feigning injury

We entered field trials only once, when Starbuck was fairly young. It was a whole day event and it was difficult to keep him occupied until his turn to run as the smell of birds was in the air the entire time.

The event was not a competitive one, more just for the fun of it and to get the dogs (and hunters) ready for the upcoming season. A cart would take the judges upslope to the trial area and they would plant birds if necessary. They would radio down to the starter when ready. Two dogs and their handlers were sent out in each heat.

Starbuck was paired with a large Weimaraner and they both got out of the gate fast but the Weimaraner shot out ahead with its longer stride. He turned off and may have scented something not too far from the judges. The Buckster kept going and after a while, I wondered if he was going to come back, kind of like the scene in Chevy Chase's Funny Farm (3:20 into the clip).

The Weimaraner's find turned out to be the judge's cart, as the planted birds were formerly in it. Starbuck was out of the judges' sight but just as I caught up to him, he put up a covey of quail. He watched them sail off in a multitude of directions. He looked back at me and then toward the judge's cart but unfortunately, they weren't watching him. If I can anthropomorphize, he had a look of disbelief that no one (other than me) saw his prowess.

As we headed back downslope to where the judges were, Starbuck started to limp a bit and then more vigorously right as we got to the cart. I stopped to take a look at his affected leg and paw but couldn't see anything. The judges said to put him in the cart for the ride back to the starting line. I rode along to watch over him.

As soon as I took him out, he ran back to the truck, drank water from his bowl and started to play around the truck. I looked at his leg and paw once more and, again, there was nothing, nor any signs of a lingering limp. I began to wonder if he was actually feigning injury because of a) getting a free ride back, b) not wanting to participate, seeing as his find went unrewarded (he did get a biscuit) or c) there would be no implied shame for the majority perception of him not finding anything if he was injured in the process.

I guess I shouldn't complain, I got a free ride too.

two pairs beats four of a kind

It seems the larger a company gets - or the more departments it divides itself into - the more difficult it is for it to get from the inkling of a need to product. The classic cartoon with the various departmental views of a swing humorously depicts the problem.

So it was with dog boots. Before, about 5 years ago, you could only buy dog boots in sets of four, all identical in size. Maybe all of the dogs I've seen are freaks of nature and there really are dogs with four equal-sized paws.

Maybe it's all the inbreeding that accounted for Starbuck's front paws being larger than his rear paws. He waddled around with his ill-fitting boots, like one wearing fins on land. He ended up casting the boots off and ran around tracking mud wherever his happy, bootless paws took him. I assumed wrong that the size difference would be accounted for when you bought a set of four. Makes you wonder if the key personnel in the dog boot industry interact with the end user.

The last time I was in a pet store, while the Buckster was still alive, I noticed that there was a neatly stocked display of dog boots, sold in pairs. There was even a place a dog could sit down and try them on.

made in the shade

As mentioned in a previous post, it was sometimes difficult to distinguish the Buckster's motives, finding birds or finding a place to rest. His body language for birds or rest was very similar for both, with a degree of stiffer, more deliberate movements, intense sniffing and a telltale tail. Usually, his nose lead him in a certain direction and he would check markings along the way. Most of these markings were where birds may have been earlier in the day, ground roosts or feeding areas.

Sometimes, these tracking missions would take us on a long and circuitous route to a familiar resting spot. I usually didn't notice until I was almost at the spot and Starbuck was already there, resting. He was usually pretty intuitive about when we needed these stops, though as my lag time increased, it must have been pretty obvious to him.

The picture above was one of his favorites. This spot was one of the view that didn't have much of a view. It was intended to be more of a short, intermediate stop, one on the way to a better place for the lunch stop. As you can see, the shade is suspiciously sized to his body size and shape, not leaving much for the rest of the party (me). And, there is no other piece of shade for miles, only a bunch of smaller bushes and twigs sticking out of the ground in a relatively barren portion of the landscape. Hence, the only shade afforded me was that which was cast from my cap's visor; not much in the blistering tropic heat of the locale.

That's not to say he was insensitive. As he looked over from his oasis and noticed my predicament, he trotted over, turned around and dug a pile of cool earth onto my boots, the perfect dog solution to the problem at hand.

opening day

Usually, the end of October started a flurry of activity - checking all the gear, supplies and treats, those that would survive the day in a pack. Pastries from Starbucks rarely fit the description but they were somehow always plentiful. The things that were normally stored away for the other 9 months of the year were carefully checked for operation and blaze garments rewashed and dried ready for use. Everything was laid out and matched against a checklist to make sure nothing was forgotten and loaded into the truck the night before. The first Saturday in November was opening day.

It was never easy getting ready because Starbuck knew what it meant.  Certain shapes and colors (yes, blue-yellow spectrum for most dogs, blaze orange for the Buckster) were immediate clues to Starbuck and he would get barking excited. Holding a finger up w/ "shhh!" would only make things worse; it was then to be treated like a secret, like SBtv.

Therefore, most of the preparation needed to be done, really, in secrecy, while the Buckster was sleeping or in short bursts while he was outside. On occasion, he would be suspicious upon waking up or coming back in the house as everything, even secrets, have a scent. If everything worked out discretely, he was surprised on opening day and ready for a full day of fun, starting from the moment we pulled out of the driveway.

Being so excited to be out in his hunting area again, after a long 9 months, he ranged far. His first birds up were usually well out of range. In the picture (you can't see him but trust me), he is in the red square and the dotted line is the approximate trail he took to get there - in the time it took to get the camera out of my vest.

This year was very odd, the first without him on opening day; I didn't even remember that I used to look forward to preparing for it.

It came and went.

I plan to take his ashes out there, a bit later in the season, to take a look at the view again - at least one last time.

anywhere with a view

I was never really sure how good Starbuck's vision was, wondering if inconsistencies in percerption were eyesight related, color related or trickery related. At fifty yards, he could distinguish between a finger made to look like a treat and a real treat (up close, he might pretend the finger was a real treat to get the last laugh). If that treat fell on the floor right in front of him, looking around for it telegraphed he may have found it faster by smell. Or, perhaps it was just a game as he knew I would steal it from him if he didn't pick it up right away. He always got the treat in the end but sometimes with a game of chase first.

As mentioned in the last post, there was a discernable difference in his behavior and movements that would portend he was on to something; getting "birdy" is the technical terminology. Once in while, the getting "birdy" turned into getting "resty," as what he was on to was a good place to take a rest. These were not always readily available as these spots needed several attributes in order to be considered:

• shade
• ample breeze
• cool, damp earth, either exposed or easily reached by digging
• water and treats (givens)
• a view
  

A view? Usually, it was some place that the ocean (and passing whales) could be seen or a photogenic mountain range or the sunset. As he rested, he would look off to the distance, presumably enjoying the moment of rest and the view as much as I did. Like us, he would drift into a daydream as he looked across the ocean.

Some days, we spent more time being "resty" than "birdy" but no one argued. Some days, that was just fine.

camouflage

Although it is commonly thought that dogs are incapable of hiding their feelings in the same way that humans can, they can camouflage their tactical intentions. Starbuck was always overjoyed to go hunting - barking the whole way to the hunting area (silent only when sniffing the outdoor BBQ we passed every week), running around in circles while I got ready and then ranging far as we hiked along the dirt road to the hunting area. Once he scented something, his demeanor changed into a stealthy predator. Nose to the wind, he triangulated his quarry's position and approached with caution.

As  field conditions dictated, he might have further shrouded himself with an odorous mask. Aromatic plants would seem to have been adequate but the scent of choice was usually left behind by other animals. You would think that the birds he preyed upon would find it odd or unnatural that formerly stationary piles of cow dung or their own turd were now quartering across the field in front of them but he seemed confident that the birds were fooled. The sad commentary was that they usually were fooled.

Trickery and camouflage found their way into home life as well. I first took a picture of the fully-awake Buckster on the couch from 15 feet away and started to walk towards him. As I got closer, he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep, even changing his breathing, so that a sleeping dog may lie unfettered by paparazzi. This second picture caught him monitoring the efficacy of his camouflage through slightly opened eyes, and if he was out of harm's way, when he heard the footsteps stop.

greener pastures

Whenever given the chance, Starbuck liked to escape and take a look around the neighborhood. Not so bad in a rural area (where he saw the turkeys and ignored the deer) but much more of a worry in urban areas. Luckily, he was more interested in lush landscaped areas and the creatures they tended to support, thereby limiting his wanderings off-road. He usually found a weakness: a loose gate, enough room under the lattice if he dug far enough or a new visitor that didn't know his habits and made full use of it.

Now, it wasn't so obvious as putting on his pack and heading out the door. The photograph is, of course, posed with his dog backpack but he seems to look so sad, like he was ready to run away from home. It was probably more that he didn't like to wear anything and what something like a pack - filled with dog biscuits, a collapsible water dish and a first aid kit - might portend afield. If the bell was not enough!

I think he may have worn this pack only once outside. Though cinched as close as practical, it distracted him as it slid back and forth with his movement. Dog boots were even worse, affecting his gait. He did best unencumbered by any gadgets or apparel, free to move as he wished.

And, sometimes he did wish to run away. The funniest was an episode where he tried to camouflage himself within a pack of Brittanys. We met them leaving the hunting area as we pushed further in. After a brief dog introduction, the four Brittanys started to move away and Starbuck followed them, wedging himself in the middle of the pack. Aside from the obvious, five instead four leaving and zero moving in, he was only one that kept looking back to see if anyone (me) noticed.

SBtv2

Starbuck moved 3 times in his life; I think he probably enjoyed the home of his puppyhood the best and his most recent the least.  By the time he got to his last destination, birds were of little interest to him. Once in a while, he'd chase the doves if they got too close but for the most part, he'd leave them be. But, then again, he was never really interested in doves.

In his second home, he was introduced to additional forms of wildlife - deer and turkeys. Oddly enough, though he had been curious about cows and horses in the past, the deer did not amuse him. He would be fast asleep on the couch and yet you could hear the deer chomping on passion fruit not 10 yards away outside. See the video in the sidebar; I think you can hear the Buckster sleeping in the background.

The turkeys were a different story. Many times, he'd sit on the couch by the window before the turkeys were visible, waiting for his "show" to start. Within a few minutes, the turkeys would tentatively pop into view. He'd scurry from room to room to view the turkeys from different windows as they progressed on their feeding route. As opposed to the pheasant family in Kaneohe, the turkeys were skittish and concerned by the dog-head shape in the window that followed them around (for an interesting wildlife live cam, see PixController, Inc.).

Once (on a "trick or treat" escapade), he crawled under the house to see the turkeys up close. By the time I got out of the house, I thought he'd be long gone but the Buckster was still in the back yard. It appeared that he was barking at a tree but upon closer inspection, he "treed" one of the turkeys and, despite its size, it was well concealed in the boughs. Where is that camera when you need it?

what, are you looking at me?

Although the bird feeder was primarily for Starbuck's enjoyment, I found myself watching along with him from time to time (well, actually, a lot). We both would lurk in the darkness under a table, side by side, and peer at the birds through the jalousie slats. When something particularly interesting happened (like the arrival of the pheasant hen and her chicks), we slowly looked at each other and tried to be quiet. His enthusiasm was always contagious and sometimes we did end up making too much noise and scared the birds away. Soon enough, they always came back, at least until the feeder was empty.

However, we didn't always find the same things interesting. For example, the Kentucky cardinals and shamas weren't that fascinating to the Buckster. They usually fed away from the action on a smaller feeder. This smaller feeder was the first to be used but after seeing the volume of finches that arrived, a new tubular feeder with multiple roosts became necessary. Even that, when filled with 3-4 cups of bird seed, was depleted within 15 minutes.

The cardinals apparently found the plastic red bird attached to the smaller feeder intriguing. The male cardinal would catch it looking at him, in a confrontational eye-to-eye posture, and they invariably ended up in pecking contests. Although the plastic bird always lost, he stood his ground, probably to the chagrin of the male cardinal, who probably demanded a more gracious loser in battle. On the other hand, the female cardinal seemed to nurture it, sometimes by trying to feed it.

And, she never quite got a thank you from the stoic, plastic ingrate.

trick or treat

Halloween was never big in our household, even when I was a child. Subsequently, I didn't subject the Buckster to costumes, except for the obligatory reindeer antlers at Christmas, but they didn't stay on long enough for a picture. Typically, he didn't care for much adornment and preferred to run around happy, free and naked. I tried to test a bell on him, with the premise that it would stop ringing when he was on point. He seemed so forlorn with the idea, after putting it on, he walked away slowly with his head down and, for whatever reason of physics, he was able to walk without the bell sounding. The last thing I tried was a dog backpack, which he wore only once afield, but I'll post more about that in the future.

Although I don't have any pics of the Buckster at Halloween, here he is knocking at the door in a similar "trick-or-treat" scenario. He sometimes had to be coerced back inside the house with treats, otherwise he would continue to play or eventually - if he stayed out long enough - be tempted to escape by squeezing under the lattice screen below the floor level of the house (the house was elevated on a post and pier foundation). Periodically, he'd come up to the door, check to see if a treat was on it's way or, if not, he'd turn around and go back down the stair. Finally, when the treat was offered, he'd come bounding back, full of enthusiasm. Soon enough, he learned that the more times he went out (or pretended he needed to go out), the greater the chance of getting more treats.

As you can see by the mud on his chin in this picture, he was beginning to lean towards "trick" instead of "treat".

SBtv

Over the years, there was a surprising variety of fauna that made their home, albeit temporarily, near the old Kane`ohe house, presumably because it abutted a sizable tract of wetlands that was left, for the most part, unattended. Wild pigs, escaped cows, field mice, mongoose and good number of birds (java finches, doves, Kentucky cardinals, white vented shamas, chickens, pheasants and a peahen) came through at one time or another.

The chickens came down while the H3 Freeway was being built, to escape the noise and heavy equipment. One rooster spent evenings in a small tree immediately outside of the bathroom. If one were to use the bathroom at night and turn on the light, the rooster would crow tentatively until the light went out again. On, crow. Off, stop. On, crow. Off, stop.

To make things interesting for Starbuck, I set up a bird feeder for the finches. Once filled, a large flock of finches would swoop in and raid the feeder in a piranha-like frenzy, until it was depleted. Their voracity made me wonder how they were surviving prior to finding the feeder. Starbuck would sit by the jalousie window and peer through the wood slats, watching with great intensity until the feeding was over. Sometimes, he'd start shaking with excitement (or was it his try at mind control, like "Men Who Stare at Goats"?).

The pheasant family (hen and two chicks) came later, and picked up the feed that was carelessly strewn about during the morning’s feeding frenzy. The hen was wounded and was missing a foot, presumably from a cat attack. She was always wary and managed to keep track of the chicks. She knew Starbuck was lurking in the shadows (I think by his heavy breathing) but nothing to get overly excited about – only a voyeur and not a predator.

The peahen also presumably came down from the hills due to the H3 construction. She was fairly regular in her routine: feed in the morning, wander around the neighborhood and then come back for the evening. At precisely 4:00p each day (unless there were predators playing basketball in the cul de sac), she would start to walk up the driveway of my flag lot, hop on the fence and then hop on the roof. She would then proceed to walk across the roof, up to the ridge and then down to the opposite eave. From there, she would push off and fly into a nearby tree.

Starbuck was usually doing something else but when he heard her footsteps on the roof (and, yes, quite audible), he would stop, look up and follow the sound. From his vantage point, he couldn’t quite see her reach the tree so it was always a sound of mystery. I'm not sure he connected the sound with the peahen he watched, as if on an Outdoor Channel feature, in the mornings.

photo ops and reshoots

After Starbuck's passing, I tried to sort through all of his pictures - compiling them with some sense of order, scanning those that pre-dated our first digital camera. Just looking at the file names - from MVC* to DSC* to P* to L* - the Buckster outlasted many a camera in their race toward higher resolution. Today, I gawked at a friend's Nikon D90 and its pictures, reminded again of how far digital technology has come.

It took a long time to catalog the pictures as, invariably, I was sidetracked by the memories that were embedded in those pictures, each coming to life upon sight. It's a cliché, but true, that "a picture is worth a thousand words" and the words stitch together the spaces between the photographs. Those spaces were often more cherished than the photographs themselves but the photographs help us to find the words.

In the Buckster's case, a good photograph was hard to come by. Unless he was sleeping, there was rarely a moment when he was absolutely still. The picture attached to this post was taken one Christmas, after the typical present opening. Here he is with his dog biscuit shaped like dim sum, a Chinese breakfast/lunch dumpling. Starbuck was always overjoyed when he got a new, never-before-seen treat, incapable of hiding his emotions; he would give Snuffles the Dog a run for his money.

As a result, there are many pictures like this: a stationary treat and a blurry dog head. Some only have the treat, as by the time the shutter activated, he rolled out of the frame. And, others still only have his tail, if he decided to usher the treat to a place safe from paparazzi.

In future posts, I'd like to upload photographs like this, that express the multitude of raw emotions dogs share with us, though many more can be found between the stitches.

crossing time zones

Once routines like eating, sleeping and playing were initially established, the young Starbuck quickly set his internal alarms. Without fail, the internal alarm mechanism was able to remember important daily activities for the Buckster, within a few minutes of the official time standard.

The external alarm mechanism, his non-stop barking, only went off if no one else in the vicinity (me) was attuned to the system and was, therefore, late. There was no "snooze" function on the external alarm system and the only way to appease it was to accomplish the scheduled event. If, by chance, the event occurred earlier than scheduled, there was no apparent objection to a crinkle in the time-space continuum.

As the Buckster aged, his internal alarm became less reliable. Breakfast, originally at 6:00 am, could be anywhere from 3:00 to 6:00 am. Dinners, originally at 6:00 pm, ranged from 3:00 pm to 6:00 pm with 3:00 pm being the preferred time. You often hear jokes about our geriatric parents starting to eat breakfast the night before and I guess dogs must not be too different. He starting living in Pacific Standard Time.

As the alarms became more erratic and the response not as immediate (especially at 3:00 am), the Buckster had to invent new methods to effect the desired result. Here are a few of the newer methods:

• Barking 1" away from my ear
• Jumping up on the bed, sniffing my ear to see if it was still working, jumping down. Repeat until the desired effect is achieved 
• If an extraneous limb protruded beyond the imaginary vertical plane of the bed, support the limb in his mouth

These were all fine with me. It could have been much worse. My ex had a cat that used to squeeze my head between her claws like a melon and then bite me on the crown of my head at 5:00 am to get breakfast going.

in the name of dog

I was often asked if Starbuck the Dog was named after Captain Ahab's first mate, Battlestar Gallactica's fighter pilot or Starbucks Coffee. Most guessed, due to my propensity to be found with a cup of the fine brew, Starbucks Coffee was the inspiration. However, he was born and named a couple years before Starbucks Coffee became a household word for us.

Starbucks Ice Cream, which was a grocery item well in advance of their first flagship cafe here, definitely was already a household word and used liberally in conversations whenever possible.

******

At first, I thought maybe something was wrong with Starbuck. As a puppy, he'd run with abandon throughout the house, always anxious to check every room for new activity (or not). Then, all of a sudden, he'd fall asleep mid-stride, legs akimbo in every direction imaginable. Invariably, he'd later subconsciously retract into a familiar sleeping ball shape. A few minutes later, just as abruptly, he would arise full of energy again - as if nothing happened. This pattern would continue until he tired of running around and took a strategic sedentary position, somewhere he could see me but I couldn't see him.

Aside from the worry that he might maim himself or that a narcoleptic bird-dog may not be appropriate or safe afield, he was amusing to watch. It seemed that he knew when a bout of sleep was coming and he struggled to fight it off, seeing as running around got a lot of attention and was way too much fun. But sleep is merciless and succumb he did. At least for five minutes.

The pattern of run-sleep-run-sleep seemed to be fairly consistent: 10 minutes running, 5 minutes sleeping, with the transition happening in a blink. After watching the pattern and becoming one with the tempo, I figured I could open the freezer, take out the ice cream, sit down and wolf down a couple of spoonfuls and then pack it out by the end of minute 4. My mistake was not eating it while standing in the kitchen.

No sooner than I sat down on the sofa and opened the cover, the dormant Starbuck roused back to life. It happened so fast I'm not sure if it was the sound of the cover opening or the scent of cream. Rather than arising straight up first, he lunged at an angle as he started to stand, his legs already knowing which way to take him. As the ice cream was Java chip, all I could do was hold him off at the crown of his head with the stiff arm technique and cradle the ice cream like a football on the side away from him: 0-0 tie (well, no, I snuck in after he was down for the evening).

Hence, his name became "Punahele Starbuck". "Punahele" (meaning "my favorite" in Hawaiian) after his mother, Punahele Nani Girl, and "Starbuck" after his lineage to ice cream.

hello and welcome

About 2 months ago, I had to put down my dog and it has been - by far - the hardest of life's experiences to bear.  My mind hasn't yet fully reconciled or accepted his loss and I often forget that he is no longer physically around as I can still sense his presence or expect to see him lying around the corner, ready to play pranks.

The purpose of this blog is not to linger on the sadness of his loss but to remember the special attributes of his personality, the funny occurences and the lessons offered by dogs.  Also, his passing has taken me on a search for greater meaning with the hope of better understanding the animals among us. Chances are, these posts will generally not be chronological but more a stream-of-consciousness meandering of thought.


I would love to hear your experiences as well, so please feel free to comment.