim.

Retirement to Florida will spoil you.

Smart not Scared

2008-04-18T07:39:00.000-04:00

Dog bites can be brutal. Human hands are delicate. It's smart to be wary. David objects to the implication of "afraid" ... he's smart. He doesn't want his hand punctured. Last night, Booker got his dinner in 5-kibble increments, out of David's palm. It got a bit gooey by the end, but Booker's tail was wagging the entire time.

Toothless Terror

2008-04-17T11:05:00.000-04:00

I felt nothing but gums on the bottom. Eight weeks we've had this dog, and I am just getting in to inspect his mouth. We had discovered that it is prone to drool, and liberally let loose long, low coonhound bays, but I hadn't actually had my fingers in there. Out of respect, and he's not much of a licking, kissing kind of dog, anyway.

So the other morning I opened his mouth to count his teeth. "Alright," I laughed, "he's got hillbilly teeth. Or rather, lack-of-teeth." On the bottom, all six incisors are gone. Nothing but gums. On the top, the six incisors are gone and the two canines - his "fangs" - are broken in half. What could have happened to him?

With a rescue dog, a large part of their history is irretrievable. Speculation has to suffice, and often doesn't answer the puzzles of their behavior, habits or maladies. I sent a quick e-mail to the rescue coordinator. Often, she responded, hunting dogs are neglected, left in cages or chained for endless hours, and they chew on the metal, or even on rocks, out of boredom and frustration. Compound that with inadequate nutrition, and teeth suffer. I had visions of Booker in his past life, viciously tearing up trees in his fervor after a raccoon, and that his missing teeth are a badge of courage. Sadly, they are probably more a reminder of abuse and neglect.

Many of his behaviors are reminders of sketchy history. We have gotten past his food aggression, for the most part. It's a work in progress. Booker now gets two meals a day, and his bowl is offered after he takes a few kibble directly from our hands. We leave a hand non-threateningly in the bowl for his first bites. We are practicing being "Good Waiters" to ease him past the behavior that makes more sense when we remember that he was found weighing 29 pounds. He starved, and food is precious.

Toy agression with Booker is also an issue. So toys are doled out and controlled. David is working with him on "release" and he is getting much better. One item is really a psycho-dog trigger, though. He almost attacked David over a real marrow bone from the butcher. Booker became rabid and intimidating. David was afraid that he would really bite. David said, if anyone ever threatens you, I hope Booker acts like that - although we doubt that he would. He is dog-friendly, stranger-oblivious, generally a quick "hello" and he looses interest. This aggression is specifically reserved for things he eats. No more marrow bones for Booker.

Last night, though, he snapped and growled menacingly at David over a pillow on the bed. Booker was crunching on the decorative fake-bone balls. He probably thought they were edible. The line is drawn. We will not tolerate a biting dog. Booker must accept his place in our pack, without challenge.

Dog Obsession

2008-04-16T11:56:00.000-04:00

I was back in Chicago for one night and I was just fine. My new-found "dog obsession" wasn't overwhelming, although I had a few qualms along the lines of "how would they manage without me ..."

David, my fiance, has proclaimed me "obsessed." The symptoms?

I bookmarked the rescue site, American Black and Tan Coonhound Rescue on my pc.

I visit it regularly. Very regularly. Okay, about four times a day. I am completely fascinated by the new dogs that appear in the "Available" tab, and those that have found salvation in the "Rescued" tab. I pore over the new stories in "Happy Endings." I have read every rescue testimonial there, starting at the bottom and reading new ones almost as they are posted. Some of them I've read more than once. Booker's "Happy Ending" is on there, too, although I think it's more aptly called a "Happy Do-over."

I inadvertantly direct conversation with David and Samantha to little "dog updates." I tell stories about the dog park. I speculate on his past and hypothesize on the deep dog-psyche reasons for his behaviors. I'm trying to pay attention to not overdoing it. It's like having a new baby and letting your whole world become baby-driven. Not a good thing.

I troll the Web for bits of information on Treeing Walkers. Google: "treeing walker" "treeing walker coonhound" "walker hound" ... you get the picture. I've found some very interesting sites. Lots of people who own Walkers live in a different reality than we do. Of course, that's exactly why we got our own treeing walker coonhound. The whole retirement thing.

And, I have changed my AIM avatar to a hounddog.

Actually, I did that to tease David a bit.

When my plane was landing yesterday, the early evening sun on little Fort Lauderdale was beautiful. The New River sparkled and the white caps on the ocean rolled. Our 4-block deep downtown, with it's handful of office buildings and glimmering condominiums, and a couple miles east, the line of ocean front properties, looked like home. I missed David, and wanted to hear about the Starting Line concert my daughter went to the night before.

And, I smiled at the thought of my coonhound waiting for me to walk in the door. But not obsessively.