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:

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.

The Trouble with Angels
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.

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

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!

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!

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.