Wednesday, July 11, 2007
remarkable transformation
Today I clipped all the nails on Nemo's front paws. This may seem like an ordinary, less-than-desirable pet owner's duty, but to me it was a miracle. (The sound of his paws clicking on the floor makes me nuts, and I've read that it can cause their paws to spread. Plus he looks like a man dog in drag, only with very dirty nails. It's gross.)
I've had Nemo since October, and there have been two instances before now where I've tried to clip his nails. Both times were extremely traumatic for both of us. They involved a lot of running away and growling (him) and a few tears (me). I know, crying seems a little melodramatic, but I feel very close and synched up with the boy most of the time--so much so that when we're at odds, it really disturbs me. Especially when I know it's because he doesn't trust me.
And for good reason. The second time I tried to clip his nails, I got to the second-to-last one, clipped it too short, causing him to yelp in pain and start to bleed. Oh the guilt. Neemes's nails have been neglected (avoided) for so many months that the quick has grown way out near the end. (Imagine if our fingers grew out to reach the tip of our fingernails. Weird.) I felt so terrible and couldn't bring myself to put us both through it again.
So there were a couple of aborted attempts since then, with me chasing him around the apartment with treats, and him doing his darndest to get away.
Then I started training with Nicholas, and told him it was one of our biggest issues. He asked:
"What does Nemo do when you try to clip his nails?"
"He gives me these fake little mini-growls."
"What do yo mean 'fake'? What do they sound like?"
[Alison attempts to immitate Nemo, and feels like an idiot.]
"Um, those aren't fake growls. Those are warnings, and they're to be taken very, very seriously."
"Oh."
I guess I was blissfully ignorant of that. Just as well. I felt like the important thing was that I show him he couldn't make me back down; that I was in charge. But of course I wasn't.
So Nicholas gave me a piece of his ever-sound advice: get a nail file. At first we talked about using one of those brummel sander contraptions, but I tried it once when I was visiting Shannon and Neve, and the drill sound made Nemo even more anxious. So he said, get a nail file, and during the 5 minutes every day when you massage him and touch in between each of his paw pads, start using the file for 30 seconds on each nail. Once he's used to that, then file all 16 nails and then clip the last one. He won't know what's coming. Then the next day clip the first 14 and then clip the 15th. Keep going like that every day until you can clip them all.
This made a lot of sense to me. And most amazing? It worked.
Well, my modified and accelerated version of it worked. I did the "puppy touch" massaging every day, and it came in mighty handy after our extensive tick checks following a romp in the woods. He got pretty used to that and was fine with being man-handled. It helped to have gavin there to stroke his head and talk to him while I went to town.
So the filing went well also. I did that about a week ago.
And today I was taking a nap, and had Neemes up on the bed with me. It's hot out so he's pretty mellow these days, so I thought, I'll just do some filing while he's laying here all relaxed. I got to file a few nails and realized I could see how much I could clip off safely.
I did 9 of the front 10 nails without so much as a flinch. I'd alternate with a little filing now and then to lull him back into submission. I decided to wait on the back 6, since many of them are black and it's harder to see how much is safe to cut.
Anyway, yet another reason I'm so thankful for Nicholas. He took the insurmountable and gave me a strategy and a plan. And there's less clicking around the apartment now.
I've had Nemo since October, and there have been two instances before now where I've tried to clip his nails. Both times were extremely traumatic for both of us. They involved a lot of running away and growling (him) and a few tears (me). I know, crying seems a little melodramatic, but I feel very close and synched up with the boy most of the time--so much so that when we're at odds, it really disturbs me. Especially when I know it's because he doesn't trust me.
And for good reason. The second time I tried to clip his nails, I got to the second-to-last one, clipped it too short, causing him to yelp in pain and start to bleed. Oh the guilt. Neemes's nails have been neglected (avoided) for so many months that the quick has grown way out near the end. (Imagine if our fingers grew out to reach the tip of our fingernails. Weird.) I felt so terrible and couldn't bring myself to put us both through it again.
So there were a couple of aborted attempts since then, with me chasing him around the apartment with treats, and him doing his darndest to get away.
Then I started training with Nicholas, and told him it was one of our biggest issues. He asked:
"What does Nemo do when you try to clip his nails?"
"He gives me these fake little mini-growls."
"What do yo mean 'fake'? What do they sound like?"
[Alison attempts to immitate Nemo, and feels like an idiot.]
"Um, those aren't fake growls. Those are warnings, and they're to be taken very, very seriously."
"Oh."
I guess I was blissfully ignorant of that. Just as well. I felt like the important thing was that I show him he couldn't make me back down; that I was in charge. But of course I wasn't.
So Nicholas gave me a piece of his ever-sound advice: get a nail file. At first we talked about using one of those brummel sander contraptions, but I tried it once when I was visiting Shannon and Neve, and the drill sound made Nemo even more anxious. So he said, get a nail file, and during the 5 minutes every day when you massage him and touch in between each of his paw pads, start using the file for 30 seconds on each nail. Once he's used to that, then file all 16 nails and then clip the last one. He won't know what's coming. Then the next day clip the first 14 and then clip the 15th. Keep going like that every day until you can clip them all.
This made a lot of sense to me. And most amazing? It worked.
Well, my modified and accelerated version of it worked. I did the "puppy touch" massaging every day, and it came in mighty handy after our extensive tick checks following a romp in the woods. He got pretty used to that and was fine with being man-handled. It helped to have gavin there to stroke his head and talk to him while I went to town.
So the filing went well also. I did that about a week ago.
And today I was taking a nap, and had Neemes up on the bed with me. It's hot out so he's pretty mellow these days, so I thought, I'll just do some filing while he's laying here all relaxed. I got to file a few nails and realized I could see how much I could clip off safely.
I did 9 of the front 10 nails without so much as a flinch. I'd alternate with a little filing now and then to lull him back into submission. I decided to wait on the back 6, since many of them are black and it's harder to see how much is safe to cut.
Anyway, yet another reason I'm so thankful for Nicholas. He took the insurmountable and gave me a strategy and a plan. And there's less clicking around the apartment now.
Monday, July 02, 2007
Here's to training
I knew right away that Nicholas was the right trainer for me. Maybe it was his no-nonsense attitude. Maybe it was his ability to make things crystal clear through analogies. Maybe it was his training studying wolves and coyotes. I was on board. My own personal dog whisperer.
Week 1:
see previous post. The outcome was that Nemo walked around looking afraid of me and like he'd done something wrong. I guess it was the not letting him touch me (unless I instigated it), not walking over or around him but straight on through until he moved (that was easy), and not talking to him except to tell him we were "done" with our interaction or to "halt" whatever he was doing wrong.
The dog that greeted Nicholas on the second week was much more unsure, much less certain of himself and his proper place. He stayed in the hall while Nicholas and I sat in the kitchen and talked (a first for a dog who insists on being with me at all times) and only came in to the room when Nicholas called him.
Week 2:
I had a lot of work to do with commands, although Nemo already knew a few from his training with his previous owner. We spent 15-30 seconds, 10 times a day, playing Simon Says. 'Sit. good boy! Lie down. Good boy! Shake. Good boy! Roll over. Good boy!" He was a pro, except when it came from going from a lie down to a sit. That took some pulling and dragging. By week 3 he had the gist of it, and now he does it on his own almost every time.
We also did a lot of practice walks--2x a day, with him on the 1-foot leash and me not looking at him. (this is a lot harder than it sounds, expecially as I'm so enamored with Neemes). Also being very alpha in my posture: head up, chin out, shoulders back. Commanding. I also had to know at every moment where our destination was: even if it was just the telephone poll three yards away. Nemo had to start to learn that, when we went out hunting (as Nicholas explained, this was Nemo's idea of what we did together, and what I was doing when I went out without him), he had a very important job and that was to help me as his pack leader. So I had to decide what to focus on, what was important, how important it was, and how it shoud affect our journey towards our goal. Basically, total leadership at all times.
I found this very challenging at first. I could notice other dogs, but generally ignored loud sounds that Nemo would focused on. Then I'd have to work to get him back focused on me. I was supposed to pause only for a second or two while I considered how important something was: a construction guy with a jackhammer, a rottweiler across the street, a Fed Ex truck pulling up on the sidewalk. I noticed that when I did these walks with my boyfriend, I was much better at it because I could point things out as I was noticing them and then say out loud what the appropriate response was. Then it was like I was following my own instructions, instead of having to think the whole thing through internally at lightening speed. It sounded something like this, said sort of under my breath:
"Chihauha, keep on going. Crazed man in orange suitsit talking to himself, pause for just a sec. Traffic light. 'Sit, Neemes. Good boy. Heel.' Robin in the grass, no matter. Bicycle coming towards us: 'Nemo, sit. Good dog. Stay:'"
I would ramble to myself, and realize that even if I myself sounded like a crazy person, this was probably the most mature thing I'd ever done. As a writer I'm always inside my head, and my work lives inside Word documents and e-mails most of the time. It was fun to have a performance to do; a new language to speak; a posture to maintian. I felt like a new person. And I was starting to see I could have a new dog.
Week 1:
see previous post. The outcome was that Nemo walked around looking afraid of me and like he'd done something wrong. I guess it was the not letting him touch me (unless I instigated it), not walking over or around him but straight on through until he moved (that was easy), and not talking to him except to tell him we were "done" with our interaction or to "halt" whatever he was doing wrong.
The dog that greeted Nicholas on the second week was much more unsure, much less certain of himself and his proper place. He stayed in the hall while Nicholas and I sat in the kitchen and talked (a first for a dog who insists on being with me at all times) and only came in to the room when Nicholas called him.
Week 2:
I had a lot of work to do with commands, although Nemo already knew a few from his training with his previous owner. We spent 15-30 seconds, 10 times a day, playing Simon Says. 'Sit. good boy! Lie down. Good boy! Shake. Good boy! Roll over. Good boy!" He was a pro, except when it came from going from a lie down to a sit. That took some pulling and dragging. By week 3 he had the gist of it, and now he does it on his own almost every time.
We also did a lot of practice walks--2x a day, with him on the 1-foot leash and me not looking at him. (this is a lot harder than it sounds, expecially as I'm so enamored with Neemes). Also being very alpha in my posture: head up, chin out, shoulders back. Commanding. I also had to know at every moment where our destination was: even if it was just the telephone poll three yards away. Nemo had to start to learn that, when we went out hunting (as Nicholas explained, this was Nemo's idea of what we did together, and what I was doing when I went out without him), he had a very important job and that was to help me as his pack leader. So I had to decide what to focus on, what was important, how important it was, and how it shoud affect our journey towards our goal. Basically, total leadership at all times.
I found this very challenging at first. I could notice other dogs, but generally ignored loud sounds that Nemo would focused on. Then I'd have to work to get him back focused on me. I was supposed to pause only for a second or two while I considered how important something was: a construction guy with a jackhammer, a rottweiler across the street, a Fed Ex truck pulling up on the sidewalk. I noticed that when I did these walks with my boyfriend, I was much better at it because I could point things out as I was noticing them and then say out loud what the appropriate response was. Then it was like I was following my own instructions, instead of having to think the whole thing through internally at lightening speed. It sounded something like this, said sort of under my breath:
"Chihauha, keep on going. Crazed man in orange suitsit talking to himself, pause for just a sec. Traffic light. 'Sit, Neemes. Good boy. Heel.' Robin in the grass, no matter. Bicycle coming towards us: 'Nemo, sit. Good dog. Stay:'"
I would ramble to myself, and realize that even if I myself sounded like a crazy person, this was probably the most mature thing I'd ever done. As a writer I'm always inside my head, and my work lives inside Word documents and e-mails most of the time. It was fun to have a performance to do; a new language to speak; a posture to maintian. I felt like a new person. And I was starting to see I could have a new dog.
