8 February

Boxboard: Artist At The Dump

by Jon Katz
Artist At The Dump
Artist At The Dump

Maria stands out a bit at the dump. There are other artists there, but she has a distinctive style, Bob, who works at the dump told me he likes the way he dresses, “she has style, even for here.” Yes, that is so. She is always an artist.

When we go to the dump, I feel like I’m part of a veteran married couple. They call it the Recycling Transfer Station, of course, but everybody calls it the dump in town.

We have a wordless routine. We both put the cans in the car, she organizes the recycling and the cardboard.

Maria and I haul the garbage cans to one of the bays and dump them there. Each can costs $4.50. I take the cardboard to the cardboard bin and dump it there.
Maria takes the recycling bin we keep in the house. There’s about a dozen different recycling bins, maybe more, for glass, batteries, plastic, it takes me forever to figure them out, so while Maria does that – she knows where all the stuff goes – I go into the office to pay for the garbage cans.

There is a dog biscuit bowl there, dogs are very welcome at the dump and we all put our dollars in to keep the biscuit jar full. Fate or Red – one of them always comes – gets a biscuit every time. They love the dump. Fate sticks her head out of the car window and flirts with everyone who goes by.

At our previous farm, we had a trash company come and haul the garbage away, this feels better, more like we are part of a community, we see people know, we know the people there. Bob was alarmed when he heard I had open heart surgery – he reads the blog. He was sad when I had to declare bankruptcy, and since the surgery, he rushes out to try and carry the cans for me.

I appreciate him, he has a big heart and as he told me, “I’ve been there.”

I tell him I can carry cans, it’s no problem for me, but he is convinced I’m not supposed to do it, so sometimes we wrestle over the cans. I do not care to be treated as if I am weak and infirm, but I am also touched by his compassion and diligence. I have learned how to pull the car up so I can get to the cans before he does. At least most of the time.

Community is precious, and fragile. In the rural world, there are still places where we can go to see one another, peek at each others garbage, bring some useful stuff to give away.

8 February

Bedlam Farm. Canopy Of Peace.

by Jon Katz
Bedlam Farm
Bedlam Farm

Last year, we almost lost our farm, for some months we thought we would, and now that we are able to keep it, it seems sweeter than ever. This is the strangest winter in my 15 years in the country, I do not ever recall a February that felt like April. The ground is brown, the trees are bare, yet it doesn’t feel much like winter. Many curiosities. No ticks, which is surprising in this warmth, but the robins have arrived. The animals have been able to graze a bit all winter, which keeps them calm and engaged. Last winter, they could barely get out of the pole barn for three months and almost ate the barn.

We still have a good supply of firewood left, we might need some more hay. Our heating bills are the lowest they have ever been. Farm life is much easier in warmer weather, last winter was brutal. Still, there are things about the winter that I miss. Even if it comes now, it won’t be here for too long. Or so I think.

Standing on the hill in the back pasture, Fate and Red standing watch over the sheep, I realize how much I love this place, how much it means to me. Our notion of what a home is has changed, it is not so much the buildings and the land but the feeling around it. And that, we know, an go almost anywhere.

But looking out over the pasture, to our cluster by the road, the old farmhouse, Maria’s studio, the red barn, I felt so attached to this place, to the beauty and history of it, to the idea that this has been a farm since the early 1800’s. It has character, walking out into the back pasture, I felt I was in my Canopy Of Peace.

8 February

Mr. Cool At Work

by Jon Katz
Mr. Cool
Mr. Cool

Red is Mr. Cool out in the pasture, the donkeys seem to go out of their way to torment and block and annoy him – donkeys are perverse sometimes – but Red never takes the bait. He ever moves, growls, or even seems to notice the two donkeys who hover over him, sniff him and try to get him to move. Red has poise.

8 February

Brandon Carney At Blue Star

by Jon Katz
At Blue Star
At Blue Star

Brandon Carney is one of the people Pamela Rickenbach calls “the kids” at Blue Star Equiculture, the draft horse sanctuary, rescue facility and organic farming center. The “kids” are a squadron of animal-loving idealists who have grown strong and wise handling the powerful work horses at the farm.

I’m not sure if there is any other place quite like Blue Star, I don’t know of any, they have between 25 and 30 big and beautiful draft horses, some retired from the New York Carriage Horse Trade, many rescued from starvation and abuse and abandonment.

Blue Star’s message has always drawn the young, it is an accepting place, a place to find community support, and work with the giant horses. It advances the idea that horses can help the environment and the young see firsthand how much the horses love to work with people.  Brandon has been at Blue Star for some years now, he is at home with the big horses, he handles them, grooms, them, rides them and trains them. I’ve known Brandon only for a couple of years, I am always touched  by his love of the horses and his commitment to them at the farm.

I imagine his connection to the farm will change the course of his life.

And even in the brief time I’ve known him, I’ve seen his confidence and focus grow. He has the spark.

Blue Star has great appeal for the young, they care about the earth, they wish to keep the animals with us, and they believe in giving anyone, especially the young a chance to learn about animals and care for them and find the support and understanding they sometimes need for themselves.

They are soldiers in the new army, advocates for the animals, for the planet, for one another, for a life bounded by idealism, love and compassion.

8 February

Learning About Dogs: Fate And Her Nature. Humans And Their Arrogance

by Jon Katz
Fate And Her Nature
Fate And Her Nature

Dogs can either teach us humility and acceptance or arrogance and the use of brute force and will. They are dependent on us and  helpless to protect themselves  in many ways, since they don’t speak and we can project all of our neuroses onto them without challenge.

I am at an important crossroads with my new dog Fate, who is a wonderful dog. But I have to decide to accept her very distinctive nature or try and force her into my notion or someone else’s notion of what she ought to be. As you might guess, I’ve made up my mind.

In my training of dogs, I work to remember every day that we humans are the most arrogant of all of the species on the planet. We think we know everything about the animals we love and we think there are people who can tell us precisely what our animals should be thinking and how we should train them and be with them.

Animals, of course, are not privy to this wisdom, they have a habit of being unpredictable, they often defy the simple labels and stereotypes of humans.

In my life with animals, especially dogs,  I have come to understand how important it is to trust their nature and my own instincts, not the dictums, dogma and absolute mandates of the people we call gurus and experts.

Dog training is a catastrophe in America, and one reason is that we are often made to feel stupid, forced into one box or another – pack theory, positive reinforcement training, Cesar’s magical recipe for the perfect dog. None of those really work for me. I am not the leader of any pack, I am not capable of always being positive, and Cesar, as interesting as he is, has absolutely nothing to do with me, my life, my dogs or my farm.

Every since I have been writing about dogs, I have found myself occasionally at odds with various breed snobs, book and video producers, authors and self-styled dog wizards, absolutist trainers, along with the  loose coalitions and associations of professional dog people who must tell the ignorant hordes what to do.

Often, they remind of my first grammar school English Teachers, who blew their noses with handkerchiefs tucked in their sleeves and thought good writing was about subjunctive clauses and spelling.

God help me, I so love ignoring the lessons and scoldings of the righteous and the sure.  I wish I could just pretend to care what they say.

But back to Fate.

Training a dog is such an individual experience, for the person, for the dog, there is no one philosophy or training approach or book or video that will cover all of it for all of us. We are all different, our dogs are different, our homes and temperaments and families and environments are different. There are so many variables to consider in understanding and training a dog, I’m afraid there is no real alternative but thinking for ourselves.

I am not proud of many things in my life, but I am proud that I don’t tell other people what to do or think, it is the most profoundly significant spiritual revelation I have had in recent years. Many people see life as an argument, but perpetual arguing kills thought and reason, it exists for its own sake. My training comes from the heart, not the mouth.

I have had a big epiphany when I was out in the pasture, as I was with Fate every morning for months last year. Herding trainers and various breed snobs had come to the house, messaged me after reading the blog, commented on the videos, mailed me links, books, pamphlets. Do it this way, do it that way, do what I did, read this book, watch this video, talk to my Uncle Harry in Nova Scotia.

I realized one morning that Fate would not ever be another Red. Or Rose or Izzy.

She will never be a therapy dog, she will never be a textbook herding dog.  That’s fine with me, she is a wonderful creature in her own light. I have been so fortunate in my life with dogs. One is not better than the other. That is their sanctity. To change the nature of this remarkable dog, I would have to break her spirit, take away her joy at being Fate. I’m not going to do that.

She is a completely different kind of animal than the other dogs I have had. Red is a quiet, easy going creature away from the sheep, he loves to sit with me while I write.  He is silent, quiet, patient. I often forget he is in the room or the car, or even the house.

Fate is a different creature. She is active, easily aroused and excited, distracted by every living or mechanical thing that moves or makes a noise, every hawk in the air or cow mooing down the road. She can run for an hour, her tongue hanging off the group, drink a bit of water and be read to run some more.  She climbs to the top of every hill or wall or pile of logs she sees.

Red’s eyes are powerful and intimidating, the sheep freeze at the sight of him. Fate, with her one blue eye, is less so, the sheep glower at her, charge at her, try to butt her, it is difficult for her to get them to move. She is full of instinct, keen to work, but she is not Red, she is her own spectacular self.

Every dog or animal has a nature. I call it their sacred self, their spirit. It is my mission, my purpose, to train the dog and not ever destroy their nature. It is not my place to do that, not in the name of training, not in the arrogant way humans sometimes have of playing God with dogs.

Fate explodes into the world around us, chasing after mice and chipmunks, plunging into water, skating on ice, dive-bombing rabbit holes, climbing on logs, hills, diving into mud and rodent holes. She explores and engages with every inch of the universe around here, and I love her for that.

She is a well-trained dog. She comes when called, stays off the road, never runs off or strays from sight. She hops into the car on command, hops out when told.. She loves all living things, sometimes to excess. Her herding style is definitely unusual. When she approaches the sheep, she circles them until they either get dizzy or move. She slows down when told, approaches and gives eye, but will not challenge the sheep in the way Red will when defied, as in biting them on the nose..

For me, a chance to learn acceptance. To grow. I couldn’t love Fate more or have more fun with her. That is my wisdom, the sense of my best guru. Me.

I know this isn’t about dogs, really, not even truly about training. It’s about acceptance and letting go, about respecting the divine spark in living things. It’s about not forcing someone else’s idea of  self on a sentient spirit.

The intuitive trainer does not ever have to follow the pack. Training is a spiritual experience, an intensely individual experience, between me and the dog.

I want to train her, not change her nature.  We are doing very well.

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