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.

Rowdy

Rowdyroo, Punkin Pie, Punkin, Punks, Punk, Pup, Pupster, Poopster, Pooch, TheGreatestDogInTheWholeWideWorld.

What’s in a name?

According to a couple dog trainers in our past, the answer is fate, karma, self-fulfilling prophecy. “Why would you give a dog a name like that” they asked.

Call it Cute-New-Puppy-Owner-Brain, but I counted on irony.

Seven years into the deal, we’re somewhere in the middle, the proverbial, perpetual, work in progress. Fortunately, dog training classes are my jam, so Rowdy and I enrolled in the Lifelong Learners Club. Thus far, we’ve graduated from Puppy Kindergarten, mastered Beginner Obedience, reinforced Manners, squeaked through Therapy Dog and soothed our Reactive Rover.

We’ve amassed an arsenal of equipment – buckle, pinch, martingale, limited-slip and head collars, leather leash, nylon leash, short leash, hands-free leash, slip lead, long line and a no-pull harness – each designed to fix a different flaw.

Through practice and positive reinforcement, Rowdy now readily responds to cues given in a conversational tone. Beyond the basics, he’s learned to “Listen” when we work with kids at the library, to deliver the occasional note from me to George, to differentiate Upstairs from Down when asked to deliver said note, and to distinguish between his many fleecy friends – Squeaker Man, Squeaker Bone, Big Guy, and the Squeaker Squirrel triplets – when choosing a dinner or travel companion.

He’s also grown accustomed to waiting on the landing until I get to the base of the steps, and to hang tight in the open doorway until I give him the a-ok to advance.

However, we still have work to do. With a naturally dialed-up prey drive, Rowdy loves the thrill of chasing chipmunks, corralling cats, driving deer, and herding horses, even though the objects of his obsession are, fortunately, fleeter of foot.

If I catch him early in the pre-launch countdown, Rowdy will hold an impressive sit-stay, but if not, the positive reinforcement piece settles in the dust as I shriek swear words that go unheard and unheeded by the golden flash accelerating across the pasture from 0 to 60 in .37 seconds.

The neighbors must be so impressed.

My reactive retriever has also reared his ugly head again, presenting a disconcerting display of ferocity when we meet another dog on the park trails. His aggressive vocalizations belie his genial disposition, and fortunately for my Cowardly Lion, we’ve yet to come across the canine willing to pull back the curtain to reveal the 72-pound weakling pulling those levers of alarm.

So, to return the Happy Hooligan back to his kinder, gentler self, he and I will be participating in a Reactive Dog Workshop for 3 consecutive Friday evenings in June/July – a little information about my social life – which will neither extinguish the prey drive nor cure the crazy greeting behavior but will offer insight and ideas for cultivating a little composure and more acceptable conduct.

In the meantime, we make little adjustments everywhere. We now practice a sit/stay at the end of the driveway when we are picking up the mail, and random recalls when we’re in the barn. I sport a fanny pack around my waist when we walk the trails because even the steely stare of a blue-eyed herding dog shrivels in the presence of a sliced up hot dog.

Though my GreatestDogInTheWholeWideWorld has his imperfections, and I can’t eradicate the natural instincts that are his kryptonite, I can adjust and adapt them to allow his superpowers to prevail.

And someday, someone will look at my sea of golden tranquility, my solid Citizen Canine, and remark “Why would you give a dog like that a name like Rowdy?”

Resilience.

Learning to Listen

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.

Lost in Translation

Maybe visions of fireworks stilled danced in his head. Perhaps the extra sleep that is the benefit to the rest of us, of Boone’s new anti-anxiety medication protocol provided an energy boost. Possibly 15 minutes of fetching a rubber ball before breakfast, at 7:00 a.m., when the temperature is 80 and the humidity close to the same, is not enough. For him.

Whatever the reason, rowdy Rowdy showed up this morning at the Maple Lake Library. We started out nicely, well within Acceptable-Therapy-Dog-in-Public parameters. Unless we count that part where, for the first time ever, he crawled from the back seat over the center console to jump out of the truck as I wrestled our supply bag out of the front seat. He hit the sidewalk before the bag did, but sat nicely and waited patiently as I snapped his leash on the buckle. Good dog! Sort of.

Dog lying in library 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.

Our rough patch came during the actual Reading of the Story, which, given our goal of helping kids read by “sitting quietly on a blanket, listening to children without judgment, so that they build confidence in their skills”, does not bode well for our success rate of the future.

Rowdy seems to interpret “sitting quietly” to mean wriggling on his back, rolling over repeatedly, mouthing the leash, and/or pawing the edge of the blanket to craft himself a pillow.

Dog watching child write 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.

The Reading with Rowdy spellchecker.

He even renewed a few friendships from last week’s joint session with the pre-schoolers, who came over to replenish their weekly reads. As I checked out books for the young patrons, with the Happy Hooligan on a “Down/Stay” under the desk, he did as instructed. With his head peeking out just far enough for them to pet his ears and him to kiss their feet.

It’s all in the interpretation.

Dog sleeping on blanket

First 4th

Twenty-five children with kazoos and flags.

25 Children.

With kazoos.

And flags.

Most of them under the age of 6, fingers still sticky with breakfast, little toes teeming with summer’s best barefoot bouquets.

Add an unfamiliar venue, a few strollers, a bunch of new friends, and you have Reading with Rowdy meets Marie’s Pre-School Storytime for a 4th of July celebration with the Maple Lake Library.

It was All Calming Strategies On Deck as the event started, and preliminary activities presented Rowdy and me an opportunity for some helpful Down-Stay, Heel-Sit-Watch Me-Good Dog! practice, along with a little work in appropriate greeting behavior, assisted by our now-veteran junior trainers, introducing their toddler siblings to the Very Happy Hooligan.

A group photo for the local paper provided a bit of a challenge, but if 25 youngsters could sit still long enough to be organized into 3 rows and have their names recorded for identification, it seemed reasonable to expect 1 golden retriever to do the same.

Which he did very nicely until we had to scooch in for a last-minute adjustment, bringing any kids within sniffing, snuffling or smooching distance directly into Rowdy’s zone of Too Much Temptation.

Fingers crossed that the shutter snapped during an acceptable Therapy Dog moment.

Our grand finale, the always-anticipated parade around the block, brought out a few cheering merchants, 25 kazoo-humming, flag-waving children, and one prancing pup, who handled the whole experience pretty well if you don’t count the part where he kangaroo-hopped across the intersection.

Next week we return to our regular programming. A smaller crowd, a single book, a few games.

And no kazoos.

Dog and flag

Enjoy a happy healthy Independence Day!

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.