Would you call this puppy fatso?

If you think Dean Ornish is a stickler about weight, you should see our overseers at CCI. They don’t care how much we (the puppy raisers) weigh, but they take a dim view of any dog who packs on extra pounds. The logic behind this is understandable. Labradors, a mainstay of the program’s breeding stock, have a genetic disposition toward plumpness. Moreover it’s the destiny of many successful program graduates to be matched with handlers whose mobility is impaired, making it harder for them to get a lot of exercise. Keeping the animals at a healthy weight when they’re young sets them up for a healthier life in service, or so the thinking goes.

But what’s a healthy weight? That’s where things can get murky. Over the years, Steve and I at times have heard our vet declare our current pup’s weight to be ideal, only then to be told by the CCI staff that he or she should be leaner. I’ve learned a catchphrase from my fellow raisers: “CCI Skinny” and have come to equate it with a level of thinness that in a human might be considered borderline anorexic.

Still, we want to be good, conscientious puppy raisers, so we adhere closely to the feeding guidelines: one cup of Eukanuba Large Breed Puppy Chow three times a day until the puppy is six months old, then a cup and a half of the puppy chow twice daily, switching to a cup and a half of twice-daily lower-calorie adult dog food after that. But we also use treats as a training adjunct (with CCI’s blessing), and once again, that’s where things can get a bit fuzzy. Some folks dole out pieces of puppy chow kibble as the treats. But this can leave you with no kibble left over at mealtime, if you train and treat enough, which feels downright cruel to Steve and me. So we use Charlie Bears or Costco beef jerky treat bits or other tasty morsels to encourage correct behavior. Recently, we’ve been enjoying great success at getting Adagio to ignore other dogs by having little slices of all-beef hotdogs close at hand.

Maybe because of our treat habits (or because of his avocado raiding), Adagio was looking a tad stocky to us a month or two ago, and we cut him back to only one and a third cup of kibble for each of his two meals. Still, we quailed when at a recent weight check at the vet’s, the numbers on the digital scale climbed to 72 pounds. (In contrast, his sister Apple, who looked identical to him a year ago, now weighs only 54 pounds — and she gets fed one and three-quarter cups for her breakfast and dinner!)

Sure enough, as we feared, when I reported Adagio’s most recent weight on his monthly puppy report, the program assistant shot an email back, expressing concern. “That seems pretty large for one of our dogs, even a male,” she wrote. “Would you mind sending me a couple of photos so we can evaluate his size and make any recommendations for reducing food, increasing exercise, etc, if need be?”

She attached the following photos as a guideline to what the CCI honchos are looking for:

With some trepidation, we tried to position Adagio in a similar pose, captured the following pictures, and sent them back.

DSC03778

DSC03774

To our great relief, she answered quickly, “He does look great in these photos! You got the right angles, looks like his tummy tucks up and he’s got the indented waistline. I guess we’re just getting some big boys nowadays! 😉”

We’re kind of dreading the advent of fig season this summer, when those succulent balls of sugary goodness drop from our tree like manna. We’ll have to rake them up morning and night and ramp up Adagio’s exercise, as best we can. Because come August 9, he’ll face the fat police in person.

 

 

 

Advertisements

Fruit fight

Given Adagio’s obedience and docility, I am surprised to report he has come up with a novel form of bad behavior — a sin none of his seven CCI puppy predecessors ever committed: stealing our avocados.IMG_4488

 

The tree from which Adagio is stealing is more than 40 years old; Steve and I planted it as a sapling. It grew into a great robust engine of guacamole glory. At times we ate its fruit throughout most of the year. But over the last decade, it hasn’t fared well. Recent crops have ranged from minimal to non-existent. Then about a year ago, Steve finally took action to try to revitalize it: removing salt from the soil, watering the tree more, and pruning it heavily. This work has paid off in a bountiful crop of avocados that are delicious (although very small).

They started dropping off the tree a month or two ago. That’s when Adagio discovered them. We got suspicious when we spotted him snorfling around in the compost around the trunk base, and when we caught him in the act of savoring one of the little emerald gems (skin and all) our worst fears were confirmed.

IMG_4455

Years ago, we grew accustomed to our puppies gorging on fallen figs. Steve and I can only consume a small fraction of what our massive old fig tree produces every summer; I don’t even like figs much. But I adore avocados, and they can cost $1 or more apiece from the store. So around our house, avocado thievery is a criminal offense.

We’re now policing against more of it by checking for newly fallen fruit under the tree every morning. Only 3 or 4 avocados drop, on the average day, so we can keep up with that. And Adagio hasn’t yet gone to the next level of criminality:  reaching up and pulling goodies off the tree (which he could easily do, given how tall he is and how low the fruit is hanging.)

IMG_4487

We’re hoping he’s too virtuous to even think of that.

 

 

Poochy smooches

Steve and I raised one puppy who was a glutton for affection from her earliest months. Darby loved being cuddled and petted as much as she loved chasing the ball and eating her kibble and swimming (she was our only CCI pup so far to be entranced by water). Far more commonly, however, our trainees have warmed to physical affection more gradually.

We’ve been seeing such a change in Adagio in recent months; he’s more apt to approach one of us when we’re seated on a chair or couch and seek out petting. And he’s enjoying such interactions with other humans in a more obvious way. IMG_4458

I saw more evidence of this on Wednesday, when Adagio and I volunteered at a CCI fundraising event inspired by Valentine’s Day. An employee at Intuit (the financial software giant with a big presence in San Diego) has organized a “Cupids and Canines” celebration for several years, but this was the first time a puppy and I participated. An area within the spiffy company cafeteria was cordoned off, and Adagio and I settled down within it with five other teams for three hours. Intuit employees who were willing to make a contribution to CCI could enter to receive some quality puppy-snuggling time.

IMG_4470It was a high-serotonin experience for both the dogs and the humans who got down with them. A few mosh-pits developed:

IMG_4473

But more folks seemed to prefer one-on-one cuddles (often experienced in serial fashion with the dogs). Adagio reveled in it.

IMG_4463

IMG_4469

By the end of our stint, I was worried his tail might be exhausted, from wagging so much.

We heard that close to $4000 had been contributed during that day’s event, and another group would repeat the exercise on Valentine’s Day itself. It seemed like a particularly appropriate activity for the holiday of love.

IMG_4472

 

Have you seen this puppy?

screen shot 2019-01-22 at 9.02.23 amI’ve long said that the very worst moment in Steve’s and my puppy-raising careers came the night Tucker ran off into the woods in the middle of one winter night up in Julian — with our CCI trainee at the time (Darby) in tow. Now we have a contender for second worst experience.

The incident in question happened Saturday afternoon, after Steve and Adagio had returned from a long grocery-shopping expedition. Because Steve had items to stow in our street-facing “bike garage,” he parked in front of our house, instead of in the big garage out back. He brought in Adagio and most of the groceries. I petted Adagio and walked into another room to do something else. It was several long minutes later when Steve asked, “Where’s Adagio.” I called him using my piercing “Here!” command, to which he usually comes running.

But he didn’t come. We looked out in the yard. No Adagio. We checked my office, then the garages. Increasingly incredulous, we went through every room in the house, even the closets — twice. But he was clearly missing from ALL the premises.

Feeling panicky, I raced out the front door and across the street to scan the elementary school playground/field where Adagio enviously stares at the dogs running free there. But I could see no large black dog romping among them. Our neighbor across the street, noticing my distress, asked what was wrong and offered to drive around looking for our missing pooch.

I wanted to check the alley behind our house first, but found no sign of him there. Two more neighbors volunteered to start a search. By this point I was nearly incoherent with not just fear but also disbelief. Adagio has NEVER bolted out the front door (which we figured Steve must have inadvertently left open for a minute or two.) On a leash, he waits patiently until we give him a command to venture out. I ran out the door again and then went down onto the field. I crossed it and scanned the streets on the other side (our regular path to the coffee shop). Again: nothing. With tears in my eyes, I raced back to the house and prepared to jump in our car and start driving, when my cell phone rang.

It was Jodie next door. “Have you lost your black lab?” she asked. In what seemed like two seconds later, I was at her door. Adagio wagged his tail in greeting.

We learned that Jodie’s mother had walked outside and seen a big black labrador on her lawn. She went to get Jodie, a renowned dog lover, and Adagio trotted inside, at her heels. Jodie, as it turned out, was in the shower, but when she emerged she immediately posted a notice on our neighborhood website (Next Door Birdrock) about her unexpected visitor. Then she thought to call us. Vast relief swept over Steve and me. (Adagio looked like he would have been happy to hang out longer with the family’s gorgeous blonde miniature dachshunds.)

I am left to conclude that we must NEVER fail to close the front door ever again. You never know when someone will get it into their head to stroll out and go sniff the grass on the other side of the bushes. (If he does, however, it’s wonderful to have such helpful neighbors. In the end, besides Jodie’s on-line notice, no less than four neighbors had volunteered to help use scour the surrounding streets, looking for Adagio.)

 

 

An Only Dog

img_4398It took several weeks for us to stop finding tufts of Tucker’s white fur in odd places — under the sofa in my office, for example, or in the corner of a closet. Now, save for a single white strand here or there and the box of ashes out in the garage (awaiting interment in Julian early next month), the physical traces of Tucker’s presence have disappeared. The emotional reverberations too are fading. Now it really feels like Steve and I are living with only one dog.

dsc03737
Now all the dog hair is black — and there’s so much less of it! (Tucker’s coat shed massive amounts almost daily.)

Over the almost-45 years during which we’ve lived together, we’ve gone through a few spells without any dog. For less than half a dozen years, we had just one. Throughout most of the last 30 years, however, we’ve lived with two dogs, and occasionally more, when we hosted doggy houseguests. Each of the 8 CCI puppies we’ve raised has almost always roomed with some other canine.

So having Adagio as the only animal presence in our life feels novel. We’re eager to see how this will impact him. We’ve come to wonder over the years if more of our CCI pups would have graduated (only ONE out of Adagio’s seven predecessors) if each had been the only dog in our house. Every one we’ve raised has adored other dogs. (They all worshipped Tucker, and when we got him, Tuck was crazy about our existing black lab, Pearl.) It felt like Tucker’s very presence commanded each succeeding CCI pup’s highest level of interest. Would they have imprinted more on us if he hadn’t been there? Now that Adagio is an only dog, will he ultimately perform better?

As always, it’s impossible to know what Adagio made of Tucker’s sudden disappearance. In the first few days, we could see him scanning when he returned to the house after outings. Where was Tucker? He didn’t look sad; just…puzzled. He used to love snuggling up to Tucker for naps. At night now, confined to his kennel, we assume he probably misses the comforting smell of another dog, nearby. But now that a few weeks have gone by, does he even remember Tucker? We doubt it.

img_3251
Out of sight (or smell), out of mind (or so we suspect)

His absence is probably affecting Steve’s and my behavior more. We’re showering all our affection on just one dog, and we’re feeling filled with resolve to do a better job at readying him for advanced training. Taking stock of Adagio after our long absence in the fall, we’ve been impressed by what an excellent young fellow he is — so easy to live with, napping quietly near us throughout most of the day, never chewing up our stuff, not even digging or eating (much) garbage out in the yard. He learns quickly enough and wants to please us. He’s got a few bad habits (jumping on people when they come through the front door; losing his mind at the sight of other dogs; popping up when he’s supposed to be maintaining a Down Stay under the dining table). But Steve and I plan to work hard at changing these behaviors.

I’m sure November 1 will come all too soon. But for the moment, it feels like we have a lovely ocean of time to live with our only dog.

 

 

Weirdophobia

Fear periods are something we’ve heard about a lot throughout our years of raising puppies for CCI. According to my Puppy Raiser Manual, one such period occurs when pups are between 8 and 11 weeks old. Then a second kicks in between 6 to 14 months. “Corresponds with growth spurts,” my manual reads.  “May be frightened of new things or even known things.” Aside from the fear of stairs with open treads — which have terrified several of our pups — no previous puppy of ours has suddenly become afraid of something. But once again, Adagio is breaking new ground. Two entities currently frighten him:

The Dog of Death. This one is somewhat understandable. At least we know its genesis. Our walk to the neighborhood coffeehouse often takes us past a house where, months ago, a dog would usually spring to its feet at our approach and bark ferociously at Adagio through the wooden fence. It made even Steve and me jump a couple of times. It startled Adagio, and he put his ears back, but we always quickly moved on past the house.

One day, the house seemed empty. The dog appeared to be gone. Yet at some point — weeks later — Adagio began acting afraid at our very approach to the house. He whimpered. We pointed out to him that this was silly. The scary dog was nowhere to be seen. But over time, Adagio’s reactions grew more and more extreme. He began to scream and yelp and cry as we approached the fence. Here’s a glimpse of what it looks like:

One day we realized there was indeed a dog in the yard, where new owners seemed to have moved in and begun a backyard renovation project. When we turned and walked up the alley that runs behind the house, we could even see this dog, a friendly soul who wagged its tail and never so much as emitted a snarl, let alone any menacing barks. One day, when Adagio was squealing in terror as we passed the house, we even met the dog’s owner, who told us its name is Rile. (I’m not sure that’s how it’s spelled.)

IMG_3094.jpg
Strangely, when Adagio has come face to face with Rile, he calms down or acts like he wants to play.

To this day, Adagio continues to make a spectacle of himself every time we walk anywhere near the house. Steve and I should probably just avoid it. My manual says, “Don’t force dogs into fearful situations. Ignore the scary thing so dog won’t be afraid. ” But it seems so ridiculous for him to be terrified of the Dog of Death, as we have come to think of poor Rile. We keep walking by ever so often to see if Adagio has finally come to his senses.

In the meantime, last week he began to act afraid of…

IMG_3283.jpg

The Bowl of Terror. The bowl in question is his water bowl — i.e. the large metal bowl from which he and Tucker both have been drinking for all of Adagio’s life. We keep it on the patio and typically fill it with water a couple of times a day.

When walking back to the house from the lower yard (where we typically go for his toileting breaks), I realized one recent day that Adagio was veering over to the outdoor fireplace. It took me a while to realize he was doing that to avoid walking close to the water bowl. I could scarcely believe this. It’s such an innocuous fixture. It’s given him so much pleasure — quenching his thirst! — over the course of his short life. Moreover it’s his only source of water. He’s never been one to drink from toilet bowls or the pool.

But afraid he clearly is. Happily, we’ve observed that when he gets thirsty enough, he walks right up to it and drinks. Once sated, he bolts away.

What can I say? He’s a weirdophobe.

I also comfort myself with the thought that he completely got over the fear of open-tread stairs. Now he ambles up them without a second thought. We can hope he’ll also make his peace with both Rile and the Bowl of Terror.

 

Fig resistant

IMG_3265.jpg
Sometime here smells so interesting! Am I missing out? But on what?!

We’re coming to the end of the season for our magnificent Mission fig tree. It was here when we moved in 41 years ago, and every year since, in the late summer and early fall, it has yielded hundreds of pounds of fruit. Crows feast on the bounty at the crown; Steve plucks figs from the middle and lower zones and eats them on his cereal. Some years I make jam, and we always give away as much as we can, but figs still fall off the tree and litter the ground around it. Tucker typically has gained at least 5 pounds every fig season, and every CCI puppy we’ve raised has discovered the deliciousness. Except Adagio.

It’s hard to say why he has resisted them. This year when the figs started to ripen, we took pains to limit his contact with the tree, taking him down to that part of the yard on a tight leash. But we’ve done that with all our CCI puppies. Allowing them free access to scavenging opportunities inevitably results in dietary disruption —  not fun for them or us. Still, we inevitably let down our guard, and during those moments everyone except Adagio has quickly availed themselves of the morsels of pleasure.

Whenever we’ve seen Adagio approach one, we’ve sternly reprimanded him. So I wonder: is he more obedient than all the other dogs? Is his culinary palate less refined — or more? (Somehow that theory seems implausible.)

In recent weeks, it seems to me he’s been more eager to get near the tree and sniff around. A few times, we’ve seen him returning from its vicinity licking his chops. Still, we doubt he could have eaten more than a half-dozen pieces, if he got any.

Adagio is not scheduled to leave us and go on to his Advanced Training until November of 2019. If that doesn’t change, we’ll live with him through another season of the forbidden fruit. Somehow I’m guessing he’ll be less resistant to its charms the next time around.