Yesterday I actually managed to get myself and Petey out of the house. Weather was cold and gray again, which I'm more than sick of. We went to mom's house and she was a wreck. We had a good, old-fashioned screaming match, Italian style. I don't know what it is about mothers and daughters - we have the unique ability to make each other completely nuts. Petey got his first lesson in ignoring fireworks. My disagreements with Dick are not nearly so demonstrative or noisy.
Rascal, who has had a rather large tumor on his left stifle for quite some time has suddenly begun limping on that leg. Oh, boy. Poor old dog. I often think about the day I got him and his sister, Angel. It was shortly after New Year's, 1995. At the time, I was married to my ex, Tom, whose last name I still bear, and I was in one of the bluest funks I've ever endured. Two weeks before the previous Thanksgiving, I was hospitalized with severe pain in the lower right side of my chest. I spent a total of three weeks in two hospitals, suffering through several misdiagnoses, inappropriate treatment, some procedures which were nothing short of torture, not to mention the nurses who were afraid to give me the pain meds which I so desperately needed just to be able to breathe. The Medical Deities finally figured out that I probably had a pulmonary embolism, but by that time my lungs were so obscured with blood and fluid, they couldn't really say for sure.
Being hospitalized that long was quite inconvenient because at the time I had a little horse farm and several dogs and cats. One dog, Roseanne, was that one special dog that some people are lucky enough to have once in a lifetime. She was the sunniest little dog - life to her was a series of happy things, punctuated with bursts of unbridled glee. I've never known such a delightful dog before or since and I probably never will. She was my soul mate.
She was like that from day one. I got her from a breeder in Springfield. Drove down there one afternoon to pick her up, along with a sister I picked up for a fellow horse breeder in northern Illinois. I met the breeder at the state fairgrounds. Got there, pulled up the car, and this wonderful woman - I don't even recall what she looked like, handed me this squirmy, wiggly blue fur-ball and said, "Here's your puppy!" As I took her in my arms, she wagged, wiggled and licked me with a joy and passion that made me fall instantly in love with her. It was so ... her.
While I was hospitalized, Roseanne came up lame. Tom had let her out one night and she made her usual mad dash to the barn to roll the cats (it was her way of greeting them - they tolerated it well), and came back dangling her left hind leg. She was still lame when I came home. Turns out she had ruptured a cruciate ligament and needed surgery. My local vet had a visiting orthopedic surgeon, so we scheduled her surgery on a Friday afternoon. I brought her in, and I will never forget handing her over to the vet, whom she licked copiously about the face - she was the happiest little thing. I wasn't greatly worried - I'd done a lot of work assisting a vet friend of mine through a number of surgeries - so after dropping her off, Tom and I went out for dinner. When we got back to the house, I called to check up on her and my world caved in. Bad news. She'd had an anomalous reaction to the anesthetic and died on the table. Two or three breaths of isoflurane and that was it. She wasn't quite four years old.
I can tell you from experience that when someone wails in pain, either physically or emotionally, it is not voluntary, nor can it be controlled. It's something that comes from deep within. It rises then flows out - it's something that happens to you, not something you do, and it is something profound and primal. And I had experienced it twice in a month. Yipee. Lucky me.
Needless to say, the holidays sucked that year. I pretty much blew off Christmas - I just couldn't bring myself to cheerfully socialize with close and extended family and friends. Those were some of the darkest days of my life, and mostly what I remember is looking at that empty crate and dog bed and weeping inconsolably. I couldn't bring myself to take them down and put them away, but I couldn't bear to see them, either. My sunny, happy little dog was dead. I still cry when I think about it, and really, I don't cry.
By mid-January, when I was getting sick and tired of being sick and tired and couldn't stand to look at that empty crate anymore, a friend of mine gave me an ad in a farmers' newspaper - a nearby farmer had a litter of "heeler pups" for sale. I knew, of course, that no dog was going to replace my Roseanne, but I had an awful lot of love to give that needed an outlet.
The farmer's dogs had a large litter and about seven of them were left to choose from when Tom and I got there. They were living in a corn crib. One thing I knew for sure about my next puppy was that I wanted the one who most happy to see me, so I told him to just let them all out. As puppies do, they stampeded the door and got all in a tangle. Then one puppy, the smallest one, scrambled over the puppy pile and bounded toward me. "That's my dog!" I thought. And that would have been that, except Tom decided he wanted a puppy, too. Great. He selected a little female - the shy one, cowering in the corner. Not the dog I would have selected, but oh, well.
So, now when I look at poor Rascal, lumpy, fat, gray and incontinent, I think about that little puppy bounding out of the corn crib. At least he's had a longer life than Roseanne.
I digress. The subject of this post is "Progress." This morning when the coffeemaker beeper went off, Petey perked up, jumped on the sofa and nudged and pawed my hand. Yay! I then said "Where?" and started for the kitchen. He started to go ahead of me, but Nugget ran interference. Yeah, he's already figured out there's a treat involved. It's the reason why I really need to separate the other dogs when training Petey. But boy, this little guy gets it.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Sunday, November 25, 2007
By the Way....
... Petey has now alerted me several times to the beeper on the coffeemaker! Good job!
Ugh. (A non-dog-training post)
Disconcerting. That's about all I can say about the Thanksgiving holiday.
I really wish I could sit here and "blog" about the things I'm thankful for, and there are many as I think about it. But it's really difficult to enumerate them or even call them to mind when your attention and energy are being sucked into the black hole that happens when one family member is very ill with a brain disorder and another family member utterly fails to deal with it.
Dick and I enjoy cooking. Normally on holidays we cook at home, package up everything and tote it over to mom's, where we finish up some of the last-minute side dishes and serve dinner. This time I decided that since my mom needs some company, I'd roast the turkey at her house. It's not a mistake I'm likely to make again.
Regarding the dogs, I usually bring one - Piglet - and the rest get some quiet time at home. Piglet is the best one to bring because Rascal (mom's dog) doesn't want anything to do with my dogs and Piglet will not pester him. They totally ignore each other. It's the strangest thing. I raised Rascal and he was very well-socialized when I handed him over, but mom didn't maintain it - she kept him mostly at home, and he slipped back into the cowdog's characteristic aloofness. Funny, but after mom got him, he always remembered me when I visited, greeting me with great joy and enthusiasm. But the first time I brought another dog over (Sugar Baby), he spied the other dog, backed up, looked away and trotted off. He still hasn't forgiven me. Okay, that's anthropomorphizing, maybe, but that's sure the way it looks to me. Anyhow, Piglet pretends he doesn't exist and hence makes him less uncomfortable than the other dogs, who are quite friendly and sociable. She's not aggressive; she just has little use for dogs outside the pack.
I brought Piglet, as usual. Mother sprung dad from the nursing home for the first time since his placement. In my opinion, she brought him home WAYYYY too early - about four hours before dinner time. That's about two days in Alzheimer's time. Now, I don't care to write anything which my mother might find embarrassing, so I'll limit my observations to generalities. Let's just say that dad is no longer able to think logically, and mother has not accepted this. Not really. Her whole life has been about helping people. She is a licensed clinical social worker with an MSW and an undergrad degree in education. Throughout her career, she has helped people by guiding them to understand the illogic in their behavior and applying logic and reason to help them improve their lives. That's great for someone who has enough brain power to think logically, but it fails miserably with a brain-compromised person who can't remember the beginning of a sentence by the time you get to the end of it. Dad's mind, apparently, flits around in a sort of dreamlike state, grasping fleeting thoughts which immediately evaporate like bubbles in the air when you catch them. And, of course, he spews a lot of pre-programmed, stereotypical remarks based upon long-established behavior patterns (think of your grandmother saying things like "You're gonna put an eye out!" or "You'll fall and break your neck!"). The biggest problem is that he does not understand his illogic - from his point of view, he is the logical one and no one else seems able to get on the same page.
So now you have the scenario. Now put them in a room together for several hours, and what unfolds is a sort of black comedy - an endless stream of "Who's on First" routines and circular arguments as mother tries to push some magic button that will return my dad to the man he once was. My dad is trying to "talk some sense" into mother, who just doesn't get what he's saying. It's like the chimps in psychological experiments where the have to push a series of buttons in a certain order to get food, and once they get it, the experimenter changes the required sequence and the poor ape becomes frustrated and frantic, pushing buttons in random order with increasing frustration, ultimately whacking the machine and screaming. My mom, being the only one of the two who is capable of real logical thought, must be the one to stop the spin cycle, but she doesn't because her behavior patterns are too ingrained and she's too emotionally invested. There's nothing, apparently, that I can say or do to redirect her. It's like trying to stop a train wreck by grabbing the locomotive - in doing so, you become part of the wreck. So Dick and I just pretty much watched this vicious cycle unfold, occasionally exchanging owl-eyed glances and wondering how long it would take for one of them to resort to violence. They didn't, mostly because it isn't on their list of choices, but the gripping terror kept us pretty much on the edge of our seats. Strange to say, but there were actually moments that were close to hilarious, and it would have been if we weren't so close to the subjects.
It is now Sunday and I still haven't emotionally recovered. I am stunned - frustrated beyond words - unable to concentrate, ready to scream at the drop of a hat. It's not a good state of mind to be in when training a dog, and worse yet when you're managing a pack, especially one in flux AND during a full moon! The dogs pick up on it and their energy becomes as messed up as yours, leading to disharmony and misbehavior, which adds to my off-kilter state of mind. I'll get over it and I'll probably be okay within the next day or so - I will get Petey out today for a training walk and socialization, provided I can once again find my "Zen" place. That's hard to do, though, when you're in the spin cycle.
I'm reminded of the advice I got from that legendary dog trainer, "Captain" Arthur Haggerty, when I consulted with him on doing the movie with Piglet:
"Learn some relaxation exercises," he said. "You're going to need them."
So, in the memory of that great man (whom I sorely miss!), I will stand tall, feet somewhat apart, eyes closed, and brreeeaaaathe. Inhale through the nose as deeply as possible, hold it for a moment, exhale through the mouth slowly, releasing all the tension with that breath. Repeat.
Thanks, Cap.
I really wish I could sit here and "blog" about the things I'm thankful for, and there are many as I think about it. But it's really difficult to enumerate them or even call them to mind when your attention and energy are being sucked into the black hole that happens when one family member is very ill with a brain disorder and another family member utterly fails to deal with it.
Dick and I enjoy cooking. Normally on holidays we cook at home, package up everything and tote it over to mom's, where we finish up some of the last-minute side dishes and serve dinner. This time I decided that since my mom needs some company, I'd roast the turkey at her house. It's not a mistake I'm likely to make again.
Regarding the dogs, I usually bring one - Piglet - and the rest get some quiet time at home. Piglet is the best one to bring because Rascal (mom's dog) doesn't want anything to do with my dogs and Piglet will not pester him. They totally ignore each other. It's the strangest thing. I raised Rascal and he was very well-socialized when I handed him over, but mom didn't maintain it - she kept him mostly at home, and he slipped back into the cowdog's characteristic aloofness. Funny, but after mom got him, he always remembered me when I visited, greeting me with great joy and enthusiasm. But the first time I brought another dog over (Sugar Baby), he spied the other dog, backed up, looked away and trotted off. He still hasn't forgiven me. Okay, that's anthropomorphizing, maybe, but that's sure the way it looks to me. Anyhow, Piglet pretends he doesn't exist and hence makes him less uncomfortable than the other dogs, who are quite friendly and sociable. She's not aggressive; she just has little use for dogs outside the pack.
I brought Piglet, as usual. Mother sprung dad from the nursing home for the first time since his placement. In my opinion, she brought him home WAYYYY too early - about four hours before dinner time. That's about two days in Alzheimer's time. Now, I don't care to write anything which my mother might find embarrassing, so I'll limit my observations to generalities. Let's just say that dad is no longer able to think logically, and mother has not accepted this. Not really. Her whole life has been about helping people. She is a licensed clinical social worker with an MSW and an undergrad degree in education. Throughout her career, she has helped people by guiding them to understand the illogic in their behavior and applying logic and reason to help them improve their lives. That's great for someone who has enough brain power to think logically, but it fails miserably with a brain-compromised person who can't remember the beginning of a sentence by the time you get to the end of it. Dad's mind, apparently, flits around in a sort of dreamlike state, grasping fleeting thoughts which immediately evaporate like bubbles in the air when you catch them. And, of course, he spews a lot of pre-programmed, stereotypical remarks based upon long-established behavior patterns (think of your grandmother saying things like "You're gonna put an eye out!" or "You'll fall and break your neck!"). The biggest problem is that he does not understand his illogic - from his point of view, he is the logical one and no one else seems able to get on the same page.
So now you have the scenario. Now put them in a room together for several hours, and what unfolds is a sort of black comedy - an endless stream of "Who's on First" routines and circular arguments as mother tries to push some magic button that will return my dad to the man he once was. My dad is trying to "talk some sense" into mother, who just doesn't get what he's saying. It's like the chimps in psychological experiments where the have to push a series of buttons in a certain order to get food, and once they get it, the experimenter changes the required sequence and the poor ape becomes frustrated and frantic, pushing buttons in random order with increasing frustration, ultimately whacking the machine and screaming. My mom, being the only one of the two who is capable of real logical thought, must be the one to stop the spin cycle, but she doesn't because her behavior patterns are too ingrained and she's too emotionally invested. There's nothing, apparently, that I can say or do to redirect her. It's like trying to stop a train wreck by grabbing the locomotive - in doing so, you become part of the wreck. So Dick and I just pretty much watched this vicious cycle unfold, occasionally exchanging owl-eyed glances and wondering how long it would take for one of them to resort to violence. They didn't, mostly because it isn't on their list of choices, but the gripping terror kept us pretty much on the edge of our seats. Strange to say, but there were actually moments that were close to hilarious, and it would have been if we weren't so close to the subjects.
It is now Sunday and I still haven't emotionally recovered. I am stunned - frustrated beyond words - unable to concentrate, ready to scream at the drop of a hat. It's not a good state of mind to be in when training a dog, and worse yet when you're managing a pack, especially one in flux AND during a full moon! The dogs pick up on it and their energy becomes as messed up as yours, leading to disharmony and misbehavior, which adds to my off-kilter state of mind. I'll get over it and I'll probably be okay within the next day or so - I will get Petey out today for a training walk and socialization, provided I can once again find my "Zen" place. That's hard to do, though, when you're in the spin cycle.
I'm reminded of the advice I got from that legendary dog trainer, "Captain" Arthur Haggerty, when I consulted with him on doing the movie with Piglet:
"Learn some relaxation exercises," he said. "You're going to need them."
So, in the memory of that great man (whom I sorely miss!), I will stand tall, feet somewhat apart, eyes closed, and brreeeaaaathe. Inhale through the nose as deeply as possible, hold it for a moment, exhale through the mouth slowly, releasing all the tension with that breath. Repeat.
Thanks, Cap.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Waaa - HOOOOO!! Puppy Alerted to a Beeper!
It was like a miracle.
This morning, as usual, I got up and let dogs out, staggered into the kitchen a groped around in my usual, uncoordinated attempt to make coffee. Somehow, I managed. Brought dogs in. It usually takes a while for their "swirling" to dissipate, then everyone calms down and occupies themselves with their secret doggie thoughts and other pursuits.
Such was the routine today. Petey was ballistic this morning, launching himself at me like a bank of heat-seeking missiles - such is the way cowdog puppies share their love. He tried this not only with me, but with several of the adult dogs, who gruffed at him as only a dog can do, until I became the last remaining target. I told him NO. I told him "Knock it off!" I gave him a couple of mock hand-bites. I even growled at him - as low and deep a growl as I could muster - but he continuted his launching. I tried the growl again, but missed that low pitch, voice cracking into an uncharacteristically high-pitched "Arrrrgggggg...."
Bam! Pete hit the ground and rolled over on his back. Wow. A hands-free "alpha roll!" I thought, gee... dog language must have a component like Chinese, in which the pitch of the word portrays a meaning as well as the sound. One would think, in a human way, that lower is more menacing, but here I have proof positive that it just ain't so. I found myself wishing I had perfect pitch - that ability to identify the note musicians associate with a pitch. I had a musician friend who had it and it was amazing. We were strolling around an outdoor concert site once. A nearby car honked its horn. My friend looked up in the air, holding up an extended index finger, and announced, "That's a G!" Arrgghh... such talent. I'd love to be able to reproduce that magically-pitched growl that pastes puppies to the ground. Wouldn't that be a fun trick in puppy class? Forget labeling myself as a "dog whisperer" - I could be the "dog growler!" LOL... Lovely thought, but I'll just bet the pitch is different for different dogs. Still, I'd like to know if Pete's magic pitch is a G or a B or an E-flat.
(As an aside, my perfect-pitch friend told me that the different pitches sound like different colors look. I guess I hear in black and white, and I've secretly grieved my lack of musical perception ever since.)
Pete, after recovering from his belly-up groveling, found a toy to chew on as the entire group settled down. All was quiet and relaxed. Then the coffeemaker finished it's job, announcing itself with a soft beep - beep - beep - beep. Petey perked up, ears pricked forward, and charged into the kitchen! Holy moley... I was so surprised that it took me a moment to realize a.) what he had just done, and b.) the training opportunity.
"Pete, TOUCH!!" He charged back into the living room and nudged his nose in my palm. "Pete, PAWS!" He clawed at my hand and at my thighs. Good dog! I added one he doesn't know yet - "Pete, WHERE?" and I ran with him into the kitchen, grabbed a treat, placed both hands on the coffee pot and pretended to take the treat from that spot, repeating "WHERE? WHERE?" and tapping on the counter, "PAWS!" When he put his paws on the cabinet under the coffee pot, I said "YES!" and gave him the treat.
Meanwile, the other dogs were entirely non-plussed by this sudden flurry of activity. The two deafies missed the entire first part, but picked up on the rising energy level. Piglet trotted around the house on alert, looking for some trigger while Sugar Baby grabbed and attacked her teaser ball - her answer to most any excitement. My two energetic hearing hearing boys (Max and Nugget) swirled around Petey and me as he nudged and pawed at me, and appeared on the scene at the coffee pot, bracketing Petey like spring-loaded bookends, hoping that whatever it was that caused the excitement would involve treat-dispensing. Rodney the basset, I suppose, was lounging somewhere, appearing in the background only at treat-giving time. He springs into action only for the doorbell - coffee pots are not in his repertoire.
No question that Pete is the right dog for the job. I'm truly impressed.
This morning, as usual, I got up and let dogs out, staggered into the kitchen a groped around in my usual, uncoordinated attempt to make coffee. Somehow, I managed. Brought dogs in. It usually takes a while for their "swirling" to dissipate, then everyone calms down and occupies themselves with their secret doggie thoughts and other pursuits.
Such was the routine today. Petey was ballistic this morning, launching himself at me like a bank of heat-seeking missiles - such is the way cowdog puppies share their love. He tried this not only with me, but with several of the adult dogs, who gruffed at him as only a dog can do, until I became the last remaining target. I told him NO. I told him "Knock it off!" I gave him a couple of mock hand-bites. I even growled at him - as low and deep a growl as I could muster - but he continuted his launching. I tried the growl again, but missed that low pitch, voice cracking into an uncharacteristically high-pitched "Arrrrgggggg...."
Bam! Pete hit the ground and rolled over on his back. Wow. A hands-free "alpha roll!" I thought, gee... dog language must have a component like Chinese, in which the pitch of the word portrays a meaning as well as the sound. One would think, in a human way, that lower is more menacing, but here I have proof positive that it just ain't so. I found myself wishing I had perfect pitch - that ability to identify the note musicians associate with a pitch. I had a musician friend who had it and it was amazing. We were strolling around an outdoor concert site once. A nearby car honked its horn. My friend looked up in the air, holding up an extended index finger, and announced, "That's a G!" Arrgghh... such talent. I'd love to be able to reproduce that magically-pitched growl that pastes puppies to the ground. Wouldn't that be a fun trick in puppy class? Forget labeling myself as a "dog whisperer" - I could be the "dog growler!" LOL... Lovely thought, but I'll just bet the pitch is different for different dogs. Still, I'd like to know if Pete's magic pitch is a G or a B or an E-flat.
(As an aside, my perfect-pitch friend told me that the different pitches sound like different colors look. I guess I hear in black and white, and I've secretly grieved my lack of musical perception ever since.)
Pete, after recovering from his belly-up groveling, found a toy to chew on as the entire group settled down. All was quiet and relaxed. Then the coffeemaker finished it's job, announcing itself with a soft beep - beep - beep - beep. Petey perked up, ears pricked forward, and charged into the kitchen! Holy moley... I was so surprised that it took me a moment to realize a.) what he had just done, and b.) the training opportunity.
"Pete, TOUCH!!" He charged back into the living room and nudged his nose in my palm. "Pete, PAWS!" He clawed at my hand and at my thighs. Good dog! I added one he doesn't know yet - "Pete, WHERE?" and I ran with him into the kitchen, grabbed a treat, placed both hands on the coffee pot and pretended to take the treat from that spot, repeating "WHERE? WHERE?" and tapping on the counter, "PAWS!" When he put his paws on the cabinet under the coffee pot, I said "YES!" and gave him the treat.
Meanwile, the other dogs were entirely non-plussed by this sudden flurry of activity. The two deafies missed the entire first part, but picked up on the rising energy level. Piglet trotted around the house on alert, looking for some trigger while Sugar Baby grabbed and attacked her teaser ball - her answer to most any excitement. My two energetic hearing hearing boys (Max and Nugget) swirled around Petey and me as he nudged and pawed at me, and appeared on the scene at the coffee pot, bracketing Petey like spring-loaded bookends, hoping that whatever it was that caused the excitement would involve treat-dispensing. Rodney the basset, I suppose, was lounging somewhere, appearing in the background only at treat-giving time. He springs into action only for the doorbell - coffee pots are not in his repertoire.
No question that Pete is the right dog for the job. I'm truly impressed.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Weather is NOT COOPERATING!
I'm really getting sick of this. We've had chilly, windy, cloudy, drippy weather for about a week now, and it makes outdoor training quite unpleasant. I could really stand a little positive reinforcement from old Mother Nature.
At least we have gotten out enough for our training session to have the automatic sit pretty well down (about 4 out of 5) and are now working on adding the stay. I'd love to get some video, but it's just too gray and wet. I'd also like to get this little guy out into a field with a 100-foot drag line to play and practice random recalls, but folding up that much wet cord and attempting to dry it adequately is beyond my current energy level.
And Thanksgiving is coming up - that means all day at my mom's. Dick and I will be cooking Thanksgiving dinner there. In previous years, we've done that at home, packaged everything up and toted it over there, but this year we'd like to spend some time while the turkey is roasting to put up mom's Christmas tree - a task which she doesn't have the energy to complete on her own. It's a rough year for her. Plus, we'll be springing dad from the home for the first time since his admission and we don't know quite how he'll react. I expect some difficulty getting him back there.
So, wish me luck!
At least we have gotten out enough for our training session to have the automatic sit pretty well down (about 4 out of 5) and are now working on adding the stay. I'd love to get some video, but it's just too gray and wet. I'd also like to get this little guy out into a field with a 100-foot drag line to play and practice random recalls, but folding up that much wet cord and attempting to dry it adequately is beyond my current energy level.
And Thanksgiving is coming up - that means all day at my mom's. Dick and I will be cooking Thanksgiving dinner there. In previous years, we've done that at home, packaged everything up and toted it over there, but this year we'd like to spend some time while the turkey is roasting to put up mom's Christmas tree - a task which she doesn't have the energy to complete on her own. It's a rough year for her. Plus, we'll be springing dad from the home for the first time since his admission and we don't know quite how he'll react. I expect some difficulty getting him back there.
So, wish me luck!
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Pack Dynamics
Dogs are such fascinating creatures.
Pete's integration into the pack continues and I must admit that such things are stressy for me as well as for the other dogs. Sometimes I wish that I could adopt the attitude of some of the well-meaning but not-very-dog-savvy owners I know who a.) don't think twice about bringing a new dog into a multi-dog household; b.) believe that aggression is something which must be taught to a dog (HAH!) and c.) remain blissfully unaware of the thousands of subtle communications between dogs, consisting of posturing, positioning, glances, facial expressions, tail flagging and even hair signals. On the other hand, I've seen the results of that ignorance when things get out of hand, and so has just about every trainer and veterinarian.
"Eavesdropping" on the conversations between dogs is interesting and informative, but it's also full of gaps. It's like eavesdropping on a conversation between people who speak a language you are learning but haven't mastered. Depending upon your skill level, you may either catch a word or two here and there or complete sentences, minus those words not yet in your vocabulary. I had that experience yesterday at a doctor's office (I have been spending a lot of time at doctor's offices lately - thankfully, not my own appointments!). There were several clumps of interesting people - one was a middle-aged woman with her deaf mother who were signing furiously. For someone who has deaf dogs and several books on communication, I'm amazingly deficient in ASL, and didn't have a clue to what they were talking about. Another was an older couple and a young nurse who was interviewing them in Spanish. I'd sure like to know from where they hailed, as the young woman's speech was just lovely - I could understand almost every word she said, while the couple's speech was muddled and imprecise and virtually unintelligible - at least to me.
I don't believe that humans can ever be fluent in dog language. The best we can manage is understanding most of it, and we can communicate many things to dogs in it, but we'll never be fluent because we can't be - we just aren't equipped for it. We have no tails and our ears don't move. We lack hackles. But as pack leader, I think it's my job to eavesdrop on them as much as possible. I'm not one of those "let 'em work it out for themselves" kind of people. I shudder when some self-proclaimed dog trainer doles out that advice, especially to folks with the gladiator breeds and dominant dogs. Among certain circles, the term "dominance theory" is kicked around like a one-eyed stepchild, and that word "dominance" has become not only politically incorrect, but is the subject of heaves and sighs and cries of "Neanderthal!" and "Old-fashioned" and "abusive." Somehow, being the "dominant" individual in your human/canine pack is now a pejorative, conjuring images of cruel little dictators beating and starving their subjects into submission and executing those who will not comply. We have converted the leadership and control of the animals we own into a political statement, and I find that downright unfortunate. Dogs, like all social mammals including humans, have distinct hierarchies. When we humans bring dogs into our environment and create packs, it is entirely our responsibility to be at the top of that hierarchy. Yet we often do so much which indicates to our dogs that we are not. And the more I observe my dogs, the more I wonder how well the average dog is raised and how many pieces are missing when a dog is not raised with other dogs.
It's a funny thing - my dogs don't usually spend much time chewing things. Because of the makeup of my pack, I don't keep high-food-value chews like meaty bones, rawhide or any animal parts around because it would trigger too much competition and disharmony. I digress. But every time a new pack member enters the household, sooner or later they engage in a bone-chewing ritual. (For this ritual, both real bones and synthetics like Nylabones are employed.) Seemingly out of the blue, the established pack members all grab a bone, walk off to their favorite area and commence chewing. The newcomer ("it," like in a game of tag) then tests the resolve of each one to retain possession of their booty. I do not allow such ritual among adults, but it's an important lesson for a puppy, I believe, as long as the adults don't start mixing it up between themselves.
This morning's round: Max, Nugget and Piglet were chewers and Petey, of course, was "it." Rodney (basset) was more interested in sleeping and Sugar Baby was fixated on her ball - nothing unusual there. Petey was full of himself - posture high, tail up, even some hackles. Naturally, the adults expressed their displeasure as he approached. They'd stiffen, maybe growl, sometimes holding their bone with their teeth. As he came closer, they pulled back their mouth corners in a grimace, heads pointed 45 to 90 degrees from him, glancing out of the corners of their eyes - fightin' words in dog language. A sort of "Don't you even think of it!"
Pete's recent lessons have been well learned. He now either leaves and pesters someone else, or if he thinks his puppy license hasn't quite run out with that particular dog, he lowers himself, licks the air as he crawls to the prized bone, gingerly taking it and hoping not to get eaten in the process. Funny, but he now knows more certainly than I do which dogs will let him get away with this tactic. Once he manages to wrest the booty from a big dog, he occupies himself with it for just a moment, sometimes hackling up, being quite full of himself, before moving on to another object. This is where I think a puppy's lack of attention span comes in quite handy - the big dog can reclaim his or her bone and thus save face. While a frustration for a trainer, the short attention span may actually be a survival tool, especially in an emerging adolescent.
I wonder how a dog can possibly learn those lessons when raised as an only dog. I also question the wisdom of some advice regularly given to puppy owners, like: If your puppy is chewing on something inappropriate, distract him and give him a more acceptable thing to chew on. I have never, ever seen an adult dog "give" anything to a puppy, and I have to wonder what it tells the puppy when we humans do so, especially if this thing is given with a lot of cooing and petting - what we call "praise." The more I watch my dogs, the more I find myself growling, stiffening and looking sideways at the puppy when I want to redirect him to a more appropriate chew toy, I first hold it close, rub it all over, even spit on it, then drop it and lord over it for a moment before allowing the puppy to take it. This makes the object all the more desirable in his eyes. I do not make a big deal about taking undesirable objects away - To do that is to tell the dog "This is a PRIZE!" He may learn to ignore it when I'm right on top of him, but it will become quite attractive when I'm not looking. And really, I have better things to do with my time than to dedicate all my attention to my dogs. Like writing this blog...
Environmental Enrichment
or Avoiding Boredom During Confinement
Since I'm still being cautious about Max's interactions with Petey, I'm trying to keep Pete's crate time interesting. He rarely eats out of a bowl anymore - I've taken to feeding his kibble in a treat ball, which he'll knock around for a good while to extract his meals, one piece at a time. I also supplement his diet with some canned food and cottage cheese which I now stuff into a hollow shin bone. Plug one end with a canned-food meatball, fill the middle with cottage cheese, plug the other end with a meat ball and voila! A fun and nutritious dog puzzle. Petey doesn't seem to mind this and it keeps him well-occupied during crate time.
Pete's integration into the pack continues and I must admit that such things are stressy for me as well as for the other dogs. Sometimes I wish that I could adopt the attitude of some of the well-meaning but not-very-dog-savvy owners I know who a.) don't think twice about bringing a new dog into a multi-dog household; b.) believe that aggression is something which must be taught to a dog (HAH!) and c.) remain blissfully unaware of the thousands of subtle communications between dogs, consisting of posturing, positioning, glances, facial expressions, tail flagging and even hair signals. On the other hand, I've seen the results of that ignorance when things get out of hand, and so has just about every trainer and veterinarian.
"Eavesdropping" on the conversations between dogs is interesting and informative, but it's also full of gaps. It's like eavesdropping on a conversation between people who speak a language you are learning but haven't mastered. Depending upon your skill level, you may either catch a word or two here and there or complete sentences, minus those words not yet in your vocabulary. I had that experience yesterday at a doctor's office (I have been spending a lot of time at doctor's offices lately - thankfully, not my own appointments!). There were several clumps of interesting people - one was a middle-aged woman with her deaf mother who were signing furiously. For someone who has deaf dogs and several books on communication, I'm amazingly deficient in ASL, and didn't have a clue to what they were talking about. Another was an older couple and a young nurse who was interviewing them in Spanish. I'd sure like to know from where they hailed, as the young woman's speech was just lovely - I could understand almost every word she said, while the couple's speech was muddled and imprecise and virtually unintelligible - at least to me.
I don't believe that humans can ever be fluent in dog language. The best we can manage is understanding most of it, and we can communicate many things to dogs in it, but we'll never be fluent because we can't be - we just aren't equipped for it. We have no tails and our ears don't move. We lack hackles. But as pack leader, I think it's my job to eavesdrop on them as much as possible. I'm not one of those "let 'em work it out for themselves" kind of people. I shudder when some self-proclaimed dog trainer doles out that advice, especially to folks with the gladiator breeds and dominant dogs. Among certain circles, the term "dominance theory" is kicked around like a one-eyed stepchild, and that word "dominance" has become not only politically incorrect, but is the subject of heaves and sighs and cries of "Neanderthal!" and "Old-fashioned" and "abusive." Somehow, being the "dominant" individual in your human/canine pack is now a pejorative, conjuring images of cruel little dictators beating and starving their subjects into submission and executing those who will not comply. We have converted the leadership and control of the animals we own into a political statement, and I find that downright unfortunate. Dogs, like all social mammals including humans, have distinct hierarchies. When we humans bring dogs into our environment and create packs, it is entirely our responsibility to be at the top of that hierarchy. Yet we often do so much which indicates to our dogs that we are not. And the more I observe my dogs, the more I wonder how well the average dog is raised and how many pieces are missing when a dog is not raised with other dogs.
It's a funny thing - my dogs don't usually spend much time chewing things. Because of the makeup of my pack, I don't keep high-food-value chews like meaty bones, rawhide or any animal parts around because it would trigger too much competition and disharmony. I digress. But every time a new pack member enters the household, sooner or later they engage in a bone-chewing ritual. (For this ritual, both real bones and synthetics like Nylabones are employed.) Seemingly out of the blue, the established pack members all grab a bone, walk off to their favorite area and commence chewing. The newcomer ("it," like in a game of tag) then tests the resolve of each one to retain possession of their booty. I do not allow such ritual among adults, but it's an important lesson for a puppy, I believe, as long as the adults don't start mixing it up between themselves.
This morning's round: Max, Nugget and Piglet were chewers and Petey, of course, was "it." Rodney (basset) was more interested in sleeping and Sugar Baby was fixated on her ball - nothing unusual there. Petey was full of himself - posture high, tail up, even some hackles. Naturally, the adults expressed their displeasure as he approached. They'd stiffen, maybe growl, sometimes holding their bone with their teeth. As he came closer, they pulled back their mouth corners in a grimace, heads pointed 45 to 90 degrees from him, glancing out of the corners of their eyes - fightin' words in dog language. A sort of "Don't you even think of it!"
Pete's recent lessons have been well learned. He now either leaves and pesters someone else, or if he thinks his puppy license hasn't quite run out with that particular dog, he lowers himself, licks the air as he crawls to the prized bone, gingerly taking it and hoping not to get eaten in the process. Funny, but he now knows more certainly than I do which dogs will let him get away with this tactic. Once he manages to wrest the booty from a big dog, he occupies himself with it for just a moment, sometimes hackling up, being quite full of himself, before moving on to another object. This is where I think a puppy's lack of attention span comes in quite handy - the big dog can reclaim his or her bone and thus save face. While a frustration for a trainer, the short attention span may actually be a survival tool, especially in an emerging adolescent.
I wonder how a dog can possibly learn those lessons when raised as an only dog. I also question the wisdom of some advice regularly given to puppy owners, like: If your puppy is chewing on something inappropriate, distract him and give him a more acceptable thing to chew on. I have never, ever seen an adult dog "give" anything to a puppy, and I have to wonder what it tells the puppy when we humans do so, especially if this thing is given with a lot of cooing and petting - what we call "praise." The more I watch my dogs, the more I find myself growling, stiffening and looking sideways at the puppy when I want to redirect him to a more appropriate chew toy, I first hold it close, rub it all over, even spit on it, then drop it and lord over it for a moment before allowing the puppy to take it. This makes the object all the more desirable in his eyes. I do not make a big deal about taking undesirable objects away - To do that is to tell the dog "This is a PRIZE!" He may learn to ignore it when I'm right on top of him, but it will become quite attractive when I'm not looking. And really, I have better things to do with my time than to dedicate all my attention to my dogs. Like writing this blog...
Environmental Enrichment
or Avoiding Boredom During Confinement
Since I'm still being cautious about Max's interactions with Petey, I'm trying to keep Pete's crate time interesting. He rarely eats out of a bowl anymore - I've taken to feeding his kibble in a treat ball, which he'll knock around for a good while to extract his meals, one piece at a time. I also supplement his diet with some canned food and cottage cheese which I now stuff into a hollow shin bone. Plug one end with a canned-food meatball, fill the middle with cottage cheese, plug the other end with a meat ball and voila! A fun and nutritious dog puzzle. Petey doesn't seem to mind this and it keeps him well-occupied during crate time.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Phone Alert Training
Petey got a lesson in alerting to the phone yesterday.
I have one of those cordless thingies which has up and down arrow keys you can press to change the volume and type of ringtone. I filled a little cup with healthy treats and sat down in a cushy chair. Pete already knows "Touch" and "Paws" - the first being to touch my hand with his nose, the second to paw at me.
When Pete was busy chewing a bone nearby, I'd surreptitiously place a treat in my right hand, left hand poised on the broad arm of the chair holding the telephone. Press up arrow... RING ... a quick "Pete! TOUCH!" Being sound reactive as he is, he came over immediately but stared at the phone at first. A little more encouragement, "Pete, TOUCH!" and he switched his attention from my left hand to my right where, upon sticking his nose into my palm, he discovered a treat. Good job! Thank you.
(Yes, I often thank my dogs, especially when I consider what they've just done as a favor.)
His further attempts to extract a treat from my hand yielded mild discouragement and "that's enough." Once he engaged himself in an activity of his choosing, I'd repeat the activity. It wasn't long before he'd come charging through the room at the sound of the phone, eagerly nudging my hand without my prompting him with the TOUCH command. He responded even in several very distractive situations - playing with another dog and cuddling in Dick's lap.
This dog is going to be awesome!
I have one of those cordless thingies which has up and down arrow keys you can press to change the volume and type of ringtone. I filled a little cup with healthy treats and sat down in a cushy chair. Pete already knows "Touch" and "Paws" - the first being to touch my hand with his nose, the second to paw at me.
When Pete was busy chewing a bone nearby, I'd surreptitiously place a treat in my right hand, left hand poised on the broad arm of the chair holding the telephone. Press up arrow... RING ... a quick "Pete! TOUCH!" Being sound reactive as he is, he came over immediately but stared at the phone at first. A little more encouragement, "Pete, TOUCH!" and he switched his attention from my left hand to my right where, upon sticking his nose into my palm, he discovered a treat. Good job! Thank you.
(Yes, I often thank my dogs, especially when I consider what they've just done as a favor.)
His further attempts to extract a treat from my hand yielded mild discouragement and "that's enough." Once he engaged himself in an activity of his choosing, I'd repeat the activity. It wasn't long before he'd come charging through the room at the sound of the phone, eagerly nudging my hand without my prompting him with the TOUCH command. He responded even in several very distractive situations - playing with another dog and cuddling in Dick's lap.
This dog is going to be awesome!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Random Thoughts
Since today was a pretty routine training day with no special stories to tell, I thought I'd share a couple of random thoughts.
Wait! No ... Weight...
First of all, I was looking through my photo album (on the computer, of course) and ran across some rather startling photos, taken just about two years ago. This was me on Nov. 3, 2005:
Wait! No ... Weight...
First of all, I was looking through my photo album (on the computer, of course) and ran across some rather startling photos, taken just about two years ago. This was me on Nov. 3, 2005:
And this one:
And this is me now:
And now:
Scary, isn't it? I mean the "Before" pics. And as you can see, the jeans I'm wearing are too big. They're size 8. I'm now either a 4 or a 6. At the time of the "before" pics, I was growing out of my size 18s. Funny, but I look in the mirror and still see "thunder thighs." I guess it takes a long time for your brain to catch up after your body changes so dramatically. At least shopping has become more fun! My greatest pet peeve about dog training is that I can't do it in high heels.
Then I started thinking about the dog in the upper pictures. Her name was Albie. She was barely more than a big puppy and a lovely dog to train - eager to learn and lovely to look at.
Albie left us a mere six months later. It still hurts to think about it. I wrote a piece that I thought about trying to get published but I dunno... it's so personal, and still so raw. But now that I have a few readers, I'll share it.
Sometimes God sends us an angel in a dog suit.
I first met Albie last spring. She was an out-of-control, rowdy one-year-old pit bull heading for trouble. She had house manners, but was becoming an increasing problem outside for her disabled owner. She was violently unfriendly with other dogs and nervous around men, but I was called in because she was a strong leash-puller. Her owner, Debbi, had been injured when Albie pulled her right off her feet.
Now, I had trained my own dogs before and taught obedience classes. I was considering hanging the private trainer shingle when I met Debbi. I offered to test my skills as a trainer on Albie at no charge.
You see, Debbi suffers multiple physical and emotional disabilities. Albie was a gift from her mother, who picked up two adorable pit bull puppies from a Winnebago County, Illinois shelter. At that particular time a baby pit bull was not what Debbi thought she needed, given her emotional issues and all. But Albie was one of those naturally sympathetic dogs who knew instinctively what to do to rouse her from depression-induced recumbency, clown her out of a crying fit, and offered her own body for stability when Debbi had trouble standing up or moving around. But her increasingly "bad" behavior was jeopardizing Debbi's ability to keep her in her small apartment. I had a vested interest in keeping a pit bull out of trouble, as they lived in my town.
When I met Albie for the first time, she blustered a bit at the door, but Debbi did a decent job of keeping her under control and I didn't perceive her to be a true threat, which she wasn't.
Like many pit bulls, Albie was a natural clown. She liked to watch TV, and would become downright silly over her favorite shows and personalities. She had her favorite toys that she liked to carry around with her as a security blanket, and she'd go absolutely ga-ga over people that she and Debbi liked. I adored her instantly.
Once I established a rapport with her, I fitted her with a training collar and put her on a leash, and we had our first lesson in door manners. She was already pretty good about letting the person exit first, but once outside she tried to forge ahead. A couple of quick U-turns on my part was really all it took for her to understand what walking on a leash was all about.
Albie was a trainer's dream. She's the kind of dog that makes one look like a genius. We exited the parking lot and had a lovely walk on a loose lead. The neighbors' jaws collectively dropped and Debbi was practically in tears because they thought they'd seen a miracle. But my being able to walk her wasn't the issue - she would have to walk with Debbi, who couldn't do the quick turns. I spent a few moments coaching Debbi on how to hold the leash loosely, attached a second leash to Albie's collar, and Debbie, with her 4-footed cane, walked Albie calmly for the first time. As unbelievable as it sounds, Albie never pulled on that leash again.
Debbi had done an good job of teaching Albie some basic commands like sit, down, stay, wait, go to bed, mostly in Spanish. I was sure glad that I was studying the language, but I found that Albie would respond to English as well. What we needed was to teach Albie to respond to her commands everywhere, not just at home. Debbie had also started her on things like opening drawers, which Albie saw as a fun game. When Debbi showed me that, I realized that it was her dream for Albie to be her service dog. Seeing Albie's devotion to her, her willingness to work and her capacity to learn quickly, I felt that this dog had the potential and desire to be one.
Most of Albie's problems were due to a lack of socialization, both to new environments and to strange dogs. Most of those issues evaporated quickly, once she learned that she had nothing to fear and that her job was to focus on her handler. She was picking up a lot of nervous energy from Debbi, and my job as the trainer was to teach Debbi how to be her dog's emotional leader. Debbi was highly motivated in this respect and was emboldened by her new role. It was amazing to watch the two of them grow together.
Debbi was most concerned that Albie would not be controllable in public places, as she had a history of going ballistic in places like the pet supply store, so we scheduled a few outings. She needn't have worried. Albie's training stuck. I was so impressed with Albie's turnaround that I ordered her an early Christmas present - a beautiful red cape with "Service Dog in Training" patches.
We taught Albie to pick up things that Debbi had dropped with play training. It took very little reinforcement to achieve reliability. Albie wasn't highly food motivated — she was quite content working for praise and play.
I accompanied Debbi and Albie on their first trip to the doctor's office together. Albie and I rode the elevator for a while to get her accustomed to that, and she learned to navigate a narrow hallway with medical equipment. Everybody loved this beautiful dog that responded to Spanish, and she quickly learned to take everything in stride. Debbi learned to lead by example, and that by keeping herself calm, Albie stayed calm. I was surprised, though, when Debbi called me the next week to tell me that she had taken Albie to a therapy session, and then to the grocery store. This dog (and this owner!) had come a long way in just a few months.
I picked up Albie a few times and took her Christmas shopping with me - noisy, crowded stores were a challenge for her, especially being away from her mommy. We practiced out-of-sight downstays and recalls, "help me" (stability) and "give it to me" commands. Debbie started taking Albie with her everywhere, as Albie became calmer and more reliable on every trip. There was no question in my mind that Albie would be a wonderful service dog.
I was hoping to have Albie certified, but Debbi's situation changed suddenly in mid-January and the two of them were forced to move out of Illinois. Certification isn't a requirement for service dogs — it's pretty much on the honor system, according to the law. But it was something that I wanted as a test of my training skills, and I felt it would make life easier for the two of them. But it wasn't going to be so. I heard from Debbi a few times and she had been taking Albie with her everywhere. Then we lost touch for a while. I knew that Debbi was very grateful for my help with Albie and she was concerned about how she could pay me back for my work with her. I didn't care. My payback was knowing that the two of them would have a long, happy life together, and that a formerly wayward pit bull would be out there practicing perhaps the most important and persuasive ambassadorship for the breed. Still, I wondered how the two of them were doing.
But the trouble with angels is that sometimes they're called back home earlier than we would like. I honestly believe that when we meet a real one, we're only allowed to touch them for a moment.
Yesterday I got a phone call that I never would have expected. Albie had suffered from digestive problems since she was a puppy, but was enjoying a mostly symptom-free existence while I was working with her. After they moved, her symptoms returned and she suffered an increasing amount of disturbance and pain. I'm not sure of the condition from which she suffered, but it was apparently incurable. Albie had to be put to sleep just a few days ago. Debbi is devastated. I am, too. And I'm sitting here trying to understand how such a young and apparently (to me) healthy dog could have her expected lifespan so severely shortened. But that's often the way with angels.
But while I was talking to Debbi, something she said told me that Albie was still fulfilling her role as a service dog. Debbi is determined not to fall apart. "Albie didn't like it when I got upset," she told me. "I've got to keep myself together for her."
Debbi asked me just to see to it that Albie is remembered, and to tell her story to those who will listen, and especially to those who need to hear it like politicians who would ban all pit bulls or declare them all "dangerous" or "vicious." In many cities, counties, states and even entire countries, merely being a pit bull is a death sentence, especially if one winds up in a shelter. Albie was one of the lucky ones, like my pit bull, Piglet, who is also a shelter survivor. Albie survived to give love, joy, support and special meaning to the life of someone who faced many challenges, and who is facing many more because of the loss of this wonderful dog.
There is no such thing as an inherently dangerous breed of dog. There are a few aberrant individuals, there are even more who get into trouble because they just aren't taught not to. And there are some that are angels, even in pit bull wrappers. I feel honored that I was chosen to help this one spread her wings and fly.
Now it's time to fly home, little Albie. You will be remembered, and you will be missed.
And now:
Scary, isn't it? I mean the "Before" pics. And as you can see, the jeans I'm wearing are too big. They're size 8. I'm now either a 4 or a 6. At the time of the "before" pics, I was growing out of my size 18s. Funny, but I look in the mirror and still see "thunder thighs." I guess it takes a long time for your brain to catch up after your body changes so dramatically. At least shopping has become more fun! My greatest pet peeve about dog training is that I can't do it in high heels.
Then I started thinking about the dog in the upper pictures. Her name was Albie. She was barely more than a big puppy and a lovely dog to train - eager to learn and lovely to look at.
Albie left us a mere six months later. It still hurts to think about it. I wrote a piece that I thought about trying to get published but I dunno... it's so personal, and still so raw. But now that I have a few readers, I'll share it.
The Trouble with Angels
By Tracy Doyle
May 19, 2006
By Tracy Doyle
May 19, 2006
Sometimes God sends us an angel in a dog suit.I first met Albie last spring. She was an out-of-control, rowdy one-year-old pit bull heading for trouble. She had house manners, but was becoming an increasing problem outside for her disabled owner. She was violently unfriendly with other dogs and nervous around men, but I was called in because she was a strong leash-puller. Her owner, Debbi, had been injured when Albie pulled her right off her feet.
Now, I had trained my own dogs before and taught obedience classes. I was considering hanging the private trainer shingle when I met Debbi. I offered to test my skills as a trainer on Albie at no charge.
You see, Debbi suffers multiple physical and emotional disabilities. Albie was a gift from her mother, who picked up two adorable pit bull puppies from a Winnebago County, Illinois shelter. At that particular time a baby pit bull was not what Debbi thought she needed, given her emotional issues and all. But Albie was one of those naturally sympathetic dogs who knew instinctively what to do to rouse her from depression-induced recumbency, clown her out of a crying fit, and offered her own body for stability when Debbi had trouble standing up or moving around. But her increasingly "bad" behavior was jeopardizing Debbi's ability to keep her in her small apartment. I had a vested interest in keeping a pit bull out of trouble, as they lived in my town.
When I met Albie for the first time, she blustered a bit at the door, but Debbi did a decent job of keeping her under control and I didn't perceive her to be a true threat, which she wasn't.
Like many pit bulls, Albie was a natural clown. She liked to watch TV, and would become downright silly over her favorite shows and personalities. She had her favorite toys that she liked to carry around with her as a security blanket, and she'd go absolutely ga-ga over people that she and Debbi liked. I adored her instantly.
Once I established a rapport with her, I fitted her with a training collar and put her on a leash, and we had our first lesson in door manners. She was already pretty good about letting the person exit first, but once outside she tried to forge ahead. A couple of quick U-turns on my part was really all it took for her to understand what walking on a leash was all about.
Albie was a trainer's dream. She's the kind of dog that makes one look like a genius. We exited the parking lot and had a lovely walk on a loose lead. The neighbors' jaws collectively dropped and Debbi was practically in tears because they thought they'd seen a miracle. But my being able to walk her wasn't the issue - she would have to walk with Debbi, who couldn't do the quick turns. I spent a few moments coaching Debbi on how to hold the leash loosely, attached a second leash to Albie's collar, and Debbie, with her 4-footed cane, walked Albie calmly for the first time. As unbelievable as it sounds, Albie never pulled on that leash again.
Debbi had done an good job of teaching Albie some basic commands like sit, down, stay, wait, go to bed, mostly in Spanish. I was sure glad that I was studying the language, but I found that Albie would respond to English as well. What we needed was to teach Albie to respond to her commands everywhere, not just at home. Debbie had also started her on things like opening drawers, which Albie saw as a fun game. When Debbi showed me that, I realized that it was her dream for Albie to be her service dog. Seeing Albie's devotion to her, her willingness to work and her capacity to learn quickly, I felt that this dog had the potential and desire to be one.
Most of Albie's problems were due to a lack of socialization, both to new environments and to strange dogs. Most of those issues evaporated quickly, once she learned that she had nothing to fear and that her job was to focus on her handler. She was picking up a lot of nervous energy from Debbi, and my job as the trainer was to teach Debbi how to be her dog's emotional leader. Debbi was highly motivated in this respect and was emboldened by her new role. It was amazing to watch the two of them grow together.
Debbi was most concerned that Albie would not be controllable in public places, as she had a history of going ballistic in places like the pet supply store, so we scheduled a few outings. She needn't have worried. Albie's training stuck. I was so impressed with Albie's turnaround that I ordered her an early Christmas present - a beautiful red cape with "Service Dog in Training" patches.
We taught Albie to pick up things that Debbi had dropped with play training. It took very little reinforcement to achieve reliability. Albie wasn't highly food motivated — she was quite content working for praise and play.
I accompanied Debbi and Albie on their first trip to the doctor's office together. Albie and I rode the elevator for a while to get her accustomed to that, and she learned to navigate a narrow hallway with medical equipment. Everybody loved this beautiful dog that responded to Spanish, and she quickly learned to take everything in stride. Debbi learned to lead by example, and that by keeping herself calm, Albie stayed calm. I was surprised, though, when Debbi called me the next week to tell me that she had taken Albie to a therapy session, and then to the grocery store. This dog (and this owner!) had come a long way in just a few months.
I picked up Albie a few times and took her Christmas shopping with me - noisy, crowded stores were a challenge for her, especially being away from her mommy. We practiced out-of-sight downstays and recalls, "help me" (stability) and "give it to me" commands. Debbie started taking Albie with her everywhere, as Albie became calmer and more reliable on every trip. There was no question in my mind that Albie would be a wonderful service dog.
I was hoping to have Albie certified, but Debbi's situation changed suddenly in mid-January and the two of them were forced to move out of Illinois. Certification isn't a requirement for service dogs — it's pretty much on the honor system, according to the law. But it was something that I wanted as a test of my training skills, and I felt it would make life easier for the two of them. But it wasn't going to be so. I heard from Debbi a few times and she had been taking Albie with her everywhere. Then we lost touch for a while. I knew that Debbi was very grateful for my help with Albie and she was concerned about how she could pay me back for my work with her. I didn't care. My payback was knowing that the two of them would have a long, happy life together, and that a formerly wayward pit bull would be out there practicing perhaps the most important and persuasive ambassadorship for the breed. Still, I wondered how the two of them were doing.
But the trouble with angels is that sometimes they're called back home earlier than we would like. I honestly believe that when we meet a real one, we're only allowed to touch them for a moment.
Yesterday I got a phone call that I never would have expected. Albie had suffered from digestive problems since she was a puppy, but was enjoying a mostly symptom-free existence while I was working with her. After they moved, her symptoms returned and she suffered an increasing amount of disturbance and pain. I'm not sure of the condition from which she suffered, but it was apparently incurable. Albie had to be put to sleep just a few days ago. Debbi is devastated. I am, too. And I'm sitting here trying to understand how such a young and apparently (to me) healthy dog could have her expected lifespan so severely shortened. But that's often the way with angels.
But while I was talking to Debbi, something she said told me that Albie was still fulfilling her role as a service dog. Debbi is determined not to fall apart. "Albie didn't like it when I got upset," she told me. "I've got to keep myself together for her."
Debbi asked me just to see to it that Albie is remembered, and to tell her story to those who will listen, and especially to those who need to hear it like politicians who would ban all pit bulls or declare them all "dangerous" or "vicious." In many cities, counties, states and even entire countries, merely being a pit bull is a death sentence, especially if one winds up in a shelter. Albie was one of the lucky ones, like my pit bull, Piglet, who is also a shelter survivor. Albie survived to give love, joy, support and special meaning to the life of someone who faced many challenges, and who is facing many more because of the loss of this wonderful dog.
There is no such thing as an inherently dangerous breed of dog. There are a few aberrant individuals, there are even more who get into trouble because they just aren't taught not to. And there are some that are angels, even in pit bull wrappers. I feel honored that I was chosen to help this one spread her wings and fly.
Now it's time to fly home, little Albie. You will be remembered, and you will be missed.
Still Losing Teeth
Sorry not to have posted for a few days.
Petey has been losing more teeth. He still has one baby canine left and the poor little guy is barely able to pick up a ball. I don't think it's fair to ask a puppy to learn new stuff when his mouth hurts - I know I don't learn well if I'm in pain. Besides, I'm always concerned that a dog in pain may attribute that pain to something in his environment. If that something is a new thing, I worry that he may associate pain with it, so I'm careful about how I expose him to new things.
Therefore, I haven't been introducing new exercises or taking him to new places, but we have been continuing on the exercises we started before he started popping teeth right and left.
I have stopped using the sit command when stopping, and he's doing pretty well on the automatic sit - it's hard for me to reach his butt before he plops it on the ground all by himself. What a good little man! He now gets very excited at home when he sees me take out his training collar and bandanna. Yes, I do insist that he sits like a gentleman.
That little correction that Nugget gave him shook us both up, I can tell ya. He's still careful around Nugget, but just today I started seeing Pete soliciting play from him. Pete had a pretty wild play session with Piglet yesterday, but even though there was quite a bit of enthusiastic wrestling and noise, I didn't see the ferocity from Pete that I had before, and when I told him to quit, he did. Good boy! My Sugar Baby is pretty fixated on a ball (a Jolly Teaser Ball), and if someone takes her ball away, there's hell to pay. Well, he took her ball yesterday in a fit of puppy silliness and she yelled at him (oh, how she can scream!). It took him a moment of her screaming in his face, but he very deliberately lied down and rolled over. It was kind of funny because I'm used to seeing the submissive posturing offered quickly and naturally. This looked like acting to me.. "Oh, that's my cue to lie down and roll over... Let's see... first I slowly put myself on the ground and then... " LOL
The best news is that he figured out that it WORKS. I'm teaching him a new phrase with that..."BACK OFF."
We've been blessed with a couple of days of wonderful weather so we have gone out for some pretty long walks, teething or no teething. The neighbor's cat provided an excellent distraction on Sunday. We have a little roundabout with a grassy area in the middle just a few houses down from me, and I headed him there to do some heeling in grass and spotted the cat. He spotted us, too, and headed for a patch of shrubs. I figured if I heeled in circles around it, sooner or later he'd bolt, and I was right. Petey took off in a mad charge as I dropped the slack in the lead and headed in the opposite direction. He gave himself the biggest correction he's received so far, but just like Nugget's correction, it was effective. As soon as he returned to heel position, we stopped and he sat and I praised him enthusiastically.
Now, if he would only lose that one last canine tooth. Poor little guy can barely carry a ball right now.
Petey has been losing more teeth. He still has one baby canine left and the poor little guy is barely able to pick up a ball. I don't think it's fair to ask a puppy to learn new stuff when his mouth hurts - I know I don't learn well if I'm in pain. Besides, I'm always concerned that a dog in pain may attribute that pain to something in his environment. If that something is a new thing, I worry that he may associate pain with it, so I'm careful about how I expose him to new things.
Therefore, I haven't been introducing new exercises or taking him to new places, but we have been continuing on the exercises we started before he started popping teeth right and left.
I have stopped using the sit command when stopping, and he's doing pretty well on the automatic sit - it's hard for me to reach his butt before he plops it on the ground all by himself. What a good little man! He now gets very excited at home when he sees me take out his training collar and bandanna. Yes, I do insist that he sits like a gentleman.
That little correction that Nugget gave him shook us both up, I can tell ya. He's still careful around Nugget, but just today I started seeing Pete soliciting play from him. Pete had a pretty wild play session with Piglet yesterday, but even though there was quite a bit of enthusiastic wrestling and noise, I didn't see the ferocity from Pete that I had before, and when I told him to quit, he did. Good boy! My Sugar Baby is pretty fixated on a ball (a Jolly Teaser Ball), and if someone takes her ball away, there's hell to pay. Well, he took her ball yesterday in a fit of puppy silliness and she yelled at him (oh, how she can scream!). It took him a moment of her screaming in his face, but he very deliberately lied down and rolled over. It was kind of funny because I'm used to seeing the submissive posturing offered quickly and naturally. This looked like acting to me.. "Oh, that's my cue to lie down and roll over... Let's see... first I slowly put myself on the ground and then... " LOL
The best news is that he figured out that it WORKS. I'm teaching him a new phrase with that..."BACK OFF."
We've been blessed with a couple of days of wonderful weather so we have gone out for some pretty long walks, teething or no teething. The neighbor's cat provided an excellent distraction on Sunday. We have a little roundabout with a grassy area in the middle just a few houses down from me, and I headed him there to do some heeling in grass and spotted the cat. He spotted us, too, and headed for a patch of shrubs. I figured if I heeled in circles around it, sooner or later he'd bolt, and I was right. Petey took off in a mad charge as I dropped the slack in the lead and headed in the opposite direction. He gave himself the biggest correction he's received so far, but just like Nugget's correction, it was effective. As soon as he returned to heel position, we stopped and he sat and I praised him enthusiastically.
Now, if he would only lose that one last canine tooth. Poor little guy can barely carry a ball right now.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Pete's "Puppy License" is Expiring...
Adult dogs take a lot of crap from puppies. They generally tolerate behavior from them that would trigger a nasty fight if coming from another adult. It's called "puppy license," and is essentially a license to pester, bully, steal and commit a myriad of other social faux pas. We humans are generally appalled by it, and fret and sweat bullets at the amount of bad behavior our resident adults are subjected to. But as the puppy hits teething age, their hormone levels begin to rise which is believed to be the trigger which causes that license to expire and inspire the adults to correct the puppy. Depending upon the level of brattiness the puppy is showing at this time and the social level and sexual status of the adult, those corrections can be mild, or they can be administered with an alarming level of fuss and feathers - even blood if the situation warrants.
Over the past few days, Pete has been becoming increasingly ferocious in his play and frankly, I was becoming a little concerned over it, especially with Piglet. I mean really - some of his play with her was sure looking like more than mock attacks. But Piglet has been returning his assaults with clear play postures so I thought maybe I was misreading the situation. She generally doesn't put up with shenanigans and will correct a bratty puppy, but hasn't done so with him. Yet.
Nugget, my intact male ACD, has been Pete's constant playmate since his arrival and the two of them have gotten along quite well. So, I didn't think twice about putting them out in the yard together to potty and play. Heh. I only looked away for a moment, and suddenly I heard this great SCREAMING that I equate with two dogs trying to kill each other. Uh-oh...
The two boys were going at it hot and heavy, and my feeble cry of "KNOCK IT OFF!!!" went entirely unheeded. Oh, I thought, there's going to be bloodshed.
I scrambled to put on shoes and jacket and grabbed my walking stick and charged out the door. By that time, the boys had made their way to a dark corner of the yard and all was quiet. I saw Nugget standing over a frosty red, motionless lump on the ground and Rodney the Basset standing nearby as if counting the seconds to a KO. I was offering a quick prayer to God that the puppy was okay.
As I approached, Nugget scooted off, Pete got up (Thank you, God!) and ran to a corner of the yard close to the house. He was quite shaken and gave me wide berth. I literally herded him into the house, where he settled in moments and allowed me to do a wound check. To my surprise, he had only a small patch of wet fur on his shoulder - no blood, no wounds. I called Nugget in and checked him. Same thing - no wounds. Not a scratch on either one of them!
Then it occured to me: What I had just witnessed wasn't a fight - it was a correction. And it was a biggie. And Pete, I must admit, needed that. Until that moment, Pete thought he was the center of the universe. After that, he's been quite respectful of me and the other adults, and he is walking on eggshells, especially around Nugget. Good boy!
I thought about separating them, but then I thought that wouldn't be wise. Nugget handled that situation like a proper dad who knew his son needed to be taken down a few pegs and he did it with a determination, fury and restraint which I could not. Funny, but a little while later, Nugget approached Pete and licked his face. Such is the way of dogs.
Pete's puppy license is expiring and it's sometimes a tough lesson for a little guy. Methinks it is a lesson worth learning. Yet it is only one lesson in an entire course on where puppy fits in, so I'm expecting I may not have seen the last of it.
Over the past few days, Pete has been becoming increasingly ferocious in his play and frankly, I was becoming a little concerned over it, especially with Piglet. I mean really - some of his play with her was sure looking like more than mock attacks. But Piglet has been returning his assaults with clear play postures so I thought maybe I was misreading the situation. She generally doesn't put up with shenanigans and will correct a bratty puppy, but hasn't done so with him. Yet.
Nugget, my intact male ACD, has been Pete's constant playmate since his arrival and the two of them have gotten along quite well. So, I didn't think twice about putting them out in the yard together to potty and play. Heh. I only looked away for a moment, and suddenly I heard this great SCREAMING that I equate with two dogs trying to kill each other. Uh-oh...
The two boys were going at it hot and heavy, and my feeble cry of "KNOCK IT OFF!!!" went entirely unheeded. Oh, I thought, there's going to be bloodshed.
I scrambled to put on shoes and jacket and grabbed my walking stick and charged out the door. By that time, the boys had made their way to a dark corner of the yard and all was quiet. I saw Nugget standing over a frosty red, motionless lump on the ground and Rodney the Basset standing nearby as if counting the seconds to a KO. I was offering a quick prayer to God that the puppy was okay.
As I approached, Nugget scooted off, Pete got up (Thank you, God!) and ran to a corner of the yard close to the house. He was quite shaken and gave me wide berth. I literally herded him into the house, where he settled in moments and allowed me to do a wound check. To my surprise, he had only a small patch of wet fur on his shoulder - no blood, no wounds. I called Nugget in and checked him. Same thing - no wounds. Not a scratch on either one of them!
Then it occured to me: What I had just witnessed wasn't a fight - it was a correction. And it was a biggie. And Pete, I must admit, needed that. Until that moment, Pete thought he was the center of the universe. After that, he's been quite respectful of me and the other adults, and he is walking on eggshells, especially around Nugget. Good boy!
I thought about separating them, but then I thought that wouldn't be wise. Nugget handled that situation like a proper dad who knew his son needed to be taken down a few pegs and he did it with a determination, fury and restraint which I could not. Funny, but a little while later, Nugget approached Pete and licked his face. Such is the way of dogs.
Pete's puppy license is expiring and it's sometimes a tough lesson for a little guy. Methinks it is a lesson worth learning. Yet it is only one lesson in an entire course on where puppy fits in, so I'm expecting I may not have seen the last of it.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Teeth...
Darnit... Pete is teething bad today. He lost a couple of molars and is completely preoccupied with the ache in his mouth. Not fair to try to train a dog when they're feeling that way. Pete gets the day off to apply blood stains to the carpet.
My job is to clean up after him and make sure that he doesn't rip into anything he shouldn't.
My secret to getting rid of blood stains is to rub an ice cube on them then sop up with a towel. After the stain is out, treat with an ezymatic cleaner. I hate beige carpeting! Blecch...
My job is to clean up after him and make sure that he doesn't rip into anything he shouldn't.
My secret to getting rid of blood stains is to rub an ice cube on them then sop up with a towel. After the stain is out, treat with an ezymatic cleaner. I hate beige carpeting! Blecch...
Training Week 2, Days 3 and 4
You see? This is what I get for not writing every day - CONFUSED. I did get Pete out on my birthday for some short leash work - tempt and about turn, right and left turns, pace changes. It's really kind of funny - you know your dog has learned to watch you when he starts catching himself in mistakes, especially those of inattention. For example, we'll be walking along, he'll see something and forge slightly ahead and then quickly snap his head around to look at me as he practically jumps back into heel position, even before I have a chance to react. Hey, let's face it - I'm not as young as I used to be, nor am I as quick. That stuff you learned in driver's ed - that your reaction time lengthens as you age - is TRUE. And it's a source of infinite frustration for me. And there's really not a whole lot you can do about it. I know. I've tried. And being a bit emotionally discombobulated doesn't help, either. But I digress....
Yesterday we introduced the sit command into our heeling work. Like many dogs starting obedience training, he does know the sit command, but it's important at this step to position your dog's sits. Why? Because it's not just about a butt on the ground. It's about the dog yielding to your positioning of his body, and it's about him sitting in heel position, which is with his front leg exactly in line with the outside seam of your pants leg. You can't get either with treat luring, or with an independent sit response. Positioning the dog doesn't give him the chance to sit wrong.
"But you're a control freak!" you say. Yes, I am. If this puppy is going to be out in public, perhaps waiting in checkout lines or riding in elevators with my mom, he has to learn to sit exactly next to his handler, close and straight, to avoid being stepped upon. Think about that. And by tucking his butt, he's also learning to sit with his tail underneath him, not dangling out behind where it can be trampled. Besides, precision gives the dog's mind something to work on when you're out with him doing routine and boring things, or in distractive environments.
Good news... as we were making our trip around the block, as we passed the home of the two e-fenced Terrier-ists, the owners were immensely interested in what I was doing. I'm going over there Monday - might have a new client! LOL...
I was also able to introduce him to a neighbor across the street - a very nice fellow - and he saw kids on skateboards for the first time. Pete learned that rather than fretting about the skateboards, he should be thinking about WHEN TO SIT. Hmmm.... Perhaps that's part of the wisdom of this method. Whaddyathink?
A New Place
Last night I took him to the dog club for the first time, as I was teaching a very small advanced class. I picked up Mom so she could spend some time with Pete. She is such a nice, friendly person, it's really hard for her to "get" the "sit on the leash" exercise. Hah... I left her sitting on Pete's leash with instructions of "No talk, no touch, no eye contact," and began calling heeling patterns for the students. Then I heard Pete gagging. I look over - there's Mom, and there's Pete - IN HER LAP - with her still sitting on the leash!! Arrrgggghhh....
That's where my INNER BITCH takes over...
"NO TALK, NO TOUCH, NO EYE CONTACT!!! PUT THAT DOG DOWN NOW!"
"But he wanted..."
"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE WANTED - PUT HIM DOWN!" Yikes... Now you know why *I'm* training this dog. No time to explain that she has just taught him NOT to lie quietly at her side in a public place.
Later, we went to her house for a while and I told her NOW you may INVITE him into your lap if you wish - if you really think that a 55-pound dog belongs there. Personally, I think there is a time and place for that, and that's at home. Only.
We let Pete explore the house, and Mom got another important lesson. My challenge with her is going to be keeping her from letting him get fat. I think it's her Italian upbringing - overfeeding = love. You should see my baby pictures! On second thought, no. Anyhow, she likes to give dogs treats after a potty outing, so, fine. After we walked Pete and Rascal, she gave both dogs a treat. Then she wanted to give another one. I said OK, but that's it. She heads for the refrigerator and takes out a half of a roasted chicken and broke off a bit of breast meat.
NO - NO - NO - NO!!!!
"Oh, come on.. just a little piece..."
Me: NO PEOPLE FOOD FOR THIS DOG!
Mom: But Rascal likes it...
Me: NO PEOPLE FOOD!
After a few rounds, I said "Look... if you want to take this dog out in public, especially to restaurants, he HAS to know that YOUR food is OFF LIMITS. If he thinks your food is his, you may have to correct him in public and all your friends will think you're a MEANIE. And all because YOU taught him to beg for YOUR food."
I think she got it, but I don't know. Sometimes she seems to grasp a concept - or maybe she gives me lip service. But at least she got a more appropriate treat for him, and I impressed upon her that he must SIT and sit nicely before any treat is given.
Maybe I should get him a bandanna that says "I work for food...."
Training mom is going to be much harder than training the dog. At least I know that Pete listens to me!
Yesterday we introduced the sit command into our heeling work. Like many dogs starting obedience training, he does know the sit command, but it's important at this step to position your dog's sits. Why? Because it's not just about a butt on the ground. It's about the dog yielding to your positioning of his body, and it's about him sitting in heel position, which is with his front leg exactly in line with the outside seam of your pants leg. You can't get either with treat luring, or with an independent sit response. Positioning the dog doesn't give him the chance to sit wrong.
"But you're a control freak!" you say. Yes, I am. If this puppy is going to be out in public, perhaps waiting in checkout lines or riding in elevators with my mom, he has to learn to sit exactly next to his handler, close and straight, to avoid being stepped upon. Think about that. And by tucking his butt, he's also learning to sit with his tail underneath him, not dangling out behind where it can be trampled. Besides, precision gives the dog's mind something to work on when you're out with him doing routine and boring things, or in distractive environments.
Good news... as we were making our trip around the block, as we passed the home of the two e-fenced Terrier-ists, the owners were immensely interested in what I was doing. I'm going over there Monday - might have a new client! LOL...
I was also able to introduce him to a neighbor across the street - a very nice fellow - and he saw kids on skateboards for the first time. Pete learned that rather than fretting about the skateboards, he should be thinking about WHEN TO SIT. Hmmm.... Perhaps that's part of the wisdom of this method. Whaddyathink?
A New Place
Last night I took him to the dog club for the first time, as I was teaching a very small advanced class. I picked up Mom so she could spend some time with Pete. She is such a nice, friendly person, it's really hard for her to "get" the "sit on the leash" exercise. Hah... I left her sitting on Pete's leash with instructions of "No talk, no touch, no eye contact," and began calling heeling patterns for the students. Then I heard Pete gagging. I look over - there's Mom, and there's Pete - IN HER LAP - with her still sitting on the leash!! Arrrgggghhh....
That's where my INNER BITCH takes over...
"NO TALK, NO TOUCH, NO EYE CONTACT!!! PUT THAT DOG DOWN NOW!"
"But he wanted..."
"I DON'T CARE WHAT HE WANTED - PUT HIM DOWN!" Yikes... Now you know why *I'm* training this dog. No time to explain that she has just taught him NOT to lie quietly at her side in a public place.
Later, we went to her house for a while and I told her NOW you may INVITE him into your lap if you wish - if you really think that a 55-pound dog belongs there. Personally, I think there is a time and place for that, and that's at home. Only.
We let Pete explore the house, and Mom got another important lesson. My challenge with her is going to be keeping her from letting him get fat. I think it's her Italian upbringing - overfeeding = love. You should see my baby pictures! On second thought, no. Anyhow, she likes to give dogs treats after a potty outing, so, fine. After we walked Pete and Rascal, she gave both dogs a treat. Then she wanted to give another one. I said OK, but that's it. She heads for the refrigerator and takes out a half of a roasted chicken and broke off a bit of breast meat.
NO - NO - NO - NO!!!!
"Oh, come on.. just a little piece..."
Me: NO PEOPLE FOOD FOR THIS DOG!
Mom: But Rascal likes it...
Me: NO PEOPLE FOOD!
After a few rounds, I said "Look... if you want to take this dog out in public, especially to restaurants, he HAS to know that YOUR food is OFF LIMITS. If he thinks your food is his, you may have to correct him in public and all your friends will think you're a MEANIE. And all because YOU taught him to beg for YOUR food."
I think she got it, but I don't know. Sometimes she seems to grasp a concept - or maybe she gives me lip service. But at least she got a more appropriate treat for him, and I impressed upon her that he must SIT and sit nicely before any treat is given.
Maybe I should get him a bandanna that says "I work for food...."
Training mom is going to be much harder than training the dog. At least I know that Pete listens to me!
Birthday Day (Nov. 7)
What to Do on a Busy Day
Birthday was too busy to sit and write - thanks, Dick! Also too busy for a regular training session, but we worked on some things he'll have to know for mom, like "touch." So far, I've taught him to touch with his nose, as this would be the preferred method of alerting my mom to sound. However, as he will be required to wake her from sleep, a nose nudge may not get the job done, so I'm teaching "paws!," which is a touch with a foot. He picked that one up right away.
I am using clicker training principles for these things, but without a clicker. I mark the behavior I want with a "YES!" And unlike "pure" clicker training, where you do not add the command until after you have taught the behavior, I use the word before the behavior. To teach the touch, I held a treat in my right hand, closed fist, and let the puppy smell the treat in my hand. Then, with a wiggling motion, I pulled my hand away from him and said "Touch!" When his nose touched my fist, I said YES! and opened my hand to give him the treat. After doing several repetitions of that, I then switched the treat to my other hand to use it as a reward rather than a lure. Same motion with empty right hand with command TOUCH - dog touches hand with nose, YES! - treat from other hand. As I progressed through a number of repetitions, my target hand became more and more passive until Pete would touch it if it were motionless and open, hanging at my side or on my lap. He's starting to nudge me now, which is what we want.
To get the "PAW" command, I went back to the closed fist with treat inside and encouraged Pete to touch my fist with a paw, at first lowering it near his feet and even touching the back of his paw with the back of my hand at first. He got that right away - he's one smart little sucker!
I've also started him on some sound work - setting off beepers and timers and associating those with the "touch" command.
Pack Management
Yes, I'm still working on getting Max to accept Pete. It's not that Max is overtly aggressive - he just doesn't know what to make of him and doesn't think before he reacts. He's getting better, though, and is learning to contain himself. Pete is at an age when puppies become quite obnoxious with other dogs. He's learning mounting behavior and thinks it's wonderful fun to pester the other dogs, who are graciously accepting the job of correcting him. I'm beginning to wish that they'd be a bit more emphatic, but thus far I trust their judgment. Cowdogs are not easy to discourage - they're bred to move cattle, after all, and can take a lot of punishment and come back for more. That's why I say the ACD is not a breed for the faint of heart. But I digress...
At least now I'm able to have them together for longer periods of time - closely supervised, of course. This is a workable situation.
Birthday was too busy to sit and write - thanks, Dick! Also too busy for a regular training session, but we worked on some things he'll have to know for mom, like "touch." So far, I've taught him to touch with his nose, as this would be the preferred method of alerting my mom to sound. However, as he will be required to wake her from sleep, a nose nudge may not get the job done, so I'm teaching "paws!," which is a touch with a foot. He picked that one up right away.
I am using clicker training principles for these things, but without a clicker. I mark the behavior I want with a "YES!" And unlike "pure" clicker training, where you do not add the command until after you have taught the behavior, I use the word before the behavior. To teach the touch, I held a treat in my right hand, closed fist, and let the puppy smell the treat in my hand. Then, with a wiggling motion, I pulled my hand away from him and said "Touch!" When his nose touched my fist, I said YES! and opened my hand to give him the treat. After doing several repetitions of that, I then switched the treat to my other hand to use it as a reward rather than a lure. Same motion with empty right hand with command TOUCH - dog touches hand with nose, YES! - treat from other hand. As I progressed through a number of repetitions, my target hand became more and more passive until Pete would touch it if it were motionless and open, hanging at my side or on my lap. He's starting to nudge me now, which is what we want.
To get the "PAW" command, I went back to the closed fist with treat inside and encouraged Pete to touch my fist with a paw, at first lowering it near his feet and even touching the back of his paw with the back of my hand at first. He got that right away - he's one smart little sucker!
I've also started him on some sound work - setting off beepers and timers and associating those with the "touch" command.
Pack Management
Yes, I'm still working on getting Max to accept Pete. It's not that Max is overtly aggressive - he just doesn't know what to make of him and doesn't think before he reacts. He's getting better, though, and is learning to contain himself. Pete is at an age when puppies become quite obnoxious with other dogs. He's learning mounting behavior and thinks it's wonderful fun to pester the other dogs, who are graciously accepting the job of correcting him. I'm beginning to wish that they'd be a bit more emphatic, but thus far I trust their judgment. Cowdogs are not easy to discourage - they're bred to move cattle, after all, and can take a lot of punishment and come back for more. That's why I say the ACD is not a breed for the faint of heart. But I digress...
At least now I'm able to have them together for longer periods of time - closely supervised, of course. This is a workable situation.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Training Week 2, Day 2 (Day 8)
More Short Leash Work
Pete was extraordinary at the nursing home this morning. He's learning that when I release him from command, it's okay to sniff around and go potty. A few minutes of heeling with turns and I took him into the building. Lots of distractions. Gratefully, the entrance leads to a very big room where I could do proper turns. A couple of those and we went into the meeting. Sat on the leash and he settled right away and almost fell asleep. Afterward, he said hello to some of the staff and residents, practiced heeling in a few aisles and worked on sitting in the presence of distraction (yes, I know that isn't in the program yet, but he does know how to sit on command). He was very impressive for such a young puppy. Heck - even for a grown dog, he was impressive.
We received his little hearing ear dog in training bandanna yesterday, which he wore. It's very cute - it's red with white lettering. Pics later.
Regarding the access issue with Old Time Pottery - I called yesterday and got someone's voice mail, but no call back. Have to call tomorrow, if I have time. It's my birthday.
Pete was extraordinary at the nursing home this morning. He's learning that when I release him from command, it's okay to sniff around and go potty. A few minutes of heeling with turns and I took him into the building. Lots of distractions. Gratefully, the entrance leads to a very big room where I could do proper turns. A couple of those and we went into the meeting. Sat on the leash and he settled right away and almost fell asleep. Afterward, he said hello to some of the staff and residents, practiced heeling in a few aisles and worked on sitting in the presence of distraction (yes, I know that isn't in the program yet, but he does know how to sit on command). He was very impressive for such a young puppy. Heck - even for a grown dog, he was impressive.
We received his little hearing ear dog in training bandanna yesterday, which he wore. It's very cute - it's red with white lettering. Pics later.
Regarding the access issue with Old Time Pottery - I called yesterday and got someone's voice mail, but no call back. Have to call tomorrow, if I have time. It's my birthday.
Monday, November 5, 2007
Training Day 7
Introducing the Short Lead
Today Pete passed his distraction test on the longe line and was graduated to the short lead. I couldn't have been prouder of him!
The weather was lousy - chilly, very windy and overcast. Not the sort of day when one really cares to tool around with a dog, so our session was short. I didn't have a chance to take him on a public outing - just a little through the neighborhood. Walking on pavement - either sidewalk or street - proved to be not challenging enough for him, so I took him onto a large grassy area. That worked - he proceeded to try doggy things, mostly sniffing around. I can see that we will be working a lot in grass - while we still have some left!
Speaking of weather, I didn't even try to get any video of the dogs playing today. Will try when weather is better.
We have a visit to the nursing home on schedule for tomorrow for a meeting. I'll try to get there a little early and do some heeling exercises outside before bringing him in. Once in the meeting, we'll practice Margot's "sit on the dog." He's such a great little guy!
Today Pete passed his distraction test on the longe line and was graduated to the short lead. I couldn't have been prouder of him!
The weather was lousy - chilly, very windy and overcast. Not the sort of day when one really cares to tool around with a dog, so our session was short. I didn't have a chance to take him on a public outing - just a little through the neighborhood. Walking on pavement - either sidewalk or street - proved to be not challenging enough for him, so I took him onto a large grassy area. That worked - he proceeded to try doggy things, mostly sniffing around. I can see that we will be working a lot in grass - while we still have some left!
Speaking of weather, I didn't even try to get any video of the dogs playing today. Will try when weather is better.
We have a visit to the nursing home on schedule for tomorrow for a meeting. I'll try to get there a little early and do some heeling exercises outside before bringing him in. Once in the meeting, we'll practice Margot's "sit on the dog." He's such a great little guy!
Sabbath
On the seventh day, the Lord rested. So did I.
Not really "rested," but we didn't do a formal training session. What I did do is tried to get some video of the dogs playing together. Got the video but I neglected to do a manual white balance so the videos are kind of darkish.
Will try again today (Monday). Also WILL do a format training session, provided it doesn't rain. It's threatening.
Not really "rested," but we didn't do a formal training session. What I did do is tried to get some video of the dogs playing together. Got the video but I neglected to do a manual white balance so the videos are kind of darkish.
Will try again today (Monday). Also WILL do a format training session, provided it doesn't rain. It's threatening.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
Training Day 6 (Yesterday) - Access Issues!
Today we continued our longe line work. It is becoming truly difficult to find distractions that are so strong that Pete will venture to the end of the line. I was going to save Petco (I prefer them to PetsMart - they carry my brand of dog food) until later, but decided to take a trip there.
In all, we visited three places yesterday: Gensler Gardens, Petco and Old Time Pottery. At Gensler Gardens we met a friendly state trooper who raved about my nice little pup. Unfortunately, we met in the parking lot as he was on his way out - I would have liked to ask him to get out of his car and meet him, since so many dogs seem to have issues with people in uniforms. Our chat was through his car window. Going through the automatic sliding doors was accomplished after only one false start. Because there are food items, I did not allow him to check out stuff on the shelves. A small child whose parent was not watching him closely stalked us for a while and provided excellent distraction by anticipating our path and jumping out at us from behind display cases. Folks - this is why it is so important that people with service dogs in training have the same access rights as the disabled with fully trained dogs! There is no way to acclimate a dog to all the crazy things they'll have to deal with unless you bring them places where dogs are not expected to be. People get WEIRD. Reactions range from pleasant surprise to stalking to screeching in horror. I'm amazed at how much dog-phobia there is out there. And children can be counted on to be bizarre beyond imagination!
Our visit to Gensler Gardens was short, and most of our work was done in the parking lot and on the nearby footpaths. We loaded ourselves in my truck and headed off for Petco. That's a much busier location. We did more parking lot work, and there were a few dogs coming and going as well - excellent distraction. I can't think of a better place to test a dog on distractions (except, perhaps, a ball game). Naturally, I kept the line a little shorter inside the store, except where we had rare opportunities for me to let the line out full-length in an empty aisle. I chose my "break" spots near display cases with critters. I did break the "no talking" rule when he investigated because I like to teach my dogs the names of different animals. So, Pete met some ferrets, rabbits, birds and fish, through the glass, of course.
Folks around here are, in general, very well educated regarding service dogs. Most, when I tell them he's a service dog in training, say something like, "Oh... so I shouldn't pet him, then." Hurray! But as we are also socializing him, I tell them that they may ASK to pet. I explain the rules - no petting unless he is SITTING. If he stands or jumps up (hey... he IS still a puppy, after all), they are to stop petting. "Can you do that? It would really help his training," I tell them. Once they agree, I release him from command, then tell him to sit and commence that exercise. If he gets squirmy, I do help him to maintain the sit position. I do not correct for transgressions, since we haven't progressed to sit/stays in his training program yet - I just reposition him. After the petting session, I tell him "Back to work" and continue our leash exercises. That's working well so far.
Before our outing, I printed out a brochure about the Americans with Disabilities Act as well as a copy of the state law which grants trainers with service dogs in training the same access rights as a disabled person with a trained dog. Oh, yeah... I FORGOT TO PUT IT IN MY PURSE! So far, most everyone has taken my word for it. That is... until we entered the Old Time Pottery store. Grrrr.
This store has a long entrance way. I chose that store because it is huge and has very wide aisles and is not exceptionally crowded, so I'd have opportunity to let the line out if the dog was distracted. With line coiled, we started through the entrance. There's a little vending area before you enter the main part of the store. We attracted a lot of attention - all good. One child acted bizarrely, at one point bolting from behind a nearby table, screaming and running past him, arms flailing overhead, which startled him more than a little bit. What is it about kids that inspires them to ACT LIKE PREY when they see a dog? Is it any wonder that they get bitten? Yikes! Poor Pete's hackles went up all the way down his back, just like a cat puffs up when startled. (Hackles are not always a sign of aggression - they also indicate arousal of many types.) He recovered quickly and returned to a sit - good dog!
After running the gauntlet of the entrance, I noticed and officious-looking fellow hovering around the entry into the main part of the store. I was immediately suspicious. As we attempted to enter, he stopped us.
"You can't come in here with a dog," he said.
I introduced myself, told him I was a dog trainer and this is a service dog in training, and that according to state law, service dogs in training have the same rights as the disabled regarding access to public places.
"You can't come in here unless you are disabled and the dog is a full service dog," he said. "Corporate policy. You can't train the dog in here."
"I'm sorry, but according to Illinois state law, a dog trainer with a service dog has the same access rights. I have a copy of the law here..." and started rifling through my purse. Crap... I left it on the table at home.
I decided not to press the issue, but I said I would be back with a copy of the law and that I would like to speak to a manager at that time.
"I am the manager." Ugh.
I asked for a corporate contact and he gave me a card with the customer service email address. Hrumph. I will be contacting them as they may not be aware that their "corporate policy" constitutes a Class A Misdemeanor in the state of Illinois, and that every state in which they have locations have similar laws. I wasn't prepared to push the issue and that's a mistake I won't make again.
On general principle, I lingered a bit longer in the entrance than I would have, and regardless of the outcome of this issue, I will NOT be shopping anymore at Old Time Pottery.
You will see a new list of links on the right side of this page, "Cheers" and "Jeers." I will continue to venture out and I WILL post here and I WILL name names!
For you legal types out there, here is a citation and link to the law:
775 ILCS 30 / White Cane Law
In all, we visited three places yesterday: Gensler Gardens, Petco and Old Time Pottery. At Gensler Gardens we met a friendly state trooper who raved about my nice little pup. Unfortunately, we met in the parking lot as he was on his way out - I would have liked to ask him to get out of his car and meet him, since so many dogs seem to have issues with people in uniforms. Our chat was through his car window. Going through the automatic sliding doors was accomplished after only one false start. Because there are food items, I did not allow him to check out stuff on the shelves. A small child whose parent was not watching him closely stalked us for a while and provided excellent distraction by anticipating our path and jumping out at us from behind display cases. Folks - this is why it is so important that people with service dogs in training have the same access rights as the disabled with fully trained dogs! There is no way to acclimate a dog to all the crazy things they'll have to deal with unless you bring them places where dogs are not expected to be. People get WEIRD. Reactions range from pleasant surprise to stalking to screeching in horror. I'm amazed at how much dog-phobia there is out there. And children can be counted on to be bizarre beyond imagination!
Our visit to Gensler Gardens was short, and most of our work was done in the parking lot and on the nearby footpaths. We loaded ourselves in my truck and headed off for Petco. That's a much busier location. We did more parking lot work, and there were a few dogs coming and going as well - excellent distraction. I can't think of a better place to test a dog on distractions (except, perhaps, a ball game). Naturally, I kept the line a little shorter inside the store, except where we had rare opportunities for me to let the line out full-length in an empty aisle. I chose my "break" spots near display cases with critters. I did break the "no talking" rule when he investigated because I like to teach my dogs the names of different animals. So, Pete met some ferrets, rabbits, birds and fish, through the glass, of course.
Folks around here are, in general, very well educated regarding service dogs. Most, when I tell them he's a service dog in training, say something like, "Oh... so I shouldn't pet him, then." Hurray! But as we are also socializing him, I tell them that they may ASK to pet. I explain the rules - no petting unless he is SITTING. If he stands or jumps up (hey... he IS still a puppy, after all), they are to stop petting. "Can you do that? It would really help his training," I tell them. Once they agree, I release him from command, then tell him to sit and commence that exercise. If he gets squirmy, I do help him to maintain the sit position. I do not correct for transgressions, since we haven't progressed to sit/stays in his training program yet - I just reposition him. After the petting session, I tell him "Back to work" and continue our leash exercises. That's working well so far.
Before our outing, I printed out a brochure about the Americans with Disabilities Act as well as a copy of the state law which grants trainers with service dogs in training the same access rights as a disabled person with a trained dog. Oh, yeah... I FORGOT TO PUT IT IN MY PURSE! So far, most everyone has taken my word for it. That is... until we entered the Old Time Pottery store. Grrrr.
This store has a long entrance way. I chose that store because it is huge and has very wide aisles and is not exceptionally crowded, so I'd have opportunity to let the line out if the dog was distracted. With line coiled, we started through the entrance. There's a little vending area before you enter the main part of the store. We attracted a lot of attention - all good. One child acted bizarrely, at one point bolting from behind a nearby table, screaming and running past him, arms flailing overhead, which startled him more than a little bit. What is it about kids that inspires them to ACT LIKE PREY when they see a dog? Is it any wonder that they get bitten? Yikes! Poor Pete's hackles went up all the way down his back, just like a cat puffs up when startled. (Hackles are not always a sign of aggression - they also indicate arousal of many types.) He recovered quickly and returned to a sit - good dog!
After running the gauntlet of the entrance, I noticed and officious-looking fellow hovering around the entry into the main part of the store. I was immediately suspicious. As we attempted to enter, he stopped us.
"You can't come in here with a dog," he said.
I introduced myself, told him I was a dog trainer and this is a service dog in training, and that according to state law, service dogs in training have the same rights as the disabled regarding access to public places.
"You can't come in here unless you are disabled and the dog is a full service dog," he said. "Corporate policy. You can't train the dog in here."
"I'm sorry, but according to Illinois state law, a dog trainer with a service dog has the same access rights. I have a copy of the law here..." and started rifling through my purse. Crap... I left it on the table at home.
I decided not to press the issue, but I said I would be back with a copy of the law and that I would like to speak to a manager at that time.
"I am the manager." Ugh.
I asked for a corporate contact and he gave me a card with the customer service email address. Hrumph. I will be contacting them as they may not be aware that their "corporate policy" constitutes a Class A Misdemeanor in the state of Illinois, and that every state in which they have locations have similar laws. I wasn't prepared to push the issue and that's a mistake I won't make again.
On general principle, I lingered a bit longer in the entrance than I would have, and regardless of the outcome of this issue, I will NOT be shopping anymore at Old Time Pottery.
You will see a new list of links on the right side of this page, "Cheers" and "Jeers." I will continue to venture out and I WILL post here and I WILL name names!
For you legal types out there, here is a citation and link to the law:
775 ILCS 30 / White Cane Law
Rowdiness...
Here's a picture entry for those who may wonder what a playgroup looks like when it consists of a pit bull, a cowdog and a basset hound!
Stay tuned for more fun and games!
The Pow wow... (Piglet, Pete and Rodney)
An Invitation to Silliness...
Ready, and....
SPROINGGG!!!
Ya-HOOO!!!
Ball in action!
An Invitation to Silliness...
Ready, and....
SPROINGGG!!!
Ya-HOOO!!!
Ball in action!Stay tuned for more fun and games!
Friday, November 2, 2007
Traning Day 5
Working the gate
Today was a FANTASTIC day!
Now that we've gotten past the gate exercise, we can start going to fun places and kill two birds with one stone: socialization and training.
We started out this morning with a third round of the open gate distraction. This time, Pete did not charge ahead, but he did walk ahead of me and got a very mild bump when I changed direction. Instead of walking back and forth in front of the house, we took a walk around the block. At the opposite corner from us is a house where two little terriers live, contained on the property by an electronic fence system. These dogs are pretty good - I've walked by there with dogs before and they've never run through their boundary. But they sure make some noise!
That was the only part of the walk where Pete forgot I was there. That didn't last long. It took a couple of tries to be able to walk him past the property while staying next to me, but he did it. Good job!
This afternoon we did the gate thing again - this time, he did forge on ahead of me because Dick was on the other side, trying to take a couple of pictures. Third try was a charm.
Instead of tooling around the block (which was very quiet, thanks to some chilly weather), I headed him over to the truck and we took a drive to a garden shop at the corner of our subdivision. We walked around in the parking lot for a while and had real fun with the automatic double doors. Poor Pete couldn't figure out what triggered them to open! I didn't pass through the doors with him right away - we took a walk down the path toward a reservoir at the subdivision entrance. There we encountered two ladies with young children in strollers. Pete woofed and got redirected. After they passed us, we walked behind them for a while so he could get used to them.
After a few more minutes of walking in the parking lot, I decided to take him inside for socialization. I coiled up the longe line and went in. I introduced myself to some of the staff and told them that Pete is being trained to be a hearing ear dog, but we're working on obedience and socialization. I was impressed that most of them knew they're not supposed to pet service dogs, but I said that I wanted him socialized, so at this point it's okay to ask to pet. He ate up all the attention he could get. What nice gals...
Back to the truck, where I opened the door and repeated the gate exercise, sort of. He has already learned that he is not to jump in or out of a vehicle without permission. This needs to be practiced a lot, however.
Looks like I'll be driving this little guy around an awful lot just to keep him on his toes!
Training Day 4 (yesterday)
I love Day 4. It's the day when we begin to introduce distractions - the first being an open gate. The dog has had three days of A-to-B walking and has tested the limits of the leash, and has learned that staying nearby the handler is the most pleasant place to be. On Day 4, they learn that distractions are to be viewed through the context of the handler. And they also learn an important lesson: an open gate is not an invitation to charge into the great beyond.
Since this blog is not intended to be an instruction manual, I will not go into any details of the exercise yesterday. You've probably already figured out that the exercise includes the dog on a longe line, you, and an open gate. Of course, this exercise could be difficult for someone without a fenced yard, but I don't have that problem (there is a way around it).
Pete is one smart little pup. One hard charge and one half-hearted attempt was enough to teach him that his pass to the great beyond was to walk with me. Once we passed the gate, he spent a few minutes rushing distractions, but soon learned to generalize the gate rule, just as he learned inside the yard that leaf and stick chewing are fine during a break, but when I started moving he was supposed to follow me an forget about his jaw activities. All this without a word from me.
Now, I'm well aware that there is a camp of trainers out there who really dislike that idea - that the dog isn't praised, cued, lured, fanny patted or coddled. "But how does he know he's doing the right thing?" they protest. Trust me. He knows. There are more rewards to a dog than just his owner's platitudes. That should be blatantly obvious by the gate exercise. Why would any dog charge an open gate, even when tied to the handler by a leash? Because he wants to go through it.
The reward for paying attention to the handler is getting to go through the gate. Not my praise, not patting, not a cookie.
"But you didn't cue him - how is he supposed to know what you want?" Ahh... but I did cue him. I turned. He spent three days learning that my movement is his cue to come along, and a lifetime (albeit a short one) learning that his human is is leader. I really haven't ever seen the doggie owner's manual which says that all cues must be verbal. Cues can most certainly be visual - I have two trained deaf dogs to attest to that, and one of them is as completely reliable off-leash outdoors as a dog can be, deaf or hearing.
Rather than bore you with details, suffice it to say that this smart little dog spent most of his training session walking well outside the gate in a position approximating heel, learning to stay on my left side and learning that distractions can be watched but not charged. And I got some good exercise!
Today's exercise will be in two sessions - a repeat of the open gate, and a session in a different place with more distractions.
Did I mention that he's already learned to wait at an open car door for an invitation to exit? That's one of the things I love about cowdogs. Some seem to learn by osmosis.
Now I'm trying to figure out when would be the best time for a break in his training to spend a couple of days at "Camp Carrie" (my friend's house) to be socialized with cats. Lots of cats. And a few other dogs of different breeds, sizes and shapes. Horses are not new to him.
Since this blog is not intended to be an instruction manual, I will not go into any details of the exercise yesterday. You've probably already figured out that the exercise includes the dog on a longe line, you, and an open gate. Of course, this exercise could be difficult for someone without a fenced yard, but I don't have that problem (there is a way around it).
Pete is one smart little pup. One hard charge and one half-hearted attempt was enough to teach him that his pass to the great beyond was to walk with me. Once we passed the gate, he spent a few minutes rushing distractions, but soon learned to generalize the gate rule, just as he learned inside the yard that leaf and stick chewing are fine during a break, but when I started moving he was supposed to follow me an forget about his jaw activities. All this without a word from me.
Now, I'm well aware that there is a camp of trainers out there who really dislike that idea - that the dog isn't praised, cued, lured, fanny patted or coddled. "But how does he know he's doing the right thing?" they protest. Trust me. He knows. There are more rewards to a dog than just his owner's platitudes. That should be blatantly obvious by the gate exercise. Why would any dog charge an open gate, even when tied to the handler by a leash? Because he wants to go through it.
The reward for paying attention to the handler is getting to go through the gate. Not my praise, not patting, not a cookie.
"But you didn't cue him - how is he supposed to know what you want?" Ahh... but I did cue him. I turned. He spent three days learning that my movement is his cue to come along, and a lifetime (albeit a short one) learning that his human is is leader. I really haven't ever seen the doggie owner's manual which says that all cues must be verbal. Cues can most certainly be visual - I have two trained deaf dogs to attest to that, and one of them is as completely reliable off-leash outdoors as a dog can be, deaf or hearing.
Rather than bore you with details, suffice it to say that this smart little dog spent most of his training session walking well outside the gate in a position approximating heel, learning to stay on my left side and learning that distractions can be watched but not charged. And I got some good exercise!
Today's exercise will be in two sessions - a repeat of the open gate, and a session in a different place with more distractions.
Did I mention that he's already learned to wait at an open car door for an invitation to exit? That's one of the things I love about cowdogs. Some seem to learn by osmosis.
Now I'm trying to figure out when would be the best time for a break in his training to spend a couple of days at "Camp Carrie" (my friend's house) to be socialized with cats. Lots of cats. And a few other dogs of different breeds, sizes and shapes. Horses are not new to him.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Training Break for Socialization
Oops... what was I thinking?
Today is Halloween. I promised to take Piglet to the nursing home, and since it was such a great opportunity, I took little Pete with for socialization. He's really taking things in stride. No woofing, just great interest in everybody and everything.
After that, I stopped by a friend's house - one who rescues cats. She also has several dogs of various sizes and shapes and a horse or two - sometimes sheep. Pete hasn't been exposed to cats yet - something which is often the undoing of a drivey cowdog. You gotta start these guys when they're young.
So today he met his first kitty. First he was greeted by a very nice mini-dachshund named André, which got his hackles up from stem to stern. Then the cat's arrival sent him into a barking fit for which I let him know immediately was not acceptible. After that, he very nicely approached and sniffed the kitty and was okay with him as long as the cat didn't run. When the cat did take a romp, Pete and I practiced recalls. GOOD DOG!
Tomorrow I expect the weather to cooperate and I will be doing Day Four's lesson on the longe line.
Today is Halloween. I promised to take Piglet to the nursing home, and since it was such a great opportunity, I took little Pete with for socialization. He's really taking things in stride. No woofing, just great interest in everybody and everything.
After that, I stopped by a friend's house - one who rescues cats. She also has several dogs of various sizes and shapes and a horse or two - sometimes sheep. Pete hasn't been exposed to cats yet - something which is often the undoing of a drivey cowdog. You gotta start these guys when they're young.
So today he met his first kitty. First he was greeted by a very nice mini-dachshund named André, which got his hackles up from stem to stern. Then the cat's arrival sent him into a barking fit for which I let him know immediately was not acceptible. After that, he very nicely approached and sniffed the kitty and was okay with him as long as the cat didn't run. When the cat did take a romp, Pete and I practiced recalls. GOOD DOG!
Tomorrow I expect the weather to cooperate and I will be doing Day Four's lesson on the longe line.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Training, Days 1-3
I'm a subscriber to a tried and true method of dog training. There's this book which outlines it, but one really needs to be schooled by a trainer well-versed in the method to understand its correct execution.
This method begins building a foundation with 3 days of point-A-to-B walking on a longe line. Without going into detail, it's essentially walking from one point to another, stopping for a long pause or break, walking to another point, pausing... and so on. I've managed to get Pete out every day for short sessions. At 19 1/2 weeks, he's a little young for full sessions, but old enough to follow the program. This phase of training teaches the handler a lot about a dog. Pete went along nicely the first day, hardly ever testing the limits of the line. Yesterday, his brain kicked in and he tested repeatedly. He tangled himself up. He bit and yanked on the line. He charged off after a ball laying in the yard. Today, it all started to come together. He tangled himself up once and decided that wasn't the best of plans. What was most interesting was that during the breaks, he would find something interesting to investigate or a little stick or a fallen leaf to chew on, but when I stepped off, he dropped whatever he was doing and trotted merrily along.
This is a thinking dog! I can't wait until tomorrow - Day Four. It's a special day.
Meanwhile, in the house and at different times, I'm teaching him to touch my hand when a timer goes off. He has the touch thing down without fail. Amazing little dog.
This method begins building a foundation with 3 days of point-A-to-B walking on a longe line. Without going into detail, it's essentially walking from one point to another, stopping for a long pause or break, walking to another point, pausing... and so on. I've managed to get Pete out every day for short sessions. At 19 1/2 weeks, he's a little young for full sessions, but old enough to follow the program. This phase of training teaches the handler a lot about a dog. Pete went along nicely the first day, hardly ever testing the limits of the line. Yesterday, his brain kicked in and he tested repeatedly. He tangled himself up. He bit and yanked on the line. He charged off after a ball laying in the yard. Today, it all started to come together. He tangled himself up once and decided that wasn't the best of plans. What was most interesting was that during the breaks, he would find something interesting to investigate or a little stick or a fallen leaf to chew on, but when I stepped off, he dropped whatever he was doing and trotted merrily along.
This is a thinking dog! I can't wait until tomorrow - Day Four. It's a special day.
Meanwhile, in the house and at different times, I'm teaching him to touch my hand when a timer goes off. He has the touch thing down without fail. Amazing little dog.
Pack Management
I already have five dogs of my own. I needed a puppy around like a hole in the head.
You probably already gathered that, as a dog trainer, my dogs know who their leader is. True, but dogs will be dogs, and I don't have an easy pack: Two ACDs (one deaf, six-year-old spayed female, one eight-year-old intact male), two pit bull terriers (deaf 5-year-old spayed female, one rowdy neutered 1.5-year-old boy - a recent addition), and a 7-year-old neutered basset hound.
My old-school country vet once told me that adult dogs won't attack puppies -- most won't -- but there are a few, and when it comes to the battle breeds, all bets are off. I wasn't worried about Piglet (f. APBT), but young Max is a different story. Piglet has been exposed to many puppies, as I use her in the socialization part of my puppy classes. Max came to me last winter, quite unsocialized and a little bit reactive. He and Nugget, my ACD boy, have had a couple of tiffs, so I keep a tight lid on their energy level. Max sometimes reacts without thinking first and acts as a magnifying glass for whatever energy is flowing through the pack at any given time. I didn't know if he had ever seen a puppy since he was one himself. Sugar Baby, my deaf ACD, is the fun police, and is quite fixated on a ball that she just can't live without. When she gets cranked, she's all noise and bluster, although I can't say she's ever been in a real fight, she sometimes sets the other ones off.
Pete met Rodney the basset first. Rodney mustn't be feeling well. He usually loves puppies, but his attitude toward Pete is nonchalant at best. Next Pete met Piglet, who was at first thrilled to have a puppy around and invited him to play immediately. A day later, she became a bit insecure about her own place in the pack -- she did the same thing when I introduced Max, but without the playful bit in the beginning. Day two is always a lot of high-place occupancy and evil glares, a curled lip here and there. Today she's pretty much over it, and had a real butt-tucked scramble of a play session.
Nugget was great from the beginning. He loves puppies, too, and immediately became one when he met Pete. Max worried me, and not without good reason.
After several sessions of them sniffing each other through crate bars, I decided they should meet yesterday, in the yard where there was plenty of room for me to maneuver. I have a lovely, 5-foot wooden walking stick which I chose to use as a "mediator"should there be any trouble.
Pete, so far, is pretty much a velcro dog - not unusual for the breed. So, when I took them out into the yard, the little guy was right next to me AND MY BIG BLACK STICK. Max sniffed him front and back then underneath. He really didn't know what to make of these new puppy smells - and his teeth started chattering, his mouth foaming and hackles went up from stem to stern and he took one poke at the puppy (not a playful one!) with a GRRRROWFFF. I was ready for him - I can growl a HEY!!! with the best of 'em, and he got a very quick jab in the shoulder with the stock stick. He got a couple more pokes as I growled in my loudest, lowest growly voice, "YOU ... KNOCK ... IT .... OFF ... AND ... BE .... NICE!!!"
Oh, geez! Why, oh why, have I never used that magic wand before? BWING!!!! He scampered off like a chastised puppy, all groveling and "sorry moms." I herded him around the yard a bit and let him settle before he was allowed to approach the puppy again. YOUUUUU BEEEEE
NIIIIICE....
He was all decorum and genteelness, sniffed the puppy with tail down and ears back and I praised him in a buttery soft voice, "Good boy. That's enough." You'd have thought the puppy had a pound of dynamite up his butt and Max was afraid his nose was on fire and would light the fuse.
Pete was unfazed by any of this, and had a look that said, "Wazzup?" He was all too happy to walk around the yard with me, herding Max, as I carried my big black stick, which is his friend. Poor Max still hasn't collected all the pieces of his brain from the explosion. I've decided they will be exposed to each other in very small doses and under very close supervision.
Today we tried again. Max gave Pete wide berth. Piglet and Nugget engaged Pete in a wonderful, zooming play session. I allowed Max to join in some of the running, but hovered just enough to keep him from getting too much into the moment. At one point, he sniffed the private areas of the puppy and began drooling and chattering and I shooed him off to contemplate exactly what these new smells mean. Sugar Baby let Pete know on no uncertain terms that SHE IS THE FUN POLICE, and any hilarity will be met with great screaming and a blustery mock attack. Those mock attacks bother me much more than they do the other dogs, who largely ignore her and entirely fail to tell her to knock it off. They read her better than I do.
After some "field socialization," I felt confident enough to bring them all into the house together, where Max curled up on my S.O.'s lap and watched longingly as Pete and Nugget played a wrestling game. He slowly and carefully slid off the chair and cautiously approached. He sniffed a little, then he started the "ball-posturing" game. This is a new one for me, but I've seen several dogs do it just today. Max found a ball and picked it up, brought it over to the puppy, and holding it in his mouth, baited him with it, gruffing and trotting off when the puppy tried to take it. I think this is the equivalent of the "high-place" game, where the elder or more dominant dog claims all the high places and lets the newcomer know that they'd better stay on the floor. Nugget played the ball-posturing game next. Sugar Baby, surprisingly, let him take her favorite ball away from him several times, which no other dog in the house is allowed to do.
Max was praised lavishly for being such a good boy, and he seems to be getting used to the idea of having a puppy around. Then I put him away - I am keeping their exposure to small, manageable doses.
Dogs are such fascinating creatures!
You probably already gathered that, as a dog trainer, my dogs know who their leader is. True, but dogs will be dogs, and I don't have an easy pack: Two ACDs (one deaf, six-year-old spayed female, one eight-year-old intact male), two pit bull terriers (deaf 5-year-old spayed female, one rowdy neutered 1.5-year-old boy - a recent addition), and a 7-year-old neutered basset hound.
My old-school country vet once told me that adult dogs won't attack puppies -- most won't -- but there are a few, and when it comes to the battle breeds, all bets are off. I wasn't worried about Piglet (f. APBT), but young Max is a different story. Piglet has been exposed to many puppies, as I use her in the socialization part of my puppy classes. Max came to me last winter, quite unsocialized and a little bit reactive. He and Nugget, my ACD boy, have had a couple of tiffs, so I keep a tight lid on their energy level. Max sometimes reacts without thinking first and acts as a magnifying glass for whatever energy is flowing through the pack at any given time. I didn't know if he had ever seen a puppy since he was one himself. Sugar Baby, my deaf ACD, is the fun police, and is quite fixated on a ball that she just can't live without. When she gets cranked, she's all noise and bluster, although I can't say she's ever been in a real fight, she sometimes sets the other ones off.
Pete met Rodney the basset first. Rodney mustn't be feeling well. He usually loves puppies, but his attitude toward Pete is nonchalant at best. Next Pete met Piglet, who was at first thrilled to have a puppy around and invited him to play immediately. A day later, she became a bit insecure about her own place in the pack -- she did the same thing when I introduced Max, but without the playful bit in the beginning. Day two is always a lot of high-place occupancy and evil glares, a curled lip here and there. Today she's pretty much over it, and had a real butt-tucked scramble of a play session.
Nugget was great from the beginning. He loves puppies, too, and immediately became one when he met Pete. Max worried me, and not without good reason.
After several sessions of them sniffing each other through crate bars, I decided they should meet yesterday, in the yard where there was plenty of room for me to maneuver. I have a lovely, 5-foot wooden walking stick which I chose to use as a "mediator"should there be any trouble.
Pete, so far, is pretty much a velcro dog - not unusual for the breed. So, when I took them out into the yard, the little guy was right next to me AND MY BIG BLACK STICK. Max sniffed him front and back then underneath. He really didn't know what to make of these new puppy smells - and his teeth started chattering, his mouth foaming and hackles went up from stem to stern and he took one poke at the puppy (not a playful one!) with a GRRRROWFFF. I was ready for him - I can growl a HEY!!! with the best of 'em, and he got a very quick jab in the shoulder with the stock stick. He got a couple more pokes as I growled in my loudest, lowest growly voice, "YOU ... KNOCK ... IT .... OFF ... AND ... BE .... NICE!!!"
Oh, geez! Why, oh why, have I never used that magic wand before? BWING!!!! He scampered off like a chastised puppy, all groveling and "sorry moms." I herded him around the yard a bit and let him settle before he was allowed to approach the puppy again. YOUUUUU BEEEEE
NIIIIICE....
He was all decorum and genteelness, sniffed the puppy with tail down and ears back and I praised him in a buttery soft voice, "Good boy. That's enough." You'd have thought the puppy had a pound of dynamite up his butt and Max was afraid his nose was on fire and would light the fuse.
Pete was unfazed by any of this, and had a look that said, "Wazzup?" He was all too happy to walk around the yard with me, herding Max, as I carried my big black stick, which is his friend. Poor Max still hasn't collected all the pieces of his brain from the explosion. I've decided they will be exposed to each other in very small doses and under very close supervision.
Today we tried again. Max gave Pete wide berth. Piglet and Nugget engaged Pete in a wonderful, zooming play session. I allowed Max to join in some of the running, but hovered just enough to keep him from getting too much into the moment. At one point, he sniffed the private areas of the puppy and began drooling and chattering and I shooed him off to contemplate exactly what these new smells mean. Sugar Baby let Pete know on no uncertain terms that SHE IS THE FUN POLICE, and any hilarity will be met with great screaming and a blustery mock attack. Those mock attacks bother me much more than they do the other dogs, who largely ignore her and entirely fail to tell her to knock it off. They read her better than I do.
After some "field socialization," I felt confident enough to bring them all into the house together, where Max curled up on my S.O.'s lap and watched longingly as Pete and Nugget played a wrestling game. He slowly and carefully slid off the chair and cautiously approached. He sniffed a little, then he started the "ball-posturing" game. This is a new one for me, but I've seen several dogs do it just today. Max found a ball and picked it up, brought it over to the puppy, and holding it in his mouth, baited him with it, gruffing and trotting off when the puppy tried to take it. I think this is the equivalent of the "high-place" game, where the elder or more dominant dog claims all the high places and lets the newcomer know that they'd better stay on the floor. Nugget played the ball-posturing game next. Sugar Baby, surprisingly, let him take her favorite ball away from him several times, which no other dog in the house is allowed to do.
Max was praised lavishly for being such a good boy, and he seems to be getting used to the idea of having a puppy around. Then I put him away - I am keeping their exposure to small, manageable doses.
Dogs are such fascinating creatures!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Bringing Home Baby
Yesterday, mom and I picked up the puppy, who is, for now, going by the name of "Pete." I don't know if mom is going to want to change it, but he knows it and responds, even though I've already corrupted it to "Petey," like the "Little Rascals'" dog.
An interesting side note - too many coincidences! Petey - Lil' Rascals - Rascal. Pete's sire's call name is "Tuffy" - same name and spelling as the sire of my first deaf dog, Sugar Baby. "Tuffy" bears a startling resemblance to my other cowdog, Nugget (Ch. Drywood's Silver Nugget). My deaf pit bull, Piglet, is often remarked to look quite a bit like Petey of Lil' Rascals fame, being predominantly white with a brown and black patch on her left eye. Not to mention that this dog just seemed to appear when we needed one, and that we appeared to the breeder just as she was seeking the right home. The significance of such a convergence of coincidences is not lost on me...
When we went to pick him up yesterday afternoon, the breeder quite pleasantly surprised me with an excellent puppy kit, including a packet of information about the breed, about a dog's need for leadership and a wonderful article on proper correction written by - of all people - one of my favorite horse trainers, John Lyons. Also included is a copy of the contract, pedigree information, a sheet with feeding instructions and other care tips, pictures of the sire and dam, and several of her favorite catalogs. WOW! Add to that a bag with some toys, a couple cans of her preferred canned food, and to top it all off - an anti-anxiety pillow that beats like a heart. If only all puppies were given such a fine send-off!
Mom was worried that he would be very upset being taken away from the only home he's ever known, but he showed little anxiety and really - he did better than my mom, who was fighting back tears. You gotta know my mom. She used to cry at McDonald's commercials. Gratefully, she understood why that was a bad idea - the puppy wasn't all that upset, and we didn't want to give him any clues that there was something to be upset about.
Mom decided she wanted to stop at the nursing home to say hi to dad. Hmmm. I thought it might be too much for Pete, but thought I'd give it a try. After a little potty walk where he gave a bit of a woof at the Halloween decorations (fluttering ghosts were apparently not on his list of things to which he had been socialized), but he investigated and got over it. But it was inside the home that I found out what a fantastic little guy Pete really is.
He met several residents, including my dad, cheerfully and kindly. I sat on his leash (a la Margot Woods), and after just a little while, he tucked himself under my chair, put his head on his paws and fell asleep! He did give a bit of a woof when he saw a resident being pushed in a wheelchair, but a few minutes later was greeting that resident happily, and met several others.
After dropping mom off at home, where Pete got to meet his predecessor briefly, I brought him to my house about 1/2 hour away. The little guy sat or lied down like a perfect little gentleman.
Welcome (almost) home, little one!
An interesting side note - too many coincidences! Petey - Lil' Rascals - Rascal. Pete's sire's call name is "Tuffy" - same name and spelling as the sire of my first deaf dog, Sugar Baby. "Tuffy" bears a startling resemblance to my other cowdog, Nugget (Ch. Drywood's Silver Nugget). My deaf pit bull, Piglet, is often remarked to look quite a bit like Petey of Lil' Rascals fame, being predominantly white with a brown and black patch on her left eye. Not to mention that this dog just seemed to appear when we needed one, and that we appeared to the breeder just as she was seeking the right home. The significance of such a convergence of coincidences is not lost on me...
When we went to pick him up yesterday afternoon, the breeder quite pleasantly surprised me with an excellent puppy kit, including a packet of information about the breed, about a dog's need for leadership and a wonderful article on proper correction written by - of all people - one of my favorite horse trainers, John Lyons. Also included is a copy of the contract, pedigree information, a sheet with feeding instructions and other care tips, pictures of the sire and dam, and several of her favorite catalogs. WOW! Add to that a bag with some toys, a couple cans of her preferred canned food, and to top it all off - an anti-anxiety pillow that beats like a heart. If only all puppies were given such a fine send-off!
Mom was worried that he would be very upset being taken away from the only home he's ever known, but he showed little anxiety and really - he did better than my mom, who was fighting back tears. You gotta know my mom. She used to cry at McDonald's commercials. Gratefully, she understood why that was a bad idea - the puppy wasn't all that upset, and we didn't want to give him any clues that there was something to be upset about.
Mom decided she wanted to stop at the nursing home to say hi to dad. Hmmm. I thought it might be too much for Pete, but thought I'd give it a try. After a little potty walk where he gave a bit of a woof at the Halloween decorations (fluttering ghosts were apparently not on his list of things to which he had been socialized), but he investigated and got over it. But it was inside the home that I found out what a fantastic little guy Pete really is.
He met several residents, including my dad, cheerfully and kindly. I sat on his leash (a la Margot Woods), and after just a little while, he tucked himself under my chair, put his head on his paws and fell asleep! He did give a bit of a woof when he saw a resident being pushed in a wheelchair, but a few minutes later was greeting that resident happily, and met several others.
After dropping mom off at home, where Pete got to meet his predecessor briefly, I brought him to my house about 1/2 hour away. The little guy sat or lied down like a perfect little gentleman.
Welcome (almost) home, little one!
Picking out Puppy
All my life, my mom has owned power breeds. I grew up with a collie/shepherd mix named Dolce. Okay, so she wasn't quite a power breed, but she did have a little bit of an attitude as a puppy. Grew into a wonderful dog.
After Dolce passed on, my mom got a purebred German Shepherd Dog that she named Cinder. She was a little problematic, but mom persevered, taking her to obedience classes and doing an all-around pretty-good job of raising her right.
Cinder passed away at a ripe old age, and my mom was dogless when I got divorced about 13 years ago. I was moving across the country into a situation in which I'd be traveling a lot, so I offered her my Rascal who was then a year old. It was a tough transition for him (and for mom), but once again she persevered and Rascal turned out to be just what the doctor ordered, especially as she lost her hearing. He has not only learned to alert, but he used to fetch my dad if she had a period of dizziness or somesuch. What an intelligent dog!
Now, however, his hearing is failing and it's obvious he won't be with us much longer. I was hoping to have a dog trained and ready to go when my mom needs him, which probably won't be long off in the future. That meant I had to find a puppy very soon, as I want at least 12 weeks for basic training and starting on alerting.
As my mom is now nearing 80 (hard to believe), I thought she might benefit from a dog which is not so intense and agenda-driven as cowdogs can be. I started investigating Labrador breeders for a prospect, and found a lovely one not too far from home. One litter has just hit the ground, another is due this week. But you know what? My mom just isn't a Lab person. She loves cowdogs - a formidable breed for those who are not prepared.
Turns out that on a recent trip to the vet with one of my seniors, I mentioned to the vet tech that I was looking for a puppy for mom, that I had found a lab breeder, but mom wants a cattle dog. "Oh, one of our clients has a really nice ACD puppy for sale," she said. I scoffed. "Yes, but has all the necessary genetic testing been done? Were the parents OFAed and do they test for PRA?"
"I think so..."
Hmmm... all the earmarks of a responsible breeder, I thought. Then the gal showed me the flyer in the foyer. I saw that the puppy and parents had all the necessary genetic testing and screening. I was surprised to find an apparently top-quality breeder so close to home, but still I was skeptical.
I came home and Googled the sire, the dam and the kennel names and darned if his daddy isn't one of the superstars of his breed, having earned two Awards of Merit in the US and is now being campaigned successfully in Oz. In short, he's bred up one side and down the other!
I called the breeder, and darned if she isn't exactly what I feel a responsible breeder should be - first and foremost being selective about what kind of homes her pups are going to have. Long story short - she was thrilled that someone was looking for a dog not just to be a companion or (ugh!) a "watchdog," but one to do a specific job. Cowdogs, like most working breeds, need jobs. If you don't give them one, they'll make one up - and it usually won't be something you'd choose yourself. Most often their jobs of choice include ridding the neighborhood of pesky moving things like bikes, skateboards and even cars and trucks, and keeping strangers just where they feel they belong - well away from the house! Redecorating, including un-upholstering furniture and de-plastering walls, are among their specialties. Baby cowdogs are often something like baby landsharks on speed. But I digress - you get the picture.
But in selecting a dog for a job like this, there's more to be considered than just good looks and even sound breeding. The puppy must have a sound mind, and must also be reactive to sound. They must be agreeable toward strangers if the owner plans to take him out in public and his manners must be impeccable. I would have initially preferred a much younger puppy, as this guy is already 17 weeks old, but it sounded like the breeder had taken great care to start the puppy off right and do all the required socialization. Still, I had to see how reactive this little guy was to sound and get an idea of how quickly he learns. We set an appointment last weekend.
Testing... One, two three ...
I picked up a couple of things - a beeping timer, a wind-up toy, and packed some things like a large towel and a fistful of tasty treats, fetched my mom and went to meet the puppy. I can't believe how well this little guy did. Testing puppies is one of those things that most trainers and some breeders do, but the jury is still out regarding how well the results indicate how the dog will turn out in the long run. Puppies go through a lot of changes, most of them in adolescence. But you gotta start somewhere.
The most important thing to me was sound reactivity, and darned if this little guy didn't make a very impressive showing. What I was looking for was just a reaction - any reaction is okay, but a tendency to investigate is exceptional. I set the timer for about 30 seconds and hid it on the floor behind my purse while the breeder distracted him. When the timer went off, he not only noticed the sound, but went over to my purse, rifled through it, then found the timer behind it, PICKED IT UP and carried it to his crate! He showed good, stable responses to dropping a pot lid and other noises, investigated everything, and while he was judiciously cautious, he showed no excessive nervousness or fear and was quick to recover when startled.
It took literally a few seconds and a few treats to teach him to touch my hand on command (important, because this will be his means of alerting mom to sounds - barking is not appropriate in public, and when mom isn't wearing her processor, she wouldn't hear it anyway). One interesting thing - when he became confused, he backed up and gave me a bit of a woof. I take this to mean, "Hey! You ain't speakin' my language!" I like that in a puppy.
I let my mom make up her own mind about the dog. There was no question in my mind that he could do the job, but did she like the puppy? After a couple of days to think about it (during which we got the final diagnosis on Rascal), she said yes.
After Dolce passed on, my mom got a purebred German Shepherd Dog that she named Cinder. She was a little problematic, but mom persevered, taking her to obedience classes and doing an all-around pretty-good job of raising her right.
Cinder passed away at a ripe old age, and my mom was dogless when I got divorced about 13 years ago. I was moving across the country into a situation in which I'd be traveling a lot, so I offered her my Rascal who was then a year old. It was a tough transition for him (and for mom), but once again she persevered and Rascal turned out to be just what the doctor ordered, especially as she lost her hearing. He has not only learned to alert, but he used to fetch my dad if she had a period of dizziness or somesuch. What an intelligent dog!
Now, however, his hearing is failing and it's obvious he won't be with us much longer. I was hoping to have a dog trained and ready to go when my mom needs him, which probably won't be long off in the future. That meant I had to find a puppy very soon, as I want at least 12 weeks for basic training and starting on alerting.
As my mom is now nearing 80 (hard to believe), I thought she might benefit from a dog which is not so intense and agenda-driven as cowdogs can be. I started investigating Labrador breeders for a prospect, and found a lovely one not too far from home. One litter has just hit the ground, another is due this week. But you know what? My mom just isn't a Lab person. She loves cowdogs - a formidable breed for those who are not prepared.
Turns out that on a recent trip to the vet with one of my seniors, I mentioned to the vet tech that I was looking for a puppy for mom, that I had found a lab breeder, but mom wants a cattle dog. "Oh, one of our clients has a really nice ACD puppy for sale," she said. I scoffed. "Yes, but has all the necessary genetic testing been done? Were the parents OFAed and do they test for PRA?"
"I think so..."
Hmmm... all the earmarks of a responsible breeder, I thought. Then the gal showed me the flyer in the foyer. I saw that the puppy and parents had all the necessary genetic testing and screening. I was surprised to find an apparently top-quality breeder so close to home, but still I was skeptical.
I came home and Googled the sire, the dam and the kennel names and darned if his daddy isn't one of the superstars of his breed, having earned two Awards of Merit in the US and is now being campaigned successfully in Oz. In short, he's bred up one side and down the other!
I called the breeder, and darned if she isn't exactly what I feel a responsible breeder should be - first and foremost being selective about what kind of homes her pups are going to have. Long story short - she was thrilled that someone was looking for a dog not just to be a companion or (ugh!) a "watchdog," but one to do a specific job. Cowdogs, like most working breeds, need jobs. If you don't give them one, they'll make one up - and it usually won't be something you'd choose yourself. Most often their jobs of choice include ridding the neighborhood of pesky moving things like bikes, skateboards and even cars and trucks, and keeping strangers just where they feel they belong - well away from the house! Redecorating, including un-upholstering furniture and de-plastering walls, are among their specialties. Baby cowdogs are often something like baby landsharks on speed. But I digress - you get the picture.
But in selecting a dog for a job like this, there's more to be considered than just good looks and even sound breeding. The puppy must have a sound mind, and must also be reactive to sound. They must be agreeable toward strangers if the owner plans to take him out in public and his manners must be impeccable. I would have initially preferred a much younger puppy, as this guy is already 17 weeks old, but it sounded like the breeder had taken great care to start the puppy off right and do all the required socialization. Still, I had to see how reactive this little guy was to sound and get an idea of how quickly he learns. We set an appointment last weekend.
Testing... One, two three ...
I picked up a couple of things - a beeping timer, a wind-up toy, and packed some things like a large towel and a fistful of tasty treats, fetched my mom and went to meet the puppy. I can't believe how well this little guy did. Testing puppies is one of those things that most trainers and some breeders do, but the jury is still out regarding how well the results indicate how the dog will turn out in the long run. Puppies go through a lot of changes, most of them in adolescence. But you gotta start somewhere.
The most important thing to me was sound reactivity, and darned if this little guy didn't make a very impressive showing. What I was looking for was just a reaction - any reaction is okay, but a tendency to investigate is exceptional. I set the timer for about 30 seconds and hid it on the floor behind my purse while the breeder distracted him. When the timer went off, he not only noticed the sound, but went over to my purse, rifled through it, then found the timer behind it, PICKED IT UP and carried it to his crate! He showed good, stable responses to dropping a pot lid and other noises, investigated everything, and while he was judiciously cautious, he showed no excessive nervousness or fear and was quick to recover when startled.
It took literally a few seconds and a few treats to teach him to touch my hand on command (important, because this will be his means of alerting mom to sounds - barking is not appropriate in public, and when mom isn't wearing her processor, she wouldn't hear it anyway). One interesting thing - when he became confused, he backed up and gave me a bit of a woof. I take this to mean, "Hey! You ain't speakin' my language!" I like that in a puppy.
I let my mom make up her own mind about the dog. There was no question in my mind that he could do the job, but did she like the puppy? After a couple of days to think about it (during which we got the final diagnosis on Rascal), she said yes.
When the world is up in the air...
Life has been pretty crazy these days. Long story short, my dad has Alzheimer's and has deteriorated beyond the point where mom can take care of him. We found him a lovely residential center, leaving my mom to cope with being alone for the first time in her life.
As if that weren't bad enough, my mom's dog is in failing health. At 14, it really shouldn't be a surprise, but one is never prepared. Not only is her dog Rascal her best friend, she has relied upon him for support for a number of years since she experienced a sudden severe/profound hearing loss. She now has a cochlear implant, but once she takes it off, she is completely deaf. Rascal, an Australian Cattle Dog, being among the brightest of breeds, virtually taught himself to act as her hearing ear dog. What a little guy.
He automatically knew that people are supposed to react when phones and doorbells ring, timers go off, and other little things that we who can hear well rarely think of. In short, he hears for her. At least, he did. But not any more. His ears, right along with his kidneys, are failing, and he has a bladder tumor which is destined to hasten the eventuality of his passing.
Mom has a long history of dog ownership, with each one being an only dog from puppyhood to death, and each one separated by a grief period of about 1 to 2 years. This time, mom knows she cannot wait - she needs that extra set of ears as well as, if nothing else, another living creature under her roof to stave off the demon Loneliness.
I'm not much for emotional support - at middle age, I've become somewhat curmudgeonly and fancy myself as a realist and a pragmatist. This doesn't always win me friends, nor does it greatly influence people and it sure doesn't characterize me as "sympathetic." However, I can train a dog. Mom needs one. This is something I can do for her.
As if that weren't bad enough, my mom's dog is in failing health. At 14, it really shouldn't be a surprise, but one is never prepared. Not only is her dog Rascal her best friend, she has relied upon him for support for a number of years since she experienced a sudden severe/profound hearing loss. She now has a cochlear implant, but once she takes it off, she is completely deaf. Rascal, an Australian Cattle Dog, being among the brightest of breeds, virtually taught himself to act as her hearing ear dog. What a little guy.
He automatically knew that people are supposed to react when phones and doorbells ring, timers go off, and other little things that we who can hear well rarely think of. In short, he hears for her. At least, he did. But not any more. His ears, right along with his kidneys, are failing, and he has a bladder tumor which is destined to hasten the eventuality of his passing.
Mom has a long history of dog ownership, with each one being an only dog from puppyhood to death, and each one separated by a grief period of about 1 to 2 years. This time, mom knows she cannot wait - she needs that extra set of ears as well as, if nothing else, another living creature under her roof to stave off the demon Loneliness.
I'm not much for emotional support - at middle age, I've become somewhat curmudgeonly and fancy myself as a realist and a pragmatist. This doesn't always win me friends, nor does it greatly influence people and it sure doesn't characterize me as "sympathetic." However, I can train a dog. Mom needs one. This is something I can do for her.
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