PACK LEADER

Luna Loves Snow. Sigh.

     It’s March, though you wouldn’t know it from looking at all the snow in my yard, or the weather reports that say Washington DC is getting hammered.  Still, it is March, I tell myself hopefully.  Spring will be here.  And in the meantime, March is National Women’s month, a good time to reflect on what it means to be a female pack leader.  

      Author Clarissa Pinkola Estes says, “She who cannot howl will never find her pack.”  Luna, a skilled howler, had found her pack.  Now I had to become her Pack Leader.   

    To do so I referred to some of my personal and political female heroes. Gloria Steinem spoke the truth when we needed to hear it.  Maya Angelou did the same, but did so poetically.  My Grandma Campilli, who bobbed her hair and marched with the suffragettes, was very clear about what she would and would not do, always.  No dogs in her kitchen.  When she wanted to go back to Italy for a visit, alone, in spite of the furor this raised with the rest of her family, she packed her bags and went. 

    All this told me that what I needed most with my dog training, with my pack leadership, was to establish a very clear yes, and a very clear no.      

   I also needed some specific skills, some education.  I’d never done doggie training before, and my learning curve was pretty steep.  However, I was raised by folks who believed education was the answer, and I bought that package.  So, armed with a pile of books, and newly addicted to any doggie training TV show I could find, I went at it with gusto.

     Cesar Milan’s book Cesar’s Way was very helpful.  It also made a great chew toy, bears the mark of Luna’s teeth. From the beginning, she liked chewing on my stuff best.  My shoes, my books, my socks. But I counted myself lucky because my sister’s puppy ate her Victoria’s Secret thong underwear.  She took him to the vet, where he was given an emetic to make him throw them back up.  When the procedure was done the vet presented her with the thong, asking,“You want these back?” She didn’t.

     At any rate, I continued to read. The Monks of New Skete confirmed that my practice of making up songs for my animals and singing them was a good thing.  They do that, too. (Recently, I learned that dog brains have an area similar to humans, which responds to the nature of our vocalizations, and can easily distinguish happy from sad or angry or fearful.)  Stanley Coren’s The Intelligence of Dogs, taught me that Luna’s ‘yip-yip howl’ which disturbed me so much is a cry that means, “I’m lonely. I’m abandoned. Where’s my pack?”  Knowing that helped me understand why, with my own abandonment issues, I reacted so strongly.  I wasn’t crazy.  Just overly empathetic.

    My reading also taught me some fundamental principles of dealing with doggie mind.  Be the pack leader and walk in front. When the puppy chews on something, don’t spank the puppy, spank the chewed item – in the puppy’s presence.  They’ll learn the thing itself is bad, and they should stay away from it.  I had a moment of triumph when I spanked my books and watched her back away from chewing on them. 

Luna Teaches How to Lead

     Most important to me in those early days was establishing healthy boundaries. As a good daughter of Italian women, I had a fundamental conflict about that, feeling I ‘should’ be available to meet all needs of all creatures at all times, and also really wanting my own space.  I don’t think I’m unique in this.  Women often believe it’s their job to care for everyone else.  Boundaries seems so, well, wrong somehow.  Maybe sinful if you’re Catholic, unempathetic if you’re a social worker.  Maybe impolite if you’re Episcopalian.

     I knew the only way to establish good boundaries with Luna was to be clear with myself about my own.  And the two I felt most strongly about were ‘don’t hurt the cat,’ and ‘stay out of my kitchen.’

     The issue with the cat turned out to be very easy.  I held Photon while I was walking Luna, and had Luna walk behind us.  I also put Photon in front of Luna’s food first when I fed her, and let him sniff it, decide if he wanted any.  I only had to do this a few times before they reconciled for good. Though Photon still felt a responsibility to make sure the dog stayed in line, he also began to groom her on a regular basis, because dogs aren’t as good at that as cats are.   

     The kitchen was trickier, because our house is designed for open space, with no doors between living room, dining area, and kitchen.  But when I cook, which is often, I’m very focused, and I use all available space.  I foresaw disaster if a puppy was  scampering under my feet when I danced between stove and sink with boiling water. 

     I thought about getting a gate to put between the end cupboard of the kitchen and the wall on the other side, but I’d either have to open and close it, or leap over it, when I went to the dining area.  Again, potential disaster.  

    Then I remembered a story my friend, Sue Derda, told me about setting room boundaries with her dogs.  She put a smallscreen across the area where she didn’t want them, and if they tried to leap over it, she’d slap it against the floor, making enough noise that they backed off.  I used a broom, resting it across the opening between the counter and the adjacent wall. When Luna approached it, I said “He-ey,’ in a low, displeased voice and clatter the broom on the floor a little.  To my surprise, she’d stop and sit.  When she did, she got a treat.

     This worked great, I think ecause, as Cesar Milan would say, my energy was good.  I wasn’t angry or upset.  I was just letting her know this was my space, not hers.  Also letting her know rewards accrued for honoring it.   

   Steve, on the other hand, had no inherent interest in keeping Luna out of the kitchen, and she would gleefully follow him over the broom, sensing his permission to enter the Foodiverse.  That created confusion and conflict, marital and puppy, so I tried a new tactic.

    I placed a two by four on its narrow edge in the same space. I could step over it easily, but if Luna tried it would fall over with a clatter, which made her step back and gave me time to re-establish the boundary. It was also just high enough to train Steve, readjusting his energy as well.  Within a few days I placed the board flat on the ground.  She could easily trot over it without noise or fuss, but she never did, not even to follow Steve.  Both had learned that I ruled the Foodiverse.   

    Now Luna could be in my company without aggravating the hell out of me, and she learned that calm behavior was valuable, earning her treats and affection, an important thing for a high energy, excitable lab. It also taught me that I could establish boundaries without harm.  In fact, I could establish boundaries that served everyone’s interest.  

     That was a lesson for my entire life, making it easier for me to stay with my boundaries in other situations without defensiveness or guilt.  I refer to it more frequently than I ever imagined I would, so that when a student or an editor, a husband or family member, seems to be metaphorically underfoot in my kitchen, I can use the emotional and intellectual equivalent of a small board to set better boundaries for us all.

    Now, let’s get back to Women’s History Month.  

    There’s two ways I learned about being a female leader.  One is from the women who modeled it for me - Gloria Steinem and Maya Angelou.  Also women like Malala Yousafzai, who defied the Taliban because she believed women should be educated, was shot for it, and survived to continue her battle.  And women like  Wangari Maathai, who won the Nobel Prize for planting trees in Africa, in a big way.  Also, fictional women like Scheherezade, who married a king to stop him from killing other women.  

     The persistent idealism of such women, their continued willingness to put themselves on the line for what they believed, informs all my decisions, from how I write and teach, to saving eagles, and determining how my own issues won’t stand in the way of moving forward.  I suggest that this is a fine month for you to name the women who have taught you how to do the same.   

      But then, unexpectedly, it was another female, this time a small black labrador retriever, who gave me the opportunity for personal practice in acting the part of pack leader, and getting comfortable with what it feels like in its best aspect.

     Luna, continuing in her own work, was leading me by teaching me how to lead her.  

     Go figure.

      If you want to read about one of my favorite strong female characters, check out Jaguar Addams, who will make you face your fears and get over them.  And here’s a sustaining recipe to strengthen the Pack Leader in you.  

OUR OWN RIBS

   In case you didn’t notice, in Genesis, the first time humans are created, there’s no rib involved.  It says specifically that humans were created together from, well, mud, earthlings of the earth, male and female.  Then, for reasons scholars will explicate endlessly, humans were created all over again, and that whole rib story happened.   So for National Women’s Month, here’s a rib recipe, to remind us that all our parts are, from the very earliest beginning, our own.

  This is my version.  You can change up spices and herbs or quantities because you know the rule:  PLAY WITH YOUR FOOD!  

About a pound of pork baby back ribs

About a cup of brown sugar

2 tablespoons kosher salt

1 tablespoon ancho chili powder

Claim the Rib

1 teaspoon Old Bay seasoning

2 teaspoons garlic powder

1 teaspoon smoked paprika

2 teaspoon sweet paprika

1 teaspoon black pepper

Glaze

drippings from ribs

about 2 tablespoons worcestershire sauce

1 tablespoon maple syrup or honey

2 tablespoons cider vinegar

(If you prefer,you can use your favorite brand of barbecue sauce, and mix about a quarter cup of it in with about half a cup of rib drippings)

NOTE:  Do the first bit at night, before you go to sleep. 

Mix your dry ingredients all together.   

Put the ribs on a baking tray (one with sides) and  rub your dry ingredients on them.  Coat them thoroughly, really patting and rubbing until the ribs go ‘aaaah.  that’s nice.” You might have some rub left over, and you can store that in the fridge for the next time you crave ribs.  

Cover the tray with aluminum foil and put it in the fridge.  The ribs will settle down to sleep right away, and so should you.  Dream about the most powerful women you know, all night long.

The next day, take the ribs out of the fridge and let them wake up slowly, coming up to temperature.  Go about your business.  They don’t need you for this.   

In about an hour you can set your oven on very low heat - about 250 degrees - and put the ribs in.  They’ll stay in for about 2  1/2 hours.  Continue going about your day.  Use at least five minutes to honor a woman who taught you about leadership.   

Take the ribs out of the oven and pour about a half a cup of rib drippings through a strainer into a small pot.  Add your other wet ingredients or your bottled barbecue sauce and simmer until it’s a thick syrup consistency.    

Brush this glaze onto the ribs and then you can either grill them until the glaze caramelizes to your liking (or licking), or broil them for a few minutes on each side until you’ve got just the right balance between brown and crunchy and soft and smooth.  Remember, these ribs are yours.