I had a cup of coffee and chased the dogs away from the brown sugar.

Dogs love brown sugar. I never knew that. I think they also love mouse turds, but maybe just the mouse turds from mice that have been eating brown sugar. It was too early in the morning so I didn’t do an analysis. I chased the dogs away.

I’d been meaning to clean out that cupboard (like all the little places in my home, it’s easy to ignore until disaster strikes). I love having my decisions guided by mice. I feel so empowered.

I have to admit that I was sort of waiting for a reason to clean out that cupboard, beyond the fact that there was an unknown number of boxes of small plastic bags scattered around in there. Of course I never bake but want to, so there was quite a collection of flours and sugars and other assorted “powders” (baking powder and soda, cornstarch, salt, wheat germ probably dating to the Jurassic Age - when they didn’t put dates on containers. They had no idea what a date was, unless it grew on a tree).

Among the treasures I found TWO full bottles of “corn syrup” containing light corn syrup and (perish the thought!) high fructose corn syrup, which a recipe must have called for at some time in the past, before HFCS was poison. I recall buying them and then never made whatever it was. I don’t recall buying “them” twice.  I did also add the stuff to puppy formula - no wonder my puppies grew up insane. I’ll be donating the corn syrup to a food bank, whose clients (the “lucky” recipients of my generosity) will swill the stuff down with Kool-Ade and take over the world. We’ll all be so grateful.

The mice didn’t touch the Splenda (smart critters). They also ignored the little packets of white sugar. Do you think it’s the food coloring that’s added to brown sugar that attracts them? Could it be that there’s actually real molasses in the stuff? Hard to imagine. My theory is that, unlike humans, mice aren’t stupid enough to eat just plain empty calories. I could of course be wrong - are they like us - appearance is everything and the brown sugar looks good to them? Things to ponder over the coming winter.

That bag of brown sugar has been there for at least a year. Could it possibly be that the mice just haven’t visited us until now? Nah.

Everything is now in mouse-proof containers. Well, the 342 boxes of foil, plastic bags and wrap and wax paper are still on the countertop waiting for me to decide what to do with them. The 37 measuring cups are still in the dish drainer. The cupboard is full. I’m looking forward to frustrated mice packing their little mouse-sized bags and moving south for the winter - or north, I don’t really care which way they go. Will they leave?

I can now relax, since I’ve completed my fall cleaning. It might be a little rough negotiating around all those boxes of bags and wrap, but by spring we may have used them all and will again be able to use the counter for… um, what does anyone use counters for? Oh yes, to knead the bread. And to provide the mouse a playground.

These days, people live for 70 to 100 years. Dogs are alive for 8 to 14 years. These are, of course, averages of sorts. The difference in the numbers is so great that there’s no real correspondence. WHY would a human bring a dog home to share existence and love for 10 years (I’ll use that as median, ok?)? Gee, here’s this crazy, wild puppy, who we’ll manage with great sacrifice to raise to become a calm, faithful adult in two or three years; we’ll spend the remaining 8 (or even 14) years with this creature, sharing experiences, growing together, growing closer together, and when the dog is a teenager and we’re really tightly bonded, it is feeble, lame, sore, grumpy - aged. That’s if we’re lucky. In many cases the dog has experienced some years of chronic or even acute disease: cancer, heart problems, arthritis, etc. - and we’ve been taking care of a geriatric friend for years - who is a teenager! And then it dies.

If we were to have children and know that they’d die of old age in junior high school, how eager would we be to bring them forth into this world? I realize that dogs are not children (and thank God for that!), that dogs reach sexual maturity quite young and can have a multitude of offspring by the time they’re 7 or 8 years old. I realize that dogs and children are different. Really. But I’m talking about the commitment we feel, the LOVE we have for these dogs. The difference is even more painfully obvious if we are parents who have puppies that we raise with our children. We then have to deal with the compound loss - that of our beloved companion and the dawning of reality in our children.

Ah, but what would we do without them? Did you ever notice that dogs are habit forming? Once you have one, your life is missing something huge when you have none. And for most of us, that habit began in our childhood, with our family pet - even with our family pet who was our very best friend for all of our life and to whom we eventually had to wish farewell. And did we learn? Oh yes, we did learn. But what did we learn?

We learned that

• dogs love us no matter how “bad,” late, bumbling, forgetful, detached, distracted, inconsiderate and sloppy we may have been
• dogs have simple needs that we can fill easily
• dogs share with us an uncomplicated companionship that is nearly impossible to achieve with our human associates
• sharing our lives with dogs is worth the inevitable heartbreak

And funny thing is, these lessons hold true for us now, as they did when we were puppies and our dogs were teaching us about life.

So hug your dogs today. Their sojourn with us is short. Give them whatever you can - it will always be enough for them.

To Chili, Frenzy, Hogan and Moxie, all of whom left us in the last year.

Recently, in doing Canine Freestyle, I discovered a need for it. And now, while working on conditioning my couch potato Aussie Frenzy, it becomes even more important. I dawdled with it from time to time over the last several months somewhat and found that any manipulation of her body to “help” her into a stand just made her all goosey and silly (which she can be at any time, but even more so when I try moving and placing her). My heart wasn’t really in it until now, when I decided that I really want her to do this, so I set out yesterday to teach her how to stand.

Clicker in hand and treats in pocket, we proceeded to our outdoor training area (only required because there are 8 dogs in the house, and new behaviors are very hard to teach in the face of 8 dogs offering diverse behaviors and leaping up to grab the cookie when it’s offered).

We played a bit with some agility equipment, worked on training another behavior (backing onto an 8″ table - now THAT’s challenging! But I’ll save that for another time), and then began with the stand training.

I asked Frenzy to sit, which she did. Then inserted my toe under her belly and put a little pressure against her stifle. She scooted back in her sit. Tried again, with the same results. (I wish she’d hold her sit so solidly on the table at agility trials!) Tried basically the same thing from in front: put toe between her front legs so it touched her belly. She stood. I clicked and treated. Asked her to sit again, and she complied. Stuck my foot in there again. She scooted back. Again and again.

Becoming perplexed (and a bit impatient), I stood next to her seated body, and with cookie in hand, tucked it under her chin and back toward her neck. She ducked her head and twisted her neck to get the cookie but held her sit. Tried again, and she lay down, bending and twisting her neck. This happened a few times, so my next method was to sit on a low table next to her and put the cookie under her chin with one hand and to apply my other hand to her middle to help her up. She squirmed away with her rear half, still trying to steal the cookie.

OK, time to rethink this. I consider myself a positive trainer. I adhere to the principles of operant conditioning. But sometimes I lose sight of what exactly I am doing.

The first step in conditioning a behavior is to get the behavior to happen so you can mark and reward it.

• frequently you have to break the behavior down into pieces so you and the dog can build on those pieces.
• methods of getting the behavior to happen include free shaping, modeling and luring.

I’d tried modeling and luring, so what remained was free shaping.

Free shaping is rewarding the dog for doing something she does naturally (like, well, standing from a sit or down). This method can be time consuming and can try one’s patience in the beginning, until you finally learn that the behavior will ultimately happen and you just have to be there to mark it. It’s very difficult for us humans to be patient!

The dog has no idea what you want, but a clicker-savvy dog will offer many behaviors until you finally click and treat one of them. Of course, you can, in the course of your day-to-day life, click and treat the dog every time you observe her performing your desired behavior. That’s cool, but again, with a pack of dogs in the house it’s not especially practical. But free shaping in an environment conducive to training (and thus learning) can work very well.

So I took a deep breath, said to myself, “self, you’re an idiot,” and proceeded to change my horses yet again.

I stood there with clicker in hand and waited for Frenzy to stand from a sit or a down. I first had to wait for one of those things to happen, which is easy - she always offers either a sit or a down when I’m standing there with a clicker in my hand. And she did lie down. I clicked and treated that, rewarding her in the down position, which she maintained. I waited. She rolled over. I ignored it. She lay down again, watching me. She scooted back (her Michael Jackson Moondance move). I ignored it (with a chuckle). She lay there and looked at me. Tried rolling over again, sitting, lying down, scooting back, sniffing the ground … and finally stood up. Click and TREAT! I waited and she lay down again. She tried a scoot (it’s her fave), then looked at me and thought, wheels turning in her baby blues. She stood up. This went on several more times until she was lying down and waiting for about a three count (she can count, ya know) and then standing. After about 7-8 repetitions, I called it a session. I was also out of cookies.

That took all of 5 minutes. Does she know the stand? Nope. But she is on her way to learning it, and in a total non-confrontational, no-hands-on manner, with me offering nothing but good stuff (or withholding it) instead of becoming frustrated, perplexed and anxious - causing the same emotions in my dog.

Yesterday I was a dog. Today I’m a dog. Tomorrow I’ll probably still be a dog. Sigh! There’s so little hope for advancement.
Snoopy

Do not make the mistake of treating your dogs like humans or they will treat you like dogs.
Martha Scott

If dogs could talk, it would take a lot of the fun out of owning one.
Andrew A. Rooney

If you don’t own a dog, at least one, there is not necessarily anything wrong with you, but there may be something wrong with your life.
Roger Caras, A Celebration of Dogs

A dog can express more with his tail in minutes than his owner can express with his tongue in hours.
Anonymous

“I’ve caught more ills from people sneezing over me and giving me virus infections than from kissing dogs.”
Barbara Woodhouse (1910-1988) Irish author and dog trainer

“The reason a dog has so many friends is that he wags his tail instead of his tongue.”
Anonymous

The average dog is a nicer person than the average person.
Andy Rooney (b. 1919) U.S. television personality

I’ve seen a look in dogs’ eyes, a quickly vanishing look of amazed contempt, and I am convinced that dogs think humans are nuts.
John Steinbeck (1902–68) U.S. author

There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.
Ben Williams

A few weeks after my surgery, I went out to play catch with my golden retriever. When I bent over to pick up the ball, my prosthesis fell out. The dog snatched it, and I found myself chasing him down the road yelling “Hey, come back here with my breast!”
Linda Ellerbee

Speak softly and own a big, mean Doberman.
Dave Miliman

Some days you’re the dog, and some days you’re the hydrant.
Unknown

You can say any foolish thing to a dog, and the dog will give you a look that says, ‘My God, you’re right! I never would’ve thought of that!’
Dave Barry

They say the dog is man’s best friend. I don’t believe that. How many of your friends have you neutered?
Larry Reeb

I know that dogs are pack animals, but it is difficult to imagine a pack of standard poodles…and if there was such a thing as a pack of standard poodles, where would they rove to? Bloomingdale’s?
Yvonne Clifford, American actress

The pug is living proof that God has a sense of humor.
Margot Kaufman, American writer

The Airdale… an unrivaled mixture of brains, and clownish wit, the very ingredients one looks for in a spouse.
Chip Brown, Connoisseur Magazine

Faithful:
With eye upraised his master’s look to scan,
The joy, the solace, and
the aid of man:
The rich man’s guardian and the poor man’s friend,
The only creature faithful to the end.
George Crabbe

So much for happy holidays for the short guy. We’re not doing too well in the potty training department. I think the major problem with trying to potty train an adult dog is that they have much better control over their eliminations. Puppies are pretty much pre-programmed. If their legs are moving they need to potty. If they eat, they need to defecate. Easy. All you have to do is take them out when they need to go, praise the heck out of them when they do and always set them up for success. Not quite so easy with an adult, particularly a male. I have found that Tuck can go more than 18 hours without urinating. I figured I must have just missed him going, after all he is rather low to the ground. So I relented and let him run around a bit. He peed on the carpet. I applied rolled up newspaper to my head and Tuck went back in the crate. What should have been a fun-filled holiday weekend has turned into a guilt fest in my corner and a crate fest in Tuck’s. Not so fun. I got back from my family Christmas a few hours ago and let the dogs out with no results from Tuck. So back in the crate he went. However, about an hour ago we went outside and he urinated AND defecated. Happy, happy, joy, joy. Never have you seen an adult woman so elated over a little dog pooping in the yard. My neighbors are convinced I’m certifiably insane, and I’m happy that Tuck can run and play in the house for a while.

He and Libby have become good friends. They will run and chase for ages, slipping and sliding on the hardwood. I’m sure glad I work for a veterinary surgeon. I think I’ll be needing his skill soon. It’s not at all unusual to see them running throughout the house, Libby in the lead and Tuck holding on to Lib’s tail for all he’s worth. At one point I thought maybe Libby wasn’t enjoying this too much, so I called him off. Libby went right over to him and invited him to play some more. I guess she likes it. Weird. For all the resource guarding problems we had at first, he’s not bad about his toys or his rawhide. He is quite the rawhide thief and will steal one from Libby at any opportunity, but Libby can steal it back with no repercussions. Libby has also figured out that Tuck is short and can’t get on the bed, so she will take things up there to keep them from him.

On the training front we’ve not done much. Tuck’s sit is very good. Too good. When we’re outside and he knows I want something from him, he sits. Wrong. I want him to wander around, smell good things and potty! The more stressed I get the more he sits. (Note to self - become a better actor.) I thought we had a good recall building but was proven wrong. He at least knows his name now and almost always comes when called. I would have said always, but fate has a way of making a fool out of me. The other day I had taken the trash out the back gate and come in through the front door, leaving the gate open (dumb!). Then I let the dogs out back. Tuck was out that gate in a flash! I called him to “come,” he turned his head toward me but apparently heard the stress in my voice and decided I had turned crazy and should be run from. The more I tried to get him to me, the more he figured I was not to be trusted. Luckily Libby is well trained not to walk out of a gate without permission. She was still standing right inside the gate. Tuck saw her and went to her. Phew!!!! Disaster averted. (Note to self - become a MUCH better actor.)

I’ll be glad when we get this potty thing under control. Right now I’m spending way too much time either outside waiting for the short guy to do something or inside feeling guilty that he’s in the crate. It’s taking up almost all of my limited free time, time that should be spent playing with my dogs, or training, or both.

All in all, life is good. The dogs are good friends. I had been quite worried that might not happen. Everyone is healthy. I do have two cats that keep muttering something about mothers and army boots at each other, preferably in the wee hours of the morning, but that’s another subject. One of them is becoming quite familiar with the insides of Libby’s crate, as that is where she gets deposited upon the first volley of feline obscenities. Such is life in the zoo.

At any rate, here’s my early wish for all that the New Year brings health, peace, happiness, and joy to all.

I was raised with the belief that if you bring an animal into your home you should be prepared to care for it for 20 years. The idea of returning an adoptee was foreign to me, yet I really did think about it. I only have room in my life for two dogs. If Tuck wasn’t the right “other” dog there would not be a third. Also I knew he would be well cared for if he was returned. It’s not as if he would be slated for the gas chamber. I just didn’t think I was up for another project dog just yet. I even tried to find another home for him, but at the last minute he turned on the charm, did his most obsequious dog routine and finally started playing with Libby. He was a keeper. He’s staying.

However, he has been turned into a floor dog. Mind you this is completely opposite to what he was born and bred for. He is a lap dog. He loves laps. He sits quietly to be adored, petted, fawned over, etc. His role in life is to adorn laps, chairs, beds and thrones. Unfortunately he needed to be brought down a few rungs on the royal ladder. So now he is a floor dog. He’s not allowed on any furniture. He’s not allowed on my lap. When he was allowed on my lap he thought he ruled the world and could snark at Libby to his heart’s content. WRONG! Thank heavens that floor dog status is made easier by the fact that he’s quite a short boy and can’t get up on things by himself. He’s really a very good floor dog. He sits quietly at my feet when I’m otherwise engaged and is generally quite well behaved. If, at any time Tuck snarks at Libby for coming for attention he is summarily carted off for quality thinking time in the crate. It only took about 5 days before he would allow Libby to come and be petted while he was nearby. He learned the rules. The rules of this house are ‘Always defer to the bitch.’ It doesn’t matter which bitch, but defer to the bitch.

As for regular training, Tuck now has a fairly reliable sit. Well, reliable if there aren’t too many distractions. And if I have food. And if the moon is in the right phase. Obviously we have work to do. Last week I took him out to Mountain View and gave him his first introduction to agility equipment. We went over a very low jump a few times, and I ran him over the low contact trainer a few times as well as running him over some large pvc pipes lying on the ground. He seems to not have any fear issues and generally knows where his feet are, so it’s a good start. Besides, he has a very low center of gravity. He’d have to work to fall.

Benny (new name Tuck, but that’s not nearly so fun as Benny & Joon) is an 18 mo. old Tibetan spaniel that I adopted from rescue. Apparently a breeder in the area had to get rid of her dogs due to ill health. What I know is that the person I got Benny/Tuck from had three more, and they all appeared happy and healthy. I love and have loved my shelties, but I had been looking into other breeds. Tibetan spaniels had caught my eye as being small, coated but not too much coat, fun-loving and cuddly - my kind of dog! However I had pretty much written them off since they are fairly rare and I knew I couldn’t afford to buy one from a breeder. When I saw this little guy (and Averill had just adopted Joon) I figured it was kismet. So Libby (my sheltie) and I went to go meet the rescuer. I had told myself I was probably not going to bring him home, didn’t bring an extra crate, didn’t bring my checkbook into the house, etc. Silly me. He came home with me in the crate. Libby rode in the front seat.

There’s obviously more to the story, but I think I’ll try posting this first and see if it works. Maybe Averill will teach me how to put in pictures. The training issues started soon after I got the little guy home since he knows nothing. How a dog can get to the age of 18 months and not even know how to sit is beyond me, but at least I have a clean slate, right? Wrong!

Averill is jumping in here and posting a photo that Linda sent - of Tuck and Libby getting along very well about two weeks after this post was written.