Bisou's Play Date

Yesterday Bisou had a play date with her brother, Bear.

She and Bear were the largest puppies in the litter, and because Bear's owner Joanne (see her website here) and I are friends, we arranged lots of get-togethers for B&B when they were puppies, and they developed a strong bond.


In Bear's case this bond is made even stronger by the fact that he would like to have many, many puppies with Bisou.  He doesn't care that if they did, the puppies would each have at least two heads.  He doesn't care that Bisou was spayed three months ago.  He firmly believes that, if he applies himself and stays focused, a miracle will happen and Bisou will conceive.


Thus, their play revolves around Bear's ceaseless attempts to mount his sister.  This doesn't bother Bisou, who slithers out of his grasp and runs off as fast as she can, ears streaming in the wind.  Eventually he catches her, maneuvers himself on top of her, she slides away and the chase begins all over again.


This goes on for--I have timed it--two solid hours, while we walk through the woods, stop by the stream, and drink iced tea, the dogs chasing, mounting and rushing in circles around our feet the entire time.


Eventually, the last quarter-hour or so, they slow down a bit, stand up on their hind legs, and wrestle as hard as they can (this is the interaction I have chosen to depict, below).  Then Bear remembers, and the chase begins once more.


Bear is scheduled for neutering in the next few days.   When he recovers, we'll get him and Bisou together again.  I wonder how things will go then.  I suspect that they may not change too radically--this kind of play has become part of B&B's history, and mounting behavior is not always sexually inspired.


What I hope will never change is the exuberance and good humor of their encounters--for their sake because they get such fun out of them, and for mine because they allow me to imagine, for a while, what a blast my life would be,  if only I were a dog.

In The Grip Of The Goddess

I've been trying my best not to write about this, but it has blotted everything else out of my mind today, so here goes.

My housekeeper/house sitter, whom I'll call Z, has acquired a small-breed puppy. The animal is male, five months old, un-neutered. Because she doesn't want to leave her dog in his crate at home while she cleans our house, she brings him along. I have mentioned to her before (when in fact I should have stated firmly) that the dog is a distraction and needs to be kept in the crate while she cleans.

Today I was at Wolfie's herding lesson when Z arrived. Prior to leaving, I had instructed my husband that Bisou was in standing heat and that Z was to keep her dog crated at all times.

How do I know that she is in standing heat, you ask? By Wolfie's behavior. Instead of sniffing and licking he has been determinedly grasping her hindquarters and making those distressing-looking motions...It takes a bit of agility on his part to do this, given how close to the floor she is, but he manages many, many times a day. Is she actually standing? Is she holding her tail to one side, as the books describe? I can't tell, because she is completely hidden by his bulk. But his actions tell me that things have come to the crisis point.

When I arrived home, Z's dog was in his crate. A while later, however, going to my bedroom to change shoes, I found the door closed and, inside, Z vacuuming and Bisou and Z's dog all over each other. Who was on top of and doing what to whom? I couldn't tell, they were moving so fast. I scooped up Bisou and put her in her downstairs crate, went back upstairs and told Z that I understood her need to bring the puppy along until he could be given the run of her house, but that while he was here he was supposed to be in his crate--especially with Bisou in raging heat; that three dogs in the house was all that I could handle; and, again, that Z's dog was proving a distraction in her work.

I kept my remarks brief and to the point, my voice as even as I could manage. But eight hours later my inner voice is still screaming, "What was she thinking? How could she so brazenly ignore our instructions? Z has had dogs before, and even goats. Doesn't she know that males in their infancy are perfectly capable of becoming fathers? And what, for crying out loud, am I doing allowing a fourth dog into the house at all?"

If this seems a little extreme, remember that it comes on top of three weeks of ceaseless and obsessive sexual behaviors by Wolfie and Bisou. Ceaseless. And all of it, except for one weekend we went away, has happened right at my side. My life has been an endless round of spreading towels on furniture, yelling "leave it!" to Wolfie, drying his drool off Bisou, giving her refuge between my feet or on my lap (and then having to wash my jeans in cold water).

As I write, Wolfie is asleep at my feet, Bisou at my side. They are exhausted. They have lost weight. Aphrodite is a cruel goddess, and when she grabs hold of you, you'd better watch out. But it will, I am told, soon be over. Mercifully, Bisou is a dog, not a teenage girl. A couple of months after her heat she will be ready for spaying, and we will all breathe a sigh of relief.

Some Sexual Aberrations Among Our Critters

Forgive me if I seem to have sex on the brain, but Bisou has been in heat for what seems like several months now, and it's hard to think of anything else. If we didn't have Wolfie, it wouldn't be so bad. But Wolfie, despite his neutered state, is much taken with this new phenomenon, and is glued to Bisou 24/7.

I've had to refill the dogs' water bowl more often lately, because of all the fluid that Wolfie is losing through his tongue. Not only does he lick Bisou's girl bits, but also her head and ears, her neck, the towel on which she has sat, and the floor on which she has walked. The Red Baroness goes around looking dazed and bedraggled, her hair sticking out in points all over.

People ask me if Bisou has been in "standing heat" yet--that is the relatively short period (three days in a three-week-long heat) when the female stands still for mating instead of snarling at attentive males and sending them on their way. But Bisou has never snarled at Wolfie, never sent him away. She puts up with his incessant licking, and doesn't run from his attempts to mount her (which are pretty comical, given how much taller he is). I think that her love of attention trumps her hormonal states: in her case "standing heat" is an irrelevant concept.

Speaking of irrelevant--but aberrant--concepts, did you know that not one of all our male dogs, from 95 lb. German Shepherds to 11 lb. Shitzy-Poos, has ever lifted his leg to pee? They have all, though neutered, exhibited quite macho affects--especially the Shitzy-Poo, R.I.P. But they have all, every one of them, squatted like females.

And now, for the most aberrant behavior of all: this morning, at 7:10, one of our hens crowed. Several times. Enough that I could call my husband to the door and have him bear witness. No question about it: she was crowing. And in case you're thinking that a rooster had sneaked into the hen house under cover of darkness: 1. chickens don't sneak around in the dark; they go to sleep, and 2. our four hens are checked up on and locked in safely by me every night before I go to bed.

No, it was definitely a hen crowing. And she, whoever she is, is not turning into a rooster, because yesterday there were four eggs in the nest, one per hen. Of course, she could be turning into a rooster that lays eggs....

Around our place, you never know.

April Haiku

Red flowers bloom in her wake,
Wolfie follows closely:
Bisou, in heat.

In The Grip Of Venus

Bisou is in heat, and I've been thinking about Racine's "Phedre."

In this 17th century version of the Greek myth, Phedre falls in love with her stepson Hippolyte. She can't help this. She is fated. She is the daughter of Minos, King of Crete, and Pasiphae. Pasiphae was famous for falling in love with a white bull. She had the best sculptor around make a nice-looking cow out of wood. The cow, which was hollow inside, was covered with cow skin and, at the right moment, Pasiphae crawled in, totally fooled the bull, and eventually gave birth to Phedre's little stepbrother, the Minotaur.

Thus, poor choices in love are in Phedre's genes. She is madly--in the truest sense of the word--in love with Hippolyte, driven by an external malevolent force which she cannot control. In perhaps the most famous line in all French theater, she is described as "a prey in the grip of Venus" ("C'est Venus tout entiere a sa proie attachee").

Well, that's my little Bisou these days--a prey in the grip of Venus.

So far, however, and much to my surprise, the Goddess's grip has proven mild. Bisou, who has until now flung herself headlong into every single aspect of life--food, ball-chasing, Wolfie-bothering, agility--is taking this heat business rather philosophically. I had prepared myself for drama on a Racinian scale, ululations of desire, desperate flights in search of fulfillment. Would she make demands on Wolfie that he, neutered at 19 months, could not fulfill? Would she ask me to carve her a wooden dog?

The last bitch I saw in heat was our own Tinchen, back when we were in graduate school. Our heads in the library stacks, I'm ashamed to say we misread her completely, and she had gorgeous puppies for which we found good homes. But then we were failing magnificently at birth control ourselves....

In subsequent years I became a responsible pet owner, and had my dogs spayed and neutered at the earliest possible date. But now veterinary thinking has changed on what is best for a dog's health--hence our waiting until Wolfie reached full male splendor before neutering him, and letting Bisou go through a first heat (we've been advised to hold off a further two or three months to have her spayed).

With the full moon beginning to wane, I'm optimistic that Bisou won't go off the deep end. She's at the spotting/licking state right now, and I understand that the receptive/ovulation stage comes after that. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that no drastic behavioral changes will ensue. At the moment, she's playful with Wolfie, and he does enough sniffing to let me know he knows, but it's nowhere near a Greek, or even a French tragedy. May the Goddess* protect us....

* And I don't mean randy Venus, but chaste Diana--two versions, one Goddess.

In Which I Rant About Bitches' Rights

I last wrote here about the bi-weekly gatherings of Cavaliers at a nearby dog park, and the strenuous attentions that Bisou has steadily received from the "ruby humper" since her earliest infancy. Unlike another owner of a Cavalier bitch--who fled from the first play session crying "rape!"--I have been reasonably good humored about the goings on. Bisou doesn't seem cowed by the persistent male, and she rather enjoys running from him. Needless to say, she has not yet come into her first heat. The minute she does, she will go into dog "purdah" for the duration. Halfway between her first and second heats, when the hormones have done her growing body all the good they're supposed to, I will have her spayed.

Today I received an e-mail from the organizer of the Cavalier gathering diplomatically informing me that the owner of the "r. h." has suggested that there be a male-only gathering from 10 to 10:30 a.m., to give the boys a chance to play without being hampered by tempting bitches, after which time the bitches will be allowed to join the group.

Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to become embroiled in a feminist dispute on behalf of my bitch, but here I am. This may sound weird, but the first thing that came to my mind after reading the e-mail was my high-school religion teachers, who were forever warning us girls against becoming an "occasion of sin" for our pimply male classmates. Then I thought of the blame-the-victim prejudice that let so many rapists go free. Then I remembered how in Spain women were not allowed in church unless their head was covered and their sleeves reached to their elbows, lest they inflame male worshipers. From there it was but a step to the veil and the chador....It's long been my opinion that these are only means for men to reassure themselves of their virility (as in "I have so much testosterone that if I see so much as a woman's little finger I may lose control") and have little to do with real women at all.

But we're talking about dogs here. And what I'm wondering is, why not have a special "bitches only" play time, where the girls can romp unimpeded by male lusts? I was always a proponent of women's colleges during my higher ed career. I never dreamed that I would become a "bitches' playground" advocate. But I am. It's only fair. Especially since spaying Bisou will not necessarily stop the obsessive behavior of an unneutered male.

My task now is to find some way of communicating the essence of this without upsetting the humans involved--they are genuinely nice people whom I would not for the world offend. Help!

Oh, and by the way, why is "bitch" an insult in the English language?

Littermates

Because her brother, "Bear," belongs to a friend of mine, Bisou sees him at least once a week, when we carpool over snowy hills and woods to agility class.

You should know that Bisou's and Bear's papa is a nationally-acclaimed agility champion. When I was looking for a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppy, this attracted me, not because I envisioned spending the rest of my life attending agility trials but because if a dog can run and jump and twist and race that well, he's got to have a really good heart. And hearts are the Achilles heel of the breed.

Bear and Bisou are attending beginning agility classes because agility gives puppies confidence and strengthens the bond with their owners. That said, my friend and I are not displeased when Bear and Bisou shine in the ring.

They shine, but they could not do so in more different ways. Born less than an hour apart, these two puppies came to earth from different planets. They look different: he is a "black-and-tan," she is a "ruby." He is more rugged, and she more refined, as befits their genders. But the real difference is in their personalities. This is so immediately striking that, on the first day of class, another dog owner took one look at them and asked the instructor whether it was usual for puppies from the same litter to be so entirely different.

What did this person see that made her ask this question? She saw Bear sitting composedly at his owner's feet, watching the proceedings, while Bisou wriggled and whined and strained at the end of the leash, wanting to get to Bear, wanting to greet the instructor, wanting to get inside the ring.

Two months later, nothing has changed. The puppies are leaping over jumps, walking on low teeter boards, rushing through tunnels and chutes, jumping on tables and then lying down. When it's Bear's turn to run through a course, he walks calmly into the ring, listens to directions, then goes through each obstacle with great deliberation and presence of mind, making few mistakes. Then he stalks out of the ring looking a lot like his champion father (also a black-and-tan).

While Bear is in the ring, his sister is quivering, whining and moaning on the sidelines, every red hair of hers screaming "my turn, my turn, my turn!" Even though she only weighs sixteen pounds, it's all I can do to hold on to her.

Eventually, after a looooooong wait, it's our turn. What is Bisou like in the ring? I have no idea, because all I can see is a red streak, very close to the ground, long ears flapping, going from jump to jump to table to chute with such speed that I can barely bark commands out in time, much less keep up with her. Every once in a while, I hear the other people in the class laugh. I never hear a sound out of Bear.

Despite their differences, Bear and Bisou adore each other. Put them in a room together and they instantly go up on their hind legs, arms around each other's neck, then fall to the ground, rolling over and over to the accompaniment of incessant growling from--you guessed it--Bisou. Bear never says a word. This can go on, literally, for over an hour, with no breaks, until my friend and I, our eyes sore from focusing on all that movement, pry them apart from each other.

For now, we let them have their fun, knowing that things will change soon. In the next month or two, Bisou will have her first heat, and Bear too will be swept by the hormonal tides. We will have to separate them, at least temporarily. (Although their two-headed puppies would be adorable, my friend and I, when we bought the dogs, signed agreements never to breed them.)

The thinking in veterinary circles these days is not to neuter females until they have had their first heat, males until they are fully grown. So we are in store for some Romeo and Juliet times in the coming months. I've already been warned by the vet that 95-pound neutered Wolfie may find Bisou very interesting when she goes into heat....Stay tuned.

Dog Park Follies

Took Bisou to the local dog park this morning (in Vermont, that means a 45 minute drive, no traffic, gorgeous landscape). Every two weeks, from 10:30 to noon, it's Cavalier Play Group. In Vermont, that means five people and nine dogs, not all a the same time.

When Bisou and I arrived there were five males there--four Rubies, one Tri-Color--all neutered except for one. That particular one, a feisty Ruby, is waiting for the breeder to determine whether he has show potential, in which case he will get to keep his gonads.

In which case, god help us. Because that particular Ruby has been obsessed with Bisou from the minute he first set eyes on her. She was only four months old the first time we went to the park, and puberty not even in the horizon. But the minute I let her in the gate, he was on her like...like...like the Energizer Bunny on a rampage? Like some obscene windup toy? Like the ideal male lead in a porno film?

Now she is six months old, and his lust has reached new heights. This morning he and Bisou wandered over the park like a weird sort of dog tandem, one in front, pulling with the forelegs (Bisou) and one behind, pushing and shoving and, you know, humping.

I was determined to be polite and not over-protective. I know that bitches have their ways of keeping inopportune suitors at bay. But those must be more experienced bitches. All Bisou did was run, and, when caught, submit--ears back, eyes round--then run again, and submit once more. A couple of times I heard her growl, but it didn't have any effect. She didn't seem cowed or hurt in anyway, so I decided to let Nature take its course.

Which it did, over and over and over again. The male's owner was embarrassed and apologetic and would periodically call his dog and reason with him. At one point the dog, unhappy at being distracted from Bisou, grabbed his owner by the sleeve, his eyes wide, growling and tugging with all his strength. I was aghast. I've never seen such raw dog-to-owner aggression live before. If this had been a bigger dog (Wolfie, say) the owner's arm would have been torn off.

But this was a small dog, a lovely long-haired, big-eyed sweet-looking lap dog, so his owner cooed to him, and entreated him to sit (which the dog laughed at), and petted him until he was no longer snarling, and let him go. Whereupon the dog, feeling he had succeeded in teaching his owner a lesson, went back to Bisou.

Eventually three of Bisou's littermates showed up, and the older dogs went home, and the puppies had a good old pre-pubertal romp. We three puppy owners promised not to hold it against each other when the hormonal tides sweep in and turn our little darlings into sex-obsessed maniacs for whom all idea of play is a thing of the past.