Well, I lasted two months after the death of Violet the Wonderdog before I got a new pup. Although there was no doubt in my mind that there would never be another dog like Vi, I also knew that the only way to fill that little-dog-sized hole in my heart was to get another. What I didn’t expect, even though I should have given all the time I spend studying the interaction of animal behavior and the human-animal bond, was how all the emotions and projected beliefs tied up with this process could easily sabotage the new addition and my relationship with her.
I began with an inviolate criterion: My new dog would be as different from Violet at possible. This, I believed, would limit my chances of making unfair comparisons. Who can measure up to perfection? The new pup would be, after all, following a legend, the best dog I ever had. With that in mind, I immediately ruled out corgis and, to make a long story short, wound up with a poodle, Chihuahua, shih-tzu mix, whom I named Frica Louise. Because I had the name before I had the dog, it’s possible that I chose her because she looked like a Frica, although many people think she looks like a small furry alien.
The first few weeks Fric and I spent together did not go well. Oh, they went all right superficially in that I did everything I was supposed to do and so did she. I thought she was very cute, she learned quickly, and everyone loved her. However, the bond just wasn’t there and I couldn’t figure out why it was not. Sure, she committed a few house-training errors and got into things she’s shouldn’t, but all puppies do. And as puppies go, she rarely chewed anything but her toys, she was quiet, and quickly learned that human flesh was not invented for teething, although sometimes she forgot.
Teaching her to come on command initially was a big disappointment because as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only command that really matters. The first week she was very good, but then she found other more interesting things to do. Also, being much more of an ethologist than a trainer, when she didn’t come I was far more interested in what she was doing than the fact that she ignored me. Once I found her about half down the narrow opening between two 12′ foot long stacks of wood which, given my skill at stacking wood, could tumble and crush her any minute. There wasn’t room for her to turn around and the end she had been moving toward was blocked.
Admittedly, when she didn’t respond and I went looking for her, I was not thinking charitable thoughts. When I discovered where she was, my anger turned to horror and it required a tremendous effort to calm myself and send confidence-building and equally calming thoughts her way. For what seemed like an eternity, she stood there, a tiny, three-pound furball boxed in by those stacks, a single log of which could fall and kill her in a heartbeat. Instead of emitting pitiful “Come get me” whimpers, she apparently worked through her options (take that, you who believe animals are incapable of thought!) and slowly began backing out.
In the world of disneyfication, such a harrowing event would prove what a fantastic dog she is and my heart would immediately and fully open to her. But it didn’t happen and the fact that it didn’t troubled me even more than it had already. Several times I found myself thinking, “This isn’t working. Maybe I should take her back. She deserves an owner who thinks she’s as special as she is.”
Three weeks after I got Frica, I took her to see her littermate who belongs to a friend of mine. My friend is a trainer and is as determined that her pup will come as I am. However, unlike me, she’s an avid disciple of clicker training. I, on the other hand, do not like food-training for many reasons I’ve discussed previously and the sound of the clicker grates on my nerves. So while she’s clicking and treating, Fric and I are just hanging out. Where Fric had an uneven and sometimes frightening recall history, her brother’s was almost perfect. In fact, the only time he hadn’t come was when we first arrived and he was climbing all over her.
After lunch, we took the pups into the large front yard to let them play to their hearts content while we sat on the grass. As was her custom with her littermates, Fric initially took a beating as she studied the situation carefully. Once she figured out her strategy and that her much bigger brother was tiring, she made her move and pinned him repeatedly. Between these close encounters, they would race around the yard so fast it made me tired just watching them.
However, in the midst of all this interpup activity and for no apparent reason whatsoever, Fric would suddenly veer off and race at me full speed, ears flapping and a big grin on her face, and fling herself into my lap. A complete bundle of joy that communicated “I’m here! I’m yours!”, she reminded me of my kids touching base when they were little. At first I thought the response was a fluke, but as she repeated it again and again, it finally hit me that this dog really did want to be with me and I really did want to be with her and that made her the most wonderful dog in the world. And not only was that all right, it was fantastic.
Later when I analyzed the instant I fell in love with Frica, I realize how my designation of Violet as the best dog ever had automatically set up Fric to be lesser in every way. Even if she wasn’t, I would consciously or subconsciously see her that way out of loyalty to Violet’s memory. I would consciously or subconsciously relate to her in a way that sabotaged her behavior to prove that, yes indeed, Violet was the best dog I ever had.
Luckily, even at barely ten weeks of age, Fric’s grasp of the true nature of the human-animal bond was far greater than mine. Even if I couldn’t get past my limited definition to open up to her, that wasn’t going to keep her from giving herself to me. Luckily my work, age, and experience also make it a lot easier for me to rethink things and admit when I’m wrong. Consequently, I had no problem accepting what I’d been so blind to before: there can be more than one best dog in the world. In fact, every dog possesses that potential. We just need to be willing to put aside foolish beliefs to see it.
Since that magical day, Fric’s recall has been perfect and I can’t help wondering if she didn’t come before because she could sense the conflict between what I was asking of her and what I really wanted her to do: to prove that she was less wonderful than Vi. How unreasonable it all seems now, but at the time I couldn’t see what was going on at all!
Oh, and about Fric’s perfect recall: by “perfect,” I don’t mean that she instantly appears at my side like a well-programmed canine robot when I call. She doesn’t. If she’s eating, rolling in, or digging up something enticing (or, to me disgusting), she’ll tarry long enough to get in a last few licks. But that’s all right. As far as I’m concerned, she earned them.
And as far as Violet goes, wherever she is, I’m sure she’s pleased that there’s another wonderdog in my life.
I began with an inviolate criterion: My new dog would be as different from Violet at possible. This, I believed, would limit my chances of making unfair comparisons. Who can measure up to perfection? The new pup would be, after all, following a legend, the best dog I ever had. With that in mind, I immediately ruled out corgis and, to make a long story short, wound up with a poodle, Chihuahua, shih-tzu mix, whom I named Frica Louise. Because I had the name before I had the dog, it’s possible that I chose her because she looked like a Frica, although many people think she looks like a small furry alien.
The first few weeks Fric and I spent together did not go well. Oh, they went all right superficially in that I did everything I was supposed to do and so did she. I thought she was very cute, she learned quickly, and everyone loved her. However, the bond just wasn’t there and I couldn’t figure out why it was not. Sure, she committed a few house-training errors and got into things she’s shouldn’t, but all puppies do. And as puppies go, she rarely chewed anything but her toys, she was quiet, and quickly learned that human flesh was not invented for teething, although sometimes she forgot.
Teaching her to come on command initially was a big disappointment because as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only command that really matters. The first week she was very good, but then she found other more interesting things to do. Also, being much more of an ethologist than a trainer, when she didn’t come I was far more interested in what she was doing than the fact that she ignored me. Once I found her about half down the narrow opening between two 12′ foot long stacks of wood which, given my skill at stacking wood, could tumble and crush her any minute. There wasn’t room for her to turn around and the end she had been moving toward was blocked.
Admittedly, when she didn’t respond and I went looking for her, I was not thinking charitable thoughts. When I discovered where she was, my anger turned to horror and it required a tremendous effort to calm myself and send confidence-building and equally calming thoughts her way. For what seemed like an eternity, she stood there, a tiny, three-pound furball boxed in by those stacks, a single log of which could fall and kill her in a heartbeat. Instead of emitting pitiful “Come get me” whimpers, she apparently worked through her options (take that, you who believe animals are incapable of thought!) and slowly began backing out.
In the world of disneyfication, such a harrowing event would prove what a fantastic dog she is and my heart would immediately and fully open to her. But it didn’t happen and the fact that it didn’t troubled me even more than it had already. Several times I found myself thinking, “This isn’t working. Maybe I should take her back. She deserves an owner who thinks she’s as special as she is.”
Three weeks after I got Frica, I took her to see her littermate who belongs to a friend of mine. My friend is a trainer and is as determined that her pup will come as I am. However, unlike me, she’s an avid disciple of clicker training. I, on the other hand, do not like food-training for many reasons I’ve discussed previously and the sound of the clicker grates on my nerves. So while she’s clicking and treating, Fric and I are just hanging out. Where Fric had an uneven and sometimes frightening recall history, her brother’s was almost perfect. In fact, the only time he hadn’t come was when we first arrived and he was climbing all over her.
After lunch, we took the pups into the large front yard to let them play to their hearts content while we sat on the grass. As was her custom with her littermates, Fric initially took a beating as she studied the situation carefully. Once she figured out her strategy and that her much bigger brother was tiring, she made her move and pinned him repeatedly. Between these close encounters, they would race around the yard so fast it made me tired just watching them.
However, in the midst of all this interpup activity and for no apparent reason whatsoever, Fric would suddenly veer off and race at me full speed, ears flapping and a big grin on her face, and fling herself into my lap. A complete bundle of joy that communicated “I’m here! I’m yours!”, she reminded me of my kids touching base when they were little. At first I thought the response was a fluke, but as she repeated it again and again, it finally hit me that this dog really did want to be with me and I really did want to be with her and that made her the most wonderful dog in the world. And not only was that all right, it was fantastic.
Later when I analyzed the instant I fell in love with Frica, I realize how my designation of Violet as the best dog ever had automatically set up Fric to be lesser in every way. Even if she wasn’t, I would consciously or subconsciously see her that way out of loyalty to Violet’s memory. I would consciously or subconsciously relate to her in a way that sabotaged her behavior to prove that, yes indeed, Violet was the best dog I ever had.
Luckily, even at barely ten weeks of age, Fric’s grasp of the true nature of the human-animal bond was far greater than mine. Even if I couldn’t get past my limited definition to open up to her, that wasn’t going to keep her from giving herself to me. Luckily my work, age, and experience also make it a lot easier for me to rethink things and admit when I’m wrong. Consequently, I had no problem accepting what I’d been so blind to before: there can be more than one best dog in the world. In fact, every dog possesses that potential. We just need to be willing to put aside foolish beliefs to see it.
Since that magical day, Fric’s recall has been perfect and I can’t help wondering if she didn’t come before because she could sense the conflict between what I was asking of her and what I really wanted her to do: to prove that she was less wonderful than Vi. How unreasonable it all seems now, but at the time I couldn’t see what was going on at all!
Oh, and about Fric’s perfect recall: by “perfect,” I don’t mean that she instantly appears at my side like a well-programmed canine robot when I call. She doesn’t. If she’s eating, rolling in, or digging up something enticing (or, to me disgusting), she’ll tarry long enough to get in a last few licks. But that’s all right. As far as I’m concerned, she earned them.
And as far as Violet goes, wherever she is, I’m sure she’s pleased that there’s another wonderdog in my life.