The Single Dog Mom

June 2003: Kinook and I remained alone in the house. I felt responsible for her, like a mother to a child. I was juggling work, social life, caring for myself and for her in this aftermath of intense emotional drama, and with a great deal of uncertainty on financial resources. 

Not having children of my own makes it difficult to judge the degree of challenges a mother faces, and from where I was looking, as a single woman caring for a dog, it seemed to me that children were easier to look after than dogs. Children are welcome everywhere - there are no sign in stores, doctors’ offices, office buildings or parks that read: “No kids allowed”. But dogs -  at least in Ottawa, Canada - they are a different story: dogs are not allowed in most shopping malls, all restaurants, many offices and office buildings, and unless they are service dogs, they are certainly banned from grocery stores. Only specific parks in town are dog-friendly, and none of the beaches, including the public beaches on natural lakes in national parks, allow dogs. 

What this meant for me, as a single care-taker for Kinook, was that if I tried to lump my chores in one travel, and combine shopping and various appointments with dog-care and walking, I had to leave Kinook in the car, which was only possible in the colder weather, to make it safe for her, as car interiors get too hot in the summer. I would not dare tie my dog in front of stores and leave her on the street - what if somebody steals her? I couldn’t risk that. 

I have no close family this side of the Ocean, so Kinook filled in the role of sister, daughter and close friend. I became really creative in finding places where I could go with her and things to do where I could include her. When I would set playdates with friends, and someone would propose a place to go to, I would immediately check: “Is it dog-friendly?” 

One summer day I met with my two friends, Lucie and Anne, and went for a stroll in Ottawa’s Byward Market - a central place of shopping and entertainment for the young and bohemian crowds. Kinook was on leash, by my side, her suburban canine self utterly curious and intrigued by the downtown smells and busyness. Lunchtime pulled us towards an Italian restaurant with patio tables. I tried my luck and asked the owner: “Could we have lunch at a patio table? We have a dog…” Luckily the owner wanted our business more than he feared Health Canada laws, and allowed us in. I was at my happiest, out with girlfriends, and with my puppy-girl by my side. Why is it such a thrill to do things with your dog? I can’t remember being so thrilled going out on dates with sexy men - and I have been out on dates with quite a few lovely, sexy, great men! Maybe it’s a offer versus demand thing: places to go with your dogs are so scarce, that when you find one, it feels like you won the lottery. Maybe I’d be less thrilled in a place like Yellowknife, where people take their dogs everywhere. Everyone in Yellowknife seems to drive trucks instead of cars, and every truck has a large, calm, fluffy dog riding in or on it, enjoying the scenery and their rides with their humans.

The Canal Ritz restaurant on the water is one of those grey areas where taking your dog out for dinner is legitimate thanks to logistics: the restaurant’s patio is fenced by a low, simple fence which makes the separation between inside and outside merely symbolic. 

So I would go for a meal with my puppy girl and tie her outside on the fence, then sit at the table right next to her, on the inside. I could touch her, pet her, and feed her my steak (of course!) while we were dining together but legally, she was not in the restaurant. This became one of the places you go primarily not for the food, but for the company and view. 

“Look! Squeaky toys!” I would tell Kinook, pointing my fingers towards the ducks lazily floating on the Rideau Canal waters. 

“How underwhelmingly interesting” my placid working breed of a dog would say with her eyes and body language. She had no interest in either chasing birds, or squeaking toys. “Is there more steak on your plate for me?” she’d inquire instead. Requesting steak from a human’s plate is a time proven tradition, way more effective than duck-chasing and a much better use of an Akita’s time. The mark of an intelligent dog is that she knows that the source of her food is the human’s plate and fridge, and not so much on the land, so it’s important to know where to place one’s efforts and attention.

Kinook and I walked often at the Arboretum, a doggie-friendly park filled with interesting specimen trees, a lovely park unfolding further down from the Canal Ritz on the Rideau Canal. There was a “doggie beach” at the park, where water-loving dogs would swim, retrieve sticks and balls, or try their luck chasing ducks and geese. One day we watched a black Labrador Retriever stalk a bunch of ducks up and down the water, while his human was patiently watching the scene from a bench. “The self-entertaining, self-exercising dog” I thought, my eyes on this scene which looked like a live clip of a doggie comics cartoon: the black Lab swimming up and down, following the ducks with committed aplomb, neither bored or discouraged enough to give up, nor eager enough to get tired ; the ducks were just enough annoyed to try and get away from the dog, but not threatened enough to flee. So the pursued and pursuer swam up and down, up and down. And Kinook - she couldn’t be bothered. 

Kinook had a thing for squirrels though. She took more interest in creatures who jumped, ran and climbed up trees, than water creatures who swam. Her double coat getting heavy while in water kept her interested in dry land endeavours, while her greatest aquatic adventures consisted in wading through the water with an open mouth so she could step forward and drink at the same time, in examining the occasional fish or frog, ears perked up and rotating to the sides, like satellite dishes. Occasionally she’d jump up and stomp in the shallow water with a sudden splash in a half-hearted attempt to catch that fish or frog by surprise - but really, without placing all her bets on the move.

But chasing squirrels on dry land, that was a different kind of game: it was entrancing, compelling, deeply engaging, and it had a very specific procedure to it. First, you watch the squirrel from afar. You lower yourself by flexing the knees, you lower your tail, and the ears go pointing forth. You gently walk forward towards the squirrel, as silently as you can, treading lightly over the tops of fresh, dewy blades of grass. You walk step by step, stop for a short while with one front leg in the air, smelling the breeze coming the way of your nostrils from the squirrel. And when you’re close enough to the target, you sprint with your full speed towards it, and give it your all to reach it! When the inevitable happens, and the little creature has climbed up a tree (why, oh, why do they put trees wherever there are squirrels? It’s not fair!) you sit under the tree, looking up at your almost-caught game, and speak up your mind from the tops of your lungs: “I see you! I know where you are! Come on down here, you pesky little squirrel! Come on down, and make my day!”

***

Is it a coincidence that all my friends are animal lovers, and particularly dog-lovers? It so happens that all the houses I have been invited to for visits and dinner, have been open to me together with my dog - except those houses with territorial cats, but for some reason I don’t remember myself visiting many of those houses. I do, however, remember visiting Gabriela’s house in Gatineau, the Quebequois (French Canadian) city right across the river from Ottawa. Gabriela and I share the same cultural background, both born and raised in Bucharest, Romania, and as we found out in our conversations, we even attended the same school, but in different years. 

Gabriela was a single Mum for her (human) daughter. She loves people (she’s a medical doctor), and she loves animals. Kinook and I entered her home, we humans gathered for chats and tea, and Ms. Pup went on to do what she needed to do when on new grounds: she went exploring. There’s a great deal of new smells to take in when on a visit, so she went ahead meticulously examining Gabriela’s house room by room, her life enriched by the novelty of the experience.

In the middle of the conversation, we heard a far away bark. “Wroof!” And then a pause. Then again, “Wrrroof!” And another pause. And it went on and on with committed, predictable barks, neither too flimsy nor too enthusiastic, spaced out at about five seconds apart. We went looking and found that the sounds came from upstairs. 

“Oh!” Exclaimed Gabriela on our way up the stairs. “She must have found Gogu”

Gogu is a ubiquitous male name in Romania.

“Who’s Gogu?” I asked.

“The Hamster” she replied.

We found Kinook planted in front of Gogu’s cage, staring him in the eye, intrigued and bedazzled by this creature that she couldn’t reach in spite of it not climbing up a tree, and she kept interrogating him: “Who are you?” Pause. “What are you?” Pause. “Come on out!” Pause. “Look at me!” Pause. “Come on out!”

Gabriela took Gogu out of his cage, and we were both (scientifically) curious to see what would happen in an encounter between our furry friends. She carefully held Gogu in her hand, and sheltered him in case Kinook would decide to consume him as her treat; then she placed her under the nose of her curious visitor. Kinook sniffed carefully, filling the data files in her brain with the new information, and then she gently licked the hamster twice. 

It wasn’t the exuberant, affectionate sloppy and slobbery kind of a lick that translates to the human kiss which the more passionate dogs are known to do. It was a careful procedure of curious exploration to complement her sense of smell, where she employed the taste buds on the tip of her tongue (specialized on hamster-tasting, I am sure!) to get all the information that she could on Gogu, which proved satisfactory enough given Gogu’s silence and stubborn reluctance to answer any of Kinook’s interrogation.

The encounter was short-lived, as Kinook’s short attention span being that of a typical Akita, a breed too intelligent and curious to be captured by one single event for too long, so once satisfied with the smell-taste introduction to the hamster, she went on to explore new corners of our hostess’s home.

***

The most difficult part of being a single Mom for Kinook was caring for her during the times I needed to travel out of town. I had to find a good, reliable dog sitter. And I did. On one of our walks to the Conroy Pit doggie park, we found the business card of a woman who offered “A home away from home” to dogs. I called. The woman was freshly retired from her job as a computer science college teacher whose dream was to come home to a moving carpet made of dogs. She had two fluffy canine creatures of her own, and she went on advertising for her retirement occupation as a dog-sitter. The woman, Penny, was a true dog lover. She lived in a two-storey townhouse across from a park, had a dog-friendly car (a van) for chauffeuring her clients to the off-leash grounds, and had turned her house into a doggie day-care place with walk-in crates under the stairs, toys, and a hall-of-fame wall in the entrance hallway showing the portrait photos of her favourite clients. Kinook’s face was on top of the pile! 

Kinook proceeded to steal Penny’s heart, and upon my returns from travels, when going to pick her up and bring her home, I would hear stories of what she had done, like staring at Penny’s dinner pizza until she got her share. One time I came to pick Kinook up, and she came to greet me, her Akita-enthusiastic tail vibrating extended way beyond the usual two seconds, and then she returned to a marrow bone she was chewing with an outstanding exuberance and a delighted smile on her face. I will never know for sure, but when I think of it now, she was so happy at Penny’s that I think I could have left her there, and she would have been as happy as she was running to our car to go home with me. Penny was clearly the dog-sitter made in Heaven, and a fur baby’s single Mom’s best friend!

Why Alpha?

The case for leadership in dog care

When do you and puppy cross the road? When there's a squirrel on the other side, or when it's safe to do so? And whose decision is it?

There is confusion between dominance and leadership. Dominance is a forceful attempt to control others, emerging from helplessness and frustration; it's a decision based on deficiency. Leaders are calm and assertive influencers of their environment, who act on purpose. Leaders can be kind and powerful, whether a human Dalai Lama or a canine Border Collie herding the sheep with calm and poise. 

I remember seeing my friend Natasha crying the premature death of her miniature poodle after she ate a poisoned bit left by the garbage bin by a cruel, malevolent human. The dog was on a leash, and faster to swallow than my friend's attempts to get her to spit. It was tragic.

Who decides whether a chicken bone from the garbage bin is a good idea for a snack, your dog, or you? And if your command: 'Leave it!' or 'Drop!' is successful, was this an act of evil dominance, or loving care - effective loving care?

The Alpha dog doesn't bark her head off, or bite: she elegantly embodies love and power and with just one look and the right stance, the pack will follow.

There is a family who adores their dog, but when it comes to obedience, they feel frustrated and annoyed. They constantly scream from the top of their lungs at their dog, whenever there's too much barking or running around, and they did exactly the same thing with their previous dog before this one. It is not the dog that causes the screaming: it is what these people do. 

The Alpha doesn't scream: she whispers. The Alpha doesn't scream, because she doesn't have to! The Alpha embodies love and power in her stance, her breathing, her movement, her touch and her voice. The Alpha protects, provides, soothes and leads the way to safety. 

The Alpha leads with elegance.

In this photo I'm sticking my face in Kinook's bowl to teach her that it's okay for me to handle her food. She first got worried at my 'Yum! Yum!' sounds, but quickly got to make peace with my touching her meals.

New Driver, New Passenger

I'm a late bloomer. The good part of it is, when all the other flowers are starting to wilt, I bloom. All my friends got their driver's licence when they were in their late teens; me, in my late thirties. More precisely, at thirty nine and a half. 

I had just moved to Yellowknife to join my newly wed husband J., and had plenty of time on my hands, so why not take driving lessons. At first I was quite nervous, whatiffing myself: what if I am too old to learn new tricks? What if my reflexes are too slow? What if I'm too emotional to be let loose on highways?

My driving instructor was reassuring: "You are a very good driver - you have a bit of a heavy foot on the acceleration, but other than that, you'll be just fine". And I was. The road test was a piece of cake: the city is too small for accidents, with traffic too light, and not enough lanes to change; the only time of the day where a bad driver stands the chance to make an accident is between 4:55 and 5:00 pm sharp, when the government employees rush home, time fondly known as the city's rush minute.

We bought a family car when we moved to Ottawa, in the end of the year 2000. Now, if you are a new driver behind the wheel in your own town and neighbourhood, you kind of know your way around when you switch chairs from passenger's to driver's. This wasn't my case - I was new in Ottawa, new behind the wheel, newly married and newly Canadian, and quite overwhelmed putting it all together. There was tension between two of my inner voices: one side of me saying: "Go, drive, be free!" while the other voice, and quite a loud one too, was saying, in a high pitch: "Whaat? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Do you know how people die in car accidents?!?" I could feel both voices inside my body, the fear tightening my stomach in a knot, while the voice of my soul opening my chest in warm spaciousness, warmth spreading all around my arms and the rest of my body.

At first I drove with J. in the car with me, but my husband's temperament was far from reassuring: he'd lit a cigarette, puff nervously on it, and instruct me with an alarmed voice to go that way or this way by stretching his index finger in front of my face. J. was so stressed by my driving practice, he'd dream about it at night, and I'd hear him yell in his sleep: "It's green! Go, go go!!!"

The first time I drove alone, it was both scary and liberating. My worst fear was of getting lost - this was before GPS and electronic maps and sexy voices telling you where to go while keeping their fingers to themselves. The next scare to overcome was driving on the highway. 

And then the scariest of all was driving the most precious cargo I was in charge of, my new puppy girl Kinook. She sat on the back seat, nose glued to the window, checking the sites for a while, then sat back on her tail, calmly gazing ahead of her. We went on exploratory drives together, spiralling around our home, every time widening the circle of our exploration as my confidence grew. 

One night I took the wrong turn on the highway, and instead of heading towards home, I found myself across the river, in Quebec, driving towards Montreal, with nowhere to stop and consult the paper map. I muttered "Oh, shit!" and briefly turned to look at Kinook, who shared none of my fears, but looked at me with her characteristic calm, serious face.

"She trusts me!" I noticed. I looked up from my new driver tunnel vision and followed the road signs. I followed the road and drove us back home, to live up to my dog's trust in me.

Eros and Dogs

The Greek language has different names for different types of love: Philia, Caritas, Pragma, Eros, Agape.

Those who regard Love to be an all-permeating force at the very essence of being look at Agape as the all-embracing spiritual love which descends from higher realms of existence down into the world, to embrace all beings in unconditional love. Agape is the love that asks no questions and places no demands – all are loved just because. It is this descending unconditional love that awakens the hearts of spiritual beings, radiating upon the world like the warming, inspiring glow of a million suns.

Eros is the ascending aspect of Love, the irresistible, mighty drive to reach up, commune and become from a singular ‘me’ a larger, collective ‘we’. Some view Eros to be the very drive that causes atoms to commune and become molecules, molecules to cells, and cells to organisms. It is this force which compels humans to become couples, tribes and communities and it can be persuasive enough to make you lose your appetite and sleep until you have done so.

There is a narrow view of erotic love, which confines its meaning to couple relationships; but in the larger sense, Eros is the same invisible force that drives us, humans, to dance with others, share meals with others, embrace each other, and share our most intimate thoughts and feelings with each other.

Humans are a complex animal: we hunt, feed and mate, but we also build cities and countries, invent things, tell stories, and ask deep questions about meaning and values. To be fulfilled in our erotic communion with another, we need to be met at the depth of our complexity – and if we are preoccupied about what makes life worth living, or how to alleviate suffering in the world, we thrive in conversations with others who share the same passions and in shared action towards mutual goals.

At the same time, with greater complexity arise greater problems, and often a deep level of psychological development leaves us detached from more primordial aspects of our existence. We gain greater intelligence, and we lose some of our instincts. Our greater conversation partners or activism buddies often do not touch us or move with us as we’d like; or our best lovers and dance partners don’t meet our mental depth, and we are left wanting.

This is where our best friend, the Dog, is there to help out: living with our animal family members we connect with them at the primordial aspects of our being that we have otherwise largely disowned: touch and movement. Because our dogs are not human, we have no expectations from them for deep mental connection, and where a friend who fails to listen to your dreams and passions will disappoint you, a dog will not, because he’s not supposed to do anything else but eat, sleep, mate or not, and play.

Trading Hugs for Food!

Ideally, erotic relating would be the meeting of two beings who commune at all the levels of their being, from the simple, primordial, animal aspects of their self, to the highest peaks or deepest depth of thinking, feeling and acting: we touch together, move together, talk together and act together. In reality, this is rare, if at all possible, so we seek the human companions of the equally complex men and women for living, working and playing with; and we rely on our dogs for affectionate touch, caresses, hugs and kisses, and we walk with them, run with them, swim with them. Unlike children, they never grow up to shy away from your kiss (“Ew, mom!”) or from shared activities.   

The dog has lived with humans for tens of thousands of years, in a relationship that changed from a simple transaction: “You feed and shelter me, and I’ll protect your young, herd your sheep and hunt with you and for you” to: “You feed and shelter me, also provide me with exercise, play and a job that’s a good fit for my breed and personality, and I’ll cuddle with you, kiss you, and sleep with you in bed so no matter what goes on with your human relationships, I’ll make sure that you’ll never feel lonely”.

Dogs have empathy, and can feel with us. How many human tears have been dried up by dog’s tongues, how many hurts have been comforted by a caring paw and a wet, cold nose? There’s something valuable in the simplicity of being there with a friend in need without preaching to them, trying to fix them, or offering unsolicited advice and while we human learn how to offer such simplicity to each other, dogs already have it for us.

While no dog can replace a lover, a child or a friend, and no lover, child or friend can replace a dog, it is the same mighty Eros that compels them to commune with both human and beast.

Embracing Kinook upon her arrival in my life - June 2001

I Miss You - A dialogue

“Ookie, I miss you so much”

“I see how sad you are. I wish you weren’t sad. I want to see your head lift up.”

“Kinook, my love, I feel so much love coming from you!”

“You are my Alpha human!”

“Ookie, you are the perfect dog for me. If I had to choose from a million dogs, I’d choose you all over again, if I could. Tell me, my love, how was I as a human for you?”

“A bit aloof, Tana. You’ve been distant, sometimes days at a time, sometimes more. I could see your body and couldn’t feel your mind. You’re there but not there. And you’ve always been very protective of me. I felt protected in so many ways. And you were distant, withdrawn in yourself, but when I hurt, you were there for me, with me. Alarms always brought you near me.”

“Would you choose me over other humans?”

“I don’t know how to answer this question, Tana. I don’t have a comparison with other humans. You are my pack, my world, and I can’t imagine my world otherwise.”

“What was it like inside you? What was the pain like? Did I keep you for too long?”

“I had headaches, on and off. And knee pain, and back pain, and the back pain was manageable until that time I fell, then I had sharp, shooting pain from my hip down my left hind leg. The warmth of your palms helped with the pain, and put me to sleep. I trusted your touch less after that day when I fell. But when the warmth came, it helped. Pain was less bothering me than the loss of my sight and hearing, mostly my sight. I couldn’t see well and that made moving around so difficult.”

“This conversation helps me, Kinook. Is this helpful to you too? Could we talk again?”

“I’m sleepy. Let me rest.”

“What do you want me to do with your ashes?”

“Scatter them over the Billings Estate graveyard, I’d like that. Bring those two cookies as well.”

“I will, my love. Rest in peace.”

No Dogs Allowed!

You know that you are a dog lover when you count your dog into your daily activities. With a little bit of creativity, a car, and a heart full of love, you can combine dog walking with shopping and running errands, and this is what I did with my new canine love, Kinook.

Kinook at the lake

Exploring my new city, Ottawa, I found a place where I felt right at home from the first visit: a family-owned building on Main Street, Mama Poppy and her daughters, and their businesses: a vegetarian restaurant called The Green Door, where all the who’s who in the healing arts, yoga and meditation meet, intentionally or not, and eat; a consciousness, spirituality and well-being specialty book store, Singing Pebbles; the new age gift store The Three Trees and a health food store called at the time The Wheat Berry (that’s before wheat-free was fashionable). That building was my favourite hangout where I’d browse the books, listen to meditative music, chat with people, have a flavourful vegetarian Mediterranean-inspired meal (the owners are Greek), and shop for food, books, incense and crystals.

The Green Door and its sister businesses stand across the street from the St. Paul’s University, a doggie-loving academic institution to my taste, where hundreds of happy (wo)men’s best friends gather to romp the green pastures of the University’s property, along the Rideau River. Dogs run after sticks and balls and each other, the water-loving kinds jumping all the way to the water and back, and it’s an ongoing people and fur friends outdoor party. Ottawa’s culture is quite conservative, and compared to what I knew in Romania, Israel and Yellowknife, it is quite hermetically closed to newcomers, with one outstanding exception: the doggie park! Walking your dog in Ottawa is more likely to get you a conversation with strangers and a phone numbers exchange than going to any other place, well, except the Main Street businesses, which are like a Greek-new-age embassy of warm hugs and communion.

Kinook and I adopted the Main Street walk-n-shop as one of our outing routines. Kathleen the trainer-turned-friend had advised me to walk with Kinook in a variety of places. “It keeps her on her toes” she said, and a lover of variety myself, I went along with it. So on a sunny day we’d take the car, Kinook taking her regal spot on the back seat, on a doggie blanket and towel, go for a walk behind St. Paul University, go down to the river for a pee and a drink of water, the order of which never mattered, for as long as one was upstream of the other; then visit the dog-friendly Singing Pebble book store and have a browse and a chat with Moira.

Moira is this ageless woman who loves nature and has stories of animals and trips to Africa. There’s something about Moira that makes me think of Safari explorers– her sporty clothes, her gray hair braided in one thick braid which rests on one shoulders, her love of animals. She’s worked at the book store for a long time, and judging by how comfortable she looks, always with welcoming, smiling face and eyes, my guess is that she likes it there. Moira and I liked to chat, and when I wanted to eat next door at the restaurant, she took Kinook in her care while I was away. Kinook spent some time behind the counter, but did all she could to find her way to the door and watch outside, nose against glass, to wait for me, and see my return. The French say: “Qui m’aime, aime mon chien” – who loves me, loves my dog. I felt at home among dog lovers, and in these places where my pup was welcome.

And I felt not so much at home in all these other places where the “No dogs” sign stared in my face, from shopping malls to parks to beaches. My assumptions about Canada being a dog-loving country turned wrong in Ottawa and its surroundings. It was for the first time that I was seeing an entire park banning dogs and I could neither understand why, nor accept it. Some parks allowed dogs only on leash, a policy largely disobeyed; and most of these parks were frequented by canine delinquents who happily and carelessly ran around from tree trunk to tree trunk with no leash on, taking in the glorious bounty of scents.

It was the summer of 2001, and to me a real summer is when you go swimming outdoors in a natural body of water. As a child growing up in Romania, I travelled for hours each summer to spend a good two weeks on the Black Sea shore. During the fifteen years of living in Israel, I lived within walking distance from the beach – the Mediterranean beach, mind you! Then I moved to Canada, and my first Canadian summer was that impossibly cold Yellowknife weather when people perspire profusely at a mere 25 degrees Celsius, and lakes are put there by the gods not for you, human being, to swim in their waters, but for your dog! So Arctic summer means that you take your dog for a hike and throw a stick into the lake so puppy gets to swim, not you, but if you so chose, you're welcome to vicariously enjoy the water through your furry friend.

Well, now I was in warm(ish) Ottawa, and I had a dog, so following the compelling mental images of my heart’s desire, I jumped in the car together with my husband and my new, wet-nosed love Kinook, and drove to the Gatineau Park.

The wooden bridge on the way to the beach

Parc de la Gatineau is the French name for this lovely Quebec national park, a beauty spreading over miles and miles of forests and lakes, so big that, if you live in Europe or Israel, think that your country has turned into a park, that big! It has trails and lakes for swimming, lakes for hiking around, one lake for staying away from dipping in because it has funny substances that you don’t want on your skin; and it has a couple of visitors’ centres where you can go and get maps for the whole thing.

Meech Lake is a go-to-swim lake, and bathing suit on, I parked the car in the parking lot, and together with husband and dog, I trotted the short hike towards the beach, looking forward for a dip in the water together with Kinook.

At the beach, we were greeted by an NCC (National Capital Commission) officer in uniform, who pointed towards the dreaded “No Dogs Allowed” sign at the entrance to the beach, and who requested that we leave.

“Is there a beach where we can take our dog?” I asked the officer.

“No ma’am, all public beaches are banned to dogs”

“Why?” I asked.

“For health reasons, ma’am” and then he added, "It's Health Canada regulations, ma'm!"

I was surprised, disappointed and angry, and I complained all the way back to the car. How exactly do dogs pose a threat to human’s health? I thought of the park across the street from my home, where dogs were allowed on the right hand side of the park, but not on the left hand side of the park where the children’s playground was. Moms and dads who happened to have both human kids and fur kids to walk with, couldn’t go to the park without splitting the family in two. Now we were in a forest lake, not in a fancy country club with man-made swimming pools (and I’ve seen dogs in those country clubs in Israel, baking in the sun alongside their humans, their only threats posed only to ice-cream cones and hot dogs). Forests are inhabited by bears, deer, raccoons, geese and loons and a great variety of animal species big and small, all of whom are known to pee and poo, some of them on the beach, and some of them in the lake. Dogs on the other hand sleep indoors, often in the same room and bed with their humans; they see the vet more often than I see my doctor; they are vaccinated, bathed, fed special food, kissed, caressed, hugged, and hand-checked for ticks; and I cannot understand how their pee and poo is more dangerous to humans on a beach, than the pee and the poo of scavenging wild beasts. Argh!

Back in the parking lot I saw a group of men who were unloading bicycles from their cars. One of them had a fluffy white little dog with him. I approached the man, cheeks flushed from anger and disappointment, and pointing to his dog, and mine, I asked him: “Where do you go to when you want to swim together with your dog?”

The man, while placing his protection cap on his head and fastening his gloves, replied: “There’s a nudist beach up ahead on this trail. If nudism doesn’t bother you, you can take your dog there. The beach is unofficial so nobody will bother you about her.”

“How do I find the beach?” I asked, pretty sure that nudism bothered me much less than no-dogs beaches.

“Oh, that’s easy!” the man replied, pointing towards a small plaque nailed on a tree: “Just follow the ‘Nudism Prohibited’ signs!”

Just follow the signs!

The signs helped, and we trotted on a hilly hiking path for about twenty minutes. On the way to the nudist beach we met the beginning of the Meech Lake spreading on both sides of a picturesque wooden bridge, the cool azure blue glistening in the sun so proud and beautiful,  sunlight sparkling on the surface of its water, so magical that it makes you tingle watching it. Kinook ran to the shallow water and went wading with her mouth open, letting the water flow in as she drank like a crocodile. I watched with a huge smile on my face: this, like most everything that she did looked so cute and funny to me, so adorable, especially since, as the respectable and dignified dog that she was, she did everything with a very serious look on her face.

Wading in shallow water

Another few minutes on the main path, we turned to the left to a smaller path, and then again to the left on an even smaller path, literally out of the beaten track, and into the woods again. And then trees turned to low bushes, and the tiny path opened to a small beach covered with grass, and a breathtakingly beautiful view. No sight, sounds, or smells of cars or roads: all the eyes could see around the waters were trees, a dock on the other side to the left, and on the far side across, a house. Naked bodies of men sprinkled the grassy beach in front of us and the forested hill to the left, lazily lying like lizards, soaking in the sun. A group of three or four naked men were standing in the lake to their waist, chatting.

We found a spot in half-shade and laid down the beach blanket. Kinook went to the water for a drink, a pee and to chase some frogs. I looked around a bit curious, a bit apprehensive, and amused at my own hesitation to undress. I removed the bra of my two-piece bathing suit and kept my arms crossed in front of my chest for a long while.

I remembered a scene from a beach in Israel. It was soon after a large number of Persian Jews fled Iran’s Ayatollah Khomeini, and immigrated to Israel. Many of the Israeli women at the beach wore topless bathing suits with tiny thong bikini bottoms. A small group of male Iranian newcomers walked by one such woman who was lying on her back the sand, her young, round, cheeky breasts reaching up to the skies to be sun kissed. The men slowed down their pace, and stared at the woman, heads pulled forward towards her on stretched necks, their eyes and mouths wide open in shocked amazement. It must have been a great cultural shock for them, leaving behind a society where women were covered from head to toe, the Moral Police arresting anyone for even showing a strand of hair or an inch of skin on their ankle, to arrive to this place with bare breasts and buttocks. I looked at the men and thought poorly of their cultural attitudes.

Now I was sitting on this other beach in my new home country, Canada, facing the other end of prudish attitudes: my own! Public nudism is quite common in Europe, not only in the South of France, but also in the country of my birth, Romania, which boasted a nudist colony by the Black Sea - but for some reason I had never been to that place and this, here in the Gaineau Park, was my first mixed - men and women - nudist encounter. As the morning advanced towards noon, a couple of families, with women and children, appeared on the beach, and when the other women dropped their panties, I dropped mine. Participating in public nudism became easier after that, including learning to make eye contact when talking to others, instead of staring down below their waists.

A number of regular beach-goers called themselves ‘naturists’, even though they were smoking and drinking beer, so I quickly learned that naturists are not necessarily vegetarians, vegans, or even natural-health seekers. They are men and women who like to get together naked. One of them, Lucien, greeted us with a wide smile and a warm, friendly hand shake, and told me the story and politics of the beach, which, I learned, was “clothing optional”, which meant that one had the freedom to do with (or without) clothes, as they liked. The regular naturists shared a code of unwritten rules about their stay at the beach, which included careing for the environment, cleaning after themselves and packing all the garbage away when leaving; respectful behaviour towards women and men, with no overt sexual passes to others, and these rules made the place pleasant for all. Kinook was immediately welcomed by most everyone, and she was an easy companion, with little demands. She went to the water to cool off, and then lied in the shade of a tree; the greatest annoyance she was ever guilty of was when

planting herself in front of whoever was eating their lunch, shaking an unsolicited paw, staring at their sandwich.  

Us, humans, got along well, and unlike clothes-on beaches, we formed friendships and talked about things personal and political and philosophical, agreeing and disagreeing on things; and later on, when Mark Zuckerberg made it available, some of us connected on Facebook. Weekend after weekend, summer after summer, until late in October for as long as dipping in the cool lake was still possible, Kinook and I trotted up and down the trail to the lake, and we had the best times ever in that place where no clothes were required and no dogs were banned.

Happiness is playing in the lake together!

The Good Girl's Training

There are horror stories about rescued dogs who have been so traumatized that they are anxious and aggressive, and they display such neurotic behaviour that their adoptive families have great difficulty enjoying their company.

None of that was true for Kinook. She was a calm, easy dog from day one, uninterested in chewing anything other than treats that were offered to her, and there was never a need to dog-proof the house upon her arrival. Shoes, flower vases, books and potted plants remained where they were, on the floor, or at dog-nose level, and nothing got chewed or broken or peed upon. I prayed for an easy dog, and got one!

So when I hired Kathleen Collins to help me train Kinook, it was not to make her into an easy pet, which she already proved to be from day one, but primarily to protect her, a lesson I’d learned the hard way with Mushi, the dog who did not come when called, and got killed by a truck.

At the training sessions

When I saw Kathleen I thought of a Marry Poppins for dogs: she was a slender woman with copper-fire wired, wild hair adorned with feathers, the poise of a horse-riding princess, and the high-pitched voice and laughter that was endearing to humans and commanding respect to animals. I had met Kathleen at a local business show, and kept her unusual card which depicted a Borzoi hound dog silhouette, as thin and poised as her owns, and mentioned: “Animal Lifestyle” – training, animal behaviour, and pre-pet consultations.

Kathleen arrived at our home, her tiny body making herself felt as a huge presence. Kinook liked her from the first touch, and Kathleen produced tiny bits of sausage to introduce herself to my dog.

“See how she lies down with her back to you?” Kathleen pointed out. “It means that she trusts you!”

She kneeled on the floor near Kinook and proceeded to demonstrate commands to which my dog responded as if she had always done that: eagerly and naturally. “Come!” “Sit!” “Down!”. When I tried the same, I could swear my dog yawned with boredom, and if she talked, she’d say something like: “Meh, I don’t think so, lady.” That day I learned that Kathleen trained people before she trained dogs.

The fiery woman made it clear in writing and in spoken word: her approach was positive reinforcement. Give commands to the dog when you expect the dog to respond, and reward her with “Good Girl!” Dogs can pick up mental images, so never call a dog when you are incongruent about your message, for example, when you call the dog but expect her to go away, because the mixed message will confuse the animal and she will fail to come. Avoid if all possible to create situations that require you to deem your dog a “Bad Girl!” Treats will be used first as bribery, to motivate the dog to perform a command, and then later as reward. In time, treats as rewards will be replaced with an associated gesture, like a pat or caress, and word. Calling the dog’s name means only one thing: “Pay attention to me!” That’s it! A common mistake many humans make is use the animal’s name in lieu of a command, and worse, in lieu of a punishment, uttered angrily. This creates distrust and a rupture of connection between human and animal. Kathleen made it clear: make training a positive, fun experience for Kinook, something that she looks forward to. It is my responsibility to behave in such a way that Kinook enjoys paying attention to me, so I should only call her name with a kind, benevolent voice; and it’s up to me, not to my dog, to make her answering to my commands worthwhile her time. This approach was different than the militaristic attitude I had seen in other dog handlers in the past: it was kind, fun, playful and pleasurable for both of us. I liked Kathleen and her approach. In fact, I liked her so much that I befriended her, and she is still very dear to me.

“What do I do if Kinook does something I don’t like?” I asked. The all-positive training was like learning a new language to me.

Kathleen advised to never say “no” to Kinook (it’s a bad vibration thing!). What I want is for Kinook to stop her behaviour, so all I need to do is either to say: “Stop!” or make a specific sound, such as: “uh-uh-uh!”

I learned all about pack behaviour: each pack, in our case, our Tana-J.-Kinook family, has a leader, an Alpha. If humans are too weak and do not claim their Alpha position, the dog will kindly oblige to assume it, which is problematic, because leadership is stressful, and a stressed dog makes an unhappy dog, and an unhappy dog makes an unhappy family. How do you establish your leadership role in the Dogese language? You go in and out of doors first, as the Alpha watches for dangers. You decide when games begin and stop. You dispense attention within limits, and proceed to ignore the dog upon arriving at home, at least for two-three minutes while you place down your purse and groceries and remove shoes and coat. As difficult as I found this last task, it proved itself useful to prevent separation anxiety in Kinook: if it’s not a big fuss when I return, it’s not a big fuss when I leave, and she’s happy just as well.

Kathleen met with us once or twice a week in our home, and in a variety of outdoors fenced places where she could work with us and sometimes other clients. J. and I learned to walk with Kinook on and off leash, call her, ask her to sit, to stay and wait, to lie down, to work for her food by shaking the paw, and then shake the other one. Kinook was all too happy to perform for Kathleen, and eventually she became eager to perform for me too – I had apparently more leadership bones in me than J. – and with practice and fun, I turned out to be a quite skilled and effective handler for my pup. I suspect that Kinook received some training in her first months of life with her previous family, and even if she must have received her commands in French language, she understood English just as well and responded fast. As a truly honorable Canadian, Kinook proved herself bilingual.

Training, I must admit, became a two-way street. She trained me, J., and our house guests to open the door whenever she fancied going out, then back in, then out again, which was a favourite occupation of hers. She also trained us to provide her with two, not one meal a day: an egg for breakfast, and meat for dinner, with free choice kibble in between. Kinook also taught me that even though she looked like a wolf, she was not a wolf, and she preferred her food spiced and cooked and flavourful, and she turned her nose away to anything raw and bland. Culinary art is one of my favourite creative expressions, and I obliged, mindful of what was doggie-friendly, with no onions, just a hint of garlic, selected spices and plenty of herbs.

One day the three of us went walking to the Arboretum, a beautiful park by the water, with blooming crab apple trees and lilac bushes, and one of the official doggie-friendly parks in Ottawa. To teach Kinook to walk off-leash within reasonable distance, we followed Kathleen’s suggestion, and while our pup was way ahead of us on a trail, we hid behind a bush. When she looked back to see us, she must have panicked, because it only took that one time for us to hide to keep Kinook walk only as far as she and us could still see each other.

I teach Reiki from home, often during weekends, and during lunch my students and I share a potluck meal with healthy vegetables, fruits, nuts and Kinook’s favourite, cheese. What seemed to me like successful dog training, seemed to my dog like successful people training, and she proceeded to sit in front of a student who had cheese on her plate, lift a paw, then lift the other one, the magical formula for receiving treats. And it worked. Every time.

Shake the paw!

Shake the paw!

Sit!

Kathleen and I shared a great deal of ways to view the world, and when our professional relationship ended, our friendship took us on long, happy hikes, me with Kinook happily exploring generously-scented bushes in doggie forests, Kathleen speeding alongside Nigel, her beloved female Borzoi, too fast for me, of course, since like my dog’s breed, the Akita, I too am a low-energy type.

I asked Kathleen if she can help me get more cuddles out of my dog. Her reply came with the usual ironic high-pitch voice: “Hell, no!” If you wanted a cuddly dog, you should have consulted with me before adopting one. You have an Akita. Asiatic breeds are like the people, a bit aloof. Don’t get me wrong, she loves you to bits, but she’s not cuddly. If you give her too much affection, she’ll give you this regal look and tell you to piss off, get a life!

And when she said: “Piss off! Get a life!” she could have well spoken the exact words that Kinook would have said to me if she could. Kathleen is like that, the voice impersonator for all breeds and species of animals, and she does it damn well. There were times when I kneeled on the floor, near my dog, eager to exchange some tender, affectionate hugs and kisses with her; and every time she would stand up quietly and move over a few feet away, leaving me alone on my four on the floor, looking at her say: “Piss off! Get a life!”.

“Kathleen, do you know a vet with holistic view and practice in town?” I asked. She did know someone, and Kinook and I went to see Eddy Beltran.

Eddy was wearing a face mask, his face only showing a pair of kind, bright blue eyes. He showed me how to lift my big girl to place her on the table, then he looked at her. “Come, stand in front of her face, so she can see you” he instructed me while he proceeded to touch and palpate the dog’s body. “Take a deep, slow breath” he continued to instruct me, “and let it out with an audible sigh”. I did so, and Kinook followed my lead with a sigh of content. That little intervention prevented any fear of doctors, the deep peaceful sigh of my body giving my dog the clue that all is well, and she can relax too.

“Look at these big, brown, kind eyes of hers!” Eddy exclaimed, and then turned towards me and said the last thing I expected to hear from a busy sought-after veterinarian with a waiting list to his practice: “Any time you need someone to sit for your dog, give me a call, and bring her over! She’s such a good girl!”

And she is, Kinook, a Good Girl indeed!

A Different Way to Love

Why is it so easy and compelling for humans to love dogs, often so much so than to love one another? We all are animals, humans and dogs alike, both on top of the food chain, one species more advanced than the other, equipped with self-awareness and logical reasoning, the other less advanced, and yet, we get along so well, and for so long.

Humans have distanced themselves from our animal nature and from our bodies, living disassociated lives from the neck up, expressing a tiny little fraction of our grander identity as conscious beings, promoting intellect over instinct, head over heart and body, thinking over feeling. And that forgotten and denied part of ourselves, the Animal Self, trapped away outside of our awareness and permission, has sought expression in a variety of ways, from the joy of primal dance to the darkness of pathological, out-of-control behaviour. Relating to a dog allows the animal in humans to come out and play, literally and metaphorically. We touch, we kiss, we move, we hike and explore wild nature trails otherwise largely ignored by dog-less human beings, and we vicariously live a primal life of feeding, hunting and mating through our animal friends.

Even then, we often miss the point, and we extend our darkest deprivations upon them, removing parts of our dog friends’ bodies without blinking because if we can repress our sexuality, we think that so can they.

Kinook was spayed, and I had mixed feelings about it. Spaying makes female dogs easier pets, with none of the annual or bi-annual mess that intact dogs create; it also deprives the animals’ bodies of their sex hormones which are such an integral and important part of anyone’s vitality. Women at menopause seek hormone replacement therapy, and at the same time we think nothing of our canine friends. I was sad that Kinook’s body was not intact, wondering how it affected her, did she have pain? Was her mood, or immune system affected? She couldn’t talk, and I couldn’t really know. At the same time, a part of me was relieved that somebody else made that decision, because if I adopted a new pup today, I would not want to have parts of their bodies removed, which would be going against the cultural grain here in North America where neutering and spaying is considered a responsible thing to do for dog owners. Scandinavians believe that spaying and neutering animals is cruel, and only a small percentage of the populations proceed with the surgery for their animals.

When I adopted Kinook I was sensitized by my practices with the healing arts, and for the first time in my living with dogs life, I’ve asked myself not only what I wanted from a dog, but what a dog wanted and needed from me. The name ‘dog owner’ sounded wrong, as if I owned this other being, to do with as I please, like a toy, like an object; ‘dog guardian’ sat well with my regarding Kinook to be a conscious, sentient being that I was caring for.

I wanted to love her better than the ones before her, to understand her ways and needs and motives, and no-one helped me better with this new quest to love than a woman I met named Kathleen...

On the King's Trail in the Gatineau Park

The Adoption

On June 13 2000 I left my familiar world behind, home, family, friends and dogs, and headed towards my new home, Canada, and my new husband, J. It’s always easier to be the one that goes away than the one who is left behind, and while I embarked on an adventure towards the unknown, my closest friends remained, eyes cloudy with tears, waving at me as I disappeared on the other side of the Passport Control station at the Tel Aviv airport.

My final destination was Yellowknife, in the Northwest Territories, a place I had only seen in photographs, many of which were taken during the short Northern Canadian summer. The place was unlike anything I knew, the climate, the midnight sun, the huge sky over an unusual land with low and rare trees and low and rare buildings; the faces of First Nations, faces I had only seen in cinema so far; the cold, windy weather that turned my Israeli summer clothes into a joke; the North American diners with neon lights and greasy meaty dishes. People were friendly, and just like the Israelis I had left behind, ready to strike a conversation with perfect strangers at any time and place, which made me feel a little bit at home when everything else did not.

There’s nothing like a small, isolated town to meet people easily and fast, and I did. I had barely landed and my phone was ringing off the hook with lunch invitations from new girlfriends, and inquiries for Reiki treatments and classes. One of the students, Julie, was a cheerful blonde young mother from New Brunswick, who liked to take her two-year old daughter Zinnia and her Akita-mix dog Tia to long, meditative walks on one of the city’s hiking trails, and I accompanied them often. Yellowknife has a reputation for informality, and was the perfect place to teach Reiki Mastery to a student while walking in nature, climbing over bare boulders, circling a lake. Philosophy, it seems, does not require confined spaces, and the love of wisdom, dialogue and learning flourish very well in the open air. So does affinity and affection, such as between teacher and student, student’s child, and, as you will guess, student’s dog. Tia and I had a thing for each other.

Yellowknife, NWT, on the trail with Julie, her daughter Zinnia, and Tia the Akita mix

Arctic summer lasted about two weeks, depending who you ask; according to me, summer ended on August the first, and I was shaking, teeth chattering, looking for gloves and house shoes at the stores, only to be told, honey, it’s too early, come back in season, in October. I told J. that I wanted to move somewhere warmer, and in October 2000 we moved to the Canadian Capital, Ottawa.

Our Ottawa home was a suburb dream: spacious, a corner lot with a fenced side yard surrounded with a protective cedar hedge, and a wide driveway leading to the side yard entrance. Next door to us were a friendly couple, Candy and Dennis, and their small black Labrador-Terrier mix female, Sophie. Did you notice how dog lovers who don’t have dogs pour their affection on other people’s dogs? J. and I did the same. J. hadn’t had dogs of his own, but he once lived in with a girlfriend who had two shelties, and they were the closest to being his own than any other dog.

Our home became an extension of Sophie’s home, our yard an extension of hers, and she had toys, balls and chewing treats all over our place. As much as she disliked other dogs, Sophie adored human beings, and she’d come running at me, tail frantically wagging, and cover me in kisses.

My marriage was difficult, and J. and I argued a lot. There were few things we shared, one being a keen sense of humour, and another our love for dogs. We spoke about adopting a dog, and neither of us was specific about when. I felt lonely, with no family or friends in Canada, in a culture I found difficult to integrate to, foreign to the flamboyant, loud, outspoken, affectionate culture I had left behind, and the dysfunction of my marriage made everything worse. I often dreamt of Dubi and Pupi and woke up in tears, feeling lonely and homesick. I needed someone to love and share affection with.

I wanted to love a dog.

Years ago I took pride in owning pure-bred dogs, like Cici the Dachshund and Mushi the Cocker Spaniel, checking their bodies for the signs of the breed, and holding their pedigree papers as precious as my university diploma. My views had changed, and now I could not agree to encourage breeding when shelters are brimming with unwanted animals, either being killed for lack of space, or living lonely, isolated lives in cages. It did not make sense to chop away a dog’s tail, like Mushi’s tail had been chopped before we bought him, solely so it could win championship medals for their owner’s vanity. I wanted to rescue a shelter animal, and J. agreed with me.

A newspaper article published in the Ottawa Citizen covered the financial hardships that the Aylmer, Quebec humane society shelter faced. If they didn’t improve their money situation, they were facing closure. I showed the article to J. and proposed we adopted a dog from Aylmer. Ottawa has its own shelter, very well organized and funded, well enough that they can afford mailing promotional material and spending on advertising. We opted to help the underdog.

Having lived with dogs before, I had an idea about what I looked for in a companion. A dog to love was not enough: I wanted a dog that got along with other animals and with people; I worked from home, serving healing clients and students, and remembering how Dubi and Pupi used to bark underneath my treatment table while I was working at relaxing the person lying on it, I decided that I wanted a dog who didn’t bark much. I wanted a clean dog, an easy dog, the perfect dog for me.

On the sunny morning of June 2^nd 2001, I stepped into my living room, where I sat in meditation and practiced Reiki and yoga, and prayed: “May I find a friendly, kind, sweet-tempered, easy dog. May the dog get along with other dogs, and with people, especially with my house guests. May this dog be a good fit for us, for me, and good in all the ways, better than I can think of and imagine now. May my adopting this dog today be blessed.”

Left: Tana and Kinook at the Arboretum; Right: Practicing obedience; Low Left: Kinook and Sophie at the Conroy Pit

At the shelter we went to look at the dogs, while I was secretly looking for a Dubi and Pupi – alike, or a Golden Retriever. J. and I would point at a dog, and we’d be given a long leash to walk with him or her. We looked at a white male with brown patches, and J. said: “Nah, I don’t know, I can’t connect with him”. Then we looked at another dog, and another, and J. wasn’t sure. I had no preference, thinking that I would love no matter what dog we would adopt, and silently trusting that my the cosmos would act in a magical way in response to my prayers, and without any struggle, the chosen dog we’d take home would be the right one for me.

After two hours of walking with dogs at the end of long ropes, a woman volunteering at the shelter approached us and asked:

“Can I help you find a dog?”

I replied: “Yes, I am looking for a dog that is quiet, doesn’t bark a lot, and gets along with both people and animals. And my husband should feel a connection with the dog as well.”

“Have you tried Kinook?” asked the woman.

“No. Who is Kinook?” I asked, and she took us to a black dog with the head of a wolf or a bear, and a curly tail. I then realized that neither J. nor I had looked at any of the black dogs in the shelter. We went by as if our attention skipped over the black animals, for no reason that I know or understand. I went to visit the bathroom while J. and Kinook headed to an enclosed outdoor space where she could be let free. When I joined them, J.’s eyes were soft and shiny, and he announced me: “I want her!”. While I was away, Kinook the black dog gave J. a play bow, looking him right in the eye, then ran away circling the yard, with short, soft growls.

I turned towards the volunteer and asked: “Does she bark a lot, like this?”

“Oh, no!” the woman reassured me. “She only barks now of excitement to be running free”

We went to pay and sign the adoption papers. We had a two-page history on her from her previous family: she was one year and a half old, an Akita mix, she had lived with two children and another dog, she had been spayed, she had a microchip implanted in case she’d be lost, and she had been crated. Her family had to relocate, and they surrendered her to the SPCA, where she had been in her cage for two months.

Paperwork done, we returned to the cages to collect our new dog. The black animal who followed us jumped up and down with high energy, and when I looked closer, it was a male. “Oh” the volunteer woman apologized, “that’s Max! My mistake! Here is Kinook!”

Max’s happiness was cut short and he returned to his cage. My heart went with him, and I can only hope that someone adopted him, and that he found his forever home. I can only hope that all the dogs and the cats in the shelter get adopted into loving forever homes.

Always with a serious face!

On our way out I asked to be shown the cats of the shelter. I would have been ready to bring a cat home as well, and I had a young black kitten who purred in my arms and kissed my neck as a candidate. I placed the kitten against J.’s chest, hoping he’d steal my husband heart, but J. protested, swatting his hands in the air: “Ouch! He’s clawing me! Take him away!”

Kinook jumped in the back seat of the car, and watched calmly as life turned a new page for her. Her coat was dull and matted, and she smelled of stale urine. At home we were greeted by a happy to see us Sophie, who was unpleasantly surprised to see another dog get out of the car together with us. Kinook gave Sophie a play bow, and barked a brief, cheerful invitation to play, which sadly was met with disgruntled growls and a wrinkled nose with bare teeth.

Tana with Kinook and Candy with Sophie, socializing the girls (well, trying to)

At home, I gave Kinook a bath, and the most magnificent dog emerged from the bathtub: a beautiful girl with mirror-black shiny, silky fur and a pair of the kindest, brightest, calmest brown eyes that looked at me.

Kinook made herself at home in my heart in no time.

Visiting Pembroke