The aftermath of loss: Archer goes to a new home

To say Archer was devastated after my husband Paul’s death is an understatement. The first few days weren’t too bad. He looked for Paul, but Paul often went on business trips, so being gone for a few days wasn’t unusual. But after three or four days, Archer began having frantic moments, very much like panic attacks. He would come to me, put his paws in my lap, stare deep into my eyes, cry, paw, scratch, jump on me, and otherwise try to communicate with me, all in a panic.

As the days went on, these attacks didn’t ease at all. I tried homeopathics, medications, and combinations thereof. I tried talking to him, communicating in other ways, massage, and everything else I could think of. Keeping Archer well-exercised mentally and physically helped in other ways, but didn’t stop the panic.

As the weeks progressed, I noticed that Archer was distancing himself from me and focusing on every man he knew. When Jeff, one of Kindred Spirits’ trainers, would come on to the training yard, Archer would attach himself to Jeff without a backwards look at me. One of our trainers, Lisa, brought her husband Bill to the yard and he worked Archer one night. Archer was perfect for him and again, never once looked at me.

So after talking it out with several people, I came to the realization that although I love Archer, I am not what he needs. So yesterday Archer went to his new home.

My cousin Jenny and her husband, Dean, came to Paul’s memorial, and had met Archer then. They are long-time Aussie owners and, in fact, have Sisko’s litter brother Harley. They love their dogs as I do and understood my concerns for Archer.

Dean came out from Arizona this past weekend, and when he walked in the front door, Archer attached himself to him and never left him. When Archer had a panic attack that evening, Dean calmed him down and the panic attack was short-lived.

Then Saturday Dean came to the Kindred Spirits’ training yard for a full day of training. He worked Archer in two basic obedience classes, a canine good citizen class, and watched the therapy dog class.  He and Archer played, and when Dean was sitting and relaxing, Archer curled up between Dean’s feet. If a bond between a man and a dog can occur instantly, it certainly did this time.

When Dean and Archer arrived home in Arizona yesterday afternoon, Dean called to say everything was great. Archer traveled well. Archer and Harley (Sisko’s brother) were playing well together and having fun. Archer was behaving himself and getting along fine.

Dean knows that Archer may yet have some bad days even in a new home. But we’re all hoping that the change in location — where nothing reminds Archer of Paul — will help. And, since Archer was so much Paul’s dog and was searching for men, having a male owner again will make him happy. Jenny and Dean will also keep me posted about Archer and hey, since they’re family, I can always invite myself to Arizona for a visit. I’ll wait a few months, though, to give Archer time to settle in.

Photos: Top: Archer as a puppy. Photo by Kathy Usher. Bottom: Archer playing the tennis ball/muffin tin game. Photo by Liz Palika.

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The aftermath: Archer’s grief is heart-rending

All four of my dogs have grieved in different ways over the past two weeks. Even though I was grieving, too, I was also watching them because I know grief can be devastating.

Riker was the first. Almost immediately he climbed up onto Paul’s spot on the sofa and curled into a little ball. He wouldn’t move for hours at a time, and I would have to pull/push him off the sofa and walk him outside. But that only lasted a couple of days. Then his therapy dog heart kicked in. Apparently all these people were coming to our house so he could love them. That finished his grieving.

I don’t believe Bashir was grieving for Paul at all. Rather Bashir was devastated because I was. When I could take a deep breath and calm myself he did too. But for two weeks he hasn’t allowed me out of his sight when he had any control of the situation. If he had opposable thumbs I would never ever be out of his sight.

Sisko earned his therapy dog stripes these past two weeks. At the worst of my grief, he stayed close, tried to take it all from me, and licked away the tears. Whereas so many puppies his age might have been worried or frightened, he stayed close.

Sisko’s protective instincts also kicked in at the same time, though. No one was going to touch me, hug me, or even get close if he had anything to say. Since I needed and wanted any and all hugs, we did have a discussion about those protective instincts. He’s still rumbling under his breath but that’s okay; he’s learning.

Archer didn’t react right away. But Paul often took business trips without Archer so a few days away from home weren’t too unusual. All the excitement, tears,and visitors didn’t bother Archer too much at first either. He’s bomb-proof and changes don’t upset him normally.

However, three to four days after Paul’s death, I would turn around and see three dogs but not the fourth. Archer would be up on the bed on Paul’s pillow. Then, after a couple more days, I would find Archer in Paul’s closet. He had pulled some clothes off the hangers, including Paul’s bathrobe, and was lying on them.

In addition, Archer began having moments that I could only call frantic. He would come to me, stare at me deep into my eyes, cry, poke me with his nose, and try desperately to communicate with me. I knew what he wanted, I knew what he was trying to say, but I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t bring Paul back.

At Kindred Spirits, we have two men who help us part time in the classes –  Jeff and Rich. When either of these guys walked into the yard, Archer would rush to them — without even looking back at me. He wanted some male companionship. So Jeff has spent a lot of time with Archer, walking him, playing with him, and working him.

In addition, Kate has been trying to channel Paul — copying his way of working Archer — and having Archer work for her. Kate also handled Archer at Paul’s memorial and he was calm with her. Wearing his service dog vest, his mind was in working mode and that steadied him. Other than when he snatched a peanut butter cookie from the minister’s hand, that is.

Unfortunately, when I see Archer so devastated I want to love him. I want to fix his hurt. But that’s not what he wants or needs. So keeping him well exercised physically and working his brain seem to be the best medicine at the moment.

Remember that saying that has been so popular, “It takes a village to raise a child’? Well, perhaps it takes a dog training village to alleviate a grieving dog’s heartbreak.

Photo credit: Paul and Archer. Photo by Liz Palika

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The aftermath: Xena finds her ‘new normal’

I caught Xena dodging cars in a parking lot when she was about six weeks old. Because I had dogs in the van, I carried her home under my shirt. Although I saved her life, she has never been my cat; she has always been Paul’s. So now, at almost 10 years old, she’s without Paul.

Every night now, when I climb into bed, Xena plasters herself up against my feet. She’s there when I fall asleep and she’s there when I wake up.  During the day if I’m sitting in the living room, I will find her on the back of the sofa –  not touching me –  but close. Twice in the past few days she has jumped up on my desk.

Although all of these things may seem normal for most cats — and for many of our previous cats they were — these are not normal for Xena and me. She slept touching Paul, sat behind him on the sofa, and would hang out on his desk.

In her own way, Xena is telling me that she misses Paul, too. She’s not crying, not hiding, and not being overly affectionate, but she is placing herself closer to me and that’s good. I have always enjoyed her company even though she was often disdainful of mine.

Today she allowed me to rub her chin and rub behind her ears. No full-body pets have been allowed yet, though. I hope that won’t take too long.

Interestingly enough, when people were in the house these past two weeks, she would come out and visit. Normally she disappears when anyone else comes inside. She’s let my friend Kate pet her– cautiously of course — and rested on the sofa next to my 11-year-old nephew. That was totally out of character.

I’m not worried about Xena, as I am Archer. She’s eating and drinking well, hasn’t had any house-training accidents, and seems to be transitioning to me even though I wasn’t her first choice. It’s going to be interesting watching the changes, though. She’s still a feral cat in many ways so I have no idea how affectionate she may become towards me. I’ll keep you all posted.

Photo: Xena. Photo by Liz Palika

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Scottish Deerhound Connection: The aftermath of Westminster

Gina’s trying to get a week’s worth of work done before she heads for the Western Veterinary Conference next week, so of course, you know what that means…

The Scottish Deerhound had its fifteen minutes of fame recently, after the lovely Hickory took top honors at the Westminster Kennel Club Show. I went from getting 2-3 Google alerts a month on the phrase “Scottish Deerhound” to getting several hundred in a few days. Should those of us in the deerhound world worry about popularity cursing our breed?

I don’t think so. Partly that’s because most deerhound breeders are careful to the point of near-paranoia about who gets puppies, but “most” isn’t all, and greed is a huge motivator for a lot of people, so that alone won’t protect the deerhound.

What I think will protect my beloved breed is this: There are almost no Scottish Deerhounds. I mean, we registered around 120 puppies last year in the whole country. Even if breeders wanted to ramp up their breeding capabilities to fill a sudden spike in demand, by the time those few who would be willing to do that could get enough litters on the ground to meet the demand, the demand would have burned itself out. People who pick the kind of dog they want based on a Westminster win aren’t the kind to stick around for two years on a puppy waiting list. And even I, who have been in the breed for decades and was getting my last puppy, Rawley, from a good friend, had to wait a year.

What could happen, and I think is a valid concern, is that our breed could attract more attention from those who are more concerned with ribbons than the dogs who earn them. That could be problematic.

The Scottish Deerhound is a sensitive breed, and doesn’t do well on the road. Hickory lives with her breeders, Scott and Ceil Dove, on a 50-acre farm where she can run and play in the fields and snuggle on the sofa in the evening (which, as Rawley tells me, is what the Scottish Deerhound was bred for).

But since there is no money in this breed — the huge stud fees some breeds command are directly linked to how salable the puppies are, not as pets but to other fanciers, and that’s directly linked to how many dogs of that breed are shown, and how many of them do a lot of post-breed ring winning — it’s always tempting to those showing a really beautiful hound to take some financial support from a co-owner who is, essentially, investing in the dog.

Some people invest simply because that’s how they get their pleasure, being the co-owner of a big winner. But some are looking for a financial return, not just ribbons and glory.

Still, I’m not sure even that will happen. As you can see from how Hickory buried her face in her handler’s side when the paparazzi got too annoying, this isn’t a breed that likes a lot of hoopla. One-on-one, no breed can beat them for loving companionship, but in a crowd, they’re easily overwhelmed.

One other interesting side note to the saga: I was contacted by my local NBC affiliate the day after Westminster, asking if they could come interview me about the breed and tape some footage of Rawley being adorable. I agreed, and when I posted about it to Facebook, it turned out that dozens of deerhound friends all around the country had received similar requests, and gone on their local news, too.

When I was interviewed, I was asked, “What advice would you give to someone interested in getting a Scottish Deerhound?”

I said a bit of what I said here — that there are so few dogs of the breed in the world, that it’s quite hard to get a puppy, and they’d be in for a long wait. I also talked about all the reasons this isn’t the right breed for everyone — the usual patter about their love of running, their size, and all that — but I added something else.

If, I said, you really love this breed, not because they won Westminster but because of their wonderful qualities — the loving way they gaze at you, their deep connection with their people coupled with a calm presence in the house, the way they are wild and free and beautiful in the field (or at the beach or park!) but, once adult, quiet at home, their grace and athleticism — consider adopting a racing Greyhound.

Greyhounds are more similar to the deerhound in personality, temperament, and other lifestyle factors than any other breed. They’re a little smaller — a plus for most people — and they have a short coat — ditto — and as an added bonus, they come in all the colors of the rainbow, unlike deerhounds, who come in any color you might want as long as it’s gray.

Best of all, there are thousands of greyhounds looking for homes every day, all over the country. You can actually get one!

Well, my recommendation got cut, as I kind of assumed it would. And as far as I can tell, everyone else who made the same suggestion saw it land on the digital version of the cutting room floor.

Too bad. It demonstrates that many of us who keep and love our purebred dogs, despite all the problems in the purebred dog world, do care, and actively advocate, for dogs less fortunate than ours. And that we’re not selfishly hoarding all potential deerhound homes for ourselves, and ignoring the plight of our breed’s cousins, the greyhounds.

And, had even a few of those cut words aired, some dogs might have found good homes.

Interested in adopting a greyhound? Start here.

Photos: Top: Scottish Deerhound Connection logo by KT Jorgensen. Second: Rawley at 12 weeks old,  with me, by Gina. Third: Lillie with roses, by me. Fourth: Dylan, AKA Ch. Caber Feidh Rockin’ Robin, FCh, SC, GRC, ORC, VC, in the field, courtesy of Terri Campbell. Bottom: A Greyhound. Really. Not a Scottish Deerhound! (Stock photo.)

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