It’s like the blogger has some weird fascination with themselves and requires a certain amount of ego gratification and self indulgence. It’s as if he or she thinks the world depends on a prerequisite number of weekly posts or the whole damn Internet itself will fall apart. Yea, I hate those kind of posts too.

Excuse me while I clear my throat…ahhem…

Hi everyone. I’m so sorry I’ve haven’t been blogging lately. It really seems like forever since I’ve posted anything and I miss you all terribly, but I’ve been busy and well, my muse has been absent with malice. OK whatever. I can see the two glasses of red wine I had with dinner may be helping to lower my triglycerides, but they’re considerably hindering my scant attempt at humor, and since you all know that humor is not exactly my forte anyway, let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?

Today is my mom’s birthday, and I’d be remiss not to send a loud shout out to the woman Jan refers to as Mrs. Tricia’s Mom (which makes my mom giggle every time she reads it). HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM!!

Yes blog world, today is a celebratory day indeed. It’s been awhile since I’ve updated you on my mother’s precarious memory condition and her association with the Prick Doctor, but since it is her birthday, I won’t waddle in the fact that she actually showed up at the Prick Doctor’s wearing her pajamas the other day, all because of the comment he left here at Shout. This daughter has realized she is playing with fire and the words published on this blog apparently have the power to affect people’s real lives. I had no idea. Really, no idea, and if you think I’m kidding about her and her pajamas … I’m not!

In honor of my mother’s birthday, let’s take a break from picking on her and I’ll let you in on a little secret about my dad. He’s a jolly old soul who is so deep in the dog house today I’m not sure he’ll be able to cozy his way out. Apparently good ole dad forgot it was mom’s birthday until about 10:00 this morning, and let me tell you dear friends … this kind of crap just doesn’t fly in mom’s world my family. So, while we’re shouting out Happy Birthday to my mom, please allow me a moment to send my dad a special message:

Dear Dad,

RUN!!! I went ahead and put clean sheets and towels in the guest room. I stocked the fridge with your favorite beer, and the pantry with cashews. As soon as you can, make a run for it. Really, this could get ugly. Remember Mom’s 40th birthday and how she vowed for months that she’d kill anyone who did ANYTHING to recognize the milestone, but then when the day actually arrived and we all diligently followed her instructions NOT to throw a party or lavish her with good wishes and expensive gifts…yea, remember how she held a grudge for a whole five years? Um, well, Dad I think you may be traveling that same path today and I just want you to know that you always have a home here. We’ll be happy to welcome you into Chez Shout, and we won’t even make you babysit … often. On the other hand, more than a decade has passed since Mom’s fateful fortieth, and since we all know how bad her memory has gotten, you may be able to wait this out and she’ll completely forget you were a dork for the first few hours of the day. It’s a crap shoot either way, but Daddy I just want you to know that your two daughters … we’ve got your back.

I love dogs. My dogs. I may even love your dog, but I promise I’m not going to love you if you don’t stop your dog from barking and barking and barking and more barking so early in the morning and so late at night. Have you noticed that when my dogs start to bark, I make them stop? Yea, well, that’s what neighbors are supposed to do. Really. It’s in the How to Be a Nice Neighbor Handbook. I’ll be happy to get you a copy.

Oh yea, and are you the same person who lets your dog leave big presents on our front lawn? Maybe you thought that since we have two large dogs, we’d not notice an extra pile or two. We notice. Our dogs don’t leave presents in the front yard. They’re potty trained, and their potty is not our front yard, but it could be your front yard pretty soon.

Welcome to the neighborhood. I look forward to getting to know you, and your dogs.

XOXO

Tricia

In June, 2006 we lost our beloved Zach and found our house to be odly quiet, cold and far too clean.  We’d never not had a dog, but when Zach passed away we were convinced that we were done with dogs. We were sick of dog hair finding its way into every possible crevice. We were tired of pop scooping and the constraints of trying to figure out what to do with canine companions when we traveled. We swore to ourselves and to everyone who knew us that we’d not bring a dog into the new house we were building. 

The new house was officially a DOG FREE ZONE.

Three weeks after moving into the new house, I changed my tune. Maybe because Zach’s memory didn’t lurk in every corner of a house he’d never guarded, and even though our hearts still ached with his absence, maybe I knew the only way to make the house a home was to add a few layers of dog hair. Whatever it was, I started my ‘gotta get a puppy’ campaign. 

I spent weeks researching GSD breeders in Georgia and trying to better define what we were looking for in lineage. Temperament was more important to us than ever now that Aaron was an over active three-year-old. After lots of spousal debating, talking to multiple breeders and reading a congressional library’s worth of information, we decided on a kennel. They had a litter that would be weaned in four weeks, and we drove two hours each way to see the little hooligans and to meet their parents. After all, even in the four-legged genre, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. We fell in love instantly. 

My husband wanted a male, and I didn’t care. We placed a puppy deposit and then spent the next four weeks like new parents anticipating a baby’s arrival. We shopped for puppy supplies, baby proofed, prepped Aaron for becoming a big brother, let him pick out a name and debated about who would be getting up in the middle of the night for potty runs.

Finally it was time for us to pick up our new bundle of joy. Max (that’s what happens when you give naming rights to a preschooler…you get something absolutely non-original) had doubled his size in a month and he was already the largest pup in the litter.  Weighing in at 16.8 lbs, I was wondering if he could still be classified a puppy.

While chatting with the breeder and hoping Max would leave a last sprinkle in the grass before we headed home, the strangest thing happened.

My husband pulled me aside and said, “Are you sure we should get a male? Look at the female with the yellow ribbon. She’s really sweet.”

My sensible spouse rarely changes his mind on a whim and he’d been adamant about wanting a male pup. He wanted to walk through the neighborhood with the biggest, bad-ass looking gentle giant he could get his hands on. Why all of a sudden was he eyeing a female? “If you want the female that’s fine with me, but Aaron’s already all set with a name and he thinks we’re bringing MAX home. He thinks he’s getting a baby brother,” I said. “Maybe we should get both puppies,” my husband countered. ” I gave him a wifely you must have lost your freaking mind look and immediately dismissed him.  

Max adjusted quickly to his new home. We were having much more success potty training the puppy than our child, and everyone was sleeping through the night. But that little bitch with the yellow ribbon had cosmically aligned herself with my husband, and he couldn’t quite get her out of his mind.

For two weeks we discussed, dismissed and discussed some more the idea of going back to get the female. Finally, half hoping that she’d moved on to a new family and we could put the idea of TWO puppies to rest, I emailed the breeder to see if the little yellow-ribboned female was still available. She was still there. Shit! I shared the disastrous news with my husband and after a couple of hours he came back to me and said, “Why don’t you contact the breeder and see if he’ll give us a discount on the female since it’s the second pup we’d purchase.” What a perfect idea. There’s no way he’s going to offer us a discount and this will finally put the issue to rest.

What’s the saying…be careful what you ask for? The breeder is a kind man and said of course he’d be willing to extend a special price. Damn. My husband’s exact words were, “It’s been a long time since we’ve done anything crazy. Let’s go get her.” How could I argue with him. He’s always supportive of anything I want to do, no matter how insane he thinks I may be, and this little dog with the yellow ribbon had obviously made an impression on his heart.

In fact he was so enamoured of her that he didn’t even swear out loud when she vomited and had two bouts of diarrhea inside his brand new truck when we were driving home with her. He simply pulled off the highway, cleaned her up and proceeded to worry more about  how frightened she was than how disgusting his vehicle smelt. If you knew my husband, your jaw would be on the floor right now.

It took me a few weeks to figure out why this bundle of tail wagging energy had captured my husband’s heart. Ellie’s temperament was much like her brother, Max’s. She was full of puppy antics. She was sweet and naughty at the same time, and she adored my husband. But as Max grew and took on all the typical characteristics of a GSD, we could see that Ellie was a little different. She’s wickedly smart (Really, though, have you ever met a dumb German Shepherd Dog?), but she has wavy hair on her back and she looks like the flying nun. Her ears have never become proudly erect as they should, and she’s so stubborn I wonder if there’s donkey in her gene pool. But the crux of her connection with my husband is that she’s a tad bit crazy. Really, she’s crazy, which is a quailty my husband admires in every bitch, thank God.

The twins just turned one-year-old. And, what a difference a year makes. Not only are they almost gigantic, they shed more than enough hair to double weave a rug from here to Africa. Our brand new house has claw marks in the beautiful wood floors, we’re dog poor from multiple home improvement projects like fencing the back yard and adding stairs to the porch, and we’ve gone through approximately 1,000 pounds of doggy kibble. It’s been a year of dog days…wonderful, crazy, hairy dog days.  

Perhaps a better parent could have figured out how to keep her child from driving his dump truck up and down the hill, or could have kept him and his canine buddies from digging for treasure or from chasing each other at Lightening McQueen speed, but this parent grew weary of the constant nagging. Plus, after Aaron’s summer-long immobilization in a body cast, seeing him run is a delight. Delighted or not, though, we still needed to address the ever-expanding mud pit.

We decided to seek professional help. The idea was to bring in more dirt to decrease the hill’s incline, clear out some underbrush and place sod rather than trying to keep the area mulched. Sounds simple, right?

Bright and early men with wheelbarrows, shovels, rakes, a chainsaw and a mini bucket loader descended on our backyard. Within two days they tamed the slippery slope, placed four-and-a-half pallets of sod, and poured a second concrete patio. We were thrilled.

That was before it dawned on me that the sod needs to take root and until it does, the dogs have to stay out of the backyard. No more letting them play outside until they’ve exhausted each other. Their rambunctious running would quickly destroy the new grass. Now it’s up to us to exhaust them, which is exhausting us. No more opening the door and letting them go outside to do their business alone. Nope, now I’m taking them into the woods on leashes for multiple potty breaks during the day. Life has truly gone to the dogs.

Both dogs would do just about anything I asked as long as we were in the backyard, but taking them out in public was a different story. Even with lots of walks in the neighborhood and trips to the playground I hadn’t done a good job teaching Max and Ellie that they needed to pay attention to me when there were other things (often much more fun) competing for their attention.

I was already a confirmed clicker training junkie so naturally I needed to find a class that also used clicker training. After interviewing several people by phone, I decided to register with Ultimate Dog Training with Darla Lacey. Since there is only one of me but there are two dogs, I had to chose which of my canine buddies would have the honor of spending six Sunday evenings in class. Ellie seemed to be suffering a more severe case of ADD and was the obvious contender.

It was apparent from the first two minutes of class that Ellie’s skill level was more advanced than her five classmates. She already knew all the foundation skills the other dogs were just beginning to learn…sit, come, stay, down, go to your bed, let’s go, touch, and she even knew several tricks, but the classroom environment dictated she be able to respond to cues in the company of five other dogs and their owners. I had been a slacker-pet-parent and had not ensured my dogs met at least a hundred people before they were 16-weeks-old, as all the “experts” suggest. Instead, we spent most of the summer at home with my three-year-old who spent the hottest summer on record in a full body cast with a broken leg.

Despite her lack of early social skills, Ellie is progressing quickly and just graduated from her first obedience class. It seems pretty foolish to dress a dog in cap and gown, but I was surprised at how proud I felt when we walked together to receive Ellie’s diploma.

My immediate goal is that both Max and Ellie pass the American Kennel Club’s Canine Good Citizenship Test, a 10-component exam that “certifies” a dog is well-mannered and people-friendly. We have quite a bit of work to do before we’ll be ready to take the test, and most of the areas in which we need practice relate to a well-socialized dog. (Another great excuse to hang out at Starbucks).

The biggest surprise for me is not how quickly the dogs are learning (have you ever met a dumb German Shepherd?), it’s been how much I’m enjoying the training. Instead of this becoming another task on my never-ending-to-do-list, training the dogs has become a stress reliever, something I look forward to, and something I feel proud to accomplish. 

In a moment of absolute craziness, my husband and I brought two German Shepherd puppies home this summer. We intended to get one and had put a deposit on the most adorable little male, but while collecting our fury friend from the breeder my husband fell in love with our puppy’s sister. Since we are both soft-hearted and apparently soft headed, we ended up with two puppies, Max and Ellie.

Five months later we have two canine teenagers that weigh well over 60 pounds each and they’re still growing. We go through 70 pounds of dog food a month, daily vacuuming wouldn’t eradicate the dog hair and buying the pups was the least expensive part of our endeavor. But I digress…

We had a month between when we put a deposit on Max and when he would be old enough to bring home. I spent those four weeks devouring training articles. It had been more than a decade since I’d trained a dog, and I was determined to learn as much as I could before bringing a puppy home. After all, an untrained, obnoxious dog is about as much fun as a tooth ache.

In years past, animal training was all about force. Trainers taught (and many still do) that if you tell your dog to sit, for example, and the dog doesn’t…well, you simply have to make it. If you say down, and the dog doesn’t drop to his belly, you were supposed to wrestle him into a down position. There was no room for error. A command was a command and as the pack leader you had to demand obedience.

Today’s more enlightened trainers have abandoned the sit or else method in favor of positive reinforcement. Just as most parents have wisely chosen to find methods other than spanking to modify behavior, the animal training world has turned to clicker training, a method based on behavioral psychology that relies on marking desirable behavior and rewarding it. The marker is a little mechanical device that makes a clicking sound.

“The difference between an animal that behaves with purpose, rather than by habit, is vast. Clicker trained or operantly conditioned animals try to learn new behaviors. They remember behaviors even years later because they were aware of them as they learned them, rather than acquiring them without awareness. They develop confidence because they have control over the consequences of their actions. They are enthusiastic because they expect those consequences to be pleasurable.”  –Karen Pryor

After spending a month in research mode, I still wasn’t completely convinced that clicker training could work, but I was determined to train my dogs and started setting the alarm clock an hour earlier. Every day for four months, the two dogs and I spent at least an hour playing and training before anyone else in the house opened their eyes, and I started clicker training. The results were amazing. Within days both puppies were responding to sit, lay down, touch and wait. I didn’t have to rais my voice and I never had to force them to do anything. They were willing participants in their own education and they were eager to learn. That attitude continues today.

As I became more skilled with the clicker and my dogs responded, I realized that the training method fell exactly in-line with my parenting beliefs. If you hit a child, you teach your child to hit. If you hit a dog, you teach him to be fearful and aggressive. If you yell at your child, you teach your child not to listen and you diminish her self worth. If you yell at a dog, you teach your dog not to listen or to comply through fear.

I had my own clicker moment during a training session when I was tiered and frustrated. Ellie was having an ADD moment and I shouted at her. It was a first. She looked at me in complete dismay. She was confused and she had those sad puppy eyes you see on Humane Society posters. She looked exactly like my son does when I lose my cool and yell.

Has it been a tad bit crazy with a three-year-old and two puppies in the house. You bet. Do I have any regrets? Absolutely not. We have a long way to go in our training but I’ve learned a lot from Max and Ellie, probably more than they’ve learned from me, and I’ve re-vowed to be a patient parent with a soft voice.

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