Life seems paused, in a bit of a hold Some things shifting to new from the old Thinking and waiting, anticipating Little changes, but nothing too bold
Daily temps rise to early-spring warm We’ve survived the first seasonal storm The horses, they nibble On the sprouting green kibble We all dream of the future new norm
Summer birds have begun to arrive They roost and they sing, soar and dive Wrens swipe bluebird houses And hawks drop dead mouses And the concerts start promptly at five
Some more free time means now I can go Spend more time with Chicago and Moe We can walk through the trails Brush their manes and their tails Feel the peace, take our time, nice and slow
In the barn Fennel’s still our sole cat He hunts, but it sadly seems that The rodents look yummy But they upset his tummy So he pukes on the barn aisle mat
I finally got off of my duff Started taking some classes with Ruff He gets scared in strange places But in most of the cases Settles down once he’s been there enough
On the job Rowdy seems a bit tired Not suggesting he needs to be fired But the time may be near That Ruff conquers his fear Is ready to work, and gets hired
To be sure, it’s a season for change Fluctuation that feels a bit strange But I’ll try to stay quiet Be hard but I’ll try it Not to push or to force or arrange
No plotting or planning or mappin’ No pressure, but maybe some nappin’ Try to go with the flow To really let go To be open to all that might happen
A little short on time, but needing a little training, I opted to combine my errands with Ruffian’s schooling, loaded him into the truck and headed “into town”, where I parked on the main block of the main street, poured Ruff out of his car crate and walked half a block to the post office.
As is his M.O., once out of the truck he moved along with me, sling-shotting between just behind my left knee and just in front of my left foot, where he doesn’t exactly pull, but neither does he walk with what would pass as the “loose leash” expected in our upcoming Therapy Dog evaluation.
In the post office lobby, we met two kind strangers who commented on his good looks and asked permission to pet him. Perfect practice for Exercises 2 and 3 in the Skills Assessment of the evaluation.
He sat readily and quietly for the head pats and ear scratches, and while he’d earn top scores for prompt response to, and maintaining contact with, his handler, based on the quivering of his hind quarters, he’d lose a couple points in the Relaxed Body Language category.
It occurs to me that I could stand strategically for that part of the test, to shield his shivers from the eyes of the evaluator, but a. I expect s/he will be experienced enough to see through the screen, and even more, b. I’d like Ruff to believe that he is safe when I’m standing next to him, even when surrounded by curious crowds in strange spaces with odd odors and novel noises.
We left the post office and despite his desire to beeline straight for the truck, walked around the block that is Main Street. We rounded the corner across from the fire station and I noticed the sign on the town’s newest business – a dog training center. Hmmm.
There is a QR code posted on the door, but I opted for an old-school laptop internet search when I got home, and discovered a new Obedience class had started the night before and would run through mid-April.
Mid-April would give us plenty of time to practice our freshly honed skills and even allow enrollment in a second short class to prep for our end of May evaluation.
So, I emailed the instructor who replied Immediately, and yada, yada, yada, Ruff and I are 4 weeks into Level 1 Obedience.
Again.
The third time seems to be a charm for our educational pursuits, and the magic starts once we settle in our space in the training center, but I’ve yet to crack the code for getting my comely coward out of the truck in any public space, without considerable coaxing.
He is slightly more amenable to leaving his safe spot, which is to say I no longer have to drag the whole dang crate, fully loaded with a reluctant retriever, out of the hatchback. But unless Rowdy’s with us to run reconnaissance, Ruff still hangs tight, hugging the blue nylon barrier that protects him from the menace that may forever remain a mystery.
Sometimes he’ll face the fear enough to stand in the opening of the front flap, but he’s yet to summon the courage for the daring leap to the outside world.
So, I tap the top of the travel kennel, jiggle it just enough to encourage him to exit the Explorer without the need to tilt the crate to a 45-degree angle, and after a few moments of soulful stares, reassuring ear rubs and reminders that we have safely completed this mission on at least 67 previous occasions, he takes the trust fall, gives me minimal time to press the close button on the tailgate and we advance post-haste to the entrance of the building.
Once inside, the anxiety eases as we make our way to our usual spot in the back right corner, first chair facing West – seems all the students, 2- and 4-leggeds alike, are creatures of habit who appreciate the comfort of consistency.
Our classmates include two darling doodles and a charming Chihuahua who hops his way around the room mostly on his hind legs. His owner’s objective is to teach him that the tiny toes on all four of his feet should touch the floor, and like the rest of us, she’s seeing some success in embracing instructor Kelly’s counsel that short periods of everyday practice pay dividends.
On a daily basis now Ruffian is sitting, lying, standing, staying, waiting, and loose-leash-walking up in the office, down in the family room, on the stairs, in the barn, on the driveway, in the park. We vary duration, distance and distractions, and all this thinking exhausts much of the mental energy previously used to fuel his desire to chew slippers, socks and throw rugs.
He still conducts the occasional raid of the clothes hamper in the closet, and sometimes grabs the bath mat in front of the tub, but it’s mostly for show or old-time’s sake. He drops them as soon as we make eye contact.
We’re still working in the low distraction zone, but I’m encouraged by our progress. Ruff seems to enjoy the engagement, he’s willing to try what I’m asking him to do, even if it means lying down at the back door or walking in heel position around the pool table.
I like where this is going.
I like the fun of dog training classes, being around people who like being around dogs.
I like learning new techniques from a trainer with a sense of humor.
I like listening to the sound of dog paws padding across a rubber matted floor.
I love watching the lights coming on as Ruff figures out the right response.
I just don’t like pouring seventy-five pounds of pup onto the parking lot.
I’ll wait here
Road Signs for Ruffian – Obedience Begins Again We’re at it again Another dog class The test’s scheduled for May Here’s hoping we pass
Despite a lifelong discomfort with loud voices and cursing, Rowdy has adopted an admirable response when he hears them.
No one celebrates the final play of the Super Bowl with greater gratitude than my gentle golden, who holds his breath, just a little, through the entirety of the NFL season. But swear words now invoke the superpower of his therapy dog spirit.
When he senses too-high tension in the tv room, Rowdy will launch a crusade for calmness, approaching the overly fervent fan with ears slightly dropped, tail slowly ticking back and forth as he gauges the proper proximity needed to successfully complete his mission.
A little scratching of that perfect spot behind a dog’s ears restores some semblance of reason to even the most passionate accusations of poor play and outrageous officiating.
Rowdy’s peacekeeping pursuits are not confined to the perimeter of Four Sticks, however.
We recently had a girl start her day with a major tantrum in the entry way of the school building. I’ve heard a few of these rants over the years, but this was top shelf vituperation, a full-on verbal assault of the perceived violation of her rights as a student, the injustices forced upon her at the school, including the totally intolerable situation of her having to be in the same room as another student she deemed despicable. It was a vitriolic tirade, born of incredible pain and sadness, punctuated with a remarkable number of F bombs.
As with many things in life, I believe there’s a time and a place for the F word, and I appreciate its judicious use. But 15 minutes of the tirade seemed plenty to satisfy a need to vent, so I left Rowdy in the office and walked into the hallway, not to counsel, just to offer a little moral support for the teacher who’d been monitoring the meltdown, and because sometimes the mere presence of a second, silent adult can nudge the emotional thermometer out of the red zone.
I said nothing, just stood quietly, and the student didn’t acknowledge me except to slip into her diatribe that she didn’t “need no fuckin’ dog.”
Message received.
Loud and clear.
But Rowdy begged to differ. The words had barely left her lips before he came around the corner, somehow knowing he was needed.
He walked past me, past the teacher, and very gently approached the student crouched in the corner. He touched her knee with his nose, and she reached for his head. He stepped a little closer, touched her just softly enough to make sure she knew he was there, and she started scratching his head, talking just a little quieter, just a little slower.
He stood with her, demanding nothing, only offering quiet connection.
After a minute or two Rowdy recognized that his work was done. He moved over to me, we returned to our office, where he accepted a well-earned treat and curled up on his bed to wait for his call to Study Hall.
He didn’t solve her problem. But within a few minutes she calmed enough to move out of the hallway and into a study space.
Unlike some of the other students, she doesn’t clamor for his attention when she sees him. But when he makes his rounds around the room at the start of Study Hall, sometimes she scratches his head, just a little, and talks to him, just a little, and smiles at him, just a little.
Just enough to keep her at peace.
Just enough to keep him in shape for Sundays in September, with their return of the purple jerseys.
From Four Sticks Farm 