On November 25th I sent my sister, Julia, a link to a Facebook post by Eromit Labrador Retrievers in Quesnel about a dog named Calvin looking for a new home. By the time we talked about Calvin later that day I had pretty much made up my mind I wanted to be considered, so I fired off a description of my home, life, and priorities. In that, I was able to truthfully say I was 62 years old because this all happened the day before my birthday. One more day and I might have been way too old for an energetic Lab!
A few days later Erin Lynes responded to say “I think Calvin would thrive in the situation you’ve described”. I had been selected! Julia and I quickly made plans to take a road trip together to pick up Calvin.
I’ve been keeping a daily log since the moment I met Calvin. We’re already on Day 20! So far his new life has been all about settling in. Our immediate priority is simply to get to know Calvin.
Here are some snippets.
Photo by Erin Lynes.
Meeting Calvin! This is the only photo where it doesn’t look like I’m trying with all my might to hold him still.
Julia and I are both behaviour consultants, and spent a fair bit of the 5-hour drive from Quesnel planning for Calvin’s introduction to Maggie. What if this? What if that? That’s right, the experts at work! We cracked up when they finally met outside. It was such a non event! They became quick buds.
It didn’t take long for Calvin to settle in. After some whining on the drive to Kamloops Calvin’s new thought bubble became HEY, MY OWN COUCH! Plus Julia stayed for a few days so every moment was HEY! FUN!
Day 1 Calvin attempted one too many sideways licks on the kitchen counter. The humans put on their thinking caps and asked important questions like, do pizza boxes fit in the microwave?
In fact, Calvin is just a little too interested in anything kitchen related. We implemented a carrot station and he learned very quickly that’s the spot where good things happen. If I’m doing dinner prep I can now guarantee Calvin will be at the station, even with the dog door open and exciting things happening on our street! (And by that I mean whoa, car headlights!)
Then we changed the name to meatball station. Carrots were no longer quite his thing. Also, somewhere along the way Calvin’s middle name became Conrad, and his nickname became Corn Dog.
Shortly after Calvin arrived the temperature dropped to -25, then -30, then -35, then the thermometer maxed out. It was actually a blessing in disguise. It gave Calvin an opportunity to have some very deep sleeps. Potty breaks were brisk!
By coincidence, the colour of Calvin’s coat matches the collar Erin made for him. Somebody should tell him he doesn’t need to dress up for meatball station duty.
The carrot meatball station also became the scene of practical relaxation protocol. (Clients to whom I’ve emphasised the importance of never leaving the special mat on the floor after training can avert their eyes. That ugly towel hasn’t moved for 20 days!)
This protocol, combined with some serious decompression time, has made a notable difference. Calvin is less inclined to fly at the thing he wants in the moment.
However, it hasn’t stopped him from opening doors when he wants outside, or to get in the garage where there is a strong memory of bacon fat in the garbage can.
The humans are getting really good at locking doors!
The view from my office has sure improved since Calvin arrived. Our 13-year old Maggie spends more time indoors, not wanting to miss out on anything Calvin related. And Calvin takes his foot warming job pretty seriously, even though he has his own couch.
We’ve experimented with every long line in history. This heavy biothane line is definitely the ticket for deep snow and all the snag-magnet bushes.
We’re casually working on recalls, acknowledging check-ins, and establishing a passing vehicle routine. Other than that I’m content to just follow Calvin… within reason! Hey Corn Dog, that snow is way too deep!
On our morning walk today I was reminded how relaxing and fun our time together is when we share agendas.
Today it was all about exploring the Lac Le Jeune park. Maggie and Maxwell found an old tennis ball, a rabbit’s foot (I think?) and a shoe. We waded along the shoreline, sniffed around all the picnic tables, and took turns peeing on the garbage can. Ok, I didn’t pee, but you get my drift.
I find these are the most interesting types of “walks”. I observe my dogs being curious and using all their senses. They observe me sharing their joy.
I also take notice of all the things we do well together…
I don’t pull on the leash. Neither do my dogs. We’ve figured this out together.
If they’re still, I’m still. If I’m moving, they’re moving. It’s a mutual exchange from both ends of the leash.
I use my voice and gestures to let them know what’s happening next. They do too, and I watch and listen. Is that diesel truck too loud? Let’s go this way instead. Would you rather go on this trail or that trail? This one? Ok, let’s go! Is it time to work? Play? Rest? Sniff? Hurry on home?
I might have a list of things I want to do, but so do my dogs. The reason we function so well together is because we’ve develop these agendas together.
Aside from the 10 year span experiencing university and travel, I’ve had dogs most of my life. When I was a kid our dogs were mostly strays that we picked up, or neighbourhood dogs what were passed along because of a change in circumstances.
We fed our dogs terrible food. Remember those off-the-shelf pouches of food meant to look like hamburger? Or canned food with the jelly like firmness and a nice pink hue?
We also took a lot of risks with our dogs. Everyone did. They would run loose, hang out car windows, and chase off wildlife. The only thing we worried about was protecting them against worms and rabies.
Through all the adventures we treated them the best we knew how. I don’t remember anyone in my family being harsh toward animals. Ever. Today fingers might point at the, ahem, lack of management to protect the dogs from harm, but they sure enjoyed life.
So here we go, my dogs in order:
Benji
Benji was a black lab (cross? who knows). I have no photos; I was only about 6 years old. I remember the night he arrived, delivered to our house by a nurse my dad worked with in and around Harlan, Kentucky. I don’t think I had any warning about this amazing moment before it happened!
Benji lost part of his tail chasing a delivery truck. That ended his truck chasing habit. My sister, Julia, and I found the tail in the neighbour’s yard and put it in a box in our dining room china cabinet. The china cabinet! My dad cut off the exposed tail bone. I can’t remember if we watched. Probably.
We lived on a steep hill full of poison ivy. Benji rolled in the ivy. We smushed our faces in Benji’s fur. Our faces were swollen pink itchy pizzas for a week.
The last time we saw Benji coincided with some men driving slowly around the neighbourhood scouting things out. We suspect they were dog snatchers. If memory servers, that was about 2 years after he came to live with us.
George
Shortly after Benji disappeared came stray George, a very sick dude with open wounds that wouldn’t heal. I don’t remember much about George, except the quick visits to the back porch where he lay curled up in his bed, happy for attention but feeling too poorly to give any back. My dad quietly ended his life.
I don’t think I had anything to do with George coming to live with us. Julia was the one brave enough to bring home strays and plead with my parents to keep them. There were a lot of sick dogs in that town, and George was probably one of the luckier ones.
Charlie
Our family moved to Middlesboro, Kentucky and a short time later we welcomed Charlie into our home.
At 10 years old my days consisted of checking into the house for meals and an occasional bath. Other than that I was outside playing kick the can or riding ponies. It seemed Charlie was always part of the fun, but never a bother.
Charlie got kicked by Julia’s pony, and learned not to get near those hind legs again. When we moved back to Canada, Charlie’s new home was with the family across the street, who equally adored him.
His nickame was Chirdy Bird.
Charlie with my sister, Julia
Tramp
A greeting card to the family, from Tramp 🙂
Tramp was an intact wanderer, passed on to us by a neighbour a couple doors down. He would frequently arrive home after a night on the town with a big smile on his face, perched on the dog catcher’s front seat. We would laugh and welcome him home, and my mom would grumble about the release fee.
Tramp used to leave tell-tale impressions on my parent’s strictly forbidden bedspread. He was a regular at the pool hall on the main street of Hanover, Ontario. He was a blast on the toboggan hill and the perfect swimming buddy at the river.
When we moved out of the country, Tramp was passed along again, that time to owners of a wilderness resort in northern Ontario with no dog catchers in sight.
For some reason his nickname was Helen.
Jessie
After Tramp I had a hiatus from dogs. Our family moved to West Africa, and I spent several years in Europe, then Los Angeles for awhile, and found my way back in Canada to complete my undergraduate degree.
The minute I had enough money to rent a house with a yard I adopted Jessie, a 2-year old golden retriever. She came from a farm in Langley, British Columbia. I have no memory of how I connected with these people, but they didn’t hesitate to let me take Jessie home the same day I met her. I lived in Chilliwack, couldn’t find a full-time job, so spent the much of my time walking on the dykes and fishing in the river with Jessie.
Jessie hanging with my nephew, Daniel
Jessie at the river
I was starting to get a little wiser about dogs by then. Hey, we even had a fence! But still, she didn’t eat very well. Neither did I! She ran alongside my bike. I didn’t wear a helmet! She rode in the back of my pickup. I didn’t wear a seatbelt! We survived. It was the 70s.
One day after moving to a new home in Maple Ridge, Jessie came home with a boot in her mouth. That’s the only time I remember her doing something “bad”. Now I wonder why I never questioned my own behaviour, allowing Jessie to wander the neighbourhood!
Jessie just automatically knew what to do, and I expect it’s because I gave her lots of opportunities to figure things out. She would wait for me outside the corner store, stay within some invisible line around a camp site, and check in with me before greeting other dogs.
Djudi B. Brown
A new relationship and a couple houses later, Djudi B Brown the Basset Hound came into my life at the fine age of 12 months. Her previous owner was a teenager who was discovering other interests. We suspect the teenager also frequented MacDonalds because Djudi howled when we passed the golden arches on the drive to her new home. That began an annual tradition of hamburgers on her birthday.
Happy birthday, Djudi B. Brown!
One day Djudi got into a shopping bag that included all the ingredients for a pot of soup simmering on the stove. I hollered NOOOO. She was absolutely devastated that I had raised my voice. So was I. I never scolded her again — even the time when she wolfed down the appetizers off the coffee table during a dinner party. I mean, who leaves appetizers out when there’s a Basset Hound around?
Djudi B. loved Grandma Brown
Being a hound dog, Djudi B. definitely needed a fenced yard. One day she escaped and followed a Chinese food delivery person into a neighbour’s house. Another time a visitor to our house left the gate open. Djudi’s tag had my sister Julia’s phone number in addition to ours. A man called Julia to say there was a dog in his kitchen that “looks like a wiener dog, only really fat”.
As you can tell, there was a food theme with Djudi B.
Djudi’s specialty was burying socks. One spring we dug up a pair of socks still in Christmas wrapping!
People say Basset Hounds aren’t smart, and we joked that the bump on top of Djudi B’s head was her single thought, soon to be replace by a new one. But she did some surprising things. A delivery person assembling a new fouton couch in our living room gently pushed Djudi away from pile of wooden plugs. Djudi promptly went to her food dish, picked up some kibbles, delivered them to the living room, and spit them out, as if to say: hey, chill man, we have lots of these. Share!
As I recount this story I’m scratching my head. Did we really free-feed a basset hound?
We had a song for Djudi. It went like this: Djudi B. Brown the Basset Hound, fa la la la, fa la la la.
Skippy
Skippy – my first puppy
Skippy was the only dog I ever raised from a puppy, and the first dog I enrolled in a group training class. This was the 90s, and that class was an eye opener. The trainer’s favourite “command” was LEAVE IT. It meant STOP DOING THAT YOU LITTLE SHIT. Her favourite training tools: a choke collar, a water bottle, and huge gruff voice. A sweet little Papillon in class got drenched for barking — the entire water bottle dumped on his head. The LEAVE IT scream was so loud everyone stopped what they were doing and took a few steps backward. This was my first exposure to “dog training”. I never did use that choke chain on Skippy, and I didn’t enrol him in any more classes. Eighteen years later the collar fastens the door shut on our shed.
Skippy loved his Grandma Brown
Skippy rarely had a leash attached to him, stayed within our unfenced yard, loved “dog people”, and went with us everywhere. We still have his all terrain Skippy mobile that probably got pushed and pulled over 1,000 kilometres on hiking and ski trails, and trips to the mailbox.
Skippy makes the news
His only cued behaviour was ‘watch’, which involved putting my fist to my forehead. Often Bob and I would both be standing on the street in Lac Le Jeune with fists to forehead. Skippy would come running (well, hopping — he only had 3 legs). Meanwhile, we looked like martian guardians.
Sometimes we called him Tripod.
Maggie
Enjoying a herding dog for 11 years convinced me to get another. I put feelers out though various dog rescue networks (And learned a lot about rescue organizations! A separate topic!). The BC Aussie Rescue connected me with an 11 month old dog that needed a new home. It took me two seconds to decide to take Maggie. She was bright and full of spunk, and seemed desperate for some adventures and fun in her life.
Meeting Maggie
Although I didn’t have heaps of background information about Maggie, there were some clues that her first year wasn’t typical. Her pads were so pink and soft, as though she had never left the patch of plush grass in the fenced back yard. On our first walk, she didn’t know what to do when we came upon a log across the trail. A few days later we couldn’t make it around the block because of an orange traffic cone with flags. The scant paperwork that accompanied her had gaps. How many homes had she been through?
What is this liquid stuff?
Maggie loved to play with other dogs to the point of over-the-top frustration if she couldn’t. Unfortunately, her play style was also over-the-top. Chances are she didn’t have much experience with that during her first year either. Fortunately, she had some really good chums, her first being Little Bob who stayed with us frequently.
Maggie with her idol, Little Bob
We enrolled in a basic dog manners classes which, in hindsight, was too much too soon. We carried on with agility, rally-o, freestyle, nose work, and a variety of other classes. One of my favourites, and well-suited for Maggie, was a class with Courtney Watson based on the Control Unleashed work by Leslie McDevitt. Raising a dog with a few challenges, and being surrounded by positive trainers through Five Star Dog Training in Kamloops, is what kick-started my interest in dog training.
Maggie and I enjoyed this book, cover to cover!
Maggie’s nickname is Chunky Monkey and she has several songs. Her favouite is: Knees up Maggie Brown, knees up Maggie Brown, knees up knees up, never let the bees up, knees up Maggie Brown. Hey!
Maxwell
A year after we got Maggie we decided she needed a full-time buddy. Plus it seemed like hiking and mountain biking with two dogs would be extra fun. So back to connecting with rescue organizations (interesting process!) to find a fit for our home.
Maxwell Smart Brown
It was around that time that I started posting more on my personal blog, so I just happen to have a little Maxwell history documented.
I learned a lot about the value of early socialization from Maggie’s lack of it. Well Maxwell came with a similar background. It’s a matter of people not knowing better, which is understandable since little effort goes into preparing first-time dog owners. In this case it was three years of not knowing better. Maxwell didn’t appear to have had many positive experiences being around people, came with some obsessive tendencies with lights and reflections, and is generally an anxious fellow. It’s a work in progress! He’s almost 10 years old.
Maxwell’s nickname is Boney Bum and Supa Stahhhh.
It’s a common story: The dog that challenges you to become a dog trainer. Well in this case it is two dogs. I’m grateful for every little thing they teach me.
It used to be that I would open the crate door, and scramble to catch Maggie as she hurled herself into my trusting arms. In her mind, this was the fastest and most efficient way of getting to the marmot holes, or whatever our adventure happened to be that day. She was right, of course.
I was also anxious to get on with our morning walk. I needed the exercise and fresh air. I needed get it done so I could get back to the million things waiting for me in the office. I realized that I was just as “bad” as she was. We both needed training.
Maggie already knew wait; it was a highly and frequently reinforced behaviour. In fact, we play crate games all the time just for fun, so transferring those skills to the car would be easy. However, I discovered this was more than a training issue.
We started to practice wait in the crate before heading out on our morning adventures. This wasn’t about wait-click-reinforce. That was already well practiced. We simply slowed down the process.
I would open the door and quietly ask Maggie to wait. Then I would sit with her, notice what she was noticing, maybe try a few TTouches on her ears and shoulders. I would watch her nose twitch as she sniffed the air. Lots of deep breaths. Occasional eye contact. Smiles.
It has become our morning ritual. Now we’re both in the habit of waiting. It occurred to me that her mad rush was not all about enthusiasm. It was about stress. She’s probably having similar thoughts about me.
In the middle of all the congestion and rush in our lives, I hear people complaining about how walks with their dogs can be so stressful. The dogs pull, they sniff, they don’t keep up, they lunge, they bark…
I look, but I can’t find reasons to complain. Maggie and Maxwell will do all of those things on the list if the conditions are right (or wrong). But walks with my dogs are mostly about them. I choose locations where we all feel comfortable. And the more I slow down and notice what they’re doing, the more enjoyable our time together becomes.
Here on our morning walk along a quiet street, Maggie has noticed dogs and people off in the distance. Maggie is a dog that needs a lot of information. In moments like this, if I insist that we keep on walking, she will become agitated and frustrated. So instead, we both stop for as long as she needs to process the whole situation. It’s the least I can do; she does the same for me all the time.
Do I know those dogs? They’re off leash, but are they coming this way? What do they smell like? What did those people have for dinner last night? Ok, really, who knows what she’s thinking about. And what does it matter? Just wait it out.
Then, Maggie’s eyes will meet mine, signalling that she’s ready to move on. And off we go.
Communication can be so simple, and yet it’s an instant solution to so many problems.
We practice this at least once every day. During play time in the yard, on our morning hikes, or just hanging around the house, I say HUDDLE. This means run to me, lie down side by side, and stay there until I say OK (my poorly chosen release cue). I usually hunker down as well, when my knees are working.
This practice has come in handy many times. For example today, when this photo was taken, there was a deer just a few metres away. Maggie and Maxwell hadn’t noticed him yet. I praised them in a very loud, enthusiastic voice, and tossed them some tuna fudge. The deer picked up on my intentions and wandered off. 🙂
Because we practice HUDDLE randomly, and when there often isn’t much going on, Maggie and Maxwell don’t get suspicious that I’m up to something. I made that mistake with Maggie and the “come” cue. I only used it when I really needed her to come. The result was that she interpreted “come” to mean scan the area because there’s probably something big happening!
Every time we have guests at our house it’s a bit of a process getting the dogs comfortable and the people trained 😉 Don’t pet Maxwell, don’t stare at Maggie… and so on… These past few days we had a small person in our house! Granddaughter K…
Every time we have guests at our house it’s a bit of a process getting the dogs comfortable and the people trained 😉 Don’t pet Maxwell, don’t stare at Maggie… and so on…
These past few days we had a small person in our house! Granddaughter Katharine is 5 years old, and is very curious about dog behaviour. She was a willing and cooperative participant in making Maxwell feel comfortable. Maggie has a proven record around kids, but needs help staying calm around newcomers.
I’ve been working with Niki Stevens (Perry), a professional dog trainer and behaviour consultant from Vernon, BC. In addition to developing systematic behaviour modification programs for both Maggie and Maxwell, Niki offered some excellent tips for introducing Katharine and Maxwell, and, in general, welcoming people to our home. In this case it was Katharine’s parents, and they totally get it that reactive and fearful dogs are complex.
Most of this I do already, but a few extra tidbits from Niki (in bold) really made a huge difference.
Put dogs in their crates before the visitors arrive.
Once visitors are settled in the house let them know you’ll be bringing one dog in at a time.
Ask them to not move, look at the dog, or attempt to pet the dog. They can carry on with their conversations.
Bring in first dog on leash. As soon as the dog sees the people, throw food on the floor (really good stuff). Let him eat, then promptly leave the room again, keeping the leash loose and everything calm. Repeat the sequence. If the dog seems comfortable you can get a little closer but don’t overdo it.
Don’t make it all about the people in the house. After #4 bring the dog into the room, and work with him with clicker and more good treats. Hand touches are easy so we often do that. But something more complex, like a shaping activity, will make the dog more focused on the task and less on the people (who are still being very obedient by the way — sitting, not staring, etc)
Repeat this a couple times, then put that dog away and bring in the other. Repeat.
Also, practice “look at that” (click for looking at the person, then treat)
This worked like a charm. Once both dogs could calmly enter the room and work with me without any signs of stress, I simply slipped off the leashes. This allowed the dogs lots of time and space to sniff around and check everyone out. After a few minutes I put the dogs away again with some tasty stuffed kongs so people could actually get up and move around!
Eventually we got to the point where dogs and people could be moving around together. We had a bowl of dog yummies (kibbles, vegetables, cheerios, and miscellaneous leftovers) on the kitchen counter everyone was encouraged to simply feed the dogs. With Maxwell and adults that started out with dangling the hand and having him approach on the side. Katharine played “find it” where she tossed the treats on the floor. By this time Maggie and Maxwell were pretty impressed with these awesome people in the house! Most importantly, they showed no signs of stress.
If it seems like a pretty elaborate process it is. We don’t have people to our house very often, and never have surprise visitors knocking at the door because of this sign on our front gate:
So it’s not too surprising that Maxwell and Maggie would need time and patience to ease into this sudden change in their environment. If I’m not confident that visitors to our house understand this, then we go on to plan B, which could include not inviting them. I’m not kidding!!
The next few days were carefully managed. Baby gates and crates were used when there was too much chaos, or when the dogs seemed tired. Because here’s another thing I learned from Niki — Maggie and Maxwell probably don’t get enough sleep. Even when they’re lounging beside me in my office they get little uninterrupted sleep during the day. After all, I’ve been told to get up from my desk every 20 minutes. Look, Maggie, she’s making tea! Look, Maxwell, it’s time to bring in firewood!
Despite the careful management there were a couple slip ups. One morning I didn’t get up in time to put the dogs away before Katharine came upstairs from the basement. It was still pretty dark. Maxwell barked and charged toward the Katharine at the doorway, but stopped as soon as he realized who it was. Phew! Katharine remembered to play statue.
Katharine also knew the other rules: no hugging and no teasing. Of course, we never left her with the dogs unsupervised.
Niki suggested that once the dogs are nice and comfortable, do hand touches, or shape foot touches. We did that and then some. That was the most fun for everyone!
It was nail trimming day. Two dogs, 5 minutes, and they rush to the door to be first. Maxwell was completely calm the whole time. After all, Cheese Whiz from a giant syringe makes it a pretty special occasion. I got the idea of dispensing good foo…
It was nail trimming day. Two dogs, 5 minutes, and they rush to the door to be first.
Maxwell was completely calm the whole time. After all, Cheese Whiz from a giant syringe makes it a pretty special occasion. I got the idea of dispensing good food this way from Deb and Courtenay Watson from Five Star Dog Training. Licking is more calming than chewing, and the syringe make it easy to control how much they get — probably less than a teaspoon for each dog today. Now I keep a syringe full of the orange stuff in my fridge at all times — so easy to grab and use for those moments around the house when you need a high value treat.
Maggie, as you can see in the photo, is a little stressed, so I take some time to show her the nail clippers, then give her a squirt of cheese, then repeat. She settles down, and I only trim the nails on her front paws because it’s difficult for her to hold up a back paw on a tile floor. She doesn’t squirm one bit. The nail trimming will be continued on her couch, where she will also get Cheese Whiz — one squirt for every nail.
Nail trimming is easy when you know how. I think back on my other dogs, and how nail trimming was such a dreaded task. I used to have the vet take care of the trimming whenever possible because it seemed too difficult. It was a few minutes of high stress but then it was over. But still, it was really hard on everyone.
Now it’s fun. And I wonder why anyone would do this:
(Note: This was a video of Cesar Millan clipping a small dog’s nails. The original video has been removed since posting this in 2012. As with much of this entertainer’s dog training advice, it was a brilliant example of what NOT to do.)
On our morning walk today I was reminded how relaxing and fun our time together is when we share agendas.
