Bodhi’s Final Lessons

Bodhi the dog out camping in City of Rocks, Idaho.

If you’ve been reading this blog for long enough, you might have noticed a post or two about a dog named Bodhi, who my wife and I adopted from an animal shelter back in 2010. Bodhi was a blue heeler, a particularly intelligent, energetic breed of canine designed to tirelessly herd livestock. Heelers are popular among rock climbers, probably for their toughness, obedience, and ability to go almost anywhere. (Dean Potter had one named Whisper, who even joined him on some of his wing suit flights.)

My wife and I picked Bodhi from a row of caged dogs in varying states of distress. He was meek, his tail wrapped tightly under his body, mouth shut and ears back. In the little open air zone where we were allowed to interact with him, he shrank from our touch and cowered at the excited sniffings of a puppy a fraction of his size. Looking back, I think maybe we could have seen that Bodhi had issues, but it was our first time adopting and we assumed shelter life was to blame for his timidity. He would relax, we figured, once he got used to his new home with us.

In those early days, I was excited to take Bodhi to the crag and on hikes in the mountains, a red bandana tied around his neck a la Mad Max. And while he did enjoy hiking, our trips to the crag didn’t go as planned. The first time I brought him out, he got into fights with any dog who came near for a sniff. He growled at people who tried to pet him. At home, he didn’t fare much better, showing his teeth at any prolonged physical contact and choosing to segregate himself from us when possible.

We tried several trainings, consulted books and websites, talked to our friends who worked with dogs for a living, and spent endless hours trying to exercise Bodhi into a better mindset, but his issues only worsened over time. We spent considerably on a training operation that specialized in problem dogs. We boarded him there when we traveled, and brought him there many weekend mornings for “dog socialization,” where we walked around in circles in a large room with other dogs and owners, in an effort to help them grow accustomed to each other and to other humans. All to little effect.

Bodhi was at his worst around his water. He drew blood on more than one occasion when my wife or I put down or picked up his bowl. We spent hours sitting passively by the water bowl, encouraging him simply to come and drink with us in proximity. It never worked. Increasingly he behaved as if everything around him was a threat, and no amount of evidence to the contrary could change that.

“This isn’t normal,” my wife told me. She had a dog growing up who was loving and snuggly and brought joy to the family. I never had a dog, so wasn’t sure how much work and training it was supposed to require. I was willing to put in the effort with Bodhi, and felt responsible for his behavior. When he growled or snapped at friends and strangers, I felt I had failed. Once my friend put his foot close to Bodhi’s food bowl and Bodhi bit it hard. I thought I was mad at my friend for antagonizing our problem dog, or at Bodhi for being so troubled… but really I was mad at myself for not being able to fix what was wrong.

His behavior only worsened. We tried a stricter program at the urging of a trainer. We put Bodhi in his crate and only took him out for structured periods of training, exercise, or feeding. It was hours a day of work, and it seemed only to agitate Bodhi rather than help him. He grew possessive of his crate and would bite at us when we opened or closed the door.

One night during a training session involving food, he bit my wife on the arm and held on, leaving a large, dark bruise. It was the first time I was willing to admit we might be out of options.

We asked the trainer we’d been working with for her opinion in light of everything that had happened. “Every once in a while, you just get a dog with a screw loose,” she admitted.

I spent several evenings after work calling around to other trainers, asking if they might know of specialized shelters or organizations who could take a dog like Bodhi. Maybe a farmer could use him as a work dog, I offered. Everyone said no. Most said it would be irresponsible to re-home a potentially dangerous animal. One women reminded me that many friendly, healthy dogs are put down in shelters every day, simply because there aren’t enough people to adopt them. Bodhi would only live on if we were willing to continue with him, it seemed.

It’s a strange thing, humanity’s companionship with dogs. Through millennia of breeding, we’ve created animals that can exist within our homes and our society, serve as helpers or even members of the family. We’ve created a narrow niche for them to live in our culture, but if a particular dog’s behavior doesn’t fit in that niche, there’s really not much of a place for them.

After almost three years, we chose to euthanize Bodhi. Despite all of the frustration, it was still one of the hardest choices I’ve made in my life. We’d worked for years to avoid the decision and discussed it—argued about it—for months. When the day came, we walked up and down the street out front of the veterinary clinic while they performed the procedure, crying uncontrollably as we paced through the morning light. And it was a funny feeling that came after: a mix of guilt and grief, but also of relief.

I figured we’d never get another dog. I felt like I’d blown it, and that life would be easier without the complication, anyway. But after six months, my wife started bringing up the idea of trying with another pup. I resisted for months more, feeling cold to the idea. Over time though, the friendly dogs we saw on our regular walks started to warm me.

Eventually, our friend tipped us to a brindle-patterned pug with bad allergies that was up for adoption. We went to meet the strange little beast, adopted her, and named her Pebble. She is an amazing being that brings us joy every day and melts hearts wherever she goes. She is happy to be a part of our pack and we’re happy to have her.

It’s been a year since we adopted Pebble, and I see now that my wife was right: our relationship with Bodhi wasn’t normal. There was little love; mostly anxiety and pain. There were moments when we could pretend things were normal—when he was playing fetch or running along side us in the foothills—but reality would snap back with the speed of an unprovoked bite in the car afterwards.

I’ll always harbor a sliver of doubt that we did everything we could have with Bodhi, but that is the nature of decisions in this life. In the theoretical world, there are infinitely many ways things can go. In the real world, we can walk just one path at a time. This tells me two things: 1) that we should always try in earnest to make the best, most informed, decisions we can every step of the way, and 2) that there’s no value in dwelling on what might have been; take the results of past decisions into consideration and refer to number 1.

Bodhisattva Vow: Lessons of a Problem Dog

faces_of_bodhi

“We should have named him Dexter instead of Bodhisattva,” Kristin said in exasperation.

“At least Dexter is nice to his family!” I replied.

A bodhisattva, in the Buddhist tradition, is “A being that compassionately refrains from entering nirvana in order to save others.” Dexter is a television serial killer who only offs other murderers. The “him” we were talking about was our dog Bodhisattva, Bodhi for short, who has been a challenge in one way or another since we got him at the animal shelter three years ago.

What kind of challenge? you might ask. For one, we were discussing Bodhi’s name while the bruising from his most recent bite was still visible on Kristin’s arm. Bodhi has bitten us both and has intense guarding behaviors around his water bowl, his kennel, and even his body, making it nigh impossible to have that loving licks-and-wags-and-belly-rubs relationship that most people expect from their dogs.

From the start, Bodhi was a strange combination of highly intelligent, fearful, anxious, energetic, and aggressive. We figured he would grow out of his issues, but he has not, and a trainer we work with tells us that for years we may have been reinforcing many of his most undesirable behaviors—by ignoring them or letting him have his way, by failing to give appropriate structure to his life in our home. Now we have Bodhi on an intensive training program that requires hours of work every day, sometimes confronting his nastiest behaviors head on.

The progress we’re making is slow and tiring and fraught with doubts. Kristin and I have had plenty of discussions about what to do if our work with Bodhi doesn’t lessen his aggression. What if we have kids over or decide to have a child of our own? What if the stress of sharing our home with an animal we don’t trust grows too great? Somehow the answer seems fuzzy, and changes from day to day.

Despite it all, I still see Bodhi’s name as apt. Although he seems, at times, as much a Dexter character as a being of sublime compassion, I feel he is teaching us all the same. To work with him we must observe closely—both his behavior and our own. We must be structured and consistent. We must remember that his bite comes from fear and confusion, not from hatred, and that adding our own fear only amplifies the problem. We must learn to be calm and correct Bodhi’s undesirable behaviors not with anger, but out of compassion and for his own good as well as ours.

Dogs mirror their owners’ energies, says dog trainer and TV personality Cesar Millan, and I think there’s some truth to that. When you approach a dog feeling overly excited or nervous or just plain scared, that dog picks up on your body language, maybe even your smell, and responds in kind. How, then, can you expect to improve your dog’s behavior when you are unwilling to examine your own, first? It is like this in all of life: we say, “He made me mad,” or “That traffic ruined my day,” rarely realizing that anger or a ruined day are things that originate from inside of us, not from some external source. Therefore with a problem dog as with any problem, we should always look inward first.

In a way, I see Bodhi as the strictest kind of teacher, using strange tactics to awaken us to different ways of seeing. It reminds me a little of the Zen masters who hit their students, as if to wake them from their delusions.

In the end, though, we must be willing to accept that we might not be able to fix the problems we have with Bodhi. It is difficult. There is a part inside of me, perhaps influenced by the modern Hollywood ending, that wants to believe that no problem is too much to overcome; that with extraordinary effort, kept burning by an ember of hope, even mountains can be moved. But another part of me knows that what we can offer Bodhi might not be enough for him, after all, and that he and we might have better lives if he lived elsewhere.

When I think this way, it feels like failure, which is something I’m not very good at accepting. It’s strange even to write it. But there is a lesson in this possibility, too. I’m just not entirely sure what it is, yet. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.

Either way, the future hasn’t yet been written. In the meantime, we continue to learn the lessons of Bodhisattva…

Farewell, Summer Weekend. Adieu.

 

Scarcity can create value, any economist will tell you, and so it is with weekends. The working stiff must wedge into two days all the daydreams (and, alas, the chores and obligations, too) accumulated in the course of the workweek. Thus, each weekend hour is heavy with possibility, dense and precious as a gold doubloon. And of all the year’s weekends, the summer weekend, with its broad swaths of daylight and its jovial warmth, is perhaps the most precious of all. It beckons us to backyard cookouts, jaunts into the high mountains or wind-combed beaches.

But take note! As you read this, there remains but one last weekend to the year’s warmest season. In the northern hemisphere, the astronomical summer meets its end on Friday, the 21st of September. As the sun sets on this final sunny summer Sunday, who could but pine for more days of freedom? ‘Tis understandable, but as one wise old wanderer once scribbled in his leather-bound journals, “Waste not your precious minutes lamenting the weekend’s brief respite! Instead, cherish what time ye do have.”

With that in mind, I’ve here compiled a much-abridged inventory of those things that make me impatient for the next weekend before this one be yet over. I’d much appreciate it if you’d add to this list with your own favorite summer weekend things in the comments below.

  1. Ignoring your alarm clock, set for the typical and ungodly workday hour, and sinking back into sleep until sunlight fills your room.
  2. Having the time to take your dog for a long walk to an open field and play fetch; the sight of your dog’s tongue lolling out of his mouth, flicking slobber pearls onto the dry earth; satisfaction as he flops onto the cool grass in the shade of a tree.
  3. The long breakfast. Or even brunch.
  4. An unhurried tie-in for the first climb of the morning, complimented by the smell of chalk, pine, sun-warmed lichen on stone.
  5. The midday nap in the shade, preferably in a hammock or in the grass with your head propped on a pack.
  6. A beer chilled in a cold stream after a long day on the rocks, or perhaps a late-night whisky, neat, imbibed out-of-doors and containing, faintly reflected, the 300 billion (give or take) stars of the Milky Way.
  7. Grillin’.
  8. Tomatoes from the garden, sun-warm.
  9. Spending a whole afternoon reading that book that’s been loitering on the bedstand.
  10. Orange mocha Frappuccino™!
  11. Just before leaving for a weekend trip, you check to see that the front door is locked one last time. Then, that moment when you turn towards your car and see your travelin’ companion in the passenger seat, shades on, head nodding rhythmically to this song.
  12. Storm clouds billowing up into their customary anvil shape, as if taking a deep breath to blow slanting rain and lightning bolts down onto the earth. Also, the alien yellow-green light that precedes these storms.
  13. Meandering campfire discussions with friends, punctuated by the wood’s fiery crackle, your faces lit from below.
  14. Flip flops.
  15. Sitting down to work on a piece of writing in the afternoon and not lifting your head until your wife turns on the light in the now-dark room and gently asks, “Will you be ready to eat, soon? It’s getting late…

 

 

Photo Friday: Some Shots from the Camera Phone

No time to chat. But here’s a quick Photo Friday gallery for you. All images taken with my Android Inspire’s 8mp camera phone.