Author: Four Sticks Farm

Puppy Progress

Puppy Lying Down

Good news on the housebreaking front, as Rowdy recently had a whole day of sitting by the deck door every time he needed to go out. Whether due to his baby bladder or the fun of the new In-and-Out game, he “needed” to go out every 15 minutes between 10:00 am and 2:00 pm, but hope outweighed hassle, and I was happy to accommodate if it meant dry rugs and clean floors.

I don’t expect we’re out of the potty puddle woods yet, but suspect we’ve slogged our way through the heaviest thicket – definitely see a light in the forest.

We started Puppy Kindergarten and like many youngsters, Rowdy’s favorite class is recess – the 10 minutes at the beginning of the session during which the puppies are free to act like puppies. He loves the wrestling matches, being taken down more often than he takes down, though he’s one of the bigger boys in the group.

After a short break, which generally turns into a outdoor recess extension and an opportunity to slop drinking water across the training room floor, we practice some basic obedience skills. It’s all positive fun, with much string cheese and hot dog, and Rowdy willingly participates in any activity that involves feeding his starving belly.

Sitting PuppyBecause neither of us fosters much tolerance for dull drills, I try to work obedience activities into our everyday life. He sits to get a treat, and stays in a sit to have his leash snapped on. Walking without pulling is an epic work in progress, but shows potential as long as I dangle the proverbial carrot. Kibble crumbs in my left pocket have been replaced with a stick of string cheese which can be nibbled on the move.

We’re a long way from finished, but thanks to the food and the little bit of core strength I’ve managed to muster out of my yoga class, my shoulders are still in their sockets and my knees remain scrape-free.

Small Pleasures

Rowdy and Lisa’s List of Daily Delights:

  1. An entire day, housebreaking accident-free.
  2. Almost an entire cup of hot coffee, interruption-free.
  3. Play bowing in front of the cat, just to hear him hiss.
  4. Kneeling in front of the puppy, just to smell his breath.
  5. A whole bowl of crunchy kibble.
  6. Almost a whole bowl of not-yet-soggy Cheerios.
  7. Belly crawling under the bed, discovering cardboard storage boxes that satisfy the need for destructive ripping and chewing, with a yummy glue aftertaste.
  8. Sitting on the dog bed, discovering interactive dog toys that satisfy the need for playful exercise and bonding, with a puppy love chaser.
  9. Pawing at the deck door, getting to go outside when it opens.
  10. Opening the deck door, not needing to get the mop after it opens.

Sweet Rowdy

 

Behold, The Power of Kibble

Puppy SittingIn pursuit of the piece of kibble he learned about during a 10 minute clicker-training session, Rowdy frequently offers a voluntary “Yes-Ma’am-Here-I-am-giving-you-my-full-attention-while-awaiting-further-instruction” kind of sit.

This is about a week after our initial training session, which involved “clicking” a little noisemaker, followed immediately by offering a single piece of dry dog food.

Oh the fun of a food-motivated pooch!  Boone is not now, nor has he ever been, food-motivated. Or toy-motivated. Or happy-voice-motivated. I love my big brindle dog, but obedience skills and tricks are not the greyhound’s strong suit.

Rowdy, however, seems willing to work for a pretty reasonable wage. So far he’s learned to give me his attention, sit, lie down, and come when I call his name, which is actually a bonus-based skill for which he is rewarded with a handful of tasty, dry, deliciousness.

He’s learned that when the crate door opens, his assignment is to go directly outside, turn left, then right, down the steps into the dog yard and take care of business. Upon completion, he returns to the house (often by way of quick sprint through the rhubarb, hosta and daisies) sits, and enjoys a piece of kibble.

He’s figuring out that Next-To-Lisa is a happy place to be when one is a growing pup. So much so, that I’ve nearly sent us both sprawling after he’s sidled up to me stealth-like, waiting silently for his snack. Washing dishes, making the bed, and drying my hair have proven perilous, calling for extra vigilance in surveying my surroundings.

Every left pocket I own bulges with a stash of dog food to reward his devotion. To the kibble, that is, not to me – I’ve worked with enough dogs to understand their priorities. But he’s learning, and if I have to buy his allegiance in the beginning, I’m ok with that. For now, it’s a small price to pay. Puppy Kindergarten begins next week, and with that, will undoubtedly come the demand for a raise.

Hot dogs and string cheese for my little golden friend!

A Midsummer Day’s Dreams

Sleeping Dog

Today was a day of “what if’s…”

After listening to his readers at the Delano Library, Boone pondered the possibilities of giving a cat a cupcake, or a pig a party; a dog running loose in a school; a cat living in a library, and riding a pony to school. Then, as he often does, he took a nap…

Thank you to the new and returning friends who took time out of their days to visit us – we hope to see you next month on August 15!

It’s a Wonderful World

RowdyInTheHosta

So much to explore when one is an 8-week old puppy:

Ants on the sidewalk – who knew such tiny little beings existed?

Boone – Race ya!

Chain link fence lines – just a bit of bounce along the boundaries!

Doors – remind me again, which way do I go to get around this thing?

Grass in the front lawn – love the easy tear-out design!

Hosta, daisies and rhubarb – leap in, snap a few stalks, then race out, full speed ahead!

Mocha – I thought I saw a Siamese cat!

Sounds of the dog yard at night – horses snuffling, coyotes howling, a bird screeching – too frightening to investigate, I’ll hurry so we can head back to safety! Every two hours. Every night.

Steps – going up is easy, but down, not so much – how about a lift?

The Andy Griffith theme song – love that whistle!

Throw rugs – I think this one ought to be over here!

Toys – balls, bones, bedspreads, fleecies, Frisbees, fingers, furniture, ropes, robes, squeakies, slippers

Water bowl – oh, sorry, I thought you said water POOL!

Wood chips in the dog yard – you want me to do what back here?

It’s enough to wear a guy out.

RowdyExhaustedByToys

The Best Laid Plans

I didn’t want a puppy. I’d just started thinking about my next dog, but didn’t feel energetically up for housebreaking and teething and housebreaking and puppy-proofing and housebreaking. I was thinking young adult dog. Somewhere between adolescence and aged.

I started checking out shelter, rescue, and even breeder websites, looking for possibilities – a casual search, as I was not sure exactly what I wanted, or when I wanted it.

I just didn’t want a puppy.

With his greying muzzle and weakening hips, Boone’s senior citizenship is showing.  He still participates willingly in our library reading programs, but is inching his way off the reading rug toward a well-deserved permanent place on the king-sized comforter.

So thoughts of his successor started sprouting. And while I love Boone as much as I’ve loved any of my dogs, one thing I knew for sure was that the next dog would be a return to the golden retriever, in whole or in part. Long and Lean would be replaced with Full and Fluffy.

It just wouldn’t be a puppy.

But as often happens when I start thinking, the plan changed. Casual conversation with past and present equine vets led to Facebook posts and text messages and pictures and a farm visit and…

RowdysFirstNight.jpg

… a puppy.

Summer Start

Boone had a nearly full schedule of readers today at the Delano Library and he was happy to meet several new friends – many of them just toddling into the wonderful world of readers! Boone heard stories about capers and lollipops, construction equipment, fancy book reports, a dog that acts like a cat, and much more.

He looks forward to his return to the library at 10:30 on July 18. Please stop by and say Hi!

Back in the Saddle 2016

BlogChicago

After a minimum of two months on the ground, I finally saddled up and climbed on the back of The Big Red Horse yesterday.  Given our lengthy lazy spell, it came as no surprise that the girth tightened two holes lower than last ride, and given my own refusal to even attempt to wrap a belt around my waist, I offered no judgment. However, a memory from last spring’s vet visit flashed a red warning light in my head. Last year Chicago stretched the weight tape (a nylon band that wraps around a horse’s girth to estimate its weight) to infinity and beyond, so we have 6-8 weeks to make sure Dr. Heather doesn’t have to bring the extension this time.

Off we went, onto our tiny wooded trail, where I couldn’t help but think of last spring’s first ride – a disastrous outing in which Chicago left me lying on my back in the woods while he bolted across the yard, around the barn and back again. He’d been spooked by a horse and buggy on the road 100 yards away, then parlayed the panic of Biskit and Rusty, who’d spotted the same vehicle from the safety of their pasture, into a full-blown fear fest.

I caught him on the lawn, (barely) relieved that he’d managed to avoid hurting himself by stepping on his reins; and climbed up, slightly sickened with the knowledge that we’d have to return to the scene of the crime and compose ourselves before we could call it day.  He was at the height of Big Red Beastliness, prancing and puffing and threatening to explode as we made our way back, but this time I was more determined to stay calm and stay on than he was to get me off. So I stayed on.

That was then, this is now, I reminded myself.  Fortunately for all concerned, this year’s First Ride bore no resemblance to that of 2015. The only vehicles on the road were appropriately powered by big engines, and though Chicago showed no concern about any of them, I will confess to breaking  out in a couple calming verses of “The Wheels on the Bus” when the noisy yellow student-mobile passed by. Just in case.

To avoid a return to any of the rodeo rides of our past, I kept yesterday’s walk in the woods short. And safe. We returned to the barn, shared an apple and a preemptive dose of anti-inflammatory. A little grooming massagefor my big red friend, then back to the pasture with his friends. A good day for both of us.

We should do this more often…

Greyt Gratitude

Dog with IV

I almost lost my dog yesterday.

In the interest of full disclosure, I will confess that I am, by nature, a golden retriever girl. Boone is my first greyhound and because I miss having a golden, that is the breed of choice for my next dog. But I do love Boone. Contrary to my ideal dog description, he is long, lanky and short coated, but he is also sweet and sensitive and funny and willing to listen to kids read, which is my passion, not his. He wanders the house whining when I’m gone, and looks at me when I return with an adoration I could not possible deserve.

I love this big brindle dog, but yesterday George and I decided on two separate, heart-wrenching occasions to have him put down, only to watch him rally at the critical moment, offering promise in the possibility of yet another alternative approach to resolve the problem.

The problem was that we didn’t know what the problem was. Boone had his teeth cleaned on Monday, as he has every year for the 7 years we’ve owned him. He was anesthetized for the procedure, as he has always been, and though there are always risks involved with anesthesia, and particularly with anesthetizing greyhounds, he’s never had any trouble. Until Monday.

He was panting a bit when we walked out of the clinic, panting harder when we got home, which was not unusual as he is not a comfortable traveler. The unusual started when the panting took on a panicked tone, and his hind end started trembling and his back feet would not support his obviously distressed body.

Tuesday and Wednesday brought an onslaught of blood work, x-ray, ultrasound, pain medication, antibiotic, tranquilizer, steroid, barium, iv fluid, observation, despair, research, grief, frustration, and finally, hope. We’re not out of the woods yet, but I am cautiously very optimistic.

I am so thankful to have a husband with a tender heart and strong arms, willing to carry 74 pounds of quivering canine out in the snow for a potty break, even if it’s 3:00 a.m.; to lift that same long-legged, stressed-out pooch in and out of the back seat of an F150 super cab; to worry about how much water the dog is drinking; the consistency of his stool, and the cleanliness of his bedding.

I am forever indebted to Dr. Scott Jacobson, of Monticello Pet Hospital, who consulted, researched, and stayed open to possibility in diagnostic and treatment strategy; gave me his cell phone number with permission to call it anytime; stayed 3 hours after the clinic closed and came in 2 hours before it opened to treat my dying dog; answered my questions, respected my feelings and supported my decisions.

And I am truly grateful for this once-in-a-lifetime greyhound.

Child reading to greyhound