The Independent Stitch

Tempest's Ariel Miranda: A fine and sweet (strong-willed and often mischievous) dog

On December 20, 1994, a friend's husband, who dealt in real estate, was walking through a field in Greeley, Colorado, with another developer when he came across three puppies nearly frozen together in a hole in the ground. It gets mighty cold in Greeley in the winter. The wind blows hard there. He pulled the pups out of the ground, wrapped them up, and took them to a nearby vet, who recommended getting warm milk into their stomachs and said that if they made it through the night they would probably survive. The vet estimated that they were seven weeks old.

The next day, with three puppies still breathing regularly, their tummies round with milk, our friend called the people in her address book with "soft-headed hearted" checked next to their names and had them come look at the black-and-white imps tottering around on the newspaper-covered floor of her kitchen.

All three found homes. The female went with us. My then-thirteen-year-old daughter (who is now twenty-eight) named her Ariel Miranda, because she was a mischievous spirit and had been rescued from a tempest. (The name also turned out to be appropriate as its homophone aerial, capturing her tendency to leap away from the ground.)

At the time, we had Heather (Aslan's Mountain Heather), a lovely blue merle Australian shepherd who had retired to our household following a career producing show-quality puppies. We usually adopt adult dogs, because they need us more than puppies do, but Bekah had been doing obedience training with Heather, who really already knew the ropes, and wanted to work with a dog who didn't know anything: to train from the ground up.

Both Heather and Ariel had half-white noses, white chests, and white patches on the backs of their necks. People thought Ariel was Heather's daughter. Heather did serve as Ariel's canine elder, presenting us with a model of patience and boundary-setting.

Heather (age 9) and Ariel (age 2), 1996

When Ariel was tiny, her little legs had a hard time keeping up with Heather's and our strides and she would scramble all-out behind us, until my daughter would pick her up and carry her for a bit. She wasn't much more than a double handful. Until relatively recently, however, for most of her life she took the lead on our walks and adventures.

Despite her unknown parentage, she looked enough like a Border collie to qualify for ILP listing with the American Kennel Club. In addition to the superficial qualities, she strongly displayed the Border collie's intelligence and herding instincts (along with ears and a coat that suggested some spaniel influence . . . which became more pronounced as she aged). When we applied for the listing, we also established the kennel name "Tempest," which seemed appropriate because any dogs we might register in the future would also almost certainly be rescues. So she officially became Tempest's Ariel Miranda.

Ariel (age 2), 1996

The ILP number meant she and my daughter could not only train in obedience and agility but could enter trials and prove what they had accomplished . . . if Ari felt like it. Both of us trained with Ari: my daughter when she was home from school, and me during the school year. My daughter was the one who took her into the ring while I watched from a position that gave me the ability to see Ariel without distracting her as she worked. Sometimes I didn't get to watch because Ari was very sharp at scoping out her environment; I had to go hide behind a post and not peek out.

Ariel (age 7), 2001

Because of her arthritis, which began showing up early, it took Ariel a long time to earn her novice obedience title, the CD (Companion Dog). A dog who limps at a trial is excused and not allowed to continue that day [thanks for the clarification, Julie! we need to train another dog and get our terms right; I've fixed the rest of this paragraph] disqualified (DQ'd), no matter what the reason for the limping or how much the dog would like to "play"—generally a very good rule that was put in place to keep dogs from competing when they're not sound enough to. It takes three qualifying scores under different judges to earn the title. Not being allowed to participate in an event can mean months of waiting for the next opportunity to come around. Sometimes we'd register her and then just go watch, because we knew she'd be excused. Sometimes she'd falter just a bit on the way into the ring and the judge would order her out.

She acquired her CGC paper more easily: this Canine Good Citizen evaluation requires dogs to have fundamental, significant self-control skills around humans and other dogs. I think all dogs and their owners would be well-served by going through this program. It would do a lot to improve everyone's life.

We thought Ariel might still be working on novice obedience as a senior dog (ten years and older), but she got her title before then.

 

Ariel (age 7), 2001

The green ribbon means she qualified for this round and it counts toward her title. The yellow ribbon means she was one of the top-performing dogs in her group; this was her third-place day. On another day, she earned a red (second place), and on the final leg, the one that earned her the title, she got a blue (first place).

We didn't continue her obedience competition after the novice level, because jumping (which she LOVED) was required and the jump heights were beyond what was safe for her. We let her train a bit longer in obedience and agility, planning her workouts to include low jumps and carefully angled approaches—although she was perfectly capable of sabotaging our plans and barreling up and over an A-frame or a teeter-totter at what we considered an unwise speed, or might swerve off and bound through another dog's jumping set-up, possibly messing up a knee upon landing.

Ari was going to work her body and mind whether we approved of her methods or not. We just needed to stay flexible and try not to be left in her dust. So we went for hikes.

Ariel (age 7), 2001

And we let her chase balls: she was very picky about which ball, and would search the whole dog park until she found EXACTLY the right one. When we figured this out, we took to hiding the "approved" ball in a spot where we could find it easily, so she would not have to work so hard locating it again the next time we got to the park.

 

Ariel (age 8), 2002

By the time she was 9, we had tried all sorts of normal latches, bars, and other fasteners to foil her efforts to get out of the back yard, with its 6-foot fence, whenever she chose. We finally discovered what would work:

Ariel (age 9), 2003

It seemed a bit drastic, but we ended up installing a cattle gate on the outside of the regular gates, and used both ties and latches to secure it. This gate is rated for 3500 pounds of cow-power. It did keep our 50-pound dog legally confined. FINALLY. She had never gone far, and never gotten in trouble we heard about. Sometimes we wouldn't even know she'd been out until a neighbor would remark, "I saw your dog taking herself for a walk the other day. . . ."

Ariel even had a brief career as a product tester for a noted dog-toy manufacturer, except that she could destroy almost anything they sent her so quickly the results weren't meaningful for most dogs. She was off the charts for "aggressive chewer," although once she passed puppyhood she always chewed appropriate items.

Even after she'd lost much of the strength in her back legs, she was always looking for something to engage her attention and energies.

 

Tussah (about 12, as far as we know), me, my daughter, and Ariel (age 14.75), summer 2009

She was willing to travel. . . .

Ariel (age 13.75) and Tussah, summer 2008

Especially if she could do new and interesting things along the way.

Both: Ariel (age 13.75), summer 2008

She loved running toward us (one of her favorite games was "Ari, COME!," racing back and forth between me and my daughter), and she loved snow.

Ariel (age 8), 2002

Ariel (age 15), November 13, 2009

_______

Ariel:

• took me places I'd never have gone without her
• gave me many lessons in consistency and teamwork and my own ingenuity
• taught me to relax and find joy where I would otherwise certainly have missed it

. . . and she wasn't even "my" dog . . . she was my daughter's. . . .

Ariel (age 7) and me, enjoying a summer day, 2001—some people think I never slow down

She was not a perfect dog or a paragon of virtue. She had those escape tendencies. She would eat almost anything, and could inflict a too-eager nip on the fingers giving her a treat. She was allergic to many foods. But she'd agree completely with the quote from Charles Lamb that's on my tea bag this morning: "A laugh is worth a hundred groans in any market."

I hope that with my allotment of time and energy I do a fraction as well as Ariel did with hers.

___

Tempest's Ariel Miranda, CD, CGC

November 1 (?), 1994 - November 22, 2009

a strong-willed companion

a life well lived; a being well loved

____

Special thanks to Julie Yamane at the Canine Learning Center and to Jennifer Hendrickson and Chris Babiarz at Animal Answers, for helping us get off on the right foot (sometimes literally) and forge a strong working partnership with this spirited creature; to Dr. Julie Gamble, for providing Ariel with a lifetime of excellent vet care (we followed Julie from clinic to clinic all over town until she finally got her own practice); to Jill Reynolds, Deanna Rogers and Connie Fredman, for a combination of quality-of-life care and advice that made a huge difference over the past two years; to Doggon' Wheels, especially Mel, for making possible the joyful final movement of Ariel's symphony; and to Kris Paige and, by phone, Dr. Debbie Sunken for evaluation and wise counsel on a Sunday afternoon during Ariel's last few hours with us. And to Tussah, for being Ariel's buddy for half a dozen years.

Karakul lamb: wool too pretty to spin?

Working along on The Project, I've spent some time (again) recently with Karakul, the breed from which I learned so much many years ago. Some time in the 1970s, I ordered three Karakul fleeces at once: one white, one gray, and one black. If I recall correctly, they were my first whole fleeces. In washing and spinning them, I discovered how much the wool within a breed may vary not only in color but in length and texture and amount of grease and ease of processing.

Those fleeces became a rug that I wove and bartered for some training. I still remember the rug vividly, as well as the pleasant lessons those fleeces taught me.

In addition, some of the most memorably wonderful pieces I had the honor of presenting in Spin-Off during the years when I edited the magazine were Ellen Champion's Karakul rugs (Winter 1989 issue).

So I always approach Karakul with an anticipation of delight . . . and the expectation that I will learn something. Probably a lot. And that it will surprise me.

That's happened this week, as I've explored four different-colored lamb fleeces from Durakai Sheep and Fibre Arts, grown by sheep bred and raised by Marie and Ron Schmidt. I find myself facing an odd question, however: whether this wool is really too pretty just as wool to be spun. That question is almost inconceivable for me. I adore the transformation from fiber to yarn.

Yet when I see this:

I can't help but think of how the texture and the colors will be blended and muted by spinning. They're quite perfect just as they are.

Here's a sample from another lamb, along with the tiny skein I spun—which is, indeed, lovely. But is it lovelier than the fiber?

Both samples display the enchanting lamb-tips on the fibers, although they're a bit more obvious in the second photo: subsequent shearings won't have those characteristic, sweet, delicate curls.

While I have dutifully spun my samples for The Project, and I do like the results as yarns, I have made the skeins no larger than necessary because I'm so tempted to see what I can do to highlight the locks in their original forms, perhaps by spinning some adult Karakul into an even yarn and then weaving something where I'd lay narrow sections of the lamb locks into some of the sheds in a way that would display both the colors and the textures while holding them securely in place and protecting them from degradation. It would require thought and a bit of technical experimentation to get the effect I envision. And what might it become? A small rug? Sturdy tote for knitting? Book bag? Pillow for the couch? Jacket?

One thing about The Project: I keep getting ideas for ways I'd like to take each snippet of work I'm doing into new, deeper directions. Right now, I have to keep moving: on to the next sample, then to the next breed.

But I'd certainly like to come back to these charmers and explore the possibilities of highlighting their just-off-the-lamb form, which is exquisite.

Roller dog

In the midst of all the other activities around here, we have been arranging for our older dog, Ariel, to have more independent mobility.

She was abandoned as a tiny puppy, so we know her age but not her ancestry. Her behavior and appearance have, throughout her life, suggested a strong Border collie component with spaniel-influenced ears and coat. She looks enough like a Border collie to be considered one by the American Kennel Club (with what's called an ILP listing) and allowed to compete in obedience trials, which she did until the onset of arthritis about nine years ago. She earned her CD, the Companion Dog title that is the first full level of obedience competition. She couldn't continue further with obedience or with agility because of the arthritis.

Anyway, she is still a dog who needs activity, even though she has become increasingly lame, despite all we have been able to do for her. At 15, she is one hundred percent engaged in life and with us. She chases her Buster Cube around the house. She may not hear as well as she used to (she doesn't always wake up immediately when we come home), but she can tell when someone might be about to drop a crumb on the floor, and will gnaw through anything (even multiple layers of cardboard) to get at a potential food source.

She does NOT like to be left home when anyone else is going for a walk or a ride in the car.

Her knees, however, can't keep up with her.

For a couple of years, we've been using a harness, which gives her a handle we can use to help her with steps, getting in and out of the car, and, more often lately, to keep her from some of the falling-over on the twice-daily walks she refuses to quit going on. The falling-over does not, amazingly, distress or frustrate her. She just waits until she can get herself up again, or until we give her a boost. We've also needed to use boots to protect her back feet because she can't lift them high enough to clear the pavement, although we take the boots off her when she gets to the grass at the park.

(When Ariel was young, only half of her muzzle was white. Her expressive eyebrows also were not highlighted, as they are now.)

Needing to come up with a new answer, we started learning about devices to help handicapped dogs. There are quite an amazing number of options, and fortunately we have several local resource people to help us figure out what to try for Ariel—Deanna Rogers, Jill Reynolds, and Connie Fredman.

So, after much research, soul-searching, and measuring, we located a refurbished set of wheels of the correct size for Ariel. They arrived from Montana a couple of weeks ago, and we have been sending photos back and forth to the manufacturer while we fine-tune the fitting. On Saturday, we actually used them for the first time.

Ari could sniff around on her own without one of us hovering to rescue her from the too-frequent cave-in of the back legs.

The wheels are set up in rehab mode, so she has to use all four limbs to move but she doesn't fall over. Our house is too small for her to have the wheels inside, but she can enjoy far more comfortable walks twice a day and we think she will be better able to maintain the strength in her legs because she's not wasting so much energy trying to stabilize the joints (or working to get back up).

On Sunday, Jill and her pup Skid, who is training to be a Search and Rescue dog, came by to see how the wheels worked. Ari showed us she was starting to get the hang of them.

(Daughter; Tussah—who is only about 12, as far as we know; Ari; Jill; and Skid, just over 1 year and doing fantastically with his S&R exercises and tests.)

By the end of the walk, Ari had figured out what wheels are good for.

Thanks to Doggon' Wheels for thoughtful design (these are 4WD wheels: rocks and hills no problem), great customer service, and making refurbished wheels available to dogs who just need a little lift.

__

And, while we're on the topic of "may all beings be happy," here's a wonderful business in Africa called Shonaquip. . . .

Herdwick: like no other sheep, like no other wool

I'm way behind on blog posts: lots to say, not enough hours right now. Running fast for a deadline (that I now see in the rearview mirror and I'm still trying to meet it); there's hardly time for sleeping or eating.

But here's a quick note about what I spun up yesterday: Herdwick. Sheep, Herdwicks primary among them, are responsible for the landscape of England's Lake District. Beatrix Potter (locally Mrs. Heelis) raised Herdwicks and was the first woman to belong to the breed society. There are lots of good conservation stories involved with Mrs. Heelis, the Lake District, and Herdwicks, although I need to keep moving. . . .

Herdwick wool is truly distinctive. When we went looking for samples for The Project (deadline buzzing), the shepherd who ultimately supplied us with some wondered why in heck we wanted it. Admittedly, it's not usually the first choice among handspinners and textile crafters, although it's available as ready-to-use yarn, as well as finished products, and there's no reason not to play with it. What I like best about Herdwick is how unlikely a fleece it is, and how its qualities push my creativity. (They push industrial creativity, too: Herdwick wool provides the basis for naturally sourced insulation.)

But I need to get back to work, and I want to show some Herdwick first. The fleece Herdwicks grow consists of several types of fiber: a relatively soft, woolly undercoat that keeps the sheep warm (and independent: they live pretty well without much human intervention); a hairy outercoat that repels water (Herdwick wool gets wet more slowly and dries out faster than other wools); heterotype hairs, which change their character depending on the season (warmer in winter, more moisture-resistant in summer); and kemp, that wiry, stiff, twist-resistant fiber that in most other breeds is strictly discriminated against. In Herdwicks, kemp adds texture that just ups the ante on the game; there's enough that it becomes a factor, rather than a hindrance. These fiber types are so scrambled they resist separation, although you can tease them apart if you work at it.

Color, too: kemp is white, and while Herdwicks are born black they quickly begin turning gray and keep up with a steady lightening effect as they age, always tweedy with a range of shades mixed throughout the fleece (no spots).

Herdwick wool is normally quite long: 4 to 8 inches (10 to 20 cm) is pretty usual, longer is possible. My samples were 2.5 to 3.5 inches (6.5 to 9 cm), making them a bit harder to handle than a more average fleece would have been. Nonetheless, I had an enjoyable afternoon and came up with a few bits that show the range of Herdwick:

 

Obviously, the top is a mass of (clean) raw fiber. The tiny medium gray skein on the left is some undercoat, imperfectly removed; it's quite soft, soft enough for a sweater or hat. The larger darker gray skein is the whole caboodle, spun up together. It could be woven into a coat. The light gray bristly skein on the right is mostly kemp and rough hairs, with some of the finer fibers left in to help hold the yarn together. The dimensionality of that yarn gets my idea-mill going.

FANTASTIC texture! And natural color fun. Makes me think of rugs, baskets, hairy bits added to something basically smooth . . . and to wonder how much undercoat I could get out and how it would work up into a sweater. As well as pricking my curiosity about whether the kemp might work in pottery glazing the way horsehair does.

Herdwick sheep heft or heaf to a particular spot of ground, staying put without fencing, and ewes teach lambs where they live. If a piece of land is sold, the sheep go with it. You can't just move another type of sheep onto this landscape because they'd wander all over the place (or need enormous amounts of fencing) and couldn't stand the climate (a few other breeds do well here, but Herdwicks are still outstandingly suited to it). Because of their geographic concentration, the Herdwick population was hard-hit by control efforts for foot-and-mouth disease in 2001.

Herdwicks have a lot to teach us, in many regards: about connection to land, about variety and experimentation, about loyalty and versatility. And about careful stewardship, in many aspects of life.

And now I need to get back to work. Next up is a trip to Kerry Hill (the wool, not the place), which is a totally different spot on the fiber rainbow: all white, just a bit lustrous, crisp but not too crisp, and with quite consistent fibers all in a narrow range of micron counts. . . .

 

Never a dull moment, although some folks might wonder. . . .