The Heart Horse, The Best Dog, and Our Jolene

Mister has been studying Edgar Rice Burro, our farm’s moral compass, these last years. He recognizes the donkey’s buddha-like wisdom and believes himself to be the canine equivalent. Mister says he has the ears for it. And he’s a deep thinker. It only looks like he’s napping, but his belly is sticking out, which is one aspect of the Buddha. His breathing is slow, deep, and regular as a Zen master. Exactly what I try to encourage my clients to do. And finally, living with a red-hot speed-of-light gravity-free puppy can make you feel older and wiser pretty quick. Her very existence means Mister got a promotion. Not necessarily performance-based, but Mister is ready to take on the mantle out of exhaustion if not enlightenment. 

I’ve been looking at horse ads, shopping for a kid’s horse. It’s challenging enough without the crazy ones. One headline said Heart Horse for Sale. What an inane thing to say and now, I can’t trust the seller. Are they selling emotions or a horse? I won’t waste my time unicorn shopping. Anyone who has ever had an actual Heart Horse, or a dog with that look in his eye when you ask, “Who’s the best dog?” knows you can’t buy one. To truly deserve that moniker, a liberal dose of real life is required by both human and animal. Most of us, with generations of animals over the course of our lives, use the term with reverence. The title isn’t for sale.

Back to my farm, aka the 24/7 Jolene Channel. She judges treats like some girls scrutinize designer handbags. Sometimes people offer Jolene a milk bone, a treat as cheap as a Walmart coin purse. Mister says, I remember when I thought that was a treat. Jolene turns up her nose, then gives it a polite nibble, as if her delicate puppy teeth couldn’t possibly chew something so dry. She could fell a tree with her front teeth alone. But in a world where there are Starbucks drive-thrus, Mister agrees. But he’s also pragmatic. Mister curses ungrateful youth, and finishes the bland, crunchy tidbit, but just to be polite. 

Jolene and I are making progress in our efforts to take a breath. Not nasty, isolated jail time. Just a peaceful pause. She is great in public. So much to see out there, but at home she can have a temper. “Go mat.” I say, pointing at the garish orange rectangle. Mister thinks it’s dull and repetitive, but when the mat comes out, Jolene takes on the look of an elite secret agent Belgian Malinois. A tiny one, dressed in black and very serious. Mississippi one, Mississippi two. Good girl.

The next minute she is gardening. Then making her plush hedgehog sing a Wagnerian opera. Then celebrating the Fourth of July outside, watching early fireworks. Most shocking to me and Mister, she loves everyone she meets. An extrovert in a family who prefers to hide in bushes. Mister could name-call under his breath, but instead he widens his ears and strikes a pose. He’s movie star handsome and I tell him he’s the best boy. We all say it, but it’s always true.

I work with every species in the same way. Slow and steady, Affirmative Training is creating good habits through successive approximation and patience. Just cut the task into small pieces and let it be a puzzle. Load on the praise and watch their confidence grow. They call it Associative Learning and we learn the same way. Jolene sits stock still to get her collar on because something good always happens right after. She gets to be smart. 

Last week I tossed a crust to Jolene. She’s had toast hysteria ever since. Jolene is puzzling out the existential question dogs have challenged since the dawn of time. Whose food is it? Mister knows, of course. He dozes while I eat, knowing that we each get dinner, and sometimes chewies. He plays the odds and does okay. Jolene thinks all the food is hers. Plus anything that comes in a bag. She has no tolerance for waiting. I can’t even convince her it’s too late when the food is in my mouth. I’m relieved we don’t sell guns to dogs.

She’s still barking at my toast. I explain that Affirmative Training doesn’t mean she always gets her way. Jolene hollers over me. Answering her tantrum with one of my own would show a real lack of intelligence, any donkey will tell you, because picking a fight doesn’t work. Not ever. I look to Mister for support, but that dog can meditate through anything.

Later, Jolene greets me by blocking my way, sitting in front of me. If I step around her, she nips my heels. Call it Associative Learning. I extend my hand and she touches it with the tip of her nose. It’s our secret handshake. Then I let my hand graze her cheek, and she pushes her head into my palm. She makes eye contact and I go still and quiet. She’s using Affirmative Training on me, too.

I see daily changes. Six new teeth. Less puppy belly. Sleek black hair coming in. Sometimes, I catch a glint of who she might become. If I invest time and patience, what we might mean to each other one day. It’s up to her.

I confess, I’m pretty smitten with myself, too. I’ve definitely learned evolved as a human, seventy years of dogs and horses later. Cats, too. They have helped me with the not that I care attitude so important in Affirmative Training. Ambition can feel intimidating, but a feline not that I care is mysterious. My superpower, thanks to cats, is that I stand around doing nothing, like a magnet.

One of my favorite essays is about Heart Horses (read here), but I still don’t like that sale ad. It trivializes something built from scratch and totally unique. You can’t buy a Heart Horse or a Best Dog because we both have to change ourselves to fit the other, and each learning a new language. It’s crucial that no one loses their voice to fear and dominance. If we find a fit, then it’s the journey we take together through time, and the action of learning together is its own reward. With horses, it’s about our need to be free. With dogs, it’s to learn unconditional acceptance. Then, it’s years of the vet bills, seeing each other age in the corner of a sunset, and sharing the simple pleasure of ordinary days. Maybe all us animals are born different, so we need to work at understanding each other. Learning to see each other in the best light is sweet maturity. 

We’ve lost three precious lives on Infinity Farm in the last nine months. Each one the most excellent possible. Somehow, life goes on. Humans have a superstition that bad things happen in threes, and I’m clinging to it like a get-out-of-jail-free card. Jolene says hold my beer, old lady. She isn’t the dorky sentimental sap like Mister or Edgar Rice Burro. Not yet, she isn’t. 

***

To our family at the Corgi Farm, who lost a real and true Heart Dog recently, after a long and inspirational life. Too soon if you ask his pack, canine and human. His name was Dave. His full name was Just Dave. The very Best Dave. Everyone who ever met him misses him. Here’s to Dave, a dog money could never buy. 

From Leon Russell-

“I love you in a place where there’s no space or time, I love you for my life ’cause you’re a friend of mine.”

Part 8 in a series. (Here’s Part 1 and Part 2 and Part 3 and Part 4 and Part 5 and Part 6 and Part 7}

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