New to AIHA, dog in trouble – Page 12 – Second Chance AIHA Dogs

Rick

Guest

“the tennis ball and the rope”
As you can imagine with an extremely high energy dog, young Brandy loved the tennis ball. This was quite fortunate for us because we could let her do most of the exercising. Her retrieve mostly involved running back at maximum speed and dropping the ball simultaneous to catching a treat. The challenge was to block the ball before it flew into the blackberry bushes. Ripley would chase but rarely beat out the little speedster to the ball.
Almost every day we got to see some Brandy-Cat. When the ball would roll into the tall grass on the throw, Brandy’s brain would switch from “fetch and retrieve” to “fetch and kill”. She would pick up the ball, drop it into the tall grass, grab a mouthful of ball and grass and proceed to head shake as if she had caught a rabbit. She would then drop the ball again, grab some more grass and repeat.
I don’t think I have a photograph, but I have the image perfectly in my mind – Brandy standing at the top of the grassy knoll, looking back at me with a giant smile. Her mouth full of tennis ball and about a half bale of grass. It would then take her 10 minutes to spit out all the grass.
Best for her were found tennis balls. Countless numbers of times she would launch herself into thick brush, only to pop out with a shiny new tennis ball. Fresh balls were her favorite, but she wasn’t so particular to go for a muddy, slimy used one either.

The grass kill-fest usually signaled the end of her fetch session, and once she lost interest in anything it was definitely over. She wasn’t like a lot of dogs that love their ball and will carry it anywhere.
Unfortunately for us, when she lost interest in the ball it often meant that she was taking off. Brandy would catch the scent or sight of a bird (possibly imaginary?) and would start running.
She was quick. Not fast like a greyhound, but she accelerated fast and could change direction on a dime.
The area where we walked them is an electricity sub-station with a tall fence all the way around the perimeter. The total length of the fence is maybe 1000 yards, so it’s not a small area. Once Brandy started running you could not break her concentration, so the full panic chase would be on. Usually Brandy found the bird she was looking for and went into point, which would allow us to catch up and get her on the leash. She never actually made it all the way around.
One incident was particularly memorable. Brandy bolted in a clockwise direction. My wife immediately chased after her with Ripley running alongside. I was at the other end of the field so I was 100 feet behind them when I reached the first corner. I rounded the bend just to see Ripley veer to the right in full flight and grab a bird! Ripley is not much of a hunter so this was quite unusual. My wife is very sensitive to any animal being hurt so I tried to react quickly. She had also seen Ripley grab the bird but continued chasing after Brandy. I yelled at Ripley to “DROP IT!” and he did. The bird fell to the ground stiffly. I reached them both, picked up the bird by the foot, looked at it’s lifeless eye and thought “uh-oh, I need to dispose of the body”. I tossed the bird towards the fence (away from the trail). It bounced off the fence, hit the ground, popped up and started running. It was a Killdeer, which are well known for faking. My guess was it was surprised by Ripley running by and attempted the “broken wing” maneuver, then played dead when caught. I started laughing as the bird ran away. I’m not sure my wife believes me today that Ripley didn’t hurt that bird.

They say that necessity breeds invention. We did a ton of recall training with Brandy. When on the leash she would do whatever we wanted, but once she got a taste for freedom she was gone. You could see it in her eyes – FREEDOM!!!, and she was gone.
Our first attempt was to have her drag a 20 foot light nylon rope, which would give us an opportunity to catch her before she reached light speed. Inevitably Ripley would end up hog-tied in Brandy’s rope so that didn’t work very well. My next attempt was to build her a tiny backpack that I velcro-ed to her harness. In the backpack was a walkie-talkie wrapped in a plastic bag (it rains a lot here). We found that amplified sound, either a squelch, or her name being called could break her concentration and she would stop running. Life got a lot better for us when we were finally able to turn her, at least as long as the batteries had juice.
One time we were on vacation at a cabin in the woods. The dogs ran at a giant field on federal land and they loved it. Unfortunately this was one of the situations where the batteries in Brandy’s walkie-talkie died in the middle of a run. The land was cross fenced with barbed wire and Brandy was running directly towards a fence. I’m quite sure she didn’t see it. Of course we were chasing at full speed and yelling when she reached the fence. She didn’t even pause and went through the fence at maximum warp. She passed through it as if it weren’t there. Eventually we caught up with her at the other side and put her on the leash. As we were walking back to the cabin I noticed that she no longer had her backpack. We went back to the fence and found it stuck on one of the wire barbs. Lucky girl.

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Rick

Guest

I picked up Brandy’s ashes today.
My only knowledge of ashes is from the movies where invariably someone ends up wearing them, so I really wasn’t sure what to expect.

Logically, physically, and chemically I know that Brandy’s life force left her when she died in my arms that night.
Brandy was gone. The remaining shell was not Brandy so it logically follows that the resulting ashes are also not Brandy.
The remaining effect of her life is measured in the way she changed others’ lives. I am a significantly different person from having known and cared for her and her life manifests itself in the re-wiring of my brain from having loved her. Our extensive collection of photographs certainly help to refresh all those memories, but I don’t need a physical representation to remember her.

I also know that her ashes represent different things to different people, and I know that others see them as one of the fleeting connections.
From previous experience we know that recovery can often be described as a wobbly figure eight and not a linear progression. And of course this event could trigger the next wave of a downward cycle.

The receptionist handed me a gift bag, which in itself seemed a bit surreal. I felt a bit like an Oscars nominee getting swag.
I carried it out to my truck, sat down and looked inside. There was a jar wrapped in paper, an envelope, a pamphlet from the company, and what appeared to be a cheap painted plaque.
I set aside the plaque and papers and unwrapped the paper to make sure everything was sealed. Next I looked at the pamphlet, which contained some good suggestions for dealing with grief – many of which I was already doing. Lastly I picked up the cheap painted plaque. Brandy’s name was written on the side of it but other than that it appeared to be a plain white painted piece of wood.
Then I flipped it over.
My brain struggled to rationalize what I was seeing. It took several moments for me to figure it out and when I did it crushed me.
I am not a crier and I’m really not very good at it, and I broke down on the side of the road in front of the hospital.
The “plaque” was actually a metal can with a cement or plaster cast of Brandy’s pawprint.
The image that sent me over the edge was of a fossilized dinosaur footprint – an indelible imprint on the world that exists for millennia.
I think that would be good enough for Miss Mouse.

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