Dog Training

I don’t take my dogs for a walk anymore. They take me for a walk. During recent months, the black Labrador puppy has developed into a large, gregarious teen displaying some obvious symptoms of canine ADHD. She has gradually picked up strength and has become utterly fed up with her now rather plumper owner who resembles a plodding packhorse across the fields. Canine obedience in our household was certainly flagging so there was nothing more for it than to call in some emergency dog training.

The dog trainer listened patiently on the other end of the phone as I emotionally offloaded my dog issues. The list was endless – pulling on the lead, blatantly ignoring me when I call them across the fields and worst of all - jumping up enthusiastically on numerous pairs of pale trousers. Oh, and did I mention that we are shortly inheriting some poultry, much to the border terrorist’s delight. Finally, I would be enormously grateful if you would conduct some voice management training for the border terrorist who drowns out the nearby cockerels first thing in the morning. “Please help me?” I say whilst sobbing into a nearby tissue.

He suggests we join him on a nearby farm at the weekend and tells me to bring the family, “so I can see what the dogs’ relationship is with you all.” Oh help, I think to myself as visions of muddy paws throwing themselves all over the children when they come in from school spring to mind. I feel we need to do some emergency training ourselves prior to meeting the professional to avoid total humiliation.

Thankfully, on the day itself the dogs behaved themselves quite well and just like children with their grandparents, were more sedate and attentive than ever. I am sure the dog trainer thought the bad dog behaviour I was talking about on the phone was more than likely down to the neurotic hormonal owner. When we returned home, I was eager to try out my new dog training skills and enthusiastically set off for a dog walk. A few minutes in and the Labrador spotted something across the fields. She shot off with me shouting commands behind her in my most ‘assertive’ voice. It was too late and the commands fell on deaf black ears. After all there was a wonderful pair of gleaming white trousers on the horizon.

Canine Care

My husband has had a cough since we returned from our wet camping holiday. He spent two weeks off work ill in bed, coughing and spluttering like a heavy chain smoker. This led to chest pains that I put down to his stomach muscles taking a pounding from incessant coughing.

Apart from the odd bout of Man Flu, he is rarely ill so we agreed that it was time to make the bi-annual trip to the Doctor. I felt sure that once they saw my pale-faced, dishevelled husband they would offer him something. Unfortunately, he was told he had a virus and was untreatable: “we only treat bacterial, not viral, infections.” My husband returned home clutching a bottle of Benylin and disappeared once more under his duvet. Two months later, he is still coughing. Admittedly, he is now able to go to work and the cough is probably more irritating to those around him. He has since launched himself on a fitness drive, swimming and walking the dogs at dawn, coughing his way across the fields.

Last week, the border terrorist and black Labrador puppy began coughing too. I phoned the vet and within half an hour I was sitting in the waiting room. The vet examined the dogs and without hesitation prescribed a course of antibiotics for them both. Within three days, they were cough-free and back to their usual bouncy selves.

I happened to mention the canine treatment to my husband when he got home from work that week. “WHAT?” he shrieked, in between a bout of coughing. “So the dogs get the antibiotics and I don’t,” he said. I could see his point. Our vet certainly did not seem to say it was bacterial over viral. Nor did she add that they would not work or that the liberal use of antibiotics on dogs would allow ‘multiplication of bugs that will mutate and become resistant’. Perhaps it had something to do with the approximate £6.50 I paid to the vet over the £1.7 billion cost of human antibiotics to the NHS each year.

That night, as I lay beside my husband, kept awake once more by the familiar cough, I thought of the two dogs sleeping peacefully in their baskets in the kitchen below. I wondered whether the vet could be persuaded to treat an owner for kennel cough and we might all be able to enjoy a peaceful nights sleep again.

The Puppy

We are now fully relaxed and recuperated after our two-week holiday. The children are settled back into school and I have finally reached the bottom of the holiday washing basket. One evening, as I was flicking through my favourite sections of the Blackmore Vale, namely Property and Pets, I came across an advertisement for Black Labrador Puppies. Of course, these adverts are not uncommon but on this occasion I felt drawn to calling the number. Fatal, I hear you say.

We had been planning to get another dog for many months, to give Molly, our border terrorist, a sibling. However, a bit like waiting for your child to walk before planning a second one, my plan was to wait until The Toddler was potty trained before getting The Puppy. I would love to say that I have succeeded and have kissed goodbye to nappies for good, but sadly The Toddler relapsed during our two-week break, so we have had to start the long torturous process again. Now, I digress. Having enquired about the puppies, we went and saw them and within days were the proud, but slightly nervous owners of Clover, a nine-week-old black Labrador.

The children were thrilled although I suspect this will be short-lived, once her small teeth become even sharper and she is chewing into a beloved Spiderman slipper or some nice juicy Toddler toes. The border terrorist is also pretty pleased with her new companion and was happy to give up her bed beside the Aga within a day. She has also learnt to eat at double the pace in the fear that The Puppy will turn her attention to her bowl, in true Labrador style.

So, here I am potty training and rearing The Toddler and The Puppy side by side. In fact, my observations tell me that they are very similar and the same disciplining techniques are effective with both. With accidents, both are swiftly placed either on a potty or on the grass, the Toddler is reminded to say ‘Thank you’ when I put his plate in front of him, just as The Puppy has learnt to ‘Sit’ before hers and the same stern, serious voice is applied to both. However, I have had to train the Toddler not to chew on the small puppy bone that he discovered lying in the grass yesterday.

Many people have remarked, “How are you coping?” Well, the mop and bucket is now a permanent fixture in the corner of my kitchen and my arm muscles are firming up nicely, with the amount of ‘slooshing’ I am doing. My attitude is if I am housebound with The Toddler, I may as well throw a puppy into the mix. I know what you are thinking – the woman’s barking mad, and perhaps I am!