My Dog's Blog

I speak of my dogs so much these days that I decided that they should have their own blog.

Maybe that's not a good idea, because maybe I will run out of stuff to talk about here at Musings! But I now have 3 dogs, two of which are in training for something or other. And I'm so new to this training thing that I need a place where I can talk about it and have others with more dog training experience to help me along the way, without having to mull through the Musings here.


So, Frankie, Jake and Kirby (and me) have created Sport Dog Blog. Its just a new blog where I talk about the trials and successes through the training and lives of these dogs. Especially the Aussies.


So check it out if you like dogs. Or even if you don't. Maybe you will see something that I could work on. I would appreciate the advice!

A link will remain at the right sidebar, just click on this photo (on the right).

I Went Barefoot

I've always wanted to run.  I aspire to be one of those people who can wake up at the ass crack of dawn and pump out 3 miles without hardly breaking a sweat.  But as it is, I have trouble getting up a half an hour early just to walk my dogs around the block.

Running has always been difficult for me.  I have suffered with shin splints since junior high school.  Even when I was in perfect shape and condition, I was plagued with these horrid splints.

Over the past year, I have begun different beginner running programs to lose weight.  My weight alone is a huge factor in my running pain.  But running was the fastest way for me to lose weight.  I tried everything to rid myself of the aweful splints that would stop every routine I attempted dead in it's tracks.  The pain was too much.

Finally, I caved, I and I purchased a $120 pair of running shoes.  And miraculously, they cured the shin splints.  But they also brought on a whole new multitude of problems.  My back started to hurt, my knee started to hurt.  My feet began to hurt.  You can't run on sore feet. So I had to make a choice.  Did I want shin splints, or a handful of other painful and potentially damaging issues?

Choose, Em.  You have to choose. 

Or do I?

Little sister recently raved about this book.  A book about a distance runner who spent time with a tribe in one of the most dangerous places on the planet to live.  And this tribe runs.  Barefoot.  And they have no pain.  They dont suffer from shin splints or back pain or knee twinges.  They don't spend hard earned dollars on 'real' running shoes.  They live on highly vegetarian diets, despite the protein rich diet that long distance runners swear by.  This tribe gets plastered in celebration the night before their 50 mile barefoot trek across the canyon.

I did so much research on running shoes, so that when I forked over that hunk of paycheck for good running shoes, I would get what I was paying for.  But as it turns out, the more supportive a running shoe is, the more likely you are to be injured.  Really?  Can that be right?  Well yes, I can see how that would be correct.  When you have that much arch and support, you don't get to feel where exactly you are going wrong in your form.  And then down the road, it turns into bigger problems, like shin splints.  Like low back pain.  Like knee pain.  Like foot problems.  But if you're running barefoot, you can immediately feel where you're stepping wrong and you can correct it within a step or two.  You are correcting your own body in a way that run of the mill, made for everybody running shoes can't. 

So today, I went barefoot.  I went to the gym.  I hopped on the treadmill without shoes (just socks).  And I started to walk.  Obviously, I cant immediately expect to run a marathon barefoot.  But I can begin to build strength in my feet and legs so that my body can adjust.  I went one single mile.  That mile took me 19 minutes and 54 seconds.  Going barefoot causes me to have to shorten my stride pretty drastically, because it forces me to stop heel striking.  Oh yeah, when I run with shoes, I am a heel striker.  Big no no, especially when you're overweight.  When you come down on your foot while you run, you are putting 5x the weight of your body down on heel. 

For the first half mile, I just walked.  Normally, I can walk comfortably at a 3.5.  Barefoot, because of the shortened stride and the forced concentration on my landing, I was gong 2.9.  Considerably slower.  But it felt great.  After a half mile of walking, I turned it up to a slow jog.  Immediately I discovered where I was going wrong.  My body automatically corrected it's landing in a way it could never do with a shoe. 

I jogged for about an 8th of a mile.  Right out of the gate, I could only safely test myself that much without risking injury.  No pain.  No pain anywhere.

Okay, that's a lie.  My one complaint would be that because I chose to use a treadmill wearing just socks, the friction from the track against the underbody started to burn.  It got pretty hot and I'm left with a small heat blister on the ball of each foot.  But that just means that I have to change my game plan a little bit.  Those blisters had absolutely nothing to do with the barefoot running, and completely to do with my poor judgement.  It's easily corrected.

I'm excited to see how this progresses.  The worst that could happen is that I'll fail like I have before with every other running program. 

Ironically, on the same day that I discovered barefoot running, I signed up for a running class.  At the place where I bought my $120 worthless running shoes.  So it will be interesting to see what they have to say about this barefoot running.

Pink Ribbons & Basset Hounds

I don't know Lisa on a personal level.  But I do know her on a rescue level.  And she's amazing.  Lisa has always helped us out with our Basset rescues when we needed it. 

Lisa recently found out that she has breast cancer...AGAIN.

So friends of hers came up with a cool way to help raise some money for her surgery.  Tshirts!

If you like dogs, and you want to support a fabulous woman on her breast cancer journey... Check out these tshirts.  Please.  Woof!

High Flying Birthday Aussies!

Today is a special day in my world.

Today is the given birthday of my two rescued Australian Shepherds.

I adopted Frankie in July of 2008. She arrived on the 13th, and was approximately 9 months old. 

I adopted Kirby in August of 2009. He arrived on the 15th, and he was approximately 10 months old.

That makes Frankie approximately 2 years old.  And Kirby approximately 1 year old. 

Happy Birthday, Aussies.

You're both insane.  

And yet somehow you manage to keep me sane.

It's Snowing

Again. 

But this isnt me waking up to a sprinkle of snow like a couple of days ago.  No, this is it's been snowing since I woke up at 7am and it's still coming down.  Hard.

But I can handle it.  I think.

I mean, right?

NO! No I can't handle it! 

Did you forget my reaction to having to give up summer for fall?  I am barely into my fall phase and it's already snowing!

No. Emily doesn't handle snow.  If anything, the snow handles me.

No more backyard BBQ's.  No more bonfires.  No more smores!  The agony!

I'm going to have to switch into winter driving mode. Leaving the house 15 minutes early.  Driving 35 mph in a 55. Holding up the traffic.  Stocking my truck with a winter safety kit.  Winter go away!

I can handle it, right?  I'm a big girl.  Its just a little snow..... **whaaaaaaaaaaaaa!**

Battling Aussies

Aussies can be strong willed when they feel like it.

They don't give up easily.

Especially when they are at war with each other.

And especially when they are battling for a toy that they both love.

In this case, it happens to be the torn, stringy, fabric casing of a once stuffed ball... The stuffing strewn about like guts.
And if you mention even once that I need to vacuum, I'll have something to say about it.

Oh hi Frankie.  See, normally if I am doing anything regarding her (ie; looking at her, speaking to her, etc) she will give up whatever she's doing and walk to me.  But not this time.  She is one determined Aussie. And she will not allow her younger bro to beat her.

But in the end, when all is said and done, the Aussie's are friends again. 

Not even stuffed dog toy carcass can come between these two kids.

Snow

Yeah, you heard me.  Snow.  Snoow.  Don't I look happy?

 

It snowed here last night.  First snowfall of the season.  It's going to be a looooong winter.

Red and I both woke up this morning around 5am.  Neither of us know why.  Maybe because the dogs were going nuts?  Why would the dogs be going nuts?  My dogs dont go nuts.  Oh yeah, unless it's snowing.  I forgot, Kirby is light reactive, and with the full moon, the shiny white stuff falling from the sky, and the fact that his bed is right under a window... Kirby had reason to wake us up.

It was snowing.

Snow on the grass.  Grass that Red had mowed just 48 hours before.

I'm not in the mood for snow.  It cramps my disc doggin style.

Who wants to play disc in the snow?

Guess Frankie does. 

Happy snow day.  Not.

Dogs. Right, like you're surprised.

If you haven't figured it out already (and if you haven't, I would seriously question your intelligence) I love dogs.  I live dogs.  I breathe dogs.  I eat dogs.  I don't actually eat dogs.  But I do, on occassion, eat their fur.  And no, not intentionally.

My love for dogs wasn't born in me.  I don't think.  Instead, I think it grew in stages.  Growing up, we had a Poodle mix named Whiskers.  I don't remember a whole lot about Whiskers, except that he had this peach dog bed that always sat on a human chair, and that if any of us every tried to move that bed so that a human could use the chair, Whiskers would snap and/or bite.  I also very distinctly remember him eating toilet paper and underwear.  I didn't do a lot with Whiskers.  I was very young.  And I was a horse girl.  But I loved that dog the same way any little girl with a pissy, moody Poodle loves her family dog. 

After Whiskers passed at the ripe old age of 18 years, we didn't get another family dog.  My parents are cat people, apparently.  But that was okay, because with 3 teenage girls in the house, there wouldn't have been time for a dog anyways.  That didn't mean that I didn't have a dog though.  When I started riding and showing horses, there were always a number of dogs around the barn ready and willing to give a teenage girl her dog fix every day.  Meghan was a fat yellow Lab who frequented the barns and our lives, whether it was tagging along on a trail ride and riding shotgun in the truck on the way to pickup a load of hay, or on those nights when us girls would run away from home, always ending up at the barns, when life as a teenager caught up with us.  Meghan was there with her understanding eyes, offering up her soft, warm fur for us to cry on over some stupid boy that had just dumped us, or whatever other teenage tragedy happened to occur. 

Then I turned 18 and moved away from home.  But after a brief, animal-less existance with a mean hearted boyfriend, I soon returned to my roots.  And rescued a dog.  A handsome yellow Lab mix. Jake. He was my first dog.  My buddy.  My roomy.  My best friend.  There is no greater thing for a single gal to come home to every night than her faithful retriever.  But poor Jake.  Working 2-3 jobs at a time, Jake was often forgotten.  And not in a terrible way.  But there were nights when I stayed out longer than what I should expect a Labrador's bladder to hold.  And I didn't do much as far as researching dog food, vet care or suitable dog toys.  Jake was put on the backburner more often than I even want to acknowledge during our first couple of years together. 

But the bad doesn't always have to get worse.  And luckily for me, Jake seemed to understand that I was doing the best I could for us.  Eventually, I got into a steady routine and Jake got some solidness in his life.  And then it happened.  I found dog rescue.  And dogs overwhelmed me.  Dogs became my only purpose in life.  I learned truckloads more than any average dog owner learns in a lifetime of dog ownership.  Jake was happy.  He had good food, regular vet care and dozens upon dozens of new doggy friends staying over.  Not to mention baskets of toys.  Real dog toys.

What some don't know is that rescue people burn out very quickly.  Some are meant for it, some learn to brace themselves or numb themselves to it and carry on.  I was not one of those.  Rescue burned me out.  I continued on as well as I could, but I was struggling.  Last year, we adopted Frankie.  My second resident dog.  And with Frankie came a whole new responsibility.  Frankie was not Jake.  Jake housebroke himself.  He never barks.  He even exercised himself.  I swear.  Frankie was not Jake.  So I had to train.  We had to train.  And I just couldn't drain the Aussie energy.  Then I found disc doggin, and my life changed forever.  Me and my dogs had a purpose in life.  This past year, my love and drive for rescue died.  I still support it in every way I can, and maybe one day it will swallow me up again.  But I dont have it in me to do the hardcore dog rescue thing that I once did.  I cannot maintain a decent running rescue while working on my own dogs.  My own dogs always got the raw end of the deal when it came to rescue.  They were always last.

In joining this disc dog club, I learned yet another new side of dogs.  Performance dogs.  Sure, I'd seen The Incredible Dog Challenge on tv in the past.  And I knew that dogs sports existed.  But that I could ever be a part of it was never a reality until I joined MNDDC.  I thought, 'well I could never do that.  My dogs could never do that!'  But these people don't buy that kind of talk.  "Sure you can!" they said.  "It's easy! Just try it"  Turns out, we could do it.  And we did.  We do! 

Two months ago, I adopted Kirby.  Why I thought I needed another young Aussie is beyond me.  But dog sports grabbed me by the hair and now they won't let go.  We've discovered new ways to train.  You will recall my carping about how difficult this new training was going to be for me.  But I've already seen significant changes in my once obnoxious, over bearing Aussie pup. 

I love dogs.  I live dogs.  I need dogs in my life. 

Why on earth are you harping on about dogs, Em?  Do you ever talk about anything else? Do you even have a point? 

Why yes, I do have a point.  Thank you for asking.  The other night, I watched Animal Planet's newest show.  It's called Superfetch, and it's sparked something brand new in me.  It's not the cute trainer guy who can train any dog to do any trick that pulls me in.  Not even close.  It's the fact that that cutie trainer, Zak George, was once a nobody.  He was an unknown kid who loved teaching his dogs new things and he would videotape himself training at home and post it on Youtube.  Nobody even watched him at first.  I remember there being about 100 hits on his first video in the first year.  But when I began rescue, I needed a whole lot of questions answered.  So I did what any self respecting American does when they need an answer to something.  I asked Youtube.

And you know what Youtube gave me?  Zak George.  Amateur dog trainer.  Years later, when I got Frankie, I once again turned to Zak George and his Youtube channel for training answers.  By then, it had grown in fans significantly.  So to see Zak with his own show on AP, it's a big deal to someone like me, who loved him before he was 'Zak George, Incredible World Dog Trainer' or whatever they call people like that these days.

And now I have Kirby, who is fresh, un-messed with, untrained puppy.  Kirby has the potential to do anything right now.  And I want to teach him everything.  Kirby is the dog who will drive you crazy if you don't give him a job to do.  Frankie, she's a disc dog.  Disc is her heart.  She will do anything for me, but she wants to play disc.  She would be so unhappy as an obedience dog or something like that.  But Kirby... I have 48 things that I want to try with Kirby. 

Our non-mandatory assignment for the very last week of obedience class is to come up with a trick(s) to show off.  My goal is to teach Kirby one new trick every week.  And it's more than possible with this positive training stuff.  In a matter of one single week, I have come to believe that you can truely teach any dog, any task, so long as you are of right mind and attitude and you have the right tools for that particular dog. 

Have your eyeballs fallen out yet?  I figured.

Happy Friday!

Where I Find Comfort

I awoke this morning to a cold, rainy, gloomy morning. A man crabby because Maggie had pooped in our room last night.  Dogs who were driving me ape shit because the weather has been too terrible to get them exercised and get training work done on a regular basis.  A cat who decided to start yowling over his breakfast a whole half an hour early this morning, probably sensing my morning rage and convinced that I would fail to feed him.

Tuesdays are my Mondays currently, until I go back to a normal schedule at work.  And this work week has not started off on a good note.  It's freezing here at my desk.  I sit near the outside door and everytime a smoker walks in or out of the building, I'm nearly blown over by a frigid wind mixed with cigarette smoke.  Lovely.

Added to that, we're going into a season that both loathe and love.  Cold only intensifies my anxieties.  Snow and ice on the roads make me a tightly wound ball of nerves until spring comes back.  So it's during this time that seek out things that bring me comfort and warmth.

This morning, while there is not yet snow or ice on the roads, I needed something.  Something that would soothe my frayed nerves and get me through the day.  I grabbed my big olive green mug and got some coffee.  For years now, our bitter office coffee has been a gift.  You'd think a nurotic person should avoid the caffine.  But it has the opposite affect on me and actually calms me down. 

photo by Mark Peace @ flickr

Then I clicked my computer on and once my work programs were up and ready to go, I switched over to settle down with my coffee and read the blogs that I follow.  Blogging for me has been a great adventure.  I was always very anti-blogger geek before.  But once I started reading and writing in my own, I became passionate about this little blogger community.  I follow about a dozen blogs, and each and every one of them is something that I look forward to.

I love hot tea or cocoa in the cold months.  I love my 'shows'.  They are something to look forward to each day.  Something to pull me through the day until I can finally jump into thick sweats and curl up in my big overstuffed chair with my man and just breathe and relax.


While I often get put over the edge by my dogs, they are also still very much a comfort to me.  They are my life, my children, my family, and they are always there to listen to me, even when my human companions don't understand. 

I find comfort in decorating my home for the holidays.  Doing my best to keep my home as my sanctuary is important to me.  And it's important to Red.  Having a warm, happy, comfortable home like nothing else.

I need peace and comfort and warmth.  It's the only way I survive.