Shadow's Training Agenda

Things Shadow has trained us to do:

- call him to come in: he'll wait at the back part of the yard, head down, intently staring at us until we call him; then he comes flying in - the payoff to him? his favorite treat, only reserved for him responding to "come".

- roll the back windows down in the car so he can stick his head out even when it's freezing (but we haven't caved on the freeway yet).

- 6 am daily pee break: one of us has to get up at 6 am and let him out to pee.  At first this applied to breakfast, too, now he's willing to wait until we get up for breakfast, but nothing can prevent his need to go outside at his set time.  At first he whined, when we resisted, he tried shaking/flopping around in his crate.  We resisted.  Now he will escalate to a combination of both until we let him out.  We get more sleep after a ten minute jaunt outside, so we caved.

- keeping the shades closed; opening the top half of windows.  I'm a sun-lover, and nothing makes me happier than open windows and open shades.  Nothing has a more calming affect on Shadow than closed shades and closed windows.  He won.  No sight of neighborhood cats to grouse at, no noticeable neighborhood dogs to crave play with, no glimpse of squirrels to chase = napping or playing happily with toys.

- frequent stops on walks so he can look around and take things in or meet other dogs: not in a casual, "oh, hello there" as we move on kind of way; but with every ounce of intention and focused energy he can muster toward each thing that catches his attention.

- daily stuffed kongs (sometimes two!)

Considering all the things he's been happy to learn for our benefit, this list could be more demanding.

Snack Tally October 14-27

In the last thirteen days, Shadow has eaten or attempted to eat (in addition to his normal food and treats; all found in our backyard unless otherwise labeled):

one banana peel
one peach pit
at least one whole garlic clove
two unknown fruit? specimens (see photo)
at least seven piles of dog park poo

In that same time, he's been on two prescription diets, an antibiotic, probiotics, panacur, and pumpkin

Of the last thirteen days, he's had normal GI function for 28 hours.

Littering construction workers are not my friend.

Accepting Guesses

Dog Park Misadventure

Shadow's happy face

One of our favorite play spots is our local dog park.  Chosen for its friendly, responsible core group of owners. (See Shore Dogs).  Just a hop up the freeway, and a trip down stop sign lane and we're there.  Pretty much from the first stop sign, if not earlier, Shadow knows where we're going and is excited.

His version of excited is turning circles in the back seat, sticking his head out the window as much as I'll let him, tangling himself in his seat belt, and whining as only he can.  He shivers he's so amped.  And each start after a stop sign is welcomed with renewed yips, howls, and whines.  By the time we pull in, he's over the top happy and I'm mad.

I won't get out of the car until he stops vocalizing.  I tell myself it's to teach him that calm dogs get to get out of cars.  But it's possible all I really want to do is get back at him for my frayed nerves.  The wait until he's quiet is as torturous for him as the loud crazy dance on the trip is for me.

The last time I dug my heels in, Shadow was so worked up by the time I got him actually in the dog park that it translated into trouble in the park.  Trying to avoid that, I took advantage of the first brief pause in the backseat chaos, and got us both out as soon as we could.  I even jogged the five feet to the entrance so he didn't hit my tight-leash-red-light rule.

At the point I took his easy walk harness off to get him in the big dog side, I realized that I had left his collar at home.  (I take it off at night so it doesn't jingle and keep us awake).  Back on goes the harness and a little voice in my head scolds me for leaving him microchipped but tagless out in the big wide world.  I imagine the raised eyebrows of the other dog park peeps (yes, I have an overactive imagination when it comes to the opinions of others), and say out loud to him, for their benefit "oops, we forgot your collar at home, didn't we?"

I open the gate and he rockets into the park, flying into, through, and past his welcoming committee.  They give chase and playtime is on.  I start to worry when another dog gets Shadow's hackles up with too rough play, but when Shadow moves onto a friendly, wiggly ball of labradoodle fur I hope I'm okay.  The other dog has springs and she and Shadow are quickly lost in a game of chase.  The labradoodle's dog-mom is exclaiming how cute they are together.  I'm quiet - the labradoodle is all silly goofiness.  Shadow's tense and too abrupt for his usual dog park playfulness.  He hasn't relaxed from the anticipation, and he hasn't forgiven the initial dog's rudeness.  Then all of a sudden, Shadow's nemesis interrupts their play, Shadow gets mad, the nemesis slinks off; but the poor, friendly labradoodle gets the brunt of Shadow's angst.  We get them separated, I get a dirty (well deserved) look from the labradoodle's owner, and leash Shadow.

I want to tell her Shadow's usually so friendly.  I want to tell her he just needs to calm down.  I want to tell her that I was so tired of trying to wear him out myself, that I just had to bring him today.  I want to tell her that he's been in training classes since we got him a year ago.  I want to tell her the names and accomplishments of all the private trainers we've hired to help us.  I want to tell her the three books I've read just this week trying to solve his quirks.  Instead I just sat on the picnic table defeated, holding his leash, as she moved to the far end of the dog park and started playing ball with her dog.  The rude dog's owner comes over, complimenting Shadow's odd mix of spare parts and asking me his breed.  Pretty sure he was relieved there was another dog with poorer manners than his own.  I manage to smile and thank him.

Unwilling to face the possibility of not burning off his energy, I let him off the leash once the rude dog has left.  He leaves the two dogs playing ball alone, but engages me in a game of keep away as he takes it upon himself to pick up (and consume) every pile of neglected poo left in the dog park since the last time it was cleaned.  It's a big park.  Apparently with a lot of careless owners.  I follow him around, coaxing, calling, moving slowly, jingling his leash, using all the tricks available to me.  And looking like a total fool.

When I finally caught him, I made no eye contact as I slinked out of the dog park with him.  We went for a run since we now both had some steam to blow off.  I had almost forgiven him by the time we got back into the car to go home, but then he started burping up his snacks.

He's grounded from the dog park.