Sunday, Nov. 15, 2009

Learning to live with an energetic canine and kids is full of emotional craziness

On October 7, at just over 4 months old, our puppy Harvey graduated from pet training class.

He wore a pup-sized mortarboard for a few fleeting seconds and he received a PetSmart certificate vouching for his accomplishments after eight weeks of class, but I have to admit this one seems like a case of social promotion.

It’s not that Harvey, who is an energetic mix of lab and Brittany Spaniel, didn’t half-way learn lots of things at pet-training class – like how to “sit,” lie “down,” “come,” “stay,” and “leave it,” when lured to compliance by juicy treats. But back at home, if we didn’t have a treat in hand and an official training session underway, he mostly ignored commands and returned to jumping on me in excitement and mouthing me like a mega chew toy.

And this is not a criticism of the PetSmart classes, which provided a great roadmap for discipline for many other dog owners and even for us — since we can still envision the dog that we are attempting to train Harvey to be.

In fact, I would recommend puppy training to anyone with a young pup. Harvey loved playing with his fellow puppies, and it’s a key time to socialize dogs so they don’t spend the rest of their lives barking and lunging at one another.

And for me it was like a support group. During one class, I broke down and cried to the group. One woman, who’d also acquired a hyper bird dog of a puppy for herself, told me not to worry; she’d been in tears just a couple days before. I felt reassured by our shared moments of misery.

Stink pup

Our pet trainer, Toni Biggs, also stayed after class with us, helping us solve specific problems and encouraging me to believe that one day Harvey would become a slightly more mellow, manageable dog.

I even felt comforted when Biggs jokingly called Harvey “stink pup,” on a couple occasions to describe our rebellious student. “This might not work for Stink Pup over there …” she’d say with an empathetic smile, and I’d feel validated in my struggle. It wasn’t just that I was a stink-owner, even if that was partly true too.

Biggs also encouraged us to neuter Harvey sooner rather than later, since he was obviously overstocked with testosterone. And I was happy to go to surgical lengths to rein in our rowdy pup.

It didn’t work magic, but nine weeks post-operation, I’ve begun to see the faintest hints of testosterone reduction in Harvey’s behavior. And I am rejoicing.

I had plunged into puppy ownership with all the foolhardy impulsiveness of a mom eager to get a memorable birthday gift for her son and reluctant to be the fuddy-duddy of the family after my husband’s heart had already melted at the sight of sweet Harvey when a colleague brought him in to work.

Now we’ve divided our house into dog zones and kid zones, because unless Harvey’s feeling uncharacteristically lazy, the two together are a dicey mix.