A Zippety-Doo-Da Day

As I’m writing this, at my table, looking out the window at the pines, Kaful is nestled at my feet, eyeing up the kitten who already established dominance over the ‘aggressive’ retriever with a timely smack on the nose.

The Brit girls decided this morning, after a cold, dark night at high altitude, surrounded by noisy dogs, that they should seek volunteer opportunities elsewhere. Alexis hadn’t really come prepared for Hound Heights, and looked tired and sorry in the morning. I couldn’t bring myself to persuade her to stay, so I let Xenii and Martin know of their departure. It wasn’t entirely bad for me, as the girls cleaned up before they left and also helped keep a pup alive. And I got the more comfortable sleeping quarters back.

By 7.30 am, the clinic was getting ready to do a neutering session. Elsa, one of the vets, wasn’t happy that we had let the pup eat raw chicken, even when I tried to explain that it’s not just fine for pups but also the only thing he would eat, and that it was high in moisture content, which was very important for the dehydrated little dog. Her rudeness in the face of my explanation wasn’t appreciated, and I told her so; Elsa reacted by storming out of the clinic to tell Xenii that she was quitting. I had to apologise to get her to stay. I didn´t want to; if you gave in to a dog’s demands in this way, you would end up with a big problem on your hands. Which brings us to Kaful again.

I´d exercised Kaful already, and held him while Claudia, the other vet, injected him with the anaesthetic to put him to sleep for his neuter op. He snapped at her as she tried to stroke his head afterwards, but I had bound his muzzle shut already so no harm was done. When I went back to get him for surgery a short time later, I found Martin standing still in Kaful’s pen. 

‘He attacked me when I tried to put his muzzle on!’ Martin explained. I went in and leashed Kaful and decided to lead him to the clinic for another shot before his neuter op. Kaful, seemed to know what was in store and who had asked for it to be done, and, as I went to tie the leash around his muzzle again so I could carry him safely, he lunged at me. I jumped back while pulling his leash skyward, and Kaful’s gnashers snapped just short of letting me know how it´ll feel for him after his op.

A battle of the minds ensued, but not between me and Kaful, but me and Elsa. Despite my suggestion that we use the dog-catching pole to control him, Elsa decided to make a point by trying to show that she would inject Kaful without incident merely by putting a blanket over his head. Luckily, I was able to pull his head back before he could bite her hand. Still she insisted that using the pole would make him more crazy, and again I saved her from getting bitten. For Elsa’s safety and so as not to cause offence by compromising her authority, I wound Kaful’s leash around a tree and pulled his head close to it so he could be injected in a back leg without being able to bite. It worked, and soon I was able to carry the snoozing Kaful into surgery, which went very well.

Dee came again today, as she does every Wednesday, to wash as many of the dogs as she can. She was still gushing with disbelief—and also praise to God—about how effective the natural diet has been on her dog Terry; after many, many months of trying every treatment available, Dee, a missionary, had laid hands on Terry and asked for a miracle. And then, according to Dee, I came into the picture soon after. I was a godsend! It´s nice to be appreciated sometimes, but I was mostly happy that Dee was helping her dog towards a more comfortable life.

I was impressed that Dee had taken the diet seriously and did everything I told her to. I reminded her that she should also be grateful to Dr Ian Billinghurst, as it was he who wrote The Barf Diet, the book that got me started on natural food for pets and turned me so much against commercial pet foods; they are mostly nothing more than food unfit for human consumption, processed to death, and marketed cleverly as ‘scientific’ diets.

 

Here’s the irony, though: the oldest dog in the world, an Australian cattle dog named Bluey, lived to the ripe old age of 29 years and seven months, and he died in 1939—several years before commercial diets started to become popular. Bluey was fed on raw, meaty farm scraps and leftovers. The two oldest dogs currently are also farm dogs and also fed the same. It seems that these ‘scientific’ diets cannot compete with randomly fed meat and table scraps. Think about that.

It makes sense, of course. Our pets have been thriving on our leftovers for many thousands of years. Commercial convenience foods have only been around for about 60 years, and since then, we’ve seen our pets suffering from all kinds of ailments that our grandparents’ scraps-fed animals didn’t: kidney disease, tooth problems, gum problems, bad breath, leaky eyes, dysplasia and arthritis, anal-sac infections … the list goes on. I could write so much about this, so I will, but later, and I’ll tell you about my first dog, Foxie, and how her failing heart and kidneys got me researching diets for critically ill dogs, and how her recovery shocked the heart specialist who examined her every six months.

Anyway, Dee was singing my praises again by the end of the afternoon, bless her, because I leashed ‘the unleashable dogs’ for her so that she could give them their first bath ever. And they all seemed to really enjoy it! Dee lives in Antigua, where I’ll be heading back to for a few days next week, so hopefully I’ll be able to meet and photograph her improving dog, Terry.

As I headed into town, walking down the lane that leads to the main road, with a bright blue sky above, corn fields to my left and fir trees to my right, and hummingbirds silently floating amongst the flowers, I realised what a zippety-doo-da day I was having. I´m enjoying myself here. We all need a bit of zippety with our doo-da at times. :-)

A Good Day

Today was a good day.

Kaful arrived yesterday afternoon and I had to get him out of the car using a dog-catching pole. Kaful did not like it, and he thrashed around like a hooked fish. I led him, in wild circles, to his new home: a kennel and run shared with two females. As I predicted, once his doting family drove off, Kaful calmed down considerably, and looked a little lost … and in need of a leader.

Today, Kaful was barking ferociously again at anyone who went near his run and snapping aggressively at anybody who didn’t understand the instructions to stay out until he had been rehabilitated. But I know how a dog’s mind works, so I slowly approached Kaful’s pen and sat with my side to the wire fence, remaining calm and confident and ignoring the gnashing canine beside me. He barked ferociously at the fence for a while before doing what most aggressive dogs do when countered with nonchalance: he lowered his head and quietly came closer for a sniff. You see, people don’t understand that, in polite dog circles, the first thing new acquaintances do is smell each other. They don’t make eye contact, they don’t speak, and they don’t touch; instead, they approach sideways-on for a smell of the stranger -- anything else would be perceived as possibly threatening by the other party.

So, once I’d introduced myself (my unique smell) to Kaful properly, his aggression dissipated. I had made friends with him. He sat near the fence, with his eyes averted, signalling that he had accepted my presence as non-threatening. So I quietly went inside with the dog who, just a couple of days before, had made some vicious lunges at my legs, arms and face. I remained aloof, giving Kaful the impression that I was confident of my status as the more dominant of us two, and Kaful backed off with nothing more than an interested look. I sat looking away, and almost immediately he came closer for a quick smell before laying down beside me, his eyes relaxed and looking away. As he had approached me, I stroked his side gently while speaking praise, and he closed his eyes, showing his enjoyment.

After a few minutes, I decided he was ready for the next phase in our new relationship: me leading Kaful on a walk down the hill and back. I reached for the noosed leash I’d hung over the fence already and carefully hooked it over his head. Once you get a dog on the end of a leash, particularly one that will tighten with pressure, you are half way to cementing your position as a calm, assertive leader and his as a calm, submissive charge. I stood up and gave a light tug to signal we were on the move and Kaful responded as I knew he would and stood up to come with me. He approached the door but I held him back and made a noise that showed my discontent with his attempt at going through before me. He respectfully backed up, I walked out, and then I gave a little tug again to show he could now follow.

In stark contrast to the wild and crazy antics the day before, Kaful instantly accepted his place either by my side or behind me and we headed off down the muddy path at a brisk pace, which Kaful clearly enjoyed, as his behaviour when out with his family had meant no walks in a long time for the 

energetic young canine. For the first ten minutes, Kaful wasn’t allowed to stop to smell or go to the bathroom; only once he'd mastered the walk with me was he granted the opportunity to go about taking in the smorgasbord of doggy smells along the trail.

When I felt it was time for wagons to roll again, I gave him a gentle tug and we went on our way, with Kaful looking every part the show dog walking calmly, obediently, and happily by my side. It was a great feeling, and I couldn’t help but smile when I returned him to

 his run when I thought about the rapid progress we had made. Of course, Kaful wasn’t a bad dog; he’d just been allowed too much of a free rein with his family and was acting up because of it. As I headed back to the cabin, I looked back to see the golden retriever’s eyes following me lovingly and longingly. I looked forward to taking him out again later in the day.

The Brit girls arrived mid-afternoon and immediately set about helping me with the chores and cleaning up the clinic and guest room. Lucy and Alexis had only arrived in Guatemala one day before, as part of a round-the-world trip, but had decided to roll up their sleeves and get straight into volunteer life. I walked them into town and bought all the ingredients to make a curry of sorts for our evening meal. The ladies took it upon themselves to care for a two-month-old pup who was refusing to eat, was covered in fleas, cold, and dehydrated. It looked like the little guy wasn’t going to make it to the end of the day, but my fellow Brits got him eating raw chicken, taking in some water, and warmed up on a hot-water bottle. It was great to see him improve so much under the care and attention he was receiving. The last I saw of the sick pup was his tail a-wagging as he was being prepared for a night sleeping inside Lucy’s sleeping bag to keep him warm. The runt had made it.