As first seen in Wag Magazine, May 2012

Companion animals are well-known for alleviating loneliness and lifting depression in people, but humans aren’t the only species that suffers from these common maladies. Like people, horses and dogs are social creatures that long for the emotional ties and daily interactions of a soul mate. Horses in particular pine when left alone. Despite their size, they are preyed-upon animals and feel much safer in groups.

Throughout our country’s transformation, the horse has served a central role. . Horses have been used in agriculture, transportation and war. Native Americans bred horses and referred to them as “sky dogs,” because they exhibited traits similar to canines, including patience and loyalty.

It’s interesting that the cultural development of dog breeds has long shadowed that of the horse.  Once primarily useful as hunting companions, dog breeds evolved to guard livestock from predators, gather herds and flocks and quell the rodent population attracted to stocks of grain.

Fast forward to today.  The workhorse has been sidelined, replaced by machinery and technology.  Suburban horse people, while devoted and passionate about the needs of their animals, are restricted from owning herds by both space and expense.  Suburban zoning laws also restrict ownership, generally limiting horse lovers to one animal for every two acres.  The result?  Not so good if you’re a horse.  Long hours of isolation, limited human contact and little or no companionship can lead to a host of anxiety-related behaviors, including chewing wood, cribbing (when a horse pulls on loose boards), kicking walls and circling.  Is there a solution?

Fortunately, yes.  It seems that horses are adaptable and accepting. The need to socialize is so strong that a horse will, when paired with an equally sociable and interactive companion, be satisfied with a friend of another species.  It is important to note that both the temperament of the horse and its companion need to be considered. Sociable animals seek company for many reasons, not the least of which is protection and leadership.  A horse with a gentle disposition will seek camaraderie and direction, while a strong, assertive animal will demand an equally authoritative presence to guide him or a yielding disposition to its dominant one.  When choosing a horse’s companion, select one that is freshly weaned and of a passive, yielding nature that will– in the absence of people and others of its type—seek the company of a horse.

Here are three species to consider:

Dogs – While dogs can make wonderful companions for horses, the dog’s breed and disposition must be carefully chosen.  Herding breeds, bred for farm life, are often too intent on their purpose to relate. Terriers are more focused on what’s below ground than above. Guarding breeds are intent on surveying the territory.  Sporting breeds, whether pure or mixed, are often best-suited for companionship. Select a young, passive and emotionally reliant puppy that will seek out the horse in the absence of other dogs and people.

Cats – Interestingly, the cats that make the best companions for horses are often not the best mousers.  When choosing a mouser, one looks for a focused, determined nature that even at seven weeks old will intently focus on a feather over human affection.  In selecting a kitten as a social companion, look for more relaxed qualities – joy in human handling, purring when held.  These highlight a follower’s disposition that relies on interaction to thrive.

Goats –Nothing is quite so entertaining as the friendship that often develops between a horse and a goat.  Given the choice, either species would prefer its own, though when raised together they often form a strong bond.  Great escape artists and tremendous eaters, goats need to be sequestered during mealtimes and require a carefully constructed pen to keep them secure.  Goats are also known to eat a horse’s tail down to the nub, so buyer beware!

Last Saturday my family and I were enjoying an early evening barbeque, when a eager child- of say around age 40, decided that he had waited long enough for the upcoming celebration.  Dragging a small arsenal of fireworks from his garage he called all the neighborhoods’ children over to enjoy the display.  Somewhere in the midst of all the pop and glitter, Dublin, our friends aged and allegedly deaf Pit Bull burst through the hedges and attacked the erupting sparkles like a baited fighting dog.

His owners did not fear displaced aggression, whereby a dog might turn and bite the hand that tried to separate him from his provocation; they had both seen and dealt with it before.  “He doesn’t like fireworks; he never has.”  As I anthropomorphized that Dublin had “Saved the Children from a most formidable foe,” he was locked in an upstairs bedroom with a large bowl of water.  His mouth, fully examined, had suffered no burns.

The questioned raised that night was how did Dublin recognize the fireworks if he could not hear them?  My proposed reasoning will also reveal why fireworks are so offensive and/or intensely frightening to dogs. First it is helpful to understand how a dog’s hearing differs from our own.

Though many people assume that dog’s hear better than we do, this is not the case for all sounds. Noises that are recognized by the brain, enter the ear in waves: The lower the pitch of the sound, the lower the frequency of the sound pressure peaks that hit the ear; the higher the pitch, the greater the frequency of the waves undulations. The actually pitch of a sound (i.e. high versus low notes) is indicated in a measurement know as Hertz, or Hz, which is really nothing more than the number of sound pressure peaks that hit the ear in a second.  Sounds important for understanding human speech range from about 500-4,000 Hz, and consequently human s have ears with their peak sensitivity in that range.

Dog’s hearing isn’t better than humans for these sounds however since dogs evolved from a species that hunted for survival, their hearing is more sensitive to high pitched sounds of animals rustling in the leaves and emitting scrabbling noises in hidden spaced.  For this reason a dog’s frequency range extends higher, to between 47,000 Hz and 60,000 Hz.  Thus when referring to our different perceptions, it is more accurate to say that dog’s respond to a broader range of auditory experiences.

With regards to Dublin, I suspect that two forces took hold: one, he saw the erratic lighting and had instant memory recall, setting his familiar pattern in motion, and two—though his hearing was diminished, he wasn’t stone deaf and thus recognized the unique high frequency waves, tripping his predatory responses in motion.

With regards to the 4th of July walk a mile in your dog’s paw and guard his ears every way you can.  Create a relaxing space with familiar bedding and calming music or take him to a friends house or kennel where quiet reigns and any abrupt noises with not be related to his home space.

As published in WagMag Online...
Cross a popsicle with a moist dog treat and what do you get? A low-cal lick-able treat for dogs. The Lickety Stick can be used as a lure for basic training and agility and to condition puppies and rescues. I discovered it works on cats and rabbits, too. During a high-end photo shoot, for which I was hired to steady the animals, I had six sticks on hand and one happy litter of critters, all sitting perfectly still. Check out this groovy new product ($5.99 to $7.99) at your favorite pet store or on amazon.com.

Last week, it was Lindsay’s turn to write her school’s morning message, a short, informative passage that is read over the PA system and broadcast to all the classrooms in her school. The night before, we sat together in my office, both of us writing. I tried to concentrate on my projects, struggled not to interfere or hover. I did my best to just work alongside her…two writers, hard at their craft. I peeked only once to see her biting her lower lip and concentrating on what began as an empty page. When she finished, I listen both as a parent and a writer. What I heard made me swell with pride–my daughter managed to squeeze the news of newly hatched chicks and her production of the play “Cats,” into one creatively designed paragraph. A 7 year old masterpiece:

“Good morning chicks! It is the 153rd day of school. Get excited! Today the third graders are going to play with the chicks with us! We have P.E. today. Can you believe it! All the chicks hatched! Today is my play–let’s have fun and be cats!”

Let's all be cats!

And what a cat she was.

Long before we found our wonderful new home and decided to move, we enrolled Lindsay in a theater group. June seemed unimaginably far off as we looked over the schedule for Lighthouse Youth Art Center’s production of Cats. As fate would have it, her much-anticipated debut coincides almost exactly with the final stages of our move. All of our pre-moving work has been accompanied by the unique vocal stylings of Lindsay, belting out chorus after chorus of “Memories.”

But I’ve discovered an excellent cure for moving stress: face painting. For one solid week, I blocked out time to practice under a true face painting master, Ruth Pope. While I am very confident with a leash in my hand, the finer points of faux fur and whiskers eluded me at first. Bohdie was a willing volunteer, graciously allowing me to practice my technique all week long. Not surprisingly, he liked being a dog.

The night of the production went well. Although Ruth cranked out three or four cats to every one of mine, I think I did okay. For her part, Lindsay, resplendent in a black leotard with yarn fur, sang and danced like a Broadway veteran. I thought I had had enough of “Memories,” but I found myself humming it for days.

The day before had been a sunny 69 and as I drove around from appointment to appointment I dreamed of taking my youngest puppy—my two year old son somewhere special the next day. Just me and my boy: Mommy and me time to make up for my absence. The little thumbnails on my IPhone promised another sunny day. It was settled—we were going to Muscoot Farm.

Forgetting to actually look outside I got the kids dressed in shorts and tee-shirts, packed the camera, and was half way to drop off my daughter at school before I noticed the clouds. Should we turn back and get coats, long sleeve, pants? Of course, the cold doesn’t deter my kids or dampen my son’s enthusiasm for pigs, goats and tractors, so I yielded to the chorus of “Nos” in the backseat and drove on. How cold could it be?

Well, it was cold. I was shivering. Miserable…wanting to be somewhere, anywhere, inside and warm. I longed for adult conversation and stimulating interaction, instead I was freezing, inhaling manure…with a looming decision of whether to start with the turkeys or the beeline to the pigs.

But then it hit me: the vision of my son, a boy in shorts, a miniaturized man on a mission. He paused immediately to take in the sheep—her teats protruding with not one by two lambs suckling simultaneously. Now that was interesting. The tractor held unlimited possibilities and photo opps. And then one of those moments every mother lives a question only a child staring up into the face of Bull would think to ask: “Mommy, do cows eat people?” “No, Bobo, cows don’t eat people, They just eat hay.” Relieved, we went on.

And so now as I scan through the memories of the week, one moment stands out—and not because of personal discomfort, but because I was there when my son asked a most important question, and there to hold his hand just in case I was wrong.

In less than 3 weeks, we’re moving out of the house I’ve raised myself in. For almost 16 years, I’ve lived in and loved my little village home. The memories that I’ve packed so tightly into it – of my kids, my husband, my dogs…pretty much my whole adult life – will follow me to my new home, but I look at all the boxes and I can’t help but feel nostalgic, emotional, a little sad and seriously, seriously tired.

Goodbye my sweet village home...

Boxes

Time is flying and I’m spending too much time over-taping boxes and waffling over whether or not to pack certain items. Will we need the wine glasses in the next three weeks? Almost certainly. The blender? Maybe. Popcorn popper? Rice steamer? Lobster pot? No, no, no…and why do we have a lobster pot? I hate the lobster pot! It’s big, unwieldy and really, will we ever boil a lobster alive? I doubt it.

I am beginning to loathe the boxes. I feel a strong urge to pack them, label them and deposit them at the curb with a big “FREE!” sign attached to them. Roman, lover of boxes and all things within them, will never allow this, so I’m free to indulge these fantasies.

The boxes are closing in...

Living on Bohdie Time
In desperate need of a break, I actually let Bohdie talk me in to letting him skateboard to the coffee shop. He’s not yet 3 and oh yeah, he can’t skateboard. So this little venture took almost an hour. The dude-in-training got to practice his low-rider boarding skills, Balder got to practice his herding techniques and I got to caffeinate. So it all worked out.

Herd that boy off the streets!

The Umbrella
Bohdie and Lindsay have been going through a rough patch. For several months, every meal was prefaced by “No hitting, no name-calling and no hair-pulling.” It was like our very own alternative version of Grace. But suddenly, the storm passed. I discovered them yesterday, playing with an umbrella (I’ve packed a lot of the toys), using it as a sort of parent shield. They’ve united against a common enemy: Roman and me. It’s like they’ve discovered their mutual kid-ness, a trait far cooler than our parent-ness. I’ve noticed this behavior in dogs, and wrote a column about it, and it’s surprisingly similar.

A generation divide!

Any tips for surviving the stress of a move would be greatly appreciated. Send your ideas…quick! The boxes are closing in.

Okay, slightly off topic, but here’s my son, accosting a mannequin at the local lingerie store. Clearly I should have weaned him a little sooner…

Why settle for a chamber maid?

Over the years, 16-year old Samantha White has had many names in our house: Sam. Sam-I-Am. Sam-Sam. Sammy. As the number of “other” Sams grew (the neighbor’s dog, Lindsay’s classmate), she became simply Our Sam.

Our Sam!

I’ve known her since she was in diapers, but for the past five years, Sam has been a fixture in my home and office. She started as an enthusiastic mother’s helper, graduated to a reliable babysitter and now she serves as a shockingly efficient assistant office manager. For three hours every Tuesday afternoon, Our Sam marches into my office and works with single-minded purpose. I had all but given up on sorting out the inventory glitches on my Amazon store. Sam listened to my tale of woe, picked up the phone, called Amazon — AMAZON! — and tracked down every wayward UPC code.

I thought that Our Sam could not surprise me…but I was wrong. Last night, Lindsay and I went to see her dance. As the curtain rose over Sam’s folded, graceful form, I sensed the shift in Lindsay’s perception. We watched as Our Sam — now Sam-the-Dancer — came to life, spinning and leaping with a passion that I’d always sensed lived within her.

Sam the Dancer!

Breathless, Lindsay declared that Sam was the “greatest dancer EVER.” At that moment, I understood a life truth as deeply as I ever have: if your passion can be expressed somewhere, it will follow you everywhere. When you find and embrace a passion — whether it’s dance, sports, art, gardening, dogs — that enthusiasm will carry over into all that you do. When we discover and pursue what we love, we embrace life.

MB walked in, rubbing her wrist. I noticed — I really did — and I was going to console her as soon as I finished telling her about my day. This sometimes happens when I’m in full “I need to talk to a grown-up” mode. I’m not especially proud of myself, but I was saved by the astonishing compassion of my son, Bohdie.

Bohdie noticed MB’s wrist, too, but rather than postpone compassion, he marched off to the pantry and returned with the magic cure: a serious look, a special kiss and a handful of SpongeBob bandaids.

A sweet kiss to make it better!

And I looked at this child — my child! — whose third birthday is just weeks away and I thought now there is something you just can’t train into them. Like a sweet-natured pup, it’s all in the breed. And what a wonderful breed he is.

Yesterday, Balder, Bohdie and I sat on a bench outside the grade school, waiting patiently for my 7-year old daughter, Lindsay, to emerge from the building. Finally, she appeared and dropped the bombshell: she wanted to make the ½ mile walk home — alone. I struggled to maintain my cool at this very literal leap towards independence but I managed to croak out a very nonchalant “Sure!” – even though I wasn’t. Turns out Lindsay wasn’t so sure either…she looked up at me and said – a little nervously – “Really?” Realizing that we needed some form of compromise for both of us to cross this metaphoric bridge to tweenhood, I suggested that Bohdie and I hop in the minivan and drive ahead, casually waiting at each corner. She nodded. I nodded. We were off.

I rolled slowly forward, keeping a close eye on the rearview mirror. Lindsay walked slowly – a little cautiously – her eyes trained on the minivan and its familiar cargo. She stopped to play in the gravel for a minute and my hand hovered on the door handle…is she giving up? Bailing? Should I rush out and swoop her up? After a 15-second eternity during which I swung through a stunning number of scenarios, Lindsay stood up, dusted her hands on her skirt and headed home.

Heading home...

During our 20-minute trip, Balder never pulled his head inside. He was perplexed and slightly dismayed at this development: Why was the Lindsay puppy out there alone? Is this a good idea? But it was Bohdie who almost broke my heart. “Lindsay doesn’t need us anymore?”

Growing up is hard on grown-ups.

Spring break is a funny thing. Sometimes you get balmy spring sunshine, sometimes you get…40 degree rain. Every day. Me, two kids, two dogs and a new bunny, all under one roof, watching movies, indoor camping and creating role playing games. (Bunny was an unimpressive T-Rex but an excellent baby zebra.) We ventured out once for an umbrella-assisted Easter egg hunt. When we arrived home eggless, wet and cold, I looked at my calendar: five more days of school vacation. I grabbed my laptop and booked a trip.

I arranged care for the rabbit: food, water and the random carrot…an easy sell. The highly coveted Whoopsie-sitting assignment was immediately snatched up by a neighbor. Whoopsie’s an adapter. Here? Good. There? Good. Good, good, good. Let’s eat then take a nap. And then there’s Balderdash. Young, high-energy and spectacularly needy, he’s a little hard to place. My regular kennel was booked so I decided to bring him along and board him near our hotel. It was not just a kennel. It was a Day Spa! A Day Spa for Dogs! The Norwichtown Pet Resort and Spa would be a good opportunity for Balder to make a brief leap toward independence. We signed him up for the Doggy Day Care package – several one-on-one play sessions each day – and headed off.

Can you say vacation!

We took advantage of all that Mystic, Connecticut had to offer and had a great time.

A Mystic Seaport Adventure!

I resisted my kids’ requests to visit Balder – it would be wonderful for us but emotionally draining for him – and returned to pick him up four days later. As we waited in the reception area, pacing like expectant parents, the staff told us Balder’s tale of woe. He was quiet. Withdrawn. He wouldn’t eat. Balder was a sad camper. Regular readers will know that Balder is a rescue; a purebred German Shepherd Dog from the Czech Republic with a complicated past. As we were wandering the seaport, Balder was reliving his memories of love and loss.

When the door to the kennels opened, a dejected-looking Balder wandered into the room, doing his best Eeyore imitation: head down, tail limp. Then it happened – his nose caught the scent of his family. His head lifted, curious. In the small waiting room, Lindsay called his name, loudly and joyously. The change in him was instantaneous and beautiful. He pranced. He wiggled. He actually expanded a little, I think. As the four of us clustered around him, cooing and petting, I promised him I would not kennel him again. Some dogs never adjust to time away from the safety and predictability of home and family. For Balder, this surprise trip was a wretched reminder of memories he’d rather forget.

It’s good to be home.

Welcome Home Boy

As seen in The Patch April 17, 2011

By Sarah Hodgson

What happened on a recent visit to train a canine version of Bonnie and Clyde.

Next week, I will address getting a dog or puppy to match your lifestyle.  Pure breed or rescue?  Young puppy or older dog?  How much does the breed influence the temperament?  Male or female?  Please forward me your questions to help me shape my article! Meanwhile, here’s a page from my Dog Trainer’s Dairy.

Meet Rocky, a Cane Corso, with a boxer’s name and attitude. He’s big. He’s bold. He barks with authority. And he’s only 14 weeks old. Uh-0h.

Rocky is alert, watchful and already pulling away from his human family, bonding instead with Francesca, the family’s 4-year old Akita. Slightly panicked, his family corrects him inconsistently, frightening and confusing this large but still immature pup and driving him further into Francesca’s world.

Francesca is a bit of a bad girl, an older woman with a few bad habits of her own. She’s territorial and over-protective—barking, blocking, growling and snapping. Rocky watches her, starstruck. No matter what the humans do, they can’t compete with the brassy Ms. Francesca. Her bossy attitude, her throaty snarl—she’s irresistible to the impressionable Rocky, and he wants to be just like her.

Can these relationships be saved? Can the humans regain control of this canine Bonnie and Clyde? Although I was called in to train Rocky, it’s Francesca who needs most of the attention on our first day. She’s setting an example for Rocky and if I don’t win her over, the battle will be lost. Training Francesca will relieve her confusion and lead Rocky towards the light: when people communicate to dogs, everyone is happier!

Francesca believes she needs to protect her family. She barks at the windows, blocks the door when visitors arrive and suspiciously eyes active children. This is not a job she chose; she simply acquired it by default. It is her breed’s nature to protect and if no one else seems to be getting the job done, she is required by hundreds of years of selective breeding to step up – whether she wants to or not.

Within minutes of handling Francesca, I discovered a closet Cavalier King Charles Spaniel hidden in an Akita’s body; a dog who’d be happier showing affection rather than displaying aggression. My instructions for a quick rehabilitation included the following steps:

Practice 10 minute walk-abouts—in front of Rocky, reinforcing the commands to “Follow” (aka as Heel), Sit-Stay, Back and Wait.

Readjust her bedding away from the window and block her lookout.

Teach her the command “Get Back” at the door and hold her on a short hand leash until the visitors have integrated into the household.

When young cousins come, keep her tethered to her bed on a station lead or held to someone on leash. 

As I handled Francesca, Rocky looked on with a fascinated stare. Francesca, light-hearted? What gives? When I turned my attentions to him, he grabbed a dishtowel and danced out of reach, daring me to give chase. Engaging him would play right into Rocky’s large paws so I reached for a treat cup and fed a few to a willing Francesca. Angling my hip to Rocky’s head to avoid his indignant, straight-on glare, I talked softly and knelt to pet both of them. Rocky’s big tail swished and he dropped the towel to take a treat. Even the toughest tough guy needs a treat and a pat now and then.

Rocky will benefit from some some simple treat cup and leash lessons to start his training journey and he’s signed up for group Puppy Kindergarten. Both dogs will need a few private studio visits to improve their social skills.

Life with dogs is long and far far better when you can talk and socialize with them!

By Sarah Hodgson

As Seen In The Patch March 27, 2011

The hardest thing to control in life, is not a dog…it’s your temper.

By Sarah Hodgson

As Seen In the Patch March 20, 2011

Exercise control or offer compassion?

As Seen In The Patch March 13, 2011

By Sarah Hodgson

Choosing an approach that's right for your dog…

Class 5 Field Trip.  Practicing run-bys to teach the puppies good containment skills.  Can you see Sam the kid?  Racing by in a flash.  "Stay" pups "Stay!"

As Seen In The Patch March 6, 2011

Treat your dog like family, not just a member of the pack.

By Sarah Hodgson

Old student, new.  In helping Kyra, the newly adopted 7 year old German Shepherd rescue from Adopt-a-Dog in Armonk, NY, I was reunited with Max….a 2001 graduate of my Puppy Kindergarten dog school. Think he remembered me?  He certainly sparked to the sound of my voice!  Fun day for this dog trainer  

By Sarah Hodgson

There are many reasons why I love my Westchester County home. The ice storm phenomenon is not one of them.

I love snow in all its forms—snowball snow, sledding snow, stick-to-the-trees-and-take-a-million-photos snow. The past month has been one photo-op after another: Boulder, our good-natured German Shepherd, wearing a sled harness and pulling the kids around the neighborhood. Click! Whoopsie, treat-focused as always, with her butt in the air and her head in the snow, searching for buried treasure. Click! My kids, sleepy, calm and cooperative after hours of outdoor play, curled up by the fire with mugs of hot chocolate. Click! Click! Click!

But recently, we’ve had what the weather reporters euphemistically call “a wintery mix.” It amounts to a 3-inch layer of impermeable, impassable, impossibly treacherous ice that has kept us all indoors. And I mean seriously indoors. Not even a quick foray to the coffee shop. The word “confinement” comes to mind.

As often happens during periods of boredom, all eyes turn to me. “Entertain us!” these eyes say. And so we watched a few movies. We baked, played board games and did some crafts. We blew up balloons for Lindsay’s upcoming birthday party. Two-year old librarian-in-training Bohdie removed all the books from the shelves and replaced them in a surprisingly orderly way.

For Whoopsie and Boulder, nearly 200 pounds of pent-up canine energy, I invented a few silly pet tricks. They jumped over my prone children. They delivered kindling to fire starter-in-chief, Roman. They ate a lot of dog biscuits. Life is, after all just a passage of time. As long as we’re united, there is peace—mostly—in the kingdom.

Interestingly, my dog training business and online consultation forum has been buzzing. Dog owners are facing the challenges of bored, housebound dogs and are seeing an increase in destructive chewing and house soiling accidents. Seasonal and weather-related questions have increased, too. Hour-long leash walking sessions are on the rise. The simple acts of going outside and existing together are now fraught with new concerns and frustrations.

My column now features a question-and-answer format every other week. You can post your questions to this column in the comment box. I'll respond to them each week. I will continue to share my stories every other week, but alternate them with "Ask the trainer" columns, in which I will devote my entire column to reader questions.

Meanwhile, here are your answers to a quick list of popular queries this time of year:

Ice cuts

Ice cuts are one of the top reasons dogs end up in the veterinary emergency room. Shards of ice and crusted snow can cut a paw right down to the bone. Even under white, fluffy snow, the danger lurks underneath. Limit bounding and racing if at all possible. Keep your dog on a leash and walk on well-trodden paths and shoveled driveways. Boring but safer.

Salt

Road salt stings and when it contacts cracked, winter-dry paws, you’ve got a painful predicament. Your dog’s solution? Lick, lick, lick…sodium and chemical additives be darned. Use dog-safe ice melt or sand at home and keep a bucket of water handy to rinse your dog’s feet after a walk on suspect roads.

Paw care

Fuzzy-footed dogs get snow encrusted between their paws. Picking or pulling at these ice balls is painful; better to let them melt. Add a squirt of Dawn® dish detergent to a bucket of warm water and dip your dog’s paws. Carefully trim back the hair on your dog’s feet until it’s level with the paw pads. Consider buying booties for your dog. Not all dogs love the booties, this is true. But if your dog will wear them, it makes winter walks a pleasure.

Bathroom breaks

Winter housebreaking issues are a big topic in my business. Puppies loose focus, older dogs regress, accidents happen. During the winter, create a potty area very close to the house. Make a path and clear an area of snow for ease of use. Use sand to make the area slip-free and keep it picked up.

Westchester county dog trainer Sarah Hodgson, author of Puppies For Dummies and Dog Perfect shows how to use an easy walk harness. Please visit www.WhenDogsTalk.com for more dog training tips and information on her products and books!

As first seen in the Bedford Patch; February 1, 2011

What Dog Training and Preschool Have in Common

For starters, they should both be required.

Bohdie and I just crossed a bridge: we went to pre-school. I say “we” because although it is two-year old Bohdie that attended the class, it was 40-something Mama that learned the lesson.

Pre-schooler in action

Filling out the enrollment forms, I worried. How would he handle the separation? How would he act? Would he make friends? Respect the teacher? Remember the potty rules? Driving to the school, I was nervous—as if his first few minutes in pre-school would determine his future as a man and validate my success as a mother. I can be a little dramatic sometimes.

Bohdie, of course, was his carefree, confident self. He breezed into the building, hung up his coat (Points for Mama! Yes!) and headed for a group of boys playing trucks. I held my breath. This was it. The moment of truth. Please join in, I thought silently. Share…but don’t grab. Remember what I said about biting. Standing in the doorway, I struggled not to interfere. Bohdie approached the group and raised his little hand in the universal gesture of peace and greeting. The group looked up at the new guy and one of the boys subtly steered a truck Bohdie’s way. And that was it. He was in. It was time for me to go.

Friends in Katonah

Bohdie’s been to school several times since then, always eager to get inside. When I pick him up, he tells me about his day, chattering happily about his teachers and classmates. Tired from his busy, socially productive day, he settles down for his nap without a fuss and I feel strangely wistful. It’s the rhythm of life: as a baby, your child clings to you. As a parent, you lay the foundation of support and dependability and watch—proudly, sadly, excitedly and a bit fearfully—as they begin to separate and move into the world.

Watching Bohdie sleep, I think—naturally, since I’m a dog trainer—about dogs. Their evolution is very similar.

Puppies under the age of 4 months are dependent, adoring…totally portable. Pick them up, put them down—they are happy to be wherever you are. Inexperienced and without an identity, they lack initiative and will. Cherish these moments because soon…

…independent thought dawns and the drive to investigate becomes strong. Like kids, puppies grow curious and hungry for engagement. As caregiver, you are left with two choices: hold the leash too tight or loosen up a bit. Everyone has seen dogs tethered to the end of a too-tight leash, their natural inclination to explore so strong that the minor inconvenience of near strangulation is forgotten. The answer? Loosen your hold. Don’t let go of the leash, just…loosen up. Help your dog learn.

An untrained dog misses many of life’s pleasures. Often confined to a short leash or limited area, these dogs become bored, reactive and marginalized. Dogs are highly social creatures with the brain capacity of a two-year old child. The need to train and socialize your dog is, to my mind, as essential as educating a child.

Shaping good behavior can begin on day one, before bad habits set in but it is never too late to train your dog. Sign up for a class or contact a dog trainer like myself. Give your dog the gift of civility so they can participate in and enjoy the world around them.

Education in all its forms is not always easy. You have to make the effort. But the results are almost immediate. As Bohdie’s world expands, he and I have much more to talk about. He’s making friends and accomplishing tasks. With dogs, training builds a base of common knowledge: bell means go out, sit when you greet, chew this but not that. Shared experience builds a bond stronger than any restraint.  Relax your hold.

Let your dog—and your child—know the freedom and joy that comes from a life unleashed.

Unleashed!

Featured on the Patch.com on January 18, 2011

No school again today…we’re having an ice day. Another snow day I could probably handle — stress the probably — but an ice day? Ice means the dogs must stay indoors or risk paw cuts. Ice means no sledding. No snowball fights. No tired, happy, apple-cheeked children and panting, snow-bearded dogs. Ice means whining: kids, dogs, mom, dad. Another hot cocoa, bartender. It’s going to be a long day.

I’m living vicariously through this photo. Not sure if I want to be the Golden Retriever carving the snow path, or the King Charles Cavalier following along. Probably the Cavalier…just focusing on what’s straight in front.

A Snowy Good Time

Okay, so this is enough snow.

Go ahead. Blame me. I deserve it.

As soon as Thanksgiving ended, I started praying for snow. Big fluffy white flakes, in quantity. I blogged my desires, I danced the snow dance. I wanted, wanted, wanted snow, snow, snow.

Now we’re bracing for another storm and I’m googling “Caribbean.”

Dogs are playing a lot of war games....

Kids past time? Remove all the books from shelf.

Oh, snow. So fun and filled with homespun memories. We light the fire, catch snowflakes on our tongues and drink hot chocolate. We bundle up — did I mention low long that takes? — and we shovel. And shovel. We worry about ice on the steps and wedged between paws. Will school be closed? Will the blankets draped over the dining room table still seem magic after the fourth time?

My snow pirate!

So I sit at my computer, nervously monitoring weather.com. Another 6” inches. And it’s 76 degrees in St. Thomas. I’m just saying.

We spent the holiday break doing all the things that many families do in late December: we wrapped and unwrapped, shipped and received, pulled out and put away. We ate, drank, rejoiced, laughed and—just a few times—cried. But of all the 2010 holiday events, one stands out above the rest. Bohdie started toilet training.

OK, it’s not your standard holiday celebration. There are no cards or special ornaments to commemorate it, but as a professional dog trainer well-versed in the techniques used to housebreak puppies and dogs, I’m finding many similarities worth noting. Regular readers of my column know that I often learn worthwhile life lessons from my four-footed clients, and today I’d like to thank all the dogs who have inadvertently contributed to the toilet training of my kids.

Patience. Potty training is hard. This first leap of internal regulation is one gigantic step towards independence. Set aside the time to help your dog or child re-organize their day to include potty trips.

Potty training cannot be rushed. Everyone gets the containment routine in his or her own time. My daughter was late, my son a little early. As a puppy, Whoopsie saw no need to rush and Balderdash, raised for two years in an outdoor kennel and unfamiliar with the niceties of indoor living took…well, let’s just say he took some time. Look for signs of internal regulation before you begin training in earnest: a dry diaper, crate or sitting room.

Limit the adventures. Stay home and let potty training rule your days for a week or so. Once your dog or child gets into the habit of taking a potty break, start to venture further. Just remember to show them the new potty area when you arrive!

Keep it very simple. Both species like a consistent area: one or two toilets or potty areas just outside of the living space. The more routine you can manage, the faster their brain will wrap abound the procedure.

Think like a bladder. Activities like eating or playing stimulate the bladder but so do periods of dormancy (a nap or prolonged sitting). Prompt a potty run after eating, resting, playing or containment. Try to follow the same route to the bathroom, the newspapers or outside, depending upon species.

Don’t sweat the accidents. Everybody makes mistakes. Not to get all Freudy, but please don’t focus on pee- or poop-related mishaps. It won’t help.

Limit the dialog. Choose a catchy, one- or two-word hint like “Potty,” “Papers” or “Outside.” Follow it up with an equally zippy action phrase like “Pee-pee!” or “Get Busy!” Use a calm and directive tone (as calm and directive as one can be when using words like pee-pee) to focus and steady your potty pupil.

Look down. Direct eye contact is scary, especially to the very young. Try not to stare while the process is in motion. This is a new experience and requires no small degree of concentration.

Only they know. Sometimes they’ll have to go, sometimes they won’t. Give them a few minutes to “try” then bring them back into the fold and watch closely for a sign. Kids are a little more obvious, squirming and clutching their crotch. Puppies will start to fidget or mouth.

Be patient. Puppies and kids will both learn self-control and personal management. The big difference, of course, it speech. Your child will start to use words to alert you but your dog, forever non-verbal, must use physical cues. Encourage your dog to bark at the door when he wants to go out or hang a housetraining bell near the door.

The most important tip of all? Be empathetic. Self-regulation is a difficult step away towards independence. And independence can be scary.

The flakes arrived…and on Friday to boot. We had a blast in the snow!

From tunnel building and sledding to just horsing around, everyone played, everyone enjoyed hot chocolate and we all slept like never before.

What’s the best thing about having a daughter? The boys who come over and help us shovel!