I've taken all my dogs through some level of obedience school, though some have been more "into it" than others... Riley, my beloved late Pembroke Welsh Corgi, was very much Teacher's Pet and star of the show; I could easily have taken him into advanced obedience, or even competitive obedience. Ariel, bless her independent little heart, learned just enough to make it through, but while she will sit on command (if she sees that there's something in it for her, like a walk or dinner) and will usually obey "wait" before exiting the car, she's pretty much forgotten everything else she ever learned... especially coming when called when she has something better to do. Recall? What recall?
I wanted better for Milo. I'd promised my husband, who's had it up to here with our dear Princess Flight Risk, that THIS dog would have a reliable recall and be safe off leash. Though my brained hummed with the knowledge that both his purported progenitors, Basset Hounds and Australian Cattle Dogs, were notoriously stubborn when it came to training, I signed up for a class through our local Parks and Rec program.
I did have some worries about Milo entering a group class at first. Three times at the dog park he'd lunged, snapping, at other dogs; once on a walk, he barked ferociously and without provocation for almost five minutes straight at an acquaintance's dog who came up behind us on the trail. Our trainer, Donna, suggested that we meet so that she could evaluate Milo's temperament before enrolling him in class.
Milo, being Milo, decided to make me look like a paranoid fool.
He immediately leaned trustingly into Donna's hand, wagging his tail. He pretty much ignored her dog, leashed and watching him inquisitively - Dog? What dog? he seemed to say. When a group of teens approached him, he immediately rolled on his back for a tummy rub. I explained to Donna what my concerns were, and what my goal was - to teach Milo the basics of obedience so we could train him not to chase or harass my cat. She seemed to feel this was eminently doable.
And so we entered our first class together. Milo was quite relaxed... and I was relieved. He barely gave the other dogs a second glance. Of course, we were all distanced at least six feet apart - socializing was a no-no - but still, I'd had anxious visions of mild-mannered Milo busting out his inner Cujo the second he saw his classmates. (Random fun fact: the Saint Bernard in the horror movie Cujo was so people-oriented and people-loving that they had a hard time getting him to act like the ferocious, rabid dog he was supposed to be. Scenes of him viciously attacking a human character were filmed by having the dog trained to "play rough" with his trainer.)
Things definitely started off on the right foot. Milo picked up the command "focus" quickly, gazing fixedly at my face - so quickly, in fact, that Donna openly praised his "look of love" in front of the rest of the class. But that appeared to be the limit of his obedience skills that night.
Being a positive-reinforcement class, no slip collars or physical redirection of the dogs were involved. Telling Milo to SIT, I was to lure him with a treat (freeze dried liver on this occasion, soon to be replaced by sliced hot dog) until he SAT.
Milo sat UP, begging.
The other owners thought it was cute. I did, too - but hissed to my still-begging pooch, "That is NOT what I meant!"
We tried again - "SIT!" I raised the treat over his head, moving it behind his line of sight.
Milo backed up, licked his lips, eyes on the treat. I raised it again. He backed up again.
To be fair, it WAS his first class.
With a bit of cajoling and much freeze dried liver, we did eventually get a semi-reliable SIT out of him... though ideally, he was supposed to sit directly in front of me, eyes on my face. Milo preferred to whip his butt around and sit on or between my feet, gazing raptly up at me from that position.
"We'll work on it," Donna told me.
"DOWN" was the next command. Uh-uh, said Milo on his stubby Basset legs. I'm short enough as it is. This is as close to the ground as I'm gonna get. Again, luring him with the treat, I tried to coax him into a "down" position. Around us, larger dogs were obligingly flopping over to get their treats. Vertically challenged Milo simply bowed his head to the ground and tried to lick the treat out of my fingers. I pushed the treat in towards him, looking for his center of gravity as I'd been told to do - "You push in, and up, and he'll just fall over." Milo sat, but refused to drop his front legs; he craned his head over his shoulder, tracking the treat, then stood up, faced my hand, and gulped it down before I could react.
"We'll work on it," Donna told me.
The final command of the night was "WAIT." I was supposed to hold my hand up like a stop sign and step backwards, away from Milo, then call him to me.
Milo, my little velcro dog, decided that he'd had enough with this foolishness.
"WAIT!" I said, and stepped back.
Milo immediately stepped forward.
I put him in a sit again, and held up my hand. "WAIT, Milo!"
I stepped back, and he stepped forward, tail wagging.
Where are you going? his smiling face asked. I'm coming, too!
This continued for some time. I discovered that so long as I remained perfectly still, so would Milo. The second I began to step away from him, however, he got up and followed me.
I decided to try to break the behavior down into chunks. I rewarded him more slowly - making him wait for the treat after sitting. Not a problem. I even managed to get a reliable, facing-me sit out of him in that time. But try as I might, the moment I even began to THINK of moving backwards and away from him, Milo broke his sit and trotted forward.
This resulted in a bizarre slow-motion series of movements on my part as I tried to get him to stay seated while I moved an arm, a hand, a leg. Sometimes Milo watched me, curious head cocked. Usually he came right over to see what I was doing.
"We'll work on it," Donna said. I think she was trying not to laugh.
It's been two weeks since that first class. I've been religiously working Milo for ten or fifteen minutes a day, and his SIT has improved markedly... though sometimes, I swear he looks at me and asks, "WHY?" It's clear at those times that he's sitting to humor me, and taking his time about doing so. His "DOWN" leaves a great deal to be desired, though I have found his center of gravity and can succeed, three times out of five, in toppling him over before giving him the treat. He hasn't paired the command with the action yet, though, and getting down to his level is murder on my poor knees and hips.
And "WAIT?"
Well, I'm waiting. I can sometimes get him to watch me ease a step back like someone doing the Electric Slide in slow motion... sometimes. But as for waiting in any purposeful sense? Nope. We're still working on it. But I'm having fun doing it, at least.
I get the sense, watching Milo watch me, that he's got a world of potential in that fuzzy, pre-adolescent puppy head of his. When the light turns on, it's going to shine brightly.
It's just going to take patience to get there.
Patience, and a LOT of sliced hot dogs.
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