listen (lis·ten) vi. 1: to pay attention to sound 2: to hear something with thoughtful attention : give consideration 3: to be alert to catch an expected sound
Reading with Rowdy went to the Delano Library this week with high hopes for big improvement in his library listening skills.
Rowdy and I have been working on a “listen” command, that translates to golden retriever as “lay your chin flat on the ground and lie quietly until instructed otherwise” and which lets our little patrons know that he is ready to pay attention to the sounds of their voices sharing their storybooks.
Thanks to a training clicker and a bag of rabbit-flavored mini treats, my happy hooligan mastered the meaning of the word and will eagerly drop his head to the floor, with the rest of his golden giddiness following in some semblance of stillness. He’ll usually stay put, and generally needs only a silent-but-serious look or a subtle “Ahem” as a reminder to set his head back down if he lifts it before official release. Unless…
Unless someone enters the room. Or leaves the room. Or talks in the room, walks past the room, opens the door, closes the door, or drops something on the floor in the room. Shiny objects are everywhere.
We introduced his new trick – which, when the novelty wears off and the reliability soaks in, we’ll call a behavior – last month, using small bits of a soft treat as an intermittent reward. Fortunately, the treats brought out a series of successfully completed reading sessions. Unfortunately, they also brought out a series of soundless stomach releases that I could not pass of as those of the sleeping sibling, napping while her brother read to Rowdy.
So this month we went in sans food rewards, verbal praise only; and Rowdy respectfully showed his readiness to listen when asked, maintaining the position as the kids shared their books with him. Mostly.
Mostly, except for the 2 attempts to complete his favorite roll-on-the-back-and-grab-the-leash maneuver, which threatened to morph into his full-blown clear-the-fleecy-blanket thrashing episodes of old.
Mostly, except for the irresistible lure of toddler siblings with sticky hands and smelly shoes; Rowdy’s Nirvana, a veritable disco ball of distraction.
Turns out though, he really is learning to listen; to pay attention, to hear with thoughtful attention. Especially when he gives consideration to the tiny bit of pressure he feels under his chin from an opposable thumb on the other end of the leash -a low level attention-getter, perfectly suited to stopping the dog without stopping the reader. He picked up on the prompt and stayed alert to catch the expected sound.
Good boy! Let’s go get a treat!
In the truck. With the windows open.
He greeted the kids nicely, lying quietly, taking stock and taking advantage of the many bare toes presented at nose level. He could not resist the opportunity to sniff and smooch. Most of the readers tolerated, even enjoyed, the interaction, though one little girl was only too happy to use the towel I offered. 
The approximate total of 5 minutes of indiscretions seemed like 5 days, but as is becoming our routine, he composed himself and controlled his impulses by the we end of our book. Just in time to endear himself to his readers and his handler by closely overseeing the group’s work to solve a crossword puzzle. 
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 
Rowdy is still rowdy in all the right ways. We enrolled in another Therapy Dog class, and managed to pass our TDI (
From Four Sticks Farm 