Remember when I said the other day that I wouldn’t punish Smudge for being a dog?
If you have dogs of your own, you know what I mean. You understand (or at least I hope you understand) that bonding requires sensing how your companion responds more than it does simply shouting commands.
Correct bad behavior? Absolutely, and mete out discipline when called for. Consistency and routine are critical.
I’ll give you a couple of examples.
I often joke that Miss Smudge’s name is hyphenated — I call her “Smudge-No!” probably more often than anything else. She’s wicked-smart. She’s ornery and conniving. She learns quickly but requires constant correction.
That is, she’s a Heeler.
And as an Australian Cattle Dog, her herding instincts are essential to who she is. A characteristic of the breed is to nip at the heels of whatever needs guiding (thus, “heeler”). Smudge greets me, her chosen alpha, by grabbing my hand in her teeth — every time. Not hard, mind you, but firmly.
She’s also “heeled” humans she doesn’t know. Three times she’s drawn blood, including from the lower extremities of two of this blog’s readers.
Smudge is a dog. Smudge is a Heeler. I’m not keen on turning my Blue Heeler into a Golden Retriever that I can take with me to Home Depot. She gets to be the dog she was born to be.
The Mountain is an ideal place for that.
My girl Scout always has had a habit of barking for no apparent reason. She’d be quiet for days, then suddenly stand up and run her mouth for five or ten minutes.
Now, coming up on her 15th birthday, she’s almost completely deaf. She barks a lot more often, but these days the reason is apparent — she’s breaking the silence. She’s proving to herself that she’s alive.
I don’t punish her. I don’t even scold her. I let her bark. If I make it past the age of 100, as Scout has (in dog years), I hope people let me bark, too.
One more thing. Not only do I not punish my dogs for being dogs, I don’t complain about it.
Like when they’re underfoot at dinnertime. When they sneak a mouthful of grass while out and then come inside and throw up. When they go after a gray squirrel or a mourning dove. Or when they paw at me at 2:30am, asking to go outside.
Why would I complain? After all, I chose this role in their lives. I made the commitment — no dammits, no buts.
Complainers are oxygen thieves.
Here’s a pro tip: Dogs know the difference between mere tolerance and geniune care. They just do.
How do Scout and Smudge respond to my way? Very well, thank you, and they show their appreciation in the form of loyalty and compliance. Both are happier than I’ve ever seen them.
You people amaze me.
One more time here, please permit me to crow about views and visitors. Traffic on Ubi Libertas Blog has been off-the-charts the last several weeks — you came, you saw, you stuck around.
I’m thankful for each and every reader who’s taken the time to spend part of their day in my life.
On a more personal plane, the kindness I’ve been shown directly has settled into a sort of comfortable (and comforting) drumbeat. A core of support has formed, broad and deep, stronger than I could’ve imagined. Some of it comes from the most unexpected of places.
I never forget that when a person reaches out to me, it interrupts their life. Each of us has commitments, obligations, and battles of our own. To invest time and energy in me, every day or once a week or whenever, means divesting momentatily from a life that requires the same attention.
That, to me, is remarkable. You are remarkable.
Thank you.
There was no standing water on the county road as I drove west late this morning. The fields to my right, south of Crooked Creek, still resembled lakes.
Gray Spring was the first Ozarkansas wonder I laid eyes on. As its flow of clear, sweet water is reliable, so it’s become a constant for me, a symbol of why this place is my home.
I’d seen drone video of the spring on Facebook, captured yesterday after most of the rain had fallen. Today I made the short trip and saw it for myself. Photos:
And a video:
It was worth my time.
For the first time in two decades, I don’t have to divide my interest on the 6th of April. Now I can focus on the true significance of the date.
On April 6th, 1320, thirty-nine fearless Scots put their hand to the Declaration of Arbroath:
“As long as but a hundred of us remain alive, never will we on any conditions be brought under English rule. It is in truth not for glory, nor riches, nor honours that we are fighting, but for freedom — for that alone, which no honest man gives up but with life itself.”
It humbles me that one of my ancestors, his sword drawn on the side of Sir William Wallace and Robert the Bruce, was a signatory to Arbroath.
Alba gu bràth!
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.
#WiseUp #LibertyOrDeath #Ungovernable