Dog Trainer's Log

I haven’t posted anything here since I posted the tribute to Casey, a few days after I put him down on June 9. It wasn’t because I haven’t been writing – I have – but writing about dogs other than writing about events has been really, really hard.

I’ve spent most of this time letting M. have her very first shot at my time, undivided and unshared with another dog. We started tracking. We are working on her heeling. We spend a lot of time just plain old cuddling.

I was worried that M., who’s always been around other dogs, would have a hard time without Casey. But no – not like Casey acted after I had to put Bard down. She looked for him a bit, and she doesn’t understand why the tennis balls are still all over the place, but she was very happy being the only dog. Maybe a little too happy.

I had a hard time bouncing between puppy fever and knowing that I wasn’t ready to have another fulltime dog yet. At once point, I told someone that I’d probably think a dachshund-chow cross looked cute. And of course, there are english cocker people out there with litters, with promising teenagers. I entered into a one-month period of DON’T-LOOK at puppy pictures, at rescue sites, at emails with attachments of new litters.

But I spent a lot of July covering people, groups and events leading up to the Grapehounds Wine Tour. And I realized that while I am not really ready for another full-time permanent dog, I have the time now and I could do something with my training skills that could help dogs that really need help. So I offered to foster a retired racing greyhound. I’ve always liked them, always beeen fascinated by the breed.

And a foster is temporary, right? It’s in the future, not right now. If I discover that I don’t really like living with them, I’m not committing to a dog for the next 15 years – just for the time it takes the rescue group to place the foster in a suitable adoptive home. If I get sick again, I don’t have to worry about my commitment to the dog – the rescue group will take him back.

Except that I got the email last week – the group has a dog allotted from the latest haul from Florida, and I’ll be fostering her. She’s supposed to be small (58 pounds – to which I thought yeah, but how long are her legs?!?)

So that’s what I’ve been doing. Figuring out how to move forward, doing the best for my little spotted girl while still missing my little red viejo with every breath. And realizing that even when I move forward, I am not leaving mi viejo behind.