Things have been quiet on the blog front lately because I have been persistently under the weather, spending most of my days in bed. When I have had the energy, much it has gone toward various dog activities, as per usual.
A beautiful Pyrenees Mountain Dog
The first order of business is to introduce you to my newest dog-sitting client, a magnificent Pyrenees Mountain Dog that I'll call Cutie. Like my other clients, she is large. Unlike my other clients, she is under the age of ten! Cutie is just two years old and is as big and beautiful as can be. She likes toys, belly rubs, playing keep-away, and snoozing. Fun fact: Pyrenees Mountain Dogs have double dewclaws on their back legs! Cutie also has pretty white eyelashes, surprisingly soft fur (for a dog that was bred to guard flocks of sheep on mountain slopes), and a tail that is carried low when she's feeling mellow and high over her back when she's excited. I'm looking forward to getting to know her better this year!
And another big, fluffy dog...
I also did a quick overnight with Mr. Gorgeous, whose coat is in its full winter state of resplendency. (While both Cutie and Mr. Gorgeous were bred to look after sheep in bad weather and have fur coats to match, Cutie's skull is about three times the width of Mr. Gorgeous'!) He was his usual lazy self, wanting only the occasional game of slow-mo, indoor keep-away, the timely delivery of his dinner, and the occasional deep scratching.
I was reminded of the myth of Narcissus when I captured this image of Mr. Gorgeous and his reflection.
And on the home front, Abbey and I have been busy playing with the vacuum cleaner.
Abbey and the vacuum on their first play date.
Abbey has had a poor relationship with the vacuum since Day One. I have to keep her shut up in a room with me while my father vacuums because otherwise she launches stealth attacks on it, going right for the soft underbelly, hoping to disembowel the dangerous beast. I'd been wanting an excuse to write Ask Doodlebug, my favorite doggie advice columnist, and was tickled when he replied when "Abbey" wrote in to discuss this issue with him. I'd already known how I ought to proceed in helping Abbey be less scared of the vacuum, but following up on Doodlebug's advice was a good incentive to actually do it. So we've been playing lots of "treats with the vacuum" at my house. Abbey started out rather nervous, but now "treats with the vacuum" is her FAVORITE game and she wants to play it all the time! I'll be on the computer upstairs and she'll come over and budge me and then wiggle, trying to entice me to come down and hide pieces of kibble or peanuts on the vacuum cleaner. Anytime I come downstairs, she twirls and dances and wags like mad as she stands by the vacuum cleaner (which I've parked in our family room), while gesturing with her head, trying to convince me to bust out the treats! So in less than a week's time we have gone from total mistrust to Abbey being able to walk beside me, taking treats, while I push the vacuum cleaner around. It's turned off, mind you, but I'm thinking by tomorrow she'll be ready to have it switched on for the first time. We've never given Abbey many treats because she has a sensitive tummy and she's always been suitably intelligent and compliant to follow basic commands with minimal reinforcement, but it turns out that she's incredibly treat-motivated, which is incredibly handy for training purposes. It's been funny to watch her growing rapport with the vacuum and I've definitely needed something to laugh about during these drab days when migraines and fatigue take up most of my time.
My dear companion, in both sickness and in health.
Abbey loves nothing better than a jolly game. She likes to have one after dinner and sometimes will request a weekend morning game or a I've-just-been-outside-hurray! game in the afternoon. There's a certain ritual involved and chances are she won't play unless you get it right.
The game always starts out with the tennis ball. The tennis ball is kept in a cabinet in the family room where she is not free to take it in and out at will. We didn't like her chewing on the ball until it gets soft and sodden. When the ball is removed from the cupboard, the person who is playing the game with Abbey stands on the far side of the family room and bounces the ball hard on the floor and Abbey tries to jump and catch it after the bounce. Sometimes she is very good at it and will turn 360s and barrel rolls and grunt like a female tennis player while making her catches and other times she misses and has a good time chasing the ricocheting ball around the room. When returning the ball, she will sometimes attempt to toss or kick it to you, rather than just dropping it at your feet.
Abbey's toy box and crate.
Sometimes, Abbey will want to play a nice long ball game, but other times she will return the ball only once or not at all before she goes running to choose something new from her toy box. The tennis ball rule must be observed, though. If you take one of her toys out of her toy box and try to start a game that way, chances are she won't play. SHE'S the one that chooses what the game will be, not you! I get a kick out of the way that she'll stand for a moment with the ball in her mouth, give you an evaluative look, and then she'll run to her toy box, kept beside her crate, to make her selection. All that can be seen of her (from the ball-bouncer's perspective) is her wagging tail as she rummages through the toys to pick just the right one!
Quite often, the right toy will turn out to be her squeaky bone. We keep a whole sack of these around because they are a great toy. The bone bounces wildly and erratically, it has a nice cheerful squeak that isn't too strident, and because of her muzzle shape and the shape of the bone, she can't hold on to it if you try to take it away, so there's no tug-of-war possible. A squeaky bone game is very fast-moving. There is a little bit of chasing, but mostly it's about the bone being thrown low so that it skitters and hops at high speed across the carpet with Abbey skittering and hopping after it. Sometimes she'll be chasing after it so fast that she'll slam into the wall! If we're really in a groove, she may actually toss the bone to me as she runs toward me in a nifty little handoff maneuver. It involves the most crazy running of any of her games.
This toy, which goes by the name "twirly-whirly'" at our house, is a fairly recent edition. The game that is played with the twirly-whirly, however, is not. Abbey used to always have Big Mean Kitties, but they stopped carrying them at our local pet stores. After I bought this toy, I introduced it to Abbey as a substitute for the Big Mean Kitty game, and it has done a great job in that role, better, in fact, than the slightly more fragile kitties did. The twirly-whirly game involves some tossing and fetching, but there's also a component where she likes to be chased and to have you try to take it away, and then to have a little bit of tug-of-war before surrendering it for another round of fetch-chase-tug. There is usually a lot of spinning and other fancy keep-away moves as well as playful growling when you try to steal it from her. Those twirly-whirly arms have squeakers in them and are great for both the dog and the human player to hold on to.
Abbey leaping after a Big Mean Kitty. Note the red version of the
squeaky bone visible in the background.
One of Abbey's other favorite toys is her "puppy." Some members of the family will call it her squeaky ball, but to my mind, the squeaky ball is the ball that is only used when she is off-leash, either swimming or running in a park. It might seem strange to call this a puppy, but that was Abbey's conclusion, not ours! The very first time she ever heard this toy squeak, she immediately started treating it like a puppy. She carried it around the house, only leaving it unattended if it was resting in some special place like her bed or on the study couch, and even tucked it in bed with me one time when I was taking a nap. It seemed like it was stressing her out to have to take care of this "puppy," though, so we took it away from her for a few years. When we gave it back to her, she once again treated it like a puppy--at least for the first few days. She liked to place it directly behind my desk chair, so I'd scoot away from my desk and roll over the "baby," causing it to squeal, and Momma Dog would come running! Her puppy's potential as a great toy was not lost on her, however, and after a few days of struggling with the ethics (not to say the morality) of chasing one's own puppy for sport, she mentally shifted this nubby ball into toy category. The squeaker is nearly disabled now, so it no longer emits puppy distress calls even when being played with. The game that goes with Abbey's puppy is one that is primarily enjoyed by Abbey and no one else, since it is almost entirely a game of keep-away, with lots of play growls and a few pirouettes. She can hold on to this toy and I am the only family member who is wholly undaunted by her play growls and willing to actually wrestle it from her. I don't find that very fun and no one else likes to play what amounts to a long game of "drop it."
Abbey and her puppy. Apparently, the baby takes after the father.
My parents bought this crown-shaped dog toy as a last-minute souvenir for Abbey when they were in London a couple of years ago. She thinks it's pretty fun! The crown game is similar to the puppy game, except unlike the puppy, the crown is hard to hold onto! I usually get down on my hands and knees for crown games and make an effort to bat the crown away. It rolls erratically, which always enhances the pleasure of chasing an object! Abbey's got a pretty fierce prey drive, so any toy that goes shooting off at unexpected angles and must be pounced on is a good game in her book!
The tug is the one other toy that is kept in the cabinet with the ball because Abbey would play nothing BUT tug if given the opportunity (and then would chew the tug up) and at fifty pounds, she's a bit heavy to lug around all the time. (You may notice I was unable to get a picture of the tug without Abbey in it.) And I say "lug" because when Abbey plays tug, she doesn't brace herself and resist you, like most dogs or anyone else playing tug-of-war might do, no, Miss Abbey likes to flop down on her side and be dragged in circles on the carpet. It's very funny, especially the way she wags her tail the whole time as she's sliding across the floor and how she lifts her front legs high to make sure they don't interfere with the dragging. She only wants to be dragged on the area rug in our family room (it is smoother, after all), so playing tug with Abbey requires not only dragging her in circles, but dragging her in TIGHT circles. It's ridiculous and she'd love to do it more often, but tug is a game that happens on OUR terms.
I am also in control of the hoop jumping. If she seems like she's got a lot of energy to burn off and is indecisive about her toys, I'll bust out the hoop. I trained her to jump through the hoop using Cheerios and so now she thinks she ought to get Cheerios for jumping through it, but I can usually get a half a dozen jumps or so out of Abbey before she demands a prize. She doesn't get one; the hoop just goes away. It's a fun trick, though, and she's a good jumper!
Abbey is puzzled. Why did I get her toys out of the toy box? Choosing the toys is her job!
So, other than the tug and the hoop jump, the games we play are in her control and she usually likes to pick at least two per session. Lately, there's a been new game that she's wanting to play (I first eluded to it in this blog post) and unlike the other games, it doesn't revolve around a toy in her box. I personally don't consider it a game, but she insists that SHE gets to choose the game and the game that she wants to play is Abbey Goes in Her Crate and Gets Treats! I suppose I should be grateful that she's enjoying the crate retraining so much that she considers it a game that could be tacked on to the evening revelry, but I like her to be able to burn off a little energy when she plays, not get snacks! Sometimes she will refuse to play a game at all if she doesn't get to play the Treats in the Crate game. It does seem like it helps if I do some general obedience training plus crate training during the day; if she's already had her fix of fun in the crate, she's more likely stick to the fun that can be found in her toy box in the evening. Believe me, though, if we do play the Treats in the Crate game, Abbey has to work for her rewards! It's just so funny to me that she has put Treats in the Crate in the same mental category as doing barrel rolls in the air as she catches a ball or being dragged across the rug by a rope held in her teeth. I guess games, in her mind, are about the fun, not the exercise, and sometimes there's just nothing more fun than getting Treats in the Crate!
Here Abbey is playing a fun game of "Go In Your House" AND "Leave It!"
You can see the row of Cheerios she's nicely ignoring on the sill of the crate door.
She makes me laugh, my Abbey does, whether she is eagerly flopping down on the pillow in her house in hopes of getting a snack or noisily rearranging the contents of the toy box as she seeks the perfect toy for how she feels like playing right this moment. I love to watch her skittering, bounding, bouncing, zooming, jumping, twirling, leaping, whirling, pouncing, prancing, wagging, growling, bowing, bucking, spinning, rolling, and running. She is joy in motion when she plays, unless, of course, the game is Treats in the Crate, in which case she embodies joy at rest.
Abbey's been beset with a case of itchiness, the result, I believe, of a dust mite allergy brought on by a change in her sleeping quarters. Prior to this summer's head injury, she slept quite happily in her crate in my parents' bedroom on a pillow with a cover that was laundered in hot water every week. After my concussion, though, when she went into care-taking mode, she refused to sleep in her crate, choosing instead to sleep outside my bedroom door at night. When I had to start sleeping with my door open because I was overheating in the night, she moved in and took to sleeping on the kicked-off comforter next to my bed. That's where she's been ever since. The comforter is not washed in hot water on a weekly basis, and while now I'm vacuuming it and running it through the dryer to remove all the hair and dander and have definitely seen improvements in her itchiness because of those measures, it has worked best for all parties involved for her to take some Benadryl before bed to prevent the need for any extended late-night scratching sessions. I give the Benadryl to her in a spoonful of peanut butter and Abbey has been in peanut butter heaven!
Abbey, it should be noted, has never had much in the way of treats. She's got a sensitive tummy and the best solution for avoiding cleaning up a lot of dog vomit (in addition to special kibble) is to not give her much of anything besides that special kibble to eat. She does get to have all-natural Cheetos (yes, there is such a thing and no, they are not that lurid orange color), but aside from the long-standing tradition of getting one after she uses the facilities or as a reward after getting her nails clipped, she doesn't get many treats. At this point in her life, she doesn't need many rewards for training (a Cheerio here and there will do just fine) and I reserve chicken chips for super-stressful occasions like the vet or working on not being excitable around other dogs. Thanks to this minimal-treat policy, prior to the onset of her recent allergies, we were unaware of Abbey's epic love of peanut butter and its potential power as a motivator.
Sunbathing is nice, peanut butter is better!
It took all of about thirty seconds to crate-train Abbey when we brought her home seven years ago and she was quite content to be placed in there even for long hours when we left the house on the days when all three of us were working. She happily slept in the crate at night and she'd go in it during the day when she wanted to take a snooze. Her relationship with the crate was exactly as it should be: a den that made her feel sleepy, content, and secure. When I had to stop working and was suddenly home all day every day and clearly very sick, Abbey was somewhat more reluctant to go in her crate when we left the house, but she still was perfectly content to sleep in it at night. After my head injury, though, her view of the crate changed. It was now a trap designed to keep her away from me. If given advance notice that she would have to go in her house, as we call it, she would consent to being shut in, but clearly it was a stressful experience and sometimes she would get frozen up just outside the crate door and if you didn't have forty-five minutes to spend on unfreezing her, it was best to just shut her in the upstairs study. I tried a few different strategies to desensitize the crate for her, but the truth is, most of the time I don't feel up to the hard work necessary to make the change happen.
Abbey gets to spend most of her days sleeping on my bed;
it's no surprise she'd rather be there than in her crate!
Last week, though, when, thanks to the high pressure that left me feeling better than usual, I was able to leave the house every day, I was able to get her into the crate without any fuss (after the first day, when I DID have forty-five minutes to unlock her and coax her into her crate). Clearly, the more frequently she had to go in her crate, the easier it was for her, and I think it helped that she seldom was in it for more than half an hour at a time. It also seemed to help that I gave her some peanut butter through the crate door after closing her in. Trying to build on this momentum, I've turned the crate into a "magical treat machine" and even put her in the other day when I went out to get the mail. She has grown increasingly comfortable with the crate: she went in there the other evening while she was waiting for me to go to bed and she chewed her weekly rawhide stick in her crate after I placed it on the pillow. Better still, she has a brand new favorite game: Abbey Goes in Her House and Gets Peanut Butter!
"Even though you're pointing the camera at me, I still get my peanut butter, right?"
The other day, when she had gone all the way into her crate in pursuit of some pieces of cereal I'd hidden (a change from the past few months, when she'd make sure a couple of paws remained outside the crate at all times!), I asked her to "down" and then "stay." She did as I commanded, so I went to the cupboard and got out some peanut butter. Abbey was craning her neck out of her crate to see if it was peanut butter I was bringing (it's like cats and a can opener: no matter how quiet about it I am, she can hear me open the cupboard where the peanut butter is kept and unscrew the lid on the jar!), but she stayed put and was duly rewarded. That night, rather than wanting to play with her ball or one of her other toys during our traditional after-dinner game, Abbey zipped right into her crate, threw herself down, and peered eagerly out of door: "Peanut butter, please!"
When we did a little crate-training again yesterday, I followed the same procedure from the day before: once she had gone all the way into the crate, I asked her to lie down and then brought her some peanut butter. This time I didn't let her lick all of it off of my finger, thinking that I'd see if I could get her to go into the crate again and save myself another trip to the cupboard. After I released her from her "stay" position and invited her out of the crate, Abbey quickly determined that I still had peanut butter on my person and as she eagerly investigated, I told her, jokingly, "No, sweetie, you only get peanut butter if you go in your house!" So she went in her house and flopped down, just like that. In recent months, she's only been able to respond to the traditional command, "Go in your house," if she is told ahead of time and sees me putting my shoes on, taking a drink of water, and other patterns she associates with me leaving. But if there was peanut butter to be had, she was going into her crate ASAP!
When I took the picture above this afternoon, all it took was for her to know that I had peanut butter on me and for me to give the command. I'm so happy that I've found a great motivator for crate-training! It'll be easier for me to keep up a training program even when I'm not feeling well (like today) if it involves minimal time and stress and of course it's a win-win for Abbey! She gets regular peanut butter treats and the crate ceases to be a trap and once again is a cozy place where she can retreat when she's tired or place to patiently wait for her Girl to come home again.
"Gee, isn't this blog post over yet? I'm getting sleepy!"
