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| Luna: Off-Leash Girl |
Putting a collar on a creature and then tugging it to follow you was irksome to my very soul. I mean, I’m a writer. We follow errant images to the boundaries of the universe. We work from midnight to 5 am, then sleep all day. We go where we want to go, play how we want to play. Leashes are the enemy, for ourselves, and for any living creature.
But now I had a dog, and somehow, I was supposed to make her follow me on-leash.
Listen, here we are in March, National Women’s History Month, and the history of important women is all about those who wore no leash. When Rosa Parks refused to sit in the back of the bus, she was off-leash. When Marion Wallace Dunlop, a militant suffragette sentenced to be imprisoned for a month in Holloway for vandalism in July 1909, went on a hunger strike without consulting the other suffragette leaders, she was off-leash. When my Grandma Campilli decided it was time to revisit her homeland, she was also off-leash. When I decided to be a writer, to get divorced, to build a house, to get a dog, I was the same.
So how could I make a dog follow me when I despised the leash, on both political and personal grounds?
Okay, I know. The leash allows you to take your dog to places they couldn’t go otherwise. In that sense, it provides mobility and freedom. But on a gut level, every time I put Luna on a leash and she tugged against it, my heart lurched. It was a visceral reaction, and no matter how I tried to work against it, I was unsuccessful. No matter what I said, she read the truth, sensing my tension and resistance, because dogs don’t deal in words. They see us beyond our masks, and respond accordingly.
What Luna did was pull, tug, and run away. She got the leash out of my hands and chased squirrels, leaves dancing in the wind, and people. Especially, she chased people.
Not to bite them, mind you, but to make friends. Labs are highly sociable dogs, always interested in making friends. Not everyone appreciated this, nor do I blame them. Some people have a marked preference not to be jumped on. There were two women in particular – let’s call them Darlene and Madge - whose regular walks past our house were interrupted by Luna’s antics.
At the first hint of their approach, Luna would get the leash out of my grasp and race across the yard at high speed, then fling herself at them indiscriminately. I would chase after her, growling “Leave it! Leave it!” as meaningfully as I could.
Darlene and Madge would stand there, saying things like “Shouldn’t you control her better?”
Luna would bend into the play bow, and leap happily at Madge, tongue lolling.
For the next few minutes the women would stand there watching, occasionally commenting, while Luna and I ran circles around them. If they walked on, she’d follow them. If they stood still, she’d cavort. When I lunged for her, she’d dodge out of reach and cavort some more. Only one of us seemed to be enjoying ourselves.
The match usually ended with me flinging myself on Luna, both of us sliding against tar and going home with road burn. Then, inevitably, she’d escape my grasp and I’d go chasing her down the road.
If I was rational, I would have realized that if someone is running toward you growling out angry words, your natural response would be to run away. But I wasn’t rational. I was angry. Luna was embarrassing me, her misbehavior a reflection of my inadequacy. The emotional complexity of the situation eluded her, and she continued to elude me. The ladies offered advise.
“You should get a trainer,” Darlene suggested.
“I’m her trainer,” I answered, and if I sounded like I was growling, I’m sure it was only because I was out of breath.
“Oh. Really?” Madge asked.
Her tone was exactly the same as Sister Margaret Paul, my fourth grade teacher, an imperiously tall and thin woman who always kept her chin raised high. Her response to bad behavior was to look down her nose at the offending party and say, “That was neither nice nor necessary.” Using only her superior demeanor to make her students feel like a small toads, she kept a roomful of fourth graders in line. But none of us felt very good about ourselves.
Nor did I feel very good about myself now. “I’m new at this,” I apologized as Luna leapt at them and I blocked, “I’ll get the hang of it.”
“Teach her to come when you call her,” Madge suggested.
“Teach her to come when you call her,” Madge suggested.
“Yeah. I’ll do that,” I answered, hoping I didn’t sound as sarcastic as I felt.
I made a quick dart and almost got Luna’s collar, missed, slipped, and ended up on my knees in the road. Between the fall and the unspoken criticism which felt like an old and familiar presence, I was furious. I may have barked. Luna tucked her tail down and ran into a neighbor’s shrubbery.
Paying no attention to either the women or any trespassing issues, I crashed in after her. “Luna!” I screeched. “Get over here. Now!”
She ran further into the shrubs, and I got tangled up in something sharp, cursing louder as thorns tore at my arms and hands. Then I heard scuffling in the brush and Luna reappeared, a few yards away. Her tail was down, and her expression fearful. Seeing it, I suddenly hated myself.
Because of my father’s occasional temper tantrums, I’d grown up fearful of anger, and yet I had my own temper, inherited I suppose from seeing that his tantrums worked. At least, they got my mother’s attention, and made us get quiet. But now, Luna’s expression was a reflection of the fear I’d felt as a little girl when my father got angry. I never wanted to make any creature feel that way.
I stopped fighting the thorns, disentangled myself, and walked away. Miraculously, when I did that, Luna followed me. As we cleared the shrubs, I had a new idea.
“Luna,” I called, making my voice sound excited. “Here, Luna. Let’s run, Luna!”
She paused. I waved at her, then turned and ran fast down the road. Luna wagged her tail and gallumphed after me. I ran down the road past our house, back up toward our house, down our driveway and into the yard. Luna, deciding this was a pretty cool game, followed all the way.
I gamboled about the yard for a while, not caring if Madge and Darlene were still watching. When I was out of breath, I sat down and Luna charged over to lick my face.
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| Luna's friend Bruce: Also Off Leash |
“Good Luna,” I said. “Good girl. Very good girl.”
From then on, when Luna ran away, so did I. And she followed me.
From then on, when Luna ran away, so did I. And she followed me.
In this, I’d discovered a new essential truth about dogs: If you chase them, they run away. If you run away, they chase you. And you can use that to train them. More importantly, I learned in the most visceral and immediate way that anger isn’t authority. In fact, it’s the absence of authority, a signal that you’ve lost control.
From then on, I also decided that since the leash inspired only tension and irritation in me, I’d focus on off-leash training - teaching Luna to follow me without a physical tether. That’s not something I necessarily advise to other dog owners, especially if you live in the city, but despite the current trend to ‘standardize‘ learning in all realms, I’ve found that following the unique needs of each learner, in each situation, is the best education possible. For Luna, in my world, I had to go off-leash from the training manuals, and follow my intuition.
I worked with her on a daily basis, mostly using games. I’d run around the yard and have her chase me, then drop and tell her “stop.” I’d hold a frisbee up and ask her to stay while I walked away, then held the frisbee up and had her wait until I said “Now!” to leap for it. I increased the ‘stay’ time by ten second increments, until she’d willingly sit up to two minutes until she made her run for it. I worked with the ‘leave it‘ command, and recall commands, and more, all off-leash.
I did this for maybe ten or twenty minutes on a daily basis for about a week. The next time Darlene and Madge went by, Luna raced straight to the end of the driveway, and then she hesitated, looking back to me.
“Here, Luna,” I told her. And she came back.
I’m not sure which one of us was more pleased. She was wagging her tail so hard her feet were lifting from the ground, as if she knew she’d gotten it right. I was grinning from ear to ear, feeling as triumphant as I ever had in my life. We had learned each other’s language in a new way, and I was feeling the joy of being a truly calm and authoritative pack leader. I leaned down and gave her a good hug. She lapped at my face, snorting with glee.
That was good not just for purposes of training a dog, but also for my soul, showing me through experience the essential difference between leading and domination, between authority and anger, and reminding me how good it felt to claim my rightful authority with clarity rather than rage.
Dogs, it seemed, have a lot more to teach us than I’d originally suspected. This interaction had straightened out a lot of old paradigms about the difference between authority and anger, reminding me once more how good it felt to claim my rightful authority with clarity rather than rage.
And she had more to teach me. Much more. Soon, our training would lead me back to the best places of my childhood, and the even better places I occupy now.
My favorite off-leash character is Jaguar Addams. I mean, really off leash. You can read all about her adventures at Wildside Books. And here's an off-leash pasta to eat while you read.
Pasta Puttanesca
If you know any Italian, you'll recognize this word. It's the pasta that prostitutes made, either because it was quick and easy, or because the aroma enticed customers their way. If you want, you can make your own pasta for it, or use a nice fresh papardelle that you buy. And do feel free to shift the ingredients. If you prefer a different kind of olive, or want to use fresh artichokes, or like anchovies or oregano, go off-leash with it because you know the rule: PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD!
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| Big Yum |
1 28 oz can crushed or diced tomatoes.
1 15 oz can black olives
1 15 oz can or package frozen artichokes
8 oz. cremini mushrooms
3 cloves garlic
¼ cup fresh basil, chopped
¼ cup extra virgin olive oil
½ cup Locatelli Pecorino Romano, grated.
I use an iron skillet, but a good heavy pot will also do. Put your burner on high, get the pot hot, then add the oil.
When it's sizzling, throw in the mushrooms, a little at a time so they cook rather than steam. Add the olives, let them sizzle about while you sing "I am the sunshine of my life," then toss in the artichokes, and the tomatoes. Let it all simmer for a rosary, or the amount of time you want your dog to learn how to 'stay.' Turn the heat down to medium/low. Add the basil, and let it simmer more.
Taste it, because the heat and time will create the flavor. When it's begun to become really fine, add the grated cheese. Taste and see if there's anything else you want in it.
You can let it simmer more while you get the water hot for your pasta and cook it. When it's ready, mingle pasta and sauce. Let it sit. Stay. Sit. Stay. Add more herbs or cheese if you want. Serve it when you're ready. It will wait for you.
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