Sheikh

I first came to Israel as a tourist as the last stop on a trip through Europe with a friend after graduating university.  The country fascinated me, and after a few days, I cancelled my return ticket and decided to stay, to the chagrin of my family back in the US. 

Of course, I had to find a place to live and a way to support myself – and of course, it was not to be a conventional one.  I found a riding stable on the outskirts of Tel Aviv, and got a job as a general mucker-outer, and after gaining some experience and proving that I could stay in the saddle and did know something about riding, as a trail guide and junior instructor.  I was in heaven!

What could make life better?  Well, some people I had met who discovered that I was an animal addict, decided that what I needed was a puppy.  So one day when I got home to my tiny rented apartment, I heard a whimpering coming from the utility closet next to my door – and when I opened it, there was a small brown puppy looking up at me.

There was no question but that he would stay.  He was about two months old, reddish brown with white chest and feet, and a bit of black mask on his muzzle, standing ears, and a curled tail which was usually in motion.  When I asked my friends what kind of dog he was, they told me, “That is a Canaan – an Arab dog, they are all over the country.”  So I named him Sheikh.

Sheikh went everywhere with me. He was a very well behaved puppy, quite happy to be petted, but reserving his true affection and enthusiasm for me.  When, after a short time, I was offered a room at the horse stable, and could give up my town apartment, he was thrilled.  Here he had a huge territory to explore and enjoy.  He loved following me and the horses when we went out on trail rides.  He knew the trails perfectly, and when the weather was hot, he would go part way, find a convenient shady spot, and wait for me to come back, then accompanying us to the stable.  He very quickly learned that there were many people coming and going during the day time, and that he was not on duty, but at night, no one could get near my room without a warning.

There was another dog on the farm, a boxer, much beloved by the owner.  Sheikh, however, didn’t really think of him as a dog, and mostly ignored him.  You could see him thinking, “Wow, this dog is really slow!” when they were on guard duty – Sheikh would be running forward to make his presence apparent, with the boxer following  way behind. 

Sheikh knew very well how to achieve his own goals.  In the evening, when the boxer was given his food, Sheikh had the habit of suddenly starting to bark in a frenzy and run off towards the fields.  The boxer, sure that something important was happening, would leave his dish and rumble off in the direction of the action. Meanwhile, Sheikh would circle around to the food dish and quickly finish off the remains of the portion.  The boxer never learned that Sheikh was “crying wolf” – every time he would run off, and Sheikh would profit.

The farm was quite close to the Yarkon river.  Sheikh would sometimes disappear and come back with a whole fish.  I never really knew if he did the fishing or if he stole them from a local fisherman.

After almost a year at the horse farm, I decided it was time for a change.  A ‘spaghetti western” was to be filmed in Eilat, in the far south, and I was offered a job working with the horses there.  I had never been in Eilat, and the idea of working in a movie was exciting.  So with all my belongings in a knapsack, and with Sheikh wearing an old belt of mine as a collar and leash (he had rarely had to be leashed until now), we hitchhiked to Eilat.  Sheikh had no problems with any form of transportation, whether car, bus or truck, and curled up docilely at my feet.

In Eilat, we got a room in a very cheap hostel on the beach – in those days, Eilat was a very small town with a very long beach, and many young people lived in beach shacks.  There were plenty of dogs around also, running free and scavenging at the back doors of the hotels for leftovers.  Sheikh very quickly became king of the beach, getting his due respect from the other beach dogs.  We made friends with the kitchen staff at one of the hotels, and he was well provided with high quality restaurant food.  He also had many friends on the movie set, and would lie in the shade supervising the buzz of activity.

When the movie was complete, I stayed on in Eilat for a time, running a riding stable there.  In Eilat, it was always quite hot, so Sheikh had his set shady places at the beginning of the trail, where he would wait for me and the other riders to return. (“How stupid can these people be, riding around in the heat of the sun! No self respecting Canaan would do that!”)

For family reasons, I had to go back to the US for a while.  There was no possibility of taking Sheikh with me. But I had some good friends in Eilat who adored him, and were willing to keep him.  So Sheikh continued his life as king of the beach.

Sheikh was my introduction to the Canaan Dog.  His intelligence, adaptability, resourcefulness, devotion, imagination made him so different from the dogs I had known before.  It was the start of my addiction to the breed.

To the memory of Sheikh, my first Canaan Dog.

The Wet Finger of God

For those who don't know us so well, I have decided to put up a few stories of some of our years here in Shaar Hagai, so that people can understand better our feelings for this place.  So here is the first.

I was at work when I was called to the phone.  My son-in-law, his voice shaken, was on the line with the terrifying announcement, “There is a forest fire all around the farm.  We have been evacuated, and I’m afraid that everything is gone!”  There was no time or possibility for more talking - all he could tell me is that he, my daughter, and the baby were safe, but that he had no idea what the situation was at home.

Within minutes, I was in the car, on the way home.  It was early afternoon of a typical July day, exceedingly hot. Nothing appeared unusual until I was approaching Latrun, about seven kilometers from home, and was able to see the huge black cloud of smoke covering the sky ahead of me.   I began hearing reports on the radio of a major forest fire burning out of control.

As I approached the Shaar Hagai junction - only two kilometers from there to home - I ran into a huge traffic jam.  All traffic was at a standstill.  Always very law abiding, this time I drove like I have never driven before, weaving from lane to lane around the standing cars, zooming down the road margins on both sides, anything I could think of to get to the end of the traffic jam and beyond, to get home! 

At the Shaar Hagai junction, there was a police barricade - the reason for the traffic backup.  No cars were being allowed through, and nothing was coming through in the other direction either.  As I stopped next to the police cars blocking the road and looked ahead, I could see why.  The forest was a wall of flames and smoke as far as I could see to both sides and ahead as well.  The fire had jumped the road - a wide four-lane highway - and was raging through the beautiful but summer-dry pine forest, driven on its way by the wild “khamsin” wind of the unseasonably hot day.  The pines were not burning, but exploding into flames, and the dry pinecones were catching on fire, bursting, and scattering the flames even further. 

I begged the police at the barricade to let me through.  My home is there, I told them, and my kennels, and there are animals there - many animals!  They will die if I can’t get there to help them!  But there was no way that they would consider letting me go through.  Human life is more important than that of animals, they said.  It was an inferno, and no one could go through.

I stood helplessly next to the police cars, hearing the reports coming through on the police radio, of the unbelievable conditions.  The fire was totally out of control and raging onwards, driven by the unceasing wind.  Settlements were being evacuated.  Fire trucks came roaring through from all parts of the country.  Helicopters began passing overhead with enormous containers of water to be poured on the flames from the sky.

I kept begging the police to let me through, and they refused.  The weather was extremely hot - later it turned out to be the hottest day in years - but I never felt it.  I couldn’t think of anything except the dogs, depending on me for everything, and abandoned there, alone and unprotected.  I sat by the roadside and cried.

After about three hours, the flames, except for a few occasional flare-ups, were no longer visible from where we were.  I spotted a police car coming up to the barricade from the direction of the fire and once again pleaded to be allowed to go to the farm.

The police officer finally agreed.  He would take me in his car, with the warning that I was not to get out of the car, no matter what, without his permission.  I would have agreed to anything just to get home.

Around us all was desolation and destruction.  Everything was black and smoking, here and there flames still crackled.  The beautiful forest was charcoal, with a few green branches, or an entire tree that by some miracle had been skipped over by the flames.  It was hard to breath - a pall of acrid smoke and heat hung over everything.

We came to the dirt road entry to the farm and turned in.  The police officer stopped the car and turned to me.  “You know that what you see up there may be very difficult and even horrible,” he said.  “I know”, I replied, “but I have to go up there.” 

I ran down to the kennel first.  Everything was silent - there was not a sound, not a bark or whimper.  The lock on the gate was broken and the trees and tall grass and weeds behind the kennel and around the sides were burned and black. But the kennels themselves were untouched, the wooden doghouses were whole and unscorched, and the dogs were all right! They were pressed against the wall on the side as far as possible from where the fire had passed, huddling there in panic, not moving, but alive. Covered with soot, but happy to see me, they got up, shook off, and began to bark.  Even the litter of two-week-old puppies was fine! The flames had reached the wall of the kennel, but wooden doghouses inside the kennel, not more than a meter or two from the flames, were undamaged.

I began counting heads.  At first, all seemed to be accounted for, but then I found that one was missing - the four-month-old puppy who was due to go to a new home in a few days.  She hadn’t come to greet me.  I looked around the yard, in the pens, in the boxes - no sign of her.  Where could she be? 

Finally, I found her.  She was on the porch at the side of the house, flattened to the floor, and pressed against the door of the house, afraid to move, afraid to answer my calls - but unhurt.  Everyone was all right!

I entered the house.  During all the time I was waiting to get past the barricade, I never once thought about the house and its contents burning, and now, when I entered the house, containing everything that I possessed in this world (and that not being very much either), it was the first that I realized that everything could have been lost.

But there was absolutely no damage.  There was a bit of ash that had blown in through the windows, but the house wasn’t even particularly dirty.

Everything around was desolation.  Where there had been a beautiful forest, there was only blackness now.  The heat had been intense - so much so that a large heavy duty plastic shipping box that had stood outside the gate was not melted but actually vaporized - only a small pile of ash remained. The fire had burned everything up to the gate of the house, to the fence around the kennels - but had not crossed the fence line, and had continued on.  In the midst of the black desert of ash, the garden of the house still remained green and flowering.

Why?  Perhaps because I had always been scrupulous about keeping the dogs’ yards clean of thorns and weeds.  Perhaps because we had tried to grow decent lawns and nice gardens, which were kept green and watered, even in the height of the long, dry summer.  And perhaps because God laid his wet finger on the farm...



Small world

I think that one reason that I get along so well with dogs is that interactions with them are always very personal.  We communicate to one another, without being bothered about making an impression, not only on one each other, but on everyone else around.  It is not about being important or attracting attention. It is between me and the dog and our own personal relationship and ability to understand one another.

With people, I have always been rather shy, certainly when I first meet them, and have never really wanted to be in the public eye. I have never cared about having my picture taken and prefer not to look at photos of myself.   I never really expect people to recognize me, if it is not someone that I know well, and I am always rather surprised when they do.  It is not that I am uncomfortable with people, I do like meeting people and lecture quite a lot and enjoy it – but the idea of lecturing is not to present myself, but to present a subject and have the listeners become fascinated by the material I am presenting, not by me.

Habibi and the other Canaans are particularly good at keeping me from starting to become too impressed with myself.  They know exactly who I am, and that there are some things that they know better. They are expert at expressing exactly what their opinion is.

So it has not been easy to reveal our current problems to the world and to ask for support.  Asking for help has never been something I have been very keen to do.

But I have been surprised and amazed at the response now that we have had to ask for help. It is heartening and inspiring to see what a small world the common passion for dogs has created and the care and concern we have for one another in that world.  People are ready to take time out from the important things they are doing to send messages of support and concern and to ask what they can do to help.

Is it because those of us that live with and love dogs also have learned from them how important the pack is and how important it is to cooperate and help one another for the good of all? 

The bigger world out there could certainly use doggy people as an example.

And many, many thanks to everyone, whose support is helping us to stay strong!

Shaar Hagai...

I have always tried to laugh at myself and at the vagaries of life that come my way.  It is the way that I have managed to stay (reasonably) sane. 

But there are times when there is simply nothing to laugh about.

The Israel Lands Authority, a government agency, has filed suit against us, to demand our eviction from the place we have called home for 42 years.

I came to Israel as a naïve American (and at least, in those days, there was nothing as naïve as a young American).  A dog and animal lover from birth, I quickly met a few other unconventional people who were interested in finding a place to breed Canaan Dogs, the natural breed of Israel that still existed free living, but was already starting to disappear.  We looked for an isolated place where the dogs would not be a nuisance to anyone, and found it at Shaar Hagai.

The buildings had been built by the British in the mandate period, for the engineers and workers that were running the adjoining water pumping station, the main water line to Jerusalem.  When they left in 1947, the place was abandoned and remained empty, not used for anything other than as an occasional campground for passing Bedouins with their flocks.

When we found it, the buildings were semi ruins, and the whole place was so overgrown that it was hard to even find the buildings.

It was perfect for breeding dogs.

After much searching to try and find who was responsible for the place, we were informed that Mekorot, the national water company, had the rights to it, and we signed a rental contract with them and paid rent for a number of years.

We never had any money, so just about everything that had to be done, we did ourselves.  I laid cement, plastered, painted, built fences, paved, dug out rocks, and a whole range of other activities that had  never entered my mind as a future occupation when I was filling out college applications.  But there is no feeling quite like being able to look at something that you have built, with your own hands.  We lived for 17 years without electricity (no, not with a generator, but no electricity – a kerosene run refrigerator, storm lanterns, and no telephone), but it was a great place for the dogs.  Generations of Canaans, and of collies, my other breed, grew up here, and went on to become breed founders all over the world and valued companions and working dogs.  There are footprints preserved in some of the patches of cement, where the dogs couldn’t resist leaving their mark while it was still fresh.

Some years after we moved in, Mekorot decided that they wanted to end the contract – and then we discovered that they had no rights on the place at all.  After being transferred from one agency to another, in the end the place was the responsibility of the Israel Lands Authority.  We contacted them many times to ask to clarify and legalize the situation, with no answer.

Meanwhile, we paid taxes and tried to behave like good citizens.  An official road sign to “Shaar Hagai Kennels” was even placed on the highway just before our entrance.

Then, a few months ago, we got notification that the Lands Authority intended to file suit to evict us.  Why now, after 42 years, when we were not significant enough to notice?  Who knows?  But where we live is within the boundaries of a national park, and people are not allowed to live in a national park (not dogs either, apparently).  It doesn’t seem to matter that the area was declared a national park some years after we were already living here, and the buildings we live in were built, long before any ideas of parks, for the purpose of dwellings places for people…

I have never been very good at or interested in, politics, and the whole game of using influence.  I have only been interested in quietly breeding good dogs and enjoying them.  My daughter was born here and my grandchildren as well, and they can’t imagine having to leave.  I certainly can’t. 

The dogs tell me that they will follow me anywhere.  But the possibilities are very limited – property is extremely costly here, and people are not very tolerant of barking dogs…

So we are doing all we can to fight.  You can help by signing the petition  (see the link), and spreading the word.  If anyone knows some rock star that loves dogs…

Meanwhile the dogs help me to keep laughing.

http://www.thepetitionsite.com/1/save-shaar-hagai-canaans/

One of our earliest Canaans in the first days of Shaar Hagai

Update:  May 18:

We now have over 40,000 signatures on the petition.  I am so grateful for this proof of the interest of people in what we are doing, and their love for the Canaan Dog and dogs in general.  I wish I had a way to thank everyone.
However, to date, there is no change, the ILA is continuing with the court case and still refuses to even talk to us.
So we ask you all to continue passing the petition on, and spreading the word, in the hope that in the end, we will be able to go on with what we are doing here. In just the last month, we have managed to bring in three wild born dogs from totally new bloodlines...if we have to leave, this will end...

WII

About two years ago, I tore the meniscus in my left knee. I was getting out of the car, stepped on a rock which shifted under me, and collapsed in a wave of agony.  Habibi, who was with me and ran ahead to the gate, chasing away the neighbor’s cat on the way, came back wondering why I was being so slow.  With him as partial support, I dragged myself home.

I discovered quickly that this was not something that you could tape with an elastic bandage and recover from in a few days.  I spent a long time hobbling around, with the dogs wondering why I wasn’t playing with them.  Since I was not keen on the idea of an operation on the knee (which did not guarantee any long term success anyway), the only thing to do was physiotherapy and hard work to build up the muscles and balance again.

I have never been very good about going to the gym, or exercise classes or such things. Somehow there never seems to be time enough, and getting out and driving somewhere to exercise has never appealed to me either.  But I really had to get back into shape.

And then I discovered WII.  I am always surprised that so many people, when I mention WII, don’t have any idea what it is.  I always have the feeling that if there is anything involved with modern technology that I have heard about, then everyone must know about it.  I found out about it from my grandchildren, of course.  One day when I was at their house, I found them in the middle of a game of virtual tennis. And then they told me about the Fitness program.  I tried out the balance board – and I was hooked!

I have to say that having the WII has certainly made a difference in my level of fitness, and my knee is again as functional as it was before the injury. 

Habibi does not really get the idea.  He sits and watches me as I vigorously step along, and finds it impossible to understand why I should keep walking and walking and not go anywhere.  The downward facing dog exercise for him is a play request in dog language and is an invitation for him to bow in return and lick my face.

Since he likes to join in on everything I am doing, he finds it frustrating that he can’t join in on the WII exercises.  He manages to lie down in exactly the spot where I have to put my leg in the next exercise, and if I am just concentrating on the TV screen and not on him, I am very likely to find my foot in the air hovering over Habibi, as the trainer on the screen tells me, “You are not very steady!  Are you having trouble with this exercise?  You have to practice every day…!”

One of the nice things about WII is the feedback you get, which shows you how well you are performing. But that pompous trainer with his fake English accent does annoy me at times.  Some of his praise sounds like what you would say to a three year old just to keep him happy – “Great! Your balance is perfect! What great condition you are in!!!”  I know better! So does Habibi as he watches me wobbling around on one leg, trying to keep the red dot in the yellow circle…

Atonement

This is the time of year, these few days between Rosh Hashana, our new year, and Yom Kippur, our day of atonement, that we are supposed to think over what we have done with our lives during the past year, and to ask for forgiveness from all those we may have caused injury to, including God.  I am not a great believer, but being fallible at times, I do believe in the value of asking for forgiveness. 

Habibi doesn’t think about asking for forgiveness.  He acts according to what seems to him to be the correct thing to do at that moment, in order to achieve whatever goal he may have in mind – reminding me that I owe him a treat, warning off the neighbor’s pesky golden retriever, throwing a toy at me to get me to play, digging after a particularly fascinating scent in the garden, warning the approaching stranger that this is OUR territory.  Whatever results are achieved from his behavior, they are accepted, either as positive or as negative, and then it is on to the next activity of the day.  If his actions have resulted in what he wants, Habibi is satisfied, and if they have not, he shrugs and next time he will try something else – but he never sits around and broods about what he has done, if he could have done it differently, and what would have happened if he had, and could he be excused for his mistake, and has he hurt someone’s feelings…..

There is an “Oops!  Sorry!!!” moment, a sideways look, and then it is over and forgotten.

Dogs have no need for repentance or asking forgiveness.  Whatever has been done is in the past, and life continues on.  Only we sit and brood about the things we have done and how we might have changed them.  Habibi may have done something that annoys me, even seriously, but he does not sit and worry about the fact that I have scolded him; the next minute he is occupied with doing something else, which is intended to bring a more positive reaction and almost always has the desired result of making me move on from whatever he did. He does not atone for what he did has done,  life simply goes on and we move forward, not backward.

Sometimes I do wish that life for me was as easy as it is for a dog, without all the worries and bad conscience and ”what ifs”….But since it isn’t,  – sorry!!! For the things I have done intentionally, the things I have done unintentionally, the things I  have brooded about, worried, and analysed about what would happened if I had done something else, for the words, and for the deeds, and for all those things that I have no idea that I have done and that they had any effect on anyone -  Sorry!!!

I ask for the forgiveness of anyone I may have caused grief to over the past year, and hope that I will be wise enough not to do such things again….or to invent new ones…and that I have the wisdom of a dog, to move forward…

Snake!

Kerrie is Habibi’s daughter, the one from his litter ten months ago that I decided to keep.  Her mother, Lilo, who I have written about before, is getting to retirement age, and although she dearly loves having puppies, the time is coming when she will have to be satisfied with grand and great grand pups. So I decided to keep Kerrie to carry on the family name.

She has shown that she has a mind of her own from a very young age.  She was very quick to become the leader of the pack among her own siblings, being the one who strode out first to explore new territory when I took the puppies out to new places for socialization, and then to immediately take possession and call her pack mates to watch her back and bark at anyone daring to think that this was not her personal property.  When her littermates left for their new homes, she became part of the collie pack, and keeps them busy, running off to inspect every new happening in the yard – a falling leaf, a bird on the tree, the neighbor’s dog barking 200 meters away….Life is always interesting, and she is always in control.  The collies don’t mind, and when she becomes too much of a pest, they make faces at her and she backs down with the “Okay, okay, I’m just a puppy!!!” posture.

At night, though, I don’t leave her out with the collies, as I do sometimes like to get some sleep, and am not really interested in the whole pack spending the night barking at moths and mice.  So she is closed in a yard of her own in the kennel, where it is quiet and there is nothing to bark at.

So I really couldn’t understand why, a few nights ago, she started barking and barking and barking when all the others were quiet.  This was definitely not normal, and the tone of her bark was of alarm.  I went out and looked around and saw nothing.  I firmly told her to shut up and went back in, but she again began persistent alarm barking.  Several times I went out to check, and found nothing, though she was standing off on one side of the yard instead of running around as she usually does.  But there was absolutely no apparent reason for her behavior.

Finally, I gave up and fell asleep, and either she got tired or she barked, I was too tired to know.

The next morning when I went out to take care of the dogs, there was nothing unusual.  Everyone ate breakfast, and Kerrie went out with the collies and ran around with them happily as ever. 

In the afternoon, when I went back out to the dogs, I entered Kerrie’s yard (where Lilo is during the day), and saw something that looked like a huge snake hanging down from the kennel roof along the back wall.  I had a moment of total panic!  One of the things that totally terrifies me is snakes in the kennel area, since we have poisonous vipers in the area, and over the years have had several very unpleasant experiences.  And this was huge!!!

After a moment of collecting my wits, I saw that it was not a snake at all.  It was a piece of old rubber hose pipe.  This hose, which was very thick and about two meters long, had been on the kennel roof for years – someone had thrown it up there and I had never been able to reach it to get it down.  The night before, it had been quite windy – the changing weather of autumn – and apparently during the night it had been blown to the edge.  Kerrie saw it up there, looking like a snake, and not having had any real experience with snakes, insisted on warning everyone who could hear her – “Snake!  Snake! Snake! Snake!!!!  The other dogs knew what a real snake was and ignored it.  I couldn’t see it, not having her sensory abilities.  During the day, the wind blew it further, until it was dangling over the edge and down the side of the kennel – and then I could see it.

I pulled it down and coiled it up next to the trash can to take out to the trash collection point later.  When I let Kerrie into the yard for the night, she looked over at it and then looked at me with satisfaction. “Snake!  I told you so!!!!”