A Special Kind of Love

By: Linda Boutin       

Bettenon Gala's Rosebud

     We had just lost our beloved 14-year-old Rosie the month before. I missed my sweet companion and knew I would have to find a new basenji to enliven our lives. So I called my friend in San Diego to see if she knew of any puppies needing adoption. Barbara would know if anyone had an off-season litter and if any pups were around in October. It saddened me to learn that she didn’t know of any and I resigned myself to not having a pet until the pups became available in February. I left her with my new phone number so she could call, but I knew the odds were against my hope.

Noel and her original owner

      

     It surprised me about a week later when Barbara called. She told me about a breeder who was in trouble for keeping too many dogs. He needed to find homes for his extra adult dogs and he had to find them fast. She told me that there was a very special girl who needed rescuing and that her name was Noel. I told her that I didn’t think we would be interested in adopting an adult. We know the breed from years of keeping them and one thing was for sure, you wanted to start training a basenji young because they are just so hard to train. A 5-year-old made no sense at all.

     Barbara tried to explain to me that this girl was different, so sweet she would let anyone handle her. I was doubtful and told her I would talk it over with Gary and get back to her. I really had no intention of following through, but when I discussed it with my husband that night he encouraged me to give it a try. I thought about it for a couple of really lonely days. When Gary went off to work, the house seemed so empty and quiet with no little tail-wagging friend to keep me company. Finally I called Barbara back and asked for the details.

     I learned that another breeder had taken Noel in on her farm and that she lived less than a half hour from my house. Driving down to “take a look” with my friend, she wasn’t surprised that the dog crate I brought with “just in case” was filled with Noel when we drove back home. We stopped at the pet store and picked up a new leash, collar and bed for our new girl before returning home.

     It took months for Noel to truly trust us, but I persevered working daily to break down her defenses. She had never lived in a house and needed to learn everything from going up stairs to sleeping in that brand-new dog bed. First thing we had to do was change her name to no-Elly from Noel because otherwise “no” meant her name. She and Gary got off to a really rocky start with Noelly running as fast as possible in the opposite direction he wanted her to go.

Noelly and her 2 pups Rudy (left) and Star (right)

     Eventually we all made our peace and enjoyed 5 years together. Even though the years were shorter and we only met Noelly when she was an adult, we grieved her just as much as we had our other basenji babies. There is a special kind of love that develops when you rescue a dog from a bad situation and give it a better life than they had ever known before. We enjoyed teaching her to overcome her fears of everything from black trash bags to sirens. We loved her just as much as we’d loved our other pets and were grateful that we’d allowed Noelly to steal our hearts.

Terrorized by a Cat

Rusty found us

     The other afternoon Kindu and I headed home after a long, hot afternoon walk. We dropped off our walking partner at her house and both wanted a cold drink of water. We threaded our way between the buildings following a windy path back towards home. Coming around a blind corner, we jumped back when a rusty orange Abyssinian-type cat jumped off the front step of a condo directly at us.

We're being watched, closely!

     We’ve spent all of our dog’s 4 years teaching him to tolerate other animals, but like most basenjis, when another animal moves quickly, his instincts command him to catch it. However this cat displayed such aggression my basenji-boy watched, but didn’t charge the cat. This kitty sensed our apprehension and transformed into the posture of a Halloween cat. Tail straight up, back hunched with hackles raised, he growled low in his throat and stalked towards us.

     With a swift glance over my shoulder, I shepherded Kindu forward trying to avoid an altercation with this very angry feline. I kept him in front of me while checking the cat’s progress. I saw he was still following just 10 feet behind us. I know that animals have their territories, so we hustled across the street and finally saw the chase called off. “Rusty” demurely turned his back on us and returned to his perch on the steps.

     With the solid ribbon of asphalt protecting us, we now felt safe enough to stare back at the cat with wonderment. I had seen this animal on previous walks, but had no idea why today we could not walk our normal route back home. I wondered to myself if this was a mama kitty protecting her litter or if this might be a wild cat afflicted with rabies. Finally deciding to get out of the heat, we turned toward home and soon were cooling off with shared ice cubes. Soon the strange chase forgotten, I prepared dinner and got back to my normal routine.

     About one week later, Gary and I walked Kindu together on another very hot August afternoon. A young lady returning home, opened her front door and guess who stepped out; Rusty! This time although he (or is it a she?) saw the dog and two strangers near his front door, all of the cat’s attention focused on his mistress returning home. He purred loudly as he weaved between her legs nearly tripping her with affection. Remembering our last encounter, I hurried away shaking my head as I went. Nope no kittens and  he obviously wasn’t wild, but well loved. I came to the simple conclusion this was one tough kitty.

Rusty, the terrorist kitty

     I told Gary the story and we laughed together about how Rusty’s bluff had worked so well on Kindu and me. Our boy was about three times the size of the cat and could have given him a run for his money. But over-protective owner that I am, I didn’t want to face my boy getting into a fight with a cat baring tooth and claw. More importantly though, I wanted to avoid taking Kindu in to see the vet to treat cat scratches and bites!

My Earliest Memory—Puppies Under the Porch

Mom on porch in Bellevue, Washington

     I looked out my bedroom window hiding behind the curtain trying to keep from being seen myself. My mother had laid me down for a nap and I was supposed to be napping. However, I knew Mom’s routine and suspected that she was just outside the front door chatting with Pete Jacobson. The skies outside my Bellevue, Washington window looked clear and free from rain this afternoon. As I peeked, I saw her with our landlord. This was my cue that I could play in my room without being discovered. They would be busy talking for a good long while past experience informed me.

      I found one of the colorful picture books sitting on the shelf and opened it to the first page. I smiled at the picture of the dog bounding across the page, but squinted as I puzzled over the black squiggles that marked the bottom. With all of my nine other brothers and sisters at school or work, I had no one to decipher the strange markings in the book. I understood what the pictures meant, but what were all these little marks supposed to mean. I couldn’t wait until my big sis, Pam, got home from school and could read me this book once more. Meantime I walked over to the toy box and found my little stuffed dog. I made him jump the way I saw the puppy jumping on the page opened on my bed.

Linda at 2 with big brother Steve

     Returning to the box I found my little girl doll and placed her beside the dog and book. I guided the doll’s hands to caress the puppy and pretended I was outside playing with the puppies just outside under the back porch of our house. How I wished it wasn’t naptime so that I could run outside and play with the dogs while I had them all to myself. But I knew that if I ventured out, Mom would simply usher me back upstairs and into bed for the dreaded nap time that I hated.

      I lay down on top of the covers, leafing through the pages enjoying the pictures and scowling at the letters that made no sense to my 3-year-old eyes. My mind drifted as my eyelids became heavier and heavier. I roused momentarily listening to the birds singing outside and glanced out the window for the source of the sound. Mother knew her babies better than they did themselves. She knew I needed a nap and that fighting me on it would just bring out my stubborn streak. If I’d still been awake, I might have seen her glancing up at my window looking to see if her youngest daughter (at least until Deb was born) could be seen or not.

Linda peeking out from under her bonnet

      Soon enough sleep overtook me. Mom poked her head into my bedroom and saw the scene I’d scattered around myself. She shook her head when she saw the open picture book about dogs, the stuffed animal and the doll still clutched in her sleeping daughter’s small hand. She could have guessed this would be what she would find. Mothers know best!

When Your Basenji-Boy Grows Up

Kindu in a serious mood

     One of the most bittersweet moments with a dog comes when you realize that your pup has grown up to be an adult. Sleeping all day becomes the norm and playing takes a backseat to a good meal. I believe part of the appeal of basenjis for me is their prolonged puppyhood and how even a dog aged 10 can suddenly revert into a puppy again and run throughout the house like a whirling dervish. However with our current pet basenji, Kindu, his puppyhood has persisted into his 4^th year losing much of that appeal along the way.

     For Kindu, the two tough parts of training have involved walking on the leash and not using his teeth while playing. During his first year, many times I lost all patience with his constant biting, jumping up and scratching my arms. All of my pups knew how to control their mouths by the time they were a few months old, but not this strong-willed boy! As Gary would say upon returning from a walk with “the boy,” walking him was a nightmare. More than once he pulled the leash out of our hands, yanked us nearly off our feet or tripped us by constantly weaving back and forth like a snake in front of us. Which is a whole extra problem, there was just no way he would agree to walk behind us or even at our side. This is called heeling and our boy was having none of it.

     This month though, Kindu has surprised both of us with his growing maturity. For years we didn’t allow him to approach children on walks because he would rambunctiously knock them down. Recently on a walk in the park he minded his manners while meeting a group of small children. This is so surprising because Kindu never used to be able to control his impulses. If he wanted something, nothing stopped him. This time he sat quietly allowing himself to be petted.

Kindu heeling for our friends

     Although the signs have been clear, the real test came when our friends arrived from Vancouver for a week of visiting. The first couple of nights we had to use our strongest corrections to convince Kindu that kisses were better than grabbing our friends’ arms or clothes with his mouth. Although he did no damage, he needed to learn that this is not how we treat our guests. It took 2 nights, but by the time their daughter arrived on Monday from Disneyland Kindu had finally learned this hard-won lesson. Martina enjoyed playing with Kindu the way she had always played with our previous basenji, Noelle, when she was a little girl. I breathed a sigh of relief that Kindu could behave himself if I enforced the rules.

     Now my big boy is snoozing quietly beside me on the couch. I push the memories of him stealing the antibiotic ointment from the bathroom drawer tonight. Yes, he’s finally acting like a grown-up dog, except when he gets that wild basenji craziness going and steals something, anything, just to get a bit of that “puppy” attention.

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.

A Gift of Life, an Acceptance of Loss

     One of the toughest parts of pet ownership arrives on the day you must give your beloved friend up. Sometimes this comes as a surprise; sometimes it’s preceded by months of illness. It might happen because you must move or because you can no longer afford your friend. The time frame makes no difference because anytime I’ve had to give up any of my pets, my heart swells and nearly breaks. Thankfully these hard days stand out as punctuation marks between endless days of enjoying my pet’s companionship.

     Noelle arrived on a warm October afternoon, a 5-year-old basenji girl who had spent many days in the show ring. Placing a lead on Noelle’s neck was pure pleasure. She stepped out beside me and loved to strut her stuff just as if she was in the ring at the Westminster Kennel Club show with the whole world watching. We rescued her when her breeder needed to adopt out some of his older dogs, in effect she moved into retirement.

     At first, we both felt lost in our new relationship. I missed Rosie, who had died about a month before we adopted Noelle. Our new dog hadn’t ever lived in a house, splitting her time between the backyard and her crate in the garage. I taught her about the trials of stairs, the pleasures of pillows, and the joys of being the sole dog living on the premises. I lavished her with time and when she seemed anxious, I slipped on her leash and we went walking. In those early days, we went directly to the back of the small, quiet park in our neighborhood. We ran together around the cement circle at the back of the park until she felt safe and secure again. Then we returned home and to whatever we’d been doing. In those first few weeks home we did this half a dozen times a day, helping us both take on a healthy glow.

     Comfort slowly replaced Noelle’s fear. Soon she enjoyed my company, although she ran away from Gary and all visitors to our home. I tackled her "standoffishness" by letting her come downstairs and join the party when she was ready. An edible chew toy went a long way to reinforce this behavior in a positive way. The ache in my heart from Rosie’s loss was slowly replaced by the joy of watching Noelle settle in and begin to enjoy her new life. The more comfortable she became, the more successful I felt in welcoming her into our lives.

     Soon I discovered that Noelle had the sweetest temperament of any of the basenjis I’d ever owned. And although I’d missed her puppy days, I also missed housebreaking problems and destructive chewing while she teethed. She became the special gift of life in our home and helped us heal the holes left behind by Rosie’s loss.

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