I just got back from the Australian APDT (Association of Pet Dog Trainers) conference, at which I was keynote speaker, met lots of wonderful Aussies (the two-legged kind), and had a great time. Part of the speaker duties included judging a contest which consisted of a number of displays on the theme of senior dogs. Entries could include photos, text, and pretty much whatever the contestants wanted, so long as the entries were on topic. One included the following poem by an anonymous author. I found it very touching and thought some of you might enjoy it as well.

We Have a Secret

We have a secret, you and I
That no one else shall know,
For who but I can see you lie
Each night in fire glow?

And who but I can reach my hand
Before we go to bed
And feel the living warmth of you
And touch your silken head?

And only I walk woodland paths
And see ahead of me
Your small form racing with the wind
So young again, and free

And only I can see you swim

I work for a shelter. Most of the time, it's a fine place to work. We are lucky in that we have a very high adoption rate, especially of dogs (unfortunately, the same does not always hold true of cats and small companion animals). We have such a demand in our area that we travel almost weekly to other areas of California to find adoptable dogs in overcrowded shelters, where the animals would most likely be euthanised.

“It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch…” - Author Unknown He had a welcome home wag that pumped his tail straight up and down, before it circled around and launched into a perfect figure eight. Born in my kitchen during the spring of 1991, he was a handsome hunk of tri-colored magnificence. His sturdy legs and heavy duty paws earned him the name of Sherman Alexander, a reflection of his invincible, tank-like appearance. When he went to live with his new family later that summer, I found myself missing the chaos of three beagles, and the soft snoring noise he made while sleeping. His mother and sister gradually settled into a new and quieter routine and as unbelievable as it seemed, life went on without him. Seven years later, Alex was unexpectedly returned to me and though I was sad and disappointed for him, I knew that this change was necessary.

Many people think that Dr. Laura Schlesinger gets a little insensitive and irritable with her callers. I’ve thought it myself at times when listening to her, but then I remember what it must be like from her point of view to speak with one person after another, to give them a thoughtful reply and then to have them disregard what she has said and move on to another topic.

One of the things that come along with being a dog trainer is the responsibility of answering inquiring telephone calls from prospective clients. Many trainers put a time limit on how long they will talk, “Never stay on the phone for more than two minutes”. Many will not answer behavioral questions, “Never give away free advice”. And many, like myself, prefer to discuss the issues so that we can understand how we may help and also perhaps give some immediate help to the unseen dog who lives on the other end of the telephone.