Teaching a New Dog Some Old Tricks

While I've been teaching Brady the usual dog tricks: sit, lay down, drop-it, and come hither, the tougher trick is learning to sit still while your photo is being snapped.
To prepare for Brady's first sitting, I hung a black cloth backdrop on 2 metal stands and placed another cloth on a wooden deck chair. I put Aloysius, Brady's stuffed dog on the chair to make it look especially inviting. I had little doggie liver treats in my pocket at the ready. Finally, I put on a lovely, lilting Feng Shui CD to soothe the "beast" in him.
I did all the right things, so why was Brady's first inclination to risk his life (not really!) and leap off the chair to the unyielding hard-wood floor?
(see exhibit A below)


Brady, Don't do it! You have so much to live forrrr..!
(Note: no little furry animals were hurt to make these photos.)


After a handful of treats (doled out individually or in halves to prolong the delicious experience), Brady finally sat up in the chair for about 10 seconds. This was long enough to get the picture above (exhibit B) which would have been perfect, except, he blinked. Oh, the trials and tribulations of trying to get the Pulitzer Prize winning shot of an unwilling puppy...

The next day, Brady's brother, Joey came with his peeps, Emily and Paul for an early morning breakfast play-date. Em and Paul brought bagels with plenty of shmear and a little smoked salmon.
After a delicious breakfast that couldn't be beat, we had a field day in the studio with the pups. One of us would be the "animal wrangler" making high-pitched noises using squeakers

or our own off-tune voices and the other would "shoot like a bandit" taking a ridiculous number of exposures to get the one below
(exhibit C).


And this one...

And this one.
Working as a puppy model is pretty exhausting. You have to pose with teddy bears and footballs without tasting or gumming them every five minutes. You have to sit still even when you want to run across the studio or leap in the air for a crunchy treat.
So, Brady and Joey finally collapsed into a deep sleep right there on the photo set with the classy black backdrop hanging behind them.

So, Em and I did what any respectable photographers would do.

We framed the snoozing pooches as elegantly as we could taking advantage of their sudden willingness to cooperate without question.
Now, if we were photographer, Anne Geddes, we would have dressed them as dragonflies and placed them on a giant cabbage leaf or something...


What a handsome set of mutts, don't you agree?
I think I shall title this one, "Dog Tired".
Happy 10 week birthday, Brady and Joey!
Can't wait for the 3 month portrait....

Good Morning, Mouth!

Brady's Ever-Present Puppy Mouth: 6:30 a.m.
Thursday, January 28, 2010

Puppies, like babies, are all about their mouths. They use their mouths to explore and to get questions answered (such as, how does electricity work or what happens when you chew on the laptop cord while it's plugged in?!)

Crack 'o' dawn, I'm greeted with Brady's mouth. Sometimes, it's his tongue that greets me face first in the form of wet puppy kisses. Other times, I am reacquainted with his little pearly white milk teeth in the form of surprisingly sharp nips on my fingers. When I was kid, my dad taught me to hold the puppy's mouth shut til she squeaked to get the point across that I was not a human chew-toy.

Currently, the theory goes that if you put something, like a plastic bone in its mouth in lieu of your hand, the puppy will think to himself, "Oh, I'm supposed to chew this bone, not the hand that feeds me..."
Right.
Remember, it's a puppy. It will chew whatever you put in its mouth today, tomorrow and next week. Hence, I'm not totally sold on the exchange theory.

I once hired a trainer who suggested I clamp down on the puppy's muzzle with my mouth the way the mother dog would. She suggested adding a convincing growl in a low register for effect.

Whenever I try that with Brady, he looks genuinely surprised as if he's saying,
"What?! You're supposed to be a canine that once ran in packs across the prairies? Hmmm, your lack of fur makes this a difficult story to swallow.
Let me chew on your nose and see what that tells me about your ancestral past."

In truth, Brady seems to genuinely want to please me most of the time and he is intent on reading my expressions. If he absent-mindedly gnaws on my ring finger, or moves toward an electrical cord, he gets the message quickly by my furrowed brow, narrowing eyes and high volume response, "BRADY! Drop it!!"

On that note, if you consider that a puppy is just a mouth with a body attached, you will appreciate one of my favorite commands, "(Dog's Name), DROP IT!"
We practice this one at least 10 times a day. I hand him Aloysius, his favorite stuffed animal dog. As he is swinging the poor, hapless pseudo-Sharpei, I tip-toe over with a liver nib snack (his favorite, reconstituted meat) and give the puppy-mouth release command. "Blip", down to the floor goes Aloysius.
This is magic compared to the alternative, tug-of-war with a dog.

I will say this about Brady's mandible: it's a wonder of a recycling mechanism. I've been giving him thick plastic bottles to mouth while I'm in the studio working. The rule is, he can't have thin plastics that are easily shredded and he must be closely monitored by someone other than his elderly dog-sister, Sophie.
He's pretty good with seltzer bottles and preserved mandarin orange slice jars. The giant soda bottles present more of a challenge...

As a former elementary school teacher, I'm a firm believer in channeling potentially negative energies. Oh, and the recycling of plastics...
After all, a mouth is a terrible thing to waste.

Brady, the recycler mouth, after preparing a soda bottle for the dump.

Brady Meets Another Family Member

Brady was officially 9 weeks old on Saturday, January 23.
Our daughter, Marissa, came home for the weekend. She is also a dog-lover and goes particularly nuts over puppies, especially the golden-doodle type.
It's so important that puppies be socialized early and often. Brady met about six new people in the course of a few days. Since he can be shy, this wasn't always easy.


Here is a photo of Brady bonding with his newly introduced human "sister".

Brady is used to us being very gentle and quiet with him. Additionally, his mother, Sophie, is a relatively subdued dog (except when she's tackling stray pups) who rarely barks. When she wants to go outside, she rings a ribbon of bells by pawing them.
Imagine Brady's surprise when Marissa's friend, Kristin dove at him and gave out a sort of warrior cry as he sat in his dog bed. Brady let out this sort of mangled, astonished bark and went running to me for cover.
By evening's end, Brady was happily sleeping in Kristin's arms. In fact, we all took turns holding him as he slept peacefully. Every one of us needed our "puppy fill".

It is my hope that as he's exposed to lots of different people and pets, he'll grow more adaptable so that I can take him practically anywhere without worrying he'll be like a fading violet.

He bonded with Marissa immediately- it's like her voice and way of being seemed familiar to him the moment she approached his crate and said,
"Hiiiiii, Braaaady!", his curved, downy tail was all waggy and he smiled, his little black lips upturned at the corners. When she sat on the floor, he curled up on her lap, knowing he was going to get a warm snuggle.
Of course, the pup made an impression. By the time the weekend was over, and we dropped Marissa to the airport, she seemed melancholy to be leaving Brady. The little guy just wiggles his way into your head and you can't help but think about him and long for his shiny black eyes, filled with the excitement and anticipation of each moment.
I once had a High School English teacher who referred to such things as "life affirming".
From time to time, you need a life-affirming moment.
Brady was still in utero during those first few weeks in November when we were bracing for a frigid winter as the last of the leaves fell from the Maple tree in our front yard.
Now, in the midst of this damp, icy cold complete with bare trees and hidden patches of brown matted grass, Brady offers life-affirming moments through warm puppy kisses-

Is the Honeymoon Over?

Now, I've done it. I've created the BAD EXPERIENCE...I've been a BAD dog mom.
I tried to introduce Brady to THE LEASH and he bucked and pitched like a frickin' bronco til he released his soft, furry perfectly oval puppy head from the loop.

Maybe, it was because he fell in love with the compost container which looks like a fertility figure in our yard. Perhaps it was the "come hither" scent of decomposing apples and potato peels that drew him to it. He was licking the black juices that were dripping from one of the holes in the bottom of the plastic urn type receptacle like it was dispensing strawberry margaritas. I tried cajoling, offering biscuits, my approval, an ear rub but nothing, no nothing could tear Brady from his very own garbage juice dispensing machine. 

Cesar Millan says to make the leash experience a positive one, to elicit the puppy's cooperation by making a slipknot loop while offering a treat on the other side so he'll put his head through himself. I tried so hard to make leash time fun! Why doesn't Brady like being pulled by his neck? (Note to self: buy harness and saddle him up like a horsey...)

After the mini-rodeo demo, I threw the useless leash on the steps. 

I gave the calm assertive "Brady, Come!" command, I offered a delicious dog treat with meat juices and natural, organic ingredients. But, that just didn't compare once he found the evil, forbidden "fruit". So, I marched over to him, scooped him up (no discussion!) and promptly placed him in his crate. Bad mom, again! He's supposed to see the crate as his HAVEN, his refuge, his comfy den, not a time-out chair-
Guess the puppy honeymoon's over and Brady may not be perfect after all. Turns out, he's a DOG and DOGS are animals and animals like garbage. 

How I will mourn the loss of his sweet, musky puppy breath.
I'm wondering if it will help to sign up for puppy kindergarten-
Will Brady play "nice" with the other animals, who also like garbage?

Brady, the nosy puppy. 

Photo by Marissa Sher

You Can't Go Home Again (even if you're a dog..)

After 4 days of living in our home, Brady had a playdate at Emily's. (Emily, my friend, is the owner of Sophie and Joey, Brady's mother and brother, respectively.)

Now, I thought (here I go, anthropomorphising again...) that Brady's mom would be really happy to see him.

I pictured this tearful reunion with the theme from "Born Free" going in the background.

Wrong again, you silly human mother. Think like a dog!

We get out in the backyard, and suddenly, Sophie's like, pinning him down every ten minutes while his brother, Joey goes, "Glad it's not me this time..".

She's got him on his back until he squeaks, "Uncle" (or whatever dogs are saying to get the other guy off their chest).

Theory 1: Sophie was being a protective mom and trying to corral him in whenever she thought he wandered too far...

Theory 2: To Sophie, Brady is just another dog, not some long-lost child she was mourning. Or, maybe she was thinking he was one of those boomerang children who come back home to live after you paid all that tuition for college...

Here are the photos of Brady being pinned:

First: Sophie grabs Brady by the scruff of his neck.

Next: She deftly turns him over.

Finally: He silently cries "uncle" and with his body language assures his mother that "She da man!"

So, after Brady was tackled a few more times, Emily decided to put Sophie in the house so that Brady could have some play time with Joey, a more evenly matched opponent.

After about 10 of 15 minutes of the brothers exploring rocks, foraging for "the" ultimate stick and then wrestling, I could tell Brady was getting tuckered out. I hugged Emily and said goodbye, and put Brady in his crate in the car.

On the way home, he upchucked and then took a 2.5 hour nap.

All in all, it was a fine 1st playdate but I think he and I both realized you can't go home again, at least not in the first week...

Day 5

Brady stayed in his crate, quietly, from 10 p.m. until 5:45 a.m. We are slowly extending his time in there at night which allows us all to get an ample night's sleep. Though I am keeping notes on the schedule- we are not being completely regimented.  I'm tuning into his natural body rhythms to get a sense of how soon he eliminates after his meals, how often he plays and naps. I'm also aware that this will shift in time as he grows and changes in the coming weeks and months. 

Brady's training is going well, as he's learning to adapt to our home and lifestyle while we are meeting his needs for love, nurturing, security and clear guidelines of what's expected. 

What is key to this early success, and Cesar Millan writes about this in his book
"How To Raise The Perfect Dog," is to choose the "medium energy dog"(p.22) and research or have a sense of the breed so you know what to expect. 

 

I was raised with golden-retrievers, two of whom had litters of pups, I learned about their attributes from my father who taught me that their calm demeanor and gentle nature made them wonderful companions for children. At the same time, they can be vigilant watch dogs. One of my dad's favorite stories was about how our golden retriever, Leisl, was with my sister while she waited for the school bus to arrive on our street one morning. Suddenly, a Doberman Pinscher came bounding from across the street and was headed straight for my sister. Leisl intercepted the larger dog, tackled him and had her mouth on his throat ready to lunge when my dad ran out of the house. He gave the command for Leisl to release, and the offending dog went running off. My father assured me that though a Golden Retreivers  seemed like a push-overs due to a gentle nature, they were perfectly capable of becoming protective when the need arose.

Now, Brady is a Goldendoodle, which is a combination of Golden Retriever and Poodle.  Ideally, this mixed breed offers the best of both worlds: the gentle nature of a Golden and the intelligence of a Poodle. Most importantly, they are bred to be non-shedding so, this is a way that dog allergy sufferers can enjoy the attributes of a Golden without sneezing or using inhalers. That said,  Brady does shed as he has the fur of a Golden. For our family, this was okay since we don't suffer from dog allergies.

What is medium energy? In any given litter, the pups take on different roles- some are more dominant, others submissive. Then, there are those in-between, or of medium energy. They're frisky, but can easily be calmed or learn to calm themselves. For me, it was important to be matched with a dog who came with a submissive nature.  I'd had a previous experience with a Brittany Spaniel, an alpha male who was high energy and constantly tried to gain the upper hand. For an experienced trainer, hunter or very active person, he would've been a good match. For me, it was an uphill battle. 

Even a pup with medium energy needs structure and consistent training. Each day, I reinforce the "sit" command with a treat. I also practice the command that sends him running to me whether I'm in the house or the kitchen: "Brady, come!" When he arrives, he's rewarded with a piece of biscuit or chicken. This will be one of the most important commands for him to know as he grows into an adolescent (8 months-3 years) and begins to challenge or wander.

As of day 5, so far, so good- I'm not saying he's the perfect dog and I know we have a long way to go, but he seems to be a pretty good listener and considering how much I talk, that's a lucky thing..

On Brady's second night with us, he awoke about every 2 hours, cried for a few minutes and went back to sleep. When we heard him stirring at 6 am, we figured that really was morning and I took him out of the crate. Bruce enjoys taking Brady outside first thing as they've developed a routine. Bruce gives him the command to follow, Brady follows him out and down the deck steps, they walk to the back of the yard where the pup eliminates. Then there is much merriment and celebration as Brady is given an overpriced puppy biscuit for a reward.

The third night was a charm because Brady slept from 10:30 p.m. - 5:30 a.m. without crying out or howling even once. And his bed was bone dry. Hallelujah! 

Now with human babies, it can be 10 months or more before you get that kind of a stretch of sleep. One of the things I like about dogs is that development is greatly accelerated. (Of course, the flip side is that I won't be able to pick him up in about three weeks since he'll be rapidly headed towards 55 lbs. in a New York minute.)

Matter of fact, there are many things I like about dogs in general, and puppies, specifically.

I like: puppy breath, sweet and musty; also, the feel of velvety fur against my neck, the way they bounce and are nearly airborne with the joy of a pine cone or stick in the backyard. 

Here's what I don't like:

Taking them out every couple hours during the day when it's icy, slushy and damply grey. 

Correcting them over and over and over. (As in, "Sophie doesn't want to play- She's old enough to be in assisted living....so, don't nudge her, Brady)

Here's the good news: Brady's only had about 2 accidents in the house since we picked him up on Sunday and it's Wednesday. Also, he gets that we really like our sleep at night. That's key.

Finally, he doesn't mind if I want to hold him and dance to Michael Jackson's "Black or White".

I'd give him a 9.5 for the all-around pet score, thus far.  

Congratulations, It's a Dog!

On Brady's first night with us, we tucked him in at 10:30 p.m. We were exhausted after a day filled with anticipation and getting him settled into his new home.

Brady woke up promptly at 12:30 a.m. First, we heard him knock against the crate, then the low whining started. This was followed by "arrr- rooos", the 

howling to the moon sound which recalls his wolf ancestry.

Congratulations, it's a Dog!

The real kind. 

Our other dog, Sophie, is more like a cat. She's a 6 lb bichon-poodle, and although she used to "sing" when she was younger, she never really howled.

Sophie, The 17 year old Catty-Dog with Brady.

In "How To Raise The Perfect Dog" by Cesar Millan (my new bible), it describes the first night as a tough one for a new singleton puppy (and his owners) because he's used to being with littermates. While Cesar advises keeping the crate in the bedroom the first three nights, Brady's breeder, Kathryn told me it was fine to keep him in the kitchen with  Sophie even if she was sleeping outside his crate. (There would have been a "catty fight" if I put them together.) I figure setting him up in the bedroom  would make the transition tougher on night four when he was crated in the kitchen.

Cesar suggests rewarding the dog when he does quiet himself down. So, I go into the kitchen at 1 pm after he's been silent for about ten minutes and give him a bully stick (a dried penis of a bull, no kidding- turns out these are the new "it" treats for dogs...). Of course, Brady cries out when he sees me and the tirade begins again. Evidently, he didn't read that chapter in the dog whisperer book.

When I climb back into bed, Bruce asks, "What'd you do that for?" as we listen to the strains of Brady's long, low whelps in the background. 

"Cesar said to reward him for settling down," I reply matter-of-factly.

To his credit, Brady usually quiets down after about 5 minutes and then starts again 1-2 hours later. By 4:45 a.m., Bruce and I agree that this was a pretty good stretch for his first night. Though it's pitch black out and hailing, we call it morning and go into the kitchen to greet Brady.

Here's the thing about puppies: when they see you first thing in the morning, it's like you're a rock star or something. He's dancing around his crate, joyful baby howls echoing through the kitchen. "I NEVER thought I'd see you TWO again!," he seems to be shouting. 

We pull on our boots and brace for the icy morning,complete with a pelting combination of snowflakes and rain. I carry Sophie to her usual spot as close to the house as possible so she can pee within 2 minutes, gingerly lifting her leg and lowering her bottom, precariously balancing on the crusty layer of snow. When she's done, I sweep her up under my arm before she starts to shiver and quickly return her to the warm kitchen.

Bruce opens the door to the deck and steps out followed by Brady, who treads tentatively, and stands at the top of the deck stairs. After settling Sophie back onto her dog bed in the kitchen, I return to join Bruce outside.

"Brady, Come!," we say cheerfully as though the sun were shining and it was a balmy day in June instead of a frigid day in January.

He snowplows, pivoting to the right for the first step and then turning slowly to the left, crossing to the other side to get to the second step, finally bounding down the last two steps to the patio. 

Brady follows Bruce to the other side of the yard where we have designated his "toilet" to be. After he squats to pee, we give him a treat of a bit of roasted chicken or a kibble.  We cheer like soccer parents after their kid scores a goal. We hope the neighbors don't see us looking like a couple of middle-aged fools in pajamas and fleece jackets doting over their furry-child.

 "But, look how smart he is", we tell each other as though we're responsible for his genetic make-up,  "Brady knows to pee outside!"

Don't even ask what we do when he makes a crap. You'd think it was Mardi-Gras on Bourbon Street.

Brady looks into my eyes. "What is it you want?" he seems to ask. "Teach me- I'll grant whatever I can give." He is only eight weeks old and already he comes with the genetic code to please.

I was up before dawn yesterday morning worrying about getting ready for him. We moved the crate from the basement to the kitchen so he could sleep in the same room as Sophie. I bought an infant fleece and a stuffed Sharpei dog for his crate. I line the crate with a few sheets of packing paper and an old, beige oval-shaped rocking chair cushion. I place his blue plastic weighted food bowls across from Sophie's.

I've already read the first chapter of "How to Raise the Perfect Dog," by Cesar Millan, the dog whisperer.

It reminds me of getting ready for childbirth the first time. I read Dr. Spock, assuming this would prepare me. I was surprised when I found no clear answers for my baby's colic. The book left me frustrated and I had to try different methods of comforting my son and figure it out on my own.

Our scheduled pick-up time is 10:30 am and we're out the door by 9:30 am. When we arrive at 10:15 a.m., Emily greets us at the door with a hug and then takes us to the den where our puppy and his brother are playing in an X-pen (dog playpen) att

ached to a crate. We already know we'll call the puppy with a kelly green ribbon "Brady" after the New England Patriots quarterback. Emily and her husband, Paul are still deciding the name of their puppy with the black ribbon, who has been called "Joe Black" so far. They're leaning toward "Joey".

Here I am holding Brady while Emily holds Joey.

Bruce holding Brady, I'm holding Joey and Sophie, their mother is sitting with us.

I rub the stuffed animal and fleece against Sophie so that her scent is on the items which may provide comfort to Brady in his crate. Sophie happily puts the sharpei in her mouth and proceeds to pull it's plastic nose off. We note that we should follow her lead and try to pull the eyes off... We put the newly scented items in a bag and head out to the car with our new family member. Em and I agree to get the dogs together soon as we both know the pups will grow in a millisecond. We say goodbye to Em, Paul, Sophie and Joey.

Bruce drives as Brady sits on my lap, an old towel under his bottom in case of "accidents". He seems a little unsure and shifts around, settling with his head resting on my arm. From time to time, he looks out the window and whimpers or snuggles on my shoulder.

I'm aware of his total dependence on me, away from his mother and siblings for the first time. I run my palm along his back, feeling his velvety new fur. I look in his brown, almond-shaped eyes. "I'll take good care of you," I tell him. "We're taking you home."

Welcome home, Brady.

Pup or No Pup?

I had about 10 good reasons to hold off on getting a puppy. Among them, our 17.5 year old bichon-poo, Sophie who gets irritated easily (understandable when you're about 87 years old), and the relative calm in our lives due to the empty nest (our youngest child is a sophomore in college).

I had only one good reason to get a puppy. 

I fell in love and my heart tugged and pulled me toward him. 

I'd been watching my friend, Emily's

 "doodlecam" http://www.ustream.tv/channel/Doodlecam (a puppy cam trained on her litter of golden-doodles) practically from the time she sent an email announcing the birth of Sophie's  puppies just before Thanksgiving.  When they were 3 weeks old and had

 opened their little brown eyes for the first time, I could no longer stand just watching this puppy "reality show". I called her and begged to come see them.  When I arrived at her house an hour later, it was already nearing dusk.

We spent a couple hours cuddling puppies, one after the other. We sat side by side on her couch next to the whelping box. 

Em suggested I climb into the whelping box, and pose with the pups. As I picked up two of the pups and held them, she took my picture.  

Happiness is a 3 week old puppy snuzzling in the crook of your neck. 

The hours evaporated and by the time I looked at my watch, it was dark and I needed to head home and make dinner.

I emailed the breeder, Kathryn to let her know I was interested in adopting one of the puppies. 

I must've changed my mind about twenty times during the course of the next five weeks.

 I wrote the pros and cons. I ended daily journal entries with, "Puppy or No Puppy?".

I chased after the postal carrier to send in the deposit only to regret it a week later. What if my  Sophie's health suddenly deteriorated? (her hips were already showing signs of weakening). What if he antagonized her or injured her thinking she was a puppy?

 I told Em and the breeder that I just couldn't do it-  Maybe one day after Sophie was no longer with us...

Then, about 5 days before the pups were to go to their new homes, Em posted portraits of each of the dogs. And there he was. They called him "Kelly" because he wore a kelly green ribbon so they could tell him apart from the others.

Now if you saw this face, what would you do?  Right. You'd fall head over heels in love. 

I called the breeder and begged her to put my deposit towards a dog, this dog, Kelly Green. It was a relief to finally make the decision for better or worse.