#23 Introducing Sata

Gleeful Sata on Top of the World Blanketed in Snow

After months of turbulent changes, I finally used a day of being snowed in at the cabin over the Spring Equinox to stop everything else (especially since I can’t get off the mountain in my non-4-wheel drive) to tell the story of Sata. Watching this four-month-old puppy play in her first snowfall inspires sharing the commotion and delight she has brought into my life.

Not long after my beloved companion of 14 years, Cholo, passed away in early November (see Blog #20), I began looking for my next sweetheart. My moon has been in chaos over these last few months, a subject for another blog post as it relates to my life on the land, but in short it wasn’t a good time to get a puppy. How bad a time I didn’t yet know, being unfamiliar with puppyhood at this point in my life.

I’d been “dating” online at various shelters or rescue sites to find the perfect match, seeking the same scruffy look that I loved in Cholo. So I was thrilled to find “Scrunchy” (left ), a former street dog now at the Ukiah shelter with her puppies, including this one. Actually, I wanted this puppy’s brother who had a grey face like Cholo (far right), but these puppies were going fast, as a mere glance can explain why. By the time I finally got to the shelter a week later in mid-January, only this puppy was left.

I named her Sata (pronounced Sah-ta, as in Spanish) after the Satos, the name for street dogs of Puerto Rico, which can live a wretched existence. While we often overindulge our dogs (in my opinion), in other countries they are often neglected and abused. My vet in Willits, Dr. Chana Eisenstein at the East Hill Vetrinary Clinic, was in Puerto Rico over the holidays and knew I was looking for a cute little dog. Dr. Chana sent me a photo of this adorable sata (left) that was eating out of the garbage bins at a beach restaurant. Did I want Chana and her partner to bring back the dog and save it? It was a heroic effort that didn’t work out since the little sata was no longer at the restaurant when they went back to get her. Chana said it was horrifying to see so many dogs barely alive, a scarecrow of skin and skeleton feeding off garbage heaps, or dead in the streets, or floating bloated in the water. Chana’s heart went out to this little sata that she hoped to save. In appreciation of the intent, I named my little street mongrel Sata. (My friend Twig in Boston also works for an organization that tries to help save some of the satos of PR: (http://allsatorescue.org/)

When I was thinking about adopting the puppy at the Ukiah shelter, my brother Leighton was visiting with me (here is Leighton, right, On Top of the World on a sunny January day) and off we went.

When we got to her cage, this puppy actually waved her little white paw at us twice, twice! Leighton said, “Aw! You have to get her.” And so I did.

We saw Sata’s mother, Scrunchy, who looked like a Cairn terrier-mix. Her father must have been a border collie, since she has that energy and look to her.

At eight weeks old and four pounds, Sata came home with me—well, actually, I was (as I so often am) on the road. Leighton and I were heading for our parents’ house in Sonoma. Of course, Sata wasn’t housebroken yet. I knew that might be a problem, but denial is a beautiful thing, I always say. When we arrived at our folks’ house, we went around back where I opened the door on their sitting room. Tiny Sata crawled over the doorsill. My father roared, “What’s that?!” I suddenly felt like I was eight years old again and—well, bringing home a stray puppy.

To be fair, I hadn’t warned them, and my father’s fear of pee and poop was valid. But he later added, “You know, Cholo was such a fine old gentleman who I really loved. I wasn’t ready for this.” Yes, indeed it’s hard to have grandpa replaced by an infant—tell me about it!

We are a dog-loving family, though, including the dogs my siblings and I were raised with and that they have with their own families now. Leighton and I had arrived at a family gathering for the weekend, and that was the best arrangement I could have for my little puppy to be introduced as she was passed around from one set of loving hands to another (Don't know whether my nephew Michael , right, or my puppy is cuter here.) My sister Chris (below) immediately found a dog training book online that she downloaded. I needed a few tips since I hadn’t had a puppy in 14 years. I’d gotten a crate on the way from Ukiah.

Chris bought Sata a lovely elephant, subsequently named Elie, that kept her company in her crate and later became a great play companion.
Since that first weekend, Sata and I have had some tough times. I’d forgotten that one should not take a puppy under four months into the world where she might get exposed to parvovirus before she’s gotten all her shots. Four months! That meant two whole months of quarantine; some of that time I was on work duty in the Bay Area and staying with friends. Travelling everywhere meant a whimper from the back seat begging for an urgent pit stop. But where to stop that other dogs haven’t been? When I heard stories of puppies getting very sick with parvo and ending up on intravenous fluids to the tune of $1000, I got more serious about trying to get home and stay home.

And of course, Sata and I had the typical conflicts that accompany parenting of babies: the wanton destruction (well, really just one shoe got chewed on); curiosity leading to chaos (actually, she only dumped over the wastebasket twice); the endless teething (she continues to bite everything to know it). When I let Sata out of her crate each morning, she sticks her front paws out in her Downward Dog yoga posture, then she digs her head into my lap, mouth open as she seeks something to gnaw on—my hand, my leg, her own paw. I chew; therefore, I am.

The worst of puppyhood is avoiding the “accidents.” As the puppy book I used noted, the puppies don’t have accidents; we do by failing to get the pup outside frequently enough and failing to reinforce the good behavior. (A great free resource, downloadable: After You Get Your Puppy by Dr. Ian Dunbar at http://www.dogstardaily.com/.) Sata is quite sensitive and thus responsive to instruction.

The last time she peed in the house (at three months of age), we clearly were miscommunicating. I was sitting at my desk working. She propped her front paws on my knees. Thinking she wanted to play, I got her rope toy and played tug with her for a couple of minutes. I went back to work, and she came back at me with another nudge. I got her Elie and played a little chase. The third time she jumped on me, I insisted, “Honey, I have work to do; I can’t play.”

So she went over to the closed door, squatted, and peed. I can laugh now at the slow motion film that rolled out with me screaming, “N-n-n--o-o-o-o!” I rushed her outside, dropped her on the ground, harrumphing all the while.

Sata grovelled at my feet, her little white-tipped tail wagging in hyper time to communicate, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

I immediately scooped her up, hugged her, and apologized too. “I know! I’m sorry. I should have let you out. I just didn’t get what you were telling me.” We’ve never had another problem.

Having a young puppy is akin to having a toddler. I rail against having too much stuff and overly indulged pets, but somehow my puppy has collected too many toys. The floor of the cabin is littered with four stuffed animals, several balls, a plastic rubber play toy, socks tied to a rope, and two pieces of rawhide. Sata will sometimes bring one of her stuffed animals to me to indicate she wants me to chase her around the house—and of course I do. Kids and baby critters invite playfulness (back) into our lives.

My land reclamation efforts are re-energized as these hikes also insure Sata has enough exercise each morning and often in the afternoon too. Mountain goat-like, Sata tears up and down the hills in wild abandon as I hike down the creek trail and clear away debris. (Here she is ripping toward me on a hill I’m cleaning up.) Even at four months she’s been happy to trot across fallen logs high over a creek bed. When I stop to clear out a spot of the creek, she wrestles a stick, then complains for us to keep roaming. Getting out with her inspires me to find or create new trails on the land here, as well as discover wonderful trails in the vicinity.

She enjoys looking out at the trees as much as I do. Sata is a most wonderful companion for a woman practicing self-sequestration in a hut on a hill.