It’s Corgi tufting season. I gather enough hair in my mouth to build a bird’s nest hourly. It’s effortless, but when I groom Mister, he acts like I jerked each hair out by the roots with a rusty tweezer. He’s right. I had longer hair before I was in school and made similar sounds when my mother took a brush to it, tangled with hay and horse manure, as it was. Then she cut it off. Problem solved.
Mister is a Cardigan Corgi. He is 12 inches tall, and 43 inches long, from the end of nose to tip of tail. We have an agreement to not mention each other’s weight. Mister’s life is one big ride-along. He is a truck dog, one of tens of thousands of unsung heroes of farmers, horse trainers, and folks who spend more time in the country than town. They (should) safety-strap into the seat of honor, next to the driver. More important, they share an armrest positioned so that the driver may rest their hand between the dog’s ears. And just let it rest there for hours.
You always hear about how much exercise dogs need, and I’m no fan of crating dogs for hours on end. But I wonder. Separation anxiety is a problem people have with dogs and horses, whose sanity depends on sticking with the pack or herd. Punishing animals for their anxiety only makes things worse; fuel on the fire. I have an excellent solution for horses, but dogs are more portable. And who wants to go to places that don’t allow dogs?
It’s only anecdotal opinion, but after bringing my dogs along to work for the last 48 years, we’re all calmer. But don’t feel guilty if you can’t. In my experience, dogs do sleep all day. As they get older, they also meditate with their eyes closed. Having a dog at work usually boils down to a simple routine: ride, nap, then another ride. I’ve had dogs a lot longer than I’ve had trucks, of course, but every truck has had dogs. Generations of good dogs went from puppyhood to old age in the passenger seat.
I wrote a book called Undomesticated Women. Mister says it’s about him. We hit the road not long after he arrived at my farm, and now, 24k miles and a few years later, we probably overdid it. Mister thinks we live in the trailer and only visit this farm sometimes. People we met in RV parks asked me if I was traveling solo when he was right there at the end of his leash. Imagine.
Mister is a herding dog. He is flat out working every moment, but thinks Border Collies could let up a bit. He follows his work manual, The Rules and Regulations of Long and Low Truck Dogs. It’s about sticking together, not losing the herd. He comes along with me or I come along with him. It’s the law.
It’s not that he’s the most protective dog in the world. He’s afraid of cats. They mock him. He also doesn’t like dogs taller than he is. Most are. He’s probably the least athletic truck dog I’ve ever owned, but the world is downsizing. It could be worse. My vet has a couple of chihuahuas in their truck.
One of Mister’s jobs is to sleep as I rant, using words I shouldn’t say publicly. I worry it borders on abuse. When I witness cruelty, hear too many poor excuses, or work with horses traumatized by previous owners, I get compassion fatigue. The least expensive antidote is yelling profanity. But as much as I rant and swear, Mister knows I’m not talking to him. He knows I’m howling at the moon. He can tell the difference.
Mister considers a car ride of less than a thousand miles insignificant. He’s a long haul sort of dog, but over these last few months I’ve been a bitter disappointment. I stayed close to home and worked online at the Barn School more. Worse, we were on the brink of international agility fame in our own minds, but his back kept getting sore. I didn’t want to risk it, so no more date night.
The final blow was that whole Paris incident. I took a vacation without him. His version is that I abandoned him on a cold and rocky moonscape with nothing to eat for months and months. He was really mad. When I got home, he wouldn’t come to me. Not a glance for weeks. He slept on the bed, but wouldn’t let me touch him. Okay, he has always hated to be petted. Most dogs hate having their heads thumped, but now he spent the day blocking the back door so I couldn’t escape. Cold linoleum without even a dog bed, so the suffering would be impossible to ignore. There were no more Croc zoomies when I came in from the barn. Mister can be a little humor avoidant at certain times of day, but then so am I. This was different.
I have studied with wonderful horse pros, but it’s a dog trainer, Turid Rugaas, who’s had perhaps the largest influence on my training approach. I was early to adapt her Calming Signal ideas to horses. It’s worked miracles.
Now Mister needed a re-rehab. Maybe a reintroduction is closer. We started over from scratch. I didn’t use treats. Treats can disguise or distract an animal from expressing their emotions and Mister had some big ones. I listened to his complaints, agreed it was all my fault, and told him he was a good boy. He looked away. Coldly.
I have one dog rule. When a dog asks for my attention, I give it to them. Separation is an aberration of nature’s way. Any dog will tell you. Attention is acknowledgment. The more you give it, the less they ask. Soon, they feel safe. Maybe safety is their equivalent of love. They’ve convinced me it’s better.
Mister was still holding a grudge. I put an elevated dog bed next to my desk chair so that long Zoom meetings could be tiny road trips. When Mister climbs up, I slowly ask if I could have my hand next to him. If he closes his eyes or stiffens his spine, I let him hear my exhale. I wait. I never corner him or grab his collar. He hates that.
I studiously don’t touch him in the ways he doesn’t like. No scratching till his foot jerks. No face talking. Resting a hand on him lightly could be too much. If I saw the smallest brace, sometimes just on his brow, I stopped, waited longer, went slower.
The more I train horses and dogs, the more interested I am in the conversation. Not what I can teach them, but what they have to say. Too often, we prioritize their behavior above their mental health. When they hold hard memories, listening often works better than training.
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Oh how I loved this one, Anna!!! (don’t tell Mister, but honestly, he’s my favourite author… that was a mighty fine book he dictated to you.) And oh! how this resonated… “I have one dog rule. When a dog asks for my attention, I give it to them. Separation is an aberration of nature’s way. Any dog will tell you. Attention is acknowledgment. The more you give it, the less they ask. Soon, they feel safe. Maybe safety is their equivalent of love. They’ve convinced me it’s better.” I have the same rule (although not trying to take my food off my fork as I’m eating it is swiftly becoming the second!) Despite all my earlier misgiving about keeping company with an old stinky dog, in the last week I’ve felt myself shifting, settling back into an old, old routine. You in Paris, me in Scotland…I’m coming to think that its not their hearts where the absence is noted, but ours. They are, after all, a damned sight smarter than we are. There’s a certain pride in holding yourself steady in their rocky sea, in being their soft place to land, where they have the time and space to breathe finally, and relax into safety. And that’s no small thing. Better in the end than love perhaps?
Oh, Paula. So glad to read this. Like you, I have a wandering eye for global landscapes, but right now, the price is too high. I didn’t know he would respond like he did, and truthfully, without him traveling wasn’t the same. Good to hear your new stinky old long-and-low dog has set her hook. I know her health isn’t great, but it’s all about quality. Thanks, great news!
I must admit I’ve been contemplating the challenges of travel overseas with said stinky old dog LOL. Scotland is probably the most dog-friendly place I’ve ever been. They’re accepted everywhere including buses and trains, no questions asked. In fact, unless a store says it ISN’T dog-friendly, it’s taken as a given. I think Mister would look quite fetching in a beret… 😉
True, I took photos of dogs my whole trip, Scotland to Paris. We say dogs are family here, but not so much.
Anna, you never fail to make me laugh! It’s so good to read about your ‘adventures’ with Mister-so much like mine with our Andy, (Corgi), and Beary (Shelty). The pic of Mister looks so much like Andy, except without the tail. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks Susan. I’m certain they double our quality of life. Corgi tufting season year round!
I am so glad you and Mister have healed your rift. Wilson, Mister’s little brother from another mother, can sympathize. It took a long time for him to forgive me for bringing Teddy into his home. Now they are best friends, but there was a six-month period when I was persona non grata. He is much cuddlier than Mister, so I was able to win back his approval when he realized he was still getting plenty of snuggle time. and his prime position in bed was safe.
Thanks Peggy. They don’t like change either…
It may be hard for non-dog people to understand the strength of bonds we humans share with our dogs– through easy and hard times. Hell, it is hard for me to understand, although I don’t require an explanation. Like you, I had little English setter Molly, our failed hunting dog turned housemate, who spent endless hours curled up under my work desk, sleeping and waiting for each day’s walk adventure around the property. Now years later, I miss her every time I sit at this desk. I have a picture of her on a wall just 2 feet away and below desk level. She stares up at me with a look that says “I do find some satisfaction in hanging out with you here John, but when are we going for that walk?” If only.
Maybe I need to write in praise of Under-the-Desk dogs. Your comment is bittersweet… and I know you have a pack of rescues like I do. They each leave a mark. If only. Thanks John.
This whole post AND comments sure do – as always – make me feel right at home!!!
Axel doesnt get to go with me so much in the winter – well, because its cold if he has to wait in the car, you know. He’s been “with me” for four years now, twelve this year and like me, his hearing going, and his vision – like mine – not quite what it was. He gets visine eye drops (dry eyes) every morning and it appears to make his eyes feel better (I think) that was my vet’s suggestion.
Hes very unhappy when I leave – well, to go to the grocery store or appointments – not out of the country. Does mad zoomies and moans when I get home. Maybe has a bit of separation issues?
Thanks so much, Anna
That’s the thing about going along. Half the year it’s too hot and the other too cold. Thanks. Maggie. Happy New Year, Axel, you lucky pup.
Anna, I’m sad to say my little big good bad terrier took his final ride in November. He was almost 17yo, a good innings I suppose, but of course it’s never enough. His quality of life had gone down and I knew summer would take its toll without a house to live in- and houses are still as unobtainable as ever. Your writing over over years guided me to make the hard decision for which I thank you very much. Annie
Oh my heart. Nothing quite leaves a mark like a good bad dog. I can’t feel sorry for him or the life he’s had with you. But I do send condolences to you. I can’t imagine how big the van has gotten or how quiet mealtime is. I am so sorry. It’s the seasons we watch, as much as our companions. Take care, Annie. And thanks for letting me know. I’ll miss him with you.
Great post, as always. When we returned from our trip, Lily was beside herself with melty joy. Rosie on the other hand was completely aloof. She offered a cool hello, then laid down and wouldn’t look at us. It took three days for her to come around. This is the hardest part about leaving them behind. Our original plan was to bring them along, but an accident at our barn where Lily lost six teeth in one kick from a shod horse made us reconsider. Being around other horses in strange places and on unfamiliar trails suddenly seemed like a very bad idea.
It’s an impossible choice. I think the kind of riding you two did would have been dangerous for the dogs. Just a second changes everything, as that kick showed. I confess, three days of pouting isn’t bad? Thanks, Kaylene. For what it’s worth, my other dogs have gotten used to my coming and going.
For some reason I missed this and fortunately found it whilst clearing out a backlog of emails. It’s such a lovely blog, I can just imagine Misters facial expressions. My Collies are both very different as you know, but I learn so much from them everyday about how they are feeling. Thank you.
Thank you, Ruth. Dare I say it? Your Collies are real dogs.