Misha in the Mist

The mist covers and surrounds our backyard. As Misha and I begin our walk in the morning it is as though we were adventuring into an unknown world. The grasses and bushes that are in the yard have disappeared. All around us is gray.
Misha is on the hunt. His body is taut. He is a receiver...receiving any signals that come his way. There are still noises and smells that the mist cannot hide. We move forward into it...and I forget that my feet are getting wet and I need to get ready for work.
At first we walk tentatively into the grayness. A bush appears, a tower of ornamental grasses, and we tiptoe on. Misha's senses are what I depend on to read our journey through the mist. He smells far more than I do, he hears far better. We are travelers together but he is the leader.
We round a bush and there is a rabbit about 4 feet in front of us. It is frozen in hopes of invisibility but Misha's eyes widen a little and he creeps toward it. One paw will raise and hold in that position for almost a minute before it slowly rests on the ground.
Our whole encounter with the bunny is probaby only 2 minutes before it whips away and disappears into the camoflage of mist. Misha relaxes...the moment is passed. He sniffs the air and leads me on to more adventures.

The Quiet Dog

Misha is a very quiet dog. He has been with us since May and I have only heard him bark 3 times. Once he whined to join me on a chair. The rest of the time he has been silent.
But he communicates with me constantly. The way he gives a glance, shrugs a shoulder or averts his gaze speaks volumes. I watch him often to learn what kinds of things he is telling me. Perhaps he decided that because I don't speak "Bark" and he does not speak "English" we should rely on a common language- silence.
I think he has made a very wise choice. I speak silence pretty well. My household when I was growing up was very quiet. We spoke at dinner time and when there was something thoughtful to be said. Every evening after dinner the house was quiet. One could do homework or read or think...but no noise. No music, no phones and surely no television was allowed.
Silence has its own repetoire. There are angry silences and thoughtful silences. There are peaceful and loving silences. I grew up reading my family and their silences as one reads a book. My father's silences were because he was thinking, creating, re-working words and his projects. My mother's silences could be soft and encompass me with love. They could also shut me out, it was her silence and I was not to intrude on it. She deserved time to be in her head without any of us in there with her.
Misha's silences are many. He rests happily in silence, he broods silently, he walks and adventures in quiet. His tail tells of his enjoyment in the task at hand.
I love needing to look at him to read his mood. His eyes flash, or caress. His body can twist in delight or can flatten in fear. Our quiet is a language of its own we are using to talk with one another.

And Back to Sleeping...

Sleeping is an integral part of my life. Oh, I know everyone sleeps. But some do not treat it as the art form that it is. Some folks even do it begrudingly "too much to do, too little time" and they soldier on.
My father was always an Olympic sleeper. As kids my brothers and I would tell him we were going to enter him in the Games and he would win, hands down..or eyes closed as it were. He would win the Gold in Olympic Napping.
I , of course have gone through different stages of sleeping as I age. As a child I always took naps and still do when my schedule allows. My naps were 2 or 3 hours, full of dreams and lots of REM sleep. And then I would get my full 9 hours of sleep at night.
Now, I am in bed at 8:00, asleep by 8:30 and up at 5:30. Misha shares my dedication to sleep. He naps after long walks, play time, and all day if it is raining outside. I am sure his sleeping is as restorative as mine. It is not just physical but mental exhaustion that makes sleeping so important to us. When we are awake (Misha and I) we notice everything; blades of grass, sounds of bugs and trucks, kids and cars. We notice squirrles on branches and mice on the run. We are finely tuned and nothing goes by our notice.
So, after some hours we need to rest, to download all the stuff that was uploaded into our brains in our hours of wakefullness. We sleep and upon waking we see a brand new world, full of possibilities and magic. We are ready to explore it once again!

To go or not to go...

Wikipedia states that the "bladder is a hollow, muscular, and distensible organ." Everyone has one. When one is young bladder control is an issue, thus toilet training for people and housetraining for dogs is a must. When talking about getting a dog I got lots of advice like "get a female, they can hold their bladder longer".
Apparently rabbits can be litter box trained and pigs can be housetrained which might make them desirable indoor pets to some. I know people end up with animals that pee in the house. They are often animals who have been rescued who have emotional and physical problems or animals whose owners never really got the knack of how to housetrain. Elderly animals as well as elderly people often have bladder control issues. I have a friend who puts her ancient Pomeranian in a diaper at night. Ridiculous? Well, perhaps not any more than putting your mother in Depends.
So, I got Misha thinking I would need to housetrain him. Perhaps I would keep him just in the kitchen and take him out on a rigid schedule. I was realy to go the whole nine yards. It has been 5 months since he entered our lives and I swear the dog has the bladder of a camel.
I take him out at 7:00 PM to pee and then not again until 6:00 AM. Once he went 15 hours without peeing because it was raining and he did not want to go outside. We should all be so lucky. I imagine his bladder the largest organ in his body. Maybe it is part of his mutt pedigree. He is a 20 lb. dog with a Great Dane bladder!

Misha - Zen Master

I grew up in the 1960's and 1970's so Zen was a concept I knew about quite well. Meditation was taught in small classes, large classes, night school and recreation centers. I was on the outskirts of the hippie generation. I tried to meditate many times but it never quite took hold. My mind could never be tamed and when I did it briefly, I was bored silly and stopped the activity immediately.
But now, with Misha, I have found my answer to meditation. We tiptoed out into our dark backyard at 5:00 this morning. I thought Misha had to pee,thus the trip in the shadowy grey of the yard. We walked stealthily through the wet grass and I realized we were not on a mission to find the perfect tree to pee on...we were looking for bunnies! Misha was on the alert. As we wandered the lawn I began to see the bushes and grasses, vegetable garden and hen house all emerge from the darkness. Misha was totally concentrated on sniffing out his prey. His focus traveled up the leash and to my arm, up my arm and to my brain. I was actually living in the moment.
He must have smelled a rabbit in a big bush because he came to a halt in front of it and sat down. He was focused and alert and quiet and just sitting. He stared in to bush and did not move. I pulled over a garden chair and sat too. I looked the other direction toward the light that was beginning to bring the day. I heard the little bugs and birds making their wake up noises. I found that I was not thinking about anything at all, I was just being there.
The difference for me was that I was not alone or with other humans. I was with Misha and he was not looking to see if I was sitting correctly or breathing correctly. He was intent on his interest and I could be intent on mine.

"Let Sleeping Dogs Lie" with me

There are those people whose dog sleeps on a rug on the floor, in a crate or under their master's bed. And then there are those of us who have stepped over a line. Our dogs sleep in the bed with us. They lie curled outside the covers at our feet. They lie on top of the covers next to us. Sometimes they are under the covers with their heads on the pillow next to ours.
Misha sleeps between Aldo and me in our bed. At times he curls at the bottom near our feet. In the morning however he has always inched his way up to my face. He nestles his nose under my chin and begins to lick me awake. There are few things that have ever pleased me so much. I love everything about sleeping with him.
I love to hear him sigh as he falls asleep at bedtime. I love feeling his weight against my leg or back in the night. I love jockeying for the most comfortable position as the 3 of us toss and turn. I love thinking of him first thing every day. The most compelling thing about it all is his desire to be with me. His satisfaction and contentment at just being by my side makes the world a better place for me to wake up to.

A Tale (tail) to Tell

A dog's tail can tell you what your dog is feeling from moment to moment. In Misha's case when he is hunting rabbits his tail sticks out straight behind him. The hairs decending from it never move unless a breeze blows by.
Lots of dogs have beautiful tails. Though many spaniels have their tails docked I've wondered if Misha could be part Cavalier King Charles Spaniel? Their tail is extraordinarily beautiful.
The rescue group that picked up Misha from North Carolina and put his picture on Petfinder said that he was a "Corgi/Spaniel" mix. Spaniels are small sporting dogs. They are used to retrieve a bird after it has been shot by a hunter. Their usual white with brown markings (which Misha also has) would distinguish them in the field from a fox or other wildlife. Spaniels have very soft coats (except for the Brittany spaniel) and so does my Misha. Their mouths are very soft too so that when the dog brings the bird back to it's owner the bird is not injured by the dog's teeth. The gentle folds of skin around the mouth protect the hunter's kill. Misha's instinct to point and tiptoe toward small creatures may come from a spaniel heritage.
The Cavalier King Charles Spaniel is not really in the sporting group though. It is a toy dog, bred to be a companion. They have a small carriage and look like the proverbial puppy with huge eyes and a smilely countenance. It's tail is long and flowing, elegant and so very soft to the touch. Sometimes Misha just wags the teeny tiny tip of his tail in answer to a question I pose to him. I think dogs can use their tails rather like sign language and if we watch carefully maybe we can learn the language fluently.

Reflections on art and dogs and me

Gustave Courbet painted wonderful paintings of landscapes, nudes, portraits, and all kinds of animals. My favorites of his paintings are of course, his dogs. Last year Aldo and I went to a Courbet show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. We went from room to room in awe of the talent, the vision, the hand that created the work.
I found one that was of a greyhound sleeping. I could not find a picture of it on the internet to show you but I found a few others. Last night I sat on the couch with Aldo and Misha. Aldo was watching a movie and I was watching Misha. The place where I was sitting gave me a fantastic view of my sleeping pup. His tail and rear end were closest to me so he was forshortened as my eyes moved over his body and legs to his head. I went over and over the lines and shapes, redrawing them in my mind. It is the sizes and distances of shapes, their relationship to one another that are the important things. If I screw up either one the likeness will not be true. For me, it is the most enthralling puzzle in the world. How does that little piece of leg show up under the other one? How does the paw fit where it is? If I can't see his eyes is it because I am mostly seeing under his chin? Will my drawing look like my Misha? It is a compelling problem for me and one I never tire of. How does the light hit his head and where does a shadow begin? Drawing is everything. I have always felt that if I could really draw the relationships between the parts I will have truly done something. That is why I keep on being an artist.

Perhaps life can be about finding what is really important to you and then deciding what do you do about it? Vincent Van Gogh said "The best way to know life is to love many things" I could not agree more.

Misha has a friend

Misha has made a friend. Niles (the dachshund) owns my friend Lola. Lola admits that she became Niles pet willingly. She walks him, plays with him, amuses him, and buys him treats and toys. Lola carries Niles in her arms when it is hot outside and he doesn't want to walk. I do that with Misha too. Misha lolls his head back in my arms and smiles "Thanks Miranda" the smile seems to say.

Niles is a long haired dachshund. He and Misha seemed to hit it off right away. They are kindred souls. Each knows how to control and yet pamper their pet human. They are masters of their craft. Both of them use their soulful eyes to beg, barter and steal from toys to affection. They make up games. Niles made up a great game the other day. He stole a red pepper from Lola's shopping bag and tore it up all over the sofa. Lola was thrilled because it gave her that always appreciated bending and stretching exercise to find all the little pieces of pepper.

Misha taught Niles how to lift his leg and mark every little plant on a walk. That allows Lola to stop and take a breath, look at the flowers and notice the beauty all around her.

Dachshunds were bred originally in Germany to go after badgers. The smaller version of dachshund was used to chase rabbits into their burrows. Misha and Niles look like cousins and Niles (who doesn't like just any dog) is very friendly with Misha. When they see each other they run up to each others ears to whisper the new tricks they have taught their owners to do. If they have a lot to tell, Lola and I can also catch up and have a cup of tea and a chat.

Part Italian Greyhound?

When I gaze at Misha's head I am charmed by it's lovely roundness. It is a perfect circle until it tapers to his slender nose. He has many whiskers that are black and stand out against his fur. Misha' s head often makes me think of Italian greyhounds. He does not have jowls that hang from his bottom lip, no extra skin to flop from his jaw. His whole head is very compact looking and his countenance is bare for anyone to see, no hiding behind bangs or waves of fur or hair.

The Italian greyhound is a delicate looking little dog. They were owned by Egyptians,ancient Greeks, and Romans. Pictures of Italian greyhounds can be found on Egyptian urns, medieval tapestries and European paintings. The IG (as it is sometimes referred to) has very thin fur and they do not like getting wet or the cold weather. Misha also hates getting wet and will look at me with horror if I suggest he go out in the rain. Does his DNA hold a bit of royalty?

What kind of dog is Misha?

I know that Misha is part Beagle. His eyes are brown, so dark that I can hardly see where the iris begins and the pupil ends. Both of his eyes have a thick black line around them. It is there as if drawn on by a make-up artist with an eye liner pencil. The effect is compelling. His eyes are round and liquid looking, they are pools I drift into.

The Beagle is part of the hound group of dogs. They are known for running down foxes or rabbits for a hunt. They have incredible noses and are used to sniff out contraband at airports. They can even be trained to sniff out mold in a person's house. Misha loves to hunt rabbits. When he sees one he begins to stalk it, slowly moving toward it with measured steps. He inches closer and closer. I watch him with fascination. Not a hair on him moves until he feels the rabbit is unaware of him. It is like watching a game of red light/ green light with a kid who is determined to win the game. Suddenly, the rabbit notices something (probably me) and is off. Misha does not seem concerned... surely there will be another rabbit along shortly.

My Childhood as a Dog

I have always felt an affinity for dogs. As a little girl I used to beg my mother to feed me from a dish on the floor. I would pick a dog to be for the day. I could be a cocker spaniel, a sheltie or a pug. My name would be Holly or Ramsey or Kirby. l would crawl around on the rug near my mother when she would sit to read. I would turn around a few times and settle at her feet with a sigh. Sometimes I would ask her to tie me up in the backyard which I don't remember her ever doing. I think there was only so far she would go along with my fantasy.

When I was 7 years old she and my father decided to get me off the floor that they would get me my own dog. We went to the city pound and chose a tiny puppy who was white with brown spots. I would hold him in my lap and scratch his stomach. I loved to just sit and watch him walk and sniff and pounce on little bugs. He had an incredibly long tongue which he used to lick my entire face. There was nothing about him I did not love.

The Fly

Misha and I are watching NCIS on T.V. The fan is blowing on us, the hum of traffic outside the house is soothing too. Suddenly, a fly begins buzzing around our heads. "Oh rats " I say aloud. And before I can say anything else, Misha (who has been watching it intently for 20 seconds) jumps up, snaps his jaws, and the fly is gone. He then spits it out on the couch and looks at it to see if it is worth eating. My hero!

Misha's Beginning

The rescue group that saved Misha has been in existence since 1982. It had begun when 2 friends talked over coffee about how there were so many dogs in the town shelter and how they did not seem to get adopted readily. What if those dogs were fostered in homes? What if the fosters assessed them and did some basic training with them? Could they get these dogs out of the shleters and adopted? Thirty plus years later the group is still going strong. And they are doing more than rescuing just their town dogs. In the spring of every year a local high school group takes a trip to the southern U.S.A. There is an overpopulation of stray dogs there. Often these dogs end up in shelters where they may have only 3 days to live before being euthanized. So, the group of kids heads south in a van and picks up as many dogs as they can.

There he is!

He was sitting on the floor near a coffee table, just sitting quietly and looking at me. In that first look I fell head over heals in love. I moved across the room and knelt down on the rug next to him."Hello little guy" I said and began that dog crooning voice that all of us who love dogs have somewhere inside. He leaned against me and then slid to the floor on his back and presented me with his stomach to scratch for him.
I know the lady talked to me. I know I answered her questions and had a cup of coffee. I know I gave her a check and took a bag of food for him and a leash and collar. I have no idea how long I stayed but I knew that he was mine. He had to be.
We went downstairs and said goodbye to his foster Mom, she turned and did not look back, she said it was too hard to do. Misha stood and watched her for a minute and then I took him and put him gently into the back of the car and we headed home.

I dashed off to find the web site for the rescue and fill in the application form for the dog called Misha. I answered all their questions and gave them phone numbers of friends and our vet who would attest to my past good pet ownership. That afternoon I got a call from the foster Mom of the little dog. I sounded perfect for him. Could I come on Sunday to see him and see if we were a good match? Of course I would be there.
Misha was in the next state so I left early on Sunday to find my way to his foster home. I drove to an apartment building with tall pine trees shading the front door and a pretty garden on the side. I ran up the three flights of stairs to Apartment 3C. I knocked. "Is this where Misha is staying?" I asked. "Come on in" the foster Mom said. I stepped into the room and saw him.

One Thursday in May I looked up Corgi and Corgi mixes on the Petfinder site. I scrolled down and was immediately taken by a picture of a small dog. He was white with a light chestnut colored face and a few similiar colored spots on his back. He stood smartly and his tail swooshed up in a curling motion behind him. He had a beautiful round head that looked a bit Beagle like, but his body shape and short legs were those of a Corgi for sure. There was a close-up that showed his face and he had dark brown lines around his eyes that looked like eye make-up drawn on carefully with an eyebrow pencil. He was adorable. I quickly scanned the biography that went along with the pictures "small Corgi mix, not a barker, calm, housetrained, friendly, walks well on a leash..." I called downstairs to my husband to come and see the picture. "Yeah, he's pretty cute" Aldo admitted.

Blogger: happyeyesdogrescue - Configure Blog Posts

Blogger: happyeyesdogrescue - Configure Blog Posts

2009

I had spent all the year looking for a dog on Petfinder.com. Every morning I woke up and got my cup of coffee, turned on the computer and from 5:30 until 6:10 could look for my new dog. I am a teacher and my students used to often ask my what time I woke up in the morning. Middle school students seem to like to know everything about you but they were often bewildered when I told them what time I arose. "Why so early?" they would ask. "Because that is when I have time to look for a dog."
My husband was only called to the computer screen when I found a really nice looking one to be approved. For a year he said no to everything that I showed him." Too small, too hairy, too big, too old, too fat, too thin, too young..." I looked through thousands of dogs. I imaginged myself with hundreds. I would print out pictures of dogs I thought were good choices and stick them up on my board at school to look at. I bought a stuffed dog and clutched it in my hand at night. I took it in my purse on car trips for company.
Our son is away at college. We had always had a dog or two in the house when he was home and he did not understand the big deal. "Get Mom another dog" Silas said to my husband."Then she will have someone else to fixate on."

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