The Lakes, where we live in Palm Desert, California, had their first annual dog show in 2007 when Charlie was 3. He did not know any tricks - unless you count sitting - so we did not enter him in the obedience competition. Instead, we signed him up for two other categories: the Owner-Dog Lookalike (Yes, we were both blond, but his hair color was actually real.) and the Best of Show, a doggie beauty contest.
In the Owner-Dog Lookalike, I put my hair in dog-ears, and put us both in leopard print tops and we pranced around the stadium trying to look, well, alike. Unfortunately but perhaps predictably, we lost to a friend in a Zorro cape, hat and sword, whose dog (Zorro) also wore a cape (and was adorable).
In the Best of Show, Charlie, who was a tad overweight (which should have helped us in the lookalike category), lost to a slim chocolate lab named Gracie from Seattle, who also excelled in the trick/obedience competition. Let’s just say that she was beautiful AND smart, a prize-winning, albeit annoying, combination.
Jerry and I are tennis players, and competitive juice runs in our veins. We analyzed Charlie and began preparations for the second annual dog show. First we had to deal with the weight issue. (And of course this would be good for his health, too!)
While our beloved Lady was an exceptional sportsdog—she could jump, catch, and retrieve a ball from 100 feet—Charlie’s area of expertise has always been finding food. As a result of his avid and incessant interest in things edible, combined with extensive dog training using, of course, treats, he tipped the scales at 110. My long-time vet chastised me (like it was my fault!) and immediately put him on her highly acclaimed “Green Bean Diet”. For each meal, Charlie got half the normal allotment of kibble plus a whole can of green beans. So every week I had to buy 14 cans of green beans and found myself explaining to the checkout clerk how I am really quite a gourmet cook and habitually use only the freshest ingredients, but these were for my dog. Whereupon, he or she replied: “Of course they are, Madam.” Or the abbreviated: “Yeah, right.”
The good news was that Charlie loved his green beans and did a little dance every time I opened a can. AND the vet weighed him in at a svelte 88 pounds a year later! Of course this was after he had thrown up the five sacks of Halloween candy he had just inhaled, wrappers and all. I guess a dog can only follow the ascetic life for so long.
Our second strategy was to teach him a trick so he could be in the obedience competition. We felt that Gracie, while definitely beautiful and fit, had also had a leg up on Charlie because she had been brilliant and obedient as well.
Most of the tricks in the 2007 dog show had involved either catching frisbies, tennis balls, or waiting patiently for a treat. Athletic feats were definitely out for Charlie. He doesn’t retrieve, and if you throw him a goodie it usually bounces off his nose. On the other hand, he was highly motivated by food and we saw huge potential in the treat-wait.
Jerry began working with him twice a day. He had him sit, lie down, and stay. Jer then put a treat a few feet away and made Charlie stay for longer and longer times until he said okay. The waits got longer, the treats got closer, until finally we achieved the piece de resistance! We could put two treats on his two paws, and he would wait until Jerry left the room and came back and said okay! We were ready for Oprah, let alone our little dog show.
To our intense regret, the 2008, 2009, and this very week the 2010, dog shows were all cancelled! Possibly, one might hypothesize, due to dispirited pet-owners who had heard the rumors of Charlie’s newly toned physique and impressive treat-resistance. But probably because they could not find enough volunteers to work on it.
So it’s looking like the Lakes first annual dog show will be our only-ever dog show, and Gracie’s reign will never end. But Charlie is looking good and we are ready for Oprah’s call.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Charlie's Angels -- the Dog Trainers!
You've probably heard the expression "Be careful what you wish for". Now I don't want to give the impression that we weren't absolutely overjoyed and besotted with Charlie (yes, even Jerry). But parenthood at fifty-something was a bit of a shock. We were used to our compliant, angelic, 14-year-old, I-can't-do-enough-for-you, Lady. Then we got this adorable 8 pound boy puppy with the sweetest face on the planet. How hard could this be? But we didn't quite "get" how chewy, mischievous and determined he would be. We got him dozens of chew toys, but he found vastly preferable chew-choices: furniture, clothing, rugs, paper products, and body parts.
We knew our limitations and jumped enthusiastically into dog training -- multiple times. The Tender Tutor told us that Charlie was "admirably spirited but too adolescent to absorb much discipline"; Auntie Sallie said he had "wonderful social skills, but was not a real learner" (not college material?); but finally, we found Auntie Tracie, and she assured us he was coachable! The worst thing Lady ever did was chew on the occasional sock. In Charlie's first six months, he ripped off the kitchen wallpaper, ate my prize petunias, chewed up 3 brooms, 6 bamboo placemats, 2 wicker waste baskets, 3 dried flower arrangements, my favorite shoe, all the plastic fruit on the low branches of our Christmas tree, and (the worst) my father's post-cataract-surgery eye drops. So if Tracie thought he was coachable, exactly when would this kick in?
Her first strategy was a month of "leadership training" during which we were to establish that Jerry and I were the alpha dogs and Charlie was zeta dog (or whatever came last in the Greek alphabet). Tracie explained that his real mother would teach him with body language and I was to stop screeching NO and learn to emulate the mother dog. All the Queen's English would not get through to him as effectively as the well-timed body slam.
My opening assignment was to tie him to my belt, force him to be by my side all day, stay behind me going up stairs, through doors, and on walks. This sounds good on paper, but have you recently tried to outmaneuver a six month old puppy? Catapulting myself ahead of him was a complex tri-faceted move, which involved yanking him backwards, nudging him to the side, while flinging myself forward. Definitely an athletic move entailing more coordination than I possessed, but a challenge to be mastered and I was at least as determined as he.
He could now reach the kitchen counter and had developed the very bad habit of swiping food and licking butter. I was told to lurk in the kitchen and wait for the chance to bonk him off the counter. The premier move for this was the lateral hip thrust, which was also highly effective for stair maneuvers should he have the temerity to try to pass me. We were making progress.
Coupled with leadership training, Tracie incorporated my favorite advice from the One Minute Manager — we were to catch him doing something right. Of course sometimes this entailed a rather lengthy wait. If he lay down quietly anywhere near the kitchen, I was to give him lavish praise and a treat. This would eventually convince him that it is better to lie patiently than to swipe food, especially since approaching the counter would now earn him one of my legendary hip bonks. It did not take him long to master the treat-wait.
By his first birthday, Charlie was approaching civility. He would lie patiently while I cooked and even while we had dinner. Although in the spirit of full disclosure, I must add that he started to moan (quite loudly — maybe you would call it a howl?) if he had to wait too long for a tidbit. He also gained a bit too much weight. Tracie had explained that we needed to give him treats only occasionally, and vary these with praise. But we did not excel at praise-based dog discipline, and Charlie is definitely a man motivated by his paycheck. He also has an excellent nose, and if we are foodless, it seems to affect his hearing.
On March 6, the community where we live in Palm Desert is having its second biennial dog show. Charlie's trick? The treat-wait! It's his only trick, but knowing how much he loves food it is quite an accomplishment. We have to time the wait so that it is long enough to impress the judges, but not so long that he will start to moan. They might think he was howling. On the other hand, we could always claim that he is singing for his supper.
We knew our limitations and jumped enthusiastically into dog training -- multiple times. The Tender Tutor told us that Charlie was "admirably spirited but too adolescent to absorb much discipline"; Auntie Sallie said he had "wonderful social skills, but was not a real learner" (not college material?); but finally, we found Auntie Tracie, and she assured us he was coachable! The worst thing Lady ever did was chew on the occasional sock. In Charlie's first six months, he ripped off the kitchen wallpaper, ate my prize petunias, chewed up 3 brooms, 6 bamboo placemats, 2 wicker waste baskets, 3 dried flower arrangements, my favorite shoe, all the plastic fruit on the low branches of our Christmas tree, and (the worst) my father's post-cataract-surgery eye drops. So if Tracie thought he was coachable, exactly when would this kick in?
Her first strategy was a month of "leadership training" during which we were to establish that Jerry and I were the alpha dogs and Charlie was zeta dog (or whatever came last in the Greek alphabet). Tracie explained that his real mother would teach him with body language and I was to stop screeching NO and learn to emulate the mother dog. All the Queen's English would not get through to him as effectively as the well-timed body slam.
My opening assignment was to tie him to my belt, force him to be by my side all day, stay behind me going up stairs, through doors, and on walks. This sounds good on paper, but have you recently tried to outmaneuver a six month old puppy? Catapulting myself ahead of him was a complex tri-faceted move, which involved yanking him backwards, nudging him to the side, while flinging myself forward. Definitely an athletic move entailing more coordination than I possessed, but a challenge to be mastered and I was at least as determined as he.
He could now reach the kitchen counter and had developed the very bad habit of swiping food and licking butter. I was told to lurk in the kitchen and wait for the chance to bonk him off the counter. The premier move for this was the lateral hip thrust, which was also highly effective for stair maneuvers should he have the temerity to try to pass me. We were making progress.
Coupled with leadership training, Tracie incorporated my favorite advice from the One Minute Manager — we were to catch him doing something right. Of course sometimes this entailed a rather lengthy wait. If he lay down quietly anywhere near the kitchen, I was to give him lavish praise and a treat. This would eventually convince him that it is better to lie patiently than to swipe food, especially since approaching the counter would now earn him one of my legendary hip bonks. It did not take him long to master the treat-wait.
By his first birthday, Charlie was approaching civility. He would lie patiently while I cooked and even while we had dinner. Although in the spirit of full disclosure, I must add that he started to moan (quite loudly — maybe you would call it a howl?) if he had to wait too long for a tidbit. He also gained a bit too much weight. Tracie had explained that we needed to give him treats only occasionally, and vary these with praise. But we did not excel at praise-based dog discipline, and Charlie is definitely a man motivated by his paycheck. He also has an excellent nose, and if we are foodless, it seems to affect his hearing.
On March 6, the community where we live in Palm Desert is having its second biennial dog show. Charlie's trick? The treat-wait! It's his only trick, but knowing how much he loves food it is quite an accomplishment. We have to time the wait so that it is long enough to impress the judges, but not so long that he will start to moan. They might think he was howling. On the other hand, we could always claim that he is singing for his supper.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Charlie's Opening Night
As you will have gathered, Jerry was not keen on adopting a puppy quite yet. After all, with the kids in college and our beloved Lady in dog-heaven, he had moved up the mother attention-chain to first place! In addition, we were escaping the Portland rain and spending the winter in a rental house in Palm Desert. “Not fair to the owners to bring in a puppy” he said virtuously. However, when we had rented the house, we still had Lady and we had permission to have a dog. (Well, a puppy is a dog, right?) Furthermore, this house was perfect for puppy training: tile floors, only one area rug, fenced yard. What could possibly go wrong?
My first clue should have been in the long car ride from the breeder’s house back to Palm Desert, during which he never stopped chewing. By the time we reached the desert my hands, arms, ears, nose and chin were covered with tiny holes. My sleeves were more or less shredded, and he was trying to get to my hair and jewelry.
We made an emergency stop at Pet Smart to buy dozens of chew toys. (I came to wish that I had invented that annoying little squeaker-thing that’s in all of them.) We tried the giant carrot on him right away, but he seemed to prefer skin.
Our plan was to crate him with lots of chew toys – he’d love it in there!- and only let him out when we could supervise. If he chewed us, we would say “NO” and put him in his crate. When he chewed his toys, we would praise extravagantly! As they say in the One Minute Manager, we would catch him doing something right! Same thing with house-breaking. Stay in the crate, then a quick trip outside to pee, poop, and be praised. Maybe we’d start our own dog school when we had him perfected?
We hadn’t counted on the howling.
Crating aficionados clearly do not regard the crate as a “cage”. Charlie did. We placed the crate next to our bed, so we could get up quickly if he woke up and had to go out. Unfortunately, he never went to sleep. He only quieted down if I stuck my fingers in the cage for him to chew. We moved the crate to our bathroom, the laundry room, and finally the kitchen – but we could hear him everywhere, and he never stopped howling. Then we remembered there was a $25 fine if a neighbor heard your dog barking.
We immediately waffled on the crate. (Well,it was 2:00 AM.) We couldn’t let him out in our bedroom because it was filled with problematic chewables and pee-places (bedspread, curtains, upholstered chair, pillows, rug). So we stuck him in the tiled kitchen where the only thing breakable was a magnificent crystal chandelier which he couldn’t possibly reach. We loaded the room with his toys, made a soft little bed for him, and moved the kitchen table over to block the door. He was happy! We slept! After all, there was no hard rule that one had to do the crate-thing, was there? He was safely and happily “containerized” in the kitchen!
We woke up in the morning with bright sun. It was 9:00 and we hadn’t heard a peep from Charlie. “Poor lamb must have been really tired”, I said. Then we heard a sort of scuffling, followed by the sound of ripping. Was he tearing up his bed? We jumped up and went to look.
We found him in the middle of the kitchen, sunlight sparkling from the crystal above him, joyfully chewing tiny bits of wallpaper. If he had just pulled it loose in one giant hunk, we might have been able to glue it back in place. But no, he had yanked yards of it off the wall, and then shredded it to remarkably uniform, miniscule bits. In denial, I climbed over the table and bent to examine the shreds, saying “people do assemble puzzles with more pieces than this”. Then I picked up Charlie and stood, smashing my head into the chandelier. Crystal prisms, beads, and chain parts flew around the kitchen, skidding and banging into appliances, tile, and cabinets. Pounds of crystal dust cascaded down amongst the shreds of wallpaper and onto the poop and pee he had thoughtfully left next to the refrigerator.
I burst into tears, and Jerry said helpfully, “I make this a $2000 morning.” This would prove to be low.
Next week, we seek professional dog training.
My first clue should have been in the long car ride from the breeder’s house back to Palm Desert, during which he never stopped chewing. By the time we reached the desert my hands, arms, ears, nose and chin were covered with tiny holes. My sleeves were more or less shredded, and he was trying to get to my hair and jewelry.
We made an emergency stop at Pet Smart to buy dozens of chew toys. (I came to wish that I had invented that annoying little squeaker-thing that’s in all of them.) We tried the giant carrot on him right away, but he seemed to prefer skin.
Our plan was to crate him with lots of chew toys – he’d love it in there!- and only let him out when we could supervise. If he chewed us, we would say “NO” and put him in his crate. When he chewed his toys, we would praise extravagantly! As they say in the One Minute Manager, we would catch him doing something right! Same thing with house-breaking. Stay in the crate, then a quick trip outside to pee, poop, and be praised. Maybe we’d start our own dog school when we had him perfected?
We hadn’t counted on the howling.
Crating aficionados clearly do not regard the crate as a “cage”. Charlie did. We placed the crate next to our bed, so we could get up quickly if he woke up and had to go out. Unfortunately, he never went to sleep. He only quieted down if I stuck my fingers in the cage for him to chew. We moved the crate to our bathroom, the laundry room, and finally the kitchen – but we could hear him everywhere, and he never stopped howling. Then we remembered there was a $25 fine if a neighbor heard your dog barking.
We immediately waffled on the crate. (Well,it was 2:00 AM.) We couldn’t let him out in our bedroom because it was filled with problematic chewables and pee-places (bedspread, curtains, upholstered chair, pillows, rug). So we stuck him in the tiled kitchen where the only thing breakable was a magnificent crystal chandelier which he couldn’t possibly reach. We loaded the room with his toys, made a soft little bed for him, and moved the kitchen table over to block the door. He was happy! We slept! After all, there was no hard rule that one had to do the crate-thing, was there? He was safely and happily “containerized” in the kitchen!
We woke up in the morning with bright sun. It was 9:00 and we hadn’t heard a peep from Charlie. “Poor lamb must have been really tired”, I said. Then we heard a sort of scuffling, followed by the sound of ripping. Was he tearing up his bed? We jumped up and went to look.
We found him in the middle of the kitchen, sunlight sparkling from the crystal above him, joyfully chewing tiny bits of wallpaper. If he had just pulled it loose in one giant hunk, we might have been able to glue it back in place. But no, he had yanked yards of it off the wall, and then shredded it to remarkably uniform, miniscule bits. In denial, I climbed over the table and bent to examine the shreds, saying “people do assemble puzzles with more pieces than this”. Then I picked up Charlie and stood, smashing my head into the chandelier. Crystal prisms, beads, and chain parts flew around the kitchen, skidding and banging into appliances, tile, and cabinets. Pounds of crystal dust cascaded down amongst the shreds of wallpaper and onto the poop and pee he had thoughtfully left next to the refrigerator.
I burst into tears, and Jerry said helpfully, “I make this a $2000 morning.” This would prove to be low.
Next week, we seek professional dog training.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Welcome to Wagging Tales!
I have a very high opinion of dogs, and by extension dog-owners too, for our furry friends have trained us well. Every dog-to-human bonding is unique, but the unconditional love is universal. Who can come home to a joyous dog and not feel a heart-lift? And who can see a person interacting with their dog, and not smile? In our family we have known and loved Bonzo, Sissy, Heidi, Kim, Bandit, Lady, and we now have Charlie. In this blog, I will tell you some of our favorite dog tales – and I would love to hear from you as well. For if you are here, we, too, have a bond.
After our beloved Lady died, I cried for three weeks and then a severe case of puppyitis crept into my soul. I was drawn irresistibly to the internet in search of golden retrievers. I had to conduct my illicit surfing in the middle of the night so my husband Jerry wouldn’t catch me. (He said we “weren’t ready”.) My nightly sojourns became more frequent and then came the phone calls. Finally I was asked to take a long car trip. At this point, it was only fair to let Jerry in on my secret life.
Luckily for me, my mother-in-law, Elsa, was visiting. When Jerry said, “Over my dead body” and other spicy epithets, dear Elsa told him to button it, “Carolee NEEDS a dog!” Right!!!
The breeder had advertised reddish-gold golden retrievers – like our precious Lady – and he had four females. So we drove 150 miles from Palm Desert to Palos Verdes, through L.A. rush hour traffic. This definitely did not improve Jerry’s view of our errand -- but what could he say in front of his mother? After five hours of stress-filled stop-and-go (during which I could picture the four females being adopted at the rate of one per hour), we arrived. Our reward? Twelve adorable puppies, yes, all still available, romping across a beautiful lawn overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Jerry tried a feeble, “We don’t have to pick one today, you know.” Right, we could pick TWO!
We zeroed in on the four girls, and found one to be particularly appealing. She was smart, athletic, and energetic like our Lady had been, but perhaps a bit more independent, not quite as willing to be held. Then I started noticing a playful, blond doggie that kept dancing around my feet, darting away from us and then back, as if to say “Look at me, Mommie!” I picked up this little guy and he nuzzled me, licked me, gently chewed on my hand, and immediately stole my heart. Suddenly I could see the wisdom of not getting a female – the poor dear could never compare with Lady. We needed a whole new doggie experience – a blond boy! – it felt right.
Elsa echoed my thoughts and said, “This is a precious dog. Why not try a boy this time?”
Jerry, ever procedural and not quite with us yet, said, “If you aren’t sure, we could go think it over.”
“Honey”, I replied, “Who needs to think?”
Who knew these words would come back to haunt me?
Please come back next week to hear about Charlie’s unusually lengthy puppy training. In the meantime, check out a terrific blogsite about Max, a very talented golden retriever. http://maxthegoldenretriever.com/ Thank heavens he is not in the dog show with Charlie on March 6. More later.
Choosing Charlie
Our golden retriever, Charlie, is now six and a very good boy. But it seems like only yesterday that we were picking out an adorable but wildly mischievous puppy.
After our beloved Lady died, I cried for three weeks and then a severe case of puppyitis crept into my soul. I was drawn irresistibly to the internet in search of golden retrievers. I had to conduct my illicit surfing in the middle of the night so my husband Jerry wouldn’t catch me. (He said we “weren’t ready”.) My nightly sojourns became more frequent and then came the phone calls. Finally I was asked to take a long car trip. At this point, it was only fair to let Jerry in on my secret life.
Luckily for me, my mother-in-law, Elsa, was visiting. When Jerry said, “Over my dead body” and other spicy epithets, dear Elsa told him to button it, “Carolee NEEDS a dog!” Right!!!
The breeder had advertised reddish-gold golden retrievers – like our precious Lady – and he had four females. So we drove 150 miles from Palm Desert to Palos Verdes, through L.A. rush hour traffic. This definitely did not improve Jerry’s view of our errand -- but what could he say in front of his mother? After five hours of stress-filled stop-and-go (during which I could picture the four females being adopted at the rate of one per hour), we arrived. Our reward? Twelve adorable puppies, yes, all still available, romping across a beautiful lawn overlooking the Pacific Ocean. Jerry tried a feeble, “We don’t have to pick one today, you know.” Right, we could pick TWO!
We zeroed in on the four girls, and found one to be particularly appealing. She was smart, athletic, and energetic like our Lady had been, but perhaps a bit more independent, not quite as willing to be held. Then I started noticing a playful, blond doggie that kept dancing around my feet, darting away from us and then back, as if to say “Look at me, Mommie!” I picked up this little guy and he nuzzled me, licked me, gently chewed on my hand, and immediately stole my heart. Suddenly I could see the wisdom of not getting a female – the poor dear could never compare with Lady. We needed a whole new doggie experience – a blond boy! – it felt right.
Elsa echoed my thoughts and said, “This is a precious dog. Why not try a boy this time?”
Jerry, ever procedural and not quite with us yet, said, “If you aren’t sure, we could go think it over.”
“Honey”, I replied, “Who needs to think?”
Who knew these words would come back to haunt me?
Please come back next week to hear about Charlie’s unusually lengthy puppy training. In the meantime, check out a terrific blogsite about Max, a very talented golden retriever. http://maxthegoldenretriever.com/ Thank heavens he is not in the dog show with Charlie on March 6. More later.
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