#16 PUPPY — CORRECTION

#16 PUPPY — CORRECTION

“We all make mistakes,” I wrote in #15 Puppy blogpost. In that case, Scooter’s mistake was demonstrating to his people a snapped back belief in equality.

We all have done it, “snapped back,” when something said dissatisfies us.

“That’s the last time you  . . . ,”

“Oh yeah? Well, we’ll just see about that!”

Scooter’s “snap back,” was with his jaws. At our best, we humans have thirty-two teeth. Our jaws are considerably shorter than those of most canines and our bite considerably weaker than them all. Dogs (and while he may not, we’ve come to consider Scooter one) have forty-two teeth with giant molars situated at the back of long jaws.

If you’ve ever had your pinkie set upon by toddler’s teeth, you know pain. However, a human’s bite comes in at a measly 162 psi. Compare that to the massive, family-gentle Turkish Kangal, the strongest dog in the world. As a protector of flocks, this dog can take down a bear or a jackal without ruffling his coat or his civility. Its bite power registers somewhere around 743psi. 

Scooter, bright wimp that he was bred to be, is out of “soft-mouth” bird-dogs: Golden Retriever and Poodle. Scooter’s psi potential, while much greater than that of a human, doesn’t even merit mention on bite charts.

While I’m thinking of retrieves and poodles, here’s an aside: the original German word for “poodle” means “splashes in water,” and the crazy haircut some of these splashers wear was originally utilitarian. The poodle was shorn for swift swimming but the few tuffs, left here and there, protected vital organs and kept joints warm (Isn’t it usually true that useful learning aids against cynicism, criticism, or prejudice?).

 And, while “aside” reigns, let’s hand it to the incredible poodle; second only the the border collie in intelligence. The poodle requires only four or five repetitions to have a command down pat; and is, after the bloodhound, best in scent capability (which explains why Scooter’s people perpetually pull the pup’s head from the ground, saying, “head up.”).

But, back to our pup’s willingness to bite. People. He shouldn’t. But, he has. Me. This is a mistake and we meant for it to be corrected.

A triad of activity a good dog makes: Exercise, Discipline, and Affection. Got it. Only, we didn’t get, “In That Order.”

Affection was automatic for us all from the November day of his adoption. Scooter, however, soon read affection as an invitation to take over, to take toys, blankets, towels, his toothbrush, and authority under beds or sofa; to take my hand in his purported “soft mouth” and do damage. I wrote about that.

Enter education. Enter the advice of dog guru, Cesar Millan. Correcting Scooter began with human correction: get affection where it belongs. Rearrange the triad: Exercise, Discipline (training), then Affection.

Scooter Sublime’s smartness is stunning. He requires hardly any repetition for a command to be catalogued. True, he hasn’t reached his inbred potential of 95% obedience, but he’s got meaning down pat. 

Scooter quickly scaled the fence of such simple things as ‘sit-stay-come.’ He clearly knows: “down,” “foot,” “head down,” “leave it,” “take it,” “food,” “release,” “look at me,” “crate,” “bed,” “sit for person,” “sit for bird,” “quiet,” “speak,” “stop,” “walk,” “hurry-hurry,” “pooter,” and “No!” He’s learning “stand” for his daily brushing. He still struggles with “Off!” when it comes to greeting people. But, he’s only eight months old, time enough ahead for him to learn to . . . ,

No. Wait. Time enough for him to teach; to teach his people that they made a mistake in putting affection first, allowing the boy to think himself Boss. Tucked in that fussy body’s brain was a tendency to seek a throne. His humans are learning.

Scooter’s toys are no longer readily available to him. They are on a shelf, behind a door. They now belong to the humans. He has to ask for them. Stern scoldings surprise him. “You! Sit! Stay!” and that, not on a throne but the bare floor, suggesting that his humans have caught on, and are not entertained by misbehavior.

Scooter has for the first time experienced a “Time out.”

“What?” He cried, after an offense, finding himself isolated in a room, behind a door that closed him off from his family. A minute, maybe two, passed before he was invited to rejoin those he offended. His face said it all — isolation sucks.

Discipline—we are using it; usually in the form of fun, sometimes in the form of finding boundaries and limitations.

Now, Scooter has a job. He’s working, learning agility. He’s getting acquainted with “Under,” for crawling under nested coffee-tables, under the chopping block, and under chairs. He’s mastering “Jump.” He loves it! 

Picture our house as an interior designer’s nightmare: from our guest room, through the living room, to the master bedroom, baskets, boxes, and stools are strategically situated.

“Scooter, jump up!” That would be onto a twin bed. He’s ready.

“Jump down!” He does.

“Jump!” He clears the box in the doorway. We run to the living room.

“Jump!” Over a large, round Chinese wedding basket placed on its side he flies, clearing cleanly.

“Jump!” The stool is stepped on as he sails over.

“Jump up!” To the sofa.

“Jump down!” Off it he goes.

“Jump up!” To the chair.

“Jump!” And he flies over an upside down woven basket. It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Super-dog!

“Jump!” and a cardboard book box is cleared by a foot, at least.

“Jump up!” and there he is, on the Master bed, tongue extended in a pant.

“Stay,” I say, going for the treat that is his reward.

Wait. That’s my tongue extended, I’m the one running the course with the pup. Exercise. Discipline, and, finally, great expressions of Affection. Mistake corrected.

Today, on Scooter’s eighth-month-birthday, we started working on “Sit Pretty,” which is the new term for the old, “Sit up.” Tomorrow, by the time you might read this, we will be looking for more objects to jump. More rules to follow. Scooter’s already a sweeter boy. 

Scooter’s Jumping Stool