Part 1 Thank you, Rachel Koch, from those who speak with tails

If you know the dog world in the south of France, you know of Rachel Koch. Although she hates the term, forums and associations call her an angel for her work in fostering and adopting dogs, especially the Great Pyrenees she loves so much. I prefer to call her an expert, whose understanding of dogs comes from years of experience, from some sixth sense that defies analysis, and from love. I also prefer to call her friend. As well as a weakness for big furry independent types, we share a shaggy dog story of dubious legality about how we didn't meet in a car park ...

Rachel and some of her Great Pyrenees at home (Max on the left)

Welcome, Rachel! I know your first language is Dutch so thank you for responding in English for me. We often talk in French because of where we live so it's a change for me to talk in my own language with you. Please tell us a bit about yourself.

I gave up my career as a flight attendant because I was away from home for long periods. I had always wanted to have animals around me, and, starting with a wire-haired Daschund, I soon began breeding dogs and got involved in  showing and working with them. I followed several courses in the Netherlands in order to become a show and field work judge, and travelled to many countries in Europe in the course of my judging activities. I left judging when I moved to France as I found that it took up too much of my time.

I did a quick count of the dogs I have taken in and came to 15 dogs fostered and 10 adopted although I’m sure I have missed a few. Most were of advanced years like old Jake, a Golden Retriever, whose owners were killed in a car accident. He was completely lost when he came to me but found his “maison de retraite” (retirement home) with us and died in his sleep like a gentleman a few years later.

It is difficult to send away a dog who finally has found his home at the age of 12-14. I prefer to keep older dogs with me as I want to avoid the stress of adapting to a new environment. Young dogs always find a new home very quickly. Older dogs are obviously harder to place. You also must realise that if you adopt, it can be for up to 15 years. I am 58 at the moment so a puppy will stay with me 15 years. Plan ahead if you want to adopt!

Our meeting in a car park was set in motion when I received a phone call from a volunteer with a dog association. A member had rescued a Great Pyrenees, who was in terrible conditions. She couldn't keep him and I was asked if I could drive him part of the way down through France to a foster home. I could. I did. In fact, my long-suffering-husband 'volunteered' to be the get-away driver on condition that I handled the dog. 

When the fugitive was handed over in a car park, he didn't resist. He didn't care any more. His eyes were dead. I've seen this before in shelter dogs, where they have given up completely and it is heart-wrenching. The foster-carer was of course Rachel, and this is what she saw when she came to meet me in the car park of Aix-en-Provence motorway services. Rachel took over with Max and his story.

Rachel's first view of Max (and Jean)

Jean and Max during the rescue

If I tell you that Max is the love of my life of course you cannot compare that to your parents or your husband. A dog is a dog and not a human being. But what I had with Max started probably when he came to our house in a bad state and I knew right away that we were connected. 

I was contacted by Adoption Gros Chiens. His story can still be found on their site. It was one of their first rescue operations. They had rescued Max but they did not have a foster home for him so I agreed to take him temporarily.

Max at Rachel's being nursed back to health

Max after adapting to his new life :)

As I am a judge for hunting dogs I went to a show not far from my house a few days after  and left him in the care of Sven, my husband, and told him to keep Max always on a leash or chain when he was outside.

Sven phoned me in the evening that Max had escaped and the chain was broken. It was at lunch time. He just went into the kitchen to prepare a meal and returned - no dog. So when I came back next day, Max was gone and the search started. Sven and I put pictures of Max everywhere, drove miles and miles to find him. I searched the entire neighbourhood, putting up pictures and of course informing the Gendarmes and Vet.People called to say they had seen him walking with a length of chain hanging off him but every time I went to look… no Max.

I had put him a collar with our phone number on but even then you have no idea if the collar is still on and Max had no tattoo or chip. I searched every day and finally I received news after ten days ! in the evening, on the day that there was terrible rainfall in Draguignan. (A lot of people were killed in the heavy rains and floods) On that very day, a lady phoned to say that she had found Max and he was in her  barn with the horses. She asked me if she could feed him.

I was crying all the time and gave the phone to Sven to try to figure out where he was. It was 75 km !! from our house and indeed he had tried to return to his old place in the mountains but he missed one crossing. I could not wait so we went in a storm with trees falling on the road, floods everywhere. They told everybody to stay at home because people where dying in Draguignan but we went in search of a dog ! 

And there he was in the barn. He could hardly walk so we put him in the car and drove home, where I put him in a blanket. I was so happy but then a few  days later he escaped again. He jumped the fence with me close to him, and I screamed and screamed, 'Max, no no!' and I was completely - how do you say that? - devastated, disappointed. How could a dog you have given so much attention and love and food leave you again?

But the next day, in all my despair, I saw him next to the fence in the forest. He was looking at me and laying still and looking at me, and at seven in the morning I went up to him in my pyjamas and said, 'You are home,' and he never left me again.

Max chez lui

From that moment on his love was in my heart and it stayed until he died so that was the moment  that we had that unconditional love for each other and he became the love of my life. 

Rachel, you and Max were lucky to find each other and to know such happiness, for the last of his nine years. He is a different dog from the one with dead eyes who trudged across a car park with me and I'm sure his tail thanked you every day.

Max and Rachel on the ski slopes

The story of Max highlights some of the issues that arise when you foster or adopt a dog. They DO often attempt to run back to the place they know, even if they were horribly abused. We need to be so careful! I am so neurotic about a dog escaping that I take a collar and tag with my phone number on it when I go to the shelter to pick up the dog. 

Rachel, when you take in a rescue dog, what do you do during the first couple of days? 

I keep them in a quiet place away from the other dogs and with food adapted to the need of the dog. In the case of Max,  I started with rice and chicken and supplements and vitamins.  I also give them a bath and if necessary anti-flea and anti-worm pills. If needed I take them to the vet. I let them sleep a lot and go out with them on a leash, wearing a collar with my phone number on it.

The first days I always take a dog in my bedroom at night. I think this is very important and I do this with all rescue dogs.  Some people are against it but put yourself in a situation that you are lost and find yourself in a house that you do not know, and you are locked up in a kitchen with nobody around you!  So I try to bond with the dog, to keep him with me 24 hours a day. 

Different breeds adapt at different tempos, but with Great Pyrenees it will normally take a month for a dog to understand that he has found a new home. I think this is because they are so attached to the place they live, or the flock they are guarding. 

Thank you so much, Rachel. I love hearing your stories and advice. Neither of us will ever forget Max. His story and those of other rescued dogs show us what is possible. In Part 2, Rachel will tell us more about her adoption and foster care of dogs.

Sherlock, my own adopted dog, is lying beside me at this very moment, worried about the thunderstorm. Ditto Blanche. 

Jean with Sherlock (and Blanche's reflection)

If you would like to win an ebook of my story 'Someone To Look Up To' just post a comment below, before 30th September, in any of the blog posts about Rachel. If you already have my story from the viewpoint of a Great Pyrenees, please choose another book.

Rachel is happy to answer any questions you might have so feel free to post them below.

amazon link

The Princess' 9th Birthday Celebration

9 years ago today, a puppy was born on a farm in the Pyrenees. 

For some reason, her choosing fell through. She was still playing with her siblings when someone on her breeder’s waiting list phoned for news of the next litter and said ‘We’ll take her.’ 

Jean and Blanche's family at the Neouvielle kennels

The masters-to-be drove for 5 hours to fetch her and 5 hours home. Then they suffered hours of Béarnaise folk songs howled until no-one could bear any more and a compromise on sleeping-place was negotiated (the puppy chose her place and the people got some sleep). And so Blanche-Neige de Néouvielle arrived like an avalanche into our lives.  

You always think that having had dogs prepares you for the next one. It doesn’t. If you’re lucky enough to have known the friendship of an old dog, you are doubly unprepared for the next puppy, lulled into a false sense of expertise. It’s like childbirth; if anyone remembered what it was really like, no-one would do it twice. And with giant dogs, everything is bigger.

Blanche is the only dog I’ve known who didn’t just devour books; she chose them by sniffing along the bookshelves. She had a penchant for Terry Pratchett but if she could sniff out a book one of us was currently reading, and chew the last pages up on the lawn before we finished it, she was in ecstasy. Just when we’d established some basic principles of living together, we collected her friend, Bételgeuse de la Plaine d'Astrée. And that’s when the fun really began. You’ll note that the humans look much younger in the early photos.

Out-take1

Out-take2

Official Photo - John with the puppies 2006

Before allowing us to take her puppy away, Blanche’s breeder, Nadine, asked us, ‘What sort of life are you offering her?’ I’ve written about Nadine and her Pyreneans, in The Dog who cries Wolf (One Sixth of a Gill) and she can be fierce on her dogs’ behalf.

I can answer Nadine now; this is the life Blanche has offered us, for 9 crazy years.

We prepared for our puppy.

Daiquiri preparing to train her 4th and 5th Pyrenean Mountain Dogs

The puppy had things to learn too.

So that's a cat!

Like most aristocratic demoiselles, Blanche went to finishing school in Switzerland. Here she says thank you to top dog trainer Michel Hasbrouck, at the end of 2 days of Dressage Tendresse (I translated his bestseller into English as Gentle Dog Training)

Blanche and Michel

The only time I've ever dressed up a dog was when Arsenal reached the Champions' League Final and I became over-excited.

Thierry Blanche Henry

The dynamic duo grew up together... and grew... up. 

... finishing at 50kg and 70kg. Weighing a 6 month old male Pyrenean is fun.           

The games Bétel invented with Blanche lived on after we lost him to health problems and visitors can still enjoy being ambushed by white lightning. She hides behind the hedge then surprise-bombs them.

In her middle years Blanche perfected her modelling skills for my istock portfolio and can be found on many leaflets and websites, the face of pet care and dog training, both on her own and with her friend Lou.


When I told John my idea for this shoot, his get-out clause was 'You'll never get the dog to do it.' Blanche gave an Oscar-winning performance and I love this family portrait. She was actually obeying a long down-stay but the expression shows total immersion in the role. This photo features in a French article about homeless people and their dogs 

Blanche has welcomed two shelter dogs into her life, always confident in her relationship with us. We've holidayed together and we've grieved together. A year ago she had a stomach torsion, an emergency which is usually fatal. The operation was successful, despite her trashing her stitches and her cage the next day at the vet's, and refusing to eat until I was summoned to take charge. 

Blanche and Sherlock on holiday, Lac Ste Croix

She has a BIG character and an even bigger sense of fun.She inspired the character of Snow in Someone to Look Up To and committed some of the funny crimes attributed to Sirius. On one occasion, Bétel barked in the middle of the night to alert me; I threw on my dressing-gown, expecting burglars, and I found the door to the spare bedroom ajar. Blanche was curled up on the sofa in there, tucking into a box of dog treats she'd filched from the wardrobe. She still tests me out and she's still happy when I win. Dogs!

Her latest modelling credits include the book trailer for One Sixth of a Gill which also includes some of her photos; and a cameo role in the trailer for Someone to Look Up To, acting Sirius' brother. If Belle in the famous film can be played by a male, I don't see why my star actress can't change gender if required.

She is even going to be a pin-up girl. The 1st edition of the new International Magazine for Pyrs will be printed in March - with Blanche and Bétel featuring on the cover. You can see Blanche. The beautiful male featured on the left is called Romeo.

The magazine will also feature Someone to Look Up To in serial form. Check it out!

Subscribe to Pyr International Magazine

Happy 9th birthday, princess.

Among amazon.uk top dog books since 2013. 
'A wonderful dog story'

Amazon link

Don't call me Shirley

I suppose it was inevitable that within minutes of us renaming our adopted dog 'Sherlock', my husband (a big 'Airplane' fan) said, 'Of course, we'll call him Shirley.' Sherlock/ Sherl/ Sherley/ G'boy seems very happy with his new names and life. He has a tail like a cat's and it's usually waving that little white hook at the end high in the air. His hind-quarters have completely regained muscle tone and a bum doubled in size suits him better than it does me; ditto the extra 5kg he gained gradually after he came to us. Read Part 1 of Sherlock's story

A Happy Tale

Sherlock is a griffon bleu de Gascogne, a Gascony Griffon, bred for hunting, abandoned with no ID. My suspicions that he was thrown out by his hunter-owner have been backed up by his behaviour. When we opened a bottle of Clairette (the local sparkling wine), the cork popping sent Sherlock into nervous running round. Purely in the interests of dog-training, we made sure he heard the sound frequently and he has grown used to it over the last eight months but this is not a dog who will cope with gunshots. He's scared when the hunters go past in their SUVs, hounds barking and trailers clattering. Nose glued to the ground as always and ears trailing, he didn't even see the pheasant that pottered into the woods on one of our forest walks. I suspect that he has the nose but not the temperament; or that a hunting accident traumatised him.

I do know that he was treated badly. He no longer flinches when I stroke him unexpectedly and he's no longer afraid if I'm cross (usually with Blanche and he worries on her behalf). He knows there's no hitting here and his confidence grows all the time. Yesterday was a big day; he looked me in the eyes and, for the first time, licked my nose. He seeks caresses now without fearing reprisals. In fact, he'll push Blanche aside to get his share and she's so sure of herself (and of me) that she doesn't mind. It wasn't safe for him to show his feelings and he is a reserved dog, who is taking the risk of expressing himself more and more. 

He is also deeply stubborn. He might have been beaten but he wasn't broken. I see it when Blanche plays dominance games. She is so much bigger that he can't avoid being jumped on but he doesn't buckle and he doesn't give in. He endures it. I suspect his previous training involved commands, stubborn refusal and then him being hit. The shelter reinforced recall as a bad thing (back into the cage if you came when called). That has changed completely with positive training but he still wavers sometimes at the final moment in recall. There's a lot of harm to unlearn. And he has no idea what play means. So motivation has to be praise, cuddles, need to be with me or occasional cheese cubes.

Sherlock sleuthing

I get funny looks when Sherlock is with me. One man waiting with me at the vet's told me he used to have a bleu de Gascogne. The dog got nicknamed 'Inox' the French name for a metallic pan-scraper, because the wire-haired coat is so harsh. The breed website shows a photo of owners; rows of men with guns and Sherlock-dogs.

Everyone knows that it is a bad idea to adopt a hunting dog. Why, I wondered, having adopted a hunting dog. A French friend told me, 'They escape. They run away all the time.' This was not good news. Escaping dogs die. The very next day, I found Sherlock outside the garden fence, running around the terrain that is open to a busy road. A lump in my throat, I called him back in. Blanche hadn't followed him - that time. John and I checked the fence, argued, blocked the hole that hadn't been there before, feared the worst. 

It happened again. I watched where Sherlock went when he was back on the inside, found the new hole. Heavy-hearted, I told John. It was a bad day. We both know from bitter experience what a determined escaper can be like and how dangerous it is. Gritting his teeth, John looked at the fence again. And then looked around inside the big garden. And saw what Sherlock had been trying to tell us all along, looking through the fence, pointing gun-dog style. Wild boar excrement. The holes had been made by wild boar coming down from the woods into the garden. All Sherlock had done was go through the hole and check out his outer territory - and then come home.

When strimming the grass outside the fence, someone had cut through the tension wire at the bottom and that was all it took to allow piggy diggings and a break-in. Acorns and worms in damp soil all attract the boar. Luckily a strand of barbed wire along the bottom of the fence outside stopped the nocturnal invasions - big thanks to the Welsh friend who gave me that tip.

Sherlock has made NO escape attempts so another myth can be exploded; hunting dogs don't all want to run away.

Sherlock on his holidays by Lac St Croix

Apart from the nose-lick, yesterday was a big day for another reason; vaccinations and health check. It's good news. The way I'm treating Sherlock's ears is working so although they are dirty and need wiped regularly, the regime of a week's Zymox, then a break, has prevented any return of infection and can be carried on forever. No talk of operations, nor even of antibiotics. One healthy, shiny, happy dog.  My vet has remained impassive in the past while I've sobbed all over her consulting-room but this time she cracked completely, in a good way. Yesterday, she stroked Sherlock and we agreed that he wasn't the sort of dog who'd attract potential owners but that he was beautiful, 'well-proportioned'. She told me, 'I love this dog. There is something peaceful about him.' The word she used was 'reposant', which carries the sense of 'makes me feel peaceful.' Yes, 'reposant' is a good word.

Sherlock - another dumped dog

By popular request, the story of Sherlock. His ears already have a fan club so it's time I let you meet him properly.

We wanted to motivate Blanche's recovery from her operation (stomach torsion) so we decided in February to get her a new friend. I had promised Lou that his successor (not replacement) would be, like him, a sweet-natured shelter dog that no-one else would want but who could cope with the somewhat brutal friendship of a Great Pyrenees. Hunting dogs are not popular for adoption because hunters assume they were useless at hunting and their background gives them the reputation of being unsuitable as family dogs and liable to run away. So we chose Rudy, who'd been found wandering the countryside in August 2013, with no ID. He was probably thrown out before the new season.

Rudy's prison mug-shot

Here in France, some hunting-dogs are loved all the year round, all their lives. Many, however, live in packs, in cages, exercised only during the hunting season and with no experience of homes and families. We were told that Rudy hadn't known what a caress was but was starting to enjoy them. That he was quiet but showed enthusiasm for outings, in his own way. We already knew what 'outings' meant from our adoption of Lou: a five-minute toilet break on waste ground, 3 to 4 times a week. The surprise with Rudy was that he didn't pull on the lead but he'd been trained (unintentionally) not to come when called. He'd be let off the lead for his five minutes, called, grabbed and taken back to the cage. Obviously, he preferred not to come when called. So we filled in the paperwork and changed his name to Sherlock.

When I went to his cage to spring him from the hellhole, he didn't even get up he was so depressed, and he barked just once, a big hound bay, fit for a Baskerville. I swear he knew I'd come for him and he didn't think he could go on much longer if I hadn't. The breed was new to me and I didn't realise till I got him home that the muscles of his hind-quarters were wasted from lack of exercise and he was far too thin. I thought back to the dish in his cage, piled high with pizza (restaurant left-overs) and untouched. The first night, he cried from the pain in his ears - yes, once again, and worse than with Lou, another floppy-eared dog with the most horrific, untreated ear infection. Dogs are so stoical and they put up with ear infections during the day when there are distractions but they can't sleep at night and the pain drives them crazy.

The vet fell in love with Sherlock and her good work, combined with a healthy diet and daily exercise, has restored his health. His bum is double the size it was and, in his case, that's great news. He's gained 5kg - a big percentage of his 35kg. Thanks to a Blog reader who emailed me, I had a new treatment to try for long-term ear maintenance and we seem to be managing the ear problems by using Zymox regularly (products you can order from the USA and that work miracles).

Sherlock at home

I'm sure from his behaviour that Sherlock had never been in a house before and the stairs up to the front door were a giant step for dogkind. It took a couple of tries the first time but he followed us and the big blonde into the house and into the living-room. He even fell asleep for a while until the T.V. was switched on and then he was completely panic-stricken, ran outside and wouldn't come back in. We left the T.V. off. It took a couple of days with gentle sound and his strong desire to be with us as motivation, and then he was watching Premier League football with everyone else. He still fled from Metallica videos for a while but, now, his favourite place to sleep is right in front of the television.

This is my third dog adoption, I have read hundreds of first-hand accounts from other people, and I have a theory about what I've experienced with all three, very different dogs. They have all been traumatised for the first few weeks and as the effects have worn off, their underlying personalities and experiences have started to show, in some unexpected ways. Sherlock was so numb that anyone could do anything with him for weeks; when he showed dislike and even fear of strangers, I think this was a sign that life mattered to him again and that he wasn't just accepting whatever happened. I know that I have not encouraged his fears in any way (my training is good enough to know that) and yet he is now nervous about situations he didn't care about at first.

Sometimes, trainers make the mistake of assuming that the adoptant is creating fears in the dog. Often, the debutante dog-owner does create fears in the dog! Reassuring and stroking a scared dog is classic reinforcement behaviour. But what I'm suggesting is that awakening from trauma can bring with it all those fears a dog has, based on past experience - or ignorance - and show its own personality, regardless of whether the owner does everything 'right'. Sherlock got over how scary the T.V. was and he has the intelligence and trust in us to learn confidence in other situations he hasn't met before - we are working on it.

We discover new things about him all the time. Training with treats hasn't been possible until now. I thought he'd probably been trained not to take treats and yet he would take little bits of chicken or soft cheese from my hand, and he will eat soaked dog kibble but not dry biscuits. Yesterday, I looked properly at his teeth, which the vet had declared to be good. They do look good when his mouth is closed, but the four middle bottom teeth are eroded, filed away? damaged? ground down on cage bars? I shall ask my vet next time I see her. But I'm now sure that he can't eat hard treats - not won't - and he's been happily accepting little soft cheese cubes today. I know there are other ways of training but I think this is going to help with communication. There are four of us in this marriage :)

After two months with Sherlock, we felt confident enough to take him on holiday for a week and I am very proud of how he behaved: he has been perfectly house-trained (despite never being in a house!) not destructive in any way and he copes with the princess. They are unquestionably one pack although he is not willing to play with her - yet. You will laugh at his one irritating habit. He is a bit of a whiner, especially if we leave the room and he wants us there. Especially first thing in the morning, at first light. Yes, I now have a dog who insists on giving 'A Song at Dawn' outside my bedroom window!!

John, Sherlock and Blanche, the princess, on holiday in Provence

The dogs who walk beside us

Lou 2006-2014

This wasn't how the story was meant to go. It has been a tough month and Lou died peacefully in my arms on Monday at the vet's after an auto-immune disease had progressively weakened him. I know some of you have grown fond of P'tit Lou from meeting him in my blog and will miss him. You know the French high speed train, the TGV? Well, Lou was a CGV, a Chien a Grande Vitesse. He lived at 100kph, his tail and his heart beating at top speed as he made up for time lost in the animal shelter.

To further complicate my life, while Lou became worse, our Pyrenean Mountain Dog, Blanche, told me there was something seriously wrong so I rushed her to the vet's, jumped the queue and saw the twisted stomach on the X-ray. From the moment I read about this condition in the dog book I translated, I've dreaded it, but the emergency operation was a success and the patient recovered well.

Patient is not the right word for Blanche and she recovered too well for the vet's liking; she trashed everything in her cage and ripped out her stitches during the night after the operation. He called me the next morning asking me to come in and give her tablets, food and a short walk. So I rushed to the vet's again, armed with cooked chicken breast. It was hard to leave her there another day, for me as well as for the vet, who would have loved me to take her away, but that's when complications can kick in so she did her time. I was told, with professional pride, that the vet managed to give the next dose of tablets and she ate the chicken I left.

She's home now. It was a miracle that all of us reacted so quickly; Blanche, me, the vet. The operation took place before the pain had begun and the prognosis for a full recovery is excellent. The stomach has been attached to the abdominal lining so there shouldn't be any recurrence. Dilation is possible but a comparatively simple problem. I know many people in the dog world who've lost their dogs to a twisted stomach; it's how Blanche's father died. I'm the only person I know with a survivor. Usually a twisted stomach comes on fast and kills quickly.

So here I am with my 8 year old, being lucky, and crying over Lou. Blanche needs to be watched as she treats her Elizabethan collar with total disdain. It's up to the collar to adapt to her ways not vice versa, so if it gets smashed to pieces on the porch door (one collar down and two spares to go) that's hardly her fault. But we've reached Day 6 so we should make it now. And I have time to think about the friend we've lost.

If Lou had known there were only 8 months left for him I am sure that he would have chosen to spend those months exactly as he did. But he never looked where he was going; he ran full tilt at life and looked back to see we were keeping up. Several times I had to warn him and he'd swerve last minute to avoid smacking into a door or a post, like a cartoon character. I still have no idea  how he put a hole in his face but I was there when the emergency vet picked up a stapler and gunned Lou under the eye. Lou hardly flinched, unmuzzled, but when the vet said, 'That didn't go in straight. Hold him while I do it again,' I thought I'd pass out. The vet did it again. Straight. And Lou took it. Straight.

A friend's favourite Lou story is what she calls 'the curious incident of the hose in the daytime'. Two rubber snake-monsters attacked Lou in the outer garden and I witnessed Superdog defending himself single-pawed, biting their heads off and refusing to let go, despite the torrents of water drenching him. Unfortunately, I found out about a second such attack at the moment a mudbath with paws arrived in our living room and shook itself. John reckons Lou was a reincarnation of Riki-Tiki-Tavi.

Lou was a lesson in living well. He knew how to have fun. He won his Princess from polite beginnings to no-holds-barred play. He found it entertaining to take all the dog blankets off the veranda onto the lawn and he trained us to retrieve them. He thought he'd won if he had Blanche's blanket, even if his head was in her mouth at the time. And even when he was ill, especially when he was ill, she'd come in from guard duty and lie near him, facing him, so they could look at each other.

Lou, the Matador, with little white bull

That tickles

Breakfast

Time Out

When someone dies, our reaction is based so much on the human perception of time. A life is often perceived as 'cut short', a death is 'untimely' and 'unfair', all based on life 'expectancy', which is of course an average. Yet we all expect to reach average, even though we know this is statistically stupid. When we lose our dog, there is a clash between two different time-scales that worsens this sense of unfairness. With Lou, eight months as a proportion of my life is so small. 'Unfair' seems even more unfair with a rescue dog who 'deserves' compensation for the bad times. And if, like me, you go through this heartache with several dogs, you find it hard to accept that it is impersonal. The laws of probability mean a penny can come up heads 99 times and the odds of heads for the 100th time are still 50:50.

When we live with animals we must live with different time scales and it is hard to deal with all the deaths that must come our way when dogs walk beside us throughout our averagely long lives. There is not just a clash of scale but of world view. In his powerful and intelligent book 'The Philosopher and the Wolf', Mark Rowlands explores the experience of time for a wolf, as opposed to conventions of time for us humans, and shows what we can learn. I think he is right. My grief remains but I am already losing the sense of unfairness. If 'quality of life'  (lack of) is the touchstone for choosing euthanasia, then surely quality of life is equally the touchstone for living. Not some construct we call time. Not some linear notion. Lou was not chasing the future. He was running because it was wonderful to run. And for a while, we ran together. And it was so good.

Lou - how it began
Lou - Part 2
Lou - Part 3
Lou- part 4

It is in our lives and not, fundamentally, in our conscious experiences that we find the memories of those who are gone. Our consciousness is fickle and not worthy of the task of remembering. The most important way of remembering someone is by being the person they made us – at least in part – and living the life they have helped shape. Sometimes they are not worth remembering. In that case, our most important existential task is to expunge them from the narrative of our lives. But when they are worth remembering, then being someone they have helped fashion and living a life they have helped forge are not only how we remember them; they are how we honour them.

I will always remember my wolf brother.

Rowlands, Mark (2010-04-01). The Philosopher and the Wolf (p. 46). Granta. Kindle Edition.

Barbarossa, dirty-beard

Part 3 of our dog adoption

All happy dogs have many nicknames and our Big Bad Lou is no exception. I wasn't worried about his ancestry, thinking him to be what a French friend calls 'a Crusader dog'  and what we used to call 'Heinz varieties' (from the soup advert offering 57 varieties) but then the same French friend told me that Lou looked very much like the old-fashioned Briard from which he is supposedly a cross-breed. What I found out about the breed fits Lou to an L.

the Briard breed

Briards are also known as Bouviers de Flandres, Belgian in origin, and were known in more familiar terms as 
koehond (cow dog), toucheur de boeuf or pic (cattle driver), and - my favourite - vuilbaard (dirty beard),  No prizes for guessing the origin of this nickname and because Lou's beard is bleached and aged a reddish-brown, and he has a certain presence, 'Barbarossa' was inevitable. Despite the nicknames, Briards have a noble history; Charlemagne, Napoleon and Thomas Jefferson are among the famous afficionados of the breed. 

In both World Wars, Briards were the war dogs used by the French. almost to exctinction. They carried messages, searched for wounded soldiers and were commemorated in awards and sculptures (neither of which would have meant as much to them as a game of hide-and-seek with their masters). They are apparently dominant dogs but as my breed of choice for 20 years has been the Great Pyrenees, I wouldn't notice!

Eye contact - good!

Lou seems happy with all his names and his training has progressed so that he now looks me in the eyes, knowing that I  want him to. How does he know? Because every time he looks towards me, or actually catches my eye, and I notice, I tell him how beautiful he is. Some trainers believe you should behave like a dog, avoiding eye contact, and they are right that an unknown dog will consider eye contact to be a threat, but my dogs know that I am not a dog. They trust me and it is beautiful when we look into each other's eyes. It is not challenging (although I've had that too, from previous dogs!)

I can't yet get this contact on walks as Lou still has what I call crazy-escapee syndrome, even though he doesn't pull now. He does behave as if he's just escaped from the shelter and has to make the most of his 5 minutes of freedom. So I'm working on this, the same way I've worked on contact in the house and garden - with compliments.

The story of Lou's adoption - earlier posts

It's just as well that Lou trusts me as we've visited the vet once a week since he arrived here, sometimes without him lifting a leg on her cabinet but always with the intention to do so. The score so far is Lou 3; Jean 4. Dogs with floppy ears are prone to dirty and infected ears, and although I've cleared up the big infection, Lou still has some dirt deep in the ear canal (according to the vet), and hairy ear interiors, so I'm looking at natural ways of regularly cleansing the ears, without poking objects such as cotton buds into them (too dangerous). At the moment I've settled on olive oil, alternating with vinegar/sterilised water on a separate occasion, injected carefully with a small syringe, massaged and any debris swabbed out with gauze. Once a week with the olive oil, which Lou likes, and once a week with the vinegar mix, which he doesn't mind.

In addition to his ear infection, Lou's had a split callus on his elbow, that was being licked into something nasty. How ironic that after 2 years on concrete, summer weather on ceramic tiled floors seems to have done the damage. I've seen how quickly skin problems can turn to a putrid nightmare in our summer heat, traumatising dog and owner, but Lou has healed quickly with only natural medication - thank goodness. The side- and long-term effects of Cortizone and antibiotics can be as much of a nightmare as the initial skin problem. Lou did have to wear a collar and he wasn't pleased.

Swimming 

However, the rewards of virtue followed quickly, and we took him and Blanche for a swim in our special place - clean and quiet. I vowed I would get him shiny and I think I'm getting there.

Even a clean river here can spark skin problems so our latest gadget is a solar-heated outdoor shower for summer fun and dog practicalities. Lou is about as keen on water-from-above as he is on wearing a collar but he is a natural in front of the camera so he did a turn while everyone else fooled around with the shower.

He has now started his modelling career for stock photos and is a real star. This was supposed to be 'the training class' but he and Blanche are more interested in each other than in the supposed training - too true to life!

I wasn't going to blog about Lou again as the adoption is too easy to be interesting (!) but my stepdaughter (in the photo above) is not the only one who's fallen in love with him so I promised I'd post news and photos from time to time. This is already my favourite photo of the summer and friends have suggested I've invented a new sport - water-dog-ski. For me, it's a photo of happiness, of the summer Lou came.

The Voice of Dog - Lou Speaks

The plumber did it. After three weeks being almost mute, one sight of the little white van outside our gates was all it took for our adopted dog Lou to join Blanche, our Great Pyrenees, in alerting us to the threat - or workmen, as we call them. The voice is mid-range, a little rusty and hoarse, and music to our ears. It means that Lou knows he's home, not just on holiday. Having found his voice, he showed us the full range when a police siren passed by. Some dogs respond to the siren tone by howling and we now have two of them who throw their heads back and audition for 'The Jungle Book'.

Lou's story 

Another sign that Lou is settling in is that he sometimes prefers to lie peacefully in the hall in the evening rather than watch gruesome murders and CSI investigations; each to his own. Choosing his place, distancing himself a little from us now and then shows confidence, and there's no lack of attention to us all day. So where have we got to with our adoption?

Health Costs

It doesn't matter whether a dog is seven years or seven months, the outlay on vet's bills is an expensive lottery. Big dogs cost more and living in a shelter does no favours for a dog's health. So far we've spent 140 euros to get Lou from the shelter; and a further 200 euros on three visits to the vet and medication. The routine medication includes worm tablets, 6 months' flea and tick treatment (our region of France is tick-infested), and a solution for rinsing ears. The non-routine medication has been for an ear infection (complicated by an insect sting) and for a cough.

Neither condition has stopped him bouncing through life like Tigger but I'm hoping to clear up both. It's part of the settling-in period to face whatever health problems my new dog brings with him.

Lou laying low in one of the holes the dogs have dug

The unkindest cut - whether to neuter or not

Most shelters require a new owner to neuter an entire dog as a practical measure to prevent unwanted puppies (likely to become the next generation of inmates). We had Blanche sterilised young, to minimise her risk of mammary cancer and because we didn't want to breed from her. We have a fenced garden and haven't had a problem with dogs escaping so, when the shelter left us the choice, we left Lou's bits entire.

The experts all disagree about neutering male dogs. Vets and many behavioural trainers want male pet dogs neutered; they say it prevents unwanted puppies (true) and unwanted behaviour (debatable). Breeders and some dog-trainers are against neutering male pet dogs unless there are medical grounds; they say neutering can change the dog's character and even induce unwanted behaviour (debatable), and there are other ways of preventing sexual activity. I don't know what's best for other people but I'm happy with full-blooded males, including dogs. I've never had a dog trying to mount the furniture or me (thank God, given that my last male, a Great Pyrenees, weighed in at 70kg) and I'm convinced that such behaviour is about dominance not about sex, so requires training, not a surgeon's knife. Dogs are not people and if there's no scent of bitch-on- heat,  there are no sexual fantasies.

All the experts agree that neutering a female has big health advantages. The disagreements are about when to neuter. Vets advise, 'early'; breeders advise, 'after the first season'. Having made our personal choice with Blanche, which was to trust the vet who would have to perform the surgery, we felt comfortable leaving Lou entire. If we had decided otherwise, or been so compelled by the shelter, we'd have had the complication of convalescence to add to the settling-down period of an adopted dog - not something I'd have enjoyed.

I'm lucky in being able to afford the time and the money required. I'm also lucky in that Lou accepts handling from me and from the vet but I have had a dog who wanted to kill vets. He had good reasons for this but that didn't help me at all with 70kg of angry dog and a vet who didn't want anything to do with him - also understandable. What did help me was a) the training I'd done with him since puppyhood so he did accept me handling him and b) a Shellclip muzzle. So I dealt with it. Better than that, thanks to a co-operative vet, we gradually brought back my dog's willingness to be touched by a stranger.

However, I wonder whether I could handle 70kg of adopted dog, who hadn't known me from puppyhood,  who wouldn't let me touch him and who hated vets. There are plenty such dogs in shelters. If I fell in love with a giant shelter dog who was really difficult to handle, would I cope? Loving giant dogs as I do, this is a consideration if I adopt again in the future. Maybe starting with a puppy would be wiser if I choose a giant breed? Or at least choosing a dog I can literally handle, like Lou in temperament.

In my part of France, vets are not like they were in the UK. The dog's behaviour is my responsibility. If the vet can't get the vaccine up the dog's nose because the mutt is behaving like a kangaroo, I'm given the phial in a little take-away bag to 'do at home when she's calmer'. This involves sneaking up on said mutt when she's asleep and assaulting her like the Pink Panther's manservant, trying to inject her nose. It is not easy! And I miss the Welsh vet, who brought in  a vet's nurse and a fellow-vet to assist in pinning 50kg of dog to the floor while stitches were removed. In Wales, vets' nurses were part of the team. Here, with Blanche, it's just me, the vet and a kangaroo. And while Lou might be perfect during treatment, he has expressed how he really feels by cocking a leg on the way out of the pristine consultation room.Maybe keeping him entire has its drawbacks after all.

An old dog learns new tricks

“Anyone who stops learning is old, whether at twenty or eighty. Anyone who keeps learning stays young. The greatest thing in life is to keep your mind young.” Henry Ford

Perfect recall

This goes for dogs too and you can teach an old dog new tricks. Lou is seven years old, has spent the last two years in a shelter cage and he is a great student. Of course it is possible that he was winning Crufts obedience trials in the five years before he was dumped by a divorcing couple but somehow I doubt it. I don't doubt that he could win obedience trials with the right training but that's not what I do. In formal training, this is what I do with my dogs:-

The 5 Pillars of Dog Wisdom:- 

Leadwork, Recall, Downstay, Turn-taking and Aperitifs

Sarcasm aside, I'm sure that Lou did have plenty of people-experience and some training when he lived with his previous family but whatever commands were used were definitely in French and ex-Balou has switched language as easily as changing his name. He reads body language, listens to the tone of voice and uses his knowledge of how people behave to figure out he's expected to jump in the car, go outside for a pee or come into the house.

From the way he behaves now, my guess is that Lou used to come when called. It's possible that he walked nicely on a lead but if so he lost the habit in the shelter and has regained it. He was definitely never taught a long downstay but one long, determined (on both our parts!) formal session taught him and he will now lie down for half an hour or more when he is told, where he is told, until he is released from the command. Thank you, Michel Hasbrouck for training me! These three pillars of training will let me take Lou into the market, out to friends' houses, for a coffee in the village ... in a word, freedom. That is the essential paradox of dog-training and of my life too; self-control (the dog's, and mine) gives greater freedom.

You'll have noticed five tenets in the training sub-heading, not just the big three. That's because Lou added two more. Turn-taking was entirely Lou's idea and started with his enthusiasm for doing a 'sit' (something that's fun but not important to me). Once a day, Blanche sits on command, waits and, when given the OK (literally, as that's our release word) chases after a Dentastix, then plays cat-and-mouse with it before eating it. I wanted both of them to have their Dentastix and Blanche still to have her fun so I just hung on to Lou's collar to stop him going after Blanche's chew. He didn't just wait patiently; he sat, watched and moved when told 'OK'. So the next day, I told them both to sit - two bums hit the ground. I released Blanche; Lou waited, still sitting. I gave him the OK, throwing his Dentastix at the same time and he was off like a bullet. That is now our routine and I am so proud of him for training me so well.

And then there's the aperitifs. As we live in Provence, we have the daily occasional aperitif. Since Blanche was a puppy, she and her then partner-in-crime were in the habit of rushing to the kitchen on the magic word 'Aperos!' where they received ice cubes from the big American fridge. The first time the call 'Aperos' went out, Lou rushed to the kitchen with Blanche, only to be sadly disappointed at getting an ice-cube, which he spat on the floor. However, convinced that anything the big blonde likes has to be worth trying, he has now become addicted to crunching up aperos and is first there at the very sound of a Martini being poured. Speaking of which, I think it's time... 'APEROS!'

Blanche on a mission

Lou