Rescue dogs – Path of Friendship™

A Tail of Two Cities

It’s a “Tale of Two Cities” when it comes to our dogs. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. On one hand, they are revered and put on a pedestal. Go into any pet store and you’ll find exotic, $200 bags of dog food and luxurious beds fit for royalty, as well as a myriad of toys: from simple rubber balls to intricate food puzzles to plush squeaky animals that would make any child jealous.

We send them to day care centers for them with big screen televisions, private rooms with heat lamps and spa experiences, clothing that rival any emperor’s wardrobe… I even have a friend who arranges private, one on one play dates where each dog is picked up by a limousine with a fully stocked treat bar.

We admire their heroics in law enforcement, military and other forms of service. We rely on our dogs to be our alarm systems, hunting partners, baby sitters, confidants. We idolize dogs on the big screen and in the stories we read… They have been written about and exalted by everyone from Lord Byron to Chaucer to John Steinbeck to Elizabeth Taylor. Our culture has a love obsession with our dogs – they are so integrated into our culture that a world without them is unfathomable.

In spite of this love affair with our dogs, at this very minute a dog is being killed – or as a representative from a well known SPCA once told me, “not killed, only gently euthanized”.

When I worked for the Pennsylvania SPCA, I witnessed first hand the rampant abuse, neglect and abandonment of our supposed “best friends” that our Humane Officers had to address on a daily basis. Animal shelters are full – approximately 6.5 million companion animals enter U.S. animal shelters nationwide every year. For each one adopted there are so many more who are killed, or spend their lives on dark, cold, cement floor prisons – with their only crime that they were no longer wanted.

Yet we breed, breed, and breed. Every year we hear of new fashion breeds, and there’s always someone ready to capitalize on the latest trends and set up a new puppy mill where trauma is rampant and enduring. There are dogs who are subject to unimaginable cruelty in the laboratories and product testing facilities. We sentence them to a life of hard labor at the racetracks, in the fighting pits and on sled teams.

So is treating them like royalty the answer? Is treating them like children a good way to go? When we impose our own values and beliefs on our dogs, concepts such as “sharing”, or “must get along with everybody”, or even so-called “good manners” – we take away their authenticity and their autonomy. We dress them up, make them pose constantly for photos to be posted on social media, and live vicariously through them when we use them as status symbols. There’s a term in psychology for this – BIRG, Basking In Reflective Glory. Does spoiling them justify taking away their dignity? Dogs are not children, dogs are dogs. Many would much rather play in the mud than have a $200 pedicure.

So, is more training and more control the answer? Would that end the cruelty and neglect?There has never been a point in history where we have so much easy access to information – especially about training and controlling our dogs. There are television gurus, social media, podcasts, you tube, countless books and videos – the number of professional dog trainers has experienced an incredible surge in the past 20 years – and yet these problems still persist. Dogs are still suffering, dying, being abused, neglected, abandoned. So, I’m skeptical that more control or better training is the answer.

What our dogs need is more healing, and less heeling. Our goal for our dogs should be the same goal they have for themselves: To feel safe, secure and whole. This requires us to step down off our hierarchical pedestal and be on an equal level with our dogs.

Here is where the Platinum Rule needs to be applied. This is very different than the ubiquitous Golden Rule. The Platinum Rule says, “Do unto others as they would have done unto them.” In other words, understand what they want from their perspective, not ours.

A monkey saw a fish splashing about in the stream. He quickly scooped him up and put him “safely” up a tree to save him from drowning.

That is an example of the Golden Rule, which assumes everyone wants what we want. The Platinum Rule is how we need to relate with our dogs. Do they want to be dressed up like children? Do they want to be forced to perform tricks? Do they want to be bred over and over and over? Probably not, as these are things that make us happy, not them.

Our goal, as our dog’s caregivers, should be to help them feel safe, secure and whole. This means that we appreciate them on their level so we can understand their wants and needs, give them freedom and autonomy so they can be their dignified, authentic selves, and attune to and resonate with them in order to deepen our connection together.

Our dogs don’t need more control, they need more connection and compassion. This is the difference between healing and heeling. By doing what is best for our dogs, not just for ourselves, maybe we can reduce or possibly end the suffering that many of the unfortunate victims of our own desires endure on a daily basis. Our dogs are always here for us, it’s time we are here for them.

Alone, Together

During this time of social distancing and isolation, there is one bright spot. We can learn to be closer with our dogs and enrich our friendship. The quiet, snuggle times that we have with our dogs usually fit neatly into our daily routines, without much thought. But now that most of us are sequestered in our homes, our routines have changed. We can take advantage of this time to connect more deeply with our dogs. We can also take this time to work on any problems we see in our relationship. This is a time to focus on connecting, which brings us closer, and not controlling, which further distances us.

A great way to do this is through what I call C.A.R.E.S., which stands for Companion Animal Relationship Enrichment Strategy. Based in part on trans-species psychology and ideas such as polyvagal theory and attachment theory, it asserts that most of the problems we experience with our dogs, and much of the fear and anxiety our dogs suffer, can be be more effectively healed through enriching our relationships and not through training and behavior modification. I have used this approach for more than 30 years, and have had great success with it. This period of social isolation is the perfect time to put this approach into action.

The eight dimensions of the Companion Animal Relationship Enrichment Strategy (C.A.R.E.S.):

Regard your dog as an equal. This may seem like a radical idea, especially since we’ve been told by trainers and behaviorists that our relationship with our dogs is hierarchical, with humans being on top of the ladder. However, nothing distances us more than inequality. When we view our dogs as subordinates, whether as a pet, a “child” or a tool, we eliminate the possibility of a true friendship from ever forming. This is because true friendship, as Plato and countless other great minds have expressed, can occur only between equals.
Equality is not “sameness.” Our dogs are different from us in many ways. Our differences are complementary, and that is precisely why we have developed a friendship over tens of thousands of years. Although our dogs are not the same as us, we are of equal value – just as our hearts and our lungs are not the same, but are of equal value. We cannot exist without either; they complement each other and therefore give us life. This is what the concept of being equal with our dogs suggests.
Have complete faith in your dog. Our dogs are perfect creatures, even if they don’t act that way all the time. The truth is, neither do we. When we have complete faith in them, we send them the message that we believe in them and we are committed to them. The more we have faith, the closer we are. The more we doubt, the further apart we become.
Un-cage your dog. I am speaking metaphorically here. When we attach labels to our dogs, such as “aggressive,” “shy,” “wild,” etc., we are putting them in a box and don’t see them for who they are in the moment. Our dogs are not one-dimensional, fixed objects that never change; they are ever-changing, multi-dimensional living beings that are completely unique moment by moment. When we recognize that and see them as they are in the present moment, our friendship will deepen and flourish.
Love and accept your dog unconditionally. When we put conditions on our love for our dogs, we greatly increase the distance between us. If we tell them, “I’ll only love or accept you if…” you obey me or you stop chewing up shoes or you don’t jump, etc., we communicate to them that we don’t love or accept them for who they are. This message will destroy our relationship and add tremendous insecurity and anxiety to our dogs. A friendship cannot survive if it’s based on “quid pro quo.”
This love is not only a feeling; it must also be an action. Never withhold affection for your dog or hold back on tenderness because they may not be behaving the way you expect them to. Love shouldn’t be rationed as if it’s in short supply. The more you give your love freely, the more you will receive it.
Let go of control and support your dog’s autonomy. When we make control a priority with our dogs, we lose the very foundation of our friendship. Love is not how much we can control them, it’s how deeply we connect with them. Our dogs are unique, self-determined individuals and we must respect that. As equals, they deserve the same freedom of choice that we do. When we micro-manage everything they do, we send them the message that they are incompetent and inferior.
This does not imply that dogs have “carte blanche” to do whatever they want. As friends neither of us is entitled to that. It means that we support their decisions and choices and don’t stand in the way of the freedom for them to be themselves.
Resolve conflicts with your dog with compassion and empathy. When problems between you and your dog inevitably arise, if we respect each other’s needs and wants and use compassionate communication in finding mutually beneficial solutions, these conflicts will ultimately strengthen our friendship. On the other hand, if we see ourselves as the “boss” and don’t take our dog’s feelings and needs into consideration by attempting to “train” them, then we further distance ourselves from them. This requires tapping into and expanding our capacity for empathy. As friends, we should focus on win-win solutions to our difficulties.
Learn from each other and share wisdom. We have complementary skill sets and can learn a great deal from each other. We can help each other be happy and flourish. As humans, we have an incredible capacity of prediction and the ability to see the “big picture.” Our dogs have an equally incredible ability to notice the present moment in astonishing detail. When we tap into this harmony between us, we create a synergistic relationship where we become better together than we’d be separate. When we ignore our dog’s input so we can be the “boss,” we damage our connection.
Prioritize spending time connecting with your dog. The more time we spend with our dogs, the closer we become. I realize that this is not always possible, so the time we do have with them should be spent on connecting, not controlling. If our precious moments together consist entirely of manipulation and training, we have lost time together that we never recover. Instead of teaching useless “tricks” to show off to the neighbors, spend time in activities that enrich and enhance our friendship. This can include, but is certainly not limited to: shared mindfulness, queen for a day, mindful walking, hide & seek, massage, hiking, playing ball, and more. When we do this in the spirit of equal friendship, rather than of owner and pet, we decrease the distance between us and remove the barriers that block the bond between us.

This pandemic will ultimately end and there will be a return to normalcy. If we use the time we now have with our dogs to enrich our relationship, we’ll get past this time of social distancing and become closer together as friends — the way we are supposed to be.

Honor or Betrayal?

Last week I wrote about loving and losing our non-human friends. It was a difficult essay for me to write because of the recent losses my family and friends endured. It also opened some old wounds when I had to say goodbye to my dog Cosmo, just four short years ago this month.

When Cosmo died, I was devastated. I wasn’t sure how I would continue to function on a daily basis, especially since my work is helping people and their dogs live happily together. How would I be able to council someone on developing a great friendship with their dog when my own beloved friend was now gone from my life?

After he died, I didn’t want to leave my house without my best buddy riding next to me as he did for almost 12 years, and yet I didn’t want to stay in my house either – the void was just too great to bear. It was even more difficult when I’d see my other dog Cecil, watch the door, waiting for his friend who would never come home again.

Struggling with my loss, I swore up and down that I would never replace him. Not only did I not want to endure the pain again, but that getting another dog would be a dishonor to him and his memory. Besides, I told myself, I’d always compare another dog to him and that wouldn’t be fair to the new dog. No, I thought firmly, I will never betray my friend Cosmo.

Three days later…

I wasn’t strong enough to bear the emptiness. I needed bring another dog into my life. I decided that since Cosmo was no longer with me, I’d give another dog in need a chance at life. Of course, that dog would never replace Cosmo.

My wife and I took a ride to our local shelter. We looked at many dogs there, all of them in such desperate need of a home of their own, but I needed to give more thought to bringing another dog home so soon. That evening, I looked at some photos that a friend who runs a rescue had posted online. One picture grabbed me.

I can’t say what it was about her picture that made me pause and really look deeper. The dog in the photo wasn’t exactly the type of dog I would normally look at. I had a preference for larger dogs and this one was small to medium. Yet there was something about her that prompted me to inquire further. I messaged my friend and we set up a meet and greet a few days later.

Vanora, what the rescue was calling her, was nothing like the type of dog I was partial to. First of all, she was a she, and I always had a preference for males. Secondly, she was smaller than I usually liked and was brindle-colored, which I didn’t really care for. Meeting her didn’t go so well, either. She never really looked at me – she kept shifting her gaze to the squirrels and chipmunks that were running around in the field we were in. It’s not that she didn’t want to engage with me, but she preferred viewing the wildlife more. How could I ever connect with this small, distracted, brindle female?

I’m happy to say that Vanora, now named Bhakti (which means devotion in Sanskrit), has been the light of my life for the past four years. She is different than any dog I’ve ever had the privilege to share my life with. We have a connection that is on the same level that I had with Cosmo.

In the beginning, I struggled with the thought that I had somehow betrayed Cosmo by loving Bhakti. It felt almost like I was cheating on him, and that he would be jealous. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I wasn’t betraying Cosmo, I was honoring him. I remembered a line from my all-time favorite film “Harold and Maude”. In a scene where Maude was dying, Harold tearfully said to her, “Don’t die, Maude, I love you!” Her response was the most profound message I ever heard when it comes to loving and losing: “That’s wonderful! Now go and love some more.”

There is a quote that is credited to the Buddha which says: “Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” I believe this is true with love, too. When our beloved friends leave us, sharing our love with another dog does not diminish our first love, it only strengthens it. Our friends will always occupy unique places in our hearts; nothing can ever replace them. By adding more love to our lives with another dog who needs us, we greatly honor the memory of our departed friends. Not just tucked away in our hearts, but in the daily expression of love we give the friends that are with us.

As We Love, So We Grieve

“When one person is missing the whole world seems empty.”
– Pat Schweibert

This has been a tough few weeks for my friends and family. My daughter unexpectedly lost her cat, Tiggy. A friend of mine had to say goodbye to several of her non-human friends she cares for at her sanctuary, and another friend lost her dog. It seems as if the Universe is reclaiming its precious jewels all at once.

Most of us know that when we choose to share our lives with a dog or any non-human friend, the day will come when we will ultimately part ways. Our dogs and other animal friends become so woven into our lives. We calculate with confidence that we have years before we must say goodbye to them and we store it into the far recesses of our minds, taking comfort in the fact that it’s not imminent. We avoid thinking about how delicate and fragile these threads of friendship are that hold our world together. Yet, as much as we push this thought away, it persistently and stubbornly surfaces on occasion to remind us that the fateful day will come soon enough.

I often wonder why our dogs live only a fraction of the time we do. It would seem that a friendship that’s been thousands of years in the making would last both our lifetimes. Then I remembered what a friend once told me long ago that brought me comfort during a difficult time when one of my dogs passed. Dogs live shorter lives than we do so that they don’t have to endure the pain of losing us. We care for them, protect them and nurture them through the entirety of their lives. They depend deeply on us and we become their whole world. Losing us would be devastating for them, so it stands to reason that by them leaving before we do, they are spared that pain. That is our burden to bear.

We should have no regrets for our dogs when they leave us. They live each moment of their lives to the fullest – not because they do any grand or ambitious thing, but rather because they are completely engaged in the present, and don’t look away from it. Dogs extract every moment from life, whether it is 15 years or 15 days. Their ability to be totally present means they are complete and full, with no residue of regret or unfulfilled dreams. As the philosopher Michel de Montaigne put it:

“The utility of living consists not in the length of days, but in the use of time; a man [dog] may have lived long, and yet lived but a little. Make use of time while it is present with you. It depends upon your will, and not upon the number of days, to have a sufficient length of life.”

To lose a friend is a painful and traumatic event. They are a part of us; a piece of our tapestry that is torn away, only to leave a gaping hole. As much as we try, that hole will never be repaired completely. The scar will always be there. But is this a reason not to become friends in the first place? Or is it, as Tennyson said: “’Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all.”

Our friends are never replaceable, nothing will ever fill that void. But to avoid friendships because we fear the pain of losing them will only create deeper voids. How empty and hollow our lives would be if we never had the privilege of sharing a piece of it, however brief, with our dogs. At least when we remember the friends we have lost, for that moment the hole is filled; the empty space is lined with love. It becomes a testament to them and how they’ve changed our lives for the better. If we were never friends in the first place, we’d still be hollow, but that hollowness would always remain empty. The gaping hole in our life’s tapestry would still be there, but we wouldn’t be aware of it. It would be a small, but persistent feeling of emptiness that we would never be able to identify, like a vague itch that can never be satisfactorily scratched. Yes, it is better to have loved and lost.

As we love, so we grieve. We will have good days and bad days, and that will stay with us always. Through the years I have lost many friends. Some were expected, some were not, none were easy. Sometimes, when I least expect it, a memory of a long gone friend will arise and bring a sharp pang in my heart, but always with a subtle sweetness to it as if to say: “I’m still here. I’m still with you.” The writer Elizabeth Gilbert put it so perfectly: “Grief is a force of energy that cannot be controlled or predicted. It comes and goes on its own schedule. Grief does not obey your plans, or your wishes. Grief will do whatever it wants to you, whenever it wants. In that regard, grief has a lot in common with love.”

As I write this, I see the photographs on my wall of the dogs I had the privilege to share my life with. I look at the dogs who are with me now, sleeping peacefully on my bed, and know that I wouldn’t trade the love or the pain for anything. Because I have both, I am blessed.

Early Morning Reflections

It’s early morning, about 10 minutes before sunrise. As I’m lacing up my hiking shoes, Bhakti is anxiously whining in anticipation of the morning’s hike. I call her over and put on her collar and orange vest. She patiently lifts each paw up for me as I apply Musher’s Secret to protect her feet, while Bodhi watches from the other room. I call Bodhi to me and he hesitantly comes over, excited about what’s to come, but not too happy with the preparation. He stands still while his collar and vest go on, begrudgingly allowing me to apply the Musher’s to his paws. I explain to him that it’s important to take these precautions, and that I want him to be safe on the trail. With a look of reluctant acceptance, he abides. I fill the water bottle, grab the leashes, my backpack and my walking stick and we head out the door into the brisk morning air.

Hiking with my dogs is one of my favorite ways to connect with them. I have been an avid hiker for many years, starting when I trained my St. Bernard Oliver for search and rescue work in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, many years ago. These days my hikes are not as ambitious, but I cherish each one, even though waking up before sunrise is not always fun. The experience of walking on the peaceful morning trails with my two best friends is enough to motivate me to drag myself out of a warm bed.

It’s a short drive to the trailhead. I’m fortunate to live in a community located in the Delaware State Forest of Pennsylvania, so access to a variety of trails is only minutes away. The dogs sit quietly in the back seat, waiting to arrive and begin our walk.

Once we’re on the trail, the dogs get a burst of energy. Bodhi does his “trail dance,” as I call it, where he rubs his butt on every branch, rock and tree stump that he can find. Bhakti, on the other hand, immediately puts her nose to the ground and tracks the most recent visitor to the trail — a squirrel, rabbit, deer or bear. After the first few minutes of walking the trail, the dogs are usually a few paces ahead of me. They constantly look back to see where I am, and I feel they’re saying to me, “Hurry up, human, there’s so much to discover!” or “Don’t lag behind!” I tell them to slow down a bit, that I have only two legs and they have four. Soon, though, we all start to settle down into a steady rhythm together.

During the hike, I like to close my eyes for a few moments at times to listen to the symphony of sounds that surround us: The wind that blows through the branches, the crunching noise from each step I take, the birds calling out to each other and the trickle of a tiny stream. The sounds are ever changing, shifting with the current weather conditions and time of year. I will hike in just about any weather conditions except for sub zero cold, (which is not pleasant for my dogs), heavy rain, strong gusty wind, or heavy ice and snow. Other than that, seasonal changes and the different conditions make each hike new and interesting.

Each time we are on the trail, it seems that for Bhakti and Bodhi it is their first time there. They never seem to have a “been there, done that” attitude. They meticulously explore every inch of the path as if they were asked to write a descriptive essay about the trail when they get home. They spend up to a full minute engrossed in some obscure scent on the end of a leaf, or stand motionless, ears perked, as they look into a dense thicket of trees. It’s during those times that I stop and follow their lead. Very often they’ll spot a deer or a bear that I wouldn’t have seen if not for their superior abilities for scent and sound. I’ve been alerted to many beautiful and sometimes scary creatures by deferring to my dogs’ more advanced senses. One time, what I though was a tree stump, was a large black bear. I would have walked right by him if my dogs hadn’t frozen in their tracks and stared at him. Fortunately, he was uninterested and walked into the woods. Sometimes, the dogs find a skull of an animal; usually a deer. When I see it, I feel a bit sad — the final destination of that animal’s life, I think, recalling the sentiment from Tom Brown, Jr.’s wonderful book about the Pine Barrens of New Jersey, “The Tracker.”

We usually hike between four and five miles, and when we’re finished, it seems like Bhakti and Bodhi can go ten miles more without hesitation. For me, I’m usually satisfied and look forward to getting into a nice hot shower, resting, and eating a big breakfast.

For Bhakti and Bodhi, our hikes immerse them in a world I can never be a part of. My world is from my human perspective, where I’m always thinking ahead, trying to be safe and planning my hike so I can get home in time to begin my day’s responsibilities. For them, they are simply connected with the ground beneath their feet, the scent of the forest in their nostrils and the melody of the wind through the trees. I try to take time to become more mindful of these experiences, but compared to my dogs, I’m just scratching the surface. Our time together on the trails is something I cherish deeply. I learn so much from my two friends on our morning treks, and try to carry it with me through the rest of my day. I don’t know where our future trails together will lead, but wherever it takes us, we will always be learning, living and loving together on the Path of Friendship.

I Love All Dogs, But Pure Breeds at Westminster Break My Heart

One of my fondest memories of when I was just starting out in my career as an animal behavior consultant was when I attended the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. I remember spending hours backstage, where all the Poodles, Pomeranians and Portuguese Water Dogs were getting ready for their time in the ring. Seeing all those breeds and interacting with them up close and personal was a thrill for an up-and-coming behaviorist.

This wasn’t my first foray into the show dog world. I used to go every year to Lyndhurst Mansion in Tarrytown, New York, where they had a dog show on the beautiful grounds of the estate. Even before that, when I was just 10 years old, I attended a dog show in New Jersey, and although I competed in obedience, I have memories of seeing all the different breeds of dogs parading around the ring, vying for best in show. It was an amazing experience that I’ll always cherish.

I have loved dogs — all dogs, pedigreed or pedestrian — my entire life. I love their individual personalities and the way they seem to exist in the present without worrying so much about what happened yesterday or what may happen tomorrow. I grew to respect their outlook so much that I turned dogs into my full-time career, working with show dogs, law enforcement K-9s and animals with extreme behavior problems. My present focus is dogs suffering from emotional trauma and fear.

But when I happened to see a Facebook post the other day that asked, “Should individual dog breeds still exist?” I had to answer with an emphatic “No!”

Now, I usually don’t reply to these things on social media, because I don’t like getting drawn into online debates. But with so many dogs sitting on cold concrete floors in animal shelters waiting for homes of their own, I felt compelled to answer.

I explained that there are too many dogs abandoned and dying in animal shelters for more to be continually “manufactured” by breeders. Besides, most purebred dogs are no longer used for their original purpose. When was the last time you saw a Bulldog baiting a bull? Or a Great Dane or Shar-Pei hunting wild boar? For the most part, we have specific breeds now just to satisfy our own desires for “style.”

This got an angry response from several Facebookers, who accused me of being naïve and ignorant. One said I should go “kiss a mutt,” which I actually did, since my mixed breed Bodhi was sitting next to me. Normally at this point, I would have logged out of Facebook and gone about my day, maybe taking my dogs for a walk (and kissing a mutt many more times). But for some reason, I decided to fight this one out.

“What is the purpose of breeds in this day and age?” I asked. “Who does it benefit — us or the dogs?”

I continued: “Genetically manipulating dogs for profit to serve the whims and pleasures of humans is a selfish and anthropocentric thing to do. It is essentially eugenics, and reminds me of the scene in the film ‘Gattica,’ where the parents are discussing with their doctor how to ‘create’ a genetically superior child. Many of the breeds are genetically predisposed to physical problems, like breathing issues with some English Bulldogs and skin issues with Chinese Shar-Peis, to name a few. So why do we feel entitled to perpetuate this indifferent suffering of our supposed best friends?”

As I waited for the responses, I’m pretty sure that I heard the sounds of knives and daggers being unsheathed somewhere off in the social media cyberspace. Then the comments came — and came.

— “Why do you hate dogs so much?”
— “You are an idiot — there are many excellent breeders that care for their dogs a great deal!”
— “These breeds have been with us since the dawn of time, and they need to be preserved.”

I obviously had struck a nerve.

First, dog breeds have not been with us from the beginning. Specific breeds, documented with written pedigrees, probably began with the English Foxhound, around the 17th century. Before that, dogs were more “types” than pedigreed breeds, like sight hounds, scenting dogs, comfort dogs and others. The truth is, humans and dogs have existed for thousands and thousands of years together without the need for genetic manipulation. We were equal partners, and people didn’t feel superior or entitled to control every aspect of a dog’s existence, like character and physical appearance.

As far as preserving specific breed standards, there are many breed registering organizations, and each one has a slightly different breed standard. Other than the American Kennel Club, there’s the Canadian Kennel Club, Fédération Cynologique Internationale, and United Kennel Club, just to name a few. The AKC standard for a German Shepherd is 22-24 inches at the withers and the standard from the FCI is 23.5-25.5 inches. If each has a slightly different standard, “will the real breed please stand up?”

Also, if you were to look at the same breeds as they exist now, compared to 50 or 100 years ago, there are often striking differences — so what exactly are we preserving?

After I made that point on Facebook, someone chimed in, “It’s natural.”

“Oh really?” I snarked. “If you put German Shepherds, Labradors, Bernese Mountain Dogs, Pointers and Standard Poodles together, would the same breeds only mate with the same breeds? I think not. If we have to interfere and control, then there’s nothing natural about it, it’s all man-made.”

Besides, how natural is a Pug? Or a Poodle?

At this point, Bodhi was looking at me a bit concerned — I was becoming agitated. I kissed my mutt again and continued:

“As for me being a ‘dog-hater,’” addressing the other comment, “I think you are confused about what love and hate really mean. If we love dogs only for how they can serve us, and satisfy our selfish desire for fashion or utility or status, then that is not love at all. Breeds exist solely for the purpose of serving us humans, it does nothing for the dog.”

Authentic love, as Simone de Beauvoir said, must be “reciprocal and non-exploitative,” and where each member is free. Genetic manipulation is control and exploitation, pure and simple. As Aristotle described, the purest form of love and friendship is not based on how we can benefit from the relationship, it is unconditional love.

In my own practice working with dogs for over 35 years, I have seen many purebreds suffer from chronic frustration and stress because they cannot do what their DNA wants them to do, like hunting or herding; it’s like having an itch they can never scratch.

I asked on Facebook, “Is it worth putting dogs through this just so we can enjoy a particular size or color?”

No response. I took the opportunity to continue…

“I realize that many breeders care deeply for their dogs, and go to great lengths to keep them healthy and provide them with loving homes, but what about the ones that don’t meet expectations? Are they disposed of the way a grocer disposes of subpar fruit?”

Many people get a certain breed with the anticipation of how the dog will look and behave, and if the animal turns out to be different, it is often given away or neglected. I was witness to this on a daily basis during my years as branch director of behavior and outreach for the Pennsylvania SPCA.

I looked at Bodhi, but he decided to take a nap. I probably should have done the same. I waited for the barrage of responses — I was not disappointed.

Response after response came — fast and furious. I realize that many people have a large emotional and financial investment in keeping breeds going; the pet business is a multibillion-dollar industry, and there is a lot at stake.

As I read through the mostly angry comments — telling me I “didn’t know what I was talking about,” and how I should probably “never have a dog of my own because I am too dumb” — I was struck by one thing: not one person was able to rebut my position that breeding is solely and selfishly for humans, and does nothing to help dogs.

I wondered if these people were just being too emotional in their responses, and that later on, when they had time to reflect, they might think otherwise. Then I remembered what Mark Twain said: “No amount of evidence will ever persuade an idiot.” Of course, they would say that about me, as well.

I had had enough at this point. As I closed my computer, I couldn’t help thinking about the millions and millions of dogs that are given up to shelters every year. The argument that continuing breeding is good for dogs should be revised to say that it’s good only for some dogs. The more dogs we create, the less chance a dog in a shelter who needs a loving home will actually find one. The truth is, we have breeds because it pleases us. When we see a dog only in terms of its breed, then we only know them conceptually, and not as individuals. That’s not loving dogs.

Yes, the dogs at Westminster are glamorous and the excitement of competition can be compelling. But when the stage lights go off and we’re back home again, what do we really want to connect with? An avatar image or a living, breathing, imperfectly perfect dog? For me, I prefer to just kiss my mutt.

Prickle or Goo, which one are you? And is your Dog one, too?

When I was a child, one of my favorite television shows was Gumby. There were two characters on that show that I really enjoyed. One was a yellow dinosaur named “Prickle”, and the other was a blue mermaid called “Goo”. Although they didn’t appear in many of the episodes, I remember them better than any other characters from the show. Later on in life, while I became immersed in my studies of psychology, philosophy and eastern thought, they surprisingly showed up again in a lecture from Alan Watts. When it comes to our Dogs and the people who care for them, Prickle and Goo are not kid’s stuff.

It turns out that Art Clokey, the creator of Gumby, once attended a lecture of Alan Watts, where he first learned of the the concepts of “prickles” and “goo”, and subsequently named his claymation characters after Alan Watts’ conception of the “interchange of two personalities” in the fields of art, philosophy and poetry. Prickle is precise, rigid, mechanistic; where goo is flexible, organic and abstract. Prickly people are always concerned with plans, formulas, recipes and algorithms, whereas gooey people are more spontaneous, flexible, creative and sometimes vague. The prickly people accuse the gooey people of being too nebulous and too etherial whereas the gooey people call the prickles skeletal, with no meat; knowing the words, but not feeling the music. It’s a quarrel that’s as old as time, with no definitive winner in sight.

I find this comparison exactly describes what happens with many people involved with Dogs. There are those who are concerned mainly with behavior – how a dog acts moment to moment. They have certain rigid criteria about what a Dog “should” be like, and try to fit each Dog into this narrow box of conformity. These folks believe Skinnerian behaviorism is the answer to all the problems, having precise formulas, reinforcement schedules and inflexible boundaries as if their Dog was a mechanism that had a set of exact operating instructions. These Dogs appear machine-like in their behavior, but one look in their eyes and you see they lack an inner light. The people who care for these Dogs are prickly.

Then there are those who give no boundaries to their Dogs. Who offer no guidance or direction, and believe that Dogs should be 100 percent free to do as they want. They feel as if their Dogs should have total liberty, disregarding any concern for their safety or the feelings of others. These Dogs are the ones who are always soiling on the neighbors property, and unfortunately are the ones who get lost or hit by cars. The people who care for these Dogs are gooey.

The truth is that neither of these extremes contribute to our Dog’s sense of well-being. The best way, and the way that most of us are, is to be as Alan Watts said, “gooey prickles or prickly goo”. Using elements of both styles is the best way to help our Dogs have emotional wellness.

This idea, then, begs the question: do our Dogs possess the same attributes? Are our Dogs prickly or gooey? I think they are. In fact, with all the so-called evaluation processes that are being used for Dogs, I think that knowing if you have a Prickle or a Goo is the most valuable.

Your dog is a prickles if she is very routine driven, bossy, always on alert, and likes to have her own way.

Your Dog is a goo if he is laid back, very adaptable, has very few concerns, and goes with the flow.

Of course, just like us, most dogs are a combination of both.

I think the most difficult cases I’ve worked with are when there’s a prickly Dog and a gooey Human, or a gooey Human and a prickly Dog. That’s often not a great match, and the two never usually get to what I call kenzoku, the ultimate relationship between people and their Dogs. If you feel that you and your Dog are on opposite sides of this spectrum, there are a few things you can do to make the relationship better.

First, if you are gooey and your Dog is prickly, get in touch with your prickly side; if you are prickly, then get in touch with your gooey side. As I mentioned, all of us have both in us, and if we are open to it, we can see the benefit of being the other way. Second, look for the opposite in your Dog, and help them get in touch with their other side. Finally, remember that a great relationship is when we can learn from each other, so use the differences to your advantage. Friendship is prickly goo and gooey prickles.

I tend to be rather gooey. I believe this stems from my holistic, relational and humanistic view of the world rather than a reductionist, transactional and mechanistic view of things, especially when it comes to dogs and their relationship with us. It’s not that I don’t have my prickly side, however. When I hike with my Dogs, I am a stickler for safety protocol, such as keeping within line of sight, not chasing the wildlife, and not pooping on the trial. My Dog Bhakti is definitely gooey. She tends to go with the flow and be spontaneous, while my Dog Bodhi is much more prickly. He thrives on routines and rituals, and can can become stressed when the unexpected arises. Interestingly, Bodhi follows everything Bhakti does, so that begs the question: Is a gooey Dog more confident than a prickly one? Maybe we’ll explore that in a future essay.

Ok, so this article may be a bit tongue-in-cheek, but there’s still some truth to it. Just like us, our Dogs have distinct styles and characters, and if we are to truly connect with them, we must know what they are and learn from them. It’s not always about changing who our Dogs are, nor is it always about changing ourselves. An empowering friendship is based on a harmonious interplay between personality types and a deep appreciation for each other as individuals. And that’s not kid’s stuff.