Ham

Allie has known that Something is up for a couple of days now. Although it's been up to 105 degrees out, she's been dancing a little jig as we walk around the block, anticipating the fall weather, and indeed, it cooled down by 20 degrees today. She fluffed out her coat, put that sparkle in her eye, and charged ahead, insisting that we take the long walk all the way around the playing fields and beyond.

A little girl came out of her house as we walked past, all pigtails and teeth and dwarfed by her backpack. She immediately stretched out both arms in a passionate gesture and cried out, "doggie! good doggie! Mommy, I want that doggie!" Note that Allie undoubtedly overtopped her. Her Mom said to her sharply, "that's a German Shepherd, they're not very nice," and dragged her off to the car. I barely managed to call out loudly, "Alaskan Malamute!" before the kid disappeared in the cavernous SUV, crying out "doggie!" the whole time. Meanwhile, Allie was rolling her eyes at the child, tossing her head, ears pricked up, tail swishing brightly, white paws flashing high, giving her the full treatment. How she loves to be the object of adulation!

I hope the kid heard me. Everyone has to meet their first Malamute, an experience akin, I assume, to being hit by a small, perfectly formed bolt of lightning. It changes you for life, and she will hopefully remember Allie when one day she is selecting her own first dog.

Allie's Cats

There are up to 6 feral cats living under and around our house and eating us out of house and home. Allie comes and helps me feed them as part of our evening walk. It is a good opportunity for us to practice Be Nice to Kitties. Or rather, Don't Eat the Kitties. Hah!

Actually, Allie is very good about cats as long as they don't run. Unfortunately, no-one has imparted this to the ferals, who tend to boot-scoot when they encounter something large, wolf-looking and obviously prey-driven. But Allie leaves the indoor cats strictly alone. This took a long time and a lot of patience to learn, but she is now able to sleep curled up with them on the bed. This is the Mal who once proudly brought me a cat carcass when she first came to me. If Allie can achieve the peacable kingdom with cats, any Malamute can.

When I adopted her, I made a dog-free zone by placing a backless bookcase in the hallway -- the cats could get through it, but not the dogs, without some effort. It was mainly a strong psychological barrier. There are also lots of bookshelves, filing cabinets, etc where they can find refuge. Then Allie and I immediately went to obedience class, where we worked hard on Attention. At home, we practiced: treats and praise whenever I called her name and she made eye-contact with me. LOTS of praise when she did so in mid-cat-chase. The first few days she was on-leash in the house so I had some control in case she got too close. After that, I just gave a sharp reprimand if necessary ("hey!") and immediately called her name -- chase cat = bad, look at me = good. At the same time, my dog-savvy cats reinforced the lessons with the occasional bat across the snout. Unfortunately they find the Malamute tail irresistible and used it as a toy from the very beginning, attacking it from under the bed or from a perch on a chair! Nowadays, when Allie rolls an eye toward a running cat, I just remind her quietly -- she doesn't move a muscle toward it -- but only in the house. Outside cats are still extremely interesting. And of course possums, squirrels, birds, mice, etc. are fair game. >Sigh<

Sideways

Well, if there's one thing a lady doesn't enjoy, it's being blown along sideways! All very well to take my stately morning walk, but now my lovely coat is all tousled and I feel all battered from being buffeted by the wind gusts. A lady doesn't appreciate having to constantly brace herself to keep from flying along like an ice skater -- and then when the wind drops, she staggers back like an overloaded weight-lifter. It's not as though one were pulling a sled in the Arctic or something -- this is Texas and it's in the 90s already, for doG's sake. One is entirely disconcerted and in need of many treats and a good nap. Alexandria out.

Whole Again

There she is, that beautiful face; that sassy plume of a tail; those monumental paws; that glorious coat, standing up in cowlicks, generously shedding; that irresistible tummy. Much as I enjoyed every moment in Ireland and had a glorious time, I realize I was just half a person. It's great that I've found a boarding solution I have confidence in and can attend important conferences and excursions, but boy is it great to be back with my other half. Sure, she needs me, but I need her too.

Funny how The Magnificent Ghost seems to have missed me even more than Allie. He really gets neglected, and I tend to forget what a needy fella he is, the poor poot.

Humom's Back

Well finally. Sheesh. Not that I didn't have a great time at PAH. Drs. D and O took great care of me, and the gals waited on me hand and foot, as is their role in life. When humom came to pick me up, they all converged on the desk to tell her what a wonderful dog I am. I smiled sweetly, already planning my exploits for when we got home. Dr O spoke very seriously with humom and told her several things about kidney disease that she didn't know, and made some good suggestions, so I will get even more fantastic care. She said that I seem like a much younger dog! I deserve an Oscar!

It would be really nice if I had the chauffeur I am due. Humom is just a terrible driver. It didn't help that 183 is under construction and the traffic was terrible, but did she have to cry most of the way home? I hunkered down in my brace-for-impact position and could only hope for the best. Which has materialized in the form of my favorite Branstone's cranberry treats ...

I am seriously miffed that I can't go to work with humom any more. The semester has begun and for some reason that makes a difference. Stupid. All the more reason why the students should benefit from my wise presence, I say. I have several times been able to sneak into the car, but unfortunately an Alaskan Malamute is difficult to conceal. Must work on camouflage. Alexandria out.

Prescription?

Depressed? Weary? Anxious? Horrified about Katrina approaching the coast? Can't sleep, eat, concentrate, get anything done? Aha! I have the perfect prescription for you! Five minutes nose to nose with a mellow Malamute will convince you that
a) everything is right with the world,
b) even if it isn't, here is a special place where magic rules,
c) you just have to breathe with this dog, and
d) there's nothing that matters that can't be seen in her eyes.
I will admit, is has been an awful day, but one short Allie treatment is the magic potion to set the world right. Where do you get your therapy dog certified for "Soul Dog"?

The Baker Dancer

One of the objects I studied at university was a Hellenistic bronze statuette called the Baker Dancer. She is a strange little woman wearing a thick, richly pleated dress with a long, transparent mantle over it that covers even her head. Her face is covered by a tight veil with eye-holes. The head is tilted, giving the impression of movement. One hand draws a fold of the mantle to her face, while the other arm is outstretched and displays the fringed hem of the garment to good effect. Her free leg kicks out a bit and the booted toe peeks out under the dress. She is very undancerly by modern standards -- chunky under the voluminous garments. It is the free hip that juts out awkwardly higher than the standing hip in a non-balletic, off-balance pose, belying the popular interpretation that she is spinning, and yet what is she doing? She is eminently realistic, and yet the entirely mannered work of the invisible artist. She is exotic, gorgeous, mesmerising, infuriatingly enigmatic, familiar, strange, and new every time you see her.

Why am I wittering on about the Baker Dancer? Because you remind me of her in many ways, Allie. I was admiring your mask this morning. Some call your face "dirty." It is one of the many ways in which you don't conform to the Malamute standard, bless your heart. You almost have goggles, but they are a soft, taupeish gray and flow gently into a Mardi Gras mask that extends down the side of your face like batwings, shading into reddish browns, golds, grays, creams and white. It is as though you were wearing a veil of gossamer (not that I know what that is, but it's traditional) pulled tight across your face and shimmering in many shades against your contours. You could not be more gorgeous. Your expressive brown eyes are set in high relief by their halos of white. The little hairs swirl in perfect order to create exquisitely molded landscapes, some white hairs marching off into lush eyelashes. It's amazing how the merest twitch of those tiny muscles can transform your face from Contended Dog At Rest to Poor Starving Baby Must Have Cheese Now ...

You are so familiar to me, and yet completely enigmatic. I don't speak dog, let alone Malamute, and you are so much of an individual that I don't think I would get you even if I did. Sometimes your basic body language is clear even to me -- Must Go Out Now, or Take Me To Work. Other times I'm just stumped. And when I look in your eyes, there's so much someone there, but I have no idea what you're thinking, other than Stupid Human. I'm always asking you, How high? and you persistently refuse to tell me, Jump.