I want a (well-trained) dog

I think Nemo sees dead people. Or at least he saw something, that I didn't see, in the same spot in the woods, on two different occasions, that sent him skidding around, yelping, and then afraid to walk back to the house without being leashed, with his tail between his legs.

What is that about?

I've never seen anything like it. It's like he became another dog. I was alone with him the first time, and the second time, a couple of weeks later, we were out there with my folks and Gavin. At one point he was so scared my mom said, "he doesn't want to walk." He just sat down, on top of his tail, and looked pathetically at us. He's too big to carry, so we sort of had to distract him with sticks, and Gavin had to hold onto his harness. Even when we got back to the house, and went through the whole towel-drying ritual, he was still tail between his legs. Then it wore off. I don't get it. I guess I never will. But I was scared to go through that patch for a day or two. I'm over it now.

Nemo gets at least half an hour in the woods and fields near our house on most morning--whenever we're not in the city. Two Sundays back, be noticed a little critter of some sort (I suspect it was a mole) and went furiously digging after it. Gavin tried to dissuade him, but I let it go, thinking it's one of the reasons we let him romp out there in the first place. He romped for another half an hour, but then was sort of subdued when we came back, and then I noticed his nail--the soft part under the hard part you trim--was split on his left paw, and there was wood and splintery stuff stuck in there.

A vet visit and a bunch of antibiotics later, it seems to be healing nicely, which is a great alternative to having to put him under and cut the whole thing off.

I did sedate him before the vet this time, though he did fine without it last time, at our new vet in Mt Laurel, but I don't think it kicked in until later, when he had what seemed like a bad reaction to that paired with the narcotic they gave him for pain. Poor guy. His sad face has looked even sadder than usual. All he could do was lie there in a ball with his eyes open and whine.

So he hasn't run in the woods in 11 days and is worse for the (lack of) wear. The other day I came home from a meeting to find the plastic jar of peanut butter I've been using to give him his meds on the floor, cover off, almost empty. I hope he had a stomach ache, but I know he's just pent up and bored.

The snow and ice and slush doesn't help. It's been bleeding the past two mornings. A couple of people have asked me if I should wrap it, and maybe I should, although the vet didn't seem to think so, and I think all his licking is going it some good. One friend told me they used to put honey mixed with cayenne pepper on a cat's cast to stop him from licking it. I wonder, is it worse to have a sore paw, or a honey-covered mess?

Miracle of miracles, he let me trim that claw this morning. Further evidence he actually does trust me. People who don't see us all the time have pointed out the difference they see in this regard, but it still knocks my socks off. We're back to the dremmeling very soon, though.

This afternoon as Neemes and I were making our way down the wooded path that is our routine, a number of unusual events transpired. We startled a red tailed hawk away from dinner: s squirrel that was still breathing. We came across a hunter with a crossbow, with whom I startlingly struck up a conversation (to make sure he saw my dog, and that my dog was a dog) and then found myself both trying to extract information and exude authority, as he was doing the same. I'm not sure I'm allowed back there, whether it's private property, and apparently neither is Chuck (we did exchange names). He claimed (after asking if I worked for Runyan--Phila. Eagle whose property we were bordering on) when I said I was a neighbor, that Runyan had given him exclusive rights to hunt there. I wrote down his plate number when I came back to our street, and he was gone before the police could swing by to check things out. But goes without saying that Nemo will be sporting his new cow bell and a neon harness from now on. I don't care if Chuck is, as he claims, only out there at dusk. The crossbow scared the hell out of me.

Nemo is testing me, methinks.

Yesterday we spent the day the Renningers flea market, mostly outside, but couldn't take Nemo because it's against the rules of Philly Car Share unless you crate your dog. I don't even know anyone who owns a crate big enough for Nemo.

So he was home alone from like 9 am to 6 p.m., which is a long day for him. Not from the bladder perspective, but from the loneliness one. He's with me all day most of every day, and if I do leave him for meetings or whatever, it's usually for no more than a few hours.

So last night I was aghast--literally--to discover that the rug I'd moved into the kitchen has a big hole (okay, maybe not so big, but noticeable) chewed in one side. And of course I was just praising him in my mind for being so not destructive at ALL, the only casualties over the past 18 months have been some fringe on an old rug and a few leashes--okay, many leashes, but that's because he doesn't like being left tied up.

I needed a new kitchen rug anyway, but I'm going to have to up the alpha a little, I think. He knew when I found it that I was upset because he did the usual--went and hid behind Gavin, with his head and tail down. A sad showing, for sure. Gr!

Nemo and I take walks every morning (when we're not staying in the city) out in the town-owned land behind our house. It's woods and fields, and Nemo gets out all his craziness and hunter's desires. He's not a dog who frolicks much in the dog park, but put him in the woods or a field--especially if there's a stream?!--and he's a madman. I have to be careful to keep track of where he is because he comes past me at such speed that he can literally knock me down.

This costs a bit of time on the other end--I have to hose him down, do tick checks, wipe him off before we come inside--but it's so worth it to see him so happy and to let him get some exercise (and me too) before breakfast. Especially since he has to spend the rest of the day sitting by my desk while I work.

Recently I've been thinking I need to get Neemes a hunting vest, and/or a bell for his collar, and/or a muzzle. To date he's caught (though hopefully not killed) two woodchucks (groundhogs?), which sent both G and I over the edge. What I'm afraid is that since it's spring, he'll come upon some fawns and it will be all over. We'll end up having to nurse back to health and then raise Bambi in the garage and ultimately make room for her on the bed. And believe me, there's no room for her on the bed.

I've started doing something new with Nemo, that seems to be working like a charm. When he starts getting uppity or aggressive towards another dog (which really only happens with this one German shepherd who lives on the same block as my office, with certain bigger/more alpha males at the dog park, and with Rex and Snickers out here in Jersey), I get all Dog Whisperer on him, get him over on his side, keep one hand on his neck and another on his hip, and keep him there until the dog passes. It works like a charm. He seriously submits entirely, and actually looks totally relaxed, instead of insane and straining on the leash like crazy. (We've stopped using the prong collar--partly out of convenience and partly because he's much better about pulling.)

It's one of those things that I knew about intellectually but wasn't ready to put into action. But now that I've had him for 18 months, and we're side by side constantly, I feel more confident in my ability to dominate him--so that he can relax and calm down, not so that I can feel bigger and stronger. Mostly it's just embarrassing to have other dog owners at the dog park see me struggle with him. I recall vividly the first (and really only) time he snapped at me, in front of the whole morning crew, when I tried to get him (for the 300th time) to stop eating wood chips. I knew right away that I should throw him over on his side and get on top of him, but I wasn't up to doing it with an audience. Instead I just tried not to flinch and got us on our way.

Now that I think of it, the real reason I can do this now with an 85-lb. dog is that he stole some of my lunch. After the birthday cake incident (which was entirely my fault) I figured food on the counter was safe so long as Nemo wasn't left alone for hours with it out on the counter. About a month ago I had defrosted a pound of hamburger, and left it on the corner of the sink while I was waiting for the Foreman Grill to heat up. I walked down the hall to my office to check an e-mail, and about 10 seconds later heard a sound in the kitchen, and when I looked up, all I could see was his two front paws up on the counter--his head was out of view behind the refrigerator. I let out a howl and came running down the hall, and to my surprise he didn't scarf down the rest of what was there before I got to him (his usual trick). I was so pissed off (not even that he misbehaved so much as that he took my lunch) that without thinking I yelled at him and threw him down on his side, saying "No."

He stayed like that on the kitchen floor for the next 20 minutes without a flinch.

I feel like I've graduated to a new level of alpha status, where I'm more comfortable in my skin and not constantly wondering whether I'm doing it right. It feels sort of natural, and he feels more naturally submissive. If only I could count on him to be this way with other alpha dogs.

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 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.

I've had Nemo for seven months now (almost exactly), and he's everything I could have wanted. Loyal, sweet, affectionate, adorable, mellow. Except for the occasional running away episode (twice in the past week and a half) and lunging at joggers or cyclists on the sidewalk (more and more often). Oh yeah, and there was the dragging me across the grass to go after that boxer in the park on Sunday. Still have the skinned knees from that one.

Okay so I'm not an experienced dog owner, and all the Cesar Milan watching and reading in the world can't help me with this stuff. Or his maniacal response to horses. So I have enlisted the assistance of a professional.

Nicholas will come to my house once a week for the next six weeks to work with us. The first session was today. I was excited and a little nervous, because I knew that this would mean a major adjustment for me as well as Nemo. Being consistent is hard, although I guess ultimately it's not as hard as wondering if this time he's going to drag me across the grass after a strange dog.

I have many many new rules to follow, but the biggest one is to ignore. Ignore ignore ignore. I don't look at him, I don't pay attention to him (unless I'm in the mood to), I don't spend time correcting him. I claim the space and my time by letting him know I don't need him. This is a tough act for me.

When I come in the door, I have to ignore him for the first five minutes. This is to demonstrate that, as pack leader, I don't need him, I'm in control of things, and if I want something from him, I'll let him know. Otherwise he's expected to act as a guest in my house. There are certain places he's not allowed to go (bed, couch, under the table) and he has a place where's he's supposed to go unless I want him elsewhere. He's not allowed to go poking around in my fridge or my trash (just like a guest would be--not that he does that), he's not allowed to stand in my way (I have to go where I'm going and bump him out of the way if necessary), and he's not allowed to decide when we play and when we sit quietly. I decide that. He's eating my food, even once I put it in his bowl, and he doesn't start eating until I say.

This doesn't sound like a lot of fun, but it does make sense. I know it won't have to be this way forever; Nicholas says eventually, once he's acting like a good guest, I can invite him to move in and stay. For now that seems like a ways off. I've got a lot of posture to focus on. Head up, chest out. All the time.

Personal space: He's not allowed to touch me unless I initiate it. As Nicholas put it, unless it's a way you'd like your boss touching you, it's off limits. That makes a lot of sense. In the mean time Cecilia will be getting a lot of my baby talk and canoodling.

When I think of it, this is just how I have learned to set boundaries with other aspects of my life. With friends, boyfriends, bosses, clients. I don't talk to work people just because they call. I talk to them when it's a good time for me. I value my time and know I do better when I take care of boundaries and ask other people to respect them. I've ended relationships with friends who insisted on stopping over and staying when I said I couldn't, that I had a deadline. Setting limits with the 85-lb animal living in my tiny apartment makes more sense than anything. As much sense as adopting him in the first place.

Maybe it will serve as an outet for my less-than-pleasant dismissive behavior. I can be kinder and gentler to my loved ones and more cold and indifferent (when merited) to my dog, with whom it will actually improve our relationship. And I can stop feeling guilty about it. In fact, Nicholas will praise me for it.

We shall see.