Obedience 2

Two-thirds of the way through our first run at Obedience 2 and we’re holding our own. But our classmates are two 6ish-month old puppies, one a lively labrador, the other a chickenhearted chihuahua, which makes my 3 year-old galoot of a golden the freakishly tall kid in the back row of the kindergarten class picture.

Ruffian is the instructor’s choice for demonstration dog when introducing a new skill, only because the little lab loses any semblance of self-control when Kelly approaches – his tail begins beating the floor as soon as she looks his way – and the chihuahua is, well, a chihuahua.

Ruff’s attention span is growing and his restraint in the company of his canine contemporaries is improving on a weekly basis. He’s an enigma though, compared to every other golden I’ve worked with, because his treat drive can be tepid.

I’ve invested in the expensive freeze dried turkey hearts and bison parts that he deems a fair wage, and amassed a small arsenal of discreet attention-getters – clicks, clucks, hisses, whistles, subtle finger pokes to his meaty thighs, gentle finger pats on his sometimes-meaty head, and my high-pitched happy voice – to refocus his focus on me and the task at hand.

Still, he and sweet lab Winston would drop the gloves and enjoy a raucous retriever rumble if we’d just let loose the leashes.

And he’d welcome the opportunity to pursue Wonton, sitting on his owner’s lap to our right, as I’m fairly sure Ruffian considers the tiny trembler small prey animal.

He is making progress though, and would be, paws-down, top dog of the trio if we practiced, even a little, every day. But the gods of Everything Else in Your Life and the demons of Put That One Off ‘Til Tomorrow are leading the pack this summer, while Ruff and I take the tortoise route.

With the exception of Boone the brindle greyhound, who was granted dispensation from most obedience skills due to his gentle nature, good manners and inherent respect for house rules, (other than the one that requested he sleep on any of his 3 designated dog beds and not the king-size with the pillowy comforter) Ruffian is undisputably the slowest of all my dogs to master the simple art of getting into Heel position.

To add to his mental muddle, last week we introduced “Side,” which is heel position on my right, and I could see the brain cell activation spark, though full ignition will take a few more strikes of the flint.

He’s got a solid Sit, Down and Stay. Most of the time.

Loose-leash heeling looks good until something, or someone, shows up in front of us. Or to the side. Or behind.
His willingness to leave the comfort of his crate continues to be inconsistent, based on location, ambient sound and/or whatever goes through the mind of a trusting soul once abandoned in an isolated wildlife refuge, but the reluctance recedes with a couple taps to the corner of the crate, which convince him to stand up, peek out, and confirm the safety of exiting the vehicle.

His grasp of the basic principles of generally accepted canine conduct, along with the lack of a requirement for polished execution of competition-ready obedience exercises helped us pass the Therapy Dog evaluation on our first attempt, albeit with a performance that was not pretty and fortuitously aided by a benevolent evaluator and a bit of Irish luck.

So, we’ll continue our education to sharpen our skills to get through our 2-year renewal assessment with a lot less stress and a couple less prayers.

Oh, and for fun.

He is not a dumb dog, but he does think differently and therefore, so must I. Solving the puzzle of Ruffian’s processing is definitely a journey; on a road less traveled, full of S-curves, forks and roundabouts.

Obedience 3 begins in August, and I am wearing my walking shoes.