Last Friday, I took Lilly to watch a 60 weave pole challenge. We sat way off to the side in the shade under a tree to keep her stress level as low as possible. As always, I clicked and treated her for staying calm, looking at other dogs without responding, etc. She did great, and yet … a competitor asked us a favor.
Sometimes, out of the blue, there’s a moment of connection that catches me by surprise. Like love at first sight, except it happens it’s more a reminder than an instigation. It happens in a flash, but my heart recognizes it nonetheless. This summer, I find, some of these moments arrive as tactile messages. Call it … warm weather, warm heart.
You know you’ve been a home-body when the simple act of putting on pants with a zipper or shoes that tie causes jubilation in your dog. It was a long winter here in Colorado. The snow started in October and remained fairly steady through just before Memorial Day. Thanks to three huge back-to-back storms around the end-of-year holidays, we had 7+ feet of snow on the ground at one point. Needless to say, we didn’t get out much since clearing our football-field-long driveway takes some doing. I didn’t realize how much my hermit status affected Lilly until the sound of a zipper begain causing chaos in the house.
Last year, I interviewed the director of canine resources from Guide Dogs for the Blind. As you may know, they breed their own service dogs. I shared a little background on Lilly with her, and in support, she basically said that there are some dogs who come out of the package and you can do nothing wrong. With others, she admitted, you can do nothing right. Since I often wonder what exactly I did to mess Lilly up, this perspective provided some comfort.
Have you ever heard of those productivity studies, where no matter what researchers do productivity goes up (at least temporarily)? Paint gray walls pink. Productivity goes up. Paint them gray again. Productivity goes up. Pipe in music. Productivity goes up. Pull the music … you get the picture. Sometimes that’s how I feel about all the ways I try to help Lilly overcome hear shyness and fear. Everything seems to help, at least at first. I’m beginning to think we have a productivity placebo effect.
In response to “No praise for you.” a regular reader compares matching newbie handlers with green dogs to putting a first-time rider on an inexperienced horse. Hello … disaster calling. The question she raises is valid: Would green handlers learn more from running experienced dogs before they attempt to train their own green dog? After all, you can get already-trained field dogs? Why not already-trained agility dogs?
Like surf racing toward sandy shores, I’m beginning to believe that puppies come in waves. Along with Indy (star of yesterday’s post), puppies are busting out all over around here. Yes, I know it’s sort of puppy season, but this year it feels like nearly everyone I know is getting a new pup. This set of dogs will grow up together, train together, compete together, and the pull to ride this wave is strong. Yet, at our house, we’ve always had a solid 2-dog limit.
I think I need talking points. You know, those repeatable phrases that politicians use. I especially need them for situations when know-it-all observers feel compelled to give me dog training advice. These are not true handlers, but regular lawn-ornament-style dog owners who think they know best. For example …
Yesterday, June 3, marked the third anniversary of my very first dog’s death. She was a Dalmatian that I got as a small pup through Colorado’s Dalmatian Rescue. She had serious medical issues. I wrote this piece about a month before she died of kidney failure at 14 1/2 years old. I delivered it as a spoken essay at an awards banquet while I was president of the Colorado Authors’ League. I’m posting it here as a tribute to the girl I still sorely mourn, all these years later. Looking back at it now, I realize the lessons and hopes apply to my ongoing work with Lilly.
This is a little story of perseverance. It’s about a little soul that makes my life complete and teaches me what it means to not give up, especially on things that make you smile:
“Your dog needs to drop 3-5 pounds.” So began our first-ever private agility lesson with a handler who has been on the AKC world team. I thought Lilly looked great at 39 pounds, so I must have made a face because the next thing she said, dropping her sunglasses just enough to make eye contact, “This is agility, not conformation.”
