Further Adventures in Dogwalking

A lot of the friends that I made before my injury in April had been adopted or otherwise placed (e.g., with a specialized rescue group) by the time I got back in the saddle, so I've had the opportunity to make some new friends. It's always bittersweet when a dog (or cat, for that matter) that you've gotten to know, that's gotten to know you, gets adopted. After all, that's the point of the whole exercise, to get the guy adopted. But one starts to look forward to hanging out with someone, even if it's only once or twice a week for 20 minutes at a time, and then one day you come in, and, hey, where's Fiona? She got adopted? Oh, how, um, wonderful... But, y'know, it happens a couple of times and you get used to it. Dog love is so sincere it becomes easy to make the transition; it's a lot easier to make a new dog friend than a new human one. For me, anyway.

I've come to appreciate the advances in dog hardware. You don't see the old-fashioned slip-chain collars hardly at all, and the belt-around-the-neck is going out of style as well. The shelter uses mostly two types. There's the so-called "Martingale" collar and its variants, an adjustable woven cloth belt with no buckle or snap; it goes over the dog's head, and when the leash pulls, it slips gently and evenly around the dog's neck. Then there's the front-ring harness, which discourages pulling, a problem directly proportional to the size of the dog; the two brands I've seen are "Sense-ation" and "Easy-Walk". The big difference is the leash connects to a ring at the dog's sternum, rather than one between the shoulders, like other harnesses. The theory, apparently, is that when the dog pulls, rather than just pull back, encouraging a puller to pull even more (that's the way dogs are; they like to pull), the leverage at the sternum turns him.

I like that type, it really does reduce pulling, but it's a real hassle to adjust properly. They adjust in several places, so you make an adjustment over here, and then find that you need to undo or redo something you did over there, and then you have to go back and readjust something else. It's somewhere between leveling a surveyor's telescope and solving a Rubik's cube. I think part of the issue is that the two types are slightly different designs (they'd have to be, they're both patented); a successful adjustment technique for one is suboptimal for the other.

Both types snap-buckle underneath the dog's chest; one needs to be careful not to pinch the female dogs, especially the more mature female dogs, in, um, a sensitive place. And some of these gals could use a little tightening up, if you know what I mean.

I've noticed that with a mature female pit bull, particularly if she looks like she's had a litter or two, the kennel card invariably notes that she'd been found running along Shoreline Drive or some such, i.e., she'd been dumped. Pardon my un-Patch-like language, but that's a God-damned shame.

The Alameda shelter is what's called "open-door". That means they take anyone, for any reason, irrespective of age, health, reason for commitment, or previous condition of servitude. Dogs for adoption only account for about two-thirds of the dogs currently under care; the others have health issues, or were brought in by Animal Control, or otherwise aren't intended to be adopted out (not right away, anyway). Only a few shelters in the Bay Area are open-door, so what happens is irresponsible people in neighboring communities squeeze a couple of litters out of some poor dog and then dump her in Alameda. It's a real problem.

Every so often the shelter gets a dog, usually a larger dog, that's been abused one way or another. You can always tell them, because they're really timid around people, uptight about other dogs, and anxious in the kennel. They sort of need to be "gentled", to get used to you; "let them come to you" is the idea. I've had success with this one guy, Prince, who trembles if you look at him sideways. I'd just sit in his cage with him for a little while, talk to myself out loud, almost ignoring him, becoming part if the furniture, and pretty soon he stopped shivering and was OK with being petted. A couple of visits later he was OK with me taking him out; he has a great time outside, this timid, trembling lump becoming an alert, curious, funny dog. It was thrilling to see.

Another is Mystique (see picture). The way we got to her was with "buddy-walks". She was fond of her next-door neighbor, Willow, and was comfortable leaving the shelter with her. Last week fellow volunteer Katie and I took the two of them out, which I found an interesting experience. (Willow was never comfortable with me, but she loved Katie.) Since then Willow's been adopted, and I wondered if Mystique would act any differently. But by now I've apparently become an acceptable human, and this morning she greeted me enthusiastically, and we had a enjoyable walk.

Returning to find that the poo fairy had not, as I'd hoped, visited her cage, I gave it a quick cleaning and hose-rinsing — and that was hi-larious. She loved the spray, jumping at it, trying to grab it, having just a ton of doggy fun. Gotta take he into the backyard and play with the hose next time. (Better check to make sure that's OK.)

We can't take the dogs in the car, of course, and the shelter is in a weird location at the bottom of Alaska Packer Place (despite having a Fortmann Way address — don't get me started). So there are really only a couple of places to walk, you can't get too far away; there's the stretch of the marina between the repair yard and the boat ramp, and there's the mini-park at the very bottom of Clement at Ohlone. And, y'know, Nature occasionally calls, and fortunately there are a few conveniently-placed bathrooms. Now, I can't tie the dog up outside, like I might if it were my dog, that's a violation of shelter protocol. But they're very reluctant to follow me inside. At first I thought it was the small, enclosed space, but I finally decided it was the smell. The bathrooms in the area are actually maintained pretty well, particularly the one at the Marina office, but remember that a dog's nose has over 220 million olfactory receptors — which is why they tend to be long (the nose, not the dog) — while a human has only 5 million, and probably fewer for me, as I'm terribly olfactorily challenged. So I just want to relieve myself, but the poor dog is like, "Dude, do you know what's in there?" A little encouragement usually persuades.

I'm also curious about the phenomenon of "marina cats". These are feral cats that live under or behind the marina or some building. People leave food for them and otherwise kinda look out for them; some are friendlier than others. There seem to be a couple that live behind the boat yard, I see them mornings at about 10, when the yard workers break for lunch, hanging out, hoping for scraps. They gaze suspiciously at me and whatever dog I'm with, but rarely run. Another big black furry guy lives under the marina, and I don't even think about getting close to him. I'm guessing four or five live in the immediate area.

Let me close with a tip o' the Hatlo Hat to Muttville, a rescue organization that specializes in senior dogs. Putting aside for the moment whether a seven-year-old dog is all that "senior" anymore, given the state of pet care in the U.S. today, these folks are doing the Lord's work if anyone is, providing care, adoption, and yes, hospice services for elderly dogs.