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?

Taking A Leak In Antwerp

Let me tell you about Antwerp.

It was early summer of 1981 and the Army had decided that I should learn to drive.

Learning to driving was not very high on my agenda at that time as I reckoned it could seriously hamper my drinking and general enjoyment of life.

But the Army had other ideas.

I expected to have to attend the Army driving school in Sennelage, just down the road from where I was stationed, but no ... I received my orders to attend the larger (and better equipped) driving school in Antwerp, Belgium.  It meant a journey of about 170 to 180 miles (approx. 300 Km).

When the day arrived for me to depart, I was grumpy. I hated (and still do) train journeys that are longer than an hour. But, as luck would have it, I spent most of that journey being entertained by an elderly, one legged German gentleman.  He showed me magic tricks with a coin that I just could not learn, pushed a cigarette through a piece of paper (another trick) without making a hole and told me riveting tales of his war time experiences.

Apparently he had been a bad boy as a youngster and at the outbreak of war had been in prison for theft and burglary. When things started to go pear shaped with the German's Russian campaign, he was one of thousands of prisoners that were released and sent to serve The Fatherland in a Penal (to do with 'punishment' not 'willies') Battalion.  With only basic training, his battalion was despatched to Russia.

He came very close to tears on a few occasions, as he skimmed over accounts of the engagements he and his fellow prisoners had taken part in.  Then he told me how he had lost his leg.

He and his unit were dug-in near Kursk when they were attacked by a very strong Russian force. For hours they fought off massed, and reckless, Russian attacks, until a German artillery unit managed to end the action by raining down shells into the advancing Russians.  It was one of those German shells that fell short of it's target that had killed several of his friends and removed his leg.

Of course, he told this story in far more detail, recalling his friends and allowing himself minor digressions as he did so.  He said that he recalled that even though his leg was missing and he was in great pain how pleased he was that his war was over. He remembered how on the day he was evacuated from the aid station, how his comrades 'congratulated' him on being able to go home.

At that time, he had said, we didn't know that 'home' was soon be the 'front line'.

He left the train before we crossed the boarder into Belgium and for the following hour or so before the train reached Antwerp, I sat alone and I, for the first time in my short military career, thought about what would happen if the Russians and their allies decided to take a stroll through the Fulda Gap.

By the time the train pulled into Antwerp's main station,I was busting! I needed to pee!

I raced down the platform, flashed my ticket at the gate and scanned the area of the main hall for toilets.

I found them located near the exit and I raced in.

As I ran in, I could see a long line of urinals along the wall on the right side. On the left wall there was a very long mirror ... or so I thought.

I dumped my case and kitbag, unzipped and uncoiled the 'hose'.

Aaaaaaaaah!

Relieved, I packed everything away in my trousers and turned to get my bags and head for the exit.

I stopped dead.

Before me were the upper torso's of at least seven or eight women.

What I took to be a very long mirror in my haste to lighten my load was, in fact, a very long hole in the wall to the ladies toilets on the other side!

Red faced, and accompanied by a round of applause from the ladies, I left the toilet in even greater haste
than I had arrived in.

It was then that I noticed for the first time a sign in several languages that stated:

Gentlemen's toilets closed for repair. 

Please use the toilets at the North exit!

  

Old Tom

I bumped into Old Tom the other day.

"Morning George" he said.

"Morning ..."

"... Tom" he interrupted.

"... er, yes. I know. Morning Tom"

He shook my hand vigorously.

"Here, Tom, d'you remember that bully Ted Harris?  From the King's ..."

"... Head pub? Yes I do." he said.  "Not here, is he?" he asked, looking around.

"No, no" I said."I was on my way to the doctors ..."

"Flu?"

"No, I was walking."

"A-ha!"

"Anyway"  I continued. "I saw him a few weeks ago down Pitfall Lane."

"Oh no!  What'd he do?"

"He shook me warmly by the ..."

"... hand?"

"No.  Throat!"

"Good grief! What did you say?"

"Gngh-gngh-gngh-gngh mostly."

"What did you do?"

"Well, I put my military training to good use, didn't I."

"You begged for mercy, didn't you?"

"Don't we all?" I said. "D'you want to sign my plaster casts Tom?"