Those that have had any time to wonder, probably wonder what
is up with Whisper and his struggle to overcome anxiety and aggression. (I
thought about trying to come up with nicer words, but there you go). However,
since my foot surgery on June 10, I have literally been down for the count—counting
days and days. The dogs are sure I am the most boring human on the planet.
Finally I don’t rush off each morning leaving them alone, but all I have done while being home is lie around doing nothing. After all, what good, really, are humans if you
don’t come with sheep or throw balls or go for walks or throw balls or go in
the car or throw balls…..
I have managed to wheel out to the deck and throw a few
tennis balls. We have worked some on a few exercises—getting them used to being
separated in a room away from us for small amounts of time (and knocking them
over as I open the door to let them out), Whisper getting really good and
practiced settling quietly beside me on his bed beside the couch, being ignored
by me (I am learning as well). But, as for true work with him interacting with
other dogs and people, well, that’s hard to do when your human is
incapacitated.
However, Tuesday is my six-week surgery date—and I can
officially walk again. I confess I have breached the barrier a couple days
early—but only a little, taking one small stroll to the back yard, and then
putting my “surgical boot” that goes to my knee and protects my foot very well
on for help. Even then I sat and, just to be different, threw the ball from
under a tree instead of from the deck. Whisper's ruff is so thick and beautiful and just flows when he runs now; 19-months-old, and my big boy is just about all grown up, thank goodness.
On August 4, we have an appointment to go back to the
behavior clinic to work on specific helpful behavior changes. Now that Whisper
has been on puppy Prozac for several weeks, his brain can hopefully be
accepting of the training. He is still a border collie—they live in OCD land;
but he does mind well, generally, and as long as he can stay away from Cujo Land, I am very optimistic.
So, no, we haven’t vanished, and, no, we haven’t given up,
and no, we aren’t not sharing any more. We have just had to all get well enough
to get back to training.
But, understand this:
this dog may be the sweetest dog I have ever had—and I have had some
world-class wonders in that area. He is also very bonded with me. When my
husband takes them for a ride anywhere with him, Whisper’s first stop is to
check in with me as soon as he walks in the door. “Hey, Mom, I’m back!” He
stays in whatever room I am in; he listens for my voice. When I am busy and
look up, if he is not asleep, his eyes are watching me. Try working on a
computer with a border collie staring at you—it is not as easy as it sounds.
When he does sleep, if I get upset, or laugh, or my mood changes one degree,
that beautiful head lifts and, more often than not, he raises from his position
and trots over, pushing that beautiful snout under a hand, into my face. He
licks my wrist, which is the one expression of affection from dogs that drives
me crazy—Millie, the other sweetest dog I’ve ever had—did that, and I didn’t
like it then, either. I do believe one
of his issues is protection of me, and we just have to get him to understand
that I can protect myself, especially as he is perfectly capable of
understanding that I have been injured in the last year, two big surgeries that
have had me down for several weeks each time.
And, we will. Soon—oh, very soon now—we will walk and train
again. That smile on his face makes me smile as well. As usual, we’ll let you
know how it goes.
Thank everyone for your kind words to us.
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