Bridging the Paradigms: re-connecting people and the planet

discussing intuition, culture, earth changes, human-animal bond, Fallon the Citrine Lemurian Quartz

What Made My Deaf Dog Hear Again, Part 1

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My son is deaf. My youngest dog, my Velcro boy, my goofy sweet Alki, is stone cold deaf.

It happened when I wasn’t looking. Somehow, the years between puppyhood and senior dog warped and folded in on themselves, and my little boy aged.

It shocks me, really. Just yesterday he was an exuberant, mischievous puppy, glued to me and his dog and cat sisters, and suddenly he’s almost 10. Gray-eared. Occasionally creaky.

Deaf.

Looking back I saw the deafness happening. I just didn’t piece it together—the busy-ness of life is often overwhelmed by the details. Even when you’re vigilant, the subtleties can get lost in the mix. And when you have a multi-species family, there are the obvious things—in our case, meshing a human with two dogs and a cat. Human-animal bond, indeed.

Somewhere late last fall I noticed that Alki was reacting to street noises differently. Despite his training, he’d shy away from others on walks. Like humans are apt to do, I dismissed it as a ‘phase,’ and polished his manners while reassuring him that he was okay, especially important because he’d been mauled by another dog a year and a half ago.

Yes, life’s been complicated lately. Alki accidentally ripped off a toenail and nicked an artery, then his toe got infected and he had to wear a cone for a month, which gave him an ear infection apparently unrelated to the hearing loss. I was down with the flu and complications for two months. It was life. Age. Stuff.

Which is all to say, I had good reasons to stop looking for answers beyond the obvious. Good reasons. Just not good enough.

How Deafness Asserted Itself

One morning I went to make a cup of tea and my Velcro boy, always at my side, suddenly wasn’t. I called him. Nothing. I found him in my office, sound asleep. When I called him, he didn’t move. I gently touched him, and he leaped up, startled.

When the clues build up, you eventually notice. I started testing him. He’d fall asleep and not awaken when I left the room. When he was sound asleep, I’d have to shake him hard to wake him if I needed to. If I didn’t gently touch him when I left the room, so he knew what was going on, he’d sometimes awaken frightened, and come racing to find me. Sometimes he could hear me, sometimes not. Sometimes he’d look at me, confused, uncertain, hurt, cringing as if he’d done something wrong and would fix it if he could. Even in his usual safe spot in my office he couldn’t quite relax; he’d curl up in a defensive ball, drop off to sleep reluctantly, and startle awake easily.

Even though his sunny adventurous personality always won out, I felt bad for him, and for us. I also had to be careful about touching him if he was sleeping or not looking at me: startled dogs can be dangerous. We changed routines, for his safety and the family’s.

Still, I kept my eye on him. While physically healthy, Alki was also anxious and nervous, not surprising.

Since I am also a professional intuitive, I checked him on a gut level, too. His hearing was coming and going in waves, and at extremes, either quite loud or too soft. Easy to see why he was both confused and terrified. In talking with him, I learned he didn’t understand what was happening. He worried about what he’d done wrong, that someone might steal him, or he’d get lost, or we wouldn’t want him anymore.

I’d gently hold and pet him as I explained that deafness was something that happened, he’d done nothing wrong, I wouldn’t let anyone steal him or let him get lost, and we would never stop wanting him. Alki would always be part of the family.

Then he suddenly went completely deaf. No response. Nothing. I had to physically walk over to him and touch him if he wasn’t looking at me, because calling him no longer worked.

I had to be careful, yes, because it’s rude and dangerous to surprise someone, but I also had to give him space: I had to learn how to keep a deaf animal close without being overprotective and making him dependent. Emotionally, I had to find a way to restore his confidence and create a positive new family dynamic while dealing with my own sadness.

It’s a fine line we walk in families, made more difficult by disabilities.

I know. We are familiar with handicaps at our house. I’ve been handicapped for years, and my oldest dog, Murphy, has arthritis and is slowing with age. But familiarity with handicaps only helps anticipate difficulties—it does not make them easier.

Making all of us, especially Alki, comfortable with his handicap took work. Here’s how we did it.

Eight Practical Comforts

  • Training. I reinforced the hand signals we’d learned in obedience class as we drilled on public and private manners, and practiced with friends and strangers. All of us, animals and humans, learned how to be around a deaf animal, and it deepened our bond because we mingled work and fun. Ironically, the one thing about Alki that I could do without did not depart with his hearing. He was deaf but he still barked, and yelling at him didn’t work. (Honestly, it never did. In my less rational moments I wondered if he went deaf so he could bark and not hear me bark back.)
  • Attitude. No coddling. Yes, I made allowances for Alki’s growing deafness: common sense, sympathy, support, and compassion are critical. But we all have to learn our limits in life, handicapped or not, and how to compensate for them with grace and humor. Ultimately, we all have to take care of ourselves: self-reliance is key.
  • Calmness and patience. Running screaming into the night doesn’t solve problems, it just sprains ankles. Be calm. Be patient. Teach that to other family members. Starting with yourself.
  •  Attention. Everybody needs extra attention. Those who aren’t handicapped will feel guilty about it and be jealous they aren’t getting as much attention. Still, the newly handicapped really do need special treatment. Spread the love. Take time with everyone. Focus on them when you do. Play hard.
  • Courtesy. Learn new ways of getting along. It takes time. Think: what would you need and want if you were suddenly handicapped? What does this animal need and want? How do you respectfully meet those needs? For us it included making more eye contact, waving, smiling, petting, hugging, and matter-of-fact living. In short, big open physical demonstrations of love and acceptance.
  • Education. Alki is a cute dog: he’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. People love to pet them and you don’t always see it coming. A woman petted Alki when I wasn’t looking and he whirled around in shocked surprise; we were all lucky he didn’t bite her. Make sure people approaching your handicapped dog know what the situation is, and stay vigilant.
  • Don’t say it. Saying stupid things like “It’s God’s will” or “It could be worse” are pointless and insulting. I caught myself telling Alki that “it could be worse, you could be blind.” The astonished look he gave me said it all. It didn’t make being deaf easier. It demeaned a real agonizing problem. I was an idiot. I’m only admitting it here so you don’t become an idiot, too.
  • Caretaking. Handicapped animals need specialized care. Make sure everyone who interacts with or cares for your animal, from family and friends to vets to groomers to sitters, understands its specific needs and is willing and able to meet them. Don’t leave a handicapped animal in the care of someone who doesn’t understand what the disability means or doesn’t think animals have feelings. You could come home to an injured, depressed animal.

Practical comforts help us get through our daily lives as easily as possible. They make it possible for us to choose to expand our lives even while kicking and screaming about the injustice of a handicap. Deep lasting cultural changes occur because of how we choose to live with change. In Part 2: taking it cultural.

(c) 2011 by Robyn M Fritz

It’s Called Trespassing: Quit Ruining the World for Dogs

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It was a summer evening and the dogs and I were out for last call. A man and woman at the end of the block were standing next to the waist-high wall that bordered my neighbor’s steep property.

It’s unusual but not alarming to see strangers lingering in our busy beach neighborhood at night. However, I’ve learned street smarts from my terminally friendly but discerning Cavaliers, so I stopped, even though we were fully two lots away from them.

Then I saw that the woman was holding a dog leash above the neighbor’s wall: what the heck? No dog could top that wall: the couple must have lifted their dog over it. Wow. They were literally going out of the way to let their dog loose on private property. When they spotted us, they moved in to restrain their dog.

I stopped, pulling my dogs close.

“Just to let you know,” the woman said. “We have our dog up here.”

Really?

“My dog’s eating grass,” she explained.

What?

So, okay, two things.

First, if you have to warn me that your dog is with you, you mean that you both are a threat to me and my dogs, so stay the hell home. It’s people like you with unsafe dogs who’ve made it necessary for people like me to carry dog deterrent spray. It’s legal, I know how to use it, and I will. So your dog may not be safe, but guess what? Since my youngest dog got mauled, I’m not safe, either. If your dog rushes mine it will get a face full and you’ll get a hefty fine from animal control and a notch on their watch list.

Second, do you understand the terms ‘private property’ and ‘trespassing’?

We’re still civilized in Seattle, which means that you can’t walk your dog on the property holder’s side of the sidewalk. You can’t walk yourself there, either. Or pee, or poop, or trample the landscape, or eat the grass.

It’s called trespassing. It’s illegal. It’s destruction of private property. It’s plain and simple rude.

Not willing to obey the law? Then read up on manners. Did you not have a mother?

I stood there that night, my dogs quietly by my side, and I said to the woman, “You’re on private property.”

“Our dog’s eating grass,” she said, like that was a reasonable explanation.

Unlike many dog walkers, who pay no attention to where their dogs are walking, she was actually lifting hers up so it could forage on my neighbor’s property. She was aiding and abetting.

Un. Be. Lieve. Able.

“It’s called trespassing,” I said, turning my dogs around and heading home.

“He’s just eating grass,” she yelled.

“It’s trespassing,” I said, emphasizing each syllable so the sarcasm and disapproval were clear.

“You give dog owners a bad name,” I said as I left.

Do you? If you let your dog set a foot or a drop of pee on private property, you’re rude. You’re also a criminal. And so is your dog.

The rest of us who are responsible dog owners deserve better. So do our dogs.

The saddest thing? Your dog deserves better. Clearly somebody better than you.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Why MY Dogs Aren’t Spoiled–MY Cat Ain’t, Either

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Amazing the number of people who scowl and tell me I’m spoiling my animal family.

It flummoxes me. These people, ‘the complainers,’ don’t just turn up their noses at me and my kids. They’re rude about disapproving of people (like me) who treat our animal family as something more than discardable toys, and in public no less.

I’m spoiling my family? Huh. Actually, I’m taking care of them. Like equals.

My eldest dog is cold a lot, so she wears a fleece jacket, indoors and out, during the cool months (a lot of those in Seattle). My younger dog prefers to be cool. The dogs and cat are safely constrained on car trips. They all get quality food and pure water. Cool toys and treats. Clean groomed bodies and comfy beds (often mine). Love and attention. An interesting, stimulating environment. Consideration for their bodies, their minds, their souls.

‘The complainers’ act like ‘spoiling’ is a dirty word. Like the ‘spoilers’ are guilty of some horrible offense.

Like it’s any of their business. Like they have a clue about how to really behave in the world.

So let me tell you. And them.

Treating everyone, human or animal, respectfully as equals is how the world goes from okay to fabulous. It’s how we create a happy balanced planet.

Starting by really getting it that everyone, and everything, has feelings. We can make others, including animals, happy or fearful by how we treat them.

My animal family gets treated as family, as beings who deserve to be respected, made comfortable and pleased. As equals. So what that they’re not human? What matters is that compassion, consideration, attention, and just plain fun aren’t reserved for humans. That we all have space to be animals, and humans, together. Without judgment.

What matters is that we’ve created a family that works for us, that together we’re safe, nurtured, and loved. That we give each other the best chance to be our best, whatever that is. That we pay attention to each other’s needs and interests. Isn’t that common courtesy? Compassion in action? Respect?

If that’s ‘spoiling,’ then let there be spoiling in a world that badly needs it! Starting with the people who don’t get it!

So you frowners and complainers, I hope you don’t have animals in your household. Or, maybe, other humans. Because when I hear you say ‘spoiled’ it sounds like you’re caught in that loop of wearing hair shirts with your perpetual frowns, of suffering through life instead of enjoying it, of making life miserable because it’s somehow supposed to be. Of disrespecting yourselves while you’re disrespecting others. Of not really caring about anything, or anyone, around you as much as you care about your narrow-minded viewpoint. It’s sad, and pointless.

Does minding my business for me make yours that much easier? I hope not!

At our house, everybody’s equal. We learn new things about each other every day. It isn’t always fun, but it’s always worth it. We try to model our respect and compassion in the world. Even for ‘the complainers.’

My dogs, my cat, they ain’t spoiled. They’re respected.

‘Spoiling’ is a dirty word, the way the complainers use it. So don’t. Try a little respect on yourself. You just might find that ‘spoiling’ is word, and a mindset, you’re better off without. The rest of us sure are.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

 

When Animal Communication Bites

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Have you always wanted to talk with an animal? And hear it talk back?

It’s easy. Just do it. But be polite, or you’ll find out, like I did, that animal communication can bite.

Just like talking with any being out there, from a tree to a hurricane, animal communication is about respecting all life as equals. That means listening to what each being has to say. And being respectful in our interactions.

Sometimes you talk with other beings, like animals, to learn simple things, like what an animal thinks about airplane travel. Or what kind of outing it would like (chasing squirrels, sunbathing, eating pizza have all come up when I’ve asked my dogs what they’d like to do). Quite often my work is talking with other beings about their life’s work, which can be stunning, as it turns out there are jobs out there that most humans can’t even imagine, jobs that other beings, like our dogs and cats, take for granted.

Sometimes when you talk with animals you get what you really haven’t been looking for, like a lesson in good manners. That bites. And it should.

The other day I was looking at my eldest Cavalier, Murphy. She had just turned 13 and was happily munching a birthday blueberry pie. I noticed she was a bit heavy, which isn’t normal for her. She had been eating a lot lately. So had I.

I said, “Wow, Murphy, you’ve gotten a little chunky.”

She promptly shot back, “Well, I’m not as fat as you!” She was loud, annoyed, amused, honest: her usual straightforward self. Oh, and right.

Ouch! Okay then! A lesson in manners from my dog!

The truth is, we seldom treat other people as respectfully as we should. Despite our best intentions, we often offer even less respect to our animal companions. Sometimes we’re just not thinking about what we’re saying or about whose feelings we’re hurting. Sometimes it just doesn’t occur to us to treat our animals as equals who expect politeness, just like we do. Sometimes we just forget good manners between species.

I should know better. Actually, I do.

I apologized to Murphy for being rude and unthinking.

A few days later, I was bathing Grace the Cat, not our favorite household task. I was noticing that Grace had gained weight, and I said, “Grace, you’ve gotten chunky.”

Already annoyed because she was wet and soapy, Grace snarled back: “Didn’t you just learn that lesson from Murphy?”

Ouch again. “Yes,” I said, chagrined. “My apologies.”

Whoever you talk with, but especially when you’re talking between species, mind your manners. If you’re talking, you should be listening. And thinking about what you’re saying before you say it.

Because animal communication can bite.

Have you said something rude to an animal lately? Did you apologize?

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

 

When Good Toys Go Bad

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Toys are a big part of the magical goofy fun side of family life. In our case, it’s a multi-species family life, which means we are a woman, two Cavaliers, and a goofy eight-pound cat.

At our house toys (practically) rule. We have every kind of toy, from bouncy tennis balls and rubber chews to plush stuffed creatures, velvety soft pull toys, and feathers on sticks, everything we could possibly want.

For good reason.

Toys mean play, and play helps humans and animals relate to each other, from learning what each of us likes to bonding. The family that plays together grows together, and has fun in the process.

My family plays all the time. The cat loves the dog toys, the dogs would love the cat toys if they dared, and the woman likes them all.

Or did.

Who knew there’d be a creepy toy?

This one was a hard plastic ball that talks. My boy dog, Alki, loved it. The ball would roll across the floor and yell and make noise, and Alki would give chase, barking and fetching. All cool, until you actually heard what the ball was saying.

“I’m gonna get you!” it yelled.

Just like that a good toy, or a good toy idea, went bad. From possibly annoying, like drum sets for kids, to creepy. Violent. Sadistic. Scary.

How hard is it to make a talking toy that says, “Hey there, buddy, let’s play!”

Especially when you wake in the middle of the night and hear a loud scratchy voice yelling, “I’m gonna get you!” Yes, creepy toy short-circuited and was yelling without being moved. While we were all trying to sleep.

There’s nothing fun or amusing about that.

I tossed the toy in the garbage and we all went back to bed. The next day I could hear it yelling, intermittently, as I carried the bag to the garbage. Right before I dropped it in, it yelled, “Oh, no! Arghh!”

Indeed.

Now I have one more thing to think about when I buy a toy for my family. Sure, always thinking about safe and durable. Now I also look at the creepy factor. Surprising what makes the list. Sad how few options there are out there.

What are yours?

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

We’re Cat’s Eye Writer’s First Guest Writer

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I was Cat’s Eye Writer’s first guest poster!

Judy Dunn is Cat’s Eye Writer. Back in June she ran a contest looking for her first guest poster. I decided to join in the fun and won, even though Judy writes about blogging (and she’s an expert, so check her out). It was a great experience for me, an opportunity to expand the reach of my emerging magazine, Bridging the Paradigms, and also to simply connect with people who value both their animal families and the possibilities of looking at the world in a slightly tweaked way.

It was also fun, and that’s something we go for as frequently as possible here at Alchemy West. Unfortunately, a lot of not so fun things interfered with me getting this post up: the little things like major computer failure followed by the domino effect (don’t ask how many things can go wrong at once, it might come your way, and you don’t want that). But we are at last back to work!

Bridging the Paradigms is about creating community with all life, from our animals to our homes, businesses, and the land around us.

As I continue to build community through my work, I am thrilled to meet people like Judy Dunn: smart, talented, honest, and community-minded. That makes Judy and her business one of “The Likables”: people and businesses who make a difference in the world by being the best they can be, and create community by example.

Judy Dunn is a blogger, content marketing specialist and author of “The Guide to Showing Up Online.” Her blog, Cat’s Eye Writer, is on the alltop.com list of best blogs and a winner of a 2011 Top 10 Blogs for Writers. She writes there about how people can attract more online visitors with compelling copy, a true voice and smart social media strategies. Follow her on Twitter at @CatsEyeWriter.

So check out my post at Judy’s blog on creating rituals with animals.

And then check out the following week, where Judy hosted three other writers. And then, well, keep up with what Judy’s writing about. It works.

Thank you, Judy!

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

 

Lending a Hand … or a Leash

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Hero Dog Alki

I’m clumsy. I survive by assuming everybody else is, too.

Despite the obvious (and frequently embarrassing) hazards, it’s a pretty good way to live. Really.

Don’t take me wrong. Injuries, hurt feelings, creepy people and events: not into them. But I am into building community, and for me that can sometimes mean being clumsy.

Lending a Hand

One afternoon I was on the beach access ramp with my dogs. Tree-sized driftwood blocked the ramp, so the woman walking towards us carrying a baby had a difficult climb.

What would a clumsy person do? I stopped and offered her my hand.

She politely refused, but as she climbed up on the log, it rolled and threw her off balance. As I reached for her, she clutched the baby tightly in one arm and held out the other, saying, “I’ll take that hand.”

In a few seconds both were safely on the ramp.

Lending a Leash

Several weeks later I was out alone with my younger dog, Alki, who has recently become deaf. Alki has understandably been emotional, cranky, and skittish about becoming deaf, especially with other dogs.

That day, a loose dog ran up to us, a dog I thought might live nearby. Now any dog can be dangerous, especially a strange one. Plus Alki was once mauled, and I was injured saving him while beating the crap out of the attacking dog (fierce mama, that’s me). So I hesitated.

What would a clumsy person do? I stopped to help the dog.

I called it to us, making sure it kept its distance but stayed with us (and out of the street). While I was calm and cheerful, I closely watched both dogs. As the loose dog warily regarded us, Alki visibly braced himself, gently greeted the dog, then quietly and calmly helped me herd it. When the dog stopped to sniff something, we waited. When it wandered away, Alki urged it back with a head shake that could only mean, “Follow us, buddy.”

Eventually we got down the block, and two neighbors out with their dog stopped to help. The wandering dog was soon reunited with its family.

The point? Oddly, being clumsy works.

We can worry that the world has too many problems, and nothing we can do will matter. Or we can assume that we’re all clumsy, together, and lend a hand—or a metaphorical leash—when we can.

It’s all part of building community. Is your way easier than being clumsy? Tell us about it.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Gone to the Dogs … in New York

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If you’re going to New York and have to leave your own dogs (and cat) at home, there’s one sure way to get your dog fix: arrange to be there in February, when New York goes doggy for the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show at Madison Square Garden in Manhattan.

The 135th Westminster Dog Show was Monday and Tuesday, Feb. 14-15. The American equivalent of the crowning of canine royalty, this year it drew over 2,000 dogs from all over the world. Since I was already there, and love dogs, I leaped right into Manhattan’s doggy mania.

For most of us dogs are cookie monsters, couch potatoes, stick fetchers, bed hogs, cat barker atters, and companions. Those into dog sports can pursue agility, tracking, herding, dancing, and therapy dog training. But dog shows? What do they have to do with me? I decided to find out.

First up, the Friday before Westminster, was the Big City Little Dog Fashion Show, sponsored by the New Yorkie pet fashion line to benefit the Angel on a Leash program. Begun by the Westminster Kennel Club in 2004, Angel on a Leash is a charitable program that promotes the human-animal bond through public appearances and training programs working with therapy dogs in such places as schools; health care, rehabilitation, and hospice facilities; and crisis intervention programs. It has a close tie to Seattle because it is championed by former Seattleite and current Westminster Director of Communications and Westminster television host, David Frei, and his wife, Cheri Frei. At the fashion show local New York celebrities paraded the runway with their canine partners, from pocket-sized Yorkies in frilly duds to a Great Dane in a crystal collar with an evening hat rakishly tipped over one ear.

Dogs were everywhere that weekend (unfortunately, also in the neighboring hotel room, where a Yorkie thought it was a rooster and yapped from 5-7 a.m. for three straight days). Taking refuge outside my room, I spotted Yorkies in pockets and hand bags. The big guys, from rottweilers to strapping redbone coonhounds, Scottish deerhounds (the eventual winner), and low-slung German shepherds. Dogs watered the sidewalk, pranced down the street, peered out from crates stacked on luggage carts, and calmly rode the elevator as their handlers cheerfully responded to queries like: what is that? One answer: a Norwegian Buhund.

At the Affinia Hotel I followed the sign to the dog exercise room. That’s where the people from Jog a Dog had set up two of their dog treadmills. Established 40 years ago by an inventor who trained German Shepherds for rigorous police and protection work (called schutzhund), today it’s a thriving business catering to canine athletes, from conformation specialists (show dogs) to agility or tracking experts.

I met Jack, a 5-year-old yellow labrador from Miami, accompanied by his breeder and owner, Rosy Harkow. She uses the treadmill on the show circuit to avoid exercising Jack on the street, and also has one at her Florida kennel. Jack’s mom, 10-year-old Maddie, is fit and healthy and still competing in agility because of the muscle toning and endurance she gets on the treadmill. Show handlers also use it as a gaiting tool, to improve the dog’s pace and top line in the show ring. Both Jack and the dalmatian Gabe, trotted hard, stopping only to pose for photographs.

The Westminster Dog Show started early Monday morning. Most of the day’s dogs and their entourages were already on site by 7 a.m. Since Westminster is a benched show, all the dogs for the groups showing that day had to be onsite all day and available to the public. I was relieved to see that I’m not the only one who fails to travel light: these dogs and their people had crates, blankets, toys, food, grooming tools, cooling fans … everything you’d need to greet your public in style, two or three times over.

One intriguing breed is the beauceron. A rare breed that originated in northern France, this is a large black and tan herding dog that belongs in the American Kennel Club’s working dog group. I met Gideon, who was being groomed by his owner, Marlene Palmer.

The show circuit for these two was an afterthought. Marlene purchased Gideon when he was 11 weeks old, to train as a search and rescue dog. Together they work for Klamath Search and Rescue in Klamath Falls, Oregon. When people suggested his conformation might make him a show dog, Marlene decided to go for it, which is how Gideon became a champion and was at Westminster (he did not win this year).

Marlene and Gideon started their search and rescue training early. While it normally takes two years to certify one of these dogs, Gideon was certified in 14 months. He works as a wilderness air scent dog, searching for lost people. The search team grids an area, and the dogs clear it by searching for the smell of a human, and if necessary can track by clothing. They can cover a lot of territory quickly, which is critical in finding lost and possibly injured people.

All morning long I snapped photos of dogs being primped for their big moment, their hair wrapped or snipped, while others snoozed or greeted visitors. Their humans educated people about their breed, whether they herded sheep or held down a lap in style. Their emphasis? While showing dogs is a sport they enjoy, the dogs are family first and foremost.

That’s certainly what I understand, as I live with Murphy and Alki, two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, members of the toy group, who were shown in their breed group at 8 a.m. Monday. As the Cavaliers pranced into the ring, and stopped before me, I glanced down at the dog in front of me. The handler turned to us and smiled poignantly. This was her dog’s last show. He would be 13 in a month, and was enjoying the spotlight as he gamely trotted along. It brought tears to my eyes, as he was only a few months older than my beloved Cavalier, Murphy.

Glancing around, I recognized one of the handlers, a Cavalier breeder from the Seattle area. Wow! Three thousand miles from home and somebody I sorta kinda knew!

I had met Patrick and Tamara Kelly in Seattle years ago when I was involved with the local Cavalier club. They fall into a rare category in the dog world: they are breeders, owners, and handlers. That’s right, in a sport where owners buy top dogs and hire professional handlers to show them, these owners breed and show their own dogs.

And they won, with their champion boy, three-year-old Miles.

Backstage I waited for the hoopla to settle so I could congratulate them. Patrick is a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, and he was so excited he was bouncing. While they’d been showing for 15 years, this was their first win at Westminster­—something only a few people ever accomplish.

He told me how they got started with their beloved first Cavalier, Maggie May, and how the old ones have a special place in our hearts.

I said, “Yes, that’s true, my oldest is 12-1/2.” I grinned as our eyes met, because the best was coming. “And heart clear.” That’s a rarity in Cavaliers, and is, in fact, what breeding and living with dogs is all about: enjoying long happy lives together.

Patrick’s eyes went wide in surprise. “Murphy?” he asked, holding his breath in anticipation, clearly remembering my little dog with the daunting health challenges.

I laughed, saying, “Yes, my Murphy.”

And Patrick leaped sky high, pumping his arms in the air.

That’s really what dog shows are all about, even the grand old ones like Westminster. It’s people and dogs having fun together, whether they’re in the show ring or tussling over the remote at home.

And it’s people like Patrick Kelly, who’ve just reached the top of their sport, and ten minutes later are leaping high in the air to celebrate the life and health of a dog they hadn’t seen in 10 years, but knew in their hearts. And remembered.

Because our dogs are family.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Note: a slightly shorter version of this article appeared 2-21-11 in the West Seattle Herald, courtesy of Robinson Newspapers, Seattle. Catch it here: http://www.westseattleherald.com/2011/02/21/features/gone-dogs-%E2%80%A6-new-york

Winning National Writing Awards

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We had a winning table at the Dog Writers Association of America (DWAA) writing awards banquet at the Affinia Hotel in New York City Feb. 13, 2011! This is the DWAA’s 76th year, a professional association of people writing about dogs in newspapers, magazines, newsletters, books, and in art and photography. We were gathered to honor nominees and winners on the night before the 135th Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show at Madison Square Garden.

Here are our table’s winners!

On the left is Julie Reck, DVM, a young vet who owns Home Farewell, a veterinary practice providing pet hospice in the Charlotte, NC area. Articulate and passionate about her difficult work, Julie wrote about providing detailed information on how to determine when your beloved pet’s life is ending. She won the 2010 Best Book, Care and Health Award, for Facing Farewell: A Guide to Making End of Life Decisions for Your Pet. You can find her book at www.facingfarewell.com. Get your vet to stock it!

That’s me in the middle—Robyn M Fritz. I won the 2010 Merial Human-Animal Bond Award for “the work that best highlights the unique relationship between a dog and its owner and best brings to life the concept of the human-animal bond.” It honors my book, Bridging Species: Thoughts and Tales About Our Lives with Dogs. The award came with a $500 cash grant and a $250 travel stipend to attend the banquet. Many thanks to Merial for sponsoring the award, and to the judges who saw that my work, and my book, is about new ways of thinking about creating families with animals, especially with dogs (and cats). You can order autographed copies for yourself and friends here on my site! I was also a finalist for 2010 Best Book – Humor.

On the right is Susan Hartzler, president of Alpha Dog PR in Los Angeles. Susan won the 2010 Angel on a Leash Award for her article, “Therapy Dog Extraordinaire,” in Animal Wellness magazine. The award came with a $250 cash grant. Susan is a smart and savvy PR professional whose business provides the media with up-to-the-minute information about her clients in the hospitality and pet industries. Susan was also a finalist for Internet magazines for DIY Doggie. Susan is holding her service dog, Baldwin, a Puli. You can find them both at www.alphadogpr.com.

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Daily Rituals with Our Animals: Saving the World One Family at a Time

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We start and end the day at our house the same way: in a big pile on the bed while I tell my kids, one by one, with many hugs, how much I love them. And why. Every day. Every night. And I get lots of hugs and kisses in return.

What astounds me is that this astounds other people, who say they don’t even do this with their human families, let alone their animals.

Let alone their animals?

No daily rituals?

I have the world’s best family. They are two Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, Murphy and Alki, and Grace the Cat. I am the only human here (honestly, I can’t imagine a man I could put up with for 20 minutes who could put up with me for 10). I have extended family and friends I cherish, but the day-to-day life at our house comes down to us (and my crystal partner, Fallon, and the rest of the Alchemy West Committee, but I digress).

In the morning, when we’re finally awake, I roll over on my back and call my kids. We start with the eldest and work down. Murphy flops down beside me, her face snuggled into my neck, while I gently massage her back, and rub her ears, which makes her grunt appreciatively. When she’s ready, she gets up and Alki takes her place.

Alki, my tricolor Cavalier, snuggles up, but what he really likes is a neck and chest rub. As quickly as he deems appropriate he will sit up, turn sideways so his butt is planted at my hip, tuck his front paws to his chest, and flop over backwards across my abdomen (where my bladder also resides). Somehow he’s always perfectly aligned, so I don’t even have to move my arm, just scratch.

Grace the Cat comes when she feels like it, but not until she’s sure I’m awake. She likes to peer close and lick my nose, or squeeze between the blanket and comforter, which pads her in case I fall asleep and accidentally roll on her (not pleasant for either of us). She loves to be petted and praised.

I make sure I tell each of them how much I love them, how great the morning is, and what we have planned for the day. Then it’s up and at ‘em.

At night everyone gets a treat before our evening gathering. Then Murphy cuddles in my lap while I pet her and tell her how much I adore her, how happy I am that we’re together, how she’s the best girl dog in the universe, and we review the day and tomorrow’s plans.

Alki’s turn is usually a deep massage, which he loves. Everything else is the same, except he’s the best boy dog in the universe.

It’s then Grace the Cat’s turn. She purrs while getting petted, then paws me and climbs on my shoulder to lick my head (I assume this is a cat thing). She hears the same things, except she’s the best cat in the universe (because she’s the only cat we don’t have to divide it by sex).

I have very little time to read in bed.

Every morning I greet the day and my kids with a smile and words of praise. Every night we end the day with praise and thanks for the day just ended. They greet me back.

The truth? Some days I adore my kids more than other days, which is exactly how they feel about me. Some days I adore more than other days. But I have my kids, and they have me. And we have our days, and nights.

We are a family. In its simplicity and routine we have found our way to love, and we use these rituals to deepen it. If we somehow skip them I feel incomplete, and by the looks of them, so do my kids.

When I hear that other families don’t do this, I wonder how their days, and family lives, really work. Do they just zip by, without remark, or appreciation? Does it matter?

I think it does. Could we change the world by doing this one simple thing—by beginning and ending our days with love and peace and respect for our families, regardless of the bodies they live in?

I say yes. I say we save the world, one family at a time, by honoring our families, day and night.

Simple daily rituals. It’s a start.

What are your rituals? What do they mean to you?

(c) 2011 Robyn M Fritz

Bridging the Paradigms

Re-connecting People and the Planet
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Robyn M Fritz

Alchemy West Inc.

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Robyn M Fritz 206.937.0233 PST
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