Burlap & Satin

Bogey is one year old today.

If you'd have told me a year ago that I would be utterly changed because of something so small, I would have laughed. I was planning a wedding I'd waited nearly two years for, stuck in a job I absolutely hated, living in a new fixer upper home that seemed to drain us every day, and I'd just lost a fifteen year friendship (and my maid of honor) in a truly nasty and undignified manner. Everything was in upheaval. My entire life was about getting to wedding day, getting to June 22nd, getting to the honeymoon, surviving, existing. I would make all the important decisions later. I would be happy... later.

The wedding came, the wedding went, the honeymoon was filled with stress and strep throat, but started to become fun after lots of antihistamines and rest. We stopped at the only internet cafe on Mackinac Island where I had received an email from BREW. One puppy left and we were approved for adoption, did we want him? I told them we were still on our honeymoon and would think about it and email them when we got home. They understood and gave us first dibs.

At the end of our honeymoon, we stopped at J's sister's house for a day in Northern Michigan. Watching Gypsy interact with their new puppy convinced me. She was lonely, she was bored, she was resigned to always being alone. But she always lit up around puppies, loved them, loved having someone to play with. Her life with us was good, but it wasn't really full - at least not for a pack-motivated social beagle like Gyppers.

We hemmed, we hawed, we stared at the picture in the email again and I waited for J. to tell me yay or nay. Eventually he looked at the picture, looked at me, nodded reluctantly and said, "Yeah." So I sent the email and told them we wanted the last puppy. We headed home from our honeymoon the next day and back to daily life.

Arrangements were made, supplies were bought and we waited. One week later, the very next weekend, we left at 5am and drove three hours to Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio to adopt our newest addition. We signed papers on the trunk of my car in a Bob Evans parking lot, we met puppy's mother (a petite beagle who was headed to her new home in Toledo), and handed over a very big check. Then there we were, alone with a new puppy, new responsibility and never-ending cuteness. We drove home amazed at his size and energy and tried to figure out what we would call him.

Gypsy loved him, I loved him, J. thought he was "very cute." J wasn't entirely sold on the idea of a puppy and even though he told me he was okay with it, I'm married to the man and I knew he wasn't. But as is typical with J., it takes time for him to adjust to change and I was hopeful this was something else he would eventually warm up to.

I, on the other hand, was becoming absolutely smitten with our newest puppy. My heart would grow three sizes whenever him and Gypsy would play, when he would smother me with kisses in the morning, when he would learn something new. His confidence was amazing to me and he was so social I didn't know how to handle it. Gypsy had baggage when we got her, she was afraid of so many things and needed lots of gentleness and patience. But Bogey Orson Deuce Bosley Harpo Bogey was nothing like her. He lived on your attention and eye contact, he quivered with excitement when you said his name, he lived to be awake, loved to be alive. Soon enough, I found that I did too.

I felt like a new mother and soon found it too damn difficult to leave him home in a crate all day. Sure, he got a mid-day break but it was only 30 minutes out of an eight hour day. Anyone will tell you that's cruel for a ten-week old puppy. I had planned on leaving my job a lot sooner than this, but I had become stuck. I was feeling locked into a job I hated and the wedding had become such a central focus that what I wanted for myself was on the back burner... until Bogey, that is. Every day when I had to walk out the front door and listen to him scream, my heart would just break into a million pieces and tears would well up in my eyes. I couldn't do this anymore. Here I was, sitting at a desk giving all my time to a thankless job that no one even noticed much less appreciated, while one of my most favorite beings in the world was stuck at home in a crate denied any contact with the only people he knew.

It's at this point that some people consider giving up a dog or tying him out in the backyard or letting him run loose in the house just to get in trouble later. Me, I couldn't justify it. My animals are my children and I just love them too damned much. I couldn't do it to him. Sure, I could throw him in doggy daycare, but he's my damned dog. Why else did I get a puppy if not to help him learn and grow and mature? J. and I talked about it, I hashed it out again and again and again and finally, when my boss returned from his ten day vacation, I handed in my letter of resignation.

The first full weekday that I had at home completely justified my decision. The dogs watched J. leave for work and then stared at me with trepidation and anxiety. It hurt me to see how much they dreaded me leaving for the day, it hurt me even more to realize I hadn't seen it before. It took nearly two weeks before the dogs realized I was home for good. Their demeanor changed entirely. Gypsy was happier and more relaxed, Bogey had learned five basic commands and was fully housebroken within a month. The biggest change of all, however, was me. I was happier, more relaxed, I wasn't angry on Sundays, I was more active, and I learned how to play again. Bogey was a comedian and lived to make me smile. I laughed a lot. Something I hadn't done in a long, long time.

We worked on the house, had dogs, spent evenings in the backyard, enjoyed domestic life. Then... Bogey hit adolescence. I've spent most of my life training dogs and studying animal behavior. People that know me will tell you how laughable my patience is, but that when it comes to animals, I am the most patient and tolerant person in the world. For the most part, they're right. I have an openness and kindness with them that I just don't seem to have with people. I don't know why, it's just always been that way. With Bogey however, I can honestly tell you that my patience and tolerance were pushed to every limit and beyond. His adolescence tested me, tested the other animals, tested J., tested us. He was like no other beagle I had ever had. I had grown up with stubborn scent hounds and everything I'd ever tried didn't work with him. I couldn't figure it out. I was exhausted from trying to keep him busy, hoarse from screaming to get his attention, and mentally spent every single day. I had a million books on dog behavior and not a damn one of them had a scenario that described him. He was a barking destructive terror, I had quit my job to work with him and it didn't matter because I couldn't even get him to listen to me. J. was especially fed up and blurted out in a massive argument one day, "Everything was fine and just when it starts to calm down, you had to go and bring this fucking chaos into our life."

This hit me like a slap in the face. Even though J. has apologized for that remark a million times since and I have accepted his apology, it isn't forgotten and it still stings. In that moment, I realized Bogey had no allies in this house, just me. His bad behavior had burned all bridges and gained him only enemies. But I still loved and adored him, so if he was going to get help, it was going to have to be through me.

I poured through internet forums, veterinary handbooks, animal behavior studies, everything I could get my hands on. I googled any and every term comparable to "hyperactive dog" you can imagine. It was obvious from day one Bogey wasn't 100% beagle. His size was too big, his energy was too wild, his ears were too long and his eyes weren't right, plus the rescue organization only knew his mother, not the father. Everyone had opinions, but no one knew exactly what he was. Then one day, as I was researching various types of hounds online - and as if on cue - I heard him outside baying. In a space of five minutes he went from a typical beagle puppy "Aroo! Aroo!" to a long, slow and deep, "ArrrrOOOOOoooOOOOooooOOOOOO!!" My eyes widened, my jaw dropped, my fingers froze over the keys. Now that was a distinctive bark. Good god, is he a coonhound?! Quickly I did a google image search for "coonhound puppy" and damn near died.

Sure, his markings are all beagle just like his mother, but the eyes! The ears! The head! They were too similar to be coincidence. So then I researched coonhound behavior and it was like the Heavens opened up and sang to me.

"Coonhounds are very high energy dogs.... They are bored easily... Some will also become 'boredom barkers'... They also are very people-oriented, and like to be doing something for you... A Coonhound is bred to bark. Coonhounds are loud, loud, LOUD.... They like to be talked to .... They are content to lie at your feet. (You may trip on them frequently.) ... They are paradoxical; they will put up with a good deal of pain, if they are doing something they want to do, but are also very sensitive... The common methods of training are not right for Coonhounds."

Bullets upon bullets outlining coonhound behavior and Bogey fit every single one. I was elated, but at the same time worried. I read tale after tale of professional trainers that had refused to work with coonhounds because they are so different and difficult to train. Most people might have been overwhelmed by such information, but I am just as stubborn and contrary as my scent hounds and so wasn't overwhelmed as much as I was pissed off and indignant. How dare you say my dog isn't trainable because of his genes? Watch me, buddy. Just watch me.

So we worked and worked and worked. I dove head first into learning about coonhounds, joined coonhound forums and basically learned all I could learn about this often misunderstood and underestimated breed. I had to change up my entire training method, the methods I'd used for years, decades even. None of them worked and I had to really challenge myself to find new ways to relate to my dog. But I did and I didn't lose my patience. Rather, I gained patience because I had a new understanding for his needs and what he was trying to tell me.

Within a week, Bogey's behavior was radically different. He wasn't perfect by any means, but for the first time in months, he listened. He didn't bark his head off at the slightest movement and even when he did, he would stop when I asked him to. It was as though he was thankful to finally be understood, relieved that someone was communicating with him effectively. The joy in his step was palpable. He wasn't in trouble constantly and he was free to be a dog again. Gypsy actually enjoyed playing with him, the cats no longer ran from him and - the best part of all for me - J. began to really love coming home to him. Bogey began to idolize his "daddy" and J. began to work with him and teach him tricks I hadn't yet tried.

Over the past few months, Bogey's puppy energy has dissipated just ever so slightly. He's starting to look and act more like a dog and less like a crazed out-of-control puppy. He still has issues to overcome, but he also has tons more self-control and confidence than he had six months ago. I know all that isn't from natural genetics or maturity. I know it's from environment. I can proudly say that he's driven me to Hell and back, but that I pushed myself and made it a fruitful journey. Yes, I quit my job and we live on one income and things have been more difficult financially. However, this past year has really allowed me to reflect and be honest with myself about what I'm here to do and why I haven't been doing it in the first place. It allowed me to realize that sometimes I really am good at things and I honestly do have a gift, even if I've just been too afraid to use it. I'm exploring options and have decided to become a professional animal trainer. Even if I make pennies a day, it's a skill I always have and always continue to love doing. Even on the worst days, I still love it and to deny that about myself is just not worth the inner struggle anymore. Yes, I love art and I will always continue to make and pursue art, and maybe you'll see my stuff in a gallery someday, but my heart is with the animals. It always has been, it always will be. Animals are my life.

I'm sure it seems silly to have written this much about the birthday of a dog. But it's because of Bogey that I've finally found a peace with myself, finally decided what it is I need to do with my life, and rather than just contemplating change, enacted it within my own being. He was the catalyst, the catharsis, the push I needed to finally decide I like myself enough to not give up on my dreams.

So Happy Birthday and thank you, Bogz. This one's for you, big boy. You've given me my life back and I'm going to spend the rest of yours repaying you. Arrroooo to you, too.

Now put that down and get away from the trash can. Please? Good boy.