Beau Leaves Childhood Behind

January 5, 2014

     Whenever I used to hear the television announcer at Westminster refer to showing dogs as "our sport", I used to snigger.  One thing you notice about Westminster (aside from the dogs) is the number of seriously overweight young women handling the different breeds.  The drill before the judges involves the dogs walking briskly around the ring, standing on a platform in front of the judges so as to show their best points, and standing still when they are not on display for the judges.  None of it seems very athletic.

     However, I may be in the course of revising my opinion.  The more time I spend with Beauregard, the more time I realize he needs.  By now he doesn't bark maniacally when I leave the apartment briefly; he knows I am returning.   So he's not anxious I'll disappear.  He also doesn't use my hands as pincushions, although if he's not being paid attention, he'll run over to my bookshelf and start to nibble the dust jackets on the bottom shelves, a sign of boredom.

     He fetches, sits and lies down on command, although he expects to be fed a treat each time.  He pees on the "Wee-Wee" pad, although he doesn't "poop" there.  He will do both outside, but not reliably.  His weight and energy levels are all in line for a healthy Boykin Spaniel.

     He must now learn to hold his bladder and sphincter until he can release them outside.  To do so, he can't sleep with me anymore.  Which is as sad for me as it is for him.  If there were ever a cure for insomnia, it's having a beautiful puppy lying next to you in bed.  However, if he sleeps in bed with me, when he needs to release his bladder he now knows how to come down off the bed without injuring himself and going over to the "Wee Wee" pad in the kitchen.  Which is convenient for both of us, but not a way to train Beau to hold his bladder until we can go outside together.

     The only way to do that is to put him in a crate at night, and let him sleep until he cries to be let out because his bladder needs to be emptied.  With the snow, that means dressing myself, then putting on Beau's coat, leash and snow boots.  The snow boots have become more supple and behave more like socks between my fingers, but it is still no easy task to put them on Beau's four paws.  If I miss a dewclaw in the course of putting one on a paw, I have to take the boot off and start again, stretching open wider the top of the boot.  Fortunately, Beau is largely cooperative, struggling little as I go about my work.

     Tomorrow we start the new regime.  It also includes one element sure to displease Beau: the elimination of treats of all sorts as a training tool.  Even as the treats persuade the dog to do as the trainer wishes, they also upend any attempts to regularize when the dog urinates and defecates.  So starting tomorrow, Beau will only get a little more food twice a day, 3/4 of a cup of kibble per feeding, up from half a cup.

     No more feeding Beau a steady ration of peanut butter biscuits or "Greenies" or liver treats.  No more handing over a bead of kibble each time he pees on the "Wee Wee" pad.  This might not be such a bad idea, as I have the impression that Beau has learned that each time he pees on the "Wee-Wee" pad, he gets a reward in the form of a treat, and will pee even the smallest amount to cadge one.

     Tonight Beau did all he ought to have done outside.  Now it's my job to make that behavior  standard operating procedure.  Beau and I will be spending a lot of time outside over the next few weeks, as from now on, whenever he has not eliminated within a reasonable time after eating, I have to remain outside with him until he does.  If I have to bring him back inside before that for some reason, he has to be "crated", then taken out again until he eliminates.

     That's housebreaking.  I know I did this for two dogs, Max and Mia von Hund, twenty-two and nineteen years ago, but now I wonder how I did it while working full time and without a trainer.  I'm glad Beau had the benefit of a trainer and that he will be given the time to adjust to my raised expectations for him.  I'm not sure I knew half of what I know now, working with Beau, when I trained Max and Mia.  I do remember a lot of trips to the street in the middle of the night with Max or Mia in my arms, although I don't think I trained either of them particularly well.  Despite loving both dogs dearly, Max was afraid of lightning and would bark incessantly during a thunderstorm, a habit he never lost; and I never broke Mia of the habit of jumping on people.  

     Maybe that's why training a dog to show is more of a sport than I originally thought.  The trainer is constantly trying to raise the dog's game, which involves both giving and taking away things the dog wants: attention, treats, physical closeness, freedom to play.  No dog will work for a person it does not sense understands its needs.  The trick is establishing the relationship early, and nurturing the dog, even as the trainer asks more and more of it.  Dogs are amiable creatures and want to please, but like children, they see no need for limits.  Striking a balance between affection and discipline is much harder than most dog owners would admit.  Which may be why prizes are given out at dog shows.