Shortly after doggie graduation day, Hardy lost his
poise when walking on a leash. He was well behaved inside the pet store where
he attended his trainings, but in other places, like the local trail where I
loved to go for a briskly paced walk, he became a different animal. It became
obvious to me that he needed more polite walking practice.
Like many folks who love to go for a daily walk, I
was accustomed to driving the car to my favorite spot. My trail of choice was
once a railroad route that traversed through the outskirts of the neighboring
towns in the valley where I lived. As the railroad phased out, a walking trail
phased in. Its paved surface stretched out for miles, as it linked together
town after town. The location I frequented had a little creek that flowed along
its side, passed through a park with a tiny bridge, and continued through
several holes of a golf course. I enjoyed walking there both for its beauty and
because of all the wildlife I had become accustomed to viewing.
Over the years I began to recognize the same people
walking the trail, waving hello or stopping to chat a little, then moving on in
opposite directions on our quest for a good aerobic workout. Just like a visit
to the gym, I had easily fallen into a somewhat predictable schedule of days
and times when I would visit the trail, but after bringing Hardy along, it had
started become a routine I was beginning to dislike.
Hardy was easily distracted by all of the different
scents he would encounter along the way. He was a typical Schnauzer, keeping
his head towards the ground, sniffing as he moved towards some random scent. He
was always tracking, but obnoxiously so on the trail. Shortly after we would
begin walking, he would start to struggle forward, his nose to the ground, in
an effort to pull me along. Armed with my newly discovered insights about dog
behavior from the classes we had been attending, I found myself noticing how
following the scent seemed like it’s own reward, even if whatever he was
tracking never transpired.
Other dogs were another challenge. I quickly
realized that a well socialized dog, and an owner who knew the drill, didn’t
cause problems for us while we were walking on the trail. We thought it best to
allow our animals to “say hello” to one another, and then move on. These pets
and their owners were usually courteous, matter of fact, and went back to
business without any trouble. It became second nature for me to practice with
those animals in an effort to maintain a well socialized dog, and I saw it
had reciprocal, calming effect. These people and their dogs were not the
problem for Hardy and me. The socializing opportunities were recognizable, and
became a pleasant infusion into our daily walking routine.
However, if someone with an disobedient or
unsocialized dog came the other direction, it was a different story. Hardy
would revert back to his shelter ways, viciously barking non-stop and lurching
towards them like our first day in training class. It got so that I could
recognize some distance away what sort of pet owner was traveling our
direction. It was all in the manipulation of the leash, and how the dog made
eye contact with my dog. If the owner stiffened up and pulled tightly on the
leash, the dog’s body posture would change, and it would look fierce and
threatening. In effect, the owner was making the dog look threatening to my dog
long before they were even near each other.
These
sorts of encounters were aggressive and inconvenient, but unavoidable. I knew I
couldn’t control who walked on the trail, so I had to find a way to get control
of Hardy in these instances. The sporadic yanking during these sorts of dog
encounters, which seemed to occur at some point during every walk, hurt my
shoulders, my knees, and my back. I started researching other methods that
trainers used to keep a dog walking politely on a leash. I didn’t care if Hardy
was at my heal, I just wanted him to stop tugging away from me and causing the
joint pain. I needed to discover a way to teach Hardy to want to be next
to me.
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