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.