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.