Dog Owner's Etiquette

Just because you love dogs doesn't mean everybody else does.

1. Good manners and right conduct begins at home. If you train your dog to behave at home they will do so when they are out in pubic.

2. Never criticize another person's pet. Do not ever say their pet is fat, looks old, has bad legs, has cataracts, or anything downgrading (even if true).  Admire a pet, you please the owner. Hurt their pet, you put their owner on the defensive.

3. Not everybody likes being rushed by dogs when they come to visit your house. Confine your pets in a certain area of your house before you allow them to enter and inspect your guest.

4. Bar your kitchen from animals. Good standards in food preparation means no pet hairs in your food, dinnerware or glassware if you keep dogs or cats away from the kitchen.

5. Discourage begging at table at home. If you allow your dog to beg at the table, they will do the same in another house.

6. Not all dogs welcome a visiting dog to their territory. If you plan to visit a new house with your dog, inquire if there is a dog there first.

7. Teach your dogs not to jump on people.

8. It has never been advisable to let dogs sleep on beds with their owners. Should house guests come to stay for a few days, not all are immune to finding animal hair on their clothes, blankets and pillows.

9. Vacuum your house thoroughly before house guests arrive. If your dogs live in the house with you, pet hairs will be all over the carpet, furniture, bedding, pillows, curtains, everywhere your dogs are found.

10. Keep your knowledge about dog behavior to yourself unless asked. Judge the pet, you judge the owner.

The One Time Training Failed

I thought I had everything under control. Then the stroke of midnight approached. My dogs flipped.

   

      Last year a new and prosperous neighbor moved into our street. Upon moving in across our place, they spent three months remodeling the house they bought, built a high wall around their property and installed a close circuit television camera at the front gate. Their family business was a local chicken fastfood chain. Of Chinese origin, they kept to themselves.They always arrived at their house blasting the peace of the neighborhood with their horn at all hours of the day, to hustle their house help inside to get up and open the gate. It seemed they would never -- over their dead bodies -- ever alight from their cars or vans to open those gates themselves. They will persist in blowing their horns, ignoring the glaring looks of nearby neighbors, until those doors are opened by a team of house help.

      A few posts back ("The Dogs Survive a Thunderstorm"), I discovered how to distract an upset dog when there's thunder. Spot, especially, would be distressed by this explosion in the skies and I used to try various tactics to deal with this. Until I noticed the power of a dog's focus.

Spot crawls under a seat during a mall tour before our agility demonstration. The music, played loudly to attract mallgoers, was obviously too loud for his ears. 

      The Mexican "dog whisperer" in the United States, Cesar Millan, used to teach dog owners walking their dogs to poke their pets at the ribs with a foot whenever their dog lost his cool in public -- such as aggressive behavior when it saw another dog, refused to obey because of distractions, etc. The poke (not a kick!) was to break the dog's concentration. It has nothing to do with your foot or that there was a special spot on the dog's ribs to make them obey. It's just meant to break the dog's focus. You can do anything else to replace that action.
      Millan's technique was just for practical reasons. You're walking with a dog and your hands are busy when the dog fights the leash. Your feet are the only things free. The foot has proven handy because it's a disciplinary tool the dog won't see coming (if you use your hand your dog will see it). 

      If you have a can of coins you can throw it on the sidewalk to give the dog a jump. But you'll have to pick it up (worse, when it rolls away from you, you have to chase it). At home, we use a big metal cowbell I bought in Germany which the big cows there use to signal to their farmer-owners they're coming home. It makes an excellent banging sound when we drop it against cement. Scares our dogs and stops the misbehavior.

      One night, I was awakened by a thunderstorm. I got up and sat at the kitchen counter to wait it out. Soon, I felt the presence of a dog against me. It was Spotty. His face was anxious. I had left my bedroom and him alone there.

      I looked at those trusting eyes thinking what to do with the distress behind it. Then I remembered he was focused on the thunder and it upset him. I must snap him out of it.

Spot stares intently at temptation. He's easy to train because his food drive is intense.

      I reached out across the counter to our ever-present biscuit jar, the doggy treat canister. The dog's eyes lit up as he saw me twist the top. Aha, the focus was beginning.

      "Speak!" I commanded, using the familiar hand signal. Spot looked intently, gathered his thoughts, gathered his energy, then gave a sharp bark.

      "Good boy!" I squealed, offering him a biscuit. The dog happily crunched it up.

      I timed the next command to the next roll of thunder. "Speak!" I commanded again, as lightning flashed our walls. The dog barked obediently as the thunder erupted, unflinching. He did not seem to hear it. His eyes were on the biscuit I held in my hand.

      So that's how you do it! I exulted in my mind, feeling victorious. Just have a jar full of treats and your dog will forget every else upsetting around him.

      Before New Year's Eve, I filled the biscuit jar. There were spare packs of more biscuits on stand by. My only challenge, of course, was how to keep the training up while the fireworks erupted outside our house sporadically. I won't be able to time the commands simultaneously all the time. But I was willing to try.

     As the night deepened, my method worked successfully. The fireworks distressed the dogs as they barked at the explosions, concern written on their faces. I'd call all four of them to a training session.

     There would be long pauses before the next firecrackers out in the street are lit, of course, because the stroke of midnight was not yet approaching. So would our training sessions. I'd stop too. 

      Another technique I used to assure the dogs was to assign each of them to one of us. I had a house guest that night so we were also four people. Lourdes had Toby, Dominic had Packy, my guest Fe had Toto, while I had Spot. We did not cuddle them to avoid reinforcing the nervousness. We just let them lean against us, assuring them of our presence. That calmed them too -- until the eve of the festivities approached.

Spotty (left) and Toby (right) enjoy a doggy nap. My house guest Fe claimed she prayed fervently that Toby would not have a seizure during that stressful night of New Year's Eve. Thankfully enough, he did not. But that was Toby's last New Year with us.

      Then a quarter to midnight came. Suddenly, a long string of fireworks burst loudly out in the street like machine gun fire, lit up by our Chinese neighbor. This is the notorious Judas Belt, a long belt of firecrackers strung together like a necklace, around a hundred or so of them. The sound reverberated throughout our house like a sensurround (or a 2D) movie. Toto jumped out of his skin and barked hysterically. Spotty, Toby, and Packy followed, barking noisily. I got up and called the dogs to me. But the rapid-fire explosions were so loud I could not hear my own voice as I spoke. The ear-splitting crackles, amplified within the walls of our house, got louder and louder. We tried to cover the dogs' ears as a last resort but they kept shaking our hands off. They were on alert mode and extremely anxious.

      The explosions lasted a long and agonizing 45 seconds while the dogs yelled with all their might to try to make it go away. When it finally ended, they were exhausted, eyes glinting, worried that that the sounds might come again.
      Now it was my turn to be concerned. New Year's Eve was less than 15 minutes away. It seemed my training session wasn't going to work against what we were up against.

      Last year, when media bombarded us with advice on how to protect pets from the firecrackers of New Year, I tried gathering the dogs in an air conditioned room with the curtains drawn and a TV playing on the night of New Year's. But they stayed as long as I stayed there with them. Once I stepped out to watch the spectacle outside, they crowded the door to go out with me.

      I was still trying to figure out what to do (and I didn't want to miss the New Year's Eve fireworks) when our Chinese neighbor lit the second Judas Belt. The loud machine gun fire filled our ears and drowned everything else. The dogs jumped up in fear and barked in agitation. I had all our doors closed to muffle the sound somewhat but it helped little. The explosions crackled loudly, filled the atmosphere with smoke and threw paper debris all over the street and into neighbors' yards and roofs. It seemed an eternity.

      But soon as it ended and we were able to breathe a sigh of relief a third Judas Belt followed and the dogs flipped again. 

      Another eternity of nervous exhaustion. Outside, the sky lit up in all directions with all sorts of colorful explosions. It was New Year's Eve. It's a time nobody wants to miss.

      When the third Judas Belt was finally spent, it was past the stroke of midnight. There followed pyrotechnic fountains and varied other small fireworks but no more Judas Belts. The dogs had survived another New Year's Eve but not without extreme distress. I looked around our house and it was smokey. So was our front garden with its shrapnel of paper debris and small tubes of cardboard from which the Judas Belt is strung of. I looked out into our street and saw a carpet of paper on the road -- and two house help of our Chinese neighbor sweeping them up into hills. The mess left behind covered the frontage of 6 neighbors' houses on both sides of the street.

      I realize now we have no other way but to shut the dogs out next New Year's Eve -- with someone willing to sacrifice the spectacle of that night by staying with them at the stroke of 12. That someone might be me. I'm their leader, am I not?

      I have to be with them next time. I will not let this happen again. 

     

 

Remembering Toby

He was one of us. I never realized how much until it was time to bury him.

Toby: January 26, 2007 - February 3, 2014. Thanks for the memories, boy.

      This morning I woke up to the song of birds outside my window. But this was a new song. I've never heard it before. Like all bird songs it was happy and chirpy. I had to look out to see two or three cream-chested fat birds perched on a cable wire. Oh. I've seen those birds before. But they had a new song this morning. 

      Last night was a difficult night for us here at the house. Outside in our garden on a wrought iron table, the remains of our second Dalmatian, Toby, laid in a large dog food bag. I had made the decision last night to put the dog to sleep. When we got home from the vet clinic, it was too late to dig a hole in the backyard. So we had to wait for tomorrow.

      Toby was a difficult dog to live with. In one of my past blogs ("The Lesson of Toby About Separation") I wrote about how he came to live with us. He was rehomed to me. I accepted him because I thought he could follow in Spot's footsteps as my next agility dog. I had come to love Dalmatians because of Spotty and I had wanted another one.

      But the problem with adopting dogs that come from another home is that they come to you with issues if they were not happy in their first home (worse if they were maltreated). Toby did not do well with his first family because they could not understand him. He had a severe separation anxiety. They punished him for that. The dog was also hyperactive, excitable, and nervous.

      I had a dog school that time at a local park so dogs was my business. At home life revolved around them too. When Toby came to live with us, he had three rowdy playmates he was happy to see. At his first home he had no playmates. He was alone and was often caged. At my house, he ran about freely. He could run in and out of the house. Every morning when I went to my dog school he would hop in the car for a day in the park. I'd teach him the obstacle course. He'd come home hot and exhausted. But happy. 

      On days I don't bring him to the park Lourdes or I walked him around the neighborhood twice a day. Oh yes, I know enough about Dalmatians. Toby was a young dog and this breed needed plenty of outlets for their bounding energy.

      But on other matters, the dog was difficult to manage. He had fear aggressions. His attention span was seconds. He didn't like strong handling. He was very sensitive. When we run him on the obstacle course he must be leashed. A split-second distraction and the dog will stop and bark wildly at another dog. Or when he feels like it he will just stray away. He was difficult to command. 

      One day he latched himself to Lourdes and followed her around wherever she went. He refused to be separated from her. Lourdes was home all day. I used to leave the house everyday and come home at night. That's when I lost the dog from my control. He preferred Lourdes infinitely more.

      Dog behaviorist Fred Alimusa helped a few times in my trying to understand Toby. He taught me how to introduce the dog to others. He explained that Toby's aggressive behavior around new dogs was simply based on fear.

Expert dog behaviorist Fred Alimusa shows how a fearful dog like Toby can be introduced to another dog.

      As the years passed, Toby demonstrated his utmost loyalty and preference more to Lourdes. When we watch television in the evenings he loved to snuggle beside Lourdes, claiming her for the night. I would call it Toby's "bonding time" with his mama. This was when Lourdes could check his fur but to the dog it was his nightly body massage which would send him to blissful sleep.We had very few "bonding" moments. But when I plan a walk out to the fields with Spot, Toby gets to come along. It's always a visual delight to see two spotted dogs frolicking in the green. They stand out in the scenery.

      Though caring for this dog was burdensome, he had his antics. He emerged as Packy's "back-up singer" whenever the church bells in our neighborhood rang everyday. He howled passionately and with all his heart. It was amusing to watch the dog stretch his neck to the high heavens as he delivered his best song for the day.
      When I thought of training the dogs tricks, I started with what mannerism each dog tends to do naturally and Toby was the one who suggested the "High 5." I just had to refine it. It turned out to be his best trick. In public when I'd show his admirers what he can do, he'd look fittingly like a circus dog sitting on his hind legs delivering the High 5.
     I also remember the struggles I had trying to teach the dog how to stand on his haunches.  I was just learning how to teach and I remembered Fred telling me that there is no canned way for a dog to learn a trick. It's more to find a way how I can make Toby understand what I want him to do. Finally Toby understood and during one session he just sat up. He looked so cute that he'd sit on his haunches every time I would give him treats. 

      He was a gentleman too, whenever he'd get his treat: always carefully extracting the biscuit from my fingers -- unlike Spot's tendency to always grab that you sometimes feel you might lose a finger.

     In 2009, when we had our first experience with a robber before dawn, it was Toby who chased the intruder, his low voice booming up the driveway as the frightened robber fled out our gate. He had the voice of a big dog. It was very effective. 

Toby shows his enjoyment for chorus singing with Packy.

      But late 2013, his health problems started. It started with a constant ear itch. We thought it was either a flea or dirty ear wax, thus our failure to have his complaint looked into by a vet at once. I don't know now if that ear infection had any connection with his seizures. One day the right ear flap bloated. We brought him to the vet that October.

      It was during treatment of that ear he had his first seizure. We went back to the vet for tests. He received his first dose of phenobarbital where he remained seizure-free for the whole month of November.

      But this was not to last. In December another vet that handled Toby's case pointed to the possibility of the ear infection triggering the seizures. So his approach was to treat the ear infection first. He took off the phenobarbital. This was before the holidays. 

      We had a horrible time during the holidays as Toby's seizures returned. Once, he had them 3 times in one day. Soon as the university vet hospital opened that January, I brought the dog back. The phenobarbital prescription was returned. It also revealed Toby had renal failure already.

      After a week the dog started to have seizures again. It's heart rending to watch a dog in convulsion. The first time I saw him break up into spasms up close it was pitiful. My heart went out to him. He feels no pain but to see the whites of his eyes bulge as he foams at the mouth, urinates, and convulses uncontrollably is a clear sign of terror. He can't understand what is happening to him.

      During this period, when he was visibly sick, I noticed Toby always coming to me. Any change of behavior I take note and for the dog to always want to be near me was somewhat disturbing. He never recognized me before as anybody special in his life. A friend of mine warned, "He wants to say good-bye." 

    The dog was seizure-free for a week. But he whined a lot. Lourdes demanded impatiently, "What do you want?" He was also restless and sometimes agitated. We could find no reason. I thought maybe the phenobarbital was affecting him somehow and planned to ask his vet about it. Then on the week before our follow-up visit the seizures started again. I called his vet at the university hospital and made an appointment for the following day.
      But by afternoon, the dog was clearly in distress and I couldn't wait for tomorrow. The university vet hospital was already closed. So I paid a visit to a veteran vet, a by-word in the industry, who was Spot's puppy vet. I wanted to compare notes. It turned out Toby was under-dosed but I was advised to ask his vet why. Maybe there was a reason. She mentioned maybe Toby's kidneys could not process the phenobarbital anymore.

      We never made it to that university vet hospital appointment. That night, Toby had more seizures. I called up the veteran vet asking if I could up his dose. She recommended two tablets at once. Lourdes gave them to Toby. But it seemed they didn't work anymore. The dog would try to relax under a table because every episode was exhausting. But we'd get surprised when suddenly we'd see him convulse an hour later. Then the next hour. And the next. And the next.

     Finally I got up from my chair in mid-dinner. I was noting down the hours in my smartphone and noticing the frequency was too much. His first was at 2:30pm, followed at 4:00pm, then 5:25pm, 6:30pm, 7:15, then at 8:30pm. The dog was visibly exhausted. How could he recuperate if he convulses every hour? He might not last the night. His strength was ebbing but the convulsions were violent. I cannot stand to see another seizure as it was heartbreaking. I knew it in my heart -- it was time. I made the call to a nearby vet.
      As I was making the preparations for that trip to the vet, I saw Toby rise weakly from under the table and limp towards the front door. I thought he might want to pee, a behavior all my dogs do. But the door was closed because the other dogs we had shepherded to go outside when Toby started his seizures. Fearing they might pounce on him should that door open, I directed Toby to go out the garden and drew open the sliding door. But I suddenly closed it at the thought that he might crawl under some nook outside and we may not be able to pull him out. Toby stopped and wedged himself between the wall and a large military trunk near the entrance going outside.
      We were about to go already, the back of the SUV covered with a blanket. We had to get Toby in it for his last car ride. Lourdes reached down in that tight corner where the dog had inserted himself, coaxing him to come out. The dog refused to inch forward.
      "Come out now," I heard her say. "Time to say good-bye."
      I realized now there was a significance in that last moment of the dog in our house. Toby had tried to go away, to die away from us. He too, knew it was time.

Toby during better days.

       Toby made no resistance as we lifted his weakened body on a rug and Lourdes and I loaded him into my SUV. Riding in my car was always his favorite and much-awaited experience. He always rode it together with Spot. But this time he was going to ride it alone. I spoke to the dog cheerfully, as if we were going on a trip he always looked forward to. He raised his head when I shut the door then laid it back down again.

      At the clinic, Toby rested on the table exhausted as the vet inquired on his health situation. Maybe our twice monthly visits to the university vet hospital helped because Toby was used to going to clinics. Though this was his first time at this particular clinic, he laid quietly. I talked to him encouragingly, stroked his head slowly, and praised him for what a good boy he was. Then the vet administered the sedation shot. The dog drifted off peacefully, relieved probably that now he could rest. Then the shots to the heart until it stopped.

      Lourdes stayed outside the car because she couldn't bear to be there with Toby. We had brought an empty sack but when the remains were carried out, it was slid inside a big cheerful dog food bag. The vet assistant looked like we had just bought a big sack of dog food. It lightened our spirits for awhile.

      When we got home, I let the other dogs see what had happened to Toby. Though I did not open the bag I let my boys sniff so they will understand that Toby will be no more. That's their closure to one of their pack members.

 

Summer fun: Spot (second from right, in blue backpack) and Toby (foreground, in orange harness) with Dominic on a day trek up Mount Makiling in Laguna with other dog owners with their pets.

      The next day as my household prepared a hole in the back of our house, I realized I have to be there too. Though I was not close to him, he was one of us, a member of the family. I followed Lourdes and her son Dominic carry the bag of remains to the site where Dominic had painstakingly dug a hole. I stood as Lourdes first shoveled in the earth. Then Dominic, his dog walker, followed.

     

      I didn't know how much Toby was a part of us until it was time to bury him. Even if he was a difficult dog to care for, his presence filled a place in our home life. Even if he was rowdy and noisy during meal times, hard to control when he's excited, refused to obey commands, peed at the wrong places (especially at the rim of my car!), hard to walk because he kept getting out of the "Heel" position, barked too much at times, and failed in my plans for him to be my next agility dog because of his emotional issues, even those irritating habits filled a place in our life at home with him.

      Now the house is quieter. His big barking voice and high singing howls we will hear no more.

      Run free now, Toby. Your seizures are over.

Toby frolicks in the meadow off leash.

      

     

   

      

     

     

Thanks for the Magic

If he was a disappointment, it's because he had other things to contribute. He was not meant to be in competition sports.

Toby (right) inspects a newly picked basket of rambutan fruits while Spotty (behind) looks on.

      I used to wake up in the early morning to the amusing sound of dogs howling at the cathedral bells ringing behind our house announcing the 6:00 A.M. Mass. 

      Packy would start the chorus, of course. He would give out a long doggy howl then break it into raps. Toby would pick it up soon after, stretching his neck to deliver a long and soul-satisfying howl. He would follow it with more whenever he'd pause to catch his breath. Spot would come in sporadically with low bass moans. Toto was a pleasant revelation. When I heard him yipping recently, it brought a smile to my face as I laid in my bed. Toto was learning to sing too, finally. 

      But it's three days since Toby left us for good and the dogs have been quiet. For three days whenever the church bells rang, Packy, the pack instigator, would not sing. 

      Okay, so I understand he's mourning. Yesterday, when I took Lourdes out to lunch (for a "debriefing") for her seven years of caring for Toby, she mentioned how Packy, during the night, would look at the vacant corner where his other packmate used to sleep. "He's looking for Toby," she observed. 

      This morning I was up when those bells started to ring and I thought of reviving the doggy chorus. I saw Toto and told him, "Sing," giving him the hand signal. Toto just stood up and danced around on his hind legs. No, he wasn't going to sing. I saw Spot and gave the same command. Spot looked at me, lowered his ears, then shifted his eyes. Nope, he wasn't going to do it either.
      Finally Packy emerged from his corner. "Sing," I commanded, giving the signal of my four fingers closing against my thumb and opening them again. Packy looked, understood the command, and started to howl. But he didn't last. Toby used to pick it up. He used to be the back-up singer. But Toby was no more. Packy stopped.

      I regretted doing it. It brought out strongly the missing presence.

    

The singing duo

      We're all still in the mourning phase since Toby has gone and the passage of time seems long. Yes, I used to think he was annoying and a waste of money on my part. Seven years ago when I consented to adopt him I had hoped I could train him for agility so I could appear in trials again with a new Dalmatian. He had a great lean body, was quick, and could zip through the air effortlessly. He loved to run. But this dog had emotional issues and was too nervous. That was my major disappointment in him, making me feel it was a waste of money on my part to feed such a "useless" dog.

      But it turned out he wasn't "useless." If he was a disappointment, it's because he had other things to contribute. Toby was an adopted dog and he taught me how to rehome his kind. Most dog owners think to fill a dog with hugs and kisses and clothe them in funny outfits would make a dog happy. If he was a child, yes, that would work. But he's a dog and his needs are not human.

      It was Spot, four years earlier, who led the way. Spot introduced me to the world of dogs, of dog training, and of life with them. Dalmatians are high energy dogs and when he was young, we had to endure damage around the house whenever his twice daily walks were interrupted, especially during the rainy season.
     One day I discovered a jogging trail at a local park along the river in the next town and the trek took 3 kilometers back and forth. That was a perfect place for me to practice my heeling position with him, plus other basic commands which I could now apply. When we got home after that first trek, Spot collapsed in his bed and fell into a deep sleep. Too exhausted to be a ball of energy. Ah, so that was the secret of satisfying a restless dog.

      We had another maid that time, named Rose, who was an early riser. She would feed the dogs early in the morning. Spot, she reported, would rise when he'd hear the clatter of their bowls in the kitchen, have his breakfast, then collapse back into his bed to sleep some more. 

      All week I'd see a happy and well-behaved dog. When the restlessness starts to build up again, I'd pack Spot in the car and off we'd go to that jogging trail. I could see his needs were high. Spot was being walked twice a day already and after awhile the longer trek had to supplement. That brought me to the idea of bringing him around, to other parks, to long treks, and other physical activities to tire him out and satisfy his doggy soul. 

      When Toby came into my life he was seven months old. Oh-uh. Another young Dalmatian. I sought to fill this dog's life with plenty of activities like I did with Spot.

       It wasn't hard, anyway. I had a dog school at a local park by that time. 

     Toby adjusted very well with us. His first owner, Roy, had offered him to me for rehoming because of personal troubles at his house. When I brought him home, the dog was very curious of everything happening around him. He'd walk around the house to peep into the rooms to check on everybody. He'd carry an expression as if to say, "Hey, what's going on there? Can I join in?"  then he'd enter to be part of the activity. He had playmates. He had walks. He had many car trips. He loved looking out the car window at the passing scenery, eyes alert, head snapping in many directions. He was intensely interested in his new life with us.

Toby (left) and Spot (right) dressed as vampire dogs on their way to a Halloween event.

      For a rehoming to be successful, it's vitally important that the dog find a life better than the last one he lived in. When Roy would visit us at the dog school with Toby as a puppy at four months old, I'd see the dog loved and cuddled like a little child. Toby loved that, of course, but it made him very dependent on his master. Three months later when he was rehomed to me, I had to plan an elaborate good-bye every time Roy had to leave after visiting him at the dog school (see my post, "The Lesson of Toby on Separation"). We had to distract Toby when Roy turned to go so the dog would not follow.

      I didn't know just how dependent that dog was to his first master until an incident happened at the dog school. Toby was already living with me. But Roy still came to the school to visit him, bringing many gifts -- a red collar, bananas, treats, etc. He would take the dog around the park for a walk and afterwards they would return. This particular afternoon, Roy had come back with Toby and tied the dog to a rail. Then he announced he was leaving. But it was a busy Saturday afternoon and our marshals were busy. So Roy, unable to wait, turned to leave and the dog saw him go.

      The dog barked furiously and tugged at his leash as he saw his former master walk away. He kept pulling until the leash loosened and made a beeline for Roy down the jogging lane. I saw a black-and-white blur gallop out the grounds and knew it was Toby. I saw the dog catch up on Roy, trembling with joy as he crouched ecstatically at his feet. He did not understand that Roy had already given him away. He thought Roy would bring him along to his old home. It was an emotional scene.

      Roy patiently picked up his leash and brought him back to the dog school. One of the marshals got the dog and gave him a round around the agility course while Roy slipped out again. When Toby returned back to where he last saw Roy, his head turned in all directions looking for his former master who had disappeared.

      But when the day ended and it was time to go home, Toby hopped inside my car along with the other dogs to go home with me. He didn't looked for Roy again.

      

      My test to see if my rehoming effort was successful was when I planned a reunion with Toby and Roy a few years later at the park. The dog school was there no more but we still walked our pets there. I observed Toby while Roy talked to us about the new joy of his life, a new granddaughter. I feared the dog might lunge at Roy in ecstatic joy like he did that time. But Toby stayed cool, listening to Roy's voice, maybe trying to recall. By that time, between Roy and me, he had stayed with me longer. He was with Roy only for seven months.

      Finally he gave a happy bark. He had identified Roy. But he did not move from his position beside Dominic who was holding him. Roy came to him and the two had a warm reunion. But Toby stayed where he was. He did not move towards Roy when Roy backed away.

      Closure. Toby had decided. He was happier with us.

City dog Toby stretches his legs happily in a meadow at the state university.

      So Toby preferred to be a part of our home. But he was hard to care for. He didn't like strong handling. He didn't bond with me. He preferred Lourdes, who spoiled him like a grandson and tolerated all his misbehavior. That would undo all of my attempts to tow him in line.

      His separation anxiety was severe. That was the reason he got rehomed. His first family could not understand it and found him a destructive pest. I understood it but because Lourdes was flattered by it, it could not be corrected. All day as Lourdes puttered around the house I'd see him follow her around from room to room. Outside as she'd do the laundry, I'd see her "guarded" by two dogs -- Packy who watched her from the front, and Toby who settled in the back. I joked to Lourdes that nobody can sneak up on her.

      But he could be manipulative. I taught him to go downstairs at midnight instead of peeing in the living room by giving him a biscuit every time he'd come up the house. It was successful the first few weeks. Then one night I noticed he went down twice. He went down the first time, disappeared for several seconds, then came up to get his biscuit.  Then he made a U-turn and went down again. Maybe a second call? He appeared soon after to get his second biscuit. But one night, I got suspicious. His second return was too fast. The next time he went downstairs a second time I looked out the window. I saw the dog at the bottom of the stairs but suddenly he made a U-turn to go back up again. He made no bathroom call. He just wanted a second biscuit!

      He was an aggravation. At mealtime he barked constantly, refusing to be commanded to be silent and to wait. He had a big voice so I'm sure he was a disturbance to the neighbors. When it comes to walking in the park, I loved bringing the two dogs out in public because they were a visual attraction. But Toby was not as obedient as Spot. He refused to follow his position as second dog. When I bring the two Dalmatians out for a ride, he always insisted on being out the car first (and in first). He constantly tugged at his leash because his attention was always scattered. He couldn't focus unlike Spot. As a consequence, when it comes to crowded places such as in dog events, I could not bring Toby along. Too much stimuli for his nerves, I guess. 

    

My pride: Spotty (back) and Toby (foreground). 

      But regardless of how I looked at the dog as an annoyance, I saw how his presence enriched our lives here when he was gone. He was not cute and cuddly, or a constant delight unlike so many other dogs we hear about from their owners. Or read about in books. But no matter how they are, Toby taught that every dog is priceless for what they do to you once they become a part of your life.

      Every dog is a magical being.

      

                 

Toby's Packmates are Attacking Him

Why were my dogs attacking Toby when he was in seizure?

     
     "I think Toby has epilepsy," Lourdes told me one afternoon. She described a scene I could not fathom: that of our second Dalmatian Toby convulsing on the floor then getting up groggily after the episode. Spot and Toby had been going to the vet at that time because of a persistent ear itch. Spot's ear scratching, it turned out, was due to a fungal infection. Toby's was bacterial.
      But at our next follow-up visit, I forgot to inform the vet about this new development of Toby. I hadn't seen whatever it was Lourdes was telling me about. How could I describe it to the vet?
      One afternoon, however, I saw it. We were downstairs when I suddenly heard Lourdes shouting and shooing off the dogs. I looked in her direction and saw Toby from afar, down on his side, eyes open, legs paddling. I called all the dogs to go upstairs.
      This was a new issue to bring up to the vet, of course, so the next day I loaded the two Dalmatians in my SUV for a trip to the vet hospital (Spot comes along for "moral support"). Toby's case was looked into.

Toby (left) nudges heads with Spot (right) while napping. I hope we find the solution to his ailment. It is heart rending to watch a dog in seizure.

      It's more challenging to subject a sensitive dog, like Toby, to tests. During the blood sampling the timing is crucial. Before the whites of the dog's eyes show up (indicating fear), we have to distract him with a mouthwatering whiff of barbecued meats which we always bring along (our vet survival kit). Sometimes we cover his eyes so he does not see the bending of the vet and assistant around him. We try to keep his nose busy, his mind distracted. I stay apart, giving Dominic instructions, as I see the process from afar so I can gauge the timing of our "barbecue" intervention. Too many heads concerned around Toby could make the dog anxious. I remind Dominic to stay calm.

      Finally, blood sampling, ecg, and x-ray later, we got some analysis. The dog's creatinine level was high. He also had water in the lungs. His heart was enlarged.

      Toby got his first prescription medicine: phenobarbital. He also got some medicines for his heart and a diuretic to make him urinate more often, to get the fluids out of his body.
      The phenobarbital worked well, the dog ceased to have any episodes for a whole month. But the vet had to reduce the dosage after a month because pheno can be addictive and its residues can damage the liver. On a reduced phenobarbital dosage, Toby's seizures returned and I saw one up close.  

      The dog was lounging under my worktable while I was at the computer beside it. Suddenly I heard him shake his head violently from side to side, the way dogs do when they shake themselves dry. I saw the dog on his elbows and flinging his head side to side with such intensity. That caught my attention. Ordinarily, a dog would shake his head 3 to 4 times. But Toby was doing it many times with no slowing down. Then the dog fell on his side and the convulsion started. I called Lourdes to lead the other dogs downstairs.

      I stayed at Toby's side as I watched the seizure. The dog's eyes bulged open in fear. I had read enough about seizures to know he feels no pain. But his joints were locked and he foamed at the mouth as his body contracted with spasms. The convulsion lasted less than a minute. Then the dog drunkenly tried to get up. He was disoriented and his balance was shot. But he strove to find a corner where he could hide or rest, like go to his corner at the back of the house.
     Before he got to the back of the house, Toby saw Lourdes and approached her for assurance, his balance more steady. Soon after that, he seemed alright, as if nothing happened.

Happy times. Spot (left) and Toby (right) chase each other at a friend's farm in Silang, Cavite.

      It was our problem with the other dogs that started my inquest. Lourdes claimed the other dogs attack Toby when he's convulsing. The first time he had an episode, according to her, the dogs were alone in the house and she was downstairs. When she heard the dogs barking in commotion, she went upstairs to see Toby writhing on the floor, the other dogs nipping at his legs. She immediately concluded Toby was having an epileptic seizure and that the other dogs were biting him. She shooed them all away.
   I went online to visit several sites about this. How do you manage other dogs when they see their packmate down with seizure? Toby's episodes were unpredictable. What would happen if the dog has a convulsion and none of us were around? Would the other dogs attack him? I was saddened at the loss of my best mentor, Fred Alimusa, the country's top dog behaviorist who had died two years earlier. I wanted a professional explanation of the dogs' behavior, not just speculation from dog owners.
    The sites I visited had many posts from dog owners claiming their other dogs had gone for the kill when one of their pack members had gone down with a seizure. I was sad to hear that. What will I do with Toby? Rehome him? The dog is attached to Lourdes.

     One morning, I was taking a shower when I heard a commotion outside. I heard Lourdes yelling and yelling for her son, Dominic. I knew what was going on. Toby was having a seizure. I heard Lourdes screaming at the dogs. Later I heard a loud whacking sound as I heard her continue to yell. She was hitting one of the dogs. Then I heard Toby yelping. Oh my God. He's being attacked.

      By the time I got out of the shower, Lourdes and Dominic were able to separate the dogs. I saw Toby sweaty and bloodied. He was still groggy. Dominic was keeping the other dogs outside.
      Something was so wrong. Now the other dogs seemed to be getting into the kill.

     For several days I thought about what happened and analyzed it carefully. Maybe something was here. I remembered the movie, Eight Below starring the late Paul Walker, about 8 sled dogs abandoned at the South Pole for several months until rescued. The movie featured the life of a pack of dogs left to themselves. There was no violence there. Whenever a packmate was injured one of his pack members stayed behind to keep him company until the former died.

      Then why were my dogs attacking Toby when he was in seizure?

     They didn't attack him the first time when none of us were around. Maybe they nipped his legs to try to make him get up?

      What was the difference now? What made the dogs inflict injury to the downed dog?

      The cause was Lourdes.

      Lourdes was in hysteria. The other dogs had gotten excited because of her and had ganged up on Toby.

      If I follow the oft-repeated teachings of the Mexican dog whisperer in the US, Cesar Millan, dogs reflect the sentiments of their owner. If the owner is emotional, dogs easily get excited under that influence. That's why in the face of a stressful situation, it's extremely important for the owner to stay calm. To show leadership, the owner must stay calm and be assertive of authority. Dogs naturally obey a calm and assertive person, identifying him to be their leader. That's how they are in their natural pack and that's wired in their genes.
     Following that direction of thought, I theorized that the dogs, being highly protective, had gotten excited by Lourdes's hysterical behavior. They got into the kill because Toby's behavior had upset Lourdes and they wanted to "protect" her. Lourdes, meanwhile, in her highly emotional state, was in no position to display the leadership qualities of a calm and assertive authority. She could not control Spot, who had started to inflict serious injuries to Toby in his excitement.

      During the Christmas break, Toby had more frequent seizures, much to my disappointment. The vet had decided to concentrate on the dog's ear infection, a suspect in triggering the seizures. He took the phenobarbital off. One afternoon, I had just arrived when I heard the familiar sound of Toby shaking his head violently a few meters away from me. I saw him fall on his side at the doorway a few meters away from where I was standing. This was my chance to test my theory. I cleared the space around the convulsing dog and kept calm. I called to Dolor to hold off the dogs who were at the back of the house with her waiting for meal time. But Toto came. He saw Toby writhing on the floor and a growl emanated from his throat. He was about to approach the downed dog when I immediately took my stand of authority. "Halt!" I commanded firmly, as I stood straight, holding my palm upwards at him, like a traffic cop.

      Toto backed off.

      Toby was able to pass his episode and later rested on the floor where he fell. I kept him under my watch as I spoke to him soothingly. Later, as he felt better, the dog strove to get up, struggled a bit with his balance, but recovered soon after.

      I hope this theory is the solution. I've read way too many posts in many websites from dog owners claiming their convulsing dog got attacked by their other dogs. But I did read one post about how one owner sent his other dogs to their crates while their packmate was in seizure. The latter was able to pass his episode unharmed. 

      I told Lourdes NEVER to panic when she sees Toby in seizure and the other dogs happen to be nearby. But I don't know if she will be able to do this. I don't know if she will be able to command Spot to back off. I only hope until we find the solution to Toby's ailment, his episodes will occur under manageable circumstances, i.e. when I'm at home to command the dogs.

     

Toby during his younger days. He's a purebred, unlike Spot who has a small Labrador mix, but is also visually appealing. . 

     

     

When a Dog Asks to be Adopted

You’ll never forget that one special dog who asked to be adopted.

Especially if you turned him down.

 

Happy is the dog with a home and master. If only every dog could have one.

Christmas is a very long season in the Philippines. As soon as the “-ber” months start (September) I start hearing Christmas songs on the radio (worse, at the malls!). That’s marketing gimmickry, of course, a reminder for shoppers to start piling up their gift stock.

 I watch the TV news regularly and they start a countdown to Christmas starting from 100 days away.

 Highlight of the season starts two weeks before Christmas Day. December 16 is the start of what they call Misa de Gallo. This is a novena series of 9 days, a lineup of 9 Masses said at dawn until December 24. Foreigners are surprised to find all Catholic churches in the Philippines nationwide packed to overflowing at those early morning Masses.

 These dawn Masses start the feeling of excitement upon the coming of the much-awaited Big Day. Amidst the glitter of twinkling Christmas lights small foodstalls surround the churches and it’s become a tradition for families to proceed to these stalls for the native cakes, hot chocolate, and other pre-breakfast treats after the Mass.

 I was at the local park when I saw the sign that there would be a Misa de Gallo there. It will be an open-air Mass, to be held in one of the gardens. This appealed to me since I will not be jostling with a crowd of churchgoers. I love that park in the early mornings. In 2007 when my dog school used to be there I would appear at the park every morning to see it come alive with activity.

Thus, that early morning of December 16, I arrived at the park to find it still lighted by street lamps because the sky was still black. The rays of the dawn had not yet appeared. I had awakened Spot to come with me because I looked forward to having a walk with him after the Mass at the crack of dawn, and enjoy a leisurely breakfast in one of the outdoor cafes with a newspaper and my dog beside me as I watch the joggers go by.

 At the garden, I noticed a young stray dog befriending the Mass goers as they arrived. Still of juvenile age, he wagged his tail when he saw Spot and invited him to play. I remembered the park rules during my time with the dog school and wondered why the dog had no collar or leash. But I commanded Spot to stay with me.

 The dog disappeared then re-appeared among the crowd, a charming guy and still very young. In the end, he elected to stay around Spot and me. Before the Mass was over the dog disappeared so I had my walk with Spot, had a leisurely breakfast afterwards, then I drove home.

 The next dawn morning as I arrived with Spot at the park, the dog was there again at the garden. We were a loose crowd of Mass goers so I elected to sit apart because I had Spot. But that stray chose to stay with me again.

 I could not forget that friendly fellow and wondered if anybody owned him. He was young, healthy and open to strangers. He was very adoptable. I even wondered if I could bring him home. Whenever he saw Spot and me, the dog would gravitate to us.

 After my third dawn Mass and breakfast, I headed to my SUV and packed Spot in the back. I was getting ready to put the gear in reverse when I saw the dog try to reach for me from the passenger side of my vehicle and whine. Was he trying to follow me? I stopped the engine and got out of the car intending to coax the dog to enter the SUV. I was resolved to bring him home.

 But the dog fled when he saw me approach him.

 That set my thoughts into action. The dog wanted to go home with me. I decided I will get him if he tries to do that again.

 Yet at the same time, my mind was in conflict. I had other dogs at home. How will they take this stranger? I remembered the ritual of introducing dogs to each other. I didn’t know enough about it because I’ve never done it. Theoretically, it would be best if I brought all the dogs to meet each other in a neutral place. What neutral place, I wondered. My dogs walk all over our neighborhood twice a day that they could stake as their territory several blocks of it. So where is that neutral territory? And who can I mobilize at home to help me  -- to haul off all our dogs to that neutral territory to meet the new member of their specie who wants to live with them?

 Regardless, on my fourth morning at the park, I had an extra leash with me. The friendly youngster was there again and I coaxed him to stay with Spot and me. He willingly obliged. After the Mass I had a short walk with Spot and the dog followed us off-leash. I chose a café where I could have breakfast and with Spot on my right side, I guided the dog to join me at my left outside a low railing. After we had all settled, I looped a leash around the dog’s neck. The dog accepted it.

 But my inner tumult arose. Though the dog wanted to be with me I didn’t know if I was ready for him. I kept remembering my other dogs at home and how I will have to set up this elaborate canine ritual of getting-to-know-you.

 By strange coincidence, I saw one of the park maintenance crew who still remembered me. I mentioned the stray dog that I kept seeing at the dawn Mass and pointed it to him. The man remarked that he knew the dog and that nobody owned him. He was just a stray that walked into the park from nowhere. I mentioned being not sure if I could bring him home. The man said he knew of another maintenance crew who would want him.

 Good, I said. Are you sure he will take care of this dog well?

 The man assured me the dog will be taken care of. He disappeared for awhile to look for some rope. A few minutes later, he returned with a length of straw which he looped around the dog. I slipped my leash off. When the man tugged at the rope to pull the dog away from me, the dog fought and protested. I had given him away.

 My conscience gnawed at me terribly as I saw that youngster hauled away against his will. After breakfast, I made one last attempt to find that maintenance man just to assuage my guilt pangs. A fellow worker pointed me to the old skating rink which was now walled off for renovations. I went there. I pushed the gate open and in the distance I saw the dog, tied to a rail, fighting his leash and protesting loudly at what had befallen him.

 I turned away quickly. I wish I had known what to do at that moment.

 

A happy Toby beside his caregiver. I adopted him from an abusive home.

I stopped going to the dawn Masses after that because the early morning chill had gotten to me and I got sick for several days. When I recovered, the Masses were no more. I never went back to the park. I never saw that dog again.

During my long talks with our local dog whisperer, Fred Alimusa, I once mentioned to him that dog that wanted to be adopted. Some 3 years had passed – and I still could not forget the incident. A dog had approached me asking me to adopt him.

But I had turned him down.

“I now know what to do if ever a dog — any dog — should come to me asking to be adopted,” I said. “Bring him home.”

Fred agreed and said he knew how I felt. He recalled a similar incident when he was still living in the United States. A German Shepherd had come to him while he was mowing the lawn. Busy with work, he could not be bothered. But that dog kept coming back to him every morning while he was fixing the garden. A week later, he realized what the German Shepherd was trying to say to him and decided the next time he sees that dog, he will take him in.   

That next time never came because the dog stopped coming. The city pound had caught him.

Seldom do we get approached by a homeless stray asking to be adopted. I realize now as a lost dog tries to survive the streets looking for a place to stay he sees countless humans everyday and qualifies who among them he would like to live with. If he’s chosen you, it’s because he knows you have that touch that can give him a forever home.

Don’t turn him down.

 

Happy is the dog with a master and caregiver. He grows up healthy, secure, and fulfilled.