What to do at a Doggy Birthday Party

A doggy birthday cake

      Isn’t that what dogs do to people? Bring them together and leave happy memories behind?

      What do you do at a doggy birthday party? When we put up a dog school at a local park, my dog Spotty’s birthday was 3 months away. Thus, we launched the dog school at our star mascot’s 5th birthday.
      We had a growing clientele because the school was a popular Saturday morning hangout of dog lovers. My associate Sally and I envisioned lots of ideas for them. The school was new, we were inspired, and we were pioneering dog agility sports in the metro. We were the newest attraction in the park.
      The trouble with party planning is that you initially brim with bright and witty ideas – some good others way off. But as time passes, the list shortens, or you adjust as you go along. But the big day is coming and time runs short. So from among our list of ideas the following (realistic) activities survived:
      1. School blessing of the grounds and facilities
      2. Fun Awarding ceremony
      3. Dog agility demo
      4. Snack time
      5. Birthday Cake blowing and group photo
      6. Mini competition in basic obedience
      7. Great Dog Games
      8. Awarding ceremonies of winners

      Pet companies are often eager to sponsor high-visibility events such as ours in a public park so we had prizes galore. But you have to send your proposals way ahead and follow them up diligently so they don’t end up informing you of your pickup time the afternoon before the party (or worse – the morning of the big day!). But since these sponsors may sometimes send a representative to attend, these officers may bring the goods over on that day.
      We had prizes for the games, prizes for the contests, and bags of giveaways for guests to bring home. Other sponsors we contacted were an events-party supplier that agreed to do our party décor and a popular restaurant in the park that agreed to handle a snack buffet table.

Spot had two birthday cakes that day.  The chocolate cake (left) was given by a friend named Byron.

      On our side, Sally and I worked furiously. Sally designed the invitation cards which we gave to students and friends. She also designed the awarding certificates. We had two kinds: certificates to give to every student, and another for the winners in the competition. But I had to add a gift from the school: a promotional wall clock with every student’s dog printed on the face. Sally and I spent days on this as we purchased the wall clocks and photographic paper, worked on the layouts, edited endlessly, and disassembled each clock so we could paste the dog’s photo (we’ve never done this before so we had to have test samples first of the wall clocks at home).
      For weeks also we researched on doggy birthday cakes, studied various menus and debated if we will bake one – or just buy a regular cake for human consumption. The doggy cake I liked had yoghurt as icing but yoghurt icing will run in tropical weather. It might not even survive a photoshoot!
      In the end, we trashed the doggy cake. We were advocates of “Don’t feed your dog when he goes out,” policy so why feed him at a party? Why risk feeding him tidbits of food all because it’s a birthday occasion then have him poo around the premises? We decided to ignore the dog. A doggy party is for people with dogs, not the other way around.
      But the décor had to have a doggy theme and it was here I had the "great idea" (sarcastically expressed by me) of doing our famous cracker house. I hadn’t done this in decades. My friend Malu had volunteered to do this but on the afternoon before the big event, she called to complain that the sugar wouldn’t caramelize. That was alarming. If the sugar won’t caramelize, it won’t stick the crackers together.
      I rushed to her house all frazzled already by the approaching event. Good thing I called an SOS to a chemist friend of ours named Francis to assess what could have happened. Malu explained that the usual white sugar (I probably did a cracker house 20 years ago and used only white sugar), upon being cooked with a little water to high heat, refused to turn to that familiar brown gooey substance which would be the cracker house’s glue. Instead the sugar would stay white but dry up and become crumbly. That reaction of the sugar was new to me and it was bewildering. Francis remarked that our white sugar may be full of chemicals already. He suggested we buy the raw brown sugar (muscovado) instead.
      Francis and I waded through late afternoon rush hour traffic to go to three supermarkets just to look for that raw brown sugar. Though I still toyed with baking a carrot cake for the dogs, we were faced with a cracker house crisis. We bought a large chocolate cake with butter icing and had a birthday greeting to Spot lettered on top. That decided things. -- a cake for humans to eat but with a doggy decor. Then it was home where we had to struggle with that cracker house.
      We were still up at midnight working. Francis was right; the raw brown sugar was better (less chemicals, obviously). It caramelized and we built the house up by panels. Finally we decorated it with candies and carefully propped it on top of the chocolate cake. What a night. All for the love of a dog.

A sight for sore eyes: party decor! Especially one that matched the birthday dog.

      The following morning, the view of the party venue took all of my stresses away in a snap. Fluttering up in the air as festive buntings were Dalmatian-printed balloons and white curly ribbons over the dog agility playground. What a happy sight for sore eyes. We had specified a black-and-white color theme for the décor to the party specialist but I didn’t know they would go the extra mile by using Dalmatian prints. They also created a big black-and-white balloon arch over the entrance to the school. We walked under that arch our faces glowing with delight. The party venue never looked this good.
      Jonathan was there, dressed in a Dalmatian costume. This Dalmatian costume has gone far. I had this sewn two years earlier when I entered both Jonathan and Spot at a Lookalike contest (who else won but them!). The "Dalmatian Duo" made it on many newspapers after the contest. With Spot in a red party hat and his lookalike handler at the gate to receive our guests, I had two mascots. It was party time!
      The morning started with a blessing of the school and training grounds. Fr Ron started the blessing prayers then with him and his yellow Labrador named Scooby at the head of the line, we trooped around the playground while Fr Ron sprinkled the premises with holy water.
      As we all gathered back to the central area, Fr Ron said a group pet blessing prayer. But I didn’t know he was blessing the dogs until it was all over. I had expected a pet blessing like the one I attended sponsored by PAWS (Philippine Animal Welfare Society) a year ago. In that event, each owner and dog was given a special blessing by the priest (we were over 100!). Anyway, that was a detail I failed to tell Fr Ron so that oversight was my fault.
      After the prayers the spirit of the party took over and it was a Happy Birthday song to 5-year-old Spotty with his lookalike handler. Then it was time for a group picture taking at the table where the birthday cakes were and the Dalmatian Duo sitting in the center.
      First in our agenda was an Obedience Trial.We were a dog school and it was time for us to show what we’ve done the past 3 months and what we have to offer.  There were enough students for this basic obedience trial with three categories: Long Sit, Long Stay, and Fast Recall. Within the categories were 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winners so there were some students who collected more than one winning certificate (and its accompanying gift bag).
      After the trial and to give us time to prepare the certificates with the winners' names, a dog agility demonstration followed next. There were only 3 dogs who could do this and they were Scooby, Fr. Ron’s yellow Labrador; birthday boy Spotty; and a Belgian Malinois named Booger, a dog of our friend Byron (who sent the chocolate cake).

Fr Ron and Scooby

      The demo was successful because just in time, the president of the park decided to answer our invitation that morning and appeared at the school just as the demo was beginning.
      The agility demo seemed to be just a break because it went by so fast. Each dog would round the circuit in seconds and there were only 3 dogs. Booger obliged the audience with some tricks, also a Beagle named Kimchi owned by a friend Mariel for the enjoyment of the guests. Finally it was time for the Obedience Awards and the Fun Awards ceremony.
      The Fun Awards ceremony was our way of saying thanks to our students. We thought up of gifting each student with a comically worded certificate to describe their dog. This was paired with a wall clock with a photo of their pet on the face. We created such certificates as, “Sexiest Black Labrador,” “Fast Learner Award,” “I Love My Boss Award” (a mastiff with separation anxiety), “Karate Kid Award” (a Boston terrier that tended to fly in the air in a fit of aggression against the other dogs), “Most Promising Toy Dog Award” (a quick-learning Mini Pinscher), “Loyalty Award” (a student that enrolled her dog in Basic Obedience then Agility) “GRO Award” (or Guest Relations Officer, addressed to a friendly Beagle that was always accommodating to the male dogs) and “Good Behavior Award.” It was a time for laughs and amusement for everybody and plenty of picture taking. But because the awarding ceremony seemed long, we divided this into two parts to hold off boredom.
      The interactive portion of the party was what we called The Great Dog Games – parlor games designed for the participation of both owner and dog. The first game would have been Musical Chairs but after we saw that most of the dogs at the party were not yet trained for basic obedience, we scrapped that game out. We moved to the next two games called “Tail Wag Game,” and the “Come Here, I Say.” The Tail Wag was a challenge to each dog owner participant to try to make his/her dog’s tail wag by saying ridiculous words to the dog such as funny-sounding vegetables without saying the dog’s name. There was a secret trick to this but if I divulged it, everybody would win. (The secret was to say the vegetable in an excited tone so the dog would absorb the excitement and consequently wag his tail). The “Come Here, I Say” was a recall command with tempting treats along the way. The dog that came to its owner without stopping along the way to pick up a treat was the winner.

It is a source of much hilarity as dog owners try to coax their dogs to wag their tails spontaneously while saying an outrageous word.

      The Fun Awards resumed again, bringing the morning to the much-awaited portion of the party: the Snack Attack. Some of the students had contributed pastries and other food items to add to the buffet. The restaurant sponsor put up a nice long table complete with skirting and floral centerpiece. They served finger food, as per our specification (knowing every student had one hand connected to a dog leash). This was time for bonding and lots of talking, while some guests tried out the equipment with their dogs. Pet companies that sponsored the event had their representatives in attendance – a promise of more sponsorships up ahead for us.
      Finally the party came to a close. It was 3 hours of an eyeful of doggy fun and activities, bonding with friends, photos to take, and food to cap the event. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the day got warmer. It was time to go.
      For weeks after that, I kept receiving photos in the email of the party taken by others. Fr Ron even sent me a cd of Spot’s birthday celebration in powerpoint presentation.
      Now isn’t that what dogs do to people? Bring them together and leave behind happy memories?
      Happy Birthday to Spot!

Spot sits like a sphnix atop the dog walk near a string of his similarly printed balloon decor.

Fr Ron and Scooby lead the line in the blessing of the training grounds of the school as birthday boy Spot follows with his lookalike handler and the other guests. People thought Fr Ron was in "costume" like Jonathan who was in his Dalmatian getup until they found out he was a real priest -- and a student of the school!

Jonathan in his Dalmatian getup gives last-minute instructions to the Basic Obedience participants before the trial begins.

A mini pinscher named Hero (in arms of owner) was our "Most Promising Toy Dog" awardee. Note the computer printed wall clock which we did ourselves. At left is Marco, our emcee.

Spot demonstrates what he had been trained for since he was 10 months old.

Here are some of the party guests. The dog at extreme right is Toby with his master Roy. Three months later, Toby will lose Roy and the dog will go home to me (see my post, "The Lesson of Toby on Separation.").

This is Happy as he tries the dog walk for the first time.

The buffet table after the Snack Attack: cleaned! Kimchi displays typical Beagle behavior.

Kimchi is all smiles before the camera. We gave her the "GRO Award."

A doggy birthday party captured forever by the camera.

Birthday boy Spotty sits under his welcome arch for the last time after the guests have left.

The Story of Butchie Boy

          It is not enough to just love a dog. You have to learn to understand his kind so you will know how to take care of him.

            The first time I encountered this issue about a dog being “given away” was when we were first taking care of Boxers. I was seeing a vet on a regular basis for all sorts of doggy reasons: yearly shots, mange, flea control, indigestion, and all those concerns that beset first-time dog owners.

            That morning, I had brought in King Kong, my dad’s favorite tan-and-white Boxer for some minor ailment. Because I had work at the office and could not come back to pick him up that day, I asked if the dog could board at the clinic for a day or two.

            My vet refused, saying she only allows sick dogs to stay over. “The dog might think you’ve given him away,” she said.

            That was new to me. “Why?” I asked. “What will he do?”

            The vet shrugged her shoulders, indicating the reaction could be any variety of behaviors. “He might get mad, might get depressed, I can’t say what he might do,” she replied.

            In the background, I could hear the whine of her canine patients. If you’re familiar with the usual sounds dogs make every day, you should hear them cry when they’re separated from their loved ones and long to go home. Their voices are different. These are the heart-wrenching cries dog owners don’t hear.

            A few years later, Butchie Boy came into the picture, another tan-and-white beauty from the second brood of puppies produced by Alfa. By that time, King Kong was not with us anymore. My dad had passed him to his physical therapist when he saw how much the young man wanted to own a magnificent Boxer like Kong.

            Butchie was 2 years old when I brought in a Dalmatian pup called Spotty as his new playmate.  Spot went under my personal care. Butchie belonged to my dad and was being taken care of by the maid.

            But I wasn’t managing the dogs well, this being my first time. I didn’t know they had a canine hierarchy. Spot was clearly a favorite at home with his playful ways and cheerful expression. He was always petted first, fussed over first, fed first, and taken out on walks first. Butchie looked at all this with a sullen face.

Spotty was undeniably cuter and more pleasant to look at than Butchie Boy's perennially scowling Boxer face.

            When Spot reached a year old, Butchie suddenly unleashed his anger on him one night when Spot just arrived from an after-dinner stroll with me. Pampered Spot, thinking the world was a pleasant place to live in, under some angry dog’s jaws locked on his neck, learned to fight back. Spot won first, of course, being younger (Butch fought until he collapsed of fatigue). But Butchie Boy did not leave it at that. In the following days, he persisted in enforcing their natural canine hierarchy, asserting himself as the top dog of the house. This is a culture among dogs I wasn’t aware of.

            I surfed the internet frantically, consulted books, and talked to various dog trainers, seeking answers to why my dogs were suddenly fighting. As is common to this approach, you receive a wide range of advice. But most of these you feel you can’t apply because of insufficient understanding on your part. In my case, I want to know what I’m doing – not just obey the method from step 1 to 5. The most practical advice (which I felt I could handle) came from a local trainer who said, “Let the dogs settle it among themselves. Don’t try to stop their fights.” When I said Spot keeps winning but Butchie keeps challenging, the trainer said, “Let them fight some more. Your Boxer hasn’t accepted yet his new position.”

When fights occur inside our house chairs tumble off their feet and furniture is in disarray. This is one of the most important reasons why we should understand and train dogs before they start to live with us. Fierce animal fights do not belong in the home. We are left in constant tension, apprehensive when the next attack will occur.

Arrangements at home got affected. Both dogs, once free to walk in and out the house, were leashed all day in separate locations away from each other’s sight. Nobody was happy with the set-up.

            The fights were getting expensive too. Surgical bills were in danger of piling up because of holes and tears.

            Finally, I noticed Spot was not only fighting back whenever Butchie challenged.  He was also starting the fights. He believed he was the top dog in the house. This aggressive behavior was due to our fault. We had ingrained that belief in him!  

In the end, the issue unresolved, one dog had to go. That had to be Butchie Boy. I was preparing Spot for agility training and had plans for him.

Butchie Boy when he was with us. He lived with us for 3 years.

            My dog trainer, Jonathan, was still with us that time (his solution to this tension is another story, another blog). I rehomed Butchie with his family. Jonathan had other dogs there and I knew Butchie would have playmates.

            But Butchie didn’t do well there. One day, Spot was “vacationing” there (for a “refresher” course in his basic obedience) and the dogs were kept apart. Spot was leashed in the garage while Butchie was in the backyard. Jonathan’s son, Joseph, had just given Spot his morning walk (big mistake!), when he entered the backyard to fetch Butchie for his turn. An enraged Butch attacked Joseph.

            Jonathan relocated Butchie to a woman who had a Boxer female. Butch did well there for awhile. Jonathan raved about how loved and spoiled Butch was by the woman when he’d visit them. I was promised a Boxer puppy from Butch’s line.

            But a year or two later, it happened again. I received frantic phone calls from the woman to report to me Butch had suddenly attacked her. In stitches and bandages all over her arms and legs, she called me from the hospital where she was confined. The woman begged me to take the dog away.

            I called for Jonathan, my mind busy on what to do next. I cannot bring Butchie back to us because Spotty was here. If Butchie was on aggression mode, I didn’t want to consider any of my friends. My only alternative was to get in touch with Anna, one of the directors of PAWS, the Philippine Animal Welfare Society.

            Jonathan came to the house that afternoon after delivering Butchie Boy to the PAWS animal shelter. He had to sign a waiver for me, giving the dog up. I grieved about legally disowning Butchie Boy from us like that and felt his fate was due to our ignorance. During the months that passed after I had Butchie moved away from us, I had finally understood what had happened between him and Spot. But by the time I knew enough about their social phenomenon, Butchie was not living with us anymore.

Butchie stares at the camera while Spot, still a puppy, playfully nips at his hind legs. Boxers are ideal children's pets, being extremely patient to being poked and manhandled by young hands.

               Butchie seemed fated to lose those close to him. When he was over a year old, he lost his caregiver, a maid of ours named Ming, whom he was very devoted to. At first, when Ming's 9-year-old daughter, Jasmin, was temporarily confined to the hospital for fever, Ming would spent the night at her daughter's bedside. After she leaves, I'd see Butchie sit facing our front door in the living room. When I turn off the lights, I'd still see Butchie facing the front door.
               One night I awoke to hear a long, wailing howl in the living room. I snapped up in bed when I recognized it. That was Butchie. The dog was crying for Ming, wondering why she wasn't home yet.
               Butchie would have continued his wailing hadn't I not rushed to the living room to interrupt his sorrow. It was a terribly unhappy sound. The other dogs woke up to distract him too.
               A few months later, Ming and her daughter left us. Butchie's expression changed. I thought the dog had just gotten more mature and mellow. But not until our family friend named Fely brought it up. "Butchie looks different," she remarked. I agreed, then the realization hit. The dog was grieving. Ming will never come back to him.
               Boxers have such expression-filled faces.
               But I was never able to protect the dog from more losses in his life.   

             During the days Butchie was at the shelter, I steeled myself from visiting him. Should I see that familiar Boxer face, what might I do? My father had died a few months back and Butchie was a part of that sentimental past. But I had taken him away from his first home, had him relocated twice, and finally had him brought to a shelter because he could not go back to us, his first family.
             A few days later, Anna called me up after visiting Butchie at the shelter. “Such a quiet, tight-lipped dog,” she commented. She inquired on the dog’s background and to collect information on his behavior. The following week, she called back. Butchie was 6 years old, suffering from a minor ailment (which I can’t remember anymore), but with his background of hostility and aggression, he cannot be re-adopted. The decision was to put him down.

    For the next two weeks I tried to busy myself with other things while I tossed the issue about Butchie in my mind. I didn’t know what to do.  At the time when Butchie and Spot were living together, I didn’t know about this canine hierarchy the dogs follow on instinct. More experienced dog owners or dog behaviorists could probably have settled this social issue of theirs. But though I later understood the culture, I didn’t think I had enough confidence to face the two dogs again. That’s why Butchie couldn’t go back home to us.

    One day, I received a call from the shelter. Butchie was going to be put down in 15 minutes. I was deeply saddened and at the same time helpless. I still didn’t know what to do. WHAT DID THEY WANT ME TO DO??? They had given me the chance to do something but I could offer no other option to save Butchie’s life. In the end, I resigned to my dilemma. I told them I was letting the dog go.    

    Butchie left our world quietly that morning. 

     New dog owners make a lot of mistakes in the beginning and the price of that is always some dog’s life. No matter how much you love them.

The House of Popeye

Young alugbati bushes. This plant is so prolific even our neighbors are finding them growing in their planter boxes.

           Since our dogs eat only dry nuggets, you might as well compare them to a child growing up on any of today's snack foods touted to be "vitamin enriched."

            My maid Lourdes loves to grow vegetables. When I decided to strip off a 10-year-old vine with hanging roots off our trellis for a change, I gave her permission to plant a prolific vegetable vine temporarily. This fast-growing vegetable, I noticed, has been lording it over our front garden for quite awhile.

            But I didn’t know how fast it would grow.

The Malabar Vine or alugbati covers our trellis.

            Before I knew it, this spinach vine has been providing a shade over our trellis, with black berries hanging over the grills like clusters of attractive grapes.

            If only they were red so the birds could pick on it. But they’re black and dry to the taste so they’re useless.

            This edible vegetable is a kind of spinach vine called Malabar Spinach, Ceylon Spinach, or the “red vine” because of its red purplish stems. Locally it’s called the “alugbati,” a kind of spinach with an earthy taste and slimy texture. A lot of people don’t like it because of its slippery texture. I don’t like it because it has a taste like soil (or sometimes called "earthy").

            In other Asian countries, the spinach is eaten boiled (boil until cooked and discard water), used as a salad ingredient, or in dishes with noodles or other vegetables. Lourdes once invented a “vegetable burger” made of very young spinach leaves, carrots, turnips, and dipped in beaten egg. The alugbati is an excellent source of calcium, iron, Vitamin A, Vitamin C. and Vitamin B. It contains saponins that act as phytochemicals, fighting cancer and other diseases.         

The plant is also popular for its medicinal properties. Here are what alugbati can do:

1.      the roots can be used as a poultice to reduce local swellings;

2.      the sap can be applied to acne areas to eliminate irritation;

3.      the sap has a softening or soothing effect, especially to the skin;

4.      it is a diuretic;

5.      it is a mild laxative;

6.      pulped leaves are applied to boils, ulcers and abscesses;

7.      Leaf juice with sugar is effective for inflammation of the nose and throat with increased production of mucus. Also used to treat gonorrhea and balanitis

8.      Leaf juice with butter has a soothing effect on burns and scalds.

9.      Stem and leaf extract can cure habitual headache.

10.  Fruits maybe used as cheeks and lips make-up and dye.

11.  Good source of fibers.

But when you have a ton of that growing in your garden, what would you do? We feed it to the dogs.

Whenever I go out to buy a sack of dog food it would always bother me that our beloved pets are growing up on processed food. When I read about how dog food  kibbles are made, it makes an informed dog owner look twice at his pet’s food bowl and ask: Is there anything fresh in that bowl? Where are the valuable enzymes?

Enzymes come from fresh food. In humans, enzymes are what help dissolve those metabolic wastes which pile up in our blood – cholesterol accumulations, uric acid formations, toxic wastes, and others. But because the modern man’s diet is now seldom fresh, the cancers and various other illnesses of today are found in younger and younger patients. Once a food passes through heat the enzymes die so you can imagine how sensitive these are. Modern man may eat well but he eats “dead food,” or food with no life.

Packy eats his morning meal with alugbati mixed with his kibbles. Seedlings sprout between stones around him.

 Since our dog eats only dry nuggets all his life, you might as well compare him to a child growing up on any of today’s snack foods touted to be “vitamin enriched.” In other words, our dogs are growing up on purely manufactured food.

            We have a lot of this spinach so we might as well add it mashed into the dog food kibbles to at least provide the dogs’ systems with something fresh, from where the much-needed enzymes will come from. Thus, every morning, Lourdes runs a harvest of this yucky spinach in the blender and adds it to their meal, mixed with a lot of water. Sometimes she also throws into the blender the skin of bananas and papayas (taken from my morning fruit shakes). The afternoon meal is pure dog food. 

            There hasn’t been any complaint so I guess the dogs can take it. But just as fast as Lourdes cuts their stems, the vine grows back quickly. Now, their black berry-like fruits have scattered all over the ground and there are seedlings everywhere. This is too much. Lourdes now is put to task to uproot those seedlings and add them to the blender every morning, aside from the regular harvest of leaves. 

Alubgbati seedlings sprout behind the pots and the wall.

No, this is not grass growing between the stones. It's the alugbati seedlings.

Seedlings share space with potted plants. On the ground below seedlings grow like an invasion army.

Spot eats his daily kibbles with spinach. Dalmatians have a high uric acid level in their system so we feed Spot his food soaked in water. A well hydrated dog is not prone (hopefully) to kidney stone formation.

A young alugbati seedling struggles to emerge between the stones along the garden pathway.

The University of the Philippines in Summer

Spot watches soccer practice on a Sunday morning at the Sunken Garden.

It’s beautiful at the UP during the summer. Now if you can only keep your dogs away from accidents. . .

            I own Dalmatians. These dogs when they are young are like big Jack Russell terriers. They are like coiled springs that need to loosen up. Dalmatians were originally bred to accompany coaches and carriages as guard dogs before the arrival of the motor car. Because this horse-drawn vehicle often travel long distances, physical endurance is one of the major traits of Dalmatians. These guard dogs are built to run for miles and miles.  

Spotty was the first Dalmatian I acquired and from him I learned about his kind. I’d take him out twice a day for long walks in the neighborhood. Twice a week it would be 3 kilometer walks along the Marikina River (Marcos Highway to Sumulong Highway then back). Daily I’d run with him at our dog agility circuit when we had the dog school at a park. Just about any place which would allow dogs I’d bring him. These tiring excursions would send Spotty to his bed that night snoozing away to canine dreamland and the following days I’d see a well-behaved pet.

Old-generation trainers used to remark that the Dalmatian was slow to learn, difficult to control, and hard to train. In my opinion, they don’t know the breed. They don’t know that you can’t train a Dalmatian right away. The dog is too restless in the beginning to pay attention. Tire this dog out first with a good run. When he comes back to you worked out and spent – he’s ready to listen.

So when I saw four-year-old Toby ripping green coconut shell halves with a vengeance and leaving husks scattered around the house, that was the sign. He has twice-daily walks around the neighborhood – isn’t that enough?

            Clearly it wasn’t and now the dog was gnashing his teeth on things he could destroy.  Maybe he missed his Sunday walk in the park because his other Dalmatian packmate, my dog Spotty, and I spent an overnight at my aunt’s house out of town. So I didn’t attend to him when I got home that weekend.

            Now Toby is unleashing some nervous energy.

            I decided to give my two Dalmatians a big open space to run freely the following Sunday.

            At dawn that Sunday, I folded over the back seat of my SUV, spread an old blanket over the enlarged carpeted baggage compartment floor, packed in water and doggy emergency kit, and with Dominic and 2 excited Dalmatians in tow, we left the house very early and headed to the University of the Philippines. By 6:00am the acacia-lined academic oval of the college campus was busy with morning joggers. It was May and it was summertime. At that early hour, the sky was already brightly lit by a sun rising from the east.

            Dogs are banned from the oval where the joggers are. But along the University Avenue on the right, before you reach the Main Administration Building, you will see a wide and grassy sloping field. I drove down the wide avenue, turned right along the academic oval, then turned right again after the detour sign which the campus security erect every Sunday morning. The oval is closed to vehicular traffic so the joggers can exercise freely. I parked at the Coral Building or the Office of the Campus Architect and opened my car door to the deafening whine of cicadas from the trees around us, a sound always associated with summer after a rain the afternoon before. 

            With Dominic walking Toby on leash and I with Spotty, we led the dogs down the sprawling meadow still in soft shade. A cool breeze was in the air. The newly cut grass was loaded with morning dew.  I could hear a noisy bird cackling loudly up the tallest trees. Another bird kept hooting. Toby paused midway several times, listening attentively to the strange sounds, one foot folded in the air, bringing out the Pointer blood in him.

            Down the slopes we set the dogs free.

This is doggy heaven on earth: wide open space, no leash, a playmate, and freedom to run. 

            This is heaven for dogs yearning to stretch their legs sans confining leashes. I watched Toby’s lean body zip through the air like a coiled spring unloaded. He ran around Spotty in wide circles but my eight-year-old Dalmatian refused to be intimidated. I saw my (early) senior challenge his younger packmate and together the two spotted dogs decorated the green landscape with their games.

            A small creek snakes throughout the land. I headed there to give the gamboling dogs greater space with which to frolic. Toby’s sprints alone seemed to need a lot of space. Tall grasses line this break in the land a natural spring bubbles along. The creek yawns open at a certain portion where one can cross comfortably. I went down the rocky bank and with one step I was at the other side. Spot hopped over neatly and galloped up to join me. Dominic was behind calling Toby to follow.

            The running water of the creek collected into a small pool before traveling onward. Toby descended to the bank of that pool, saw the expanse of water and looked around for a crossing. Then Dominic gave his Recall command at that very moment. Toby heard Dominic’s voice and with eyes focused on him took a step forward. The dog plunged into the pool with a splash. The waters were neck deep.

            The fall surprised us. My Dalmatians are not water dogs. This is not a pleasant surprise for Toby.

            The dog struggled to his feet on the pool’s muddy floor and climbed up the bank muddied and dripping wet.

            But that didn’t spoil his day. At the other side of the creek Toby continued his frolic, the dogs chasing and challenging each other, enjoying the wind and open space. I watched Toby discover brown long-tailed birds hiding in the tall bushes and try to give chase as each bird flew away.

            “Toby, now you’re a hunting dog,” Dominic quipped.

            Several minutes later the sun started to cast its bright light slowly across the meadow and the long shadows shortened. We will have to go home soon. But Toby has to dry up. His nosing around and chasing the birds among the tall grasses had further dampened his fur.

            I decided to go to the “ruins.” The “ruins” are located at the distant end of the meadow. It’s a good walk under the summer morning sun to help Toby dry up. What has always piqued my curiosity were the two large signs which forbid visitors to hang around the area. The two signs faced only the street on the northern side of the meadow, its backs turned to us. I’ve glimpsed them when driving out the campus in the past. What’s over there anyway?

The "ruins" with only one signboard by the time I shot this photo.

             The strange concrete structures were nothing but the ruins of a group of small maybe two-story buildings. But only their foundations were visible which you approach by going down some steps. Dried leaves carpeted the floor as the silent markers, under the shade of wide-spreading trees, made the place almost romantic.

            I saw a few big holes in the ground, old wells probably. I turned to go back to the open meadow and Spot turned too to follow me. I forgot that the dog was off his leash.

            Then I saw it happen. Spot moved to be beside me and as he did he walked into an open well. Good thing the hole was full of water. The dog fell in with a small splash. We were surprised at the sudden accident, our second in one hour that morning. Spot submerged then rose up. He floundered at the edge, front paws hanging for life. Dominic helped pull him out of the hole because the dog couldn’t hoist himself over.

“Why didn’t you see that?” I demanded as Spot shook himself up.

There were a number of those uncovered wells here and there. Obviously, like Toby who plunged into the creek without looking, Spot also didn’t see where he was going.

            Now I know what those signs are all about. Why the hell don’t they put an enclosure around those holes??? Or put signs on the opposite side, the southern side too?

            I’m just thankful that hole wasn’t dry or the waters way down below.

Water dog  Spot after we pulled him from the well.

            Dogs – their vision isn’t as sharp as us humans. We must always look ahead (and if off leash -- think ahead), and keep an eye on them. It’s like having children with you. They need to be continuously monitored, especially if they’re unconfined.

But the trouble is, dogs remain like children all their lives.

           

            By 7:30am, the heat of summer was beginning to be felt. Time to go. Spot had a slight limp because of the pull exerted on him when we hauled him out of the well. But he gamely continued to follow me back to the car.

I brought home two damp, dirty, tired but happy dogs that had a bath when they arrived. They had their mid-morning breakfast. Then a long relaxing nap.

             The next day I was right. Toby lay about contentedly ignoring any of the items he loves to rip apart.

 Amidst the busy chirping of birds at the trees overhead and the melodious music of the UP Carillon filling the air, morning joggers work up a sweat at the 2.2 km. Academic Oval.

The famous Oblation, an iconic symbol of the university.  Its original version, made of concrete,  was a naked man but to "promote morality and censorship" a later version added a fig leaf. . . The original statue, created by National Artist Guillermo E. Tolentino in 1935, can be found at the 3rd floor of the University Main Library. The Oblation statue stands 3.3 meters tall. It stands at the front of the Main Administration Building, greeting visitors entering the campus via the University Avenue.

The UP Carillon Tower along the Academic Oval fills the morning air with pleasant tinkling music. The bronze bells play from local folk songs and anthems to the Beatles.

The dogs inspect the creek. At the background above runs the tree-lined Academic Oval.

Looking for birds to chase -- or looking for trouble.

Toby enjoys his freedom as a city dog. Across the creek are the "ruins."

A dew-soaked Spot passes by a common weed locally called "Makahia" (Mimosa pudica) or Sensitive Plant. The plant's fern-like leaves fold before your eyes upon being touched. The leaves open again a few minutes later.
Spot wears a neon pink collar (Toby's is orange) with a small bag attached to it; inside are poop bags and some small change (for my use). The other collar in the photo is a flea collar. Under Spot's blue collar bag dangles his metal ID.

The dogs end their morning exercise under a Golden Shower (Cassia fistula). A summertime tree, the Golden Shower bears cylindrical dark-brown pods, one to two feet long, which furnish the ingredient of a purgative drug.

The Sunken Garden located behind the UP Main Library reportedly sinks 2 inches every year. This is due to either underground trenches connecting to the Marikina Fault line which passes a few miles outside the campus, or to empty streams that used to be there in the 1950s.  The 5-hectare field is now a favorite venue for sports tournaments, fairs, and military drills.

           

No Trespassing! See My Teeth?

 I watched Tootsie, trying to understand why the dog was so hysterical. The dog wasn’t growling. She was screaming.

Last March, my auntie’s dog, a spunky mini Dachshund named Tootsie, left the Philippines to settle in her new home in the United States with my cousin Marie, her husband Bobby, and daughter Francine. I used to mention this dog in previous blogs because she was our first encounter with her breed. My elderly dad, when he was still alive, fell in love with this dog when she came to stay with us for basic training before going to my aunt.

Her first (and temporary) name was Tutti. The dog was plucky and high-spirited. She was a puppy when she came to live with us. Soon after settling down and noticing there were other dogs in the house, she drew up her own rules. Tutti took it upon herself to make it known before our male dogs that she was the boss. She would initiate all the chase games and the wrestling matches. She would lead and she would end.

Our male adult dogs immediately gave deference to this young pup. Adult dogs do not seem to consider a pup a threat to their hierarchy (yet). Until that pup is a year old, that is. I learned about dog aggression the hard way with Spot. But that’s another story (another blog in the future).

Doggy antics were what made my dad’s afternoons light and amusing during those days. He’d watch their wrestling competitions and their chase games. Led by a little black Dachshund puppy the size of a sewer rat, they’d scramble back and forth past his open bedroom door until they were breathless. I guess an independent-minded dog like the Dachshund makes an ideal pet for an elderly. Unlike our big dogs that lie around waiting for their master, the Dachshund can lead and entertain himself without any human prompting. They’re naturally assertive and creative. In Tutti’s case too, she had no concept of size. You can take a lesson about life when you see a small puppy dominate our larger (and older) dogs, supremely confident without a doubt in that little mind that they would follow her.

They did follow her. 

After a month of basic training at my house, Tutti moved to live with my aunt for the next five years until my aunt died last February.

 The puppy’s departure left a void with my dad. He realized he liked the Dachshund because of Tutti but Tutti was not meant for us. To replace Tutti, Marie sent my dad another Dachshund which we named Packy.

A year or two later, my aunt invited me to Christmas dinner. In keeping with the spirit of the season, I took along my Dalmatian Spot, wearing a red Santa cap. Besides, I told myself, Tutti (now Tootsie) once lived with us. She will remember Spot. They can play together and keep each other company that evening.

But it did not happen that way.  

As soon as Spot entered my aunt’s house that Christmas eve, a shrill scream pierced the air. It was Tootsie. The dog glared, barking wildly at her spotted visitor.

We were all bewildered. “Don’t you remember Spotty?” I demanded at Tootsie. “You used to play together! You lived at my house for a month!”

Tootsie’s reply was still a hysterical scream at Spot.

The only way we could resolve this was to keep the dogs apart. Marie kept Tootsie close to her while I kept Spot a distance away. Tootsie was clearly very upset every time she’d see Spot.

Tootsie snuggles up to a larger-sized Spotty during nap time. How could I expect that she would not recognize Spot a  few years later when they used to be sleeping buddies?

Some two years later, my aunt invited me to drop by her house when she found out I would be staying overnight at a farm in Cavite with my dogs. She suggested I pass by her house on my way home that Sunday morning. “Let’s introduce Tootsie to Packy,” she said. “Let’s introduce her to a boyfriend.”

That late morning, I arrived at her house. We kept the two Dalmatians outside beside the car, while I headed towards my aunt’s house across the street, Packy on leash. My friend Fely met me at the gate but I didn't want to enter, remembering what happened that Christmas eve with Spot. I stayed outside on the sidewalk.
               “Bring Tootsie out,” I said, “Packy is here.”

Fely didn’t think my aunt would want Tootsie out in the street. So I had to enter the property. I stood a distance away from the front door. “Bring Tootsie out,” I repeated.   

Fely led Tootsie out. As soon as Tootsie saw Packy it happened all over again. The little dog let out a high piercing scream, barking wildly at Packy. Packy, meanwhile, for a dog that walks with a chip on his shoulder back home, stood quietly beside me taking everything in.

I didn’t think this was working. Tootsie persisted with her noisy reception. But I’ve been learning more about dogs since. I watched Tootsie, trying to understand why the dog was so hysterical.  I was confused because the dog wasn’t growling. She was screaming. She stayed before the screen door, backed against the front step but she wasn’t displaying the familiar dog aggression stance. Then I saw a fine row of white teeth in her small mouth. 

My aunt walked out, amusement all over her face.”What’s going on?”she asked.”Why is Tootsie like that? She doesn’t like Packy?”

“She thinks Packy is trespassing,” I replied, finally understanding what I was seeing. “We shouldn’t have introduced the two dogs here. This is Tootsie’s territory.”

After awhile we gave up. Tootsie was clearly not in a social mood. My aunt led the dog back indoors while I looked down to lead Packy back to the car. I had felt him pull his leash to crawl among the bushes (to get away from that screaming female) so I pulled the leash hidden among the plants.

The leash came up empty. Packy was wearing a harness and I realized his short Dachshund legs had easily slipped out the belts.

“Packy is loose!” I hissed at Fely in a panic whisper.

Fely immediately parted the bushes while I turned the other direction calling for the dog. My aunt had other dogs and they might pounce on the "trespasser." I wasn’t sure if they were confined. I knew Packy doesn't back away from fights. Finally Packy emerged around the corner coming from the back of the house. It seemed he had already scouted the property on his own and the other dogs hadn't spotted him.

Packy was never introduced to Tootsie as a future beau. We should have taken both dogs out to a neutral territory such as the basketball court across the street, introduced the two together and let them play for awhile. But because nobody could accompany Tootsie out into the street (my hands were full and Fely would rather chat with my aunt indoors) a second  introduction was never arranged.

I learned that you can’t just walk your dog into another person’s house presuming the dog in residence there will receive the visitor amicably. Some dogs will greet the new dog sociably, others won’t. At my friend Malu's house, I've taken Spot there lots of times but her fluffy-haired terrier named Happy has never demonstrated any territorial behavior. It was a mistake for me to presume the same reception would exist in every other house we'd go to that had a dog living there.

Packy, meanwhile, after pulling his “Houdini” disappearance trick on me that morning, now wears both a collar and matching harness attached to a couplet leash when he's taken outdoors.  

    

Packy with two new Dachshund friends named Lilo and Stitch. Packy wears a collar and harness on a couplet leash (it has 2 clips) to give us a good hold on him when walking him in public.