Learning to Live with your Basenji: Cody and Maxwell's Story

This is for new adopters who ask themselves “what the heck have I done!?”

A year before adopting my Cody from BRAT I had researched Basenjis on the internet, pored over Basenji books, and looked at everything I could find related to the breed. I was informed. I was ready. I was a Basenji expert. In fact, the night before the BRAT home visit, my husband and I quizzed each other about Basenjis so we could show the home inspector that we were informed! We knew everything there was to know about the regal history of the breed. We were going to be perfect Basenji parents! We were ready! Ta da!

And then we brought home Cody.

Cody

When we tried to move him off the couch or bed, Cody snarled and snarked. He bared his teeth and tried to bite us. I was, frankly, terrified of him. This was a new dog experience for us. Prior to adopting Cody we had mixed-breeds from the animal shelter. They were biddable and sweet and obedient. They came when called and looked stricken when caught with their noses in the garbage can.

Cody was something entirely different. I can remember walking him with my friend that first month, in tears, telling her that we had made a terrible mistake. I wanted to give him back to his amazing foster mom Lindy Ireland but felt that if I did I was admitting failure because I had committed to taking care of this heinous creature and to abandon him was unthinkable. But we had made a horrible mistake. We had somehow adopted the devil’s spawn and I feared I could never love or trust him. We had failed.

But then, with time and determination and gentle guidance from his foster parents, the BRAT community, and our vet, everything began to change. We worked with him. He had to sit before getting a treat. Actually, he had to sit for every thing he desired – pets, cuddles, time on the couch, etc. And little by little he became less scary. We began to see that his aggression was more show than action. And the more we worked with him – nightly training involving ups! (jumping onto a chair) and downs! (jumping off) and sits and stays and lots of treats - the more he calmed down and the less aggressive he was.

Today, he is my joy. When he snuggles next to me under the covers, I feel blessed beyond reason. And if he snarks when asked to leave a coveted spot, I know he’s all bluff and I simply tell him to knock it off. I learned to meet him halfway and he stopped being frightening. He became comical. He still makes a sound like something from the depths of hell when I move him from a coveted spot, but now instead of being afraid, I just laugh.

And then… we adopted Maxwell Benjamin from BRAT, through, once again, Lindy Ireland and Tom Nucaro.

Maxwell

Maxwell makes Cody look like the poster Basenji for good behavior. Every night when I tell my pack that it’s time to go out for the last time, Maxwell growls and snarks, raises his hackles, and tries to attack his brothers as if they have somehow interrupted his comfortable peace in his cozy cave. He is defensive and quick to react. He has bitten both my husband and myself when startled. We think he just may have had a harder road to hoe before coming to us and he can’t shake that feeling that the world is a scary and threatening place. But having had Cody first, we learned to work around Maxwell’s issues. If not for Cody, and the way we learned to understand each other, I would not have had the patience and knowledge (despite all that reading I had done) for such a needy soul. But now I do. And Maxwell has become a wonderful companion. We love his weird quirks and I think he knows he is safe. And home. Finally.

Basenjis are strange and difficult dogs. And whatever you read about them will never prepare you for what that beautiful, precious, and strange little individual will bring to your life. So, give it a month before you decide if you’re a good match. Allow them to relax enough in their new home to let their personalities shine. This has been a hard lesson for me to learn (and I failed often), but I finally get it. You need time to evaluate this new presence in your life.

Cody & Max

Lean on the folks in the BRAT community (they have all been there) and be prepared to spend many hours training and working with this wonderful/exasperating/amusing critter until you can arrive at an understanding. Many Basenji owners joke about how they bend themselves into pretzels to accommodate the idiosyncrasies of the breed. To live with a Basenji involves compromise and a level of acceptance that I didn’t think I could muster. But I did. And my husband did. And like many Basenji guardians before us, we shake our heads in amazement at what we never thought we would tolerate from a pet. But we do. They hover over us when we eat supper (and sometimes snag a morsel off a plate). They pretty much dictate all the house rules. They splay themselves across guest’s laps, and we have long since stopped apologizing. And honestly, I think we’re better people for it because we have unwittingly accepted them on their terms. And looking back, I am amazed, because it all somehow feels just as it should be.

~Julie Mahoney

True Baroo

Why do basenjis inspire such loyalty?  Is it their beauty, mischief, snuggle-ability, their intelligence, those little donut tail wags, the way they sing for dinner or at least complain very loudly? There are any number of qualities that make their humans incredibly loyal.

My sister Susan is a devoted aunt to Ivan and Dasa. Whenever she’s at our house, she spends a lot of time with the Munchkins, agreeing with them on every grievance, telling them she knows they would be allowed to Starve if she didn’t show up periodically to remind us to feed them. Little Dasa is always happy to see her favorite aunt, and Ivan is certain Susan visits only to see him.

When our regular baby-sitter decided to go on vacation the weekend of the Sailing for Veterans Regatta, we were momentarily panicked. We were already committed to participate in this event to raise funds for Veterans’ causes, so this was potentially disastrous. We then asked Susan if she would be willing to lend a hand.

Fortunately, Susan can refuse Ivan nothing. So, we continued plans to sail in the regatta, and Susan would feed the Munchkins on Saturday and Sunday. We wouldn’t be away overnight, so she didn’t have to worry about breakfast, and we’d be home by dinner on Sunday.

Regatta weekend: Saturday we got back to the dock about 2:30 for a late lunch. I immediately checked my phone. Four missed calls from Susan. Ice tongs gripped my chest. I noticed texts and read the first one that came up. It read, “I got in. Everything is OK.” I slowly took a breath. OK. Whatever it is, they’re OK. I read backwards through the texts to discover we had locked the door from the garage into the house.

Susan has our garage door code and I usually remember to leave the door from the house to the garage unlocked when we expect her. (Yes, I should’ve gotten her a key a long time ago, but I think of this only when I’m not anywhere near a place to get keys copied.)  Susan was locked out and Ivan and Dasa were inside expecting their lunch. Repeated calls to my voicemail were getting her nowhere, so Susan did some exploring. All the windows in the front were locked, so she thought about climbing over our six foot privacy fence to check the sliding glass door at the back. As this door is always locked when we’re away, she decided to make good use of some of the skills acquired in her young single days when she frequently locked herself out of her apartment.

She broke into our house. She used a credit card to open the locked door from the garage to the house, the only door without a deadbolt.  Having done this, she was then able to give the Munchkins lunch and back yard time. Disaster averted.

I got keys for Susan the very next day.  And yes, that door is inside the garage, but if Susan, not exactly a criminal mastermind, could open the door, it was time for a deadbolt there as well.

Susan later told me, Ivan knew she was on the other side of the door and she couldn’t disappoint him. She was not going to give up until she reached the Munchkins. Cheers for devoted Aunt Susan who is true baroo to our curly tails.

 

 

No worries. Aunt Susan will save us.

Basenjis and the Elderly

Has anyone ever experienced their basenji being particularly affectionate towards an elderly person -- even one that they may not really know?  In the past few months, I've had this happen several times with my male basenji Biko, and each time he does this it just amazes me.

The first time it happened was last fall, when my grandparents came to visit me shortly after my son was born.  Since they live six hours away from me and both of my grandparents are approaching 80 years old, this was only the second time they'd ever been able to make the trek to my house in New Jersey.  My dogs have met them before, but only on rare occasions at my parents' home in Pittsburgh, and normally Biko is very timid around men he doesn't know.  However, as soon as my grandpap arrived and sat down on the couch, Biko was right by his side without even a warm-up period.  Oddly enough, the dog didn't give my grandma even a passing consideration, although both of my grandparents have about the same degree of dog savvy, and both of them pet the dogs about the same amount.  Somehow, though, Biko seemed to sense something about my grandpap -- was it his increasing frailty? -- and he glued himself to pap's side like I've never seen him do with anyone before.  It wasn't just that the dog was sitting next to him, it was that he was bodily leaning into my pap, before any petting or scratching had even commenced.  And all weekend long it went like that -- wherever pap sat down, there was Biko, right by his side. 

The second time this happened was over the winter, when my husband's grandparents came to visit us.  Again, Biko doesn't see them very often, and he would normally be very trepidatious around a man he didn't know.  But as soon as Mike's grandfather sat down on the couch, Biko was there, leaning into him for all he was worth. 

Since Mike's grandparents do live reasonably close to us in NJ, they've been over to our house a few times, but probably not within the past year or so.  In that past year, Mike's grandfather has been rapidly declining due to dementia, and it was interesting to see the difference between the last time they had come over, when Biko had paid them no mind, and this time, when Biko immediately glued himself to Mike's grandfather's side.  He's also starting to do this when Mike's other grandmother, who is developing Parkinson's, comes over.   The only conclusion I can draw is that Biko must somehow sense a person's increasing frailty, and he moves to comfort them. I don't know if that's a legitimate conclusion or not, but I'd love to know if this is actually a thing that dogs do -- can they sense a person's frailty?  Does anyone else's dog do this? 

Update on "Question about an Abnormal Growth"

This post is an update on the "Question about an Abnormal Growth" we had from May 19, 2014.

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Hello!  I wanted to give you an update on how well our Cleo has been doing since my 1st blog.

She is doing so much better after our getting a 2nd opinion from a Vet who still couldn't tell us what the sore was exactly (just that it's not cancerous..which is very important and a relief to know) but who offered a bubble collar to keep Cleo from biting at her sore and also provided antibacterial wipes...which didn't work nearly as well as...simply, Hydrogen Peroxide! My 12yr old suggested this and as you will see in pics below, it has helped the sore heal immensely! Please disregard the spots on Cleo's coat; she had just run through some tall grass and flowers. Nothing to do with her sore.

 

 

As you can see in the pictures, the spot is no longer red, oily, or pussy looking. It used to be raised up from her skin and felt like a tiny hockey puck. But now it is a lot smaller, has recessed down, and is no longer red and infected looking. Sore shriveling up to a small thin scab. It's almost paper thin!

Thank you so much to the basenji community for your support. This our 1st dog and I really felt supported by you and those on the Basenji blog who responded.

 

Take Care,

Sayida...so grateful, and Cleo..happier and healthy!

Dasa Warrior Puppy

Dasa, my beautiful little rose of a basenji, is fading. She tires easily and is becoming increasingly frail. Yet just a couple of days ago I was delighted to see her exhibit a bit of liveliness as she spied a bird landing on her grass and trotted after it, tail waving in a jaunty arc over her back.  For some reason, seeing her chase after the bird reminded me of another occasion when she was ready to deal with an interloper about to invade her back yard.

Several years ago, shortly after we moved to Maryville, Dasa was full of youth, vigor, and energy and, as now, whimsical notions and great bravery. We had just gone into the back yard and were still on the patio when she suddenly looked up and stiffened, then a low growl came from my sweet baby girl. What was that about?
I looked toward the back fence where she was staring with fierce concentration. Again, grrrr.  Perplexed, I walked toward the back of the yard until I saw movement through a tiny slit between the boards of our privacy fence. Dasa walked slowly toward me, still staring fixedly at the fence and issuing low growls. She was seriously concerned.  I squinted through the slit and saw a plastic bag caught on one of our young pine trees. It was blowing about and causing Dasa’s alert warning sensors to go off.
 
“It’s OK. It’s just a bag.” Grrr. She was not letting down her guard. Whatever that threatening presence was, it was not supposed to be behind her fence. I decided the only way to assuage her worries was to retrieve the bag. “I’ll be right back,” I told her, but she was busy being vigilant and keeping us safe from that evil behind the fence.  My Dasa Warrior Puppy remained at her spot in the middle of the yard, ready to spring at whatever it was, should it foolishly decide to invade her back yard.

 At that point, our neighbors to the south had not yet installed their fence so instead of racing past three houses until I reached the clearing by the lake and then doubling back behind a row of fenced yards, as I would have to do today, I was able to sprint through their yard and race behind my fence to disentangle the offending bag without delay. 

 

 I soon returned to Dasa, watchful at her post, and assured her the threat to our safety was gone. I praised my brave girl for defending us.  She had no idea what was back there, but my tiny girl had been ready to confront it and protect us. 

  Dasa’s little body is slowing down, but her warrior puppy spirit is still strong and courageous. May it long be so.