Negligent in Posting

Life with Django is fun, interesting and never dull.  He's turned out to be a great dog, and there are many stories to tell, but not enough time or drive.
Here's an interesting quote I came across about training dogs.

"Training a dog is a matter of how much we want to enter into the dog's world, and how much we want them in ours."

Makes sense.  If we're dictatorial in our training, we want them in our world; if we follow them where they lead, we want to learn more about their world.

Life Goes Well

Django is burrowing further into our hearts every day/hour/minute/second.  On the weekends, and other times we're home he's as close to us as possible.  He loves chasing balls, grabbing the leash, going on walks to the tree farm and the lake trail, chasing his tail and jumping on the bed.
I need to get more pictures and will as soon as I get my new camera for Christmas (early I hope!) - A Canon Powershot ELPH.
Here's a fun dog read:  http://www.theawl.com/2011/11/how-to-talk-to-your-dog

The End of the White Dog Era (for us)

As some of you know, Misha escaped again a week from last Wednesday (11/2).  That night there was a bad storm, and since she didn't come back the next day we feared the worst.  The days went by and we had no reports of her, either by neighbors, our Craigslist ad, or the animal wardens.  Joanie and I hypothesized what might have happened, and both of us began facing up to the possibility that she might be gone for good, and probably dead.  I envisioned her being hit by a car and crawling off into the woods to die.
Last Friday evening, around six, we received a call in response to the Craigslist ad.  The caller had seen a dead white dog, around 50 lbs, on the median strip of I-5 just below Ferndale.  Since it was already dark, Joanie and I made plans to go look the next morning, and if it was Misha, to retrieve the body.  We even discussed where to bury her.
At around 7:30 there was barking in the front yard, and incredibly, it was Misha announcing her return, and wanting to be let back in the yard, which we did.  We pampered her that night with food, but we had already decided that if, by some miracle she returned, we were returning her to WAMAL, since we could not care for her properly.  I had a commitment Saturday, so we planned to take her back to the Holiday Kennel in Kent on Sunday.  Sylvia, from WAMAL, had sent us some ACE, and we gave her one, then, two, then three (the max) without a lot of results.  We tried to get close enough to her with food, then I just spent time in the yard with her, picking up poop and straightening up, hoping she would fall asleep.  Our plan was then to get her into the crate.  But to no avail, so around 10:30 we called animal control to assist us.
While cleaning along the fence, I discovered a handle with a loop attached to it, and Joanie and I were both totally puzzled about where it came from.  We wondered if someone had come in the yard and tried to capture her.  But why?
When the animal patrol wardens came, we had the answer.  Earlier on the same Friday Misha returned, they spotted her around Whatcom Community College, some 5-6 miles from our house.  One of the wardens spent about 3 1/2 hours trying to get near enough to her to snag her with the noose.  When she finally did, Misha gave a terrific jerk and jerked the tool out of her hands, running off.  An hour or so later she showed up at our house.  She'd dragged the noose with her across 3 four-lane roads, and 5 miles home!  We didn't even notice it on her, and she must have wriggled out of it that night.
With the help of the wardens, and our neighbors Pete and Linda, Django's godparents, we formed a line in the yard, wardens with nooses on the ends.  We backed Misha up into the corner of the hay she slept in.  At that point, surrendering, Misha began shaking with fear, and we all started crying.  The warden, talking softly, slipped up to her and slid the noose over her head, and we led her to the crate and put her in.  I then drove her down to the Holiday Kennel.  We understand that Michelle, her foster mom, will take her back.  Michelle is set up with a kennel, and better facilities for a dog like Misha.
But we feel as if we've failed in some way, and are very, very sad for her.  Misha has an amazing spirit to be able to overcome all she has.  If our circumstances were different we would have kept her.

Waking Up

The white dog Misha disappeared last Wednesday and there has been no sign of her since.  There was a large storm that evening/night, which may have disoriented her, since she's been able to find her way home the previous 8 times she's escaped.  We have neighbors, the animal warden and Craigslist on the lookout.  My worst fear is that the warden will call up and tell me she's killed 40 lambs.

On another note, and you should not do this at home as it violates all the rule books, but there is no better way to face the day.

Diablo Blanco

No, not really, although it's a catchy name for Misha, the White Devil.  We spent yesterday, Sunday, re-enforcing the yard and making it look more like the Beverley Hillbillies live there.  Railroad ties, cement blocks, plywood, wire, left-over tv dinner containers :) stacked up or laid down along the fence.  All the time the dogs were hanging out with us, taking notes of weaknesses, potential dig sites, and places to climb.  I'm sure they were up all night planning their attack, then acting coy at breakfast, like nothing what-so-ever was happening.
Seriously though, it was a rough week last week.  Misha got out five days straight, digging mammoth holes into our neighbor's yard, then running the neighborhood, and apparently harassing chickens and rabbits up the street (well she's a malamute after all).  The neighbors were all involved in numerous efforts to get her in, and I got very friendly with the animal warden who was a saint through all this.  It got so I refused to answer my phone at work for fear of what I'd find out.
But she's such a sweetie in some weird impossible to rationalize ways.  We actually had thought we'd return her to WAMAL, but are having second thoughts.  The WAMAL folks are being super supportive, and sending us something to relax her.  And there's always the trainer, and an electric fence.
Hope springs eternal in the mal owner's soul.

Monday, Monday

The weekends are hard.  Since we're around all weekend our expectations for progress go up, but usually we emerge frustrated.  Misha takes around 100 steps backwards for each step forward.  She somehow got out of her collar trying to dig out friday and we tried to capture her Saturday to get her collar back on.  I seduced her with chicken jerky then made a grab for her and she snapped at me.  Now she won't even take treats from my hand and is still without collar.  Yesterday, Monday, I got a call at work from my neighbor that the dogs were out.  She managed to get them back in, once, but then they were back playing in the street. She then managed to get Django back in but not Misha.  It was a long day of neighborhood vigilantes, and when I got home from work at 6:45 and they were both back, although Misha was more spooked than ever.  I had to fill in holes and drag RR ties along yet another fence.  Misha has a strong escape urge, and since we can't walk her, she takes any opportunity she can to get out.  Django on the other hand was in the yard two hours without getting out the hole (that I filled in later).  Unfortunately, as I have several evenings booked, this leaves Joanie with the burden of cleaning up after the hounds, feeding, watering, et al.  Leading to a bit of discord.  We're calling Misha the white devil, blanco diablo.

Four Feet In

Yesterday Misha came into the house with all four feet, not once, but three times.  Two of them were evoked by goodies, but the third time she followed Django in and then suddenly realized she was "too far in" so she turned and scooted.  this morning I got her in again, with Joanie as a witness, by throwing a piece of chicken jerky on the second rung (it's really helped to get a few runner rugs across the oak floor).  She also has no restraint taking treats from me while I'm standing, although without a treat, calling her to me is in vain.
Our wonderful vet, Kim, recommended that we contact a professional trainer to work with trying to get her to come to us and be leashed, so I've begun that process.  There is also the possibility of medicating her on down the road, but we'll see how the trainer fares.

Two College Degrees vs. a Dog

We lost.  For the past 7 hours we've been trying to trap Misha so we can take her on a walk.  She gets so jealous when we take Django that she barks and howls the entire time we're gone, yet she won't let us leash her. We tried to trap her this morning, and I did get her once but then made the mistake of putting a rope around her collar and tying her to the fence.  She gnawed through the rope in seconds flat and wouldn't enter the cage again, regardless of how sumptuous the goodies were -- roast scraps & salmon skin -- yum.
So she ran around the yard with about 16 inches of rope around her collar.  I figured that would give me a handle down the line, but when her and Django began playing, Django started dragging her around by the end of the rope, so she chewed the rest of it off.
This is one very smart dog, but we've had her a month and she won't allow us near enough to leash her. Any suggestions?

One Chases His Tail, the Other Drags Rugs

There is something about our bedroom that causes Django/Kaskae to go into play mode.  Of course he's in play mode most of the time, but this is different.  It's the only place he chases his tail, catches it, and turns into a blur of a dervish.  The he stops and changes direction.  Sometimes he gets so dizzy he falls down.  This is a morning activity and always occurs while Joan and I are getting dressed.  It never fails to choke us with laughter, which is a great way to start off the day.
Misha on the other hand drags rugs.  She's captured rugs from the house, the crate, the back porch, and the small kennel.  She drags them all over the yard.  I've watched her grab the rug by the back door and it's definitely a sneaky move.  She reaches in, grabs the corner, and turns and runs.  Strange behavior.

This morning, early, when Joan went out to get the paper, there were two dogs running in the front yard.  Both were very wet and looked exhausted (as a matter of fact they are sleeping now).  I called Django into the back yard, and he came with Misha following.  We figure she's so in love she will follow him anywhere.
I spent the morning filling in a crater under the fence and buying & positioning railroad ties.  Never a dull moment.

The Therapist

Django/Kaskae is better at healing than anyone I've ever paid money to for that purpose.  His joy, exuberance, lust for life, energy is contagious.  And we've all benefited having him around, but most of all Misha.  Misha has turned a corner.  For the past 5 days she has been wagging her tail.  It's a joy to see both of them run to the fence when I come home from work with their tales wagging.  While she's still cautious, she will let me pet her with some frequency (although when I grab her collar to leash her it sets her back a few days).  She has stopped her pacing behavior and daytime howling entirely.  Her and Django have even taken to sleeping side-by-side in a large crate we set up. And although she still won't come in the house, she peaks her head in constantly.  We are still looking forward to being able to walk them together, but I have faith that day will occur very soon.

Tails A-Waggin

Well the last two mornings there have been two dogs on my deck in the morning with tails a-waggin.  Misha spooks as soon as I approach the door, but Django (formerly Kaskae -- he's so bouncy!) bombs into the house and showers everyone with affection.  This morning he freaked when Joanie left for work.  He wrestled out of his collar as I tried to drag him to the back door and went and sat by the front door.  He didn't budge for about ten minutes until I threatened him with duck jerky.  That got him out.  Both of them had their noses out the gate (will get photo) as I drove away.  Curse work!  Much more fun just to stay home with the dogs.

And Gone, and Back, and a New Bro

Well lot's has happened in the past 2 days: Misha escaped again via the woodpile, but I think that's solved for good, and we got her a new bro.  Misha actually got out again while we were driving down to Seattle to pick up Kaskae (pronounced like Cascade without the D), and several neighbors called to tell us they'd seen her around.  It's going to take a village to raise this dog!  Kaskae was an immediate hit -- lovable, affectionate as all get out, energetic and so so sweet.  We crated him up, and dispite a few whimpers drove up to Bellingham without incident.  When we got home I tracked down a ew Misha sighting leads to no avail, but an hour later Joanie spotted her in the street.  I went out with a leash, but she took one look at me and started trotting up the street.  The I got the brilliant idea of bringing Kaskae out.  They hadn't yet met, but he is a chick magnet, and after they touched noses she followed us into the yard and Joanie got the gate closed.  So Misha is back where she bleongs, and with a bud!
In a nutshell, they've had several tiffs, and we're still working out feeding, but this morning they were playing and Misha was actually chasing him around the yard wagging her tail!  It's the first time she's wagged her tail since she got here.  She also let me come up and pet her last night.  They slept within a few feet of each other last night.  We have a crate and a small kennel out there now, but neither of them are using either.  Kaskae comes in the house a lot, but so far Misha hasn't followed, except for her nose.  And Kaskae loves walks, will come when he's called, and loves to ride in the car with his head out the window.
Our lives have suddenly become so much richer!

Gone! And Back!

OMG!  My neighbor Art called me at work yesterday to let me know Misha was not in the yard.  He'd been stopping after his walk to give her a biscuit.  He and his wife Jo did a thorough examination of the yard and couldn't fine a sign of her.  So I came home early.
I soon discovered how she escaped -- climbing the woodpile then jumping 6+ feet to the ground.  I had visions of her running for miles then getting totally confused.  And of course no one could get near her to capture her or read her tag.  So, we alerted the neighborhood on Facebook, put an ad on Craigslist, posted photos, contacted both animal shelters and the animal wardens, who informed us they had traps that might be successful.  I had to work last night, and came home worried and dejected.  I imagined her out there somewhere, in the woods or far away, hungry and scared.
Then this morning about 5:45 we heard barking in the front yard.  I went down and called "Misha, Misha" and up she trotted, not too close though.  I got some food -- crunchies and turkey -- and went out into the back yard but she was already there, waiting over by the manger.  Joanie got the gate closed, and we fed her copious amounts of crunchies, canned food, and left over salmon.  I had moved the woodpile yesterday so wasn't worried about that any more.
But, this tells us a couple of things:  She has bonded with us and considers this place home, a place to come back to; and she's smart.  She can find her way back.  God knows how many streets she crossed or where she went.  We are so relieved!

The Manger

I'll post of photo of Misha in her manger soon, but it's a covered area with clean straw that she sleeps in.  Last night I went out there and settled down (very comfy) in the straw.  Misha, of course, got up and did a few yard circles, then surprisingly, came back and laid down about three feet away.  I talked to her softly for awhile, then made the mistake of trying to pet her.  She was up and out as soon as I lifted my arm, but again she circled back and settled.  This time I sat for about 5 more minutes, then got up (as did she) and went in the house.  I count that as an "intimate" experience :)

The Wood Dumping Game

This morning we played the wood dumping game.
Earlier this week we had a cord of firewood delivered and dumped in our driveway.  I stacked most of it this morning, filling a wheelbarrow, pushing it to the gate, opening the gate, pushing it inside, closing the gate, and pushing it to the woodpile and dumping it.  Misha shadowed my every move at 10 feet or so, stopping when I stopped, starting when I started, and riveting on the gate whenever she had the opportunity.  Around in circles we would go.
Later I walked over to the gate with a leash and tried to get her to come, but to no avail.
We seem to have lost a bit of ground with her.  She seems comfortable in the yard, but seems to have little need for affection or social contact.  I haven't petted her in several days, and my wife had her toe sniffed yesterday when she was lying on a deck chair.  But then in other ways, such as lying down a few feet from us when we spend time out in the yard, she seems more comfortable.  Her caged running behavior continues however, and it's almost impossible to break her concentration when she's sprinting around the yard.  It reminds me of autistic behavior in some ways.
On the other hand, she gets plenty of exercise, is eating relatively well, and is very little trouble.

Light Blue Rug

This morning it is raining and the light blue rug just outside the sliding glass door leading into the kitchen/dining area is slowly turning black as Misha runs her pattern in the yard, then stops and looks into the kitchen, keeping track of what I'm doing.  Thus far she's refused to come close enough to take the chicken I hand her, even though I crouch to her level.

No sudden moves around this dog, as she is constantly ready to flee.

Howling, only several incidents.  One around midnight several nights ago, and then in the morning when Joan and I leave for work.  The neighbors say it doesn't last long, and they don't mind.  A new room-mate at Art & Jo's thought there was a wolf outside the house.

Religion

I read recently in a religious treatise that one of the worst mistakes Christians ever made was to state in the Bible that God made man in his image.  The author went on to say that led us to expect that God would act in ways predictable to us, a tame God so-to-speak, a God that succumbs to our expectations.  I think of this as I watch Misha pace the yard like a zoo animal, after 5 days wearing a path in the back yard lawn the shape of a distorted figure eight.  My expectations of her are the same.  I expect her to calm, to love me in recognizable ways, to wag her tail and come to me for attention and affection, none of which she has done.  Failure to meet my expectations caused frustration and sadness.  Yet I have to step out of these expectations.  Misha is currently a wild animal and might remain one in some ways.  Her pacing the yard seems therapeutic, and her affection may never include a wagging tail or a direct, affectionate approach.  Can I handle this?  Can I accept what she offers and eventually offer?  I have decided yes.  She is who she is and I will not try and change her, I will simply be there.  So I sit after work in the yard and watch her run her crazy figure eights, come timidly and accept a chicken scrap, and then settle several yards from me in watchful sleep.

Fourth Day

Well everyday there is a revelation.  Today there were several.  Despite our worries about Misha escaping, both Joanie and I went to work today and left her in the backyard for 9 hours by herself, and...she was there when we got back!  As far as we know, our backyard, about 100 ft by 30 feet, is the largest space she has inhabited in her two years on the planet.  And in this yard she behaves like a wild zoo animal, running a circuitous path over and over again until she has already, after four days, worn a path in the grass and dirt.  But several things have transpired.

My wife and I spend as much time outside as possible sitting in chairs at a patio table, and now and then, Misha will run up to us to take a treat or sniff and outstretched hand.  We've also been leaving the patio door open and she sticks her head in constantly, but refuses to put more than 2 feet in, even with small piles of chicken meat just beyond her reach.  If I had to guess, I'd say she is very wary of traps.

Yesterday, as I was sitting, reading a novel, she began running alongside me, and I trailed my hand across her back, finally, as she was moving slowly, began scratching her in the sweet spot where her tail dropped from her back.  Miraculously she stopped and let me massage her for several minutes.  Then she approached me from the front and let me rub her mouth area, eventually letting me stray up to her neck and face.  I needed to get her collar off to switch tags (with current phone numbers), which I did, but after I switched tags, she wouldn't get close enough to me to let me get the collar back on.  Thus the consternation Joan and I had today, worrying that she would escape without any tags.  But as I said, she was there when we got home.

So the other break-throughs were:  putting all four feet into the house, and letting me put her collar back on, and leash her.  After leashing her I took her on a quick walk of the front yard and brought her back inside the fence to safety.

When she is in her pacing mode it is virtually impossible to interrupt her without deliberately scaring her, which we don't want to do.  She is such a sweet dog, and takes our offered treats, mainly chicken, so delicately.

Misha

It Begins

On September 16th, around 4:00 on a lovely pre-fall Pacific Northwest day, I picked up a rescue malamute from a foster home in North Bend, the eternal home of Twin Peaks.  Her name was Missy, on the WAMAL (Washington Alaskan Malamute Adoption League) website but the foster parent, Michelle, had renamed her Misha.  Misha was about to change our lives.

Getting our of my car a giant malamute wandered over to give me a sniff and a flick of the tail.  My initial thoughts were, "Well, she's a lot larger than described, and looks older than 2, but what the heck.  A rescue is a rescue."  The dog turned out to be Michelle's eight year old male.  Misha herself, a skinny cream-colored waif of around 40 pounds, was in a 10 X 10 roofed kennel in the back of the yard.  As Michelle filled me in on habits and adventures, we entered the kennel.  Misha stayed near Michelle, who held her leash.  After petting her awhile, and listening to her dietary whims -- food containing duck and rabbit, although chicken would do in a pinch, all three of us went on a walk.  I took the leash part of the time, and everything seemed on track.

Things changed entirely when we tried to get Misha into the carrier in my car.  Even though Michelle had given Misha homeopathic and other sedation, she fought for her life.  When we (mostly Michelle) got her in the kennel, she sat shivering and hyperventilating.

I drove the 2 1/2 hours up to Bellingham where I live.  During that time I heard nary a sound.  When I arrived, my wife, whom I'd chatted with on cell phone, greeted me in the driveway.  We wrestled the carrier into the back yard, and I opened the door, while retaining a grip on the leash.  My first mistake was to unclip the leash from her collar.  That was three days ago and we have not been able to catch her since.