I haven’t written about the pups for a while. It strikes me that I’m overdue, not that they would notice.
Being dogs, they are all in the moment, each and every one. They don’t have this abstract symbol system as we do, to separate them from reality with concepts and interpretations and truth or fiction and meanings — for them, things just are. Like their happiness to wake up at 4 in the morning, knowing our pack is all together in our upstairs bedroom, a joy they often want to share.
Our bed barely fits into its alcove. We each have about two feet on either side between bed and wall, a tight fit. So tight I used to bark my shin on the sharp corner at my end of the bed until Mrs. Ombud padded it for me. It’s just enough room for a dog to slide in and along the bed, seeking human contact.
Ernie in particular wants to affirm the pack bond before dawn by nose or body rub against a hand; but Edie too will wake us, then sit up on her haunches, back against the wall and paw on the bed, especially if she can put her paw on a hand. She sits up straight, like a seahorse. (If I slip my hand out and on her paw, she will pay pawsie with me, doing the same.)
I’ve gotten up a few times to see if they are waking us because they want to pee. Another example of the difference between primate and canid minds — and bodies. They will accompany me out into the dark, I’ll give them a chance to go the way most humans need when they rise at that hour, and they trot alongside — happy to go with me, with no need to go. (How do they not do that?)
I think they just want to roust the pack and go have some fun. This isn’t always high on either Mrs. Ombud’s or my list. Sometimes they stick their nose into the covers seeking skin — usually Mrs. Ombud, who reacts to a cold dog nose snuffling in under her pajama tops fairly predictably. “Gawd, Ernie!” The bed next to me shakes and the covers erupt, “do you hafta jab me in the back with your wet nose?”
He still wags, mouth slightly open in the goofy dog smile. “Hey, you’re awake! Wanna go do somethin’?”
We used to gate them off downstairs. But they’d hear raccoons out there and go nuts, barking and running the length of the house. And I never liked the idea of that gate at the bottom of the stairs, in case there was a fire — one more thing to futz with while hurrying.
So they now come upstairs with us at night, and each have a couple favorite spots; Edie will curl her body tight at the foot of the bed, seeming to enjoy the enclosure — wolves are cave dwellers, after all.
It strikes me how physical their world is. They watch me, waiting for signs the way we rely on words. They know what leashes and keys are, they know what the front closet holds (the jackets we put on to go outside), Ernie can tell what I’m going to do by what shoes I put on.
When I get up at dawn and pull on a bathrobe and slippers, he knows we are not leaving — but if I pull on sweats, socks, and old sneakers, he’s in my face and wagging, ready to go. (Yup, that’s them, with their alpha).
I watch them, how they interact with their world. Perhaps the closest they come to our language and communication is through their noses. Outside and on patrol, they eagerly run from scent to scent, doubtless recognizing and noting the health and condition of the neighborhood’s dogs — we joke about them reading the Canine Chronicles, the Terrier Times, the Doggie Digest.
I watch their fascination with urine and other odors, imagine how their little brains are lighting up like Christmas trees taking it all on, and I laugh. Am I really so different, reading all the crap in the newspaper?
It is pretty amazing how they have their cues. They’re both great looking dogs. I like your tee, too.
In China there is a saying, “Love me, love my dog.”
My wife is not enthusiastic about visiting Canada and having my aged Golden Retriever share our bed. No, she won’t bite you, I tell her. I think it’s hard for her to understand my relationship with my canine companion when she grew up with dogs that graced the table during Chinese New Year.
This brought back how much I miss having my dog in my life. Thanks for the reminder.
Thanks, yb! Yes, my wife, the photographer, was quite happy with this photo, although the walls came out funny. Our entryway is very yellow, butter yellow, not green.
Ernie generally photographs well, but Edie is so dark you often only get a silhouette, and the light has to be right to see her eyes. So we like this one because you can see our dear girl.
It even kind of captures her spirit. She’s very much a dog’s dog, happy and secure and sometimes a knucklehead — and other times surprisingly quick. You see something of Ernie, here, too, ever watchful; all it needs is the little head cock he does when he’s puzzling over what his humans are doing now.
One of my favortie pic’s of me, too. Got the t-shirt at the Eliectric Fetus in Duluth.
Stevo, your second paragraph re-affirms what I’ve heard about China and dogs. But I don’t get the first.
I didn’t think they kept them as pets so much; what does it mean to them to condition loving the person on loving their pet? Anything different? Maybe I’m looking for too much.
I hope introducing your retriever to your wife goes well. We have lots of kids in our neighborhood who often want to pet Ernie or Edie. As Enie is a bit skittish (I think as a puppy something happened with small kids and he was scolded by his fist adoptive humans, as kids scare him) I tell them to put the back of their hands out, and let them sniff, and explain that dogs know the front of people’s hands can grab or be tricky, and to move slow at first.
The funny thing is, Edie was pretty easygoing, but now that she senses Ernie’s skittishness she gets uneasy, too. They’re so communicative, and so sensitive, in their own canine ways.
I’d pay good money to share any kind of language with them, to know, for instance, what it was like for them during their 6 days at the kennel while we were gone; to be able to ask them questions as one might a child; to even sign as they do with Koko the gorilla, so long as they might answer.
It’s a strange existence, being a dog in China. Having a pet is becoming more accepted in urban areas. In my wife village the dogs are part of the family, they walk around the house, are fed, go to the fields, etc. Grandpa used to sit outside in the sun with the dog lounging beside him, two pals.
But then they are eaten. Maybe the bond isn’t as strong, or the communication, or the North American pet insanity. I couldn’t eat a marvelous creature that had shared my life for a year, but I am from a vastly different background.
The saying “Love me, love my dog,” is both literal and figurative. Forgive for not explaining further, I posted too late and was quite tired. In one interpretation it’s: Love me and my dog, welcome both of us into your life, your home. The figurative is love me, my family, and everything about me.
My dog is also skittish with little ones. When she was a pup it was just her and me, her exposure to rugrats was limited. She loves my niece and nephew but hides from children she doesn’t know. Maybe I transfered my apprehension…
[...] was inspired by OmbudsBen’s great post, Woof Woof and pulled some shots I took a couple of weeks back at a local park. I love dogs. It was a joy to [...]
They, don’t, really eat the ones that were their own pets, do they?
I mean … I asumed they ate … strangers. From elsewhere. Eek.
Ok, have recovered a bit of equanimity. And I have had a different thought rolling around the back of my head, maybe like a 5 ball on a pool table, which that last shot just pocketed:
I think of pigs and dogs as roughly co-equals, in terms of smarts and personality and all that. Mrs. Ombud would love to have a potbellied pig as a pet, ferrinstance, if the city of Alameda allowed it. (They don’t.)
So the way we in America treat pigs and dogs is totally contradictory to me. I won’t even get into the hog pens in the factory farms or the caged breeding — it sickens me.
On the flip side, people often treat their pets in America better than they treat each other.
At least in China the pigs aren’t factory farmed (that I’ve heard of) the way they are here, so it seems they are more consistent in how they treat both species.
But I have to say that, if I lived in a rural area and the only pork, ham or bacon I were offered came from a pig I knew … I’d have to give it up.
It’s maybe ridiculous, I know. What does it matter, knowing the ham before it became my sandwich?
Edie is sure a beaut! Is she a labrador? Gorgeous dog. (I’m partial to labs)
Loved the bed/pack description too, and Mrs. Ombuds understandable chagrin. My cats will push their way in sometimes when I’ve slept a bit late, and for some reason they feel the need to situate themselves on my head. Farley will lay right on my head, while gracie prefers to walk back and forth across my hair which probly bothers me more. Tiny brain or no, this seems to me a pretty calculated plan to rouse the big, dumb, sleeping human.
Gracie actually digs her claws in and pulls my hair, that’s why I hate it. If she just walked across it wouldn’t be so bad.
Sometimes I can contemplate eating them.
Thanks, Am.! Edie is part, perhaps mostly, black lab. We don’t know about the rest, except that she has a tiny black splotch on the tip of her tongue, which Mrs. Ombud claims only happens for chows.
Very funny about your kitties–so long as it happens to you, not us.
Have you seen the video/cartoon of the cat trying to wake the guy its human? Tries and tries as he slumbers? Animated line drawing? Very funny; will send, if you like.
Eeeeeeeeeeeep!
I’ve had both dogs and cats as companions and loved them all, but about 6 years ago I brought home my first house rabbit …
Most people keep bunnies in hutches at the bottom of the garden and only take them out maybe once a day to play with (less, in some cases once the novelty has worn off)… then they wonder why the rabbits bite and get skittish. Ot they complain they are ‘boring’.
Imagine doing that to a cat or dog.
Dobby Rabbit would sleep outside my bedroom door every night, lying prone across the entrance (tricky when stumbling out of bed for bathroom trips in the middle of the night!).
Then at about 6.30am he’d stretch, hop casually away for about 10 feet and then turn and launch himself into a run at full pelt down the hallway and into my room (he needed a run up to reach the bed as its quite high off the ground).
Once there he would sit on my chest, with his paws on my chin, til I woke up. If I wasn’t lying on my back, he’d come right up to my face and wriggle his whiskers on my nose…
He’d follow me into the bathroom and as I showered he would also perform his morning ablutions. Anyone who hasn’t witnessed a rabbit wash his face and ears has missed out on one of Nature’s biggest treats.
I miss him.
Ombuds- joking. kinda. about eating them.
Black on the tongue, hm. I’d never guess chow, but as I look at her face there is a different shape around the eyes and nose… sort of an angularity.
One of the advantage of having older animals – in my case cats – is that they are totally chill with sleeping in. In fact, sometimes I have to roust them to get up and get their breakfast before I let the bunny loose and all hell breaks out.
Truce, Dobby sounds adorable. (And I’m soooo with you on how important it is to make animals part of your family if you are going to bring them into your family. I do know of people who leave their dogs alone outside –similar to your rabbit example — and have to bite my lip not to comment on the inevitable neurotic and antisocial behaviors I see.)
All it really takes is consistently setting boundaries; the critters want to be with us, are programmed to test limits just to find what they are, and settle in nicely given a chance.
I figured you were joking, Am. And I’ll bet that, when push comes to scratch, you’ve got cats who can take care of themselves, yeah?
Lazybuddhist (I like the avatar, too), you have just hit on the tension in our household the times we’ve gone to the animal shelter to rescue a new pet. I’m more inclined to adopt older animals, partly out of helping out an older animal less likely to be adopted, but also because they are a bit calmer and more settled in. Mrs. Ombud leans toward the younger, for good reasons, too. It is a good bit more effort training and exercising them. And some day they will be my comfy old pals, content to sprawl in the sun and warm their bones.
Are the bunny/cat escapades online any where? Worth relating? If you have a link I’d love to see.
I’ve become quite used to having cats in my bed – I can’t imagine going to sleep without one purring next to my head on my pillow.
Years ago when I had three cats I was living in the apartment next door and had a single bed … many mornings I would wake up in some sort of weird pretzel-like position wondering wtf? until I did a cat count and discovered Lua curled up next to my neck, Azar nestled up against my lower back and Sunny tucked in somewhere behind my knees … it was kind of like doing yoga while I slept.
Now I have a fabulous king-size bed and just two cats (Lua passed away three years ago) but strangely or otherwise the two boys still end up taking up way too much space and I still wake up all twisted around in odd postures. I’m sure there’s some sort of Law of Filling Available Space to explain this …
Lucky you, Lazybuddhist! My cats are 12 and 14 and they have little breakfast alarm clocks in their bellies … at 7am every day of the year they start into their ‘get the big guys up’ routine until one of us finally gives in and serves their brekky. Annoyingly, they are both ready for a post-brekky nap after we are wide awake … grrr…
Ben has me pegged regarding the potbellied pig. I would love to have one but I understand that they will destroy a garden with the rooting around they do. Shoot, I am such a tender heart, I can’t even imagine eating animals at all anymore, hence my vegetarian changeover about 4 years ago.
Az., I think you’ve hit on a great time saver:
we just need yoga-certified cat instructors.
Mrs. Om: Just one? Can’t you just see Ernie and Edie with a little herd pot-bellied pigs?