Miscellaneous Musings from a (Mostly) Happy Hobby Farmer
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.
Now, maybe not so much.
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:
Wishing all a safe, happy holiday, and sending gratitude to those in our armed forces.
God Bless America.
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.
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.
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…
pushes over the planter…
… and pees on the potting soil.
Maybe I’ll switch to garden art.
The Plan
Leisurely morning with hot coffee and the Sunday Sudoku, spring cleaning the mud ponies, a ride on the Big Red Beast, a groundwork session with the Portly Palomino, a long walk with rowdy Rowdy, a couple pots of flowers to plant, a peaceful evening on the deck with a stack of equine magazines and a gin and tonic.
Nowhere to go, nothing urgent to do, beautiful weather, perfect day.
The Reality
The pasture is ready for grazing, except that we haven’t replaced the paddock-dividing ropes that we remove for the winter. And the 2 paddocks that won’t be grazed this week need to be mowed. And George is leaving tomorrow for a week and I need his help with the dividers. So, drink most of a cup of coffee, leave the Sudoku for the later, head out to mow the pasture.
Except that the mower is not on the tractor, so while George is making the seasonal implement changes, which involves a fair amount of sighing and slamming and swearing, I decide to use the time productively and start hauling chairs from the barn to the deck, which reminds of how much stronger I used to be, and how much more yoga I should do, and how much I look forward to a gin and tonic on the deck.
John Deere good to go, I hop on and enjoy the opportunity to ride (even if it’s not the horsepower on which I planned) get some sun, and watch my muddy horses, who realize this activity means the end is near for their 2 month meadow moratorium. They monitor the action closely, especially when George brings out the spools of Electrobraid that separate the big field into 3 paddocks for rotational grazing. Nickering and pacing commence.
It occurs to me that we’re out of dog food and stall shavings, and Country Store closes at 2:00 on Sunday. George can install the dividers without my assistance. More accurately, George would prefer to install the dividers without my assistance, so I head into town for dog food and shavings. And a bag of potting soil. Rowdy rides along – a peace offering for the long walk he’s not going to get.
Once home, I back the truck into the barn, open up the pasture for Biskit and Chicago who stop, drop (their heads) and graze before getting 5 steps in. Since the first spring grazing sessions are short to prevent over-indulgence and it’s serious side effects, I can unload the 20 bags of shavings and complete a couple barn chores in perfect Pony Pasture Time.
30 minutes later, Rowdy follows me out to bring in the horses, his first full, free access to them. I’m cautious, since he is, after all, a golden retriever, full of joie de vivre, confident that all he meets are friends (except for those menacing trash containers lurking at the end of every driveway on our Tuesday walks, but that’s a different post) but all goes well. The horses have apparently seen enough of him to cross him off the Very Scary list, and are more interested in grabbing one last mouthful of fresh greens than responding to the antics of a herding dog wannabe.
While I’m securing the gate to keep the horses where they need to be (vs. where they want to be) Rowdy runs up with a big golden grin, reminding me of the reason I don’t let the dogs have pasture access. It’s all fun and games until somebody rolls in something dead.
As I finish Rowdy’s de-stinking spa session I realize Boone is due for his semi-annual bath and blowout, and since the tack room and I are already wet and full of dog fluff, we might as well make it a Two Dog Day in the grooming room.
Boone’s weakened back-end, combined with his general apprehension of things related to, well almost anything, means that giving him a bath involves my left arm crooked under his belly to support 74 pounds of sagging greyhound while my right hand shampoos, rinses and repeats.
So. Happy horses, clean canines, just a few flowers to plant and it’s G & T time. Well, actually, then it’s time to bring the horses in the barn for their Snack and Snooze. And as I walk out of the barn , I notice the horse trailer parked outside and remember that I’ve not yet checked the electrical connection for the lights. Which I should do before I need to use the trailer. And the truck’s right here…
And now it’s supper time for the inside animals. And I really need a shower. And the sun is setting. And we’re out of tonic.
But there is still the Sudoku. And white wine.
Though taken in the early days, this picture captures the essence of Boone and Rowdy’s relationship of mostly mutual tolerance. Mostly Boone’s tolerance that is.
This is about as close as Rowdy and Mace have been, which is just as well since Rowdy believes all the world’s a friend, just waiting to be pounced upon, and Mace is armed with a full set of sharp implements, and not afraid to use them.
Chicago’s only interest is that Rowdy may get to that grass that’s always greener.
No matter how much Rowdy begs, Biskit refuses to play the squeaky toy chase game.
The Bickersons – Mocha and Rowdy frequently enjoy a good sparring match.
… with the winner claiming dibs on the dog food dinner.
Good news on the obedience school front: we’re showing signs of minding our manners. In Rowdy’s case, this means incidents of barking, chortling and lunging at classmates in motion have been minimized, so that others in the class no longer draw straws, cut cards or throw rock/paper/scissors to avoid standing next to us in line for Recall practice.
In my case, it means awareness, admission, and acceptance of the fact that Rowdy resembles his owner in his fascination with the antics of our associates, which occasionally (maybe even frequently) leads to distraction.
I have always loved to watch other dog/handler teams in our training classes, and this group includes such a fun variety of breeds that it’s a challenge for me to not get caught up in the mastiff’s casual amble to the exit gate as his owner calls him with great enthusiasm, contrasted by the seriously straight shot across the ring by the German shepherd. And the star pupil border collie, so focused and obedient that he not only moves immediately and directly toward his owner, but stops, drops and stays, when commanded to do so halfway across the mat.
After a conversation with a kind and experienced classmate, I vowed to concentrate on Rowdy, and what a difference proactivity makes! When I devote my attention to my own dog, and convince him to return the favor, we do pretty well. Raucous Rowdy shows signs of restraint. My party pup is growing up, and self-control is within our grasp.
Unless an instructor walks by with a squeaky toy – a bit of canine kryptonite to my little golden friend – but still, it’s progress in puppy steps.
All this behavin’ takes its toll though, and when we get home Rowdy gathers some of his favorite things and rests a bit. I’d like to think he’s processing our practice session, cementing his correct responses in his puppy brain for future reference, but suspect he’s more likely planning his squeaky toy acquisition strategy.
Rowdy is the 7th dog I’ve taken through obedience classes. The preceding six include four goldens, one lab, and a greyhound, but at the risk of dropping a few notches in the eyes of family members and friends who consider me the go-to girl for all things canine, I now have to admit that he is the most embarrassing, frustrating, puzzling, humbling of all my trainees. And given that the list of Those Who Came Before Him includes a dog-aggressive lab and a, well, a greyhound, that’s sayin’ something.
Make no mistake, Rowdy is sweet and a quick study, but he’s also overly social and excessively nosy – always ready for a good time and on the lookout for anyone who might be starting the party without him. As such, the group of twenty something puppies exiting the ring as the our “Manners” class enters, awakens his inner party animal, so he bows, jumps, barks and yodels at all potential playmates. The celebration continues as we start the class with a “Walk in the Park”, winding our way through the other dogs while (theoretically) maintaining the heel position and focus on the handler.
We reach the party pinnacle during the Recall exercise, for which we line up along the wall and one at a time, leave our dogs on a “Stay”, cross the mat and call the dog. When it’s our turn, Rowdy races to me enthusiastically, immediately, obediently. Excellent. The not-so-excellent part comes as the dogs on either side of us take their turns. Rowdy’s revved up and primed to run to anyone with a high-pitched happy voice, and if there happens to be another dog in motion at the same time, that’s bonus. It’s also (if you’re Rowdy) call for more bowing, jumping, barking and yodeling.
The good news for all involved is that “our” behavior and our teamwork get better every week. Sure, the bar started a little low when he peed a few times in the ring, once on me (I knelt on the floor before class, he hiked a hind leg to sit in my lap, left the telltale wet mark when he got off) and pooped on the mat during a heeling exercise. Even the crabby lab and the sighthound knew not to poop in the ring; but as I said, we’re improving.
How could we not?
The instructors are incredibly patient and helpful and encouraging, though one has mentioned more than once that sometimes names prove to be self-fulfilling prophecies. Our progress sustains my confidence though, that one day “Rowdy” will be an ironic twist to the tranquility of the golden dog lying on the fleece blanket listening to a kid read.
But just in case, “Stories with Serenity” – a nice ring to it, don’t you think?
Rowdy loves the taste of scorecards in the morning….
… and the afternoon…
… and the evening.
See no scorecards, ate no scorecards.
From Four Sticks Farm 