Saturday, December 26, 2015

Remember For Me


Last week, Yehuda called us. He was concerned about his dog, Polly, a smooth collie who was now over fourteen years old.  She was having discomfort getting up and walking, and preferred to sleep in her corner, and he asked if we could come to visit, see her, and give him advice.

What was special about this is that Polly was the very first dog trained as an Alzheimer’s Aid Dog, and Yehuda was the very first Alzheimer’s patient to receive one.

People suffering from Alzheimer’s and other degenerative brain damage diseases suffer loss of cognitive skills, including memory, judgment, and orientation in time, people and places.  The loss of orientation hinders their ability to get home safely, so that any time they leave home, they run the risk of getting lost.  The ability to get home becomes a major survival issue for these people.

People with Dementia and other degenerative brain diseases also feel terrible loneliness, frustration, anger and helplessness. Against their will, they are prisoners in their own homes and are dependent on others to get out.

The idea of this project was that with the help of a specially trained dog, the patient could get home by simply giving the dog the command to take them home.  This returns their freedom of movement and makes it possible for them to leave their homes without requiring the help of family members.

The dog has not only been trained to bring her owner home, but also to bring him home safely, avoiding physical obstacles such as holes, dangerous curbs, parked cars, traffic. The dog also helps give the patient stability in standing and walking – many Alzheimer’s sufferers are prone to falls.  The patient may become confused as a result of the disease, or become anxious because he is not sure how to get home, and is capable of forgetting all his pedestrian skills, so the dog is his “guardian”.

Yehuda suffered from early onset Alzheimer’s, which began when he was in his early 60’s.  He was a highly educated and very respected professional, a talented writer and translator, fluent in several languages, and involved in very important and influential work.  The diagnosis was extremely hard for him to accept. Especially during the first stages of the disease, Yehuda felt terribly lonely and anxious. He felt isolated from colleagues and also from his family.  He didn’t want to get out of bed in the morning or try to carry on a normal life style. He even resented the help of family members.

Yehuda had never been a “dog person”, and the idea of having a companion dog was very strange to him.  But the bond between him and Polly developed very quickly and very deeply.

It was necessary for Yehuda to care for his dog’s needs, so he had to get out of bed in the morning – Polly would also come to the bed and nudge and encourage him until he got up.  Caring for her and walking her helped him maintain a normal way of life, and the physical exercise of walking with her and playing with her improved his own physical fitness and health.  He also was no longer afraid of getting lost and not being able to get home – he knew that Polly would always bring him to safety.

Walking the dog also promoted contact between him and other people in his environment.  People showed an interest and curiosity about the dog with the special harness.  They begin talking more with Yehuda and interacting with him, which helped to take him out of the circle of boredom and loneliness.  In this scenario, the dog acts as an icebreaker or social integrator.

Alzheimer’s Aid Dogs become full time companions.  Polly was attentive and focused her attention on the Yehuda, his needs and his mental/physical condition at all times. When Yehuda was depressed and did not want to get out of bed, Polly played with him, pulled the blankets away from him, brought him her toys, and would not stop until Yehuda responded. Polly remained with Yehuda at night when he could not sleep.  She stayed with him while his family was engaged in other activities. Yehuda reported that he did not feel the need to phone his family as much as before, and when he was bored, he went out with the dog.  Polly was also specially trained to react to crisis situations by barking to alert help or to press a special emergency button. 

Yehuda himself said, “The dog has given me a quality of life by releasing me from the prison walls of my own home. This is the best thing that has ever happened to me…A person has no worth or existence if he doesn't belong to a social community. A person without a companion is empty. The most important aspect of this project is not just getting me safely home which is very important, but to allow me to be socially active. To go with Polly to friends and acquaintances… now there is no fear whether I'll be back home safe or not. With Polly there is no pressure."

We have been involved with Yehuda and Polly from the start of the project. We felt the tremendous bond that grew between them, and the total devotion of Polly and her desire to do everything she could for Yehuda.  She learned many things that were not part of her training, but part of her day to day life with her partner.

There were many and varied stages in Yehuda’s condition. There were times when he was affected quite severely and was almost unable to communicate, and there were times when he was very lucid and clear, and was able to write and work at his translations, and participate in family life.  Polly was always at his side.

It had been about a year since our last visit to Yehuda and Polly.  He had been suffering from additional physical disabilities, and we were worried that his condition might be deteriorating.  As we drove up to his house and were greeted by his wife, we were not sure what the situation would be.

We spent several hours with Yehuda and Polly, and I still find it almost impossible to describe my feelings.  For several hours, we carried on a conversation with an articulate, talented, intellectual man, who was able to remember his past and tell us many stories about his life, discuss current affairs, and behave in a completely normal manner.  Anyone meeting him would never believe that he was an Alzheimer’s sufferer.  His physical condition was also improved – he was consciously working on methods to improve his body function, and was succeeding. He was fully aware of his condition, and told us that at times he would “lose” himself, but his determination not to give up on his life brought him back from these darker periods.

Yehuda is a unique and special person, who was not willing to give in to his disease, and fought with all his strength to hold on to his abilities, and he has succeeded to an unbelievable extent.  But he attributes a great deal of his success to Polly – she would not let him sink into despair and apathy, she and her devotion kept him going.  His doctors agree.

But now Yehuda’s concerns were for his beloved Polly.  He was totally aware of the situation, but he had been a fighter all his life, and he was ready now to do whatever he could for his dear friend.  We could see that she was indeed suffering from old age. Although she still desired to stay at Yehuda’s side and to continue to watch over him, her body was failing her in many ways.  There was little to do except to keep her as comfortable as possible.  We and Yehuda knew what was inevitable.

A few days later, Polly fell into her last sleep, as always at Yehuda’s side.

She will be remembered as the first dog to prove that this project was possible and valuable.  There are others following in her footsteps, helping other Alzheimer’s patients and their families.  Yehuda will not have another dog, but we believe that Polly will always remain in his memory.








Wednesday, July 8, 2015

Italy Part 2

The first night in Italy, we spent in the home of Isabella’s father.  His house was in the outskirts of Parma, so it was a short drive from the train station.  The night was very dark, with a bit of rain, and it was quite cold, certainly not what I had been expecting.  We drove through dark narrow country lanes, like passing through tunnels of thick green foliage, the only visibility provided by the cone of the car headlights ahead.

We turned in to an even smaller lane, with the tree branches reaching over and the greenery caressing the car as we passed, until we reached an iron gate. This gate looked like the gate of the old mansion in ghost movies, with nothing visible except the foliage which was drooping over the lane and draped over the gate.  A bit beyond was the shadowy shape of a building.

It was hard in the dark to get an impression of the house, other than that it was very large and seemed to be very classically Italian.  But once we got inside – it was a true Italian palazzo!  Not huge, but many spacious rooms, spotless and perfectly decorated, with furniture that looked to my not very experienced eyes as if it should be in a museum.  An elegant and narrow staircase spiraled up to the bedroom floor, as immaculate as below.  Isabella’s father, a very elegant and charming man, was perfectly fitted to his surroundings.

In the morning, I could see the lovely countryside all around, green and lush, as we left for Isabella’s house, about an hour or so drive away.  Tuscany is a wonderful area, it was easy to see why it was so popular with visitors and celebrities (even George Clooney has a house in the town near Isabella’s house – sadly, he wasn’t at home…).

Isabella’s house is not an Italian palazzo.  It is a small house in the middle of a very quiet part of the village where there is a bit of home agriculture – vegetable gardens, a few cows and horses…The neighbors all around are friendly and quick with a greeting (something which I have found to be true in all of Italy), and several of them still believe that the best method of communication is the human voice, at high volume, to be heard over distance.  Isabella had to explain to me at first that her neighbor was not yelling at her, that was just the way he talked…

The first thing met at her house, after hiking a few hundred meters up a rather steep incline – the car can’t be parked next to the house – are cats. Isabella has a lot of cats that have decided that she is their principal provider.  They hang out around the house, especially on the porch, frequently reminding her that the food dish is empty, and are perfectly willing to share in the dogs’ food as well when the opportunity presents itself.  Some of the cats are special friends of particular dogs, and come to sleep with them. They are allowed into the house in the hallway, and the door is usually open.  However, to prevent them going upstairs to the bedroom, Isabella has invented a cat barricade – a wire basket sort of thing that is the width of the stairs and is balanced precariously on the edge of a stair half way up. If cats try to get over this, it falls, making a big clatter and scattering the cats in all directions.  The cats have learned that they can’t climb over it, so they stay away from the stairs.  I had to learn to step very carefully over this barrier whenever I wanted to get to the bedroom or bathroom. I am very proud that I only knocked it down two or three times while I was there!

The living room-dining room, on the main floor, which is also Isabella’s work room, is first of all a dog room.  There are many dogs that live there.  The sofas are lumpy and old, and have developed a shape that is very conducive for dogs to curl up in, or for a person to sink into and be unable to get out of.  Puppies have a pen here, so that they can spend all their time with people and other dogs, and there are crates, each dog knowing his own, and when he can be in, and when he can be out.  Nothing is expensive or elegant, an approach that I understand very well – this way it is possible to enjoy the company of the dogs without worrying about the furniture.  My furniture has also always been of this sort…

In the back there is a fenced yard, where all the dogs get a chance to be out for some hours several times a day, and to bark at the cow of the neighbor.
Upstairs, it is possible to see the influence of Isabella’s father.  The bedrooms, bathroom, and hall are clean and orderly, and there is even one special elegant antique chair – which is not to be sat on. This is the territory of people, not dogs. I think it is usually the territory of guests, Isabella often sleeps downstairs on the sofa with the dogs…

The dogs were all very enthusiastic to see me, especially Tutti, who climbed on my lap and asked, “Is it time for me to come back to Israel now?”, and Ziva and Calimero who vied for my attention.  Every evening when we came back from the day’s activities, I had to spend some time saying goodnight to them, or they would refuse to settle down and go to sleep.

The first day there, I went with Isabella to complete various arrangements for the upcoming workshops and seminars.  The venue was lovely, an agro-tourism location, which had a horse stable, some guest rooms, and a wonderful restaurant (I am still dreaming about the food).  We also went to the nearby village to do some shopping.  It was like going back in time – small family grocery shops, where everyone came everyday to buy fresh food for the day’s meals, everything paid in cash, shelves with about five hundred different kinds of pasta, and many different kinds of sauce, and much more fresh produce.  Everyone knows one another, talks, passes the time of day, no one is in a hurry…No traffic in the village, everything quiet and peaceful, people sitting outside enjoying the sun, and everything spotlessly clean.  And of course, the wonderful scenery in the background…So lovely!

The next day was a grooming workshop presented by Mia Ejerstad, probably the best groomer and handler in Europe and an outstanding teacher. I would be participating in her workshops the next weekend, giving lectures on dog behavior, but this one I was able to observe.  As it was specially for collies, border collies, and Australian shepherds, it was a great pleasure to watch and learn new things, and meet new people.  And the food…!!!

There is no way that I can talk about Italy without talking about the food.  I am not talking about gourmet food and fancy restaurants, in my nearly two weeks there, I never ate in a fancy restaurant, only in people’s homes and in simple country restaurants.  And everywhere, the food was wonderful – simple, but full of taste, and healthy.  I have always loved Italian food, but this time – amazing!

On Sunday, we had our daylong seminar on the Canaan Dog.  In addition to the Italians, there were participants from Germany, Czech Republic, and France, several with their dogs.  The atmosphere was lovely, and despite the language differences, everyone seemed to understand my talks and to be able to communicate with one another. It was great to meet people I had until now only known from internet communication, and to also see old friends.  I am so happy to see the growing and serious interest in the breed, and the willingness of people to make an effort to come and understand them better.

The only problem was the weather.  It was sunny but very cold!  Everyone agreed that it should not be like this in Italy at the end of May, but it was definitely not what I had planned for when packing.  I had to dress in layers of summer clothes on top of one another…maybe I have started a new fashion trend…

With the first seminar over, I now had the week to relax (relatively).  Isabella and I had made some plans, and also there were preparations for the workshop/seminar that would be held the next weekend.

And there was La Spezia….

Coming up in Italy Part 3…


Tutti - "Can we go back to Israel now?"

Wednesday, June 24, 2015

Italy Part 1


I had been looking forward for several months to my trip to Italy.  This was the first time in years that I would be away from home for more than a few days.  In the last years, my only trips abroad were to judge, and then they involved one day travelling each way and two days judging in the middle.  I do enjoy these judging trips as it is always fascinating to see dogs in other countries, but they are certainly not a vacation. But with this trip to Italy, I would have two weekends of “work” – giving seminars – and the whole week between would be a vacation!  Wow!
I even had a flight at a normal hour – in the middle of the day, meaning I would not have to be at the airport in the middle of the night, and I would also arrive at a reasonable hour.  I was flying on EasyJet, my first experience with this airline.  The problem was their restriction to one piece of cabin baggage of a certain size.  Since I had to have my laptop and projector for the seminars, I would have to take a regular suitcase, not just a carry-on.  But since I would be away for almost two weeks, it was nice to have plenty of space for clothes, and to add several books that I was bringing.
I got to the airport and checked in. My suitcase was 22 kilo, to my surprise.  It was the addition of the books, as it was far from full. And even though it had wheels, it was still heavy!  And I had my backpack with the laptop and a few other essentials.  And a supply of sandwiches – one of the characteristics of the economy flight is that food is not provided – either you buy it en route for a hefty price, or you carry your own.  I carried.
EasyJet was very efficient, and the flight was surprisingly comfortable, with excellent cabin crew. We landed on time, I collected by suitcase without problems.  My good friend Isabella who would be hosting me had given me precise instructions - first to take the airport shuttle bus from Terminal 2, where I had landed, to Terminal 1, and from there to take the train to Milano Centrale.  From there I could take another train to meet my hostess.  It seemed easy enough.
I exited the terminal, looking for the shuttle.  There were many buses lined up there, to many destinations, included buses to Milano Centrale.  But being quite an obedient type, since I was told to take, the shuttle bus, that is what I would do. 
After walking back and forth in the bus parking area, finally I was directed to the shuttle to Terminal 1.  The other buses that I had seen were normal buses, with a compartment underneath to put luggage.  The shuttle bus – which one would assume was intended for people travelling – had no luggage compartment at all.  I had to drag my suitcase up the steep stairs into the bus, which was small and crowded, and try to find a place where it would not block the other people getting on or off, a pretty impossible task. 
At least it was a short drive to Terminal 1.  I dragged my suitcase off the bus, found the train station, got my ticket.  It was possible to buy only the ticket to Milano Centrale, the next ticket I could only buy when I got there.  The train was not at all crowded, there was a place for the suitcase, and very few stations. In an hour I had arrived at Milano Centrale.
Milano Centrale still appears to me in my nightmares.
Milano Centrale is a huge station.  There are very many tracks, and the Malpensa Express from the airport arrives on a track at the very far end of the station.  So now, dragging my suitcase, I had to proceed from the arrival point into the station to find the place to buy my ticket to my next destination.  There are kilometers of very modern shops, spread out on several floors accessible with ramps and stairs, (I was told afterwards that there are elevators, but I never saw one), and I think that I traversed all of them looking for the ticket sales. Asking people was not a great help, as most, though very polite, did not know English and I didn’t know the Italian word for tickets.  The police officer stationed there waved me vaguely in the direction of the opposite end of the station, of course down many more stairs and ramps.  I was getting very tired…
Finally, I did find the ticket area.  There were a number of desks with clerks sitting at them, a number of empty desks, and a lot of people that seemed to be just casually standing around.  I looked around to see who I had to approach, and was directed to a machine from which it was necessary to take a number.  I got the number 389, and then I was pointed to an electronic sign board which indicated which numbers could step up to the desks.  The next number being called was 165!!!!  Could it be possible that there were more than two hundred people ahead of me???? Yes, indeed it was!
I stood there in despair.  Obviously, my distress showed, and a man who was waiting for his turn asked me – in English! – “Why don’t you get a ticket from the automatic machine?”  Well, several reasons – one, I don’t really trust these machines, two, I wasn’t sure how to work them, and three, the instructions were all in Italian….”OK, I help you,” he offered.
We went over to the machine, and he asked me where I was going.  My brain at this point was in neutral from exhaustion and being bombarded by Italian all around me.  I tried to concentrate and remember where I was going….started with a “P”…yes, Pisa!
My helper punched in the details, put in my payment, and I was rather surprised at how much it cost – this was a lot more than what Isabella had told me.  But there was no time to think, the train was leaving in ten minutes and the track was, of course, two flights of stairs up and at the other end of the station.  Seeing that I was starting to panic, my helper grabbed my suitcase and started running to the train, with me stumbling along behind him trying to keep up.  We got to the train with about two minutes to spare, I reached for my suitcase, and my Samaritan announced, “Now you need to give me something for helping you…”
Well, no time to argue…I pulled out 10 Euro, grabbed my suitcase, and dragged it on to the train.
As I looked around trying to find a seat and place to put my suitcase, I had the feeling that I had gone 100 years back in time.  The train looked like something from an old spy movie.  The whole car was made up of separate glassed in compartments, each compartment with a door, and six seats inside.  There were narrow racks above the seats for possessions.  I walked down the aisle looking for a free seat, and fortunately asked another passenger, who explained to me that my ticket had the car number, the compartment number, and the seat number on it.  Of course, the car I was in was the wrong one, so dragging my suitcase I wandered through the train looking for the right number. Finally, I found it, got my seat, with my suitcase pressed against my legs – there was very little space between the seats in the compartment, which were in two rows facing each other.  The train began to move, and I started to relax.
Milano has a number of stations, and the train stopped at them all, and then it seemed we were out of the city area.  I had no idea how many stops there would be or how long it would take to get to Pisa, so I decided that it would be good to ask another traveler for some information. There was a well dressed businessman sitting opposite me, and I asked him if he knew what time we would get to Pisa.  About three and a half hours, he answered, the train would go through Genoa first….
My brain was starting to work again, and I began to feel a bit worried. This definitely did not sound right!  The cost of the ticket was much more than Isabella had said, and the time was much longer – Isabella had told me that it was about an hour from Milano…I dug into my backpack, where everything including my laptop was stuffed in, as on EasyJet we were allowed only one hand bag, and found the piece of paper with Isabella’s instructions.  And there was the destination I should be going to – Parma!  Well, yes, with a “P”, and famous – Pisa for the tower and Parma for the cheese…
Now serious panic set in!  What should I do???? Thank goodness for cell phones!  I called Isabella and tried to explain to her that I was on a train to Pisa…
After the first shock, we figured out where I was – by opening my GPS app on the cell phone.  The plan – I had to get off at the next station, go back to Milano, and then take the train to Parma.
The next station was tiny and deserted. Of course, I had to drag the suitcase down the stairs, buy a new ticket back to Milano and then to Parma, drag the suitcase up the stairs to the opposite platform, and wait for the next train.  I have become an expert on stairs in Italian train stations – very long and steep.  When I got back to Milano (not to Milano Centrale, thank goodness, but to the station before), it was already about 20:30, there were few trains, very few people around, and even the toilets were locked for the night. I had to wait about an hour for the train – of course, I had to change platforms and go down and up the stairs again…(I know, everyone tells me there is an elevator…)
I have to say that people throughout were very nice, polite and kind, tried to answer my questions, and there was even a woman who helped me with my suitcase on the stairs.  (Please note – suitcases have wheels these days, yes, but the wheels are no good on the stairs of a train station). 
But I was really, really happy to get off the train in Parma and see Isabella waiting for me there with Olga the bracco, who was bored by the whole thing…


Milano Centrale

Sunday, April 12, 2015

Help!

Although the younger generation seems to find it amazing (“wow, you mean someone your age has Facebook???”), I have managed to accustom myself to the modern world and even enjoy it. I do enjoy using that excellent tool, the computer (yes, I did grow up using a manual typewriter – and it worked pretty well too), and have managed to learn to do most of the necessary things to reboot, upload and download, add new programs, do research, and watch YouTube.  I have actually become addicted to the technology and can’t imagine what I would do without it.

A few months ago I got a new cell phone, a Smart Phone.  Since for me, a telephone has one primary purpose, and that is for making phone calls (I can accept SMS messages as legitimate also), I have for years had the simplest model, that actually only could make and receive phone calls. But finally, it started to gasp its last, and when I went to the store to buy a new battery, I was told that they had stopped making those batteries years ago…No choice but to buy a new phone.

So I got a Smart Phone, not one of the super models that does everything including making the morning coffee, but a more moderate one, but still with plenty of functions.  I could now get my emails on the phone, see the internet, take, get and send photos and videos, and unlimited other activities, most of which were totally unknown to me.  But I began to get used to this clever convenience, and began to add a few “apps”.  I added WhatsApp, which I knew of only as something that school kids used, but which turned out to have some use, and I added a GPS program Waze.

I have a GPS for my car, but it is an antique, and most of the roads that have been built in the last ten years are totally unrecognized by it. So having an up-to-date GPS in my phone was a very attractive idea.  My navigation up to now had been looking up the location on an internet map and then printing out the map with directions on how to get there.  Waze turned out to be a very positive program – it talked to me in a nice voice that was easy to understand, it knew where everything was, how long it would take to get there, and if there were traffic jams en route.  This was fun!

So last week I was due to give a lecture in Tel Aviv.  I had been there before a few times, and remembered reasonably well where the location was, but wasn’t quite sure about the correct exit from the highway and which turns to make in Tel Aviv to get there.  But now I had my Smart Phone and Waze!  Waze recognized the venue by name, I didn’t have to put in a street address, so I put the name in, Waze found a route, and we were ready to go.  The distance was between 45 minutes and an hour drive from my place, depending on the traffic.

I set off well in time – I always like to be on time, and usually am early.  I drove along happily, thinking about my lecture, with Waze making little comments – not much to say, I was driving on the highway.

And as we entered Tel Aviv, with three exits clustered within a few kilometers of each other, in the exact area where I was not sure of which turn to take, my Smart Phone gives me the message “No SIM card found”, and everything stops working – no GPS, no telephone or internet connection, nothing except the main screen with the (now useless) icons.

What????? Of course there is a SIM card!!!! I haven’t touched anything!!! I wouldn’t know how to remove the SIM card if my life depended on it!!!

This, of course, happened while I was driving in heavy traffic and needed to make a fast decision about my exit!!!

The phone suggested that I turn it off and on again. This was a very difficult procedure to accomplish while I was driving, and on the highway there is nowhere to stop on the side to work out technical phone problems.  But I managed, it came on again, and told me, “No SIM card found!!!!!!”

Now what?  I had taken an exit and was driving around a neighborhood I didn’t recognize at all, trying to find a place whose address I didn’t know. No GPS, no telephone – I couldn’t call to ask where I was and how to get there, or even to warn them that I was late.  I tried turning on my computer in the hopes that I could get on to the internet and find the address or a map – but of course, there was no access to the internet unless I had a password for the multiple networks out there that were all password protected.

I don’t think I have ever felt so totally helpless – and stupid!!! If I hadn’t had such a complacent trust in technology, I would have had a paper map with me with the address!

I stopped at a little convenience store to ask if they had a phone. No. But the sole customer, a man who obviously felt sorry for my clear distress, allowed me to use his cellphone.  I thought that if he had Waze, I could find my venue, see the address, and then get instructions to get there.  But no, he did not have Waze.  I tried to call the organizers, and got only voice mail, and could only leave a message that I was lost and was still trying to get there.  By now, I was already about 20 minutes late.

I drove around and around, looking for something familiar. I knew I was in the correct general area, but the area is a maze of little streets, and I didn’t even remember the name of the street I was looking for. I was in despair!

And then I had an idea.  There was a taxi stand ahead of me, with about five or six taxis waiting for fares.  I stopped, approached one of the drivers, tried to explain my situation, and asked if he had Waze – taxi drivers certainly must have a GPS! Apparently my hysterical appearance did not encourage his feelings of cooperation – no!  After trying a few more taxi drivers who were not cooperative, I finally found one who seemed to be sympathetic. I was able to persuade him to let me use the Waze on his phone to look up the venue, and then to find what the actual street address was.  It was in fact only a few minutes away.

The driver gave me instructions on how to get there, but when I got back in my car, I took out my old antique GPS, put in the address, and got instructions – it took me about five minutes to get there.

As I walked into the lecture room, almost an hour late, all the students were sitting and waiting with the organizer – they had gotten my message, but of course there was no way for them to get in touch with me either.

Of course, at the end of the lecture, when I tried turning my Smart Phone off and on, it immediately returned to full function.

I will continue to travel with paper maps, and never again will I leave the house without knowing the exact address of my destination.



Monday, April 6, 2015

Dardar

Two weeks ago, we took a drive into the desert in search of Canaan Dogs.
We are always looking for new desert born Canaan Dogs to add to the gene pool of the breed, but they are becoming harder and harder to find.  Civilization has invaded their niche in nature, and the Bedouin, for whom they held great value as protectors of the herds, are now settling in villages where they have no need for dogs. But we still can occasionally find Canaans in isolated areas.

Over the years we have made many expeditions of this sort. It is impossible to know in advance if there will be success in finding or seeing dogs – it is possible to travel around for days and see none.  But hopes were high!

And indeed, we were in luck.  Throughout the morning, we saw a number of Bedouin herds out to pasture – at this time of year even the desert is green and there is plenty of grazing – and all were accompanied by dogs, some of them really beautiful examples of the breed.
As we were getting to the end of our planned route, we passed a small Bedouin village, Hura.  Outside the village was a garbage dump, and this was the spot that dead sheep were discarded.  There were some vultures circling above, so it was obvious that there was food here, so maybe we would also see some dogs that had come to scavenge.

As we slowed down, we spotted a black and white Canaan male. The dog didn’t bark or threaten, but paced back and forth and seemed to be trying to lure the invading humans away from the spot.  When we went back in the direction from which the dog had come, a female Canaan, brown and white, jumped out of the dense thicket of thistle bushes, barking, and trying to lead us away. It was clear that this bitch was nursing a litter, her teats were full of milk.

After some searching, on the edge of the extremely smelly dump, well hidden under the thicket of thistles, and comfortably ensconced on a thick layer of old sheep skins, with many well chewed and cleaned bones scattered around, we found the litter – four puppies about six weeks old, all females and all brown and white like their mother.  The puppies were calm as they looked at these odd beings invading their territory.  The worried parents watched from a distance, unable to cope with so many strangers, but never thinking of moving out of sight of their pups. There were no signs of fear – obviously these pups had never seen people before and certainly had never had any experience of abuse or mistreatment.  When I approached and stretched out a hand, the puppies one by one approached. They had no objection to being picked up and cuddled, and were very plump, healthy, and completely free of ticks or fleas.  The parents were also in excellent condition, very well fed from the carcasses, even though belonging to and cared for by no one.

It has been very rare over the years to find puppies in the desert.  The dens are usually very well hidden and a distance away, but in this case the food supply was so good in this spot that the litter was accessible.  And this was a unique opportunity to once again really see the life of free living Canaans!


One of the puppies came home with me, and has very easily and quickly adjusted to modern comforts.  Her name is Dardar – the Hebrew name for the thistle thicket that was her first home.  We hope she will grow up to introduce another new bloodline to the breed.  Meanwhile, she has become my granddaughter’s dog and has taken over the household, enjoying all the perks of modern life. The only thing she didn’t enjoy much was the very needed bath, to free her of the essence of dead sheep…


Thursday, January 8, 2015

Hobby

The dictionary defines a hobby as “an activity done regularly in one’s leisure time for pleasure.  Synonyms: pastime, leisure activity, leisure pursuit, sideline, side interest, diversion, avocation, recreation, entertainments, amusement.”

Habibi has a hobby, it fits the definition perfectly. Habibi’s hobby is barking.

There is, of course, serious barking.  It is clear that when someone strange comes to the door, or something threatening (in his opinion, anyway) is going on outside, or if an unacceptable dog cuts through his territory, Habibi is doing his very serious job of guarding and alerting all and sundry of what is happening.  This is what he gets “paid” for – his warm bed, daily food and treats, plenty of praise and attention, scratching in that particularly nice sensitive itchy spot…It is a responsibility that he takes very seriously, and I know that I can completely depend on him.

But then there is hobby barking.  Habibi likes to bark. As a hobby should, it gives him a lot of pleasure.  It amuses him in his spare time.  It occupies him when he is not busy with something else. 

The point of his hobby is, that since he is doing it for pleasure, there doesn’t have to be any reason for it, only his own entertainment.  Habibi can stand looking out over his kingdom in the middle of a nice sunny day, with all the other dogs sleeping stretched out in the warm rays, with no other living soul in sight, and bark.  This is a calm, measured, medium tone bark, which is very clearly being done just for the pleasure of it.  Habibi very much enjoys hearing himself bark.  He is completely uninterested in whether the other dogs decide to participate with him or not, he doesn’t care if anyone comes out to look and see what he is barking at.  He is doing this for himself and for the sheer joy of barking.

To make it more interesting, he sometimes barks in different directions, just so that I can’t be sure that there is nothing there.  He may look up at the roof and bark, or bark in the house while looking up at the skylight…you never know, there might be something up there…

Of course, it is possible to get extra points in this game.  Changing the tone can result in me coming to see why he is barking, and then he gets a bonus.  Another very successful way to get bonus points is to start barking at nothing when I am talking on the telephone – this almost always results in me having to shush him, and not only does it gain extra points for getting a reaction, it also gains points for interrupting my conversation with someone unimportant (for Habibi, this is anyone except him.)

The highest point score, of course, is if he manages to startle someone with his barking – that reaction, even when they are two hundred meters away walking down the road, is very satisfying…


As I write this, Habibi is outside my window in the yard, happily barking at nothing while the other dogs are not in the least interested.  I do wish he could find a new hobby…