Rowdy

Rowdyroo, Punkin Pie, Punkin, Punks, Punk, Pup, Pupster, Poopster, Pooch, TheGreatestDogInTheWholeWideWorld.

What’s in a name?

According to a couple dog trainers in our past, the answer is fate, karma, self-fulfilling prophecy. “Why would you give a dog a name like that” they asked.

Call it Cute-New-Puppy-Owner-Brain, but I counted on irony.

Seven years into the deal, we’re somewhere in the middle, the proverbial, perpetual, work in progress. Fortunately, dog training classes are my jam, so Rowdy and I enrolled in the Lifelong Learners Club. Thus far, we’ve graduated from Puppy Kindergarten, mastered Beginner Obedience, reinforced Manners, squeaked through Therapy Dog and soothed our Reactive Rover.

We’ve amassed an arsenal of equipment – buckle, pinch, martingale, limited-slip and head collars, leather leash, nylon leash, short leash, hands-free leash, slip lead, long line and a no-pull harness – each designed to fix a different flaw.

Through practice and positive reinforcement, Rowdy now readily responds to cues given in a conversational tone. Beyond the basics, he’s learned to “Listen” when we work with kids at the library, to deliver the occasional note from me to George, to differentiate Upstairs from Down when asked to deliver said note, and to distinguish between his many fleecy friends – Squeaker Man, Squeaker Bone, Big Guy, and the Squeaker Squirrel triplets – when choosing a dinner or travel companion.

He’s also grown accustomed to waiting on the landing until I get to the base of the steps, and to hang tight in the open doorway until I give him the a-ok to advance.

However, we still have work to do. With a naturally dialed-up prey drive, Rowdy loves the thrill of chasing chipmunks, corralling cats, driving deer, and herding horses, even though the objects of his obsession are, fortunately, fleeter of foot.

If I catch him early in the pre-launch countdown, Rowdy will hold an impressive sit-stay, but if not, the positive reinforcement piece settles in the dust as I shriek swear words that go unheard and unheeded by the golden flash accelerating across the pasture from 0 to 60 in .37 seconds.

The neighbors must be so impressed.

My reactive retriever has also reared his ugly head again, presenting a disconcerting display of ferocity when we meet another dog on the park trails. His aggressive vocalizations belie his genial disposition, and fortunately for my Cowardly Lion, we’ve yet to come across the canine willing to pull back the curtain to reveal the 72-pound weakling pulling those levers of alarm.

So, to return the Happy Hooligan back to his kinder, gentler self, he and I will be participating in a Reactive Dog Workshop for 3 consecutive Friday evenings in June/July – a little information about my social life – which will neither extinguish the prey drive nor cure the crazy greeting behavior but will offer insight and ideas for cultivating a little composure and more acceptable conduct.

In the meantime, we make little adjustments everywhere. We now practice a sit/stay at the end of the driveway when we are picking up the mail, and random recalls when we’re in the barn. I sport a fanny pack around my waist when we walk the trails because even the steely stare of a blue-eyed herding dog shrivels in the presence of a sliced up hot dog.

Though my GreatestDogInTheWholeWideWorld has his imperfections, and I can’t eradicate the natural instincts that are his kryptonite, I can adjust and adapt them to allow his superpowers to prevail.

And someday, someone will look at my sea of golden tranquility, my solid Citizen Canine, and remark “Why would you give a dog like that a name like Rowdy?”

Resilience.