Sassy, Street-Wise Female Seeks Partner in Crime

Many people describe a dog as being “eager to please.” It’s just about standard in any dog ad I see. But I don’t think that’s a true across-the-board statement for the canine species. Take Missy here. Is she doing what I ask because she wants me to be happy? Nope. She’s doing it (if she is doing it) because either a. she enjoys the challenge of trying to figure out what I’m saying and is proud that she has, or b. she feels that whatever I am requesting happens to be a good idea to her as well. 

That’s what you get when you have a super smart, independent dog. Oh sure, she loves to cuddle and she wants to play and constantly wants to bully me into letting her on my lap (when I’m at the dinner table, 

or sitting in a chair reading, 

or some other inconvenient place where my lap in inaccessible.) 

This doesn’t make her a bad dog. But it certainly makes her a unique sell. 

And sell I must; the PR campaign has begun as the countdown to employment has started to tick. Missy needs a new couch to surf or her forever home to magically appear before March 2^nd. There might be a few day leeway on that, but just be certain, I want her to be comfy in her place in only 10 days time.

Missy’s initial assessment when she was couped up in a vet’s office was that she’s an “active” dog. She’d enjoy hiking, running, playing fetch for hours on end. Not sure if just getting out of the crate changed her attitude, or if the enormous amount of good food she gets through training has packed on enough pounds, but she’s not the “active” dog people have been describing. She gets ramped up and runs about every now and again, but it’s not like she needs to be running five hours a day. She’s no Marty either though; she’s not content to lazily walk along the sidewalk, snooze on the couch all day long and not pick up her head to eat dinner.

I’ve never had issues promoting my canine companions, as I’ve been lucky: they’ve all been easy. Missy is a work in progress. She’s come a long way in her six weeks here with me. David’s training has made a huge difference. Missy is more focused, listens a good 20-30% more often than before, and she seems a little more relaxed. I still can’t seem to coordinate myself to the leash training, which is the thing I need most, but I can’t fault Missy. It’s me who can’t get her shit together.

In complete disregard of David’s advice, I’ve resolved to take Missy out into the world. Do I have 100% control of her? No. Does she have 100% recall when I tell her to Come? No. But I don’t know any dog that obedient. In fact, I think completely obedient dogs are kinda boring. Don’t they have their own opinions? I know Missy does.

Missy went back to the vet this week to get her limp checked out. I had gleaned from our previous vet visit that the doc thought Missy might be “vicious” or “unpredictable.” At that point, Missy didn’t want anyone touching her. This time, the doc got pretty far into the examination without a problem. It wasn’t until she and the tech tried to get Missy to turn over that Missy clamped down on her hand. Missy shouldn’t have bitten her (she didn’t break skin, but still, putting a human hand in her mouth is unacceptable), but I could see why Missy did it. She felt threatened suddenly. She didn’t want to lie down and two people were trying to hold her down and expose her vulnerable belly. I would have fought back too.

Later on, Missy rolled over on her side on her own to get a belly rub from the doc. Missy isn’t doing what you ask because it’ll please you; she’s doing and not doing what you ask because it will please her. The vet seemed unconvinced.

After a few hours in her vet tech’s care (Missy needed to get her ears cleaned and x-rays done, so she spent the morning there) the doc came out to tell me what I had already known but was nice to hear from someone else. “Missy isn’t vicious; she just has an attitude.”

That pretty much sums it up. She’s not going to rip your face off if you touch her, but if you try to make her move in a position she doesn’t want to be in, she will tell you firmly, loudly, and possibly too harshly, to get your damn hands off her.

I explained to the vet that Missy and I are actually quite similar in some respects, which in some ways makes training easier but in other ways are just two stubborn beasts butting heads. I have thumbs; she has teeth. Believe it or not, that’s a fair fight.

Missy expresses her discontent or disagreement with me in various forms. If it’s not butting me with her head or slamming into me full force at a running gait, she growls into a crescendoed bark. When I tried to ignore her barking to get me to play while I was reading, she took it up one more notch and put my arm in her mouth. That was a definite Not Allowed, but I must commend her ingenuity in her effort to get what she wanted.

Her mat training has given her more focus, and having her sit and wait at thresholds has given her more patience than she had weeks ago.  But if she remained confined to the backyard and house, there was no way she would find a new home, nor could I tell people what she was like in the outside world.

I wanted to know if she was “okay with dogs” because let’s face it: it is the first thing adopters ask. So I took her to the one place I knew there would be dogs in a safe environment: the adoption fair at Centinela Feed Store. I wasn’t there to adopt out Missy; I just wanted to see what she’d do if she was ever allowed into one.

After a few spats and almost-spats, I determined that she’s fine if a dog is a good distance away. Little dogs are less threatening. But any dog of any size an inch front of her face: this is where all hell breaks loose. The pretty blue pocket pittie that we were next to got the brunt of one of Missy’s sudden hissy-fits for no reason except she was a foot away. This poor little bully, who already had a sad face, slunk back, ears down, and buried her head.

After a good amount of time standing in the sun and being in and out of the store for coolness breaks, Missy chose to hunker down in the coolest spot she could find.

I figured she had had enough for the day. We returned home where I planned our next outing and Missy sought relief from the heat.

Our first venture began at PetSmart. I was on the hunt for a smaller, more manageable treatbag so I didn’t have to tie a toolbag-sized treat bag around my waist any time we went for a walk. I figured a dog-friendly self-contained place would be a good starting point, rather than say, Griffith Park with wildlife to contend with.

The drive was fine, as Missy was excited to finally get back into the truck. Once in the parking lot, my biggest fear came true. I wasn’t at a rest stop in the middle Nebraska, just a parking lot in the little mountain town of Tujunga, but when Missy launched ahead, the leash went to it’s fullest length and then SNAP!, a metal ring from her collar flew to the side, the leash hit the pavement and Missy kept trotting away from me, the same level of adrenaline rushed into my heart.

“Missy, COME! Somebody help me! COME!” I yelled to Missy but also was hoping the two people I had seen in front of a nearby store would come to my aid. They ignored my plea even when I yelled “Help!” a second time. An employee from PetSmart had recently walked around the side of the building and it was he who came running. Missy didn’t hear my initial panicked plea, but the second “COME!” made her turn and look at me.

She was 15 yards away, but I saw my panic register on her face. “Whoa. What’s wrong?” her expression said as she trotted back to me.

The PetSmart employee was by my side as Missy returned to me and I was frantically explaining that the collar broke... but it hadn’t broke. I had, for the first time ever, latched the leash onto the hook for the tag rather than the hook of the collar. The tag and hook were what had flown off onto the ground. The collar was intact. It was clear that like most things in my life, my problem was self-induced.

We visited three pet stores that day because finding exactly what I want is always a long, complicated journey (see last sentence of previous paragraph.) Missy did well, and no longer lunged at people. She wasn’t fond of dogs, but people were now becoming a normalcy and nothing to bark about.  It wasn’t until I got home and took off her harness that I saw the evidence of just how stressful it had been for her. Dandruff covered her back as if she had been in a snowstorm. With that new knowledge, I realized that the day was even more successful than I had initially believed.

Inclement weather (yes, that's hail on the deck) kept us at home for a few more days, but I was determined to make her a social dog. 

Maybe one day she would even be good with dogs... but then something happened – and this time it wasn’t self-induced.

On our short evening walk around the block on Monday, just as we reached the corner at the end of my block while Missy was about to find the perfect pooping spot, a blur of canine came from behind us and jumped her. He took both Missy and me by surprise. I had never had a dog attack while mine was on the leash the other wasn’t – he didn’t even have a collar I could grab. I did the only thing I knew I could do: I yelled for help. I tried to push the other dog off Missy, but she was already having the upper hand. Dogfights always sound worse than they are, and Missy was clearly winning. I didn’t want to pull her back, giving the other dog a way in to win.

The response to my call for help was astonishing. A van travelling south pulled up next to the curb laying on the horn to distract the dog. A firetruck heading north stopped on the opposite side of the road and rag their sirens. Neighbors came out of their houses. In all this commotion, the dog took off back across the four-lane street as the owner headed my way along with a team of firefighters.

Missy was barking (but luckily not lunging) at the men surrounding us. I was feeling her legs and looking at her body everywhere. The owner apologized and explained that company had come over and left the front door open. The dog dashed across the street (without getting hit is a miracle.) “He doesn’t really fight. He just likes to dominate and then he’s done.”

I told him he needed to get a collar on that dog. There was no way I could have gotten him off my dog. Nothing to hold onto. One of the firefighters asked if I wanted them to call animal control. I thanked him, but said I didn’t want a dog needlessly put into the system as a vicious dog. Missy looked unscathed (physically), and it wasn’t negligence – it was an accident. What would have happened outside PetSmart is Missy had seen another dog after her leash broke?

The outcome of the event was the best one could hope for in an event as traumatizing as a dog attack. Certainly this wasn’t going to help Missy trust dogs. And I wasn’t sure how to gain Missy’s trust back. I had been teaching her two things: 1. not all dogs are out to attack her, so she doesn’t need to attack first, and 2. I would protect her. In this moment, not only was a dog out to attack her, but I couldn’t protect her. She had to hold her own. All I could do was enlist other humans.

I’m purposefully not taking Missy anywhere I know dogs to be. However, she still needs people-time. And so we had our first journey to the coffee house on Wednesday. One of the regulars who had met Marty back in December said, “Hey, that’s not Marty. Did he get a home?” I said yes. “Oh, I brought these toys for him.”

He had a frisbee, a rope, and a giant “pit-sized” ball. I thanked him and said I’m sure Missy would enjoy them too. Marty made quite an impact. And look how hard it was to get him a home. Missy needs even more magical universal timing to get her to the right place... and we have a lot less time to do it in.

Missy still had issues with dogs passing by and a bike too, but otherwise she was polite and gentle with all people who came by. She even relaxed enough to just sit or lie down. It wasn’t as easy as it was with Marty, but that was only because I had to be on the lookout for other canines.  

Missy finally has an ad on adopt-a-pet. Sure, she needs some more training, and isn’t always going to do as she’s told. But I think she’s ready to find her person. She’s not a chill dog. But she’s also not the crazy nutcase that I took home six weeks ago. 

She’s become used to the home life, and I’d hate to see her go back into boarding. 

She’s gotten used to snoozing on the couch, and getting treats for having manners, and running about the house with her stuffed toys. 

I don’t regret keeping her. I think it was better than where she was before, locked up in a vet’s office, costing the rescue money and not allowing Missy the chance to really be a dog. The idea that she might go back there now though, feels like a betrayal.

So, if you or someone you know would like to take on this sassy, independent girl – even just as a foster, not a forever home if you're hesitant – please respond to her ad. Here it is (oh, and she is is highly trainable, but ignore the part about “eager to please.”)

http://www.adoptapet.com/pet/8500428-los-angeles-california-american-pit-bull-terrier-mix 

Training Days

People often want to train dogs for a living because they love animals and prefer their company to that of people. Unfortunately, the trainers soon learn that dog training is less about handling our loyal companions and more about dealing with difficult humans.  (Read: I am that difficult human.)

It took some time to get the financial approval for Missy to get someone to train her besides me who was merely trying to learn to teach via youtube videos. I had told Belinda, “Missy either needs to get trained, or someone needs to train me to train her.”

I had no idea they would take the second option.

It had been my hope that she would go to boarding school. Not because I don’t love the lass, but because I felt she would get excellent training, some socialization, and if I got a job while she was away, I wouldn’t feel as though I was abandoning her. Instead, after speaking with the trainer, David, everyone involved (aside from me) decided that it would be best if she learn and stay in this “perfect” foster home where she didn’t have other dogs around and she could relax.

A dog that needs training isn’t a “bad dog.” She’s not a “evil dog” who is actively trying to piss you off. A dog that needs training is a dog with psychological issues that no one ever attended to. In Missy’s case, she’s hypersensitive. She barks at the slightest noise outside. Her eyes dart everywhere when she’s someplace new. She lacks focus and stability. 

And yet with all that, she’s fucking brilliant.

 

No, seriously, to put it in my native New England speech with a hint of Bostonian, “She’s wicked smart.” She’s been self-reliant for so long with no human to guide her, that she’s developed into quite a genius.

Poor David, who wants to train dogs such as this brilliant pittie, is sadly stuck with my poor excuse of a human brain to mold. It’s evident from the onset that Missy’s intellect to pick up new habits is far better than my coordination skills to lead her into such habits.

Missy had to break some habits to learn new ones, but I had to untrain myself how I had been trying to teach her. This was why I wanted her to go to a professional. I wasn’t doing it right. Granted I wanted to learn, but as a perfectionist, I am quite short with myself when I don’t immediately pick something up. And unlike a dog who might get frustrated and whose only expression of such a little nippiness or grumbling, David had to hear my mouth going.

Which evidently, is one of my main errors: I talk too much. Who woulda thought?

“Just say the command once. Never repeat. People use too many words,” David explained.

So now, rather than repeating a word half a dozen times, it’s more sing-songy as in “Come... Come... Come--Shit!” as I acknowledge my error and try to force myself not to repeat the word.

Missy enjoys the game of learning “Come” which involves me throwing a treat for her to get and then as soon as she gets it, yell, “Come!” and she returns immediately for another treat. I’m supposed to be calling her away from distractions, but being on my own, I have to create my own distractions.

David believes in “The Mat.” It’s not a dog bed, but a simple mat where Missy learns “Go to your mat,” which means she goes and lies down to wait for me to tell her it’s Okay to get up. At first I was a annoyed with this, as my main concern was walking her on the leash, but after a couple of goes on The Mat, I could see that David’s chronology of lessons made sense.

The Mat isn’t just a place to sit and lie down. It’s a Yoga Mat of sorts. Here, Missy gains focus and attention. She must concentrate to stay Down while I walk around and away from her. She must be patient to receive her treat without grabbing it out of my hand.

The Mat is the foundation of focus.  (And yes, she needs to work on her aim for getting onto the Mat.)

I noticed her being calmer after our work on it. Granted, after our first session with David, the girl was more tuckered out than I had ever seen her. David was right: a dog’s brain burns more calories than her body. After our hour and a half introductory lesson where Missy excelled and received a pound of sausage in rewards, Missy didn’t even bother to join me for dinner. 

She zonked out on the couch, and stared glassy-eyed at the TV for the rest of the night.

Subsequent training sessions didn’t elicit such a reaction, but she does seem more focused. That being said, just like me, that doesn’t stop her mouth from going.

David has said that with the focus and training, she should stop being so barky at everything around her. I think she’s just got a lot to say. If we’re about to go for a walk and I pick up my phone to respond to a text, she’ll sit and stare at me for half a minute. Then a little grumble begins to come from her throat. It rises up for the next ten seconds until it erupts into a full blown frustrated “Let’s Go!” in canine-speak.

My instruction to stop the barking is aversion therapy. If she barks, call her to me and give her a treat. “But then she thinks I’m rewarding her for barking,” I said.

“No,” David replied. “You’re rewarding her for coming and sitting.”

“So when she arrives and sits, and I give her a treat and then she barks again with her mouth full (which is exactly what she does), what do I do?”

I’m not sure if David understood, as he didn’t give me a viable solution.

During my first session, I told David that Missy was treat-driven. She did as he said because he had treats. He said, “No, she does what I say because of how I’m communicating with her.”

And yet, without a treat, she doesn’t do crap for me. I told him that upon our second session. He said, “Eventually you phase out the treats. For now, you need them.”

So, my guess is that it is a combination of how we communicate and the treats.

Interestingly, Missy does not allow David to touch her the way I do. He said if she doesn’t Sit, I can gently touch her behind, but he can’t. He showed me, his finger just alighting on her backside, and Missy’s head whipped around, ready to snap.

I, on the other hand, have full reign. I had been fully taking for granted the trust this dog put in me. We’re at the end of a full four weeks now. The longest foster here. All my others moved on within a month (except for the legendary Tia who, had I had this house back when I had her, she probably would still be with me.) It is only now that Missy has finally relaxed enough to sleep on her back—which is how I’m used to seeing my fosters snooze.

Missy’s a tough chick from the streets. When she meets you, she needs to tell you up front and loudly, “Don’t fuck with me, or I’ll fuck you up.” Once she has sufficiently terrified you with her menacing approach, she sniffs, bows her head and then leans into you for a pet.

This is a major problem.

I want to take her hiking, to the coffee house, down the street, but David keeps telling me she must be backyard-bound until she is 100% trained. I disagree. I’m not going to take her out during rush hour pedestrian traffic, but she needs to be desensitized. The girl barks at people on the sidewalk when she’s inside the car and I’m driving. She needs to learn to shut up and accept the world around her. She can’t do that being in the backyard.

If Missy went to David’s for boarding school, I imagine she would get better stimuli. Since I don't have a kennel full of dogs and visitors throughout the day at my disposal, I'll have to make do. I need to be able to have people over and not fear that she’ll be unwelcoming and possibly dangerous. I need her to be able to walk on a leash around the block. I don’t know how far I’ll get before a job will call me away, so I need to do as much as possible as quickly as possible.

I want her to meet new people and show them what a sweet dog she is. I want them to know the kooky girl whose muzzle becomes a waterfall anytime food in her vicinity. 

I want them to know the uber warm fuzzy cuddler she is for me in the evenings while watching TV. 

And I want them to know the highly intelligent and independent canine she is.

Her ad is still not up on adopt-a-pet or petfinder.com. I worry about what will happen when I become gainfully employed. I’m hoping David will take her for a couple weeks of training if she can’t go into a foster home right away. Some dogs know that I’m just a transitional person. Some think I’m their forever home. I can’t get a sense from Missy what she’s thinking. She seems quite happy with her Bunny and her couch and bed and my bed (she’s been sleeping on my bed with me for a couple of weeks and appears to be fully housetrained now.) 

She loves lying in the grass or on the deck. 

She seems content to just be, with no labels or titles. Perhaps it’s best that way. Life is way less stressful when you stop thinking about it.

So while I learn from David how to handle a leash, I’ll try to pick up some Missy’s perspective on life. Not her perspective on the mailman or on squirrels, but at least on how to just be when it comes to the grand scheme.

Missy needs to relax, and well, so do I. David is the official paid trainer, and Missy the student, but I have a feeling I’m going to learn just as much as Missy will, not from David, but from Missy herself. Students always make the best teachers.