Part 3 - Working with "Little Angel" towards a Basic Obedience Certificate

By Linda Grupp Boutin

So with Jack and Evelyn observing from the hill above, Seraph and I began really working on her obedience training. Our first class had been a total fiasco. First off, I had to understand "Right Turn, Left Turn." Being challenged over left and right anyway, it took me the whole class to tune in on the brand new wedding ring on my LEFT finger. Now I didn't have to hang back and watch which direction the other students turned (which just like me was wrong half the time at least), but just notice which finger had a ring and turn the appropriate direction. First hurdle handled, Linda's directional challenge overcome!

And the late afternoon, 15-minutes of "dedicated" training time continued day after day, week after week, month after month. First Seraph learned how to sit on command, eventually understanding that every time that I stopped walking, she was expected to sit attentively at my left side and not on my foot! The attentive aspect of her sit was important because this put her in the proper position to move on to the next and more difficult command. While at my side, I was to wave my hand in front of her and tell her, "Down!" 

The sit had been challenging enough, but my "Little Angel" had no desire to lay down in the midst of so many dogs she wanted to socialize with. I worked for weeks on this one with Sam giving me a new tip to try each week while working with Seraph. At home, she did not object to laying down. In class, it was a flat refusal every time. Oh the joy I felt the first time she agreed to follow my command in class and lay beside me. Maybe this just might be possible!

Successes built more successes until Seraph began listening to me both on the leash and off. Don't get me wrong, she still remained a full-blood basenji willing to go her own way, but at least she listened and wondered if she should follow my idea. We had an easier working relationship that grew with every effort I put forth to reach my basenji-girl.

Then one evening it was time for our basic obedience test. Seraph and I took the ring and she performed every command, only hesitating a little over the down command. Gary stood outside the ring with our new male basenji pup watching. They embraced us in a family hug when we passed the test with flying colors.

So what next? Advanced obedience, of course. Did Sam say that involved off-leash training? I could only imagine...

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.

Rosie Toes

Mama Bette and her 5 hungry pups

     I picked up the limp, wet body and tenderly cradled it in my hands. With no time to spare, all eyes in the room focused on what I would do next. Bette stared up at me pleading wordlessly for me to accomplish what she could not. I rubbed the newborn puppy with a rough towel hoping it would take its first breath. No luck. As the seconds ticked by I kept working on the pup trying to stimulate that first sign of life. I did not hear the other four pups squealing noisily while I struggled to save their sibling.

Bettenon Gala's Rosebud at 2 weeks

     Rosie, always a bit of a drama queen, made quite an entrance that night. Suddenly she inhaled the life-giving oxygen her body craved the second she separated from her mother, Bette. Now I sighed with relief and began to take stock of the pup’s overall health. A girl, good, that makes three girls and two boys. She was small, probably the runt of the litter, but now trying to wiggle out of my hands. As soon as I made certain the pup breathed freely, I handed her back down beside her mama and let nature take over. Soon she took her first drink of milk.

     Born 1 hour after the rest of the pups, she must have been stuck a while in the birth canal. Gary and our family friend, Phil, had gone out to an overnight grocery for vanilla ice cream to start Bette’s milk flowing. She gobbled it up and we took this as a sign that she had finished birthing puppies. Wrong! As the clock hit 3 a.m. Bette went back into labor and quickly produced this last pup. We all marveled as the runt began pushing the bigger pups out of her way to the milk.

Bette and Rosebud (ages 7 & 5)

     The process started at around midnight and four pups came along in 15 minute intervals. We just about called it a night when suddenly Bette began straining again. We watched for another hour to see if more pups arrived. Rosie turned out to be the last of the litter. Finally sure that Bette and the pups were settled and resting, Phil headed home and Gary and I collapsed into bed. That’s when we noticed just how noisy and squeaky the puppies were. Exhaustion helped us fall asleep as the sun rose overhead. When we woke a few hours later, the first order of the day turned out to be moving the puppy playpen from our bedroom to the kitchen. Now we all could sleep more easily.

     The first day of Rosie’s life we nearly lost her, however as time passed she spent 14 years sharing our home with us. There’s something very special about having a pet be born under your roof and live their entire life with you. “Rosie Toes” earned her nickname because of the wonderful habit she had of dancing around us and greeting us with a basenji baarroooo when we returned home. There are many more stories about these two characters and I hope you’ll stop by my blog again soon to enjoy them.

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.