Slow but (Mostly) Sure

Just when I thought it was safe to go back into Barn Brain, I find myself once again steeped in the world of canine cognition. It’s all about Rowdy. Still.

Though we passed our Therapy Dog evaluation in January, I worried about Rowdy’s over-exuberant greeting behavior, so with visions of my eager young dog bowling over eager young readers in the children’s section of our local library, I enlisted the help of a private trainer.

Lynn Smoliak of Dogs Way Dog Training came out nearly a month ago and spent some time showing Rowdy and me the benefits of working from a softer, calmer frame of mind. Time to channel my inner Dog Whisperer. No more “Hey, Hey!, HEY!!” command for us.

With only a couple attention-getting little pokes, Lynn snapped her fingers and “Tsched” rowdy Rowdy into an acceptable social state in a matter of minutes.

I, of course, did not. My finger poke needed more “Settle Down Sir” and less “Liven Up Man!”, my finger snap needed more snap, and my “Tsch” needed more “I WANT YOUR ATTENTION” and less “I’ve got a secret”.

After a couple hours though, Rowdy and I showed enough potential for progress that Lynn left us with recommendations of diligent practice, and encouragement that I’d be delighted with the light-bulb moment sure to follow our daily commitment.

In a minimum of 3 weeks.

I hopped right on that road, so perfectly paved with good intention, only to be almost immediately set off course by a series of unfortunate life events, several unseasonable snowstorms, and a pinch of self-indulgent sloth.

Dog Sitting at Attention We haven’t practiced every day, and when we do it isn’t always pretty, but we’ve made some progress. Some. Slight.

Once in a while he’ll still run through his entire repertoire – sit, down, shake right, shake left, speak, rollover – with the occasional bonus behaviors of drooling, sneezing and smooching thrown in – while I wait for him to settle his little golden puppy brain. Which he does. Eventually.

Just often enough to maintain our motivation to keep slogging onward. Almost every day.

But Rowdy does finally seem to be developing a “quieter” brain. Possibly because his trainer is doing the same. I know we’re in this for the long haul, with much learning and training and imperfection and fun in our future, so I’m mindful of the small successes, appreciative of any accomplishments.

Loose-leash healing continues to improve, though I’ve not yet braved the challenge of the local Running’s or (even more daunting) PetsMart stores. We have, however, passed a couple dogs in the park without growling, howling, whining or other inappropriate, unacceptable and/or unattractive antics, which gives me hope.

His Stay-And-Wait-Until-Released ability has been relatively solid for a few months, and now he moves into the Release-part with more trot, less gallop.

Except for that recent goose-chasing incident, which occurred at breakneck speed, but given his genetic predisposition for getting game birds, and the fact that they were creating a raucous ruckus right there in our pasture, and that he responded to my (ok, 3rd) call to come, with the same swiftness, I cut him a tiny bit of slack. This one time.

Meanwhile, on the other side of that pasture fence, my big red beast and his potbellied palomino friend continue to enjoy what has become the winter of their great content. No pressure to perform, being asked only to mind their manners when entering and exiting their stalls for the daily snack-and-snooze period. Chicago and Biskit may be the biggest beneficiaries of the current canine boot camp – happy to be livin’ the life of Rowdy.

Dog and Horse in the Snow

But soon enough, the snow-filled arena will return to sand and I will exchange the leash for the lead rope.

Just a few more snaps of the finger.

Greyt Life

Several of his library friends have asked me about Boone lately, which serves as a heartwarming reminder that rowdy Rowdy isn’t the only golden boy in this four-legged family. The big brindle sighthound made some pretty powerful friendships while lying on that blanket listening to little readers, and we both appreciate their loyalty.

Since he managed to get through the month of January with no near-death experiences for the first time in 3 years, I decided to not tempt fate, so we skipped the usually-annual under-anesthetic dental work this year, for which the humans who inhale the same air he exhales will likely pay a far greater price than the old hound dog.

I’ve found some alternatives to the major veterinary procedure which are an almost acceptable substitute, but his dog breath is seriously canine – unclean, unflossed, and definitely unpleasant. He couldn’t be happier.

Actually, he seems quite happy about a lot of things. Daily walks; bits of venison sausage, string cheese or dog biscuits mixed into his bowl when the kibble just isn’t enough; unleashed access to our wooded areas, with all the trees, tracks and other animal litter a guy could want, if a guy is a greyhound.

Sometimes, he’ll snuffle his way around the yard, taking stock of all the recent passers-through, then come racing up the hill, grinning his goofy greyhound grin, every bit as pleased with himself as back in the days of his youth, when he ran full-speed figure-8’s in the horse arena.

That’s generally about the time that Rowdy comes running even faster, barely skidding to a stop before ramming into Boone with the ubiquitous big blue squeaker ball, pestering Boone to play chase. This does Not make Boone happy.

Though he needs a little more time for planning and preparation, he can still jump into the truck and onto our bed, which makes him so very happy, as the truck is the mode of transportation to any number of area parks, and our bed is still (barely) the only spot in the house where Boone can enjoy his dinner without the Happy Hooligan drooling over his shoulder, prepared to lick the bowl clean at the first opportunity.

Of course no bed offers any obstacle for Mocha, who jumps up and leans in for as much dog dinner as he wants. Or at least as much as Boone wants him to have, as the old dog seems to relish his occasional opportunity to be the boss of the Siamese-Who-Would-Be-King.

Dog and Cat eating out of same bowl

He takes a daily joint supplement with his breakfast, but pain medications have been reduced to an as-needed basis – as in when weather prevents an outdoor adventure for more than a couple days, or when Rowdy blindsides him with the ubiquitous big blue squeaker ball.

So Boone is well my friends. He is old, a little rickety, a little blind, a little deaf and a little sleepy. But a lot happy.

Careful What I Wish For

The light is changing here at Four Sticks Farm, bringing hope of the spring soon to come. If only I can ignore the glare from the snow-covered ground that makes my eyes water and my nose run; the sting of the still-icy air that numbs my chin and reddens my ears; the grimly naked trees that expose the red squirrel who rejoices in tormenting the Happy Golden Hooligan, the feel, or lack thereof, of my fingers frozen one more time by scooping hay stems out of the automatic waterer and snapping the metal fasteners on Biskit’s blanket.

If I can ignore all that and look only at the brilliant blue sky, with a few wispy clouds and a big bright sun, I can believe.

It Will be spring. We will still see some snow and cold and ice and cool and slush and chilly. But spring will come. It always does, though it’s easy to forget that as we trudge through these bleak, record-cold days that are the weeks of February.

Horses at the fence Soon though, I will shed a layer of outdoor clothing from my barn chore apparel and strip a layer of horse hair and mud from my polar ponies.

Soon, I will start a spring conditioning program for my Big Red Beast.

But don’t tell Chicago that.

Soon, I will close off the pasture to allow it to grow without competition from equines eager for the pleasure of grazing green grass.

Don’t tell Chicago that either.

Soon, I will sweep down the winter-crusted cobwebs from the barn ceiling, slog through the alley mud to muck out the manure, drag out the paddock posts and divider fencing, wrestle 2 bulky blankets into plastic bags for transport to the tack store cleaners, curry off several more layers of horse hair and mud – first from the horses, then from their groom, clean and condition the tack that’s been hanging idle since September, scrub off the season-ending stall-window scum, wipe down and hang up the stall fans, towel off 8 muddy dog paws multiple times a day, lug deck furniture down from the garage-attic and up from the barn-shop.

Soon, it will be spring. Hmmm…

Let it snow!

Dog in the snow

Still Here

Much has happened since my last post, which I offer not as an excuse, but as an explanation.

A rare week away from Four Sticks Farm involved a whole lotta get-away getting-ready and a little bit of coming-home catching-up.

The start of a new job took up part-time hours and full-time headspace.

Then came two vet visits, three days of dog-sitting, four favorite fundraisers, five high school hockey games, six college wrestling meets, seven volunteer events, eight canine classes, nine sister socials, ten PetsMart training trips, eleven friend or family dinners, and twelve days of Christmas. Or something like that.

No partridge, pear tree, or turtle doves (unless you count Mace, the barn cat, who gets very lonely in the winter, and therefore, uncharacteristically cuddly.)

No French hens or calling birds, except Biskit and Chicago if they see me outside anytime after 3:00 pm, as they are convinced that they will, indeed, waste away unless Someone puts out still more hay to stoke their internal stoves.

Pot bellies in many ways.

But enough with the Christmas carols. The holidays are over, winter solidly entrenched, with its cold temps and early nights offering the perfect excuse to stay inside and write. So, I will return to more regular posts, and may even fill in the gap with some of the unfinished updates of yesteryear. If I ever finish them.

In the meantime, know that all is well here at Four Sticks Farm.

Boone the Greyhound Boone enjoys his senior life, sleeping on any dog bed that Mocha with allow. He’s a little wobbly in the rear, but loves his walks and functions best when we keep him on the daily program. During an earlier ~~cold~~ frigid snap, we all stayed in for a few days, which left him a little unsteady and not too inclined to eat, but one trip to the wooded, canine snuffling smorgasbord called Bertram Park put him back on both his feet and his feed.

Boone has conceded to wearing his fleece jacket when we walk in temperatures under 25, but continues to refuse any offer of help hopping in the truck. His face has greyed, his eyes have clouded and his back end has weakened, but his determination has not.

Rowdy with a Snowy Face Rowdy is still rowdy in all the right ways. We enrolled in another Therapy Dog class, and managed to pass our TDI (Therapy Dogs International) test. We still have plenty of work to do, but with the stress of the test behind us, we can focus on the fun of working together. And a solid Sit/Stay.

Though the test anxiety has faded in the rear-view mirror, straight up the road looms the next summer library program. Since some of our young readers are already on record as solidly in the “Books with Boone” camp, “Reading with Rowdy” is going to have to bring it, and the pressure is definitely on.

So, with the new year comes anticipation for new adventures, appreciation for old dogs, and gratitude for people to share them with. Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my blog. Check back now and then to see what’s goin’ on at Four Sticks Farm with rowdy Rowdy; Boone the brindle greyhound; Chicago, the Big Red Beast; his portly palomino pasture mate Biskit; Crabby Barn Cat Mace and Mocha, the Kwik Trip Kitten.

Here’s hoping that 2018 brings peace, health and happiness for all.

And for a certain happy golden hooligan, a solid sit/stay.

Books with Boone – End of the Chapter

Greyhound with book

Eight years ago, when only part of the partnership had grey hair, Boone joined me on the floors of local libraries in an effort to help children learn to read. His job description included only one requirement, which conveniently happened to be one of his strengths: lying quietly on a blanket. Young readers and readers-to-be sat next to him and shared their books with a four-legged friend, practicing their craft in the presence of polite and patient tutor.

Boone’s career as a reading assistant involved a bit of travel and though he loves the idea of travel, he’s not so fond of the reality. Car rides cause stress for him, but the appearance of the yellow tote bag or green fleece blanket created a Velcro dog who wouldn’t leave my side until he jumped into the truck. He recently started reacting similarly to the laminator and paper-cutter I use to make bookmarks for our readers so I found myself sneaking upstairs to prepare for our programs while he was deep in sleep .

Eight years is an impressive run for a dog who came into our home knowing nothing about the simple pleasures of family life – things like screen doors or staircases. He adapted quickly (except for the Christmas tree, an apparently irresistible Call of the Wild) learned a few obedience basics, but because he was not, is not and will not ever be, motivated by treats, toys, or high-pitched happy voices, that’s it. Just the basics. No fancy stuff, no tricks, stupid or otherwise.

Yet Boone, by simply being Boone, developed a loyal following for his regular visits to the Delano Library and his summer programs at the Maple Lake Library.

He’s spent hours on his fleecy blanket listening to children, encouraging them with his gentle giant presence and the occasional pooch smooch.

Some kept their distance, others couldn’t get close enough, and many found comfort and confidence with just a touch of the hand.

He loved his library friends, and they loved Boone.

Sadly, the strength of his spirit can no longer out-muscle the weakness of his joints, and because his hips can’t keep up with his heart, Boone listened to his last young reader this week. And while he enjoyed all the love that came with his library days, he seems happy to hang out at home, napping in any one of his favorite nooks, possibly dreaming of Biscuit, Dewey, Ike LaRue, Little Bear, Mudge, Rocket, Sam I Am, or The Cat in the Hat.

Dog resting

As Boone retires to a much-deserved life of leisure, his buddy Rowdy is training to pick up the program next year. One Boone loyalist already expressed a preference for “Books with Boone” over “Reading with Rowdy”, so my little golden retriever has his work cut out for him.

In so many ways…

That was Then, This is Now

Rowdy’s recent return to hosta-diving made me remember his enthusiasm for the sport last summer – when he was much smaller, and neither chasing a chipmunk nor pouncing on a squeaker ball. Then it was adorable.

Puppy in hosta

Now, maybe not so much.

Dog in hosta

In celebration of the first year of Livin’ the Life of Rowdy, the puppy I wasn’t sure I wanted, but am so grateful that I got, a little look at Then and Now:

First day

Patriotic Pup

Wishing all a safe, happy holiday, and sending gratitude to those in our armed forces.

God Bless America.

Dog and American Flag

Practice, Practice, Practice

What a difference a week makes. Inspired by the trifecta of last week’s humbling Don’t Be This Dog and Handler classroom demonstration, a friend’s gentle reminder to think with a Beginner’s Mind, and a little self-discipline, Rowdy and I practiced our Therapy Dog manners this week. Every day. In many ways.

We practiced loose-leash heeling, successfully completing a series of variable-speed hundred yard walks with the requisite loop in our leash, as long as no squirrels crossed our path.

We practiced waiting at the door: the back door, the front door, the truck door, the deck door, the barn door. Going out and coming in, he waited. Click and Treat.

We practiced greeting friendly strangers, inching our way to some semblance of self-control. Unless the friendly stranger is our favorite vet and she sits on the exam room floor. Or unless the friendly stranger’s waiting room is full of friendly staff and friendly strangers holding friendly cats and dogs. I’ve yet to find any edible more enticing than the opportunity for social engagement.

We practiced walking in the park, managing to Stay Calm and (Mostly) Heel On despite the distraction of baby strollers, hikers with walking sticks, ladies with water bottles, and sporadic pops from the nearby trap-shooting club. The couple with the exuberant yellow lab and the man doing tai chi dropped our grade a notch, but still, a successful session.

Though Rowdy and I are truly a work in progress, we are winding our way to the happy medium between playful pup and courteous canine, enjoying the process while appreciating the progress. We’re finding fun in our practice and learning lots about patience, poise and perseverance. And the joy of friendly strangers.

Golden Retriever

rowdy Rowdy

Gatsby, Norby, Zenga, Boone – all dogs I have loved and successfully trained to be registered Therapy animals. Rowdy will be number 5, and the one I expect(ed) will be the best, which, for those who knew The Great One, is sayin’ something.

But here we are, 2 weeks into our Therapy Dog training program, with a solid hold on Bottom of the Class. Not that Rowdy’s a bad dog of course, he’s simply being Rowdy. In every way.

This is a positive-reinforcement-only program, using clickers and treats, a method with which we had great success in our early days together, as you can read about here if interested.

But before I get to the treat part, which (Spoiler Alert!) ended a bit badly, some background: our homework after the first class included instructions to compile a list of our dog’s attributes, framed in a positive context, which theoretically compels us to frame our training approach with a similarly positive perspective.

So while some may call him distracted, nosy and unruly, I think of Rowdy as aware of his surroundings, interested in the world around him, and eager to engage with others. Click and treat.

Week 2 played heavily into that Distraction piece, but Rowdy bypassed Aware and moved directly into Red-Alert, just this side of panic, when he saw a boy in a wheelchair, and a baby in her Mom’s arms. The big group meeting on the other side of the curtain in our training room, heard but never seen, added a little more angst.

But we persevered, clicking and treating for the slightest indication of focus on the tasks at hand, which happened to include a lot of “Wait” practice – waiting at the doorway for my a-ok to pass through; waiting quietly while I greeted a “friendly stranger” played by our instructor; and waiting for permission to visit a “potential client” played by another student.

We’ve done enough doorway-waiting at home for that to be standard procedure. But denial of the chance to meet a new friend is killer for my gregarious golden, and the only reason Rowdy didn’t jump full force into my classmate’s lap is because I violated the No Restraining order and pulled him away. It will be our biggest challenge in this process, no matter how high the treat ante.

Even Week 1’s incessantly barking goldendoodle demonstrated restraint this week, so Rowdy and I donned our proverbial dunce caps as we got in the truck. We rode home in silent reflection of the evening’s events, contemplating our motive for participation in this class, and the mindset and methods necessary for success.

At least that’s what I did. Rowdy was apparently working on the method of digesting all those many tiny bits of kibble, chicken and rabbit treats that he’d earned for limiting his liveliness. Twenty-four hours later I picked up the last canine cow pie, grateful that all but one made it to the dog yard, and that all systems had now returned to regular go.

Of course the single miss wasn’t on the easy-clean wood floors that cover the entire main level, but instead landed on the 8-foot runner in the front entry. And of course that rug is laundromat-large-capacity-machine-washable-only.

Fortunately, Nature’s Miracle Pet Stain & Odor Destroyer and my Little Green Machine cleaned it up pretty well. Equally fortunate, it’s a dimly lit room.

So, we carry on. We think positive. We practice. We mince hi-value treats into micro bits.

And I stock up on carpet cleaner.

Dog with tennis ball

Please Don’t Eat the Zinnias

I love zinnias. I love their size and their shape and their colors and the fact that they remind me of my Grandma’s backyard, where I enjoyed many summer days in my childhood.

Boone likes zinnias too. Maybe he likes their size and their shape and their colors, but mostly he likes their flavor. For 2 years in a row now he has grazed on my patio pots, and given that my green thumb shades toward olive drab, this is disheartening.

Even more discouraging is that my big gentle greyhound has apparently shared his fondness for flower-grazing with his energetic golden companion, who has apparently accepted the old dog’s advice on herbal supplementation.

Also apparently, Rowdy was absent on the “Subtlety & Discretion in Garden Grazing” day. In keeping with the Greyhound Way, Boone nibbles politely and delicately, tearing little bits of leaf and snapping off the occasional flower head.

But Rowdy, with great golden gusto, picks out the good stuff…

Planters without plants