How to Make Your Owner Feel Better During a Heartache, a Guest Blog by Day-Ay the Dog

 

(Day-ay, a Yorkie-Chihuahua mixed breed, is filling in for me today.)

Humans are very serious creatures, and sometimes they lose their packs. They call this a heartache, and you’ll notice the signals right away. They will sleep more. They won’t want to take you on long walks and they will cry, that water-salt coming from their eyes.

As their fellow pack member, this is what you can do to help them feel better.

First: Calm yourself. Don’t jump around or try and play. Watch her for a while and listen for the howling, mournful sound coming from her. Go to her, look at her, and sit at her feet. If she is sitting still, jump up onto the couch next to her. Put your head on her lap and sigh.

Second: Are her eyes watering? Has she laid her head down? Lick her eyes if she’ll let you. They are salty in flavor, and they may water harder when you do this. And she might also stroke you or give you a squeeze or pull you in close. If she does, remember to make a little satisfying noise because she likes that.

Third: When she eventually gets up, follow her. Wag your tail, but not too hard. Let her take the lead and then watch her to see what she is doing. Is she going to the refrigerator? Go sit near your food bowl, and look at her. Wag your tail some more. Sometimes, with heartache, you will get extra food. Pay attention to her, and see what she is going to eat. Watch. Wag. If she leaves her food, this is a good time to steal a little and not be punished for it.

Fourth: When you see the opportunity, seize the moment to become the Alpha dog. Your human will not want to do things, but it is bad for her to stop her routine. Is she forgetting walks? Get your leash and take it to her. Put it down at her feet. Whimper. If that does not work, then bark. Just once. Maybe twice. Work to convince her to do things you want. It will benefit her to be led at this time.

Fifth: When the object of her heartache calls on the little bright rectangle, you will know it by the tone of her voice. Start to growl. Make sure she hears you and listen to see if her blah blah blahs are sad or angry. If they are either of those, then growl again to show your moral support. However, if she laughs or is happy, then it probably means her heartache is fixed. While she is busy talking, you can pretty much help yourself to the leftover fried chicken on the table. It's not good for her anyhow and, as it is heartache food, she will probably throw it out anyway.

Nova Scotia's HomeDog

NOVA SCOTIA, Canada—Up here, one indigenous dog is the pride of the Island. It is the Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retriever, but locals just call it “Little River” or Toller.

In fact, all of Canada seems enamored. Little River has been on the cover of DOGS magazine, on a coin, and has even been on a Canada Post stamp.

This week I visited Little River Kennels breeder, Jim Jeffery,left, in Yarmouth to meet his new pups and talk dog breeding. In recent years, the breed has moved to other countries and its genetic diversity in the founding population has been slowly eroding due to what Jeffrey calls “back door” dogs.

Jeffery has been keeping the breed pure since 1969, and nowadays his pups sell all over North America before they are even born. Mama dog Glory’s seven pups played in a pen on his porch, and his wife Deanna pointed out the breed’s signature markings. The tail must have a white tip (right photo) and the foot fur should be white. The Jefferys breed a pink nose, not dark, because that is mark of the traditional Toller. The coat color must be right—not too light on the top of the head. And face can also be marked. Pups go for minimum $1085 CAD and up, depending on the “guarantees” involved—for example, is the dog “pet” quality, or “show” quality?

But in Nova Scotia, they’re work dogs. To ducks, the red-coated Little Rivers look like foxes. From a distance ducks see a “fox” tolling back and forth at the shoreline and think it is there to harm their young. As they circle in groups above it, quacking madly to shoo it off, the hunters shoot the ducks down. The Toller, which has a water-repellent coat and slightly webbed paws, fetches the downed ducks from the icy waters.

But even though it’s bred to hunt, “we’ve always thought of the Toller as probably the most versatile dog on the planet,” said Jeffery; Little Rivers also make good sheepdogs and pretty good agility dogs. And, they are not high-strung breed.

“They don’t have separation anxiety,” said Deanna. “But whenever I sell a pup, I do!” As the one who helps birth and feed the pups, Deanna said her human-dog-bond runs deep. When she dropped off one pup she had grown particularly close to, she found she could barely let it go, and she couldn't stop the tears when she said "goodbye" to the pup at the airport. 

"So a man nearby told me to change what I say, and to part with 'see you later.' So now I do that, and it's easier. I don't think 'goodbye' anymore."

Jeffery’s Littleriver Breedline is the oldest extant breedline of Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retrievers in the world. It’s no wonder that, since 1995, Little River has been the Provincial Dog of Nova Scotia.

Where Sleeping Dogs Lie

 Do you sleep with your dog(s)?

The pros and cons of this practice are the subject of lots of blog posts—for example, here, here, and on a post that claims that nearly half of dogs sleep in their owner’s beds. 

But I’m going to stay neutral and simply share the story of one of my friends, a longtime dog owner, divorced mother, and owner of two female pitbull mixes.

Corinne has been sleeping with her dogs for two decades. Her attachment to her dogs has always been quite extraordinary. In fact, in many ways she prefers the company of dogs to the company of people, and prefers to sleep with them rather than with a human partner.

For 15 years, she had a retriever mix that she described as a “good cuddler.”

“I’d wrap my arms around her and she would make this noise, ‘mmmmm,’ because she was so content and happy. “

When her retriever died, she bought a new puppy, Hazel, a pitbull-French bulldog mix who started sleeping with her immediately. After about a year, she got a second pitbull mix, Ruby.

Nowadays, she sleeps every night with both of them in her double bed, even though they are about 60 pounds each. Corrine is not “germophobic,” so having dogs in her bed does not make her squeamish, and she says she takes care to keep them clean enough to be on the bed. The hardest part of sleeping with them for her is that they are “bed hogs.” Hazel likes to stretch out full length, sometimes crosswise, while Ruby is a curler-upper. Sometimes they wake her up when they hear a cat outside, but for Corrine, the benefits of an occasional sleepless night outweigh the inconveniences.

“I feel like my emotional connection with my dogs is on a par with almost any human connection I have with anybody, including my son. He is already independent of me so my connection to them is much more immediate,” Corrine says.

Strange Bedfellows: Hazel, Corrine, and Ruby

“I think it is weird that there are people who doubt that dogs have emotions, because when a dog cuddles up to you it’s real. Hazel will put her face right on my neck and nuzzle me. To me that’s emotion.”

Corrine says that she can tell, when she volunteers at a shelter, that dogs feel “hurt and betrayal” when they are abandoned by their owners, and can suffer from depression. She feels the closeness from sleeping together gives her dogs security and builds a strong bond.

But what about the things dogs can’t give humans? Intellectual conversation? A hug? Intimacy?

Corrine thinks that many single women (and men) might not find those things anyways. She says many people deeply attached to dogs—and she includes herself—are not good at intimate human relationships. Dogs offer a substitute type of intimacy, a “closeness and affection that keeps single [men and] women stable."

"There are not many humans I'd rather be with than my dogs. True, they can’t give me flowers on Mother’s Day, but they can give me a big wet kisses. I love waking up with them cuddled around my legs, and how in the morning they kiss me and nudge me with their noses. When I open my eyes and see their little faces, I feel peaceful.”

Corrine's story is probably not unique; any others out there sleeping with their pets?

My Psychic Connection with Jojo

Jojo, my first dog, was diagnosed with epilepsy when he was almost 3 years old. We’d just moved from Illinois to New York for school, and his seizures started not long after our arrival. The vet said that they were possibly environmentally induced.

A dog with epilepsy faces a life on medication, in Jojo’s case phenobarbital. His seizures started infrequently, but became so commonplace and severe that he could barely get outside for walks. Often times my boyfriend and I would have to carry him up and down the stairs of our East Village apartment building to the sidewalk. There was no more running, jumping, or fetching in his future. In fact, the vet had suggested we put him down.

One day not long after starting an increased round of medication, Jojo went out an open kitchen window while we were out and fell three stories into the concrete courtyard. At roughly the same moment my dog was falling out a window, I was gripped by inexplicable distress and overwhelming sadness at my job, and left for home without saying anything to anyone.

When I got to the apartment and Jojo wasn’t there, I asked my neighbor if she’d taken him out. No, but she’d heard a bark a half hour ago and thought little of it.

Looking down from the open window, I saw nothing in the courtyard. We searched the building. Nothing. We left to search outside.

From the building's front sidewalk, I peered down the stairs leading to the passageway into the courtyard. Lying at the bottom of the first rung, my Jojo raised his head slightly to look at me.

I hurried down and took his head in my lap as my neighbor went to call the vet. A few minutes later, after three short, labored gasps, Jojo died in my arms.

I know, I know. Dogs don’t commit suicide.

But I have always wondered what possessed Jojo to go out that window. Had he seen a pigeon? Was he trying to leave the apartment? Did he see someone he knew in another window and try to reach him? Or did he simply slip, medicated and unsteady, trying to feel sunshine?

And while I am not one for psychic phenomena, something happened to me that day at work that I’ve never been able to explain.

It was as if my dog was calling me home.