Sym: Training

We began Sym’s training almost immediately.

We taught him how to deal with a multitude of cuddles, hugs and snogs and I taught him how to fall asleep upside down on my chest as I lay in the sofa ... something he never forgot or grew too old for.

Of course, there was a serious side to Sym’s early training regime, such as the ‘prevention of a pee-and-poo-stained-carpet’ program. Basically this involved observation, patience, quick reflexes and the ability to point a peeing puppy in the right direction (away from you) to avoid a soaking.

Within a week, in which many a stain was created and painstakingly removed, we had a puppy that would willingly use training pads to relieve himself. Pee’s and poo’s could then be wrapped up in the pad and safely disposed of with a minimum of fuss and no carpet scrubbing.

Having achieved that milestone, it was simply a case of reducing the number of puppy pads until there was only one left, then moving it nearer and nearer towards the backdoor and the garden.

Of course, during this time he would pee and poo outdoors, but only if we were with him.

We expected his training progress to be slow but Sym proved to be a willing and able student.

Sit, paw and stay were learned within a few a few short weeks of his arrival and we, in turn, learned that puppies prefer garlic sausages to regular puppy training treats. After receiving his second puppy inoculation, this discovery proved to be very useful in his further outdoor training.

Recall was so easy with garlic sausages!

Later in life his preferences would change and cheddar cheese would become the love-treat of his life.

He would do anything, and quite often everything, to get a cube of cheese.

In the park ... Hailey Park ... we played games; ran with him, hid from him, chased him and practiced his re-call to perfection ... almost.

In the park ... still Hailey Park ... we started to play the game he loved most: chasing tennis balls!

In the park ... yes, the Hailey one ... I found the peace and pleasure that comes with walking a dog.

And he discovered squirrels which he would fruitlessly chase through the copse, barking incessantly at tree trunks every time they managed to escape.

...

When you have a puppy in the house you learn things.

You learn, for instance, that everyone else knows how to train a puppy far better than you do!

Advice comes thick and fast and variety of training techniques are brought to your attention. And suddenly, as if by magic, every TV channel seems to be showing the latest Victoria Stilwell or Cesar Milan shows. And, whichever one’s training methods you choose, you will end up being in the wrong camp and being told off by someone ... Stilwell is wishy-washy; Milan’s techniques are cruel.

Anyway, we bought books! We bought lots of books. And we read them ... ignored them mostly, but we read them.

We decided to use common sense whilst training Sym and used the kindness and reward method.

As it turned out, and on reflection, whereas I thought we were using the Barbara Woodhouse method of training, we actually ended up using a combination of the Stilwell and Milan methods, or at least variations thereof.

Still ... my handsome boy turned out alright, didn’t he?

It Never Rains, But It Pours

Sym, Sox and Clover

Within the space of a few months Sox has become old!

It began with her food.  At times, she couldn't, or wouldn't, eat what was put before her ... even her favourite meal of tripe. 

Over the last six to eight weeks she has lost a lot of weight ... down from 20 kilos to12.5 ... and her back legs have become stiff with arthritis.  She can no longer sit, as she once did, to receive a treat. She spends her days walking slowly after me wherever I go or sleeping.

Now things are moving from bad to worse.

She is becoming increasingly more confused and, at times, seems to forget where she is or what it was she was about to do. At other times she seems to be her usual self, albeit stiffer.

Last night, for short periods, she seemed to lose a little control over her back legs and was very unstable. At 2.50 am we heard her cries of distress. I went downstairs and found her sprawled on the floor in a puddle of her own pee. I helped her back to her feet and cleaned both her and the floor up. From that moment on, she seemed fine and even took a turn around the garden. This morning, there are no signs of the instability that she displayed last night, but I fear that it will return. Soon, maybe very soon, we will have to make that sad decision help her 'over the Bridge'.

Sym, as I have written about before, has Lymphoma. He has had two courses of treatment over the last year and a half and, as I have also previously reported, only achieved partial remission after his last treatment .

At the moment, his lymph nodes are swollen but his condition is being held in check be a course of steroids.

It seems that there is nothing we can do now but give him the best possible care until the day comes when we have to make a decision to end his suffering too.

Clover ... a sweet and sensitive dog ... will then be alone.

And I worry greatly about that!

Clover, no longer a young dog ... we think she was about 8 or 9 years old when we got her in 2009 ... spent most of her early years locked in the kennels of a puppy breeder in God knows what kind of conditions, and when she arrived here as a foster dog, was accompanied by a whole host of problems. She was afraid of the outdoors. She was scared of parked cars and terrified by moving ones. White vans would make her stop as if paralysed. She would be sick at the very notion of actually getting into a vehicle. Sudden movements or the raising of an arm would make her cringe.

It became very quickly apparent that she was not the kind of dog that most people would want to adopt. 

So, as she seemed to like Sox and Sym, we kept her.

She has always taken her lead from Sox and treats her as ... excuse the expression, dog lovers ... as the Alpha female. She is also devoted to Sym and will follow him anywhere and everywhere. Through both Sym and Sox she has gained a confidence that allows her now to look forward to short car journeys, a walk, a visit to the park and a cuddle with her 'daddy' on the sofa.

She will follow them around the house and settle close to where they settle; always seeking their company; always seeking the comfort they provide.

And I worry about how she will cope when they are no longer around.

How I will cope? 

I know we will both find it hard!

Old Tom On The Bench

Tom was sitting on a bench in the park.

"Morning ...."

"...Tom".

"Yerrrs.  Morning".

He held a plastic bag on his lap.  It had a slightly fishy smell to it.

"What's up Tom?" I said, trying to make conversation.

"It's my wedding anniversary today" he replied.

"Congratulations!" I said as I shoved my hand towards him. "How many years"?

"Too bloody many" he said as he limply shook my hand. "Forty-five! Forty-five bloody years! I would have gotten less if I'd committed murder".

I could see he wasn't a happy man.

"She said I had to make her a meal, like the one we had on our wedding night.  She made me buy these".

He showed me the contents of the bag.

"Oysters? You like oysters?"

"Doesn't matter if I like 'em or not. They're a wassname ... a thingymabob ... you know?" he stammered.

"Sorry? They're a what?"

"An aphrodisiac!" he said.

"I thought an afrodisiac was a hairstyle" I said with a grin.

"Stop trying to cheer me up. It won't work".

"Why are you so miserable?" I asked, now slightly concerned.

"Because these things are expensive.  On my wedding day, at the wedding banquet, she made me eat fifteen ... FIFTEEN!!! ... of the slimy little buggers".

"Yuk!"

"That night, in our room, she was so disappointed".

"Oh! Why?"

"Because only one of the bloody things only worked!!!"

Ball Throwing For A Clever Pup!

My dog's activities in the park have been reported on numerous occasions and no doubt someone, right now, whilst reading this is saying 'Oh no! Not again'!

Sorry!

Our walks are always ball throwing walks as far as Sym is concerned.

I throw, Sym chases, catches then brings it back.

Sometimes!

I have determined that four commands come into play whilst playing ball.

"Fetch it"          - when he drops it out of reach off the path.
"Where is it?"   - to get his attentions when he drops it somewhere out of sight.
"Find it"           - when he drops it in the long grass or in a big puddle
"Gimme dat"    - when he doesn't drop his ball when it's time to go home

When I actually throw, or make to throw, the ball I don't say anything.  It would be a waste of time and effort because Sym would already be arcing his way to the point where he would like to receive it, whereupon he will go down on the ground in that typical "I'm ready! Go for it!" collie pose.

When the ball is thrown, and sometimes even before, he begins the chase. He has an amazing ability to calculate the balls flight path and be there waiting for it to bounce.  He also has the ability to look incredibly smug whilst chomping on his now captured prize!

The average round of 'throw & fetch' goes like this ...

Sym races into position. I throw the ball. Sym runs, jumps and catches. He starts to bring it to me ... but catches a scent and dashes off into the long grass only to emerge minutes later minus his ball.
Sym then runs into position, oblivious to the fact that he left his ball in the long grass.
In order to let him know that I can't find the ball, I shout "Where is it?" which grabs his attention and gets him running back to where he last saw it.

At this point he will look at me with his "You're kidding, right?" expression in the hope that he doesn't have to search for it.

Now this is the really good part - which I have mentioned before - where Sym uses his nose to find out where he left the ball.

"Find it!" I cry and off he goes, nose to the ground, looking for it.

When he locates it - and he nearly always does - he switches into smug mode again and trots off along the path, casually dropping the ball somewhere along my line of march so that I can throw it again.

On those rare occasions when he drops the ball a little too far from the track, or I just can't be bothered to walk those extra few steps, I say "Fetch it!" and he jogs back down the track, picks it up and drops it a little closer to me.

Sometimes - the times when he doesn't want to go home - the "Gimme dat!" order is unpacked and aimed right at him!  He knows when this command is used it means ...

1.  it's definitely time to go home and  
2.  double cheese reward for compliance

I always put him back on his leash at this point and drape it over his back, letting him walk to heel for the last two hundred metres or so back to the car.

He really is a good boy at heart.

Did I ever mention that I'm proud of my pup?

My Boy Sym And His Ball

It was no different from any other walk.

Sox prowled around ignoring me. Clover was at my heels ... just in case I tried to run away.

Sym, well, he was hunkering down in the long grass waiting for the ball to be thrown.

It was!

Up he jumped and sped after it, easily making up ground and catching it on the second bounce.   He jogged back along the path and dumped it at (almost) my feet and off he went to assume his 'throw it now' position in the long grass.

This went on again and again and he successfully caught and returned his ball to me each time.

But ...

... here it comes...

... on the second lap of our walk he caught the ball and was immediately distracted.

He dashed off into the long grass (slightly longer than the 'other' long grass where he would wait for his ball to be thrown).

I called him back, but he didn't respond.  I called him 'Sym' and he returned straight away!

Minus his ball!

I sent him back to find it but, nearly 15 minutes of his nose sniffing though the undergrowth (is it still called 'undergrowth' when there's nothing over it?) produced nothing.

I scolded him and walked on. He followed, as did Clover (Sox hadn't even noticed we had stopped and was on her way home) but he was constantly looking and waiting for a ball to be thrown.

I walked about 75 yards down the track and sat on a log that the council had dumped by the path so that they wouldn't have to spend any money on a park bench.

Sym approached and I could tell he was somewhat confused as to why his ball wasn't being thrown for him.

"Sorry" I said showing him the ball-less flicky-stick. "If you hadn't lost your ball, you'd still be playing".

He sniffed the end of the stick then galloped (can a dog gallop?) away, back the way we had come.

All I could see from where I sat was the white tip of his bushy tail as it criss-crossed the longer long grass area where he had lost his ball.

Within five minutes he was bounding down the track with ...

... you've guessed it...

... his ball stuck in his mouth!

I gave him a big fuss and praised him to the heavens and back!

He grinned from ear to ear, as only a smug Border Collie can, and romped off into the long (not so long this time) grass and awaited the flight of his newly found ball.

It flew!

He's a damned clever boy, my Sym!

Cold Weather And The Light Speed Snot

Tissues are essential when you go out in the freezing cold to walk the dogs.

I mean, I have a moustache and, believe it or not, there is nothing worse than a 'tasche' full  of snot.

Oh yes, you can sniff your way around the park, each sniff requiring more effort than the last and seemingly drawing less and less back into the snot sanctuary, otherwise known as your nose.

The trouble with sniffing ... I mean, the danger of sniffing ... well, it's micro-fractures to the inside of you skull, isn't it!

If you are a sniffer, then you will have experience of at least one, if not more, of those high velocity, quick release, double density snots.

You know the ones!

They are the ones that with every sniff move inside the nostril but only just enough to cause a modicum of irritation, not enough to release them from their anchorage.

Then, when you have given up all hope of ridding yourself of the unwelcome nasal guest, the 'quick release' is activated as you try to sniff your top lip free of dribble.

There is an audible 'THWUCK' as it releases, followed a fraction of a second later by a very quiet 'TOK' as the snot, travelling by this time at the very high speed, seems to make contact with the inside of the base of you skull. The micro-fracture!

OK!  So the irritation is gone, but you are then faced with that awful feeling as you realise that the snot has nowhere to go but down.

There is a gulp, a grimace and, perhaps, then a few seconds of nausea, as you try to come to terms with the latest addition to your diet.

They say "Shit happens" but, my friends, so does the 'bullet' snot!

Any sniffer will tell you  ... it really is worth checking your pockets for tissues before you go out in the cold!