After a disastrous start to our Great Puppy Search of 2015,
we ended up with a miracle. A beautiful 12 week old male black lab named Capone
from an amazing breeder. Her name is Sue, and she more than made up for the
horrendous first breeder experience. Sue loves her dogs, and treats them with
nothing but care and respect. She’s also one of the most knowledgeable people
I’d encountered. She answered every question thoughtfully and cried after we left with Capone. She was genuinely glad he went to a good family, but sad to see
him go. She gave me a huge packet with tons of important information, including
which commands she used, just to make things easier for us. Capone was off to a
great start. Now it was up to us not to screw things up. Ugh.
As soon as we got home, we had questions. I relied on my
friend Patti, who has the equivalent of a PhD in Labrador Retriever training and
behavior. Patti got her dog from Sue as well, and Patti and her dog Clancy are an outstanding
search and rescue team. My goals with Capone were not so lofty. First, I wanted
to keep him alive. Secondly, I didn’t want him to poop in the house.
Maybe
those goals were a bit lofty as well.
We started off rocky, when the last part of the ride
home became stressful. Accusations were thrown, “Mom. You have to tell me when
you turn. He’s sliding all over the place.” And, “Are you sure you know what
you’re doing, Mom? This doesn’t seem safe.”
We made it home. Safely. And Capone began exploring his new
environment. We rushed around what we thought was an already puppy proofed area
and puppy proofed some more. Friends came to visit and Capone charmed their
socks off. Then came the moment of truth. Bedtime. Capone sat in his kennel,
but looked at us accusingly. And the barking started.
“What do we do?” asked my youngest son.
“We’re going to be calmly assertive,” I answered. We’d been
watching way too much of "The Dog Whisperer."
“We need Cesar Milan,” whispered my son as the intensity of
the barking and whining increased.
“We’ve got Sue.”
I sent out an urgent FB message, which Sue graciously
answered immediately, asking her how to get Capone to sleep in his kennel. She
said to use the command word “No” when he barked, and then to say “Lie down.”
I looked right into Capone’s eyes, used my most calmly
assertive voice, and said, “No. Lie down.”
He gave a half-hearted bark, and I said it again. “No. Lie
down.” And it worked. Like a charm. He went to sleep within minutes.
“You’re the Alpha,” said my youngest, not without a touch of
envy.
“We all knew that,” I replied.
Capone has been with us for around 30 hours now. He
discovered the Cave of Wonders (our shoe closet), the Magical Dispenser of
Liquid Joy (our water cooler), and he learned to stay away from my favorite
slippers. He made friends at PetSmart, stayed in his kennel for a few brief
interludes and barely barked at all. He also ate or attempted to eat the
following:
1.
The head of a squeaky toy frog
2.
Part of a soccer ball
3.
A pair black men’s dress shoes
4.
My new boots
5.
Rabbit poo
6.
A pine cone
7.
Several rocks
8.
Twigs in varying sizes
9.
What I suspect was deer poo
10. A
plastic twisty tie
11. A
card with a photo of Patti’s dog on it
12. The
newest edition of my oldest son’s favorite magazine.
13. A
cardboard box
14. A
new pair of tennis shoes
15. Leaves
16. Grass
17. The
coffee table
18. A
book
19. A
coat
20. A
penny
21. His
new leash
We are still working on the “drop” command. That has become
a bit of a priority for us. We found out online that if you blow on their face
when you say “drop” (in a calmly assertive voice), they will do it. Eventually.
He managed to remove every single tag that existed on just
about every item in our house. It was obviously his new job, and he took it
very seriously. He also took his other job seriously – being a professional
stalker. He spread the love, giving each of us a turn to be stalked, and he wasn't even sneaky about it. I think I
tripped over him twenty seven times today, but I may have lost count.
To all of you who said it wouldn’t be easy – you were
absolutely right. I’m exhausted. My youngest is exhausted. My middle son
escaped to the science center today, so he can’t share our war stories.
“Do you remember when Capone almost ate the coffee table?”
We shook our heads in disbelief, but none of it bothered
Capone. He wagged his tail, put his head on my knee, stared at me with his big, brown eyes, and all was forgiven.
As long as he stays away from my boots.
No comments:
Post a Comment