I’m sure you’ve never been in a position to feel foolish while training or performing with your dog. What’s that? Perhaps just once, you’ve found yourself red-faced and fighting the flames of humiliation while working with your dog? If you’re anything like me, you actually have a multitude of such stories, and some of them get funnier and funnier as the years go on and time heals all. That’s why I thought it would be great fun to have a “The Laugh is on Me” contest, about what is now (perhaps not then?) the most amusing thing that has happened to you that could be filed in the category: Dogs are here to keep us humble.
I am, in part, motivated by how much I have enjoyed some of your stories in the comments section, and how many rich and varied experiences our readers have had. So start thinking about moments at home or while performing that might not have been funny then, but are funny now, and send them in as comments. But before you start typing, read these details:
1. The story must be about you, not anyone else. It must be true. (Although literary embellishments are just part of good story telling right? So said Mark Twain, and who are we to argue with one of America’s greatest writers and story tellers?)
2. Stories must be no longer than 750 words. Really, we’ll check. I always tell my students that it is harder to write a good short paper than it is a long one, so get out your editing pencil and keep it to 750 words.
3. The contest will be open through October 21st, entries after that will be enjoyed but not included in the contest.
4. The winner gets: 1) The story posted as a guest blog in November, 2) a specially signed book from me (your choice, assuming it is one of my books!), and 3) everyone’s eternal gratitude for making us laugh and helping us to feel better about the time that we were, uh, idiots.
Here’s my example to get you started. I originally wrote about this incident in a Bark column, but include it here as what was without a doubt my most embarrassing moment in front of the public, which now, thanks be to heaven, makes me laugh every time I think about it.
Picture a blue-sky autumn day and a festival of all things Scottish outside of Milwaukee, Wisconsin. My friend, Nancy Rafetto, and I had been asked to do a herding/retrieving demonstration for the Milwaukee Highland Games. We were working in a field about 100 yards long, backed by a thick line of 12 foot high hedges at the back. The audience sat in bleachers at the side. It was great fun for everyone: people enjoyed watching the dogs and Nancy and I got to teach science under-the-radar by illustrating the genetic predispositions of different breeds. Her Golden Retriever returned any objects that she threw but play-bowed to the sheep, while my Border Collie, ignoring the balls, collected the sheep and returned them to me. First, we’d work each dog separately; then we’d throw a ball into the middle of the flock, send out both dogs simultaneously, and watch the retriever barrel through the sheep to retrieve the object and the herding dog gather the flock together again. At least, that was the plan.
We’d done it before in a variety of environments and it was always a crowd-pleaser. However, this time, I violated a basic rule of working with animals: be prepared. I had forgotten my whistle, which allows one to communicate with dogs when they are a good distance away, and is far better than using vocal commands in a noisy environment. I remembered my forgotten whistle on our way to the festival, but we’d already driven a long way, and I thought, “Oh, it’ll be fine.” Famous last words in behavior and training, hey? It probably would have been fine, since Luke was well trained to verbal signals, but just before I sent him to gather the flock, a marching band began blaring their music at full volume right behind us.
It was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, much less communicate with Luke. Pondering whether to send Luke or not, I paused to try to collect my thoughts. The sheep were about 100 yards away, and were enclosed by a tall, dense hedge. Okay, I thought, they’ll stay where they are until the band takes a breather and Luke could hear my signals.
The sheep had not read the instruction manual, and disappeared into the hedge like Alice through the Looking Glass. . First there were sheep, then Abracadabra, then there were none. While Luke and I ran 100 (very long) yards across the field, Nancy tried to entertain the crowd. Me and my dog barreled our way through the hedge, and, voila… we emerged into a suburban neighborhood, complete with manicured lawns and groomed landscaping.
I looked left and right in desperation, still in shock at the change in scenery, and finally spotted the sheep on the porch of a blue ranch-style house. I sent Luke to fetch them, and he did a lovely if other worldly outrun across paved streets and manicured lawns. We got them to the hedge, but this time they had little interest int busting through again. They darted away, into the nearest garage. Seriously, there were five panicked sheep huddled against someone’s riding mower and a wall full of rakes. Truly panicked now, Luke and I ran into the garage together to get them out. As we all–one person, one dog and five sheep–ran out of the garage I swear I heard someone say “Marge, I think there are sheep in our driveway.” I could just hear Marge say “Yeah, right…” as we all slid back through the hedge.
The crowd had given up by then and gone back to other entertainments. Nancy stood alone in the field, holding a microphone and petting her Golden. There was nothing to do but load up the sheep and drive home. We were not asked back the next year.
MEANWHILE, back on the farm: Neighbors and friends have declared “Post-Traumatic Vegetable Disorder.” Those of us who love fresh, local food are up to our elbows in them, slicing, chopping, canning, freezing. And oh yes, eating them. Lots and lots of eating going on here. Some of the tomatoes in the photo below went home with me, got skinned after a bath in boiling water and become homemade spaghetti sauce, along with meatballs and of course, spaghetti. Only another eight pounds of tomatoes to go.
On the other hand, Willie and I just got down the hill from working sheep. He and I have been working on him holding a line while driving, something we started last fall and have finally been able to pick up on. He did super! Of course, we were alone (always the case when we and our dogs are brilliant, yes?) but we both walked down the hill feeling truly happy. Even the sheep were happy, they got to eat apples after we were done, and since they have been penned for the last few days eating hay (no rain, no grass), I think they decided it was a good deal.
Dorothy says
I feel like something is missing before “I looked left and right…”
So far, my embarrassments are all of the reactive dog variety, so not nearly as amusing as yours!
Kat says
In a lot of ways Ranger is like another grown child in my family. He respects the rules: he isn’t a teenager who wants to test them or a toddler who is figuring them out and looking for boundaries. If Ranger thinks I’m wrong he’ll tell me so very clearly but he’ll still defer to me if I insist. I trust Ranger to behave as an adult and I don’t think twice about leaving him alone with food that he’s not supposed to eat. He has adult-like self-control.
Finna is very much the toddler, into everything, figuring out where the boundaries are, testing them. I don’t trust her any further than I would any toddler. With Finna I’m careful to never leave her alone with food that she shouldn’t eat. If there’s anything tasty left within her reach I anticipate that she will eat it. She has virtually no self-control especially around anything as valuable as food.
During a very crazy week at my house I was reminded that adult like self-control or not Ranger is still a dog. Tuesday morning my husband called moments after he left for work to say his car had died. The timing belt had broken, fortunately it’s a Toyota so all that happens is that the car ceases to function; the engine remains intact. A visit with the mechanic later we learned that his elderly Celica needed parts that would have to be special ordered. We were going to be down to one car for most of the week.
Wednesday I got up and took Finna out for some play time as usual but instead of coming inside and having a nice breakfast I brought her in and immediately went back out to hop in the car to drive my husband to work. By the time I’d dropped him off I was starving so pulled into a McDonald’s drive through and got a sausage McMuffin and a couple of hashbrowns. I’d eaten the hashbrowns by the time I got home but hadn’t eaten the sausage muffin yet.
Wednesday is also the day the dairy delivers to our house. I parked the car, grabbed the rest of my breakfast and a couple half gallons of milk. I brought those in through the gate and set them on the porch and went back to get the rest of the dairy delivery. Ranger was in the yard but he doesn’t go out the gate without permission and he doesn’t take food he hasn’t been given. Two more trips with more items from the dairy and I could close the gate and start taking things inside. I picked up milk, opened the door and Finna dashed outside immediately sticking her nose into my McDonald’s bag. I growled a leave it which, somewhat to my surprise she obeyed, abandoning the bag and following me inside.
When I came back out for the second load Ranger was in the middle of the yard with the McDonald’s bag lying abandoned beside him and the sausage muffin carefully unwrapped between his paws. I was impressed by just how carefully and precisely he’d unwrapped it. The wrapper was spread out all around the mcmuffin flat on the ground. Before I could even open my mouth to say anything one side of the muffin and the sausage had disappeared in a gulp. As Finna ran to see what Ranger had the other half of the muffin similarly vanished. Ranger, knew I’d told his sister she couldn’t have it and being a dog who likes to make sure things happen as they are supposed to he’d used dog logic and fixed things so that Finna couldn’t get the sausage muffin I’d forbidden her. As I stood there laughing the song from the Broadway production of The Unsinkable Molly Brown ran though my head. The one where the policeman sings about being hired to guard the booze at the party and how it’s such a difficult job he’d better drink it himself. Yep, Ranger kept his sister from eating the food by eating it himself.
Frances says
Well, not a patch on your story (despite, I suspect, it missing a paragraph?), but Sophy had me in stitches the other day. We were at a Scent Training workshop, run by a friend who breeds Papillons and knows their idiosyncracies well. The training centre had been divided into two areas, with owners and dogs separated from the arena by a four foot barricade, and we had just reached the stage in the day where we had worked up from hunting for treats (and Sophy had announced she did not like cheese anymore – phhhppp spit it out – but might be persuaded to hunt for tripe sticks), and the smelly stuff was now hidden in an inedible tin. I dutifully turned away and hid both my eyes and Sophy’s while the tin was placed in the arena, so we could not be accused of cheating, and then carried her in, whispering about how much fun it was going to be playing this game. Put her down, still being terribly upbeat and motivational, and waved her towards the corner to start her search. Sophy sighed, and, with a flick of her ear and a slightly raised eyebrow, indicated the tin 40 feet away at the far end of the hall, then headed back to her crate to resume her interrupted nap. And she was exactly right – once she showed me I spotted it immediately, but would not have found it for hours without her signal – but nobody else except the instructor could see what she did as she was so close to the barrier: as far as they were concerned, I walked into the arena, put my dog down, burst out laughing, and walked over to the tin… Then next morning I got up to several messes to clean up, and a Papillon giving me a look that very clearly said “I TOLD you that you gave me too much cheese!”.
All through the Scent Workshop Deb’s mantra was “Listen to your dog!”. I think that lesson has been thoroughly underlined for me as far as Sophy is concerned…
Trisha says
Eeeeps, thanks for the word about the missing paragraph. I had all kinds of trouble with the blog this morning:boring spacing issues, and somehow must have ended up deleting an important paragraph. I mean, editing is good, but… there are limits. I rewrote the needed paragraph and updated the blog. Love Ranger’s version of calorie control (for Finna) and Sophy’s editorial comment about cheese!
Beth with the Corgis says
I doubt I have a winning story, since most of mine are privately amusing but not laugh-out-loud funny. However, I do have more than one (probably considerably less than 750 words). Can we have multiple submissions?
LisaW says
Feeling like something was missing in your post, I tried to find the original article from The Bark and could not. I was hesitant to comment about flow and sequence (and missing link) until I could see how the original article told the story. Goes to show that first hunches are usually correct. Thanks for the added info.
I’m hoping to add an appropriate story later.
Trisha says
LisaW: So sorry, I must have deleted a paragraph when I was trying to fix a spacing problem. (Spent one hour on it on Sunday and one hour on it today. Grrrr! Finally deleted a photo of Willie, and apparently a paragraph that should have stayed to fix it.) The important paragraph is back now, so it should all make sense.
Beth with Corgis: I think probably one story per person is good idea. Pick your best!
Carmel Hodgins says
“She’s a Clever Little Girl”
As a dog trainer at both a Club and my own training classes, I conducted a combined ‘dog free’ information evening for students about to embark on a training class at both venues. The information evening was held at my home, with everyone seated in the large lounge situated at the front of the house. During the evening, we watched a Turid Rugas video, and had students work with dogs selected from the group of rescues at my home. This was to practice their timing for clicker training etc.
The evening also entailed information through examples described to them.
One of these examples was of my beautiful red doberman bitch Misty’s knack of escaping the back yard and appearing in the front yard, regardless of modifications to the fencing out the back. Back in those days, these antics of Misty’s would get me angry with her, and when complaining to my dear friend Sharon Steel on each occasion, she would just say “She’s a clever little girl”. I explained to the students that Sharon was indeed correct, that Misty was smart, and the problem lay solely with me. I explained that I had since fixed the fence and that she had not ventured out of the yard since.
A short time later, I saw something dart past the large window that I was facing whilst doing my spiel. I stopped talking and commented that I thought a dog was out in the front yard. Just then, Misty with her appeasing grin came up to the window, wriggling with delight at having found me. In surprise I called out “Misty!” to which everyone in the room replied “She’s a clever little girl”.
Nancy Raffetto says
This is an absolutely true story! sheep are by the hedge. sheep have vanished into thin air. Trisha and Luke run toward the hedge. they, too, vanish. What do you do then, when the crowd (not understanding what has happened and thinking it is probably part of the program) turns it attention to you, standing gape-jawed with a microphone, a retriever and a ball? You launch into lecture mode and describe what “would have happened,” given the behavioral genetics of the two breeds. Toss a few ball retrieves for Max. Not quite Jay Leno material. I was never so happy to see them all reappear through the hedge! I really did not want to take Max to ‘help.’ It would have been an even bigger circus!
Robin Jackson says
Then there was the time I decided to teach the dogs to read…
I have a progressive condition something like MS, but not MS, and hand signals were becoming increasingly difficult. So, inspired by Bergin’s book, TEACH YOUR DOG TO READ, I thought flashcards would be a good idea.
Dog 1, an 8 year old male who thinks any game is a good game as long as there are treats involved, dove right in. Down, Sit, Go to Bed. He mastered them all, cheerfully.
Dog 2, a 12 year old brilliant female border collie who likes work but hates games was much less enthusiastic. Much. Very short sessions, fresh salmon, and lots of patience on both our parts, succeeded in her learning to read Down. A slow, reluctant, “OK, if you insist,” Down, but still a Down.
I thought Great! She’s got the first one, and as smart as she is, the rest should come easy. My 25 year old son was watching skeptically, but I said, “Just be patient. I’m going to hold up the card for 2 seconds, then say ‘Sit,’ and eventually she’ll learn that that’s what that card means.”
We did the Down for practice, no problem. I held up the Sit card. She stared at it intently. She clearly understood it wasn’t Down, because she didn’t Down. She cocked her head, looked at the card, looked at the plate of salmon, looked at me—and very deliberately turned and walked out of the room. My son cracked up! Never was a dog-to-person message clearer: “I’m a border collie, and I have better things to do than this!”
Being a much slower learner than either of my dogs, I persisted for another week. Every time, DOWN on the card produced a DOWN. SIT, however, caused her to turn and leave the training area.
On the 8th day, my son walked into the room as I was staring forlornly at the flashcards, trying to decide if I should give up or not. “I have the solution,” he announced, and handed me a flashcard. Which said “SCRAM!”
Have I mentioned Dog 2 is my son’s dog? Clearly they share a common view of my training efforts.
Donna Hixon says
One of the first lessons in my puppy obedience class is clean up after your dogs no matter where you are.We were in the process of moving to a new house and I was commuting to finish up the classes that I had in process at the old place. We just got settled in the new house when we noticed a dead smell we hunted high and low but could not find anything. So we spent several hundred dollars to higher an exterminator who crawled under the house, sprayed everything indoors and out and returned every month all summer.
Well in the fall I hauled out my training jacket and got ready to start a new class. When I put my hand in the pocket a very liquefied Ziploc was there. Remember all ways pick up after your dogs. Dispose of it before next season.
Beth with the Corgis says
This is, of course, not my submission (nor is it me!!) but this is probably my favorite embarrassing dog performance ever (and I’m pretty sure no one was actually hurt).
For the three people who have never seen it, here is Fenton:
Kathy Johnson says
Several years ago I got my very first AKC greyhound puppy. I had always wanted to try showing a dog, so Slate’s career was to be that of “show dog”. To that end, I took him to handling classes, and worked very hard to try to make him the best show greyhound ever. Between his puppy-ness and my complete ineptitude at handling, this was an effort destined to fail. But I didn’t know that then. I put everything I had into making that puppy with an overbite into a winning show dog like his parents had been. We were going to go to Westminster someday!
At Slate’s (and my) very first dog show, I was a nervous wreck. We had encountered a very rough teacher during handling classes, and she had scared poor Slate-puppy senseless. It took him several weeks of working with another teacher to partially calm him down, and I was sure he would react badly to the judge at the show. Luckily, ten month old Slate was the only greyhound entered so we weren’t rushed too much. I explained to the judge about what had happened with the nasty teacher. She very kindly fussed over him and got him to relax a little and have fun in the ring. I was happy with that, and happier still that, as the only greyhound entry, he would get to go on to the specialty Puppy Group portion of the show. More opportunities to practice having fun in the ring!
Several hours of waiting later, I was still nervous when we got to Puppy Group. There were probably 20 dogs in the Hound group, and at least 500 people clustered around the ring watching. As I stood in the long lineup waiting our turn with the judge, I tried to remember everything our new teacher had said. I replayed in my mind her advice about keeping Slate alert, keeping him stacked, watching the judge at all times and always smiling. My knees were locked and I was rigid with tension. Sweat poured down my back and face. As I stood sweatily at attention with my totally bored, antsy and badly stacked puppy, I noticed his back end beginning to sag. I thought he was going to sit down. So I reached under his belly to tickle him to get him to stand up. My hand came away wet–he was sagging because he was peeing! Even worse, he was peeing directly into my right shoe—and I had stuck my hand into it, in front of 500 people.
I was certain I would die on the spot from embarrassment. I did not. Slate did not go on to have a magnificent show career—in fact in four years of showing him I never even put one point on him. But we had a wonderful life together, and he taught me one very important thing: no matter how bad things turn out, no matter how poorly your dog behaves, and whether he wins or loses, as long as your shoes are dry at the end of the day, it’s all good.
Amy W. says
Over the years I have inadvertently thrown those Kong-with-a-rope toys into dozens of trees. So the feeling of despair I felt as Axle and I stood staring at his beloved orange Kong suspended far out of reach, its bright yellow rope wrapped around a tree branch wasn’t a new one. That summer alone I had managed to get Kongs stuck in trees in three separate locations simultaneously. “Shoot (only I didn’t say shoot)! Axle, I’m sorry.” Ignoring me, Axle reared up on his hind legs trying to grab his toy. Coming to the realization the Kong was out of reach; he turned squarely toward me and gave me a ‘do something’ look.
I scoured the ground for a weighty stick, and began hurling it in the air at the Kong hoping to knock it loose. Unfortunately, my aim was awful, but you already knew that. On the bright side, Axle happily chased down my errant throws, returning the stick to me for another try. Many attempts later I was out of breath and still Kong-less, so I abandoned this plan for what can only be described as a series of increasingly desperate and bad ideas.
Because of situations just like this, I carried a back-up Kong. And so, without much forethought, I pulled the back-up Kong out of my pocket, aimed for the treed Kong and launched it, hoping to knock the first Kong to the ground. Missed. “Almost Ax. Drop…(nothing). Hey – DROP IT please.” Reluctantly the toy slid out of his mouth and fell to the ground. “Thank you sir.” “Mmmmmmhmpf!” Close, one more time. “Mmmmmmmhmpf!” Again. “Mmmmmmmmhmpf!” Crap! (Only I wasn’t thinking crap) I can’t believe I just did that. And now to Axle’s bewilderment both of his treasured toys were entangled in the tree top. I would have blamed him if he would have bitten me, or taken off his collar and run away in hopes of finding a new home.
In an even more ludicrously rash decision, I decided to unleash my inner cowgirl by attempting to lasso the tree branch. My plan was to lasso the branch with the dog leash and pull it close enough to me to grab the Kongs. So with all my roping training (and by that I mean, I’ve seen it done on TV), I whirled the leash over my head a couple of times and let it go. Here’s a key thing to remember when lassoing: one must keep hold of the other end of the leash. I did not. So there I stood staring up at both Kongs and Axle’s leash tangled in the tree branches, stunned by my own stupidity. ‘I really hope no one comes down this trail; I’m not sure how I’ll be able to explain this.’
At this point the smart thing to do would have been to go home, but I flouted over that choice and opted to climb the tree. (I promise I had not been drinking, but it certainly would have been a better explanation of the circumstances if I had been.) I slipped my foot into a lower branch/trunk junction and grabbed for upper branches with my hands. “Ouch!” Thorns! I was attempting to climb a Honeylocust covered in 2-3 inch thorns. How did I miss all these thorns? Now bleeding in a stigmata-like fashion, I was ready to admit defeat. “I’m sorry Ax, I can’t get them. Let’s go home.”
I trudged down the trail toward the car while Axle fell increasing behind, as he was not willing to leave his toys. “Axle, let’s go home.” As he begrudgingly joined me, I saw a large tree limb on the side of the trail. Grabbing the end, I turned and drug the limb toward the tree holding our things hostage, while Axle practically skipped with joy as we headed back to get his toys. I hoisted the branch up and clumsily whacked at the tree branches. Several smacks later, both Kongs and the leash were on the ground. Axle dashed to gather both toys in his mouth, no doubt wanting to keep them safe from me.
Happily Axle trotted to car with a Kong hanging from either side of his mouth. And, I used the walk back to car as a time to give thanks for not having to explain to anyone why the leash was stuck in the tree.
Amy W. says
Please note the last sentence of the 3rd paragraph should read: I would NOT have blamed him if he would have bitten me, or taken off his collar and run away in hopes of finding a new home.
Eileen says
Laugh out loud funny, you have a way with words.
Love veggie season. Enjoy yours now, it is dwindling in the South–so sad.
Trisha says
Nancy, I love that you chimed in about our mutual adventure! I never envied you having to entertain the audience for an endless period of time while I tried to find the sheep. Thanks for forgiving me for forgetting the whistle!
Trisha says
Amy W: So noted about your correction, and thanks for making me spit milk out of my mouth while eating my cereal, I was laughing so hard. Been there, done that, makes it all the funnier!
Laura says
I’m trying not to laugh out loud at work, but I’m shaking from laughter here in my chair so you all are doing something right. Tricia, I loved your story and Amy w, I’m still giggling… wow. Ok, here’s one of my own, which, everybody saw i’m sad to say.
I was late, like, 20 minutes late for a lecture portion of class on the other side of campus. now, the University of Minnesota campus is huge and I lived on the East bank. My class, being on the West bank meant that Marlin, my first guide and I, had to cross the Washington Avenu bridge. The bridge is about half a mile or so long but the dogs love it. I was always told, never work your dog when you’re in a hurry and it’s true. our movements aren’t as clear, we get the foot work wrong and we’re always telling the dog to constantly “Hop Up,” a term for lots of things but in this context it means go faster please.
marlin and I flew along the bridge and I could tell he was happy. He loved being up here, in the air and over the river and on most days, so did I. On this day, I was only glad he was at a good clip so we could haul butt to class. We made it across the bridge, and turned left. Marlin guided me down the stairs and then stopped. The west bank of campus has been described to me as, as ugly as a forgotten Walmart. For me, it doesn’t look like that, but what it does look like with my limited vision is a big, open area with buildings scattered randomly all over the place. Compared to the East bank, with it’s paths, neat sidewalks, and the giant green lawn we call The Mall in the center of campus, the west bank is tricky to navigate at best. fortunately, my building was the first one to the left of the stairs. I saw it, I could see it and I could get there, if I decided to run the last hundered yards or so…
Guide dog instructors would either kill me or start crying as I dropped the harness handle, grabbed the leash and told Marlin to Heel. I began to run towards my building, the only thought of me being late running with me in my head. the dog lagged behind, subtly pulling my left arm behind me. “Heel Marlin.” I gasped, but he continued to slow. What the hell was wrong with this dog this morning? didn’t he know I was late? I gestured forward with the leash, knowing I was almost to the doors. “Heel damn it!” I shouted and then, with a clang that echoed off the building before me… I ran right into a metal sign post. I mean, it was like a cartoon, dead center in the forehead. After I made sure I wasn’t hurt, except for a bump on the forehead of course, I stood there.
“You ok?” someone called from a few feet away. I responded that I was and then looked down at my guide dog, standing calmly at heel beside me. If he could’ve laughed and pointed, he would have. I know we’re only allowed to submit one story, but let’s just say I didn’t learn my lesson from this and did the same, oh i’ll just heel the dog, move as before. Unfortunately, this one involved stairs… sigh. it always makes me laugh though. What a good boy I had. Miss you Marlin, my wonderful boy.
Carolyn says
Ahhhh….the classic kool kong in the tree scenario. I have been in situations where we have asked complete strangers to throw stones at the kong to get it out of the trees. The best however is when a person we regularly walked with get his kong stuck in in a thin but tall sapling. Next time we went by that spot both the kong and the tree were gone! He told us he had snuck into the park (actually an arboretum if you can believe it) with a hack saw and cut the tree down that night! He was a rather uptight person, but really!
Katie Nosbisch says
The 2013 Collie Club of America nationals show was coming back to the Midwest after five years in other locations that we could not attend. My two collies and I practiced for months and sent off our agility and obedience trial entries with great hopes. Dillon, the 8 year old, was tuned up and ready to go and he showed it with several excellent agility runs.
On the morning of the obedience trials, we arrived fresh and ready for the open obedience challenges. Several excellent obedience competitors were in front of us, with controlled, near perfect work. Now Dillon is a large, sable and white, rough coat and everyone notices him come into the ring. He is happy and upbeat and completed the heeling exercises on cruise control. A nice, polite audience watches us.
My heart is happy as I set him up for drop on recall. The judge instructed me and I walked to the other end of the ring. As I turned to look for the judge’s signal, I could see Dillon rocking forward into his agility take-off crouch, just waiting for the release command. My eyes get big as I realize he thinks its agility and he gets to run with mom and this judge doesn’t know how fast he is going to come at me!
And run he does. By the time the judge reacts and signals the drop, Dillon is on his belly sliding into my feet in a perfect drop. There we are, toes to toes with chuckles from the sidelines. The judge rolls his eyes and signals us to finish. Dillon looks up at me with the happiest sappy grin on his face. “This is fun; what’s next?”
Then the gate steward hands me the dumbbell.
I give Dillon a strong, solid “stay” and throw. The judge signals the retrieve and I send Dillon, who doesn’t move! Huh? As I am looking down considering to resend him, he suddenly shoots from my side, barking and grabs the dumbbell. He spins in the air on his rear legs and throws back his head to position it deeper in his mouth and it flies out of his mouth, over his head.
He is now racing back and sits perfectly in front of me. Then without missing a beat, he realizes he has no dumbbell to present and jumps up goes back and gets it and returns into a perfect finish. The sidelines and the judge are now laughing out loud at my happy collie and he is spinning around me and taking bows.
We go to the retrieve over high jump and I just close my eyes in embarrassment and throw on the judges command. As I peek out of one eye, Dillon without waiting for my command, clears the jump in two bounds, retrieves the dumbbell, takes a lap around the judge and comes back over the jump. Another perfect sit and finish. Now the sidelines are laughing and cheering for him. He is dancing in joy.
With a red face and in a hot sweat, I place him in front of the broad jump. I’m not sure why I am going on with this event, but dumb momentum carries me forward. I walk to my position, look at the judge, repeating in my head, “don’t look at Dillon and maybe he’ll wait for my command.” No chance. As I stop moving, he is off like a shot, over the broad jump and into a perfect front and finish. Everyone applauds and laughs and he is racing around sure he is the best collie ever.
I look at the judge red-faced and say “I hope we get at least one point for enthusiasm.” That dear wonderful man, takes my arm and whispers: “He’s the most awesome dog I’ve ever seen in the obedience ring.”
Thankfully in four years when Collie Club of America nationals returns to our area, everyone will have forgotten but me. I remember ever agility run, every obedience finish and treasure every minute with this big-hearted happy collie.
Nic1 says
Amy W. crying with laughter here….. Seriously, tears and strange hooting noises….’stunned by own stupidity’. Just priceless…
Beth – thanks for reminding us about Fenton. It’s the snigger of the person filming at the end of the recording that cracks me up!
Trisha, also had a good laugh at your expense with your tail of unexpected sheep herding! I wonder if there is any videotape evidence out there?
Laura, been there, done that. I continued walking on like nothing had happened! 🙂
Oh, what a lovely blog topic!
em says
These stories are so awesome! Amy W., I’m still laughing at the Kongs in the tree. It was the lasso bit that killed me.
If it’s any comfort, I once wheedled my husband into knocking a Kong out of a tree over the creek where our dogs swim in the park. I was SURE that it must belong to one of my friends, who had a Kong-crazed retriever and -ahem-similar aim issues. He dutifully chucked rock after rock at it like a sweet fella trying to win the big prize at a county fair, until it finally came loose. We dashed down to the creek bank where I attempted to wheedle my dog into wading out for it as it bobbed lazily past. Less luck there. He looked at me like I had taken leave of my senses. Clever application of a tree branch compensated for my training failures, though, and after only ten minutes or so of scrambling along the bank, I emerged victorious, having snagged the prize. Monday morning, when I ran into my friend, I triumphantly produced the Kong, ready to bask in gratitude and admiration. She took one look at it and said, “Oh, how kind! But that’s not ours.”
So if it makes you feel better to know it, in my park alone, there are at least TWO owners who qualify for membership in the Kongs in Trees club.
I wish I could think of more humorous stories about egg on my face with Sandy and Otis, but I’m not sure that I can think of any. I’m not sure whether it speaks to a lack of humor or (more likely), a lack of shame on my part, but I can’t really think of an occasion where they embarrassed me. (Or rather, where I embarrassed myself with their help). In his youth, Otis kept me humble, to be sure, but his contretemps were more terrifying (chasing deer) or straightup mortifying (jumping on people) than funny. Hmm…I’ll have to give it more thought…
Trisha says
em: That may not have been a “story,” but I still burst out laughing when you discovered it was the wrong Kong. It appears that there must be trees and streams all over the world with Kongs and other toys hung up in them. And people thought it was just kites!
To Katie: Wonderful story, gloriously funny and such a wonderful image of your happy collie… I’m still smiling!
Dena Norton (Izzee's Mom) says
Laura, I never met your boy Marlin, but I love him!
Laura says
at Katie,
I adored your story. Your collie’s happiness leaps off the page, much as he did in the ring. No need to be abashed, how can you be with such a sweet, happy doggy. Give him lots of hugs.
At M,
Awesome, just awesome! I am reading all the entries and having so much fun, but I really think so far, that Amy W’s story is the front runner. Keep ’em comin guys.
Katherine says
This is a story so entertaining, I have had people tell it to my face upon learning that I have English Springer Spaniels, not realizing my dog and I are the subject matter.
I had entered my mother’s dog Tessie in a UKC obedience trial in the fall of 2008. Tessie is our family’s dog, an attractive black and white, freckle-faced Springer with whom I got my first taste of competing in dog events. At this point, Tessie had earned both her AKC and UKC Companion Dog titles already, but UKC allows exhibitors to continue showing their dogs in their “Novice C” class for as long as they’d like after earning the CD title. It was a somewhat local trial for us and at the time I was briefly entertaining the notion of showing her in Open in the future, so I wanted to keep her busy.
It was an outdoor trial on a cold, crisp fall morning. The ring was surprisingly secure for obedience, with a 6’ wooden fence on two sides and traditional folding gates on the other. Tessie warmed up nicely, offering beautiful heeling, which was always her weakest exercise. When it was our turn to enter the ring, we heeled through the gates, a picture of teamwork and harmony.
Our heel-on-leash exercise went off without a hitch – a brief moment of sniffing, a slight wide point, but no major deductions. Our figure-eight was as smooth as butter. At this point, I was wondering who borrowed and trained my dog to such a high level of precision. We were a team that usually barely squeaked out a qualifying score.
Tessie and I set up for the heel-free exercise. I removed her leash and handed it to the ring steward with confidence. Tessie stared up at me adoringly and I smiled down at her.
The judge asked, “Are you ready?”
“Ready!” I replied eagerly.
And at that precise moment, all hell broke loose.
From under the wooden fence emerged a chipmunk with a death wish. The little bugger zipped past us, mere inches away from Tessie’s very capable nose, skittered past the ring steward, and out the other side of the ring. The dogs waiting outside the ring erupted into a frenzy of barking and squealing.
My jaw dropped. The judge looked at me expectantly. Socially obligated to attempt the exercise, I feebly cued, “Tessie, heel!”
And with that, Tessie was off. She followed its path at a gallop across the ring and stopped at the gate, watching it zoom across the show site, other dogs howling in its wake. Those watching her performance in the ring groaned. One even suggested a do-over.
The judge brought me my leash and apologized for my bad luck.
I shrugged. “I think she’s the most obedient dog at the show. I can’t believe she didn’t chase that thing into the next county.”
The judge laughed. And with that, I collected my wiggling, whining, completely unhinged dog and quickly made my exit.
Terrie says
Carmel, I’m currently living that adventure with my Papillon. Each solution lasts about a day before she figures out a way around it. Too smart for her own good.
The closest I have to a story is the lesson I learned from my Lhasa Apso. I was convinced that I was going to do a great job clicker training him. It was, at the time, the big thing. Everyone was doing it and it was THE humane method of training. Poor dog was so scared of the clicker he refused to come into the room when he saw it.
Margaret McLaughlin says
My own national specialty story:
A couple of years ago the flat-coat nationals were only 50 miles from home, & I decided to go for the first time ever. Our agility run ended with us being whistled off when Lia came down off the aframe & pooped. Oh well, on to obedience. She had finished her CDX 6 months before, & we had been training Utility ever since, but she wasn’t ready for Utility A, so I decided to show in Open B just for the heck of it, although I know there would be multiple OTCH dogs in that class.
Well, we showed, & we qualified (barely) but we were awful. I tried to return to my dog on the stay before the judge sent us, Lia heeled like she’s never heard the word before, & fronted to the ring gate instead of to me.
It was an exercise in mediocrity, to put it nicely, & to rub it in, we had shown right after a top handler who had turned in a beautiful performance. I considered slinking out of the building right then, but realized that would be unsporting. Got to stay & clap for the GOOD teams.
So we’re sitting there, waiting for the judge to do her paperwork, & I start hearing “Who’s #72? {Top Handler} was #71, who’s #72?” I stood up & said “We are. Why?” *imagines the judge is about to chew me out in front of everyone>*
The judge says, “IN the ring, please. Runoff.”
Me, “But we were terrible!”
Judge, “Lots of people were worse. In the ring, please.”
So we put in another spectacularly mediocre performance & lost the runoff for 4th place to a beautiful heeling team.
Really. With a 182. At the FLAT-COAT national specialty.
Beth with the Corgis says
em, we haven’t had Kongs in trees but I sympathize about trying to get a dog to wade in and retrieve something. I have one dog who swims like a dolphin but will only chase something as it flies; if she loses sight of it for a second, she loses interest. And I have another dog who will find any lost toy on command anytime, from any position, but only wades and won’t swim and so stands looking dolefully at those that drift into deep water. Thankfully I have a husband who is an able and intrepid retriever!
I need to find some time to write out my story, but I am loving those here! My favorite I think is the one about the border collie who refused to read, but it’s very hard to choose a winner! They are all good.
Laura says
At Dena,
Thank you for the kind words about Marlin. He was a great dog, my first guide with whom I was thoroughly spoiled for guides to come. Don’t get me wrong, I love love love my Seamus, but Marlin was my first. I’ll never forget that day, and so many others. 🙂
Robin Jackson says
@Beth,
Thanks for the kind words! My favourite thing about Tulip’s refusing to read was that I knew she could do it, she knew she could it, she understood exactly what I wanted, but she was just like, “Really? You think teaching a dog to read is a good use of your time and mine? I have more important things to do.” 🙂
@Terrie,
“Clicker training” is really “marker training.” You’d be surprised how many dogs are sound-sensitive and find the traditional clicker noise unpleasant. But you can use anything at all as a marker. Some people use a soft tongue click. Some click the top of a ballpoint pen. People with deaf dogs use a flashlight or even just a “thumbs up” gesture.
The initial marker should be something that’s neutral to the dog, neither pleasant nor unpleasant. Over time it will develop positive associations, but you can start with anything that the dog can perceive (with any sense) that’s neutral.
Mireille says
I loved the stories, have to think of which one I’ll post, the one where I was disappeared into a cornfield in front of a lone runner (who could not see the dogs). Or… that time we almost ran over a dachshund while scootering in the dark? Or the time Janouk did his only food theft ever; just after I told my mother she could leave the cake there, Janouk won’t steel human food… Or maybe when Spot barfed a gallon of seawater over the feet of guests at my mother in law’s 80th birthday party, or…. How about that time that Shadow-puppy followed the guy with the ball instead of us, stealing the ball right from under the nose of the guy’s dog or… Oh, the joy of owning Siberians :-).
A couple of weeks ago I was standing at my dogs ‘peeing place’ when this elderly couple approaches with two beatifull well behaved Shelties. Spot is being a tad reactive to new dogs that get to close, but he is right in the middle of a giant pee. The couple walk past, the man comments on how well behaved my dogs are. At that exact moment Spot finishes peeing and launches himself into the air with a fantastic growl… Sigh…..
Hmm, have to think about a real story… Yes, I think I’ll choose one about ‘king’ Chenak and the (very) dead cat….
Judy says
Trisha, do stories need to be training/performance related? I’m spoilt for choice, but my best one isn’t connected to training/performance.
Trisha says
Stories can be about anything related to dogs and us feeling a tad, uh, foolish!
JJ says
I couldn’t possibly pick a favorite. So many of these stories are just so laugh-out-loud good. I have to say though that Katie made me cry. That kind of story renews one’s faith in the world, and is achingly beautiful. Also, I have to say that I’m impressed with Laura. You must be made of rubber. I’m glad you bounce well enough not to be permanently injured.
Here’s Duke’s contribution.
*******************************************
Excuse You!
I was having a *big* party at my house. I invited people from all walks of life, from neighbors to family to friends to co-workers. I even invited the retired Director of my agency, a distinguished gentleman whom I am quite fond. And he came! I had a full house with people mingling in every room. Heaven.
While Duke was not the main focus for the party, he was a big plus: greeting people at the door, cleaning up dropped food, making sure the children had a clean face before, during and after eating. You know, doing his part.
One way in which Duke likes to make seated guests feel at home is to stand with his chest pushing against a person’s knees. Duke will then slowly extend his head forward as far as it will go while staring lovingly into the guest’s eyes. Did I mention that Duke is a Great Dane? So, when Duke is standing in front of a sitting human, the two creatures are usually eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, breath-to-breath. (I’m sure bad breath is never an issue. Dog mouths are self-cleaning. Right?)
It is my duty to intervene as needed. So, I always watch the situation carefully in case the person Duke is breathing with looks in distress. At this time, I was in the living room chatting with a friend when I saw Duke walk up to “commune” with the Director, noses a scant two inches apart. While not exactly happy, I thought the Director looked amused. So, I went back to chatting, keeping a corner of my eye on the situation. A few moments of staring later, Duke let out an incredibly long, loud, rib-heaving b-e-l-c-h. Silence in the room. Duke turned and calmly walked away. Everyone in the living room burst out laughing.
“Excuse you! You Rude Doggie,” I thought as I covered the wrong mouth too late. I uttered a quick, “Sorry about that,” to the Directory behind my hand. Luckily the Director is retired.
Kat says
Will you accept second stories if it’s about a different dog?
Jackie D says
Well, this one is quite recent.
I have a little working springer spaniel. I have been doing some Rally training with her for more than a year. Now, she’s just a tad bird obsessed, but as long as we’re working indoors she’s actually pretty well behaved even though I’m not exactly a great or dedicated trainer.
So, the dog training people organised a dog show. There was a rally competition, indoors, with a proper judge. We entered.
Lucy tried to jump out of the window. Three times.
Mireille says
Sorry, copied the wrong version above..
This story happened a long time ago, when we were novice dog owners, or should I say novice Chenak owners. He was our first Siberian husky, a gourgeous four year old wolf-grey bundle of mischief. Or as the breeder told us, too smart for his own good. Escape artist, sneak thief and accomplished hunter. When we had him three weeks, he escaped from the yard, opened a neighbours rabbit cage and ate the rabbit. The price of dog ownership for us was eternal vigilance. Siberian huskies usually come in pairs, so we got Chenak together with nine week old puppy Janouk.
One day we decided to visit a dryland sleddog race, together with the owners of Janouk’s brother. The pups had a blast, so when at the end of the day we decided to have some dinner in a nearby restaurant, they instantly went to sleep. Chenak was also at his best behaviour. After the main course and before dessert, the pups were getting restless, so we went out to let them pee. After I got back, Chenak sat up an looked expectantly at me, telling me he was also due for a short walk. So I took him outside, into the already dark town. We were walking through the centre when suddenly he dove into some bushes and emerged with a dead cat. The cat was already as stiff as a board and God know’s how long it had been there. Now ‘nak had tought us one thing about a dog’s jaw muscles in the previous weeks: if he has something he really wants, he simply won’t let go and I won’t be able to take it from him. So there I was, standing in a strange town, with a dog holding a dead cat. Standing still would mean him dismembering a cat in the town centre, I couldn’t put him in the car with his prey (we owned a small saloon), I couldn’t return to the restaurant like this for obvious reasons so I started walking in the hope that he would drop the damn thing. No such luck, he pranced about happily, the stiff ends of the black and white cat sticking out of his mouth. So we walked and walked, untill we ended up on a forest road, where Chenak dragged me into the trees. He carefully laid the cat on the ground, keeping one weary eye on me. As I made nog move towards his prize, he started digging. With one quick move I grabbed his collar and dragged him off. He struggled a bit, but I was prepared for this and managed to drag him away. As we got back to the restaurant, the ridiculousness of the situation dawned on me. So when my husband asked what took me so long, I collapsed in a fit of laughter. Inbetween my giggles I told him what happened. In the ten years that followed, we would have numerous other occasions where Chenak found his prey and insisted on carrying it home; bottles, sugar beets, foodpackages and a decomposing chicken. He died two years ago, and life became easier but also infinitely more dull. Luckily we sometimes see him in Shadow, although so far he seems satisfied with the stuffed cat toy I bought him. Needless to say we also spent a lot of time teaching a solid ‘drop it’!
Laura says
At JJ,
that story about Duke was great! Having experienced that myself, with a much smaller dog, I laughed so hard I started coughing. Also, thanks for being impressed with my ability to bounce off of sign posts, but it was a great lesson in obeying the dictum of guide dog instructors everywhere… “Follow your dog.” 🙂
Kelly says
I have a good story for you…
I spent a few years raising service dogs for a local organization. My third puppy was a smooth collie named Willow, a sweet little girl, but a lot of work! She was very stubborn when it came to house training, likely because she was raised in a barn before being donated to the program.
When Willow was about 6 months old we went to a nearby indoor mall to do some training with a few other puppy raisers in the busy shopping month of December. I arrived early, and spent 10 minutes walking around outside, giving her ample opportunities to do her business. No luck, so we head into the mall.
We start walking and get about 3/4 the length of the mall, when Willow hunches over and starts pooping! I completely panic and stick my hand under her bum, since I didn’t have any paper towels with me. I was conflicted between getting my puppy outside as quickly as I could to finish her business, and cleaning up the mess. I tell her “no” and pick her up around her middle, so she can’t start pooping again. So with a hand full of poop and my arms full of dog, I start toward to end of the mall, walking as fast as I can, and having to walk though the food court on our way out the door. I was mortified, and worked very hard to avoid eye contact with everyone around me.
In my several years of puppy-raising, this was maybe one of three public accidents my puppies had, ever. I can guarantee you it was also the last!
HFR says
We were on our off-leash morning walk with friends and their dogs. My Large Munsterlander, Boog, loves to chase deer, but I’ve learned shouting for him to come back is a waste of time. He always gives up after 10 seconds or so and returns. This morning we suddenly came upon two fawns lying in the grass. My friend shouted “Baby deer!” and we all grabbed our dogs. I couldn’t snag Boog, though, and he chased the poor little things. This time I did yell and scream as I was worried the babies wouldn’t be able to outrun Boog, who was twice their size. I lost sight of them and was practically in tears when I suddenly hear this wild screaming. Sort of like a long, drawn out, high-pitched bark. Here comes Boog, running faster than I’ve ever seen him run with his proverbial and literal tail between his legs. Running behind him, in chase, was the mamma deer…He knew he was in trouble. He ran to me and quickly went behind my legs whining. The mama deer stopped about 30 feet away from us and glared at him. If she could, she would have pointed and said, “You ever come near my babies again, I’ll whoop your backside good!” In shock, my friends and I were now staring at a very angry looking deer (who knew deer could look angry?) standing no more than 100 feet away. She finally turned and walked away. (Actually, now that I think about it, this story is more about Boog’s embarrassment than mine.) To this day, he has never chased another deer. Good for him.
I often like to imagine the scene off-stage the moment he was confronted with the mamma deer. Did they stare each other down for a minute and then, Boog, realizing his situation, turn and run for his life? Or did she come out of nowhere and ambush him? Did Boog think for a minute, “Oh, I could take her,” and then was taken by surprise when he realized she was really much bigger and stronger than him? I’ll never know, but I’m sure it was a wildlife vs. domestic animal showdown worthy of any John Ford movie.
Amelia says
Oooh more short story contests please! Such a cool idea. Here’s mine (word count 737!)
Two years ago I was proud to have been a dog owner for a whole year. I had bumbled through much of it, but thanks in no small part to excellent resources on positive reinforcement training, I had finally got a handle on coexisting peacefully with my lovely little dog. I was, in fact, certain that I knew exactly how to train any dog, and must have another at once to prove my ability. I informed my boyfriend that we needed to have as many dogs to choose from as possible, and so we went to a huge rural county shelter that houses around 500 dogs at a time. We wound up choosing between two dogs: one so fearful she would hide under your legs and the other so anxious he ran around the yard in circles whining. I was confident I could handle either case, and as the more fearful dog was a purebred, we left with the anxious mutt. He was emaciated, avoided human touch, and had been living in the shelter for two months.
I was dismayed to find that I could not walk my new dog on a leash without several huge lunging and barking displays, leave him unattended in the apartment (he ate food wrappers, baseballs, rubber bands…), introduce him to new people, or even lure him into a sit. Turns out my dog training “genius” wasn’t enough to put my dog at ease. What really killed me was that I could not touch my new dog, who I named Banjo in the hope it would bring out a carefree side in him. I wanted so badly to connect with him. He has a good, gentle heart and warm golden eyes, a coat that’s brown like dark brown sugar with blonde shoulder pads. I bonded to him very quickly, but though I loved him, he lived in a world of dark, alien novelties and spent most of his time under the bed, running into the next room every time I reached for him.
One day, frustrated and sad, I thought back to all the horrible advice I had been given when I brought home my first dog: yell at her when she pees inside, jerk on her leash when she pulls, roll her over on her back to show her who’s boss. It felt so unfair that I knew not to do these things and had done so much better with Banjo, but still could not touch him. I had since learned that rolling on their backs is to wolves a signal offered to show deference and a lack of threat, as in “See, look? You could totally eviscerate me right now, but you won’t because I’m NICE.” I wanted so badly to tell my troubled dog “I want to be the person in this world who takes care of you so that you don’t have to be afraid.” I figured those messages were close enough, and flopped over on my back on the living room floor.
Though Banjo’s previous experiences with humans seemed to be few and/or bad, humans lying on the floor was apparently something completely new. For the first time, he approached me, tail low and wagging, and snuffled every square centimeter of my face. We spend so much of our time standing and sitting upright, there aren’t many opportunities for a timid dog to investigate a human face. If it wasn’t his first time smelling a face, it was certainly his first in a while. The more he sniffed, the faster his tail wagged, until his whole body was a sinusoidal wave of excitement. He then executed a maneuver most dogs I know seem to reserve for commodities as rare and valuable as carcasses and exotic poop, now known as the derp-roll. He leaned his shoulder unto my face, and from that point flipped onto his back wiggling, yes, on top of my face for a good thirty seconds. I was laughing and crying and generally behaving like a fool, which only made my awkward dog more excited, twisting and rolling until he was thoroughly coated in my face-scent. When he was done, he flopped onto his side next to me, exhaled heavily, and was still.
That moment opened the door for the years I’ve spent earning the trust of this marvelous dog. The derp-roll is still one of Banjo’s favorite ways to interact with his favorite people.
Trisha says
And the laughs just keep on coming! Thanks so much you all, I’m loving it, from in a panic putting your hand under your dog’s butt to catch the poop (is this the new definition of a real dog lover?), to watching your dog being chased back by an enraged doe, to dogs proudly carrying carcasses into restaurants, to Banho’s deep face-roll. (Does it have cosmetic effects?). And Duke, you can burp in my face anytime. Keep ’em coming!
Judy says
On an unseasonably warm October afternoon, my deerhound x lurcher, Jasper, and I strolled off Dunyeats Hills down into Delph Woods. I saw a flash of white rump between the trees, and Jasper leapt forward and disappeared after it. I knew that trying to recall him would be pointless, and he is always muzzled as a precaution, so I picked up my pace and followed in the direction he and the deer had disappeared in.
The deer had evidently evaded capture, and when I caught up with Jasper he was in a small lake, on the far side from me. A teenage lad, fishing on the near bank, told me that he had seen the deer run past, then Jasper had followed but had jumped into the lake down the steep bank.
Jasper often goes into water to cool off, but he had never gone in deeper than the top of his legs – though he does have very long legs! All I could see of him above water was his head, and his front legs, which were thrashing, although he wasn’t going anywhere. Could my dog really not swim?
We all know that if someone goes into water to rescue their dog, they usually end up drowning, while the dog manages to climb out unaided. It would be stupid for me to go into this stagnant, weed-bound lake, with goodness knows what lying under the surface…
I looked back at Jasper. Only his head was now visible…
Without further thought, I mumbled ‘Sorry’ to the teenager, removed my shoes, socks, t shirt and jeans, and waded into the lake. My feet sank into the silt and I was more than happy to swim rather than risk standing on old bicycles, shopping trolleys, a lurking pike… The weeds parted reluctantly before me and the stench of rotting vegetation hit my nose. Strange submerged objects, probably rotting branches, brushed past my legs. Boy, would I need a shower later!
I reached Jasper, whose head was still just above water, wondering if he would panic when I tried out my lifesaving technique on him. But he was strangely silent and passive, with a glazed look in his eyes. He thrashed his front legs as I pulled him to the steep bank, splashing water into my mouth. As soon as we reached the bank, he scrambled up effortlessly, and I clambered up with rather more effort and considerably less grace. At this point I realised that I, a fifty-year-old woman, was standing in sopping wet underwear in the middle of a wood, with a possibly traumatised teenager looking on. Dear Lord, I thought, I hope he hasn’t caught the whole event on a phone with a video camera… I glanced down to check that I was at least wearing half-decent underwear. Thank goodness I had given up on the g-string craze a good few years earlier.
I retrieved my clothes, walked on through the woods, and met a couple of friends who I told of my adventures. An overweight old man accompanied by his overweight old spaniel joined us, and my friends told him that I’d stripped off and gone into the lake to rescue my dog. He stared at my thin white t shirt, which was now sopping wet and clinging to my bra, and said with a lascivious grin, ‘Can you do it again?’
liz says
The most recent blush-worthy event, with the most interesting setting?!:
A number of contributing factors led to the decision to take an extended vacation this past holiday season. Among the most important was promising Helix that someday I’d take him to see the mountains. So we planned a route driving from Wisconsin, through Iowa, Nebraska, Colorado, to Utah, where we’d stay for awhile before moving on to Arizona and New Mexico, before heading home. We researched the dog laws of parks, campsites, weather patterns, snakebite vaccines, regional emergency vets for each major city we’d be camping near, prepped meals for the bulk of our travels, and generally spent a couple months in the flurry of activity that is organizing an epic trip.
Anyway, with the trip underway, on Christmas day we set out to hike Utah’s Dead Horse Point State Park. Its dog-friendliness and expansive views of surrounding Canyonlands National Park made it an easy must-see in an area full of amazing choices. I leashed Helix and my husband took the she-beast, Nala, whose high-energy, prey-driven way of being I worried most about in this a foreign land. Helix, on the other hand, was older and starting to slow. He had almost always been a serious and stoic guy with great endurance and an even-keeled energy level. With few exceptions, he’s a laid-back surveyor of the land. Our hike reflected this demeanor, until we wandered to a lookout point at a canyon’s edge. I peered out at neighboring canyons in the distance, into the layers of beauty and time and power, and became lost to it all for a second. Then out of the corner of my eye I saw Helix starting to jump, aiming for a flat-topped, thigh-high, narrow stone wall built as a barrier. The world stopped while he was in mid-air. I instantly flashed to memories of him as a three month old puppy perched on the eave of a roof, like a bird on a wire, after he had climbed out of a completely open second story window. I anxiously cooed to Helix-puppy to get his attention, to get him inside, while he shot me a straight-faced look that said, “What? What’s the problem?” This was the first time I realized Helix had no fear of heights, certainly not the last, but no other scenario had been nearly as dangerous. There would be no cooing at Dead Horse Point.
In the horror, and frustration of momentarily forgetting my ten year old dog is a jumper and a climber, my brain tightened the grip on the leash in my hand. The instant his paws hit the flat-topped wall I yanked him off like none other. I imagine this appeared to onlookers as a most foul, over-zealous leash correction. I didn’t just give a tug. I have the distinct memory of grabbing the leash with both hands, crouching a bit at the knees, and pulling with all my might. In my efforts to keep a 45 pound dog from falling over a thousand foot cliff, I heaved his body unnecessarily far from the wall, with him landing much less squarely on the way down than he had when jumping up. I felt awful for a) being inattentive in the first place despite months of being in a “prepared” state of mind and b) overreacting with force that would’ve likely been sufficient to keep a St. Bernard from going over.
Helix was undeterred, again with the “What” look, combined with a bit of “Sheesh.” He and I went to safer rocks with much smaller cliffs and practiced “Off” repeatedly, with treats and joy. We even hiked back to where the same narrow wall extended over solid ground, defining a walkway, where he showed me that the wall was plenty wide enough for him, it really did offer a better view, and that there was no cause for alarm. We exchanged smiles before heading off the wall and back to camp. Helix did not soar over the edge of a cliff on Christmas day, it did prepare us for optimum safety at the Grand Canyon, and I haven’t used any leash corrections since.
Amelia says
I don’t wear make-up, but I do make sure my dog rolls around on my face at least once a day!
Patrice says
OK, the morning has started, just as usual. I say, “Squirrels!” and both dogs jump up, leap off the bed, and run to the back door. They dash out, look for the squirrels that may or may not have ever been back there, do their business, and then come back inside.
Everyone has breakfast, we two at the table in the dining room, each dog on his or her rug, eating quietly. Dear Husband wants to finish his coffee slowly, in peace. And Girl Dog lets him do just that. But Boy Dog is on a campaign. We must go out for a walk. Now.
First Boy Dog sits and stares at Husband. Husband ignore him. Then Boy Dog gently paws Husband’s leg. Husband ignores this, too. Boy Dog comes and looks at me. I smile at him, but I don’t do the morning walks. Boy Dog knows this. Boy Dog disappears.
In a moment, Boy Dog brings out a sock. “Good sock,” I say. “Go get the other one.” And Boy Dog does — he brings the matching sock. “Good sock.”
Husband’s coffee is not finished, so we all wait. Boy Dog disappears again.
A minute later, he brings a shoe. “Good shoe. Go get the other one,” I say.
And he does — he brings the matching shoe. Socks, shoes. Surely now we have what we need to go for a walk. But no. There is still another swallow in Husband’s coffee cup. Boy Dog leaves again.
I don’t notice him come back into the dining room, but eventually, I do notice that there, on the floor, is the hand towel from the bathroom. Not sure what that has to do with walking, but…
Things start piling up. A washcloth. A pair of underwear. A tennis ball. Finally, Husband gets up and goes to get the leashes.
Ah! it must be the Tennis Ball that Husband wants. The next morning, the whole routine over again, except this time, instead of a sock, the parade started with the tennis ball.
But that second morning, the tennis ball didn’t work any better than starting with socks. And so the third morning, it started again with the sock.
This is a normal morning for us. But this weekend, we have house guests, who by now are both amazed (matching shoes and socks!), shocked (you LET him grab the underwear and the washcloth?), and laughing (you do this EVERY morning?).
I realize that this is not a normal morning routine for everyone.
Perhaps in other households, Husbands are more easily trained.
LunaGrace says
Well, since these short stories are entitled “The Laugh Is On Me” and the stories to keep us humble in the face of frequently superior canine intellect, I’ll have to spill the beans on myself about the most humorous time that The Amazing Yogi was reading a different page in the playbook and helped me smear egg on my own face.
I’m always trying to come up with new, different, and challenging tricks and exercises to teach my dogs to keep them engaged and their brainpowers growing. I’ll teach them to jump through hula hoops or climb on playground equipment when there are no kids around because one never knows when one might fall down a well and need their dog to run for help.
One afternoon, I decided to begin teaching Yogi directional hand signals so I could send him left, right, or back from a “remote” location away from my side. Working on the Baseball Diamond theory and yummy treats, I first showed Yogi that I had pockets stuffed full of yummy treats for Good Dog Rewards, then put him on a SIT-STAY on the “pitcher’s mound”, allowed him to watch me place one of the many yummy treats on “first base”, while I returned to the batter’s position and faced him with my hands in prayer position (prophetic?) in front of my chest. I paused, called for his attention and, as soon as he gave me eye contact and attention, threw my right arm out (towards 1st base) and told Yogi “OVER!” He predictably went to 1st base, collected his treat, then I called him to me in a FRONT and gave him over-the-top PraiseandReward for being such a Smart Dog!
Then took him by the collar and walked him back to the pitcher’s mound where I put him on SIT-STAY again, put another treat on 3rd base, walked back to the batter’s position, faced him, paused, called for attention, then threw out my left arm and told him “OVER!” — whereupon he obediently went to 3rd base, got his treat, then came to me in a FRONT for another PraiseandReward party.
The third time, since he caught on to this new game so quickly, I decided to jump ahead and continue on to actually DIRECTING him to one “base” or the other when a choice was presented to him. So I put him on the SIT-STAY on the pitcher’s mound, but put treats at both 1st AND 3rd base, returned to the batter’s position, turned to face Yogi with hands in prayer position, and paused. He was positively vibrating with eagerness to be sent because he knew; he really, really KNEW how this game was going to work. Thinking what a clever dog he was and what a clever trainer I was, I threw my right arm out towards 1st base, commanded him to go “OVER!” knowing he would go to 1st base, pick up his treat, and come to FRONT for his PraiseandReward as we had practiced.
He did, indeed, take off like a shot from a canon as soon as I told him to “OVER”; zoomed directly to 1st base, gulped his treat down as he flipped 180 degrees and headed for 3rd base, snatched up the treat THERE, and then headed in for his PraiseandReward party session with such a self-congratulatory expression on his face that HE had figured THIS game out right away! Why wait to be told which way to go when you already KNOW where the treat is?
Ya gotta love ’em. And the yolk’s on me, clever and once more humbled dog trainer that I am.
LisaW says
The two dogs were as close as litter-mates but were born miles and years apart from one another. The oldest, Ester, brimmed with confidence and playfulness while the younger Grace had taken on the job of guarding the village and all its contents. Two sides of the same coin. As doggie soul-mates, they also acted as the foil for one another’s pranks and shenanigans.
At the time, we lived in an old house that once served as the workers’ house for the farm that had been gobbled up by split-levels decades before. Built in 1845, our house’s layout was termed functionally obsolete. One clear illustration of this was the house’s only bathroom, which sat directly off the living room. A desire for privacy soon became a thing of the past.
I embraced this very open concept of living, and when home alone, usually left the bathroom door open. Also being one who prided herself on conserving all available resources, I didn’t flush the toilet until the second pee. What I didn’t realize was not only was I conserving water, I was providing an opportunity for a very clever dog trick.
One day as I came into the living room after taking a shower, I noticed a small, white piece of paper laying on the floor right in front of Ester’s bed. She was lounging on her bed and looked up lazily as I entered the room. I bent over to see what was on the floor – a soggy piece of toilet paper that had already served its purpose. “Ester,” I said, “that’s disgusting, what are you doing?” I gave her the eye as I cleaned up the mess. This happened a few more times, and each time my eye to Ester got a little more adamant. (A rational person might wonder why I didn’t just put the toilet lid down or keep the bathroom door closed, and really, I have no answer for that.)
A few weeks later, as I was getting out of the shower, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. A tail disappeared out of the bathroom. I looked into the living room just in time to see Grace deposit the toilet paper right in front of a sleeping Ester.
Moral of the story: Trust what you see not what you think you know.
Christina says
It’s Hard To Run When With A Big Head
I have been taking agility classes for a while with Pippa, my little Chihuahua mix, and even started competing last year. Pippa is energetic and loves the game. She is also the perfect beginner’s dog: she is a mature 6-year-old who is stuck to my side like we’re connected with bungee cords happily following wherever I go, and if I pause in confusion, merely trotting over to my side, ready for the next signal.
A few months ago I decided that I wanted to take some classes with our 15-month-old Boxer, Diesel, who is built like a Thorough Bred horse, and not much smaller. While his temperament is sweet and mild, he loves to exercise his impressive muscles by running at top speed at any opportunity, across fields or through forests, leaving me exhilarated at his athleticism and at the same time scared that I won’t be able to get him back. Our first few forays into the agility ring together were fun and fast and on the verge of out of control. I had taught him the basics, but he needed exposure to equipment I don’t have. I talked to my agility teacher and we decided I could bring him to the intermediate class that is right after Pippa’s class.
At the beginning of the first class the teacher introduced us to the other students (who had been diligently working with her for months) and explained that while Diesel was a beginner dog, I was “very experienced” and had already done a lot of training with him, and that was why we could jump into their intermediate class. By the time it came to Diesel’s turn, between the adrenaline rush of having my big, muscular puppy revved up by my side in the ring and my big head puffed up by my teacher’s compliments, I could barely see straight and my heart was pounding in my ears. I imagined Diesel powering through the course and impressing the other handlers with my training abilities. First, I would show them how to lead out. I had Diesel sit, and with my hand held palm-out stiffly in front of me and all my attention focused on keeping him in place, like a Jedi using “the Force,” I backed up. As Diesel quivered with what I thought was anticipation, I promptly strode backwards into the first jump, bringing it crashing down and me on top of it. Diesel took my rear hitting the ground and my glasses flying off as a cue to stand up, trot over to the far corner of the ring and relieve himself. Arrgh! I had made the classic beginner’s mistake and forgotten to potty him before class! While I located the cleaning solution and repaired the damage, Diesel did several laps around the ring at high speed, ignoring my commands to come back to me. Finally, with him, me, and the class all laughing, we gathered ourselves together. With my ego, Diesel’s bladder, and his energy store thus depleted, we were able to run the sequence and finally take our place back in line.
Trisha says
How many times can I burst out laughing in the middle of your stories? I am having SO much fun reading your stories, I can’t thank you all enough. Isn’t this fun? (And Christina, I once almost knocked myself out backing into a metal pole while starting a young dog on sheep. Me backing up, dog on the other side of the sheep keeping them to me, me slamming into a metal pole in front of everyone at the clinic, who were equally horrified and amused. I feel your pain.)
Aliesha says
I teach obedience training for my cities rec department. I like to bring my dog, a mini Aussie, to class with me most of the time. She normally does really well and helps keep the other dogs in line. If the dogs all get along I have free time where the dogs can run around and play, which helps them build positive social experiences. Well I had taken Roxy out to potty before class, so I wasn’t worried about mishaps during class and the dogs were all playing beautifully together. I was answering some questions when suddenly I notice the class all looking behind me at the far wall. I turn around and what do I see? Of course Roxy, who not only had to pee, but left a few logs behind as well. I quickly said something about still having to work on her potty training as she was a rescue, but she normally doesn’t do this. I cleaned it up and went on to teach the rest of the class. I still prefer to teach outside now for those exact reasons.
Kat says
I can’t help myself. I have to share another tale because I know you all will understand and appreciate what I’m dealing with.
Finna is a dog with enough drive for a fleet of Ferraris. Knowing this I tried hard to plan for her recovery time after surgery for torn cruiciate ligament. I know she’s a dog with a mind of her own and this fact was made even more clear the first night after her surgery.
I attempted to give Finna her pain medication. She was supposed to receive one and an half tablets twice daily. I wrapped the dose in chunky peanut butter and Finna eagerly gulped it off my finger. Then she casually spit the whole tablet onto the floor. The half tablet was all *she* was going to take.
At bedtime Finna didn’t want to be secured for the night; she barked, she whined, she cried, she pawed the crate while I huddled in my bed hoping and praying she’d settle down and go to sleep. Then suddenly all was quiet either she’d finally settled or one of the children hadn’t been able to stand it anymore and released her. I considered going to see which but if it was the former I’d only set her off again and if the latter, well, both kids, 14 and 20, were responsible enough that they wouldn’t leave her alone to roam the house.
The next morning I discovered Finna asleep on the couch. Less than 24 hours after surgery my dog that is supposed to be on restricted mobility is found roaming the house and jumping onto furniture. After her potty break and breakfast I attempted to dose Finna with pain meds. She consented to take the whole tablet this time but spit the half back out. I put Finna back in her crate and watched in astonishment as she leaned on first one side of the French doors and then on the other, back and forth. As she did this I could see the sliding bolt gradually loosing contact with the piece it slides into. The mystery of who let Finna out in the night was solved; she’d done it herself. OK, new plan, opening the futon out so that family members could take it in turn sleeping with Finna.
That night she refused to take her pain meds in any amount no matter what I tried. Next morning she still wouldn’t take her pain medications. She wasn’t having any objections to taking her post surgery antibiotic or anti-inflammatory but no way would she take the pain meds. I called the vet’s office and explained the situation including my feeling that pain wasn’t the issue; the issue was her incredible drive. The vet concurred and prescribed a sedative to be used for the next ten days. She took her first dose of sedative without complaint but was so groggy and unstable that I was afraid she’d hurt herself falling. I reduced the dose and for 48 blissful hours Finna was calm and spent most of her time sleeping on the futon. Then she decided she was done with sedatives and on a potty break outside did her best to chase a squirrel up a tree. She only made it about a foot off the ground but I really did not need my recovering dog climbing trees at all, who knows how far she’d have made it if not for the leash.
I bought a bunch of pates. At bedtime we used lobster pate. In the morning she wouldn’t touch lobster pate but agreed to consume liver pate. Liver wasn’t acceptable at bedtime but tuna pate suited. Next morning pate was not acceptable in any flavor or form. But I had a brilliant idea, chunks of hot dog. I was going to set up a rhythm, tossing chunks of hot dog without medication in them until she was used to just gulping them down then I’d stuff her sedative in one and she’d gulp it down. She caught it and carefully bit it in half, dropped it on the ground and scrutinized it for pills. None found she gulped it down. I tossed another, she again caught it neatly, bit it in half, dropped it on the ground and checked it for pills before eating it. Scratch that idea, maybe if I ground the pills added them to meals. That worked for several days until she decided that she wouldn’t eat if there was a sedative included. Despite my undoubted intelligence Finna was outsmarting me at every turn. It’s going to be a long long recovery.
Mireille says
Oh gosh, Finna is Chenak’s sister, only smarter :-). I used to be able to get Chenak to swallow pills by hiding them in pieces of cheese and liverwurst, then quickly tossing them. Had to carefull that Janouk was not in the kitchen though, he would gobble up everything Chenak did not catch or swallow, including pills. (I had to get an extra dose of deworming pills one time…. I dosed first Janouk, then attempted Chenak. I only used one piece of cheese which enabled him to take his time and off course he spit the pill out. Whih Janouk gobbled up. Poor dog was constipated for two days because op de OD deworming pills…)
Having been through the Chenak school of de-embaressement training, I graduated cum laude on the subject of ‘humilty training by dogs’. Nothing much fazes me anymore, can’t get any worse. I mean, there was the time we were on holiday in Sweden and wanted to grab a bite to eat. There was no possibility for the dogs to stay outside so we asked if we could take them in. It was rather a crowded place, but we thought we would be ok. At home, Chenak usually settled till we finished eating, the demanded the table scraps. We settled in, putting both dogs under the table. Janouk was ok with this, Chenak grumbled a bit. He preferred to lie down smack in the middle of the path of the waiters. After some struggles, he setled grudgingly for his place under the table. Only to emerge like lightning a couple of minutes later with a very spirited attempt on the neighbours steak, almost pulling over our table in the process. We were politely asked, no not to leave, no, ‘but to keep him a bit better under control’. We finished eating very quickly…
Annie R says
Years ago I had the smartest dog I’ve ever had or ever hope to, an Aussie-Husky mix with ice-blue eyes. She had a switch between a no-nonsense working personality and being vivacious and fun, and nothing in the world scared this girl; she would run and then slide on the ice in the front yard in the winter, just for the fun of it. She was very well trained but also quite independent, and loved to take a tennis ball off to one side of the park and just play with it by herself, tossing it in the air and then pouncing on it as it landed. But, one day at the dog park, she went after the wrong ball at the wrong time; a fellow dog-owner with two Labradors had been playing fetch with her dogs, and Kira grabbed one of the balls while the female Lab was waiting for her owner to pick it up with the thrower. As if that weren’t embarrassing enough (right, my calm, well-trained dog, uh-huh!), the Lab took huge offense to this and, completely losing her temper, went after Kira; it was one of those moments that sound much worse than they are as they flew at one another snarling; then the other owner did one of the coolest smartest moves I’ve ever seen as her dog pushed Kira toward her; she opened her legs and Kira popped through to land in a heap behind the Lab’s owner; then she closed the gap, her own dog (the Lab) ran headlong into her Mom’s lower legs, bounced off, and the fight was over.
Well, that was amazing! I was now grateful and embarrassed all at once, but what was wrong with my dog? She was running around me in circles, screaming as if she’d been mortally wounded. I scrambled after her, unable to catch her as she continued to run and scream, and I overheard someone nearby saying “her ear, there’s blood” and of course I pictured my beautiful girl with one of her velvety ears torn mostly off, pictured the drive to the emergency vet and the bills we were about to rack up (I was in grad school at the time and very poor) and now was not only trying to catch her but looking for her soul-mate, Cody, to prepare for hurrying them both to the car for this grand adventure. And then I caught her. And then I looked at her ear, and lo and behold, there was a superficial nick on one edge where the Lab’s tooth had skimmed over it and left a skin-scrape about as big as the moon in your middle fingernail, in which, to be fair, there was a large welling drop of blood, the second or third drop that was emerging after the initial ones had dripped off onto the ground. And as I did this exam and made this discovery, the screaming lessened a little, but not much.
To make a long story short, she was done for the day; despite my great relief that her ear was not hanging off her head, and that we had only been there for a few minutes and my other dog really wanted to stay and play, we had to pile into the car and go home at that point because my smart, tough, brave girl (really, she usually was!!!) had gotten herself into a scuffle and LOST plus sustained a most horrifying and painful INJURY. And classy though it was, I have to say it only made me feel even more foolish that the kind Lab owner was standing there apologizing the entire time and asking what she could do to help. We did not go back to that park for a VERY long time. And Kira’s ear was as good as new in about a week.
Kat says
@Mireillle, That’s why I had to share my story. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one who isn’t smarter than their dog. As it happens Ranger was more than happy to gobble up Finna’s sedative laced dinner when she decided she was not eating it if there were sedatives involved. Ranger is 40lbs bigger than Finna but he has a lot less drive and the dose that was just barely managing to mellow Finna out enough that she’d nap took Ranger down so fast that he ended up visiting the emergency vet. After gobbling her dinner he was staggering and unable to keep his feet and I called the emergency vet in a panic hoping to hear that it would be fine we should just let him sleep. They didn’t like what they heard in my description and said I should bring him in. Somehow we managed to get him into the car but by the time we reached the vet’s office he was really far gone. We had to remove him from the back of the car as if he were an awkwardly shaped piece of furniture, me carrying his head and my husband his tail. We set him down to check in and couldn’t get him back up to take to an exam room. Rough coated Ranger made a great dust mop as we scooted him along the floor into the room. Vet checked him over and said he’d be fine after a good sleep. Making a sling of a towel the tech and I half carried half dragged him out to the car and hoisted him back in. By then everyone at the emergency vet’s office was highly entertained by this 90 lb dog who resembled nothing more than an over-cooked noodle. They were all so entertained that they didn’t charge us for the visit.
Alexandra W says
Imagine a beautiful, glorious California summer day: deep blue sky, golden hills, and herds of black beef cattle ambling through the dusty-green coast live oaks. My parents and I had gone for a hike at Toro Park with my little beagle mix, Romeo. He had romped off-leash for an hour and a half on the trail, but eventually we came down the mountain, thoroughly defeated by the dry July heat. I leashed Romeo when we got off the trail, and started the half-mile walk through various picnic areas and children’s playgrounds back to our car.
In contrast to the dry grasses on the mountain, the picnic area at Toro Park has lovely green grass courtesy of a County-funded irrigation system. Romeo loves soft green grass – he was from North Carolina originally, and I adopted him in Rhode Island – and has never found the drier California grasses a worthy substitute. I always love to watch him romp, eat, and roll in green grass. Other people seemed to enjoy watching him too: Romeo is one of those dogs so “cute” that I routinely get stopped by strangers who want to greet him, pet him, and remark on the beagles they remember from their own childhoods.
While I was busy preening at my adorable dog’s adorable antics (look at him rolling in the grass! look at him carrying that stick!) I failed to notice that he had dived straight into a puddle of extremely liquid excrement. When he emerged, he was no longer a tricolor hound – instead, he was a more or less uniform shade of brown, dripping from head to toe. We would have a forty-five minute long drive back home with a reeking dog. Just as I realized the horror of my position, a little child (perhaps six years old) ran up wanting to “hug the puppy.”
“NO!” I shouted, horrified. The little girl’s mother fetched her daughter while staring daggers in my direction, presumably under the impression that my dog was vicious, rather than merely filthy.
After a despondent half hour trudge back to the car, just before loading up my disgusting dog for the trip home, I spotted a hose fixture on a cinderblock outhouse. Hoping against hope, I turned the spigot – and out came a torrent of ice-cold, taxpayer funded clean water. I dragged my protesting dog into the torrent and managed to thoroughly wet him, but not before he began an outraged howl.
A few moments later, a concerned looking park ranger stepped out of her vehicle. “Why are you wetting your dog!?” she asked me. Poor, dripping Romeo: he looked so despondent and forlorn.
What else was there to say but the truth? “He rolled in liquid s***,” I said to the small crowd of amused onlookers.
Bri says
We pulled into an Arby’s drive-thru late one night with my reactive dog Lucky sticking his head out of the side window. Since Lucky loves to bark at all people and strange objects, I try to bring him along for car rides so I can spoon feed him peanut butter at the sight of scary things. So, as my girlfriend started to order the food, Lucky stared intently at the brightly lit menu display, trying to decide whether or not he should bark at the disembodied voice. He craned his head out of the window, nose twitching for the scent of the stranger, nearer and nearer to the speaker. Right after my girlfriend completed our order with; “and two milkshakes, that will be all,” Lucky decided to let out a huge “uuuuurp!” We both stared at Lucky, and Lucky wagged his tail hopefully, while there was about a minute pause and muffled laughing from the drive-thru worker before she read to us the total. After we moved up in the drive-thru line, my socially sensitive girlfriend said “Oh my god, I bet she thinks I’m DISGUSTING!” We had a laugh, Lucky glared at the Arby’s employees handing us food while fiercely licking peanut butter from his spoon, and now my girlfriend refuses to ever go back to that Arby’s.
P.S. says
A lesson from a flat
Some time ago I was at a duck hunt with my flat-coated retriever, a wonderful, gentle bitch that is always ready to go beyond the call of duty. It was a crisp day in the late season, and a few degrees under freezing. A thin layer of ice was just starting to form on the lake. We were originally planned to be four retrievers, but for various reasons I ended up alone.
I had a nice position on a small float, with a good view and easy access for my dog. And then, with the first light, the birds started to fall. One, two, ten, twenty. Birds fell faster than we could possibly retrieve. I had my dog out constantly, in the close to freezing water, and when she crawled up on the float I could see her shiver from the cold and the hard work. But she is a retriever, doing her task, and she kept going.
Around lunch I was cold and wet, I was getting concerned about my dog and I was ready to give up and call it a day. I had just begun to signal that I couldn’t work more under these conditions when a single duck comes flying in. A shot, and it falls. I can see where it falls. My flat marks it as always. She knows I am ready to give up and head home. She takes a step closer to me, and just causally pushes her weight against my side. A very deliberate push, more than enough to send me down into the icy cold water. I struggled back up, climbing up on the platform again with quite an effort about the same time as she crawled up on the platform from the other side with the bird, as proud as only a retriever can be, having proved her point beyond doubt.
JJ says
Kat: That’s a great story. It highlights exactly why I say this all the time: “Duke is not very smart. But that one of the things I like about him!” Duke is a good beginner dog. 🙂 While I get frustrated with how long it takes to teach him new things (a great deal of which is not doubt trainer-error), I then think of stories like yours and remind myself how fortunate I am.
I hope Finna’s leg heals well.
Kat says
Thanks, JJ. I’ve had animals all my life, smart, dumb, and in-between. I used to think I preferred smart but Finna is making me rethink that idea! She’s in a class of her own, that’s all I can say. Despite the fact that her recovery period is anything but textbook perfect she’s recovering well. She’s walking with her foot flat now although still not putting full weight on it. I’ll be talking to her vet again tomorrow to get a better sense of where she should be at this point and what we should be doing to help strengthen the leg and get it back to 100%
LunaGrace says
Annie – That’s the Husky part of Kira. I can’t count all the times one of my Siberians would catch a microscopic piece of thorn in a pad and suddenly be on the ground, screaming as if we were doing a total leg amputation without the benefit of anesthesia. Before having Siberians, I never understood the urge to “slap someone into sanity” but that was pretty much what one had to do to convince the dog that the leg was still attached. And, upon removing the particle of thorn, the dog would come up for air, heaving great sighs of relief and wiping the sweat from his brow at having so narrowly escaped certain death. However ……… Siberians are one of the most stoic dogs when it comes to having to endure REAL pain and physical trauma. (As Aussies can be too.) Can’t explain that one, don’t want to either. It’s just part of the unique charm of the Siberian Husky.
Robin Jackson says
All the stories are great! So many involve a breakdown in communication, where what we think we’ve “explained” to the dog isn’t exactly what they understood! Reminding one, of course, of Skinner’s dictum: “The rat is always right.” 🙂
Meanwhile a short update on the Flashcard situation…I mentioned to my 25 year old son, Tulip’s owner, that I had shared the story about her refusing to learn the second Flashcard. To which he replied, “She wasn’t refusing to LEARN it, she was refusing to DO it. She knows all the cards.” I just stared at him. He went on, “I was just showing Jason yesterday.”
He then picked up the deck of 5 cards that I use with Dilly, called Tulip over, and sure enough, she did a rapid fire Sit, Down, Up, Go to Bed, and Wave.
And remember that I only ever worked with her with Down and Sit. So I asked my son if he’d been training her. “Nah,” he said, “she just figured it out on her own.”
So I picked up the deck. Held up Down. She glanced over at him, did the Down. I held up Sit–and she left the room again. My face turned completely red, but I don’t think my son noticed. He just stood up, picked up the leash, whistled, and she came running. They headed out together for a walk.
With some dogs, what matters most is who’s doing the asking!
LisaW says
@ Robin Jackson: “With some dogs, what matters most is who’s doing the asking!”
That is so true. Our dog Grace, from the toilet paper story, would never take a biscuit or treat from someone she didn’t know. From the bank teller to the guy at the dump, she would turn her head away and clamp her mouth shut. Even within the circle of people she knew well, she was very picky about who she would “allow” to give her treats or deign to sit for when asked. It used to drive my father crazy when we would visit, she would never take a treat from him. He’d try and try, and she would never cede.
JJ says
Robin: You have made my mouth drop open twice now! Wow. What a story. And such a good point. It raises a whole other layer of communication issues. Wow!
Debbie says
I had such good intentions. The sun was shining this morning, it was breezy and warm. What an amazing Indian summer day, let’s go for a nice loooong walk! Ari loves walks, we have several parks we frequent, it’s one of his favorite things (granted, his “favorite things” list is miniscule, but walks are probably #1). So, today, let’s try a different route, the 6 mile hike thru the metropark to the stables. Brilliant.
We’ve never gone this way before, now I know why. The first half of the trail is straight uphill (almost 3 miles), but, ok, we managed. Got to the top and walked across a field to the public stables. There’s a few picnic tables near the paddocks, so we headed for one to rest up for a minute, plus Ari has never seen a horse up close and I was curious to see his reaction. Ari didn’t pay much attention to the horses, but one of them was paying WAY too much attention to us. There are 2 separate paddocks, one had about 6 or 7 horses the other had only one. A huge one. An apparently angry, aggressive, alpha one. He didn’t like us, not one bit. That’s him in the 2nd picture. I took this pic right before he started pushing against the puny wooden fence, stamping his monster hooves and snorting at us. By this time Ari, my sworn protector, was under the picnic table.
We escaped with our lives and started back. A few steps away from the paddock of death, I heard a weird hissing noise. Looked to my left and directly across the path stood a pretty big buck. Hissing at us. For no reason…..well, maybe he thought he had a reason but whatever it was, it was stupid. And scary. And intimidating, which I’m sure was his intention. This time, Ari charged and nearly pulled my arm out of its socket (see pic #1, I was too scared to take a pic when the buck was closer to us, I kept thinking “this would make such a good blog entry” but I wasn’t prepared to die for my art). This entire time, we saw no other walkers, no cars, no rangers, nothing but dangerous, vindictive nature.
The buck turned away and we continued to try to get back to civilization (and the car). But this comedy wasn’t over. The sun disappeared and the sky turned as black as night and the thunder started. We were still almost 3 miles away from the car. As mentioned in previous entries, Ari is over-the-top afraid of thunder. We ran (well, actually more like trotted as I don’t run) most of the way back, downhill on a path covered with wet, slippery leaves. The last pic is Ari with his head and tail down, plowing his way to the car. Marvelous.
Got home, Ari got a Xanax, flew into the closet and stayed there all afternoon. I’m just wondering if something’s wrong with me thinking about how I couldn’t wait to get home & see if any of my pics turned out so I could blog about it. Sick.
Julia B. says
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The Shrimp Bandit
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Delta, my 18 month old Boxer bitch, is one of the most food driven dogs I have ever encountered. She’s worked as if she’s starving after covertly consuming a pound of treats and a single slice of pizza left in a closed box will send her into cries of anguish until it is eaten or refrigerated. Second only to her food drive is her intelligence, which continues to surprise, frustrate, and delight us as she grows. I fancy myself a savvy dog trainer so I welcomed having a creative pup and food driven pup, thinking it would only make our training more fun.
Last summer when we brought Delta home, my husband and I were staying with my parents. They weren’t used to puppy-proofing, so we had a number of incidences where Delta’s mischief was unwittingly aided by my parents. Then she grew tall enough she began counter-surfing , only encouraged by my parents’ habit of stowing food on the counter. I had been trying to coach them out of it since her arrival, but old habits die hard. Since Delta is a precocious little bitch, many of these offenses happened while people were in the room – sometimes even pushing against us for better position. Desperate to change her behavior (since my parents were proving difficult to train), we tried the corrective method of tapping her paws when we caught her in the act. This only earned us a long considering look and, more often than not, a firm paw smack to our hands in return.
One evening my mom set out a bowl frozen shrimp to thaw and turned around to continue her dinner preparations. I was in the adjoining room and heard my mom yell as she turned to find Delta with her head buried in the bowl, half of the shrimp already gone. When I entered the room I was greeted by two things – 1: My mom still loudly proclaiming her surprise, shocked that Delta would have tried something while she was nearby 2: Delta licking her chops with a joyful look on her young face, utterly unperturbed by my mom’s exclamations.
Several days later (after determining the shrimp had no ill effects) I decided to take advantage of her newfound affinity and set a trap that would deter her once and for all. I thought that if something “bad” happened as a result of her actions, it might make an impression. I put a dish drying mat on the breakfast bar and placed a single shrimp at the back of the mat. I carefully stacked all the pot lids I could find in a high, precarious pile at the front. Then my mother, my husband, and I feigned nonchalance and watched expectantly.
It was obvious that Delta smelled the shrimp as soon as she entered the room. Her little nose went to work and she jumped up on the counter to take a look. She proceeded to check every possible approach and angle to see if she could reach her prize. She jumped up at the end of the counter and looked. She jumped up at the back side of the counter and experimentally extended her paw to see if she could reach (a 21” puppy at the time, she had good shoulder extension and a 24”+ reach). She gave a little frustrated cry and returned to the front of the counter, obviously thinking hard.
After a moment of consideration, she gently pawed the mat and sent one of the lids crashing down to the floor. She backed away, looking more annoyed than deterred. What happened next was the last thing we expected. Delta jumped up, reached out with both paws, and began to *turn* the drying mat. We watched with mouths agape as she pulled with one paw and pushed with the other, edging the shrimp closer to her while pushing the pot lids deeper on to the counter. Holding back laughter, I stopped her just shy of reaching her prize, while my mother promised to redouble her efforts to keep the counters clear.
My husband jokes that, like Cesar from “Rise of the Planet of the Apes”, Delta would be the one to lead the revolution. We can only hope that she never decides to use her powers for evil.
Kathy Stepp says
Jazz is a Samoyed and the first dog I ever tried to train. He is a wonderful pet, but he has definite ideas about who should be in charge. He noticed my inexperience and incompetence at an early age and our many embarrassments in the ring testify to his total lack of concern for my ego. All you AKC show people will appreciate my feelings when a judge looked at me and said “A Samoyed in Novice A? What were you thinking?” I was thinking he was beautiful and I would prove the world wrong. We tried to complete an AKC CD title 13 times before a judge took pity on us and gave us a score of 71 for our final leg. I think he just wanted us to go away. We also competed in agility with slightly better results.
Jazz and I had two problems with agility. The first problem was his determination to mark the course. Since he knew he wasn’t supposed to pee in the ring, he would often manage to poop somewhere on the course. I believe he found the loophole in my “no pooping in the ring” rule. He just refused to generalize and tried everywhere. He once decided to claim the dogwalk as his own by pooping directly in the center. It was an amazing balancing act for a 70 pound dog.
Our second problem in agility was that we were too slow. Jazz would gallop along, visit the judge, and generally doodle around while we ran the course. (Stopping to poop will slow things down quite a bit also.) I tried so many things to get him engaged and running fast. I read articles by all the great and not so great agility gurus in an effort to figure out what to do. I read an article about sports massage. The article concentrated on calming massages for the over the top Border Collie, but the author also mentioned vigorous massage to wake your dog up and get him motivated to run.
I decided to try the massage technique. I did not try it in practice. This is an indicator of one of my many failings as a dog trainer. We were waiting for our turn to run and I felt that Jazz looked particularly uninterested, so I decided to give the vigorous massage technique a try. While we were waiting I reached down with both hands and began vigorously massaging his back and hips. He seemed a bit surprised, but I thought he looked a little more enthusiastic. I looked up to see the dog in front of us running the course so I stopped massaging Jazz and tried to step up to the ring gate. I felt the leash shaking in my hand, but Jazz did not come with me to the ring gate. I looked down and my dog appeared to be having some kind of seizure. I was shocked and frightened. While I tried to figure out what could be happening, I saw the face of a friend sitting on the sidelines. She was almost falling out of her chair laughing. I must have looked as concerned and confused as I felt. She mouthed these words -“He’s humping.”
I was mortified. The dog was completely self-absorbed. The gate steward looked at me and then looked at Jazz. She never said a word, just grinned and called for the next dog. We were ready for something all right, but it wasn’t agility. There really isn’t any way to gracefully move a dog when he is that “enthusiastic.” I stood there in complete humiliation, while the next dog and handler walked around us and into the ring. I definitely felt like dropping the leash and moving to another country. When they completed their run, the judge asked if Jazz was OK. I think the judge may have thought the dog really did have a seizure. I looked at Jazz and he appeared to be looking for a smoke, but was otherwise cheerful. We walked briskly into the ring to a spattering of applause from my sniggering friends.
It was a very nice run – fast, enthusiastic and focused. I think Jazz was pleased with this new motivational method. I really love agility and want to be successful, but that method of inspiration just feels so wrong somehow. I have never attempted vigorous massage again.
Layne says
Ok so I have a story and where do we send it or are we just supposed to post it here?
Layne says
It took George, our rescue Border Collie, about six months to show us who he really was. Before that he was extraordinarily polite and obedient – almost too much so. We never did understand why he had been surrendered and were waiting for the day George would be comfortable enough to be just George.
On a brilliantly hot, sunny day I got the idea that picking wild raspberries would be a lovely way to spend the day outdoors with George. My husband recalled a spot from his childhood: beside a creek, outside of town and not frequented by many of the locals. Armed with sketchy directions and a couple of large ice cream pails I headed off for the day. Eventually the trail broadened out onto a meadow bordered by heavily-laden raspberry bushes. George was already poking around and enjoying the country smells. In a few minutes my pail was filling with berries and I was focused on picking. I thought I was checking on George fairly frequently and I wasn’t really worried that he would wander too far. On the little river trail behind our house he would return in a flash once he was called.
That sounded like hooves! Suddenly berry picking wasn’t that important as I was confronted by a rather large group of cows trotting toward me being driven by George. Something in my head said “wait, those are STEERS”! Steers can be very ornery, these were big ones and I certainly didn’t want them close to me. With a stamp of my foot I destroyed George’s work. The steers bolted away, scattering like leaves in the wind.
George fixed upon me the most scornful look I have ever seen from a dog. To him I had clearly gone absolutely and completely barmy. He darted away to reassemble his herd as I desperately tried to call him back. George glanced briefly in my direction with his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth (I swear he was laughing at me) as he galloped after them. Then I thought about the consequences of his chasing those steers and I panicked. I yelled. I whistled. I cajoled, I threatened. I was ignored.
I failed to notice the farmer as he appeared behind me with his grizzled old dog. I can only imagine what he thought of finding a crazy woman jumping around in his field while shrieking like a harpy at a dog that was harassing his cattle. Once I realized the farmer was there I began apologizing for George’s actions. I was both embarrassed and concerned as some farmers will shoot a dog running stock on their property. Like a wind-up doll, I finally ran out of apologies and really saw the farmer for the first time. Thankfully the farmer was not carrying a gun. He was watching George.
I turned and saw George as if for the first time. I’d never seen a dog work cattle before. He had the finesse used with sheep and the brass to face down a market ready steer that refused to move and threatened him with lowered horns. This was George being George. This was the cheeky boy that laughed at me when I tried to call him back from a task he knew well and which he enjoyed. I’d just learned something new. George knew how to herd. In fact, he excelled at it.
George circled the steers into a tight group a polite distance away from us. This time when I called he came and sat quietly at my side with shining eyes and a big grin. I was prepared for the farmer to blast me with some comment about city folk and their dogs. Instead the farmer asked if George could help move the steers to the corral up by his barn. I agreed. Minutes later George was joyfully back at work with the farmer’s old dog. Again I was dazzled by his abilities. Once the cattle were moved the farmer turned to me and said; “I’d pay good money for that dog.” For a fraction of a second I wondered what he meant by “good money”. I will never know. I smiled, and replied: “This dog is not for sale.” George had found his comfort zone. So had I. We were a team.
Kerry says
Bouquet’s story was told in an earlier post about psychiatric service dogs. I was her puppy-raiser for a guide dog school, she was career-changed for allergies, came back to me as a pet, and then became a medical service dog for me.
We were taking our first airplane trip as a service dog team! Much planning goes into air travel with a service dog, with much of the planning around when to feed, when to start withholding food and water, and being sure the dog relieves before starting travel. Because we were likely to be seated in the bulk head area of the plane, where there is no space to put a handbag or carry-on under the seat in front of us, I had wore a travel vest with pockets for everything I could imagine needing during the flight. Treats, high-value treats, a clicker, pick-up bags, even higher value treats – everything had a pocket in that vest. With a last-minute potty break before we entered the airport, we were ready for our adventure.
Our biggest challenge would be going through the TSA screening when I would place Bouquet in a sit/stay, walk ahead of her through the scanner, and then call her to me. Bouquet’s biggest joy in life was greeting people, and of course when her vest was on, she would wait for permission to greet. But she was always working the crowd with her eyes, looking for someone to make eye-contact with, who would then come up and say “May I pet your dog?”. So I placed my backpack, shoes and travel vest in TSA bins, and waited until the last moment to place her collar, leash and service dog vest in the last bin to go through the scanner.
I placed Bouquet in her sit/stay, took a final look at her with no collar or leash in the middle of all the excitement of the TSA area, and walked ahead through the screening area. I was so proud of her waiting so well for me, knowing that every fiber in her body wanted to run around and say hello to everyone. I called her to me, she came through the scanner like a pro, and she waited in another sit/stay while I waited for the bins to pass through the scanner. I gathered my backpack, shoes, and – finally – her collar, leash and service coat came through. I was so proud of her!!
Then, right after her items was another bin. This bin was empty except for a single small plastic bag, brightly colored in pink and black zebra print. It was with great humiliation that I realized what that plastic bag was. It was the pick-up bag I had used when she relieved just before we entered the airport, and that I had hurriedly put in one of my travel vest pockets while I put Bouquet’s service dog vest back on her, and unfortunately, forgot about.
No passengers saw the bag that I quickly picked up and disposed of, but if I had had the courage to look up, I’m sure I would have seen laughter from the TSA agents who must see so many mistakes that hurried travelers make.
Bouquet and I made many more flights in the next years, and were always so well treated by TSA agents and airline personnel. And I always checked the pockets of my vest!
I tell this story to remember Bouquet, who was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia a month ago. Her cancer was very aggressive, and in spite of treatment, I had to let her go six days later. She was only eight years old, and I thought I had many more years with her. We worked very hard to be a good team, and I am forever grateful to her.
Somewhere out there is Bouquet’s successor, who will be my service dog with her own unique personality – who will fill me with pride for her good work, and no doubt keep me humble.
Kerry says
Correction in paragraph two: I had worn a travel vest –
Claudia says
I was playing frisbee with my lab/golden mix Ginger at the river near our house in Alaska. It was a sweet, warm autumn day and I was feeling lazy despite Ginger’s exuberance. So I leaned my back against a large rock and closed my eyes, soaking up the last warm sun of the year. Ginger would come running and bring her frisbee, a chewed-up, disgusting old thing we aptly named the “Slimy”. She’d drop it right in my lap, spot-on, and then bark loudly demanding I throw it again. I would grope for it, eyes closed, and throw it blindly and hear her run off again to fetch it. One time she seemed to take a bit longer than usual to bring it back, and I heard her poke around in the river gravel a few dozen feet behind me. “Bring it! Bring your slimy”, I called, and sure enough, I heard her feet turn on the gravel and here came my faithful, obedient dog to bring her Slimy. She dropped it in my lap. I felt different this time, and I opened my eyes to have a look. Yuck. Slimy indeed! Ginger had found something even more interesting than her beloved frisbee: in my lap, oozing yellow liquid and stinking like you won’t believe, was the huge, decomposing carcass of a spawned-out coho salmon. I looked at Ginger and she beamed the way only a Golden can beam and barked loudly, “C’mon, Mom! Throw it again!”
Trisha says
Claudia: Love it!
Kerry says
This is just some clarification regarding greeting behavior for service dogs. When Bouquet and I were in public and she was wearing her vest, her greeting behavior was very well controlled. Because she was a highly social dog, she would make eye contact to look for people who would respond to her, but her body stayed at a reliable heel. I used to have fun watching the faces of people who were walking toward us. It would be regular traffic until I would feel Bouquet’s body wiggle, then I would see the person approaching us break out in a huge grin while looking at Bouquet, and then the person would look at me and grin again. Even when saying hello, as long as her vest was on, Bouquet’s greeting was a controlled and polite greeting, as required.
It was too long to put in the story, but when people would come up to talk with us, the initial part of my conversation was thanking them for asking first if they could say hello to my dog, explaining that is proper service dog etiquette, as many working dogs cannot be distracted. Then I would say it was fine for Bouquet to say hello, and we would usually start a conversation about service dogs and mental health advocacy.
As part of a service dog team, especially because my disability is not visible, I was always aware that our behavior would influence the perception of the next service dog team. In the same regard, the team includes one human and one dog, and I learned there are times that call for forgiveness when all does not go as planned.