Jackie, the Timid Chihuahua

Not everyone has a dog that can impersonate Elvis, but I do. Jackie, a 9-lb, 5-year-old Chihuahua, has a jealous nature. When her "stepsister," Farley, approaches my lap for attention, Jackie, snuggled next to me, will raise her head, curl up the right side of her muzzle, and emit a growl. It's really funny, but I try not to laugh or encourage it. The consequence is Jackie is put on the floor and Farley is petted. Then Jackie is returned to my lap and they are petted together.

So far, it is working. Jackie is growling less, though she has perfected the art of "shooting daggers" with her large, doll-like eyes. Today, for instance, she and Farley can sit side-by-side, fur barely touching, being petted. There is tolerance and resignation, but no growling.

What is it with little dogs? My Pomeranian, Sable, was the same way. Jealous, closed-hearted, territorial. Resistant to being part of a pack. Ready to assume the worst. Making her fears come true. It seems she thinks if she growls first, she'll have "shown them" before they can intimidate her.
I've known people like this, and I bet you have too. One was a smart, young, petite woman who was raised in Manhattan. This was the reason she gave for being more worldly-wise than anyone from Ohio could hope to be. Everyone, she thought, was out to take advantage of everyone else. As a result, she was in perpetual conflict – with friends, family co-inheritors of property, co-workers and a taxi driver we encountered while out of town on business. Stress swirled around her like Pigpen's blanket, punctuated by times, one hopes, of more pleasurable drama.

Jackie is like this. The only time she really looks at peace is when she is asleep. She does enjoy playing with Tyler, our Pekingese, and will allow him to chase her around the room until he catches her underneath a dining room chair and they nuzzle and sniff with pleasure. But she looks nervous, even in play. Even when she is happy, there's an anxiousness about her as if she expect her worst fear at any moment to come true.

Have you had a dog who was perpetually anxious and defensive? Do you think it's the breed, or past experience? At what times does he seem the happiest and most well-adjusted? How does he find his inner bliss and do you allow enough time for this on a regular basis? I'd like to hear your comments.

Also, here are two good articles on "Fear and Fear Aggression" and "Aggression Between Dogs" by Debra F. Horwitz DVM Diplomate ACVB, Veterinary Behavior Consultations, St. Louis, Missouri.

Also, if you are interested in Jackie--she is becoming somewhat well-known through whimsical drawings of her, available through Cafe Press and Art of Ohio.

Pets Help to Open Our Hearts

People love to talk about their pets -- the happiness they enjoy from living with them and the entertainment value from watching them. The grief they feel when their pet dies or goes missing is deep and profound. The most interesting part of writing Open Your Hearts with Pets was learning the stories of other pet lovers and giving them the opportunity to share those stories with readers.

Most of those who responded to my request for stories had parrots or dogs, some had cats and a few horses. Many had multiple species of pets. Several respondents faced the daily challenge of a chronic illness and wanted it noted that their pet helped them greatly in facing this challenge and coping with a life that was not always easy. One of the questions I asked in the questionnaires that were sent was "How has your pet helped you to have a more open heart?" The feedback was wonderful and pet lovers were generous and open-hearted in their willingness to share with others how loving a pet had opened their heart.

One cannot consider how to have a more open heart without recognizing the signs of a heart that is less than open. Think of a door; it is not just open or closed, there are varying degrees of openness. Surely our hearts must be the same way.

Closed-heartedness (think of the Grinch whose heart was "two sizes too small") might creep in as a result of traumatic circumstances, illness, or when we feel broken-hearted and wounded. Think of a physical wound, inflamed and raw. Then, our energy is sapped as all resources are mustered to fight infection and rebuild new tissue. The new tissue may not look the same as what had been there "before," and scar tissue, a bit tougher, covers the wound. Perhaps our hearts and souls respond to trauma in a similar way.

If you have suffered the death of a close family member or friend, the loss of a job, the end of a marriage, or the challenge of a serious medical diagnosis, you may have experienced the numbness that comes with the shock of bad news. Life recedes. Happiness fades. Joy evaporates. Eventually, the heart and mind begin to believe that this horrible news is, indeed, true. Adjustments are made internally and externally to incorporate this truth into "life after."

There is no doubt in the minds of pet lovers: spending time with a pet is good for what ails us. Their unconditional love, their beckoning us to "stop and smell the roses," their funny antics and the way our pets draw others to us--all good medicine for our hearts.

Today, Valentine's Day, I celebrate and give thanks to the animals who have opened my heart. Some of them are featured here in photos.

1. With Tyler. Photo by Mark V. Williams

2. Sweet and Beautiful Farley

3. Gracie, our parrot

4. Jackie and Tyler on a hike.

Tyler, the Prove-It-To-Me Pekingese

Just like humans, dogs vary in open-heartedness – their comfort level with new people and experiences, their trust and ability to bond and live positively. In the last blog entry, I introduced Farley, the open-hearted mutt. Today, I'll introduce Tyler, the prove-it-to-me Pekingese.

Tyler, just about to turn 8, was six months old when I adopted him, and came with his own unique "issues." With family and familiar friends, he is as loveable as can be. Everyone else must prove their goodness to him.

I didn't know much about the breed when Tyler entered my life; I've since heard many stories from folks who "had a neighbor" when they were a child, who "had a Pekingese that was really mean." "I hated that dog," they'd say. Hmpf!

If Farley's motto is Yeat's, "A friend is a stranger you haven't yet met" (paraphrased), Tyler's motto is "Guilty, until proven innocent." As he growls, barks, and paws at the sidelight near our front door at increasingly uncomfortable doorbell ringers, Farley joins in and a debate of happiness and fear ensue, like some odd Welcome Wagon ying/yang. "Enemy!" "Friend!" – repeated until Tyler can be put in his "house" (i.e., "crate") and the person allowed in to meet Friendly Farley.

But, he's changed, grown, mellowed, and learned some manners. He finally understands the fact that the percentage of people at the door who want to play nice is way higher than the percentage who want to murder his mother and take his toys. His guard is coming down, his heart is opening. I don't see this at the front door, but it happens in the living room.

Once someone sits on the couch and enters into conversation with us, Tyler is allowed into the room and checks out the person to see if we've exercised good judgment. The visitor is instructed not to reach at him, as it is the reaching hand toward the googly eyes that sends him barking.

Tyler begins his examination at the shoes, and ends at the ears. Then, standing on the guest's lap, he stares them in the face, and with a snort deems them OK. (Of course, if they aren't comfortable with this, Tyler stays in his "house" (crate). Most guests, though, are willing to help Tyler come to a point of acceptance. Anything to stop the yapping.)

Did something happen to make this little dog skeptical? Is it genetic, particular to the breed? He is a loving dog, crazy about my husband, Mark... so it's not a gender thing. But even with me, he hates being held tight and will growl if restrained by a too-affectionate human.

I don't see a lot of other Pekingese around town when we're out walking. When I solicited pet stories for Open Your Heart with Pets, not one story contained a Peke. Yet, they are great little dogs – brave, strong, playful, and excellent watchdogs.

Before Mark and I married, I lived in a big house, alone. Tyler seemed to take protecting me as his personal responsibility. One time, I was having the roof replaced on the front porch. Unbeknownst to us, the workman climbed into the upstairs bedroom window, and came down the stairs and into the dining room where Tyler and I were. This 16-lb, cute fluff of energy put himself between workman and mom and held the astonished man at bay, his misaligned teeth inches from the poor guy's "manly parts" (as one of the beginning authors I worked with would say).

Tyler is the same dog, though, who opened his heart to other dogs in our home: to a

Golden Retriever, who died of a tumor, a Pomeranian, who died of Cushing's, and a mutt who died of seizures... all three dogs passed within a one-year period, and Tyler opened his heart yet again to a perky Chihuahua, Jackie, whom he chases around the house with happiness.

Tyler also opened his heart to Bailey, a Goffin's cockatoo, who was his best friend for years, until her death at age 7. I have to give credit to Tyler, when he does open his heart, he does it all the way.
Farley is like a happy child, everyone is a friend. Tyler is more like a 15-year-old boy who's a mix of wanting to be liked, not wanting to fall for any trick, and projecting an endearing mix of toughness and need. Time has mellowed him a bit, but not removed his canine scorecard.

When my two sons were very young (4 and 6, or so), we were on our way to the beach. One didn't want to go, "I don't know anyone there," the older one whined. "I do," said his brother. "I know everyone and they're all my friends."

Though dogs can't verbalize their insecurities, that doesn't mean they're not there.

How Open-Hearted Are We?

When I was a child, more than one doctor or dentist's office we visited had a sample volume of a children's Bible in the waiting room. Perhaps you remember them? They were large, hardcover books with bright blue covers and color illustrations within. One illustration showed a blonde-haired Jesus knocking on a door. The door represented a child's heart.

Leaving behind the questions that image might raise, imagine that our hearts are like a door. Not the blood-pumping, life-sustaining organ in our chest, but the seat of our soul and spirit as a human being. A closed mind can be a dangerous thing. A closed heart invites empathy . . . or pity.

We are not born with our hearts closed. (Our minds either, for that matter.) Something happens. An event, most likely caused by another person – someone close enough to do real damage – and the door to our heart closes just a bit.

With a completely open heart at one end, and a completely closed and dysfunctional heart at the other, most of us fall somewhere in between.

Are you up for a bit of self-analysis? On a scale of 1 (closed) to 10 (open) where was your heart 20 years ago? Ten years ago? Yesterday? And, more importantly, where would you like it to be?