Journey

One Last Try

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Journey

The next time there was an opening in the therapy dog training class Mom signed me up. She didn’t ask me if I wanted to go, she just told me we were going to do it. I knew it was a waste of time. My heart wasn’t in it and I wasn’t suited for it.

We dutifully went to class two nights a week for what seemed like forever. Following in my own footsteps as in the first class, I passed all the obedience requirements and did manage to stand still long enough for a couple kids to pet me, but I failed the other challenges.

I was supposed to lie on the floor for five minutes while people and other dogs paraded around me and pretend nothing was happening. I had to let two woman pretend to groom me, examine my toes and look into my mouth. It was dreadful.

I didn’t do anything bad, I merely refused to cooperate. I don’t like grooming, my feet are ticklish, my mouth is my own business – thank you very much.

When we arrived at the last class and the final exam, Mom was fretting. I was bored. Then Dave the trainer appeared. I hadn’t seen him for a few months. Needless to say he recognized me and wandered over to ask Mom how I was doing.

In retrospect I wonder if he came on purpose to help Mom with her thinking. He never said I wasn’t suited to be a therapy dog. Instead he started talking about when he was young and his mother wanted him to play the piano. He hated the piano and wanted to play football. He never learned the piano but he was good at football. Then he said something so simple that even I understood. We have to do what is in our nature to be happy. That was it.

I sensed a change in Mom. When it was our turn to be tested she told me, “Do the best you can, Journey. It doesn’t matter if you pass the test.”

Wow, that was a shock. It changed my whole attitude. Suddenly I wanted to do well so I didn’t embarrass Mom or myself. I passed all the tests except for opening my mouth. That was good enough to get me invited back for the level two class. Once again I was voted most improved student. Mom was happy, I was happy.

On the way to the car Mom told me that was my last therapy dog class. I was stunned.

“But I passed the class,” I stammered.

“Yes you did, Journey, and I’m very proud of you,” she said.

“But your heart isn’t in therapy work. You live through your nose. You love to hunt and catch varmints. Your spirit is wild and free and that’s how I want you to live your life.”

I was still trying to take this all in when Mom reminded me of why my name is Journey.

“You have a right to follow your dreams, Journey. And I’ll be right there with you cheering you on.”

The next day Mom signed me up for Nose Work training and I’ve been hunting ever since.

Journey

Journey

Training and More Training

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Journey

By the time I had completed basic and advanced training, loose leash walking, long distance recall, and playground manners we moved on to other activities.

You won’t believe this but Mom signed us up for a class on how to behave at outdoor restaurants. Dear lord, could it get any worse? About ten people and their dogs would meet at some restaurant with outdoor seating. The people would sit around the table eating lunch and us poor dogs had to hang out UNDER the table and be quiet. The catch phrase for the class was “Seen not heard.” We dogs did it to humor our people but it was SO boring.

By this time I was nearly one year old. That was important because you had to reach a certain age before you could participate in therapy dog training. At first I thought it sounded like fun. We’d go different places and learn not to be afraid of strangers, loud noises or funny equipment like wheel chairs and walkers.

The field trips were the best. We’d meet at a busy intersection and watch the buses rumble by. We learned to ride elevators and go into public restrooms. Somebody always had to push the hand dryer and make it sound like a jet was taking off.

I admit I didn’t like the elevator at first, but I did eventually get used to it as long as I knew there was a cookie waiting for me when the door opened.

The best field trip was when we went to the fire station. The firemen were so nice. They dressed up in their gear and played with us. They turned on their oxygen tanks so we could hear the swoosh. We got to climb onto the fire truck and go into the ambulance. It was very cool. Some of the dogs were scared of the firemen, but I wasn’t. It was all a big wonderful adventure for me.

Journey and Fireman

While I excelled in the field exercises I was a dud back in the classroom. I lacked the one trait essential for a good therapy dog – a calm demeanor. Mom foolishly thought training would help me overcome my nature but boy was she wrong. How can you stand still when a bunch of little kids come running up to you? You’re not supposed to move, just stand there like a statue. Not me! I would wiggle and turn in circles and roll onto my back with my feet in the air. The kids would laugh and we would all end up in trouble with the adults.

The trainer lady told Mom that I was too young and I should try again when the next class started in a few months. I knew this therapy dog thing would never work, but Mom had to come to that realization herself and she wasn’t there yet. It’s a cool story. I’ll tell you how it all came about next time.

Journey

A Mediocre Student

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Journey

Notwithstanding my first day at puppy class, I went on to graduate with honors and was named the most improved dog in the class. Duh! Did anyone start out with a greater deficit?

I excelled in the puppy socialization class – an hour long free for all of puppies learning to play nicely together. Initially there was a mix of dogs, primarily herding breeds like me, three or four retrievers, and the occasional Doodle and Irish Wolfhound. The latter had no clue how to play with normal dogs and usually dropped out after a few sessions.

The herding dogs instinctively understood the rules of the game. Bump and run, jump over obstacles and each other, make impossibly tight turns to avoid crashing into people. The retrievers were stubborn and boring. Grab a sock, have a scrum, push and pull. Absolutely no originality to their games.

After a few months the people with herding dogs voted the retrievers off the island or at least out of the class. Once the class consisted entirely of herding dogs, life in the playfield was glorious. We played catch me if you can, don’t look just jump, and chicken – which is just what it sounds like. The winner of chicken is the dog who runs straight at a fixed object and turns just before impact.

Puppy play class was fun for everyone. The people stood around and talked. Some nice friendships were formed and the puppies went home exhausted and slept for a few hours giving their owners a brief period of peace and quiet.

The other classes were more rigorous, but never really a challenge except for the boredom factor. Sit and stay, come when called, pay attention, walk nicely on a leash. I mastered them all quickly with just one slight problem – I really wasn’t interested in the subject matter.

There was one subject I really enjoyed – find your person. I liked it because it involved movement. I loved it when Mom hid from me and I was supposed to run to her when she called. Of course I could hear her voice and knew exactly where she was. But instead of running to the sound of her voice, I put my nose to the ground and traced her steps.

The first time I did this I heard the trainer say, “Journey just tracked her owner step by step.”

What surprised me is that he thought this was a big deal. Really, people. It’s what dogs do and I have one heck of a sniffer. More about that later, but suffice it to say I was the star when it came to hide and seek.

After mastering the basic subject matter I was ready to call it quits. Nope! Apparently Mom had other plans, which in the end went awry but not before we had a lot of fun together. I’ll tell more soon about the rigorous advanced training I had to endure and how in the end I got my way.

Journey