Taming the Jeeps

Julie commented that in yesterday’s picture of Tater, he looks almost human. And I just wanted to confirm: he really does! It’s something I’ve always loved about him – this way he has of looking at me when I’m talking to him, as if he actually understands, or is trying to understand, what I’m saying. And actually, he does understand a lot, at least about things that concern him. He often surprises me by doing something that shows he’s been listening, even when I wasn’t even talking to him – for example, I’ll tell Mr. A I’m ready to go somewhere, and suddenly there’s Tater standing at the door, even though I haven’t gotten up from the couch or started putting on my shoes or anything.

The Jeeps is totally different, and not just because he can’t hear anymore. He’s never taken any interest at all in what I say to him – all he wants is Milkbones. When I talk to Tater, he makes eye contact, and there’s an intelligent, alert expression in his eyes. He has a million different facial expressions and even little sounds he makes sometimes, that make it seem like he’s trying to communicate the same way I do, even though I have no idea what he’s trying to “say.” Jeepers mostly just stares with the same dull, determined expression, no matter what I’m saying. He doesn’t care what i’m trying to tell him. He only wants to know: “Can I eat it?”

I don’t think this is because Tater is smart and Jeepers is not. I think it’s because I met Tater when he was only a few hours old, and have been holding, petting, and talking to him almost every single day of his life ever since, whereas the Jeeps spent the first ten or so years of his life with Mr. A’s uncle, a curmudgeonly gentleman of the old skool who loved him in his own way but (reportedly) rarely even talked to him and certainly never threw him a birthday party, took him to restaurants, taught him how to find the stairs in a swimming pool, or let him sleep on the bed with his head on his own down pillow. The Jeeps was never socialized the way Tater was.

Although this seems to be changing somewhat, a result of my civilizing influence in the household, I think. For three and a half years I’ve continued to talk to the Jeeps whether he responds or not, and have even succeeded (very slowly) in turning him on to the pleasures of heavy petting and super-snuggling. One of the first times I had the opportunity to be close to the Jeeps in the house we now share, I made a sudden movement he didn’t approve of, and he bit me in the face and gave me a huge black eye. Since then I’ve managed to socialize him to the point where he smiles and puts his ears up when I get home, and the other night he actually came to me and asked to be snuggled – something he never used to do. Once recently he even kissed me on the chin while I was snoozing on the couch, so gently I almost didn’t feel it. But when I opened my eyes, there he was, grinning at me.

“Do you need a Milkbone?” I asked.

He didn’t run to the kitchen. Instead, he burrowed his head under my hand and asked for a pet. That was a cool moment. I’m good at taming wild creatures.

Lately I’ve decided that more touch would be good for him, so in addition to his arthritis medicine and supplements, he’s now getting a good ten to twenty minutes or more a day of gentle massage (I’ve been doing this already with Tater, all his life). It’s heartbreaking to feel how atrophied some of his muscles have become, especially in his hips and thighs – on the right side, there’s basically nothing left but bone, skin and fur. And he’s very lumpy and asymetrical, as lots of elderly dogs are. But I have to say, it’s very gratifying to see him stretch out into position when I sit down on the floor next to him, and to hear his groans of pleasure when I smooth out an especially stiff spot.

The photo above is of the Jeeps standing on the bank of our flooded creek during the New Year's storm of 2006. I love the way the grass and sand are swirling around his feet. The piece of land he's standing on is about ten feet above the usual level of water in the creek.