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.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
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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