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The Dog Looked At Me

November 9, 1999

The dog looked at me.

I’m out of here,” she seemed to say.

Turning on her tail, she glided

Purposely and quickly to the other room.

Not a backward look.

Not a sound.

Just gone.

I stood there with the nail clipper in my hand.

Should I get her or let it go?

Let it go.

They’ll be there tomorrow.

What’s In a Diet? Chelsea the Half Sighted Shi’tzu

Chelsea May 1988 – December 2007

[This article was written in 2002]

Chelsea is a 14-year-old Shi’tzu. She came to us when she was five months old, and within a week, our Lhasa Apso had bit her and partially detached her eye. The vet was able to re-attach the eye, but unfortunately, Chelsea never regained the sight in that eye.

Chelsea had a lot of health problems for such a small dog. In addition to the eye, she had a hernia that had to be fixed when she was two. Then, when she was six years old, she developed a structural problem that was never identified. Up until then, she had been an exuberant girl who loved to jump, on our laps, on the furniture, on chairs, you name it, no matter how high it was, Chelsea would jump on it.

When she was six, the structural problem became so severe that she literally screamed when she tried to move faster than a very show walk. And the jumping was over for good. She spent most of her life for the next six months confined to a very small bathroom which we could gate so she could see all that we were doing.

We took her to specialists who ran all kinds of tests, one even kept her with him and his wife for a weekend, sure that she would share her pain if she could become so familiar with them that she would trust him enough. Finally, our general practitioner vet suggested using Cosequin. She said that she had used it on another dog and it seemed to be working. She said we had nothing to lose.

So we put Chelsea on Cosequin, and within two months, the pain disappeared. Within, two years, she was able to jump again. Not the excited popping up and down of her youth, but a good strong jump up on a chair in the office.

When Chelsea was seven, we brought home an Airedale puppy. The vet was worried that the Airedale would be too rough for her, but not to worry: Chelsea had a no-funny-business growl, and the puppy kept its distance (except when Chelsea was urinating, and the puppy would swoop in and dive at her tail, the neatest toy in the house).

By the time Chelsea was nine years old, we had two Airedales and a litter on the way. After years of trying one dog food after another with dismal results (the dogs would not eat them after the first few weeks), we switched all the dogs to the raw diet.

The Airedales were quite reserved about accepting the new diet, but not Chelsea. Chelsea dived into her first meal, looking over her shoulder at me with a look that said “Now, that I am at the end of my life, you bring out the real food? Where has this been all of my life?” And she thrived.

Three months after starting the raw diet, we were able to take her totally off of the Cosequin, and we never had any screaming from pain again. Jumping? She could jump on the chair in the office, on the couch, even on the bed. She had more energy than she had had for the past three years.

When she was 11, she developed glaucoma in her blind eye. We worried about the recommendation of surgery to remove the eye, but the vet said that they had done her blood work and had never seen an 11 –year-old dog with such excellent blood values. So she had the surgery, and recovered quickly, becoming even more energetic. She never worried about moving around beneath all those Airedale feet because her growl kept them from stepping on her no matter how excited they were. It became her job to teach the puppies in each litter that her tail was not a toy, that she was worthy of the respect owed to a matron, and more.

Then, when she was 13 years old, she fell in love—with Jennifer, our housesitter’s daughter. The feeling was mutual, and with our blessing, Chelsea went to live with Jennifer, and has become the grand dame of a household with several large dogs, several cats, and other animals. Her favorite is a kitten that she has adopted.

Changing Places to Change a Behavior

Handling a show dog, training an obedience dog, or running a dog in agility takes lots of practice, good teachers, and lots of experience. Performance sports require a willingness to make mistakes and to learn from those mistakes. They also provide valuable lessons for all of us involved in training our dogs.

All training for these activities depends on how clearly the handler perceives what they want the dog to do. Sometimes, dogs and trainers seem to be going in different directions, and no matter what the trainer does, the dog does not respond. Sometimes, in order to resolve these problems, we need to change what we are doing and where we do it. We do not necessarily have to find the underlying belief that is interfering with the outcome we want, but we do have to find a way to strengthen the picture of what we want.

A Personal Experience

Last year, my show dog, Dilys, suddenly decided that no one, except me, was going to touch her in the show ring. This meant that the judges could not go over her. She did not act aggressively; she just could not be touched. Figuring out what was going on, since I mentally pictured her standing perfectly still and letting the judges examine her, required that I go back in my own life and find out what was sabotaging that picture in my mind. Then, armed with that knowledge, I discovered that changing venues helped me reinforce the picture of the outcome that I wanted.

When I pondered what was happening in the ring, I thought about my mother breeding and showing Boxers when I was a child. My memories of her work and going to shows with her were happy ones: She loved showing her dogs, and whatever happened at a show, win or lose, she came home exhilarated. I loved going to the shows with her, and I liked helping with the puppies. But my father, who had chosen the breed and purchased a bitch with the agreement to show her, to breed her, and to return a puppy, had little use for the show ring, or as he called it, “the beauty ring.” To him, it was nothing more than a beauty pageant: the dogs and owners only had to walk around the ring and stand at attention. “Give me an obedience dog any time,” he used to say. “They have brains.” I realized that his oft repeated statements about conformation had affected my own opinion of showing dogs, leaving me with the belief that it was just about walking a dog around a ring.

I didn’t learn how wrong he was until I was in my 50s and had my first show dog. I look back with embarrassment on my first attempts in the ring: stiff, stilted, no clue of what it took to show off a dog or how to train a dog to do this. Handlers told me there was nothing to it. Mentors told me what to do: keep a loose lead, pull the head up, make sure that the dog is moving correctly, hold the tail up, and keep the dog perfectly stacked. Every time I entered the ring, I felt like “Baby” learning to dance in the movie, Dirty Dancing.

Handling classes were of no help: every Tuesday evening, I took that dog to handling class. No one gave us any instruction. We just lined up, kept moving to the front of the line, stacked our dog, took it down and back, and went around to the end. Every week, I looked desperately around the class: What was I supposed to do? Each week, I picked someone who seemed to know what they were doing and tried to copy them. Even though many of the people in the class were very experienced, I did not have a clue whether I was copying something that would work in the Airedale ring or not. In short, to quote Corally Burmaster, all I was doing in class each week was rearranging my ignorance.

Even though this was supposed to be my hobby and it was supposed to be fun, I ended up sending my first and second show dogs to a professional handler so they could finish their championships.

Years later, with 20 handling workshops under my belt, one owner handled champion to my credit, and a successful handling class, I still did not truly understand what I was doing in the ring. When Dilys suddenly balked at judges going over her, she caught me by surprise. When I showed her again, I expected her to do this: I didn’t want her to do it, but the picture planted in my mind was of her balking and me wondering what I could do to stop her from doing that. She did not let me down: three more judges, wonderful judges who refused to excuse her from the ring, had trouble examining her. Each judge said that excusing her would ruin her, and each counseled me to get her out more frequently during the week. Dilys, however, was a very well socialized dog who loved going out, letting people touch her, and playing with other dogs. I knew that was not the problem.

I knew the problem had to be me. Even though I was teaching other people how to be successful handlers, I was still affected by my father’s words, and that early belief was undermining my visualization of showing successfully in the conformation ring. I had to get over that, and I had to do it with Dilys.

Change Up What You Are Doing

I decided to change up what I was doing. Several of my students had rare breeds and the only conformation venue for them was the United Kennel Club (UKC). They seemed to really enjoy showing their dogs, and they encouraged me to show in their shows. What did I have to lose? I registered Dilys with the UKC and entered her in a show.

For several months I had the only Airedale entered in UKC shows in Texas. At the first UKC show we entered, I discovered that the atmosphere was informal, friendly, and supportive. Other exhibitors and the judges were eager to help, and I felt no pressure to make points. In that atmosphere, I relaxed. When I went into the ring, Dilys stood for exam exactly the way I pictured her standing: rock solid with her ears alert and her tail up. She didn’t even flinch when the judge came up to examine her. At the second of the three shows that weekend, we did so well that we took Terrier Group 1 and then went Reserve Best In Show.

After the fun I had at that UKC show, I decided to try another show venue, the International shows that were scheduled a month after our first UKC show. There were four shows in two days under four different AKC judges, three from the United States, one from Canada. Once again, we were the only Airedale entered and the atmosphere was, if anything, even more relaxed. With no pressure to win, we had a great time, and Dilys came home an International Champion.

At both of these other competitive venues, the focus was on the dog and the breed standard. There was no fussing about grooming. My Airedale was well groomed and conditioned, but instead of spending hours at the show getting her ready for the ring, I kept track of time, and about 10 minutes before we were to go into the ring, I put her on the table and brushed her. Instead of fussing and worrying about whether she was groomed well enough, I spent my time relaxing, meeting people, playing with Dilys, and visualizing what we would do in the ring.

The most significant part of changing up what I had been doing was that I changed. I not only became a more relaxed and confident handler, I had learned that competing in the show ring is fun. I actually looked forward to going into the ring, and regardless of the outcome, Dilys and I both had fun. Win or lose, I praised my dog and I could feel the difference in me.

Our next show was an AKC show. Instead of going to the show early, I got there in time to set up my grooming table, brush my dog, and go in the ring. Instead of being fearful and nervous, I was eager to show my dog to the judge, a well-known terrier expert. My new approach and my new attitude worked: Dilys won the four-point major. We went to three more shows together before she finished her AKC championship. We did not always win, and one weekend, we didn’t even win our class. But from then on, we both had fun in the ring, and that enjoyment showed in our body language and our attitudes.

Success Breeds Success

Using a change of venue gave me the opportunity to work on my handling skills while simultaneously building confidence in myself and my dog. Since this experience, I have used these shows for introducing a new dog to the show ring, and, since both UKC and International shows have classes for three to six month puppies, for introducing puppies to the noise and bustle of show venues.

The UKC ribbons and the International show medallions are impressive, and the dogs seem to understand that they have done something very special when you are given one. When the last judge at that first UKC show handed me our huge best of breed rosette, Dilys grabbed the rosette and pranced out of the ring. This was her rosette, and it was meant to hang on her crate!

By changing places to work on a problem, I had not only banished an undermining belief and strengthened my visualization of our performance, Dilys and I had become an equally invested, competitive team.