The Healing Power of Dogs

Farid’s Gift -- prizewinning story by Brian Duggan

Tue, 24 Aug 2010 12:21:15 -0400

3rd Place Winner in the 2010 AKC Publications Fiction Contest

“Farid’s Gift”
by Brian Patrick Duggan

Of all the gifts that Sheikh Farid might have given me, this was the most perplexing: a dog – and yet etiquette dictated that it be accepted gracefully and reciprocated. The long-legged hound, a Saluki, was wagging her tail in a hopeful fashion and looking back and forth at us. About the only thing we could give in exchange was a 100 kilo sack of rice but it was welcome as food was scarce in the countryside. We made polite farewells and I led the puzzled hound over to the Humvee and hoisted her in. When I first saw Tayra in the sheikh’s courtyard she hung back from his other Salukis but when I knelt down to greet her, there was an instant connection between us. Farid noticed this and decided on the spot to give her to me. He said, “Tayra is not a very good hunter” – (and by this I knew that the opposite was true) – “but she will be useful to you…” Now, I couldn’t figure out what I was going to do with a dog but it doesn’t do to offend the village headman when trying to establish local alliances in occupied Iraq. Climbing into the vehicle, I thanked him again and promised that I would stop by on my way back, “God willing – Insha’Allah.”

The convoy rolled back to base for re-supply before heading on to the next village where the headman, Saleh, was more than usually suspicious of everyone – or so Farid had confided in me. If I could win his trust, Farid assured me that he would be a staunch ally and heaven knows, we needed a few more of those. I had been picked for the mission because I was an officer, had a degree in politics, spoke Arabic, and knew enough about Iraqi culture to avoid the major social and religious mistakes. My parents had emigrated from Syria to central California when I was little. I grew up in two cultures speaking English and Arabic – often mixed in the same sentence when one language had a better word or phrase for a particular concept. So, after Saddam’s army had surrendered, Special Ops had tasked my unit to travel through a string of villages in the foothills east of Baghdad to assess local loyalties, gather intelligence, and, if possible, build alliances. To do this sort of thing you had to establish personal relationships with sheikhs and headmen. Once they took you under their wing, friends and relatives automatically became your allies and their patriarchy began to work for you.

I was picking up the local dialect but so far, my luck with the villagers had not been very good. Most were no more than barely civil to us and after a polite “Salaam,” the conversation dried up. We were only just tolerated – but then we were foreigners with heavy weaponry. We did try one tactic to warm the Iraqis up a little by doing what the Brits did in Basrah. With all their experience occupying hostile countries, they had figured out that by appearing to be less of a threat the locals were more accepting. So, I left my web gear, helmet, and body armor in the Humvee and wrapped a red and white checked shemagh (headcloth) around my neck. It was a personal risk that would have had my wife, Mattie, cringing had she known, but it did seem to be helping some – not much, but some.

I looked over at my new dog – the hunting hound native to the Middle East – and wondered how I was going to explain her to my colonel who was supposed to enforce General Order 1-A that banned keeping dogs as behavior prejudicial to good conduct and discipline. Tayra (“bird” in Arabic) was curled up and napping on the reinforced floor, and for a dog who had been removed from her home that morning, she seemed remarkably content to be with me – but maybe this situation was better than her previous one. Back at base, we off-loaded and settled down for a day or two of rest. For various reasons, it was to be a month before we headed out on our intel mission again and during that time, we kept the top brass from noticing Tayra too much. Sergeant Dolan had shown Irish Wolfhounds when he was growing up so the two of us ended up being her primary owners and she alternated sleeping on our racks. I had never had this sort a bond this profound with a dog before and wrote about it to Mattie – who surprisingly suggested that I might be able to find a way to bring her home when my tour was up… Tayra ingratiated herself with the men who were glad to have a reminder of home close at hand. She loved the attention and had never seen so many guys wanting to take her for a walk – where there was always the opportunity of tearing after a feral cat or coursing a hare. Her eyesight was amazing and we lost count of the number of times she spotted something moving on the horizon that needed checking out – usually Iraqi soldiers wanting to surrender, refugees returning home, or stray camels. We encouraged these sightings with rewards of her favorite MREs – meatloaf with gravy. Tayra had found her tribe.

When we next headed out to win hearts and minds, Tayra came with us – usually standing with her front feet on the seat looking out the window as the miles of desert slid past. We were watchful, but not worried as it was the quiet period of the war when the Iraqi army had ceased to be a threat and civil insurgency was still an unknown concept. Explosions no longer lit up the night and during the day you could hear the birds chirping again. We were picking up where we had left off after Farid’s village with three loaded Humvees – a number nicely calculated to show purpose but not suggest intimidating force. Along with my relaxed uniform and sacks of rice, the reduced convoy was another strategy to get locals to talk to us. As we rolled through the outskirts, I wondered how we would fare with Saleh.

The vehicles halted in the middle of the village and the usual crowd of children and men gathered around. I climbed out and greeted them, “Asalaam ‘Alaykum – Peace be upon you.” The crowd parted and up stepped an older man with gray stubble on his cheeks and a heavy mustache. He was wearing a long brown tunic, black cloak, and a snowy headcloth and carried a thin cane. Sheikh Saleh said nothing more than the polite reply, “Wa ‘Alaykum Asalaam – and peace be upon you.” I saw in an instant that I was going to get the familiar reception and was wondering what to do next when something unexpected changed the game. Tayra jumped out of the Humvee and trotted over to see what was going on. The sheikh looked surprised for an instant, peered at the dog, and said, “That is a fine Saluki you have sir. How do you find hunting in Iraq?”

Improvising quickly, I confessed that my military duties didn’t leave as much time as I would have liked – but now that the war was over, there should be more opportunities for hunting. From boyhood memories, the customs my father and uncles had taught me long ago came flashing back. Inspired, I asked, “Perhaps I might be permitted to hunt in this area?” Saleh said that he thought that it could be possible but that the war was a great hardship and had made game less than plentiful. Would I care to see his own hounds? “It would be my honor, father,” I replied using the respectful honorific. My luck seemed to be changing…

He invited Sergeant Dolan and me indoors for coffee, and the astonishing conversation we had covered the local hunting, the merits of one sheikh’s breeding over another’s, choosing and training a puppy, indicators of speed, stamina, keen eyesight, and character, and the telling of famous hunting stories. This led to a visit to his hounds – which were all properly admired while they barked at us. Returning indoors, there was more coffee and then food was served. Dolan knew enough to place his left hand in his lap, eat only with the right, and to leave a bit of food on the plate when finished, so no faux pas was committed. The talk turned to my family, their health, the Syrian community in California, dog shows, the weather and harvest prospects, and the latest outrage by the neighboring village or the Republican Guard. Here was the opening I had been hoping for and I was able to broach the subject of political alliances and sympathies. Sheikh Saleh talked at great length while I took mental notes hoping I would remember it all when I got my hands on paper and pen. We left a sack of rice and a carton of cigarettes as parting gifts and promised to come back soon to talk more about hunting.

Curiously, similar dialogs were repeated at the next two villages – and would be in nearly every other place I visited. It was as if Tayra could open the conversational faucet. Where stony politeness was all I could get before, now meaningful discussions gave me a goldmine of information. On the way back to base, I was watching the dusty horizon undulate with Tayra sleeping on my feet, when I realized exactly what Farid had done for me. The old fox knew that even with my heritage and ability to speak Arabic, villagers and tribal leaders would be reluctant to speak to me as both a foreigner and soldier, so he gave me an ambassador – Tayra. In that part of Iraq the sheikhs were proud of their Salukis and keenly interested in hunting – and people the world over love to talk about their dogs. After wary greetings, they were naturally curious as to why American soldiers kept a Saluki and whether or not we hunted. Once the dog talk was going, I wouldn’t be worth my salt if I couldn’t eventually drift the dialog towards the serious stuff. Who would have thought that a dog could be the catalyst in our relations with the Iraqis? Sheikh Farid was a generous and wise man for Tayra was indeed useful to me.
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Lompoc Valley dog show -- mainly Salukis

Sun, 8 Aug 2010 23:51:58 -0400

Judging Best of Breed in the valley of the Salukis: Lompoc, California

For several moments before judging began, handlers gathered ringside with their lovely Salukis. The dogs were bathed, brushed and alert to the fact that they had a job to do. They milled about in flashes of color; black, gold, red, cream, white, particolor, grizzle, roan.

As each champion entered, my thoughts were, “That one could win Best of Breed… that one could win… that one could win… How am I going to make a cut in this class? That one could win…”

It went on like that through 21 male specials. Then a cream male glided through the gate who just took my breath away.

Then, the bitch specials were called, and my breath was taken away again, this time by the first in the ring, a richly feathered gold cream bitch whose balance, symmetry and confidence were lovely to behold. She was followed 11 more quality female specials.

Eventually, after much movement and deliberation, the cream male emerged as Best of Breed, Ch. Aurora’s Walk This Way bred by Nan Bodine and owned by Julie Mueller and Eugene Blake. This dog carries himself with knowledge that he is of royal blood. He gives an impression of grace, strength, speed and endurance in every step he takes and every pose he strikes.

While many Salukis in this ring were balanced and correct, this dog’s carriage emphasized his virtues in these areas. He is stunning and drew my eye back constantly. He went on to second in the Hound Group.

Best of Opposite to Ch. Zabarre Solo Marcella owned by Julie and Ryan Zucker. The catalog claimed she had just celebrated her sixth birthday but she is ageless. She has the fluid movement of youth and the dignity of experience.

There were no Awards of Merit to hand out. My steward checked with the superintendent, and the answer came back, “No.” Yet, it later turned out this was a glitch; Awards of Merit should have been given out. Communication had failed somewhere along the line. Not knowing that, I whispered to my steward, “This is awful, I want to give 10 Awards of Merit.” He nodded sympathetically and pointed out that I had two grand champion select awards. These went to the very deserving Ch. Srinagar Glory Hallelujah Ladyhawk and Ch. 7Seas Intl Safari Al Sayad.

The next day, my Best Opp, Marcella, was Best of Breed. My grand champion select, Al Sayad, was Best Opposite. My BOB, Walk This Way, was grand champion select, which indicates what my friend Borzoi breeder Peter San Paolo calls, “a circle of consistency” around these dogs.

On Sunday, I wrangled a snapshot of Walk This Way as he was posing for his grand champion select award. The owner, Julie Mueller, came over and introduced herself.

“He has such presence,” I said. “I was really struck by his carriage.”

Tears filled her eyes. “He comes from 22-year old semen,” she told me. “His sire is my old champion, Karim. He’s been dead a long time.”

On the internet, I downloaded an old photo of the sire, Ch. Karim Zahab Al Bokay, from 1983. Below was a caption, “Top Winning Saluki of All Time.” The similarity of father and son was striking, despite the separation of more than 20 years.

“When I looked into this dog’s eyes, I knew that Karim had come back to me,” Julie said.

Among the Saluki tribe, that does not count as weird or mysterious. No one calls the funny farm to have you locked up. This is an ancient and mystical breed. Their adherents live life on their own terms, as their dogs do.

FYI: Results of the show can be found at the superintendent's site, Jack Bradshaw. A report on the Lompoc Valley Kennel Club weekend will appear in the weekly magazine Dog News.

Can untrained dogs detect human illness?

Wed, 30 Dec 2009 22:06:55 -0500

Can dogs sense health problems arising in human beings?
Certainly, highly trained canines can sniff out cancer in urine samples. Research at Cancer and BioDetection Dogs in Aylsbury, England, has proven that. Research at the Pine Street Foundation in San Anselmo, California, proved that dogs could sniff out cancer in human breath samples. But can they alert to what’s happening within the human body? Can they alert to a problem in a living, breathing person?  My book, Paws & Effect: The Healing Power of Dogs covers these questions extensively. When I asked on the Internet, Has your dog ever alerted you to a health problem? The anecdotal evidence was strong. People insisted their dogs had alerted to seizures, heart attacks, skin cancer, migraine headaches and various other ailments.   On Christmas, in the early morning, I woke suddenly. A glance at the digital clock told me it was 2 a.m. I couldn’t move; as I woke, I realized it was because Clarissa was lying on my chest. She is a Miniature Dachshund who always makes me laugh. “What are you doing?” I asked her. I slid her back to my side, her usual spot. A Dachshund against your side is a wonderful, warm, soft log. She usually didn’t move the whole night. She had never climbed on my chest before.  Looking at my bed, I was struck by the changed positions of the other three dogs who sleep with me. They are little ten-pound Brussels Griffons. Stella is a snob; she lies at the foot of the bed, far from the rest of us. Katie and Nessie curl up in the pillows and blankets near me, not touching. But at this moment, all four dogs were packed against me. Why?  Maybe it was unusually cold tonight…. no, that wasn’t it. Was it emotional, were they feeling a need to be close to me? No, we demonstrated our love for each other openly. No need to rub up against me tonight. Maybe a scary noise? I listened through the dark for sounds of an intruder. But if that had been the problem, they would be alert, looking in the direction of the noise. That wasn’t it. I had the feeling they were trying to protect me. From what?  My head nodded and I fell back to sleep. But not for long. At 4:30 a.m., strong, strangling chest pains awakened me. Oh, no. Not another heart attack. I got up and tried to take inventory of my body. The pain was intense.  Four years ago, I’d suffered terrible chest pains one afternoon. After two hours, I’d felt relief. But my cardiologist informed me that I’d had a heart attack. Next time, she warned, you must get to the hospital right away. If you get here quickly, we can do something. This attack damaged your heart.  Tonight, with no relief in sight, I succumbed to her advice and got to the hospital. I hoped they would simply test me, inform me that I was fine, and I’d go home. Unfortunately, human medicine is not yet at a point where they can immediately know if you are having a heart attack, even after blood tests and electrocardiograms. To my dismay, I was kept all day and overnight for observation.   It was Christmas day. I couldn’t get in touch with any of my dogsitters. They didn’t answer the phones at their homes. I didn’t have their various cell phone numbers with me. I reached a rather faraway friend who helped me analyze the situation; yes, I’d left the dogs with plenty of kibble and water. The two more aggressive ones were isolated in the kitchen. The other four were in the dog room, where they could use the dog door to go in and out. There really wasn’t any immediate reason to panic. She promised to go to my house if I wasn’t there by tomorrow.   Mid-afternoon, the pains started to subside. “Everything about this suggests it is esophageal, not cardiac,” said Dr. Hagaman. “But you still have to stay overnight.”  The next day I happily left the cardiac care unit and rushed home. I was surprised at what I found. The dogs had behaved perfectly. Nothing in the kitchen was chewed or moved. Their waste was neatly deposited on the newspaper in the back hallway, as I’d trained them to do.  In the dog room, same thing. No one had torn the wool out of a plush bed or chewed off someone else’s collar. The stuffed toys were undamaged. The place was clean, almost as if they’d wiped their feet when coming in. My dogs love to be naughty. They make bigger messes than this when I go to the corner store. To be perfectly good for more than 24 hours suggested a deliberate change in behavior.  Why? Of course, the thought went through my mind; did they somehow know I was sick? And what about last night, Clarissa on my chest and the others packed tight against me? Had they known about the esophageal problem arising?   As a journalist, I maintain a skeptical attitude. From my research, I know dogs have the ability send a warning. They know when something is wrong. Was my dogs’ reaction an attempt to alert me? I’m still asking myself that.

The Dogs of Christmas

Sat, 19 Dec 2009 19:54:12 -0500

One of the things I enjoy most at Christmas is getting cards and photos from all the people who’ve adopted dogs from me over the years.

Lily the Dachshund

Fri, 27 Feb 2009 22:03:57 -0500

Today we are in Aspen.

I really enjoy blogging -- my blog at examiner.com -- Pet Life National blogger-- gives me the chance to reach a national audience of dog lovers.

Check it out at examiner.com - Pets -- Pet Life -- Sharon Sakson. http://www.examiner.com/National-Pets.html

See you there!