My puppy is a year old today — what a journey we have been on together!
I knew when I decided to do this vandwelling thing that I wanted a dog, for both companionship and security, but I wasn’t sure I was willing to put up with what came with one: dirt and dog hair, noise, expense, responsibility.
I could see from visiting the camps of other dog-owning vandwellers that keeping a clean van would be next to impossible. Their vans were frankly filthy but, I reasoned, they were men (I am far from a great housekeeper myself so no judgment!) I’ve known plenty of fastidious men but these guys had clearly made peace with the dirt and dog hair.
Could I? Or would I be willing to do the extra work it would take to keep the worst of it under control?
As for noise, I dreamt of finding a dog like my daughter-in-law’s dear, departed dachshund-chihuahua mix. Gator’s only utterance in the several years I knew her was an occasional grunt. She never barked, ever. But I knew that was an unrealistic goal.
Dogs bark — that’s what they do
Gator was a special case. She had been traumatized as a puppy by a long plane trip in a crate, and never barked again. I wouldn’t wish that on my dog for any amount of silence.
So I hoped, as I haunted the animal shelters, to find a laid-back, relaxed older dog, one who would only bark in extreme emergencies — like when I needed a good, deep growl for protection from the dangers I imagined waiting for me out there in the wild (i.e., predators of the human kind.)
I thought about the expense too. Vet bills, shots, spaying, food. Could I afford a dog, really? No.
This has been a year of painful debt, of van repairs, of borrowing from Peter to pay back Paul, even of a few visits to a food bank. But I didn’t know that a year ago. I’d had a rough financial year up until then but I thought I was pulling myself out of it. I didn’t know the worst was yet to come.
I thought, as I always do, that I would manage somehow. And I have, thanks to frugal living and a lot of help from good friends. My year of being flat broke is over. My debts are paid and I have actual savings. It’s a wonderful feeling. I probably should have waited another year to get a dog but we survived.
Then there was the question of responsibility
“You can’t go wherever you want,” warned my new friend Sameer, whose elderly, arthritic, miniature pinscher, Mr. Pico, rules his life.
“Everything you do will be decided by your dog. You can’t just leave it in the van while you go running around.”
Not that Sameer minds. His love for that cranky little dog is obvious.
Well, I thought, l’m not into tourist-y things anyway. I hate looking at stuff in museums and souvenir shops. I hate shopping, period. (And don’t get me started on people who consider shopping the whole point of travel.)
No, my idea of traveling is to go somewhere beautiful, camp for a few weeks or months, and take a walk twice a day. A dog would fit nicely into that lifestyle. For necessary shopping, I would go early or late, and always park in the shade.
Then, suddenly, I had a five-week-old puppy, and my life changed
Funny how I hadn’t even considered potty training. I’d had no problem housebreaking two puppies in the past, how hard could this one be?
I found that out the first, second, and THIRD times I sat in the driver’s seat and got the uncomfortably warm — and wet — message that I had once again ignored Scout’s signs of urgency.
There is a REASON she pushed so hard to get out of the van, you dolt. Lesson learned. Repeatedly.
A more difficult lesson — one I am still learning — has been dealing with my own anger.
I am deeply ashamed of this, but I have hit Scout.
So you know, I don’t approve of hitting pets — or children, either. It’s just wrong. And aside from the moral aspect, it doesn’t work. But reflex actions can bring out the worst in us all.
It was the barking that did it. I would be intensely focused on reading or writing when her loud, deep bark at a passing dog or skateboarder (the bane of Scout’s existence!), followed by half a dozen more, would startle me and set my heart pounding.
Or stealth camping at night in the city, as I tried to give the appearance of an empty van, Scout would bark me out of a sound sleep. Maybe she saw a cat or another dog, maybe she heard a noise, who knows? I would desperately try to quiet her before our presence was discovered.
I wanted to avoid the dreaded knock, but my dread was exaggerated. My head was filled with visions of Jews muffling babies as they hid from Nazis. (Ridiculous, I know.) I was in no such danger but my hand seemed to act on its own, yanking her collar, spanking hard, releasing fear and fury.
Then, like many abusers, I was filled with remorse.
“I’m sorry!” I would whisper in the dark, pulling her into my arms. She always forgave me.
I never hurt Scout physically but the psychological scars are there. She recently flinched when a friend raised a hand to pet her, and my friend asked if I had hit her. I confessed that I had.
I knew I needed to change
I started to look at things from Scout’s perspective, and finally began to understand that our nomadic lifestyle has been unsettling for her. Every new location presents what, to her, seem like threats: new sights, new smells, new sounds. She has guard dog genes, after all.
Add to that the insecurity of riding in a van with lots of things that can, and sometimes do, slide around or fall. I needed to be more careful about securing things before driving.
Scout at 8 weeks
Awareness was beginning to soften me.
A few weeks ago I woke to Scout’s cold, wet, morning nose-nudges with laughter instead of my usual grumpiness.
Pleasantly surprised, we began to play with each other again, the way we had when she was small, wrestling on my little couch-bed in the back of the van. Then we stopped and hugged, heads down, reveling in the warmth and touch of each other.
I love you, we said silently. I’ve missed you.
Then we wrestled some more.
And just like that, our relationship was healed
I was no longer angry. Scout no longer flinched. She barked less and when she did, I called her to me and she came because she knew what she would get: a treat, of course, and a loving, calming massage along with whispers of, “Good girl! See? You can be quiet. You’re my puppy, my little girl. I love you.”
Love really does heal, both of us.
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Sweet!
I have also hit my dog, and I know that feeling of remorse. It is so pointless and always hurts me more than it does him. I do it mainly out of fear and pain. He weighs 90 lbs. and when he hurts me by being rough, or when I fear he will hurt one of my cats…. Learning to re-direct his roughness and my anger into some positive behaviors is a challenge for both of us. I love your honesty.
Personally, I think the odd swipe when you need your dog/child to stop doing something NOW is fine. It’s often the fastest way to get their attention.
It’s doing it when you’re angry, or as punishment which seems like a really counterproductive idea. As my late grandma pointed out, why are people who beat their dogs when they come back from running off surprised that their dogs don’t come back?!
Your grandma was so right, and I knew it even as I was yelling at her and spanking her but I couldn’t stop myself — until I started deliberately loving on her every chance I got. 🙂
Thanks, Linda. I’m not glad that you’ve had the same trouble but then again, it’s a relief to know I’m not alone.
Good job, LaVonne.
Thanks, Charlene.
Good Story…very good! Mr. Pico says,” Hello to Scout….!”
Heading out of this area…cannot do Ehrenberg again. Hahahahaha!
May be give out a shout-out if we go thru San Diego…
Thanks, Sameer! Scout says, “Hello to Mr. Pico!” But I’m not in San Diego any more, lol. Will be heading to the Slabs in a few days, and then on to Q. Enjoy your travels!
Yes, they can be a trial. My dog is an alert barker, perfect, right! Well, I live on a corner lot and she barks at every dog and owner that walks down the street. Just this Sunday, it was really quiet and the pets were asleep, I was reading a book, the cat was sleeping at my feet and she barked LOUD. I jumped out of my skin, so I know what you mean.
Also Mia (dog) has learned how to Meow from my cat. She never made a sound when I first got her but now she whines first thing in the morning along with the cat meowing for breakfast. It is a free for all.
Many times I think of how much easier my life would be without them but I think without pets in your life, you are further away from nature and have less appreciation. They just make your world so much warmer.
I can only imagine how tough it is living in a van and trying to be quiet. I agree with what you say though, I believe animals really like routine. Mia is always a little more unsure when I take her camping in the van.
Scout comes up front when I’m driving and pushes her head under my hand when she needs reassurance. We both like that. 🙂
Dogs generally bark because they want to tell you, their beloved pack leader, about something that they think is important. So yeah, I can see why she would be upset that she got a smack for her troubles. 🙁
Glad to hear you’ve made peace with each other now 🙂
Anyway, it could have been worse. You could have shouted at her to be quiet. I have a neighbour who does that. The dog thinks that he’s joining in and barks even more 😀
Oh, I did shout — just not in stealth situations. Totally counterproductive. There is a cartoon where a human is yelling at a dog who thinks, “Cool, he’s barking too!”
Good post, LaVonne. It made me miss the two of you! And I loved the pictures. Don’t know if I’ll make it to Quartzsite this winter but I know we will meet again somewhere down the road.
And, yes, I have hit Layla a time or two also in frustration..I, too, have learned other ways of responding. Right now she is enjoying our winter stationary home in Madrid… lots of mice to chase in our new apartment and it’s very warm! A feline heaven.
Hi Silvianne! So good to hear from you! I’m glad you and Layla have a nice warm place to stay for the winter, though I will miss you if you can’t make it to Quartzsite.
I am so happy for both of you. 🙂 Trust me you are not alone, sometimes it takes a while to get to a place of trust. My little girl came from an abusive home. So when she gets a little swat for doing something wrong, or even if I just raise my voice, she still gets afraid. When I get angry and take it out on her, that’s when I feel like…. horrible. But she and I have been learning how to communicate with each other over the years. Overcoming the past is something we are both getting good at.
Dogs are incredible. The unconditional love they show, instinctively, is something we can all learn from. 🙂
Thanks, Rachel! Hope to see you and Macha soon. 🙂