Mine!

I have spent today watching Habibi try to cope with a very serious problem.

I have had a house guest for the last few days.  Knowing this is a doggy house, she didn’t bring gifts for me, she brought dog gifts.  But it would have been impossible to bring something for each of the pack, so she brought a few lovely huge pieces of rawhide, which could be cut up into smaller chunks and given to the dogs.

There were two dog shows this weekend, one for the Canaans and one for the collies, and this was not Habibi’s turn to go, he is already a champion, and is not really crazy about shows, though he tolerates them for my sake.  He does always hate to be left at home when I take other dogs out, though, so in compensation, I gave him one whole huge piece of rawhide, to keep him happy and occupied for the two days of being at home.  Also, I have to admit, as compensation for expecting him to put up with an “intruder” in his house.

When we have guests, Habibi has very strict rules.  They can come in and sit down, and then he sits between me and them and watches.  Should they get up and move around, he will bark at them to inform them that this is not allowed, they have to sit still.  This does not work with people who are staying for several days.  They do get up and walk around, touch things, take food, go to the bathroom – this is very annoying to Habibi.

And then for me to take this person with me, and other dogs as well…!  Hard to forgive!

The rawhide was a high value gift, though, and by the end of the two days, a good portion of it had been chewed up.  But now, I was home, and he was not really interested for the moment in chewing. But it could not be left lying around. Maybe another of the dogs would try to steal it…maybe our house guest would try to take it!  It had to be hidden!

And here was the dilemma – in the house, there is no proper place to dig and bury treasures!

So he has been pacing around the house with the rawhide in his mouth, whining under his breath in frustration, trying to find a safe place to hide it.  He has tried to push it into corners, under the bed, in the bookcase, behind the dog bed…I found it placed carefully on the sofa under the TV blanket. He also gently placed it in the middle of the bed, pressing it down into the soft and resilient quilt, and tried with his nose to cover it with the nonexistent earth. But he is not satisfied with the security of any of these places, and goes back, fetches it, and roams around looking for something better…

So now he is lying in the living room with the rawhide under the coffee table, but within sight, so he can be sure no one touches it.

How hard it is to be responsible for valuable possessions!

Post script:  Habibi managed to hide his treasure.  I looked all over for it, and couldn’t find it. Finally I asked him, “Habibi, where is your bone?”  He went over and showed me – he managed to put it underneath a little wheeled set of drawers in the corner, where there is a knapsack on the floor in front of it.  I would never have found it there!  Of course, now he feels that he has to hide it again…

Second post script:  He has hidden it again. I have no idea where it is, and this time he refuses to tell me…

Why I Hate Winter

I get quite depressed in the winter.  Not that there is a specific cause or a valid reason, but as the days get shorter, somehow my spirits plummet in direct proportion to the diminishing hours of light.

The depression starts at five in the morning.  Five in the morning here is pitch black night.  But for some unfathomable reason, the dogs seem to think that five in the morning in the winter and five in the morning in the summer are the same  – time to get up and start running around.  The dogs outside start to bark and play, and I get poked under my nice warm comforter by a wet, cold, and persistent nose – Habibi agrees, it is time to get up and on the move. “But it’s dark outside”, I grumble, as I try to burrow deeper under the covers.  Useless!  Within seconds, not only is there a nose poking at me, there is a wriggling whole dog. 

Not that I have anything against early morning hours.  In the summer, I am very enthusiastic at being up with the sun.  But in the winter, there is no sun at that hour. And it is cold – maybe not like in the far north, but for me, cold enough, especially when my bed is so nice and warm…Can’t you all wait until six, at least then there is some light…!

And then at four thirty in the afternoon, it is dark again!  The day is already over, when I feel that it has hardly begun, and I have certainly not managed to do the things I was planning to. 

The dogs are perfectly satisfied to go to bed with the daylight, they have been running around all day, since it is cold and fresh and they love it.  Come to think of it, that could be one reason they are up at five…maybe I should go to bed at four thirty also….

I don’t know how you people in Alaska or Finland and places like that survive the winter!

And then, there are two of the most depressing words I know – wet dog.  True that we don’t have as much rain here as in other places, but there is enough to have plenty of days in the winter when I can enjoy that indescribable smell of wet dog… The Canaans are not so bad, they dry off relatively quickly, but when the collies are wet, it takes them a long time to dry.  They are perfectly comfortable, they have their thick undercoats which keep them warm.  But the outer coat can take hours to really dry off, and meanwhile, anyplace in the house that they have decided to lie around on absorbs that dampness, so added to the wet dog, there is also wet carpet, wet dog blanket, wet sofa…

And they look so miserable when they are wet, even though they aren’t!

It isn’t even necessary to mention the mud…

The dogs love the winter. It is cool, the sun is pleasant and not too hot, and they have lots of energy for running around and barking. Habibi loves to get out on the grass with his pack of girls – Tutti, Jenny, Chance, Flash, and they all run with great enthusiasm, stopping to graze on the green grass and tender plants that apparently are very tasty.  He is full of energy and playfulness, bringing me all his toys tirelessly, while I am bundled up in my sweaters and coats trying to keep up with them all, wear them all out, and get back into the relatively warm house.

Well, one good thing – we are almost at the shortest day of the year, so soon the days will start to get longer again, and then it will be spring, and summer…so there is still room for optimism!

Things with Wings

Every self respecting Canaan knows that it is his responsibility to guard his territory, and prevent the invasion of intruders.  That seems to be a very straightforward task.  But sometimes it is not as easy as it sounds.

Habibi is very zealous in his protection of me and what belongs to us (please note, it is not what belongs to ME, it is what belongs to US).  But there is one area that seems to be very confusing, and that is the situation of things with wings.

We have a good number of birds around here, and some of them are very drawn to invading our territory. Habibi is not too worried about the little birds like finches and sparrows.  But anything from the size of a pigeon or larger is another story.

These creatures, as far as he is concerned, are definitely invading our territory.  There they are, inside our boundaries, inside our fence, sitting on our roof!  And he can’t reach them!  He runs around the yard with his nose in the air, pointing at these dangerous beings that are sitting on the telephone wire, barking at them and sometimes taking a jump into the air. But they ignore all his efforts.  Some of them, like the family of crows that come for half the year every summer to raise their new families, laugh at him, sitting up well out of reach and cackling, and sometimes dropping bits of fruit on his head.  Even when he manages to sneak up on a pigeon or crow sitting on the lawn, before he can grab it, it takes off straight up.  This is definitely not fair play!

Then there are the winged things of the night – the moths.  As we sit in the evening quietly watching television, suddenly one of them will coming whizzing around, fluttering across the screen or casting scattered shadows as it flutters around the lamp.  These also usually manage to evade Habibi’s attempts to grab them as he leaps over the furniture in pursuit, and eventually gives up in frustration.

During the summer, there are the bees, butterflies, and flying beetles that make his life a misery as he tries to protect the yard.  Flies seem to be in a different category.  Apparently they are not considered to be territorial invaders, just a nuisance – he will snap at them when they buzz around us, but doesn’t take off in pursuit.

And then there are the helicopters…Yes, once in a while, helicopters fly low over our house – just low enough to make a hellish racket and be clearly visible, so that Habibi believes that if he can just jump high enough he can catch them…So far, no luck – but there is always the next time…

There is one more invader that seems to be hard for Habibi to categorize.  Although they don’t have wings, they spend their time sneering at him from the roof and they drive him crazy.  The cats, of course – we have a number of “outdoor” cats, which we feed, but that are not pets, their job is hunting the various vermin and they do so very efficiently. They are wise to the ways of the world, and do not come into the yard where the dogs are, but they know exactly where the dogs’ boundaries are, and enjoy sitting half a meter away from the fence and calmly washing as the dogs run back and forth looking for a way through.  But what agitates Habibi is that one of their very favorite places is to sit on the roof.  He and the other dogs will stand glaring up at the little mocking faces looking down at them, or the arrogant tail twitch as they walk away, indifferent to barking and leaps in the air.  They are not things with wings, so what are they doing up there?????

How difficult life can be for a Canaan who is simply trying to do his job….

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...