Working Hard for the Kibble

\\Working on fear aggression is not, of course, a sprint. Like most worthwhile work, it takes time. I haven’t posted on the blog for a little while because we are basically keeping to the described program, and I’m not sure how many people yearn to read “gave meds 9:00; worked 15 min. on leash exercise….” And so on.

And, yet, it is those small entries on the calendar that will, I pray, make the difference in my cherished dog—or rather, the actions those entries represent.

Whisper’s favorite activities involve his beloved ball. Exercise is essential for all of us, of course—dogs and people—and everyone with a border collie knows that if they don’t get enough exercise, don’t have somewhere to work off that endless energy, someone, as in the owner or the owner’s possessions, will pay. (One of my favorite stories along those lines is the man who got a border collie puppy and, not wanting to cruelly lock the puppy in a cage (crate) for too long, instead shut him in the bathroom, wisely wanting to keep him safe and contained, which, we note, is one purpose of a crate. When the man arrived home later, the puppy had managed to peel the wallpaper off the wall as high as he could reach, all the way around the wall).

Though I cannot walk the dogs for a few weeks due to what must seem to everyone like the perennial foot surgery recovery, I can throw a ball, and I roll out to the deck with my knee roller, throw the ball, which Whisper tears after, Jenni tears after him, and on and on. The game can’t last very long now; the Carolinas in the summer define humidity and heat. But, the dogs love to go at it for a few minutes, Henry the cat swatting at them off and on, and then everyone comes in and collapses on top of the closest air conditioning vent. And, exercise is a big part of Whisper’s (and my) anti-anxiety program.

We periodically work on the application where I put his special blue leash on him, ignore any unwanted behavior, and give as reinforcement only the quiet phrase “Good boy.”  Whisper checks to make sure that Jenni and Mike aren’t doing anything fun, then looks at me like, “Really? Again?” and gives a big sigh before collapsing on his bed beside the couch for a snooze. The point, of course, is to transfer that behavior outside the house; we keep practicing to make that behavior second nature. Most difficult is ignoring a white face with a coal-black snout stuck in my face sniffing, “Can you REALLY ignore me?” and then making sure the reinforcement phrase is quiet enough not to send him into spasms of joy at the very fact that I paid attention to  him. “She spoke to me! She talked to me! YOU TALKED TO ME!! ME! ME! ME!” If I did not know better myself, I would think no one ever talked to the dog—all day long. Ever. 

What he hates is being locked in the bedroom away from us as practice for when company comes and the best behavior alternative is an absence of dog. Jenni is put in the room with him—he is not alone. But, 18 months old is not an adult dog, and he really wants to be where I am. He has a bone filled with cheese to chew, he has a toy, there is that big bed to lie on….but no humans appears to be cruel and unusual punishment.  However, he has never destroyed anything, and, though we have not worked on this as much as we should have done, practice makes perfect. Jenni, of course, chews the bones and waits patiently.

Finally, I have to comment on the medicine. No dog person I know wants to drug their dog; I don’t want to drug my dog. But, before we lost her, my Millie spent a couple of years taking various medicines for one or another malady:  her thyroid got off kilter, causing her hair to fall out in chunks; she became a little incontinent;  her hips hurt, and that lovely freedom with which she used to sail around the yard slipped away. For each of these conditions, I could give her a medicine that helped. She never completely regained that glorious chestnut coat of her youth, but she no longer looked like she the victim of a rogue weed whacker; it took a couple of times to find a medicine for her incontinence, but, eventually the vets found one for her, and she could again lie on blankets and not make puddles; and though her agile movements were gone, she could get up and down and enjoy playing and walking with us.

I was grateful for those drugs.

Whisper is anxious…..and with that border collie intensity, his brain focuses in on the object of his anxiety with such passion and force, that I cannot even help him learn an appropriate behavior because he cannot break that focus.  He wants more than anything to please me. If this drug he is taking can help me help him learn the right thing to do, and help him be calmer and more at ease while he is doing that right thing, then, I will not only give it to him (under a vet's supervision, of course), I will be grateful for it.  If the drug making a physical change in his brain that makes a positive change in his behavior—and makes him feel less anxious and happier, I say, “Bring it on!”

It has been several weeks now that he has been taking his medicine, and my husband and I have both noticed that he seems just a little calmer. He is still our little (?) clown boy—goofy, gallumping, though very dexterous and agile, puppy. He is himself. But, he seems….more at ease. He does not sleep more or in any way seem off. We are fortunate, I believe, in that the changes we see so far are positive.

We haven’t had him out and about yet, just because that is not yet part of the training, and because I am not out and about yet. But, I feel better, not as fearful FOR him as I did a couple of months ago.

And we’ll keep practicing, and I’ll keep making notes on our calendar…..

And letting you know. J