Pondering the Meaning of Compassion on the Rail Trail

Sunday was just one day shy of longest day of the year--also known as summer solstice. While it wasn't also the hottest day of the year, it certainly seemed like it. The temperature was almost 90 and the humidity was so high my cold nose and panting couldn't keep me cool. As you see over to the right, I spent a great deal of time hiding on it fields of clover. They are a fantastic place to find bumblebees, little morsels of discarded foods, and chipmunks.

Chipmunks? Whoops. Wait just one minute. Did someone say chipmunks? Next to squirrels, I think chipmunks are my favorite thing to chase after. They seem to be slower and pay very little attention to me. I've gotten close to catching them but my lead always seems just a little too short. I wonder how that happens? Anyway, I spent an awful lot of time scampering back and forth across the trail. The humans walked about five miles. I probably did closer to seven. There was so much to look at and see as I scurried back and forth across the rail trail. Do I look blurry in this picture? That's because I was in near constant motion. Chipmunk on the right, bird on the left, field of clover on the right, and well, you get the point. It was a lot of fun.

At the half way point we stopped at a store called Traveling Rhinos and Friends. I was sipping my water when one of the humans went in to purchase something with a little more flavor. A few minutes later the shopkeeper appeared along with two small dogs. We did the usual "nice to meet you dance" (the dogs, not the humans). Before I knew it I was escorted into the nice air conditioned store. What a nice surprise.

Both dogs were rescue dogs. I was rather taken with Buster. His story was a sad one. The story I was told was that Buster never had the opportunity to play and interact with other dogs. His previous owner kept him locked up in a cat carrier for most of the day--every day--for four years. One day Buster finally had enough and didn't want to go into the cat carrier. He apparently bit his owner who then surrendered him to the shelter. Buster was labeled a vicious dog.

In the end, Buster was lucky: he found a new home that took him in, showed him lots of patience and love, and helped him have a life worth living. Buster is also lucky because he seems to have some extraordinary social skills. He approached me carefully and slowly. My human who is generally extremely cautious was extraordinarily so when we met because of Buster's story. Within fifteen seconds he had assessed the situation and relaxed. There were no signs of aggression and many calming signals: yawning, licking, turning head away, play bow, sniffing, walking slowly, and walking in a curve.

It's useful to know about these calming signals. It's even more useful to learn to recognize them in your dog as well as in other dogs. Once humans learn to have some skill at interpreting canine behaviors things go along a lot better. Anyway, for a dog that hasn't played with other dogs, we had an awful lot of fun. We rolled, played, and generally frolicked all around the air conditioned store.

Buster's humans took a leap of faith and demonstrated a great deal of compassion for him. He had been considered a dangerous dog: one that was very likely going to be euthanized. There are dogs out there that are dangerous. It's a serious problem, requiring serious attention. I don't know for sure what made these humans look at Buster differently. Perhaps the humans took the time to look at the facts.  Maybe they saw something deep inside the dog. It's unclear and that's really not all the important.

The humans demonstrated a great deal of compassion for Buster. In hearing his story, they were moved. They had some sort of emotional experience that was caused by the experience that Buster had. On the walk back to the car I got to thinking about the nature of compassion.

Compassion is at the heart of what many companion animals freely offer humans, yet do we ever really stop to wonder what compassion really is? Many comment that animals don't judge, offer unconditional love, and other such things. All that might be true, and all those are wonderful gifts, but none really represent the compassion that companion animals can offer a person. While no one knows for sure what goes on within our minds, a careful observer can notice how many animals respond to the suffering of others.

Over the first year of my life I've shown myself to be a dog that seeks out those who are suffering. Sometimes it's obvious, like when I'm rubbing tears off a face with my nose. Sometimes it is demanding when I'm pulling my human around Cambridge and "stumble" upon a person sitting alone on a park bench or huddled under a bridge.

Compassion is that which makes the heart of the good move at the pain of others. It crushes and destroys the pain of others; thus, it is called compassion. It is called compassion because it shelters and embraces the distressed. --The Buddha

While I'm just a small dog, might I add one thought? Compassion is a word with direction. As quoted above, in the presence of pain experienced by another being, compassion moves the heart to hold and shelter the distressed.  I think the Buddha might have forgotten to say something. Compassion also transports you from where you are to somewhere else. Compassion can shine like the light at the end of the tunnel and draw you to a place you hadn't known existed.

Just ask Buster.

Maggie and the Hydrant

So a recent reader of my blog posted a comment saying that her dog Mandy was really afraid of cameras. After careful observation they noticed Mandy was responding with fear to flash photography. After practice outside without the flash, and then practice outside with the flash, Mandy has become a little more accustomed to getting her picture taken. Still, if there are lots of people with lots of cameras, she's a little afraid. Who likes being chased by paparazzi? I know I don't.

While I've never been fearful of cameras, my human has still been prone to finding me annoying while he takes my picture. I don't sit still. I can't tell you how many great pictures he gets of the tip of my tail or the inside of my mouth (I love trying to lick the camera).

This is apparently a common dilemma. Never fear as I have a few simple solutions. First off, you need a lot of patience. Let go of taking the pictures you think you want. Go with the flow and let your dogs be dogs. They'll do lots of cute things. Focus on catching something unexpected rather than composing what you want. It makes for better images anyway.

Secondly, if your pup is afraid of the camera go slow. Think of it from our point of view. You disappear behind a strange object. Sometimes you get mad or anxious at us when you are behind it. When we least expect it, the thing will flash a bright light at us. You'd be scared too. Make it into a game, and incorporate the camera into our daily activities. Have the camera with you when you feed your puppy a meal. Put the camera in front of your face and give us a bit of our favorite food. Before you know it, the camera will be an object of delight rather than one of fear.

Finally, take lots of pictures. Digital photography is cheap. Take hundreds of pictures of your animal. At first maybe you'll get an interesting one for every 50 images. You'll quickly begin to learn what works and what doesn't. The quality of your compositions will improve.

As you can see, I did a photo shoot this morning by a local fire hydrant. As usual, there were a voluminous amount of photos that just didn't work. These were just a few. Part of the problem is that the human's digital camera is a bit on the slow side. The second between when he presses the button to when the image is captured is just enough for me to find something else to do. The first photo I am demonstrating how I like to move just a bit out of the frame. Isn't that nice? The second photo demonstrates how I like to hide my face. Photo three is evidence that I have a wandering eye: there were birds that needed investigation. In the last shot above I'm sampling a new variety of grass. It was might tasty.

There were a trio of shots that ended up being reasonable. Here are my picks for the day:

Butterflies Everywhere

Butterfly; butterfly fly away,

teach me how to be as free as free can be.

Butterfly; butterfly I see you there, its beautiful the way your wings caress the air.

Butterfly; butterfly go as high as you can go, show me the things that I don't yet know.

Butterfly; butterfly fly into the sky,
drop down and land yourself by my side.

Butterfly; butterfly I see you kiss a flower,
my eyes fill and I begin to ponder.

Butterfly; butterfly your beauty soars,
I see the beauty in you and I see the beauty within me.

Butterfly; butterfly show me the way,
For beauty is beautiful but there's more to me.

Butterfly; butterfly show yourself,
I see your colors and I see your shimmer, is there anything else?

Butterfly; butterfly what is the matter?
can't you give me an answer for the questions I desire?

Butterfly; butterfly I see you dying,
life is far too short to sit around crying.

Butterfly; butterfly don't you go,
for your goal has not yet been accomplished.

Butterfly; butterfly let me lift you,
I peer into your eyes and see that there's a secret inside.

Butterfly; butterfly let it out,
your secret could hold great things, give me the secret to life.

Butterfly; butterfly let me know,
before you take your last breath; show me what you hold.

Butterfly; butterfly there you go...
You twitch away letting me that the secret to life is having the courage...
to just let go.

--Ashley Landry

Of course, if in doubt, or you aren't so interested in learning anything profound from butterflies or poetry, you can try out my new therapy dog move and just stick out your tongue. I think that works pretty well, don't you?

Dance When There Is Music/Eat When There Is Food

I had no idea that picture taking could become a training exercise. Jason grabbed his camera this morning and thought he'd take some pictures of me while we went for our morning walk. I of course had other ideas. There were three other dogs walking around. They needed to be played with. There was a family going for a run around the reservoir. They needed to be chased after.There were the squirrels. Yum. They needed to be eaten as I find them irresistible. Lastly, with spring here, there are birds galore. They are the most interesting, distracting, and amusing creatures I've ever met. They flutter around and always seem to be just out of reach. I sure do like trying for them.

Anyway, can you see the dilemma? Jason expected me to sit still. I most clearly had other plans. Who do you think won out? We both did, of course. How'd we manage that? I thought you might ask.

When Jason had a good night sleep, is well fed, and generally not crabby, he seems to subscribe to the notion of dancing when there is music and eating when there is food. He goes with what is rather than what he thinks he wants. He tells me this is radical acceptance. I've got no idea what that means, but I know when he is doing it things go smoothly. He doesn't lose patience with me. We have fun. Everything in the world seems right. When he isn't radically accepting things as they are he gets upset, I get scared, and we generally don't seem to have a very good time.

This doesn't mean Jason gives up and does whatever I want. He's not a push over, and I don't rule the roost. Take his photo shoot this morning as an example. The spring flowers are up and he wanted to take some pictures. Aren't they lovely? Do you have any idea what he went through to get this one rather average image? Let me tell you: a lot.

You see, I kept walking into the shot. For every single shot of flowers Jason took there were about ten that were either sideways because he was trying to hold me out of the picture or had a blurred image f my ear or tail off to the edge. Why? Flowers after all aren't just interesting to people. Dogs like them too. I'm particularly fond of biting the flowers of daffodils (much to Jason's horror as he is told they are poisonous to animals). I also like sniffing them. Sometimes I find exciting things like butterflies or bumblebees on the blossom. This is my first springtime so this is all new and exciting. It's natural that I want to sniff and explore. That and since I have no idea what a camera is I don't know that I'm supposed to stay out of the image.

So what do you do? Do you get mad and yell at your dog? Have you tried that? Doesn't work very well does it? When people yell at us dogs we understand there is a problem but have no idea about the nature of the problem. If I got yelled at during the photo shoot I'd be just as likely to think that I get yelled at every time there is a camera in view, or that sniffing flowers is bad and I shouldn't ever sniff. That wouldn't be very good.

Here is where radical acceptance comes into play. Dogs sniff. Dogs get in the way. Dogs get distracted by all sorts of things and want to explore. Jason eventually got around to accepting this. Once he did, he had a choice: get mad at me, leave me at home and go take pictures, take me for a walk and take pictures, or accept that he won't be able to take the pictures he wants and instead take pictures that he can take when I am around. He selected the last option.

Now I'm sure you all have encountered these sorts of dilemmas all the time. Maybe you even feel bad because you can't "control" your dog. Maybe you even yell at your dog, or hit your dog in an attempt to exert some sort of control of the situation. It happens to all of us. It's not pretty, and it exposes cruel parts that we all have. It also provides a precious opportunity to discover a deep sense of playful and peaceful compassion toward ourselves and others.

Dance when there is music. Eat when there is food. That's what I say (yeah yeah yeah, I don't actually speak, but you know what I mean). So many wonderful part of life pass us by while we are busy complaining about not being able to do the things we want to do. So many opportunities to change our experiences pass us because we are too occupied denying what is happening in the moment.

Take a moment, find your feet, find your breath, and most importantly find the moment. It is in that exact second when you truly become alive, become powerful, and become able to change.

By the way, birds and squirrels turn out to be great training tools. I quickly discovered that if I stared at them without moving, they didn't run away from me. As a bonus, when I sat and stared intently at them for a period of time, Jason rewarded me by letting me run after them and chase them around the field. Jason got rewarded by taking this head shot of me, staring longingly off into to the distance at a robin. I was totally in the moment and he was too.

Napping Meditation, Part Two

For those of you tracking the progress of my napping meditations, I thought I'd add another photo. I find that traffic provides a perfect time for contemplative activities. With the notorious Boston traffic jams, what else is a therapy dog to do? With no fingers I can't offer up any sign language to those in cars around me. I tried honking the horn but Jason doesn't find it very safe for me to sit in his lap.

It's a good think I got my meditation in yesterday morning. When we left the office at 7pm I had some of my own work to do. I got to have my twice weekly visit with Jerry. I also put my paws up on the edge of the steps leading to the Harvard Square T Station. A woman spotted me and zoomed up the steps to come visit with me. I think she was feeling particularly lonely. My wagging tail was just what she needed (I'm not even making that up--she said it!).

Morning

I am pretty sure that I am going to need to become a coffee drinker. Either that or you humans are going to need to slow down and stop rushing to do "things." What ever happened to taking time to enjoy things such as sunbeams, naps, and naps in sunbeams?

This is one  of the gifts a therapy dog offers. Since we only live in the moment, we can invite you to join us there and appreciate the sunbeam, or stick, a tail wag, or a lick. It is so much better than becoming consumed with what you should be accomplishing.

Baack to my nap now.

Monday Mindfulness

My walk yesterday started off being rather difficult. You see, being a puppy, I find everything exciting and interesting. Especially other dogs. This in itself is not a problem as it's a good thing that I'm curious about the world. It's a problem because part of being certified as a therapy dog involves a test. Part of that test is being able to walk past a neutral dog without have a huge reaction.

The test isn't until June and Jason is already worried.

The walk started off well enough. It was cold but reasonably sunny. Jason brought along a new toy: a chuck it launcher. It's big fun for me. Jason can launch a tennis ball up into the air. The area that I frequently go walking in has wide open spaces. This makes it possible for me to really run!

I was running back and forth having a great time. We came around a corner to another big open field and I saw a dog off into the distance. Yeah! A playmate! I started a high pitched bark and whine: that's what I do when I want to play. The other dog apparently really reacts to other dogs because his owners were trying hard to get him back under control just like Jason was trying to do. He kept calming telling me to focus, sit, and even a couple of high fives. I'd amuse him by looking at him and hovering above the ground in a sort-of-sit. My heart wasn't in it because I so desperately wanted to go play. What fun!

Two other dogs came up and I gave up any pretense of listening to Jason. This looked like serious fun and I wanted to play. I greeted the two new dogs and their owners. I was barking as loud as I could trying to get the other dogs attention. The humans were giving the exasperated Jason some training tips. "Have you tried a can with pennies in it to get her to stop barking," one said. The other commented that "this is exactly what shock collars are for." Ouch! I'm glad I wasn't paying attention.

It took Jason awhile to finally get over feeling exasperated with me. I think he was actually frustrated with himself. The two other dogs weren't barking (they actually don't do a lot, I wouldn't either if I got shocked by my collar). Jason was probably wishing I'd hurry up and start behaving, or maybe he was worried when it comes time for my test I would fail.

Something finally clicked in his brain. He loosened up his super tight grip on my leash. I suspected he also loosened up his super tight grip on his own thoughts. He showed me the ball inside the chuck it launcher, threw it a short distance, and told me to go get it.

I stopped barking on the spot and ran. I was glad to bring it back to him since I knew he'd get all excited and throw it again. Without giving me time to think, he took the ball again as soon as I brought it back and launched it way off into the distance. I was off after it again running as fast as I could. I forgot all about the other dogs--even the puppy off into the distance who was still barking at me.

Jason needed to get a grip on himself and be mindful of his emotions and what was really happening in the moment. I think he realized that he was experiencing fear about things that haven't even happened yet (we will fail our tests, other dog owners are judging him, etc.). This is an example of the cognitive distortion of negative forecasting (anticipating things will turn out badly and assuming that the prediction is already an established fact).

Of course I'm going to bark at other dogs when they are close. This is what I do. I bark. I am dog. I am also highly motivated to please humans. Apparently some humans don't find it pleasing when I bark at other dogs inviting them to come play with me. Jason remembered that while I will probably bark when left to my own devices, I'm likely to be redirected if he gives me something else to focus on--especially if it is something that both of us find pleasing. In comes the ball and the magic happens.

This isn't a quick fix. I'm probably going to have to encounter other dogs another 30 or 40 times. I'm going to have to bark at them, I'm going to have to react strongly, and Jason is going to have to give me another job to do. I'll eventually get the hang of it: it's okay to say hello but endless barking isn't the way to make anyone happy.

My behavior isn't controlled by fear (can of pennies, shock collar). This would work, though it would only work if the fear is always present (constant use of the noxious sound of a can of pennies, constant use of a shock collar). Rather, my behavior is shaped by my deepening bond with my human companion and my desire to be engaged with him in  mutually pleasing him. This method takes a little longer but ends in offering a more enduring pattern of behavior (I will not need to have a constant reward for my behavior--intermittent "good girls", ball tosses, or tasty bits of food suffice).

Try it at home with your dog. You'll like your results and you'll like how you feel.