Street Dog to City Dog

With street dogs we’ve had few rules: no trying to go in the house or the car, no grabbing things off the table, no fighting or peeing on the porch, they don’t think about biting us, so it doesn’t have to be a rule. I squeak when feeding, so they look whenever I squeak; they then decide if they think good treats are worth giving up what they are doing, no recalls have been trained with any of the satos on the hill. We wanted to train minimally to learn more about how the dogs are with the people and each other. I didn’t want to control the relationship; other than my little rules.


Just imagine putting a collar and leash on someone you’ve known for three years, now don’t go thinking kinky, my big pushy girl laid down with a brain freeze too afraid to move.


Quickest way to get to where we want to go with her training is for her to fall in love with my treats, to bravely go where taste buds demand. Throughout the morning I popped a treat into her nested shipping crate; it didn’t matter if she went in after the treat or the little Chi-ping, we worked the process.


Since the boys are gone, Blondie’s mood is dark and mopey, so we play the piper game, just follow me here to get a treat, just follow me there for something better, Chi-ping is bouncing off the walls with excitement, Blondie follows with hardly a tail swish. Spaced repetition took up most of the morning, and then Kirt and I decided to take a break to feed the dogs around the lake.


It’s always good to give dogs a chance to rest and reflect on a session, so to sleep per chance to dream while we are away is a good thing, yeah.


Patience repaid by happy wagging tail during piper game when we returned, so smile with satisfaction and go in to have lunch. A few similar sessions after lunch and we’ll make good progress with the brain freeze business.


After lunch where’s Blondie, the unwanted sato to be removed from the neighborhood? The past six weeks she has been on my porch, but of course, if there is work to do somebody is always AWOL, ok, squeak, squeak; no response, that’s unusual. Where is Blondie? I call, I clap; nothing. Crap.


I get about halfway down my drive before I see her in my neighbor’s yard surrounded by people; my neighbor’s grandkids, neighbors with Blondie, the dog they want gone, I don’t get this. They’re feeding her, oh, are you kidding? Geri has the huge pan of rice mix he feeds the dogs; just what I want to train, an overstuffed dog; I feel a growl coming on.