Jolene Rescues Us From Drowning

In what most would consider the middle of the night, Jolene goes off like one of those alarm clocks with twin bell ringers on top. She wakes up early and with a hunger none of us can survive. Mister would never say no to a meal, but he does like to lounge a bit. Like until dawn. He says, in that voice that I know is a lie, breakfast isn’t a race. But manages a congratulatory whine when the bowls come out.

Jolene is in a spitfire stage. She finishes her breakfast, which also makes her mad because I feed her in a puzzle bowl. Then sits in front of me barking. Yeak. Yeak. Yeak. It isn’t really a bark, but it comes out of her mouth. I’m not sure what she wants, but when a dog makes eye contact and just keeps barking, you gotta figure it out. Since I haven’t had my coffee, I’m no fun at all. So she barks at Mister, who hasn’t stolen my coffee yet, so ditto.

Jolene is almost as tall as Mister now. It isn’t saying much, but members of the Long and Low Club will tell you height is over-rated. Mister is about eleven inches longer than she is. I know she has grown longer, too, because when I’m writing she sits under my desk. She can land her feet on my chair now, and suddenly her head is between my hands on the keyboard. Her nose has popped out and her canines have come in. Jolene strikes as quickly as a honey badger. First, she checks my shirt for any food I might have dropped. Then she smiles with her brand new big-girl honey badger canines.

Of course, I stop what I’m doing. She is very busy in this big world. There are flying insects to kill and counters to surf. There are things that must be taken into the backyard immediately. Much busier than I could ever be, so it’s a special thing when she stops for a chin rub. I let her know with praise. She extends her nose high, and I stroke from chin to breastbone the way she likes. Then, she tilts her head into my palm and gives my wrist a quick lick. And poof.

Can we talk about Jolene’s brain? There is a method to my madness. Adolescent puppies have nearly the learning capacity of an adult dog, but full cognitive maturity typically happens about two years of age. The last skills to settle are the ability to balance emotions and impulse control. Reverse-anthropomorphize if you like. For most of us, dealing with emotionally immature adults is a daily occurrence. 

This is my favorite part: The brain continues forming new connections and circuits throughout life as a response to experiences. Pups go through an initial period of rapid growth, followed by a process they call “pruning” of all things (strengthening beneficial circuits and weakening unused ones.) This is why a horse or dog, and yes, even a human, can make remarkably good progress when we don’t make a big deal out of less-than-perfect things. Ignoring behaviors you don’t want is pruning. Giving more experiences in the desired direction is planting healthy connections. Less fear, more curiosity. It’s the science behind Affirmative Training. We make ourselves a place animals feel safe.

Humans can be so result-driven, so impatient, so hurried, that we concede a horse or dog’s mental health for a trained behavior. We see the youngster and are so happy they didn’t come with baggage that we rush to create some. We have been raised to prize obedience as a measure of success. As if we invented sitting. When truly, the only valuable thing we can offer an animal is confidence. And a path toward trust. Every rehab or rescue I worked with feared punishment, or at the least, lacked confidence. Different breeds have different skills and unique challenges. But isn’t it about time to consider the animals’ mental and emotional health? Their calming signals tell us where to start.

How are we humans so tolerant with babies and harsh with puppies and foals? I’m not saying dress them up in sailor suits, but could we give their brains time to mature? It’s not about training Jolene. Life is training. I’m trusting her smarts and letting her learn through hindsight praise.

Call me crazy for never leaving Jolene alone for the first three months. It wasn’t easy. For not isolating her in a crate or scolding her for barking. For understanding some chewing is normal in the process of getting adult teeth. But now Jolene is an adolescent, and she hasn’t autographed anything of mine with her teeth. She isn’t destructive when I leave her. She isn’t fearful of dogs and people. What isn’t happening is a measure of success, too.

This week, Jolene and I had lunch with a friend. We met about an hour away at a dog-friendly restaurant. People said hello. The server brought her water and a treat. She barked at some birds playing in the sprinkler. I told her she was a good girl, and she moved between my feet and looked up at me. Jolene sat on her mat for two and a half hours. Few adult men are tough enough to handle a women’s lunch that well.

The biggest investment we make in companion animals is our time. Think of it as a college fund. Invest in their future by understanding their mental capabilities. For the years we hope we’ll share, what is this short time worth?

Jolene would like you to know she will never be a doodle. Definitely not a doormat. I am actually bragging about her personality. I chose this breed for their hard-headed independence. Smart, quick, and confident for her age, with Vikings in the family tree. Now, Mister is her superhero. And if you recall, I was a whiny, sour old pus-ball before Jolene. I chose her joy as a weapon against a world that was too sad. No regrets.

Mister and Jolene are the perfect pair of inseparable opposites. Yesterday was bath time for Mister. Otherwise known as Dead Dog Walking. It’s execution by showerhead. He knows the leash is for going somewhere, yay. But every blue moon or so, the leash goes on for nefarious reasons. His ears drop to a wide horizontal position. He doesn’t refuse, but his steps are so small that it seems he’s only rocking side to side. When we get to the shower, he steps in and sits. Defeated. Ready for the worst. I undress and get in with him.

He doesn’t mind the spray; it’s gentle. He likes the shampoo part, with all the nice massaging. Rinsing is soothing because the water was tepid. Perfect temperature for the dog days of summer. He probably protests on principle. Protesting is an honorable tradition for Corgis. Jolene pokes her head into the shower. Then steps in to save him by licking his noggin. Because she’s on our side. Our little honey badger doesn’t mind getting wet if she’s with us.

And one last thing. Not that dogs would ever be so superficial, but if seeing me naked in the shower doesn’t make the dogs bark, I’m doing pretty well myself.

[Part 15. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]

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