UFO (Uncontrolled Flying Object)

As most of my weekends, this one was in doggy style too. On Saturday we went to the first agility trial of the autumn round (which was again more fun than successful, sadly) and on Sunday the Black Death and I participated in a frisbee seminar, organized by an agility friend. The seminar started with some serious warm-up – first we ran around the training field for some 5 min, which was followed by stretching and warm-up exercises. Firstly Jean showed us a few grips and throws, which we then practised in pairs. Then we were showed the next series of throws, practised them in pairs and so on a few more times. I have to say it was very interesting and we learnt a lot of new things. Of course we will definitively have to do quite a bit of practice as some of the throws resembeled an attempt to decapitate the near and not so near surroundings. Anyhow, we had a blast, we learnt a lot of useful things and, of course, Sambo enjoyed our practise together. I hope this wasn't Jean's last effort for us, frisbee fans…

The wollen revenge

As I have already written, Sambo celebrated his birthday on a seaside vacation on the island of Cres again, where we spent a nice week last year. We enjoyed camping, walking by the sea and plundering figs on the half-forgotten paths. Of course we also had our share of the local attraction – sheep. Unlike last year, when we had two or three quick encounters, we met sheep daily this year, sometimes even several times a day. Again, this year Sambo didn't fail his shepherd ancestors; he herded with great pleasure – and great style too ;). So after the first few days our ego grew stronger and we treated ourselves to a good round of herding with a clear conscience and even began looking for opportunities to find sheep so we could have a little fun. And so it happened that we were walking on a deserted path with nearby folds of rocks, common in these areas. Sambo was walking a bit ahead of me and saw the sheep running from the bush first. They played a short match of tag and then Sambo got the sheep into a corner between a bush and a low fold. I thought to myself that this could be a great opportunity to practice recall in difficult situations and without any victims. I called him for the first time and he only gave me a 'can't you see I'm in the middle of something important here' glance. I called him for the second time, this time with a bit more serious voice, and he came to me, of course walking backwards towards me and never leaving his wollen prey out of sight. Happy with the fairly quick reaction I praised him warmly and gave him a treat. He would probably eat the treat gladly any other day of the year, but the newly appointed shepherd thought it was below his dignity to accept a reward for him completing such holy duties. He took the treat out of courtesy and spit it out in exactly a second, eying the sheep carefully thr whole time. I gave him a little pat and let him return to the sheep and bark at her some more. And so for a few more times. He came to me a bit faster each time, obviously figuring out that he wouldn't be left without the sheep… But he didn't let her out of his sight for a second. Oh well, that can count as progress too. After all, it's the only proper and decent way for a shepherd, don't you think? ;)

(ps: but he found his match too… This sheep wouldn't give in and luckily Sambo realized that perhaps keeping a safe distance would be a good idea… http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3zOJnoliQ9I )

And to end, a few photo pics of us enjoying ourselves big time:

What do the prettiest ears in Europe do when on vacations? They take care of the coat, of course...

A sunset for me and Sambo

A trip to the island of Lošinj

Sleeping a la Sambo...

Sun pleasures

My two significant others

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

On Thursday, August 16th, the Black Death celebrated his 8th birthday. He variegated his celebration with an abundant round of herding the island's sheep (which were on a daily schedule either way) and a good deal of three-some swimming. I hope he will keep improving my life with his way of being for many, many years to come and that health will serve him well and long despite of his periodical stunts (willed and unwilled).

Unleashed life

Lately there had been many discussions about dogs, dangerous dogs, dangerous breeds, leashes etc. There are a lot of people who believe that dogs should always be on leash and most of them think of unleashed dogs as dangerous and their owners as irresponsible. I think that a dog's life or rather said his relationship with his environment is defined by three components – socialization, education and training. Sacrilegious as it may sound, the same order applies also to the priorities or importance of the individual component.

Some people cite working (police or military) dogs as an example, saying that they are perfectly trained and, in consequence, supposedly not dangerous. Are they? Well, my experience is that working dogs are or can be dangerous. Firstly, because any dog can be dangerous, at least if it has at least one tooth, one claw and a heartbeat. Secondly, because regarding working dogs the emphasis is on training, not socialization. Everyone that thinks so highly of model trained working dogs should see them on the field (and I don't mean in action). I think that after 5 minutes the logic leash = discipline = safety would fall apart. Sambo has been attacked quite a few times, from leashed dogs as well, so from then on the 'on leash' logic doesn't convince me anymore. When the ever so praised leash fails, I only pray that the dog that just snatched off has been off leash and socialized enough times in his life.

I admit, I don't comply to laws. I comply to common sense and respect towards other living beings. If I see that someone shows signs of stress because of the dog, I call him and hold him close to me. If I see children playing with a ball I hold him until we pass by them. If I see an unknown dogs on leash, I again call him and hold him. But if the other dog is off leash, then I let my dog be free as well, regardless if the other dog is a Yorkie or an Irish wolfhound. Furthermore, my dog isn't guided by a leash but by 7 years, 9 months and 16 days invested in him. Others claim that a dog that is off leash is a simple connivance because you don't have to take an interest in him. I think that it's exactly the other way round – if you have a dog on a leash he is 'secured' anyway, so meanwhile you can talk on the phone, chat with your friends, look at the birds… On the other hand, if your dog is loose you have to observe him constantly to see what he is doing, you have to check the surroundings… Or maybe it's just me that's weird, because I even care what is happening with my dog when he is running around. I do know that the rare occasions when he is on leash he is on leash so that I can be occupied with something else, rather than him. When he is on leash, he is connected only with my hand, when he's off leash, I'm with him 99%.

To end, a word or two about doggy racism or better said, a different attitude and treatment for different dogs… We all know that there are no dangerous breeds. We also know that there are more demanding breeds. Leashes and prohibitions won't solve anything. Every owner should be aware of where his or her dog has its mines set and why. With common sense, some knowledge and a bit of luck these mines will never explode. If people would gather enough (self-)criticism, most of the canine accidents would never even happen. Sambo has been off leash for most of his life since he was 10 months old. He is off leash for a simple reason – he deserves it (well, actually I deserved it with more than 7 years of invested time and effort). He ignores his surroundings, has zero interest in people and close to zero interest in dogs – and even in that area he passed the test of good manners with flying colours. IF he were problematic, I would have him under much more visible control than I do now. Just as I don't like 'children pest' screaming, running and passing footballs over my head, I'm also aware that my pooch may not be pleasant for everyone and I try to act in confirmity with that.

So… we're still on the loose as much as we can be ;). There are no civil victims known in our area.

In retrospective...

ZOOLANDER
Living close to a ZOO is a good start if you want to experience many interesting incidents. It is quite unusual to go for a walk on a nice autumn afternoon and hear the roar of a lion, plough your way through the thick winter fog at night, listening to the melancholy howling of a pack of wolves, stroll about in the beat of an elephant's trumpeting or take a walk on a hot summer day and listen to the screams of monkeys marking their territory - hm, actually, now that I think about it, screaming apes aren't that unusual in my life, I seem to encounter them quite often… Well, that still leaves me with lions, elephants and wolves, and a few years ago the proximity of the ZOO arranged an unforgettable encounter in the beginning of December. Sambo and I went for a walk on the field next to the Faculty of Biology; Sambo ran around, happy as always, and I walked through the few cm of snow left, with my head in the clouds, as usual. I looked around to see where Sambo was and I caught a sight of a slender tree trunk in the middle of the field. A slender tree trunk in the middle of the field? Odd. Then the greyish and black tree trunk moved. Ok, a stork or a heron, I thought, nothing unusual here. At that moment Sambo saw the bird and went towards it to see if they could engage into something interesting. We both expected that the heron would calmly stay there and then fly away, as they always do. We were both wrong. To our great surprise, the feathery thing boldly marched towards Sambo and when he, in great surprise, stopped short, even ran towards him. Very unusual for a heron, I thought to myself, when I stood there, in the middle of the field, watching Sambo running towards me with Big Bird behind him. When they were already fairly close, the feathery warrior stoppped and looked at me with a penetrating gaze… At that moment, even I, Hawkeye, saw that the bird was no heron but a black crowned crane. When the African saw that Sambo has a helper, he offendedly turned away. Of course Sambo went behind him and decided to do a little herding. The crane obviously didn't like Sambo's circling him and so the party began… Have you ever wondered where Daniel-san picked up the style of the crane? Well, I know the answer, and so does Sambo. When he got near the bird, it spread its wings, started hissing, stood on one leg and didn't let Sambo out of its sight. Sambo, naturally, had a blast when he realized that he brought Big Bird's attention, so he hopped merrily around it; I was amused too, up until the moment the bird had enough of it and launched itself towards Sambo, still standing on one leg and with its wings widely spread, covering about 3 metres in a single jump and kicking through the air in front of it. I didn't feel like laughing anymore and I could already see Sambo sliced up in fillets, with Big Bird standing over him with its golden crown and staring blue eyes. Sambo, on the other side, had just discovered the charm of this feathery wonder and started running around it, full of zeal, rebounding and evading the attacks of a growingly pissed off birdie with an obvious gift for martial arts. I soon saw that Sambo was agile enough and that he would be ok, so I could sit back and enjoy the show – the style of the Crane versus the style of the Black Death. Unfortunately, after 15 minutes or so I had to break off the duellists' fun and recall Sambo, who parted from his feathery opponent with a very heavy heart. Sadly we never met him again, we only see exceedingly boring storks and herons without the slightest trace of a fighting spirit. Perhaps someday we meet again…

On herding

Last summer my significant other decided he would take me to Cres, an island in the Adriatic sea. My significantly hairy darling agreed and so we went. The roadtrip passed without problems. However, the ferry ride was considerably more filled with adrenalin. Not because of the ferry itself but because of the stairs in it; you see, Sambo is a bit stair-o-fobic in unknown places so the extremely narrow and steep stairs were a death sentence to him. Actually, for both of us, no kidding. Climbing up such stairs usually isn't such a problem. But the downhill part is a whole diferrent story. When I saw Sambo wouldn't cope I lifted him in my arms so I would carry him down. Half way down the moron looked down, got spooked, started to panic and tried to jump off my lap, so we both almost fell. Luckily I managed to hold him until we got down, sadly on the expense of him furrowing my stomach and arms. But ok, it ended more or less fine and we got to live another day.

The real adventure of course started when we arrived in Cres. We encamped, pitched the tent and conquered a huge land we vigorously defended for the next few days. Then we went for a walk to the sea, first along the main road and then by a smaller marginal road with very little traffic and good visibility, so I always let Sambo run off leash there. So off we go along the main road… and meet the first sheep. Loose, without any fence around it, so it freely crossed the road. I suppose I don't have to tell you how enthusiastic and alert Sambo got. We continue and a bit ahead see the next flock of sheep, calmly grazing by the road. And a bit forward, another one. And another one. We finally arrive to the small road where I let Sambo loose; he starts to research the new territory while we walk on the left side of the road and by a small cart track on the left, guiding us to the ruins of a stall, enclosed with a fold made of rocks. A bit ahead of it is another fold of rocks and in it there are 4 horses, which I of course go to see and pet. We make a long, decent walk and happily return to the camp. The following day we go for a walk again. This time we don't see the horses, so we almost pass the cart track, but in the last second I catch a glimpse of a small movement with the corner of my eye. I make one step back and see – sheep. A flock of sheep, calmly chewing hay in front of the fold with horses. My boyfriend immediately joins me, while Sambo continues to cruise the road and enjoys the air full of scents. I knew I shouldn't have, but I couldn't resist myself, the temptation was just too big. I quietly called Sambo, pointed my finger towards the cart track and whispered: 'There are sheep there.' Sambo turned and looked at me; then he probably noticed my unusual smile and posture and decided to investigate what's going on. So he came to us and looked around the corner. And saw the sheep. Have you ever seen the movie Ice age? Well, if you have, then you must know what a face made poor Scrat, the prehistoric squirrel, when it saw a whole arsenal of acorns. Then you can also imagine pretty well what a face made Sambo when he saw the sheep. He stood there, fascinated, for a few seconds, enjoying the view. And then – action time! With his unmistakeable roaring he plunged rigth into the flock, which scattered in all directions. It looked like if a huge ball of wool exploded. The sheep went flying into the air, left, right, jumped over the stone walls… And Sambo was right behind them. In four seconds there wasn't a trace left of the sheep, Sambo or anything else, there was just silence and the rocky folds. My boyfriend and I exchanged glances in the silence and waited. And listened. Nothing, then we heard a yelp. And another one. 'What do you think is going on?' he asked. 'If I know my Black Death as well as I think I do, he picked one sheep victim which is now standing with its ass towards a bush and can't go left or right, with the one and only Death standing in front of it, centrifuging with his tail and yelping into the sheep, telling it to move and make his day.'

We decided to save the poor sheep, so my boyfriend went around along the road and I went pass the ruined stall between the shrubs and rocky folds. In a few moments we simultaneously came aorund the corner or better said, some bushy shrubs. And saw the sheep, pressing itself to the bush, eye to eye with the Black Death, standing a few feet in front of it, wagging his tail wildly and yelping into its face every now and then. Mamma knows, what else. Nevertheless, I have to confess that Sambo still surprised me. When my darling and I came around the corner and saw the exact scene I had predicted, we both started laughing. Sambo looked at us for a moment and the sheep wanted to take advantage of the situation to flee its guardian. In a second Sambo lost that comic touch and showed some serious, exemplary herding. When the sheep went left, he jumped in front of it and closed its exit to freedom; when the sheep wanted to dart out to the right, Sambo had already anticipated that and was already blocking it. When he lost focus for a second the sheep managed to escape. Sambo circled it from the side and slightly pushed it away with his body and then blocked its path, until the sheep again found itself in the shelter/trap of the bush. Even now I remember that herding experience with a proud smile because Sambo did everything by the book. He didn't bite the sheep or showed any intention to and except for that discrete push he never even touched it, he just blocked it with his body and directed it until it was exactly where he wanted it to be. In my opinion he passed his herding trial with flying colours. Of course, after such a successful presentation it is only natural one has to treat himself with a little fun. The sheep, who was now standing still, wasn't all that fun anymore, so Sambo gave it a little space to run away. Then, the off road trial began. The sheep went flying over the rocky fold, Sambo behind it. And pass my boyfriend on the road, me climbing over the rocks. Then they played tag for a while on a half flooded shore. The sheep soon didn't feel like running anymore, but Sambo's enthusiasm didn't subside, so he started barking at it to make it run a little more. Luckily he got to enjoy another round of sprinting; another sheep jumped from behind a bush by the road and found itself right between the other sheep and the Black Death. So they all had a relay race for a few more minutes, after which Sambo's adventurous spirit was approximately satisfied, so I finally managed to recall him. This was, without a doubt, the climax of Sambo's vacation, but we also enjoyed ourselves admiring the action and laughing to the herding adventure. We kept seeing the sheep every day that week, but never again near the small road, so I couldn't offer Sambo a bit more fun and recreation. Oh well, in a few more months the sheep will have their chance to get some payback…

On being Belgian

I've been noticing many battles between pretty people and functional people in many breeds the last years, and one of the battlefields was also the international Belgian forum (www.belgiansworld.com). This is a somewhat adjusted post I wrote on the forum to present my point of view:

I'm thinking of getting another Groenendael and I don't know which way to turn especially because of this kind of thinking - choosing between a working dog and a show dog. If I go to a breeder that has strictly show dogs, then I can probably choose between Fluffy, Puffy, Muffy and Tuffy, dogs with tons of coat and zero character. If I go to a breeder that has working dogs, I will most likely spend the first 15 minutes figuring which ones are dogs and to narrow my choices, which could be shepherds. If I go to a breeder that is neither, then the dogs probably kind of look like nice Groens and kind of work like them. That sucks! A BSD isn't Barbie and a BSD isn't Rambo. A Belgian is a dog that looks great and works great; of course every person has their priorities - ones emphasize more the looks, others emphasize more the working capabilities. But one thing shouldn't exclude the other! If you want a super fluffy dog, buy yourself a Bichon. If you want to do IPO with a thing that has the best bite power ever, get yourself a hyena. For the BSD is a combination of both, as the standard says - it is a combination of elegance and power, nobility and strength.

Belgians are neither just the looks nor the working skills. They are a combination of both; a nice dog that looks like a Terv, for example, but stands still when you throw a ball in front of him and stays there with a sort of 'Petit mal' absent look isn't a true Terv in my opinion; and a dog with excellent performance at IPO that is almost black, has the ear setting of a Welsh Corgi and the head of a GSD simply isn't a Malinois. I believe we should all strive to keep the breed we love as it is supposed to be - with both the looks and the ability to work. To maintain the essence of the breed as it should be, the whole package.

And to comment also on the standard (which, some argue, serves only to judge dogs on a show and is irrelevant for a 'working' breed) - if you have ever read the standard of the Belgians, you probably saw that there is a lot of descriptions about their temperament, way of behaving and moving; the standard is far from being just a list of things one should look for to evaluate a dog from a showing point of view; in it it is stated how angulated a BSD should be, how the body is constructed etc etc. This all applies to the functionality of such a dog - what this means for the working capabilities. And isn't this what matters most? Having a good looking dog with the correct physical features that enable him to excell at work? To be precise - having a true Belgian Shepherd Dog?

I hope we all overcome the dispute between looks and work and can start working together to keep this wonderful breed as it should be – 'a combination of elegance and strength.'