The "Forever" Teenager

By Linda Grupp Boutin

Ecclesiastes 3:4 A time to weep and a time to laugh; A time to mourn and a time to dance.

Kindu turns 7 years old this December. Funny how it seems like just yesterday when we drove up to Wrightwood to pick our new puppy from a litter available up there. Both Gary and I were downtrodden, depressed and defeated. We had endured 2 full years of assaults on my health, problems with jobs, losing 2 pets in less than 5 years. We had become sedentary since the death of Noelle a year earlier. We just needed some joy in our lives.

So when we went to church on Sunday and Pastor Brian read to us about the seasons of life, I became infected with the thought that we needed a season of joy in our lives. We had fallen into the doldrums with seemingly no way out of them. On the way home from church, I dared to open the subject with Gary. It was the right time of year, early February, just when basenji pups grew old enough to be adopted by families.

Snow lightly fell around us as we looked over the pups in the back of a small pick up truck. While I struggled with such an odd situation to choose a new pet from, Gary asked which was the pup we could afford from the owner. She selected a lively pup from the exuberant litter. Without a second glance, Gary tucked the little guy inside the pocket of his jacket. 

Kindu's first day with us

I objected that I wanted to see this 8-week old pup, but Gary pointed out that the short-haired basenjis were all shivering in the cold. Absolutely true! So I passed the cash to the much relieved owner along with our contact information for her to send his papers to us when they arrived. And before I knew it, we were headed down the 15 freeway south, our new basenji boy proudly standing in my lap, his forepaws on the dash, watching 18-wheelers driving past with no distress whatsoever. I contemplated how the owner had shared with me that this guy's litter name was "Truck." Hmmpphh, he certainly seemed to like big trucks and big noise.

He loved the new-found speed a car ride provided him. He had no intention of laying down and taking a nap, not this boy. He was totally into this new experience and lapping it all up, thirsty to embark on life away from his mom and litter mates. I chuckled as I kept his wobbly legs steady and sat amazed that he was so animated for a young pup. 

We didn't want to go home, so we drove over to my brother's house to introduce him to the family. Everybody welcomed our little ball of energy, especially our nephew, Alex. Kindu didn't know how to navigate the ceramic tile floors at first. But Alex got down on the floor with him and soon was laughing as Kindu grabbed various parts of this new, fun litter mate dragging him around the kitchen. Then he went to grab Alex by the hair. That's when we decided it was probably time to take this rambunctious basenji boy home for a nap.

Checking out the new scents at home

Kindu has enlivened our lives for the last many years. He makes us laugh almost every day. He also drives us to distraction with his demands daily as well. Last Saturday he gave me a particular scare when he bolted out the back gate when I opened it to bring the trash cans back inside. He disappeared in an instant and the temperature outdoors topped over 100 degrees. Star escaped as well, but after a short foray into a neighbor's open garage door, she returned to me when I called her. I secured her safely behind the gate, much to her dismay, ran inside, grabbed my purse and keys and headed straight for the car. I know my boy all too well.

The appeal of a car ride never left this boy, so I began driving slowly through the neighborhood looking for our wanderer. I had caught a glimpse of him tearing down the middle of Flora Lane. I prayed that he avoided the hazard of being hit by a car as he made his madcap run through our streets. The further I circled away from the house, the more worried I became that our boy was in trouble. Rounding a nearby corner, I spotted him greeting a passerby who seemed most amused with his antics.

I gave a shout of his name and opened the car door and before I knew it he jumped onto my lap and into the back seat. He took up his usual navigator spot, front paws resting on the armrest between the two front seats. I kept him carefully confined in the car until I had the garage door secured behind us. Amazingly he agreed to enter the kitchen door instead of giving me a merry chase around the garage. His first stop was the water bowl beside the back door. While I let Star in to join us, he drank the dish down to the bottom. Oh yeah, it had been very hot out there for running like a wild man through our area.

I noticed a bad limp on his left foreleg as he walked into the great room and plopped on the floor. Though he had seemed just fine when I picked him up, closer examination showed all four paws burned badly by the hot asphalt and an extremely sore shoulder. I doctored up his feet, trimmed off the torn skin, massaged his shoulder to ascertain nothing was broken. He was slower than normal for a few days. The pads on his feet healed quickly with a little antibiotic cream. But the whole experience shook me up quite a bit.

The hardest thing about loving dogs is their shorter lifespan than us. We are our dogs forever homes, but they are granted only 10-15 years with us (if a car doesn't get them). Kindu has always had lots of health challenges because of his headstrong nature and a weak digestive system. His madcap run reminded me that I am granted only so many days with this little friend of mine. And it reminded me to thank the Lord for my many blessings and the very special blessing of our Kindu boy who will always be our "Forever" Teenager.

About how tired he looked after his run in the sun!

Baby Girl

By Linda Grupp Boutin

Alex with newborn Rudy and Star

Star has been changing lately. It seems she finally accepts that she has a place in the pack and a forever home. She always claims the spot in the middle of the loveseat between Gary and me. Depending upon how he feels, Kindu may sleep on Gary's lap or take up most of the couch, legs fully extended. He can be the epitome of the independent basenji, aloof and perfectly happy to sit by himself. 

Our basenji girl prefers to be with someone, preferably touching in some way. Of all the curly-tailed basenjis I've shared my home with, Star is the only one that I have nicknamed Curly. And she loves it when I call her this or sing a song about her. Sometimes the name gets stretched to Curly Girly and that's when she acts especially cute. But by far and away, she loves to be called Baby Girl. And I like calling her that too.

Dog trainers advise owners to name their dogs one-syllable words. Simple, concise and easy to call, like Star. Nicknames don't come up because you aren't supposed to use any other name but their usual name. However, basenjis are smart enough to respond to many words, including nicknames. So Star and Kindu know many different names and can often read my mood by which name comes to mind first.

I love seeing Star finally finding confidence and her place in our little pack. She is relaxed these days, often dancing around the house, play bowing to get Kindu to play, just enjoying life. I've seen this happen before with other dogs we've rescued. It is almost like she realizes that her life has taken a turn for the good and embraces the joy in it.

I look forward to a day when I will go to my forever home with the Lord. I understand and share in the joy Star feels as she dances freely and happily around our home. Some days I dance in the joy of that same knowledge, knowing there is a place where I am accepted by Our Father just the way I am; sins, scars, bruises and all. I hope some time in your life that you can share in the joy of this knowledge too!

Singing in the Rain

By: Linda Grupp Boutin

     A New Year always brings a sense of nostalgia for me. Thinking over the many paws that have crossed my path in a lifetime makes me want to sing. I've mentioned before that basenjis react particularly well to positive reinforcement. Lately on the cold and rainy winter days of Southern California, Star and Kindu race to get in their respective crates when they see me pull out the bag of bacon. It seems like the race is now to see who can get their reward first. Gary and I work hard to get their leashes off and open the doors before the dogs crash them open. Who says crate training doesn't work?
     When we return home, the two of them have opposite reactions to our arrival. Star howls her protests that she wants out of the crate. We can't open the door fast enough to make her happy. Kindu, on the opposite hand, relaxes in his crate, stretches leisurely once we open the door, and is thrilled to have gotten a good nap while we were gone. All the better for him to get into mischief once we're trying to settle down and relax after whatever activity we just participated in.
     Many times our girl will watch the boy and observe his actions to see how to react. Kindu enjoys a good song about his antics which I happily sing about frequently. All of my dogs have heard songs from me sung about their names, nicknames and thievery. One of my favorite tunes to sing to is "Wild Thing," because it so aptly describes my favorite breed of dog. Their ears prick forward and listen alertly when they recognize their names cropping up in my unusual lyrics. Things like, "Star Baby is a curly girl, furly girl, silly curl." She knows if I am singing all is well in her world.
     Several years ago, my brother's family came to visit and spent the night sleeping on the fold-out couch in our living room. I got up early to see Gary off to work the next morning, carefully keeping the living room door shut so my visitors could sleep in. However the morning was glorious with the sun streaming in my back door. The birds sang just outside nested in the bougainvillea vines. First I started whistling out the song refrain I heard from the little sparrows. Soon their echoing calls returned to me, mimicking the whistles I sang out. I'm not sure how long this continued, but before I realized it, my brother's voice called out from the living room, "What are you? A canary or Dr. Doolittle?"
     I tried to apologize for disturbing their rest, but I am sure that he remembered me singing to Ginger when we both were kids growing up together. That is just who I am, sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a song playing in my head. Whenever I am alone with the dogs and feeling happy a song just erupts from my lips. It may be a praise song, or an oldie, or a contemporary hit that has captured me, but always the words are adjusted to fit the situation. I love having visitors and reflecting back on my brother's visit, it is no wonder I was whistling while preparing breakfast.
     So how about you, when was the last time you sang out to express your joy, calm your nerves, or praise the Lord's creation all about you? Try it, you might find that it lowers your blood pressure just like petting your furry companions does!

What We Need

     The Dog Whisperer, Cesar Milan, repeats over and over that dog owners receive the dog they need, not the dog they want. It seems a bit backwards, a shy person owns a boisterous dog, an outgoing person lives with an animal who is timid to a fault, and a low energy couple pick out the highest energy pup from the litter and learn just how hard it can be to train a dog. I ponder this idea: that we get in life not what we want, but what we need. Sounds suspiciously like the way God sometimes works in our lives.

Kindu relaxing on my feet

     I have a self-concept that includes a good knowledge of how to get my dog to do what I want them to do. Some might call this training. When I first received a full-blood, AKC, registered basenji from Gary as an engagement gift, I anticipated no problems whatsoever training her. Petite Seraph (French for Little Angel) arrived in my home at 4 months old. I had trained Ginger, my first dog, by instinct alone. Ginger still lived with me, but neither of us could fathom how to get Seraph to do anything we wanted her to do. What I didn’t realize was that as a pup, Ginger spent most of her day with my mom while I was away at school. That well-honed instinct that I thought I had, had all along enjoyed the helping hand of Mom who had a lifetime of experience with dogs.

     Suffice it to say that the “little angel” basenji girl nearly drove Gary and me to divorce in the first year of our marriage. That is until I met Sam Kahua and enrolled Seraph in his obedience class. He laughed out loud when he saw a basenji standing in line that first class. And although she was a stubborn dog, I have won awards for my perseverance too. Every class and every training session became a battle of strong-willed females. Me, determined to train this dog to behave, Seraph, determined to remain the “wild thing” that I’ve heard basenji means in Swahili. Sam stood amazed when we both graduated his advanced class with my “little angel” heeling off leash and following my every command.

     Today, 35 years later, I’ve learned quite a bit about convincing basenjis to listen. However, Kindu recently realized that Star has come to stay. And he’s not too happy about her stealing the limelight from his life on occasion. Most importantly to him however, is sharing his man, Gary, with a girl. Simply put, he doesn’t like it and is at a total loss about what to do about it. Most of the problems arise in the evening when the pack comes together in the living room to watch TV. Kindu always took up his position between Gary and me and all was right in his world. Nowadays there is quite a bit of shuffling going around.

     Star’s arrival calmed Kindu considerably. Although just as enthusiastic about walks and visitors, his demeanor is more adult now. He is approaching 5 years old and I expected to see him mature, but the lack of some of his mischief creates a sense of loss for me. The loss of puppyhood I guess, although I find it hard to define. Funny how life is, when he was so full of himself I kept asking when he would grow up. Now that he no longer grabs a cell phone or opens drawers to remove sweaters, I miss the little guy who could always make me laugh out loud…not necessarily the dog we want, but somehow the dog we need.

Role Models and Spelling Lessons

By Linda Boutin

Boo Bear

     Have you ever noticed that “dog” is “god” spelled backwards?

     I hear the groans now, “Linda, you are just too into dogs!” you complain. And perhaps you are correct in this assessment. But there truly is something about a love of dogs and animals in general that brings out the best in many of us. Growing up 10^th in a family of 12 children, I always could count on the complete attention of the family dog if I simply showed them the slightest interest. When a household is wracked with the noise level created by 3-5 teenagers, a couple of babies, and a year in which 3 of my siblings had weddings; not to mention the regular occurrences of births, graduations, ball games, solo performances, choir, plays, etc., etc., etc. Let me just say, that it was ever so easy to become lost in that crowd.

     Not so with my four-legged friends. I could call them, take a walk (to get away from the noise), dress them up (while ignoring my dolls), or simply share reading a book with them attentively listening. They captured my heart for as long as I can remember. And even in adulthood, while I stayed home battling pseudo-obstruction, a succession of basenjis sat beside me while my husband marched off to work to support our little family. Even had we been blessed with children, I know they simply would have caught my love of dogs and enjoyed them as well.

     It’s hilarious to me that so many dogs are named anything from Aphrodite to Buddha to Zeus or Hera. I know from these names that I am not the only animal lover who has noticed this weird quirk of spelling. Just how many cats have you heard of named Thor? I used to always name my basenji babies after a place in Africa since that is where their breed originates. However all of my dogs over the years sported many nicknames which they answered to. These days Kindu knows exactly how I’m feeling depending upon whether I call him by his real name (might be in trouble), Boo (good vibes), Little Buck (puppy name that has fallen into disuse), or “The Do” (when Gary and I are discussing his antics). And this list is not comprehensive.

Kindu keeping me company

     Seriously though, when I consider God’s unconditional love for His Creation--humanity, when I remember how He forgives us no matter how far we wander astray, when I realize He doesn’t hold a grudge no matter how I cling to one; it’s then that I know that God placed these little, patient, tail-wagging friends into our lives as an example for our own behavior. Jesus showed us a perfected example of what behavior to strive for, but the pup at my feet gives me the daily reminder to not judge, always forgive, and greet my friends like I haven’t seen them in months. It makes that friend feel special and isn’t that what makes life worth living?

P.S. Gary pointed out to me that this spelling does not cross over to other languages. Something is lost in the translation from English. No matter whether French, Spanish, or German, it just doesn’t work.

The Flying Leap of Faith

Kindu's 1st day home--8 weeks

     I did it again and could hardly believe it myself. I adopted a new puppy, convinced not just myself it was a good idea, but somehow my husband supported me in this impractical idea. As I waited on the bed for the intravenous hydration solution to finish infusing, I watched out the window as Gary played in the backyard with our newest family member, Kindu. Who would have believed it—a basenji that retrieves! Never in 40 years of owning basenjis had I ever seen one fetch more than a few times.

     Watching, it was easy to see Gary’s middle age drop off his shoulders, like a cape flung away on a warm spring day. He smiled and laughed as the little dog dragged the stick under his body, trailing a good eight inches behind him. It made me laugh just to watch. I thought of my inspiration for why this was the right year to replace our last basenji, Noelle, after 15 months with no pet. Pastor Brian’s message on Sunday about the song in Ecclesiastes (put to music by the Birds) hit home, a time for joy.

     That’s what a dog brings into my life, laughter.

     What’s that? You never heard of a basenji! I hear that every time my dogs come up. Dyed-in-the-wool basenji fan that I am, it’s hard for me to fathom not knowing about the breed. It’s just the best kind of dog in the world for me—doesn’t even bark. That doesn’t mean they aren’t great watch dogs, they just go about it in their own quiet way. Well yes, they are a tad bit stubborn, maybe even persistent to a fault. They want their way about everything. And yet, they are such characters that I can never resist them.

Always jumping and playing

    Gary bellowed as Kindu grabbed one of the ties he was using to erect a puppy fence to protect the tomatoes we anticipated planting. First the 13-pound pup runs past the window with a work glove in his mouth. He frolicked by so proudly, trying to grab Gary’s attention by stealing something. Then 6-foot-3 Gary runs past trying to catch the little guy and retrieve it, bad knees and all. I had to hold my breath to keep from laughing out loud at the sight. The sight of them made it easy to remember now why I trusted God that this was His perfect moment to bring a puppy back into our lives.

Trusting God, that’s always a tough one for me. I’d like to think I can do it on my own, independent and all that. However, deep inside I know that everything and anything that comes into my life is simply a blessing from God. Even the health tests that I don’t like so much that have preserved me from a terminal, debilitating disease; even with God’s grace to prosper when I followed His Way versus trying my own path. Purchasing the pup was a leap of faith that God wouldn’t have made dogs so important in my life without good reason. My doctors had advised me to replace my dog as soon as possible. Yes, there is a plan, just not the plan I’d laid out—but the one the Lord has mapped out for me.

By the way, this is Kindu II. Our first Kindu came into our lives as a Valentine’s gift too. I met that first Kindu when he popped out of Gary’s coat pocket one afternoon when he picked me up to go home from the hospital. Ahh, but that’s another story!

Hard day of work in garden

As I watched, Kindu II literally flew through the air, all four running feet off the ground, circling around Gary as he hauled the extra dirt from the garden. Yes, indeed, God provides everything we need in abundance, even models of flying leaps of faith.

4/3/2008

Why Basenjis?

Our basenji-boy, Kindu, relaxing on the couch after a good game of fetch.

A few days ago I walked my dog as usual.  We weren't alone, but had a neighbor walking with us.  Seeing me struggling to get my basenji boy to walk properly, the friend asked, "Why do you want to have a basenji?"  Now this is a good question because they are a difficult breed of dog to train in the best of times.  I know the answer to this question. It's because of their strong will, some might even call stubbornness, that I find them appealing.This isn't your average sit-stay-down dog. To achieve obedience, you must have a special relationship with these characters.

Simply stated, these dogs are survivors.  Although there are pictures of them in Egypt dating back to the time of the pharaohs, they nearly disappeared altogether.  A British adventurer discovered them living with one tribal group in Africa in the 19th Century.  In the 20th Century a few foundation dogs of the breed made their way to the United States. I lucked out and received my first half-basenji in the 1960s. I've been learning about them ever since and enjoying their special company all along the way.

Kindu retaught me the latest lesson just yesterday: "If he wants attention, he will find a way to get your attention, good or bad."  I've been fighting a cold and have had very little energy and not much interest in playing ball with my dog. Most of the day he was content to lay beside me and take a nap. There comes a witching hour however when Kindu decides it is time to play. That hour usually comes in the late afternoon when sunset fills the sky. Yesterday I sat on the bed folding laundry and could see that he wanted to play while I wanted to finish my chore and lie down. Guess who won this tug of war? First I had to chase him around the dining table to retrieve my socks he'd grabbed from the basket. It became a great game for him to try and grab anything to make me run after him.

Finally I had the clothes safely tucked away in the drawers and collapsed on the pillows with a cough and sigh of relief. Now Kindu got to work in creating a ruckus. First he started digging in his dog bed beside me on the floor. I got up and shooed him away from the activity. He bounded over the bed and ran out into the living room. I reclined again hoping he'd behave himself. Within a minute I heard him opening the dresser drawer. Yes, he knows how to open every drawer in the house when he chooses to. I rolled to the other side of the bed to see what he was up to and discovered the little scamp had my husband's sweater drawer open and was pulling Gary's favorite red sweater out with his teeth. I jumped over and removed his teeth from the knit, firmly closing the drawer and shooing him away again.

Now my cell phone rang and Kindu cocked his head to one side when he heard Gary's voice on the speaker phone. Soon the master would be home and the dog took this to be a sign to play in earnest. Well for the next twenty minutes while we awaited Gary's arrival, the games continued with Kindu favoring opening the sweater drawer over and over to my distraction. I was happy to turn "The Wild Beast" over to Gary when he arrived. My husband calmly pulled out one of Kindu's toys and began a game of fetch. Rather than returning the toy to Gary, our boy decided that I would no doubt love to join in the game so he brought the toy to me. Instead of screaming or crying, I simply laughed and sent the toy flying back out to the living room where Gary stood. Yep, when he's ready to play or walk or most anything else, you'd better be ready to participate because he's going to make sure you do one way or the other.

My First Half-Basenji Girl

                           Ginger loved riding in the car!

     A new dog arrived in my life on my 12^th birthday. Mom said she was a boy, so I decided to name her Baron following Mom’s suggestion. Already well seasoned as a babysitter, something just didn’t seem right about her being a boy. We performed a closer inspection and Mom agreed that Baron wasn’t a boy. She already had thought of a girl’s name as well. She said the pup’s color reminded her of ginger and so my new dog transformed instantly from Baron into Ginger.

     At that time, I was a confused mess of hormones with nine older brothers and sisters. I often felt lost in the crowd. Ginger served as everything from my doll to dress up, to my confidant to share special secrets with, to my walking companion who would return at my whistle. Mom and my brother Steve had discovered her at the pet shop and chose her especially for me. They told me that she was half Afghan hound mixed with something else. My mind’s eye envisioned the very sophisticated looking, sleek sight hound, but my physical eyes told me something different.

     Even as a little pup, Ginger sported button down ears, brown eyes that bore right through you and an uncanny independence that showed up as a slight rebellious streak. Her fur nearest her skin looked tan and was finer than baby hair. This inner coat was covered by thicker guard hairs that started blonde, but at the far end were black as night. Her soft-as-velvet coat kept her comfortable all winter and shed profusely in the spring. I patiently waited for Ginger’s legs to stretch out longer and for her fur to take on the long, luxurious coat of the Afghan hound she was supposed to be.

     As she neared her first birthday, an instinct inside me said there was no way she would ever look like I’d originally thought. Still she had the cutest white socks on all four feet. Her tail curled neatly over her back with a white tip on the end. Her body looked more like a Beagle than anything else; square, solid and well muscled at about 16 inches tall at the shoulder. But I’d known Beagles in my life and Ginger didn’t act anything like one. She was nearly always silent and certainly never bayed at anything the way a Beagle would. One day I came home from school and Mom excitedly told me that Ginger had finally barked while she’d been running the vacuum cleaner. She did have a voice, but not one we heard very often.

     Anytime we’d go to the library or bookstore, I’d search through every dog book trying to determine what breed Ginger might be. A couple of years later, I’d nearly given up. Staring at the pages of one more dog book, my jaw dropped open when I turned a page in the hound group. I looked at the picture quickly comparing size, shape and style of the dog on the page with Ginger’s characteristics. I read quickly through the text below the photo and knew I’d found the source dog for my favorite companion. Ginger was half Basenji! Her coloring and coat were different, but her markings, body type and demeanor couldn’t be denied. My girl was a Basenji and my education about this breed was barely begun.