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!