Posts Tagged ‘dog behavior’
Planting Corn
The other day, Cyndie was taking Asher for a walk, and they ended up having a corny adventure. There was a corn cob lying in the middle of the trail, and Asher trotted right for it, instantly snatching it in his teeth.
It is not uncommon for scavenging critters to rob the farmers of the occasional ear of field corn and then drop it somewhere on our property. I have seen Asher completely ignore them many times. I don’t know what made this one special.
He clenched that cob in his teeth for the rest of the North Loop trail.
He held onto it up and over the first hill of the driveway.
It was still in his jaws as they passed the hay shed and headed up toward the shop garage.
When they reached what he decided was the perfect spot, he stopped to dig a hole.
Then he dropped the cob in and pushed the loose dirt back on top to bury it.
I’m not sure it’s the best time to plant corn, but if a stalk sprouts from the ground in that location anytime in the future, I will be duly impressed with his technique.
.
.
Mostly Obeying
Among the behaviors we were able to train Asher to obey rather easily upon adopting him, the one his is most prone to testing is having him stay out of the kitchen. We do not trust his loyalty on that one when we are not around and make a big effort to keep all food stashed out of view and out of reach when we leave the kitchen.
Asher knows to stay out when we are in the vicinity and he impressively will not go after his ball when it rolls into the forbidden zone. However, he is very consistent about taking a step or two across the line to see if the invisible wall may have been relaxed when Cyndie is busy cooking.
This is how I found him when I came down from the loft for dinner after Cyndie called to me:
He should not be past the refrigerator/freezer doors.
Mostly obeying, you might say.
Regarding the recent Wisconsin election that went the way of Susan Crawford who didn’t offer anyone money for a vote, we are feeling deep satisfaction to have been able to cast our votes for a chance at a better future. A chance is better than none.
When we were communicating with friends about the news of our desired outcome in the election Tuesday night, the topic of overt offers of money for supporting the other guy came up.
Cyndie commented, “I think illegal stuff should be illegal.” It really struck my funny bone. In a logical world, such a phrase shouldn’t need to be uttered. In today’s reality, I would like to wear a T-shirt with the thought printed across the front.
Gosh, imagine if there were enforceable consequences for violating just and ethical laws.
Imagine if the police didn’t seem so willing to fulfill the diabolical edicts of a wannabe dictator. I suppose they are mostly just obeying orders.
.
.
Writing Results
On the 31st day of January in the year 2025, our weather is mild, and life on the ranch is serene. Yesterday, spring-like songs were floating in the air from birds taking full advantage of the softening of winter’s grip. Cyndie has been reporting from the coast of southern California and sending me pictures of textures in the sand and surf that she knows I appreciate.
The temperatures at each of our locations are not that different, but it’s chilly where she is and warm at home.
If you are a person who journals, this might be obvious to you, but it has been helpful for me to write about times when I find myself getting in the way of my own progress.
After posting yesterday about my situation with the trail cam and the pruning saw, I was compelled to take another crack at both. I stopped off in the shop after feeding the horses with the intent of giving a more intense effort hunting for the saw in the 4th place I thought I may have stashed it. It wasn’t there, but then I turned around and spotted it in plain sight on a shelf by my circular saw. A saw by a saw. Perfectly logical.
That success inspired me to grab the trail cam and set it up by the fence where there is an obvious animal trail that I believe is our neighboring fox. Asher and I left that spot and headed down the Perimeter Trail toward a series of young oak trees from which I wanted to remove low branches. To keep the dog tethered to me, I brought a clip to hook his leash to one of my belt loops. That allowed me to have both hands free to tend to my pruning.
It didn’t occur to me that taking my eyes off him might lead to something unsavory. I was working down in the dry creek along our southern border, which gave Asher access to the neighbor’s side of the ditch where I wouldn’t normally let him meander. When we set off on our way again after I finished sawing, I noticed he had a thick wad of grass wound up in the prongs of his collar. He had been rolling around in the tall grass.
With the warm temperatures, the thawing ground offers all sorts of scents that Asher can’t resist rubbing against. It wasn’t until we got back into the house that it became noticeable, but his coat now has picked up a heady aroma of dusty, dry grass and some wildlife perfume that smells a bit like plastic when it gets too hot.
It’s not as lovely as it sounds.
I am not writing that to inspire me to give him a bath.
We spent time out on the deck in the afternoon heat, where I could sand my current wood sculpting project without concern for making a mess, and Asher’s stink was only occasionally annoying.
No, I have no intention of trying to bathe him.
.
.
Asher Fixates
A couple of days ago, back before weather conditions turned Arctic overnight, I let Asher lead an off-the-trails exploration through our woods. He stopped at this downed tree and began frantically chewing on it, I’m guessing because he detected some delicious-smelling critter hiding in the middle.
There was nowhere else I needed to be so I granted him full freedom to gnaw away to his heart’s content.
It was a pretty big tree. I thought it looked like a lot of wasted effort but Asher chomped away with a confidence that indicated satisfaction with the progress he was achieving.
I started to get bored watching him work so I read some news on my phone and played my turns on “Words with Friends.” Asher continued to attack the tree trunk with reckless abandon.
I thought about sitting down nearby to rest my eyes for a while. Asher looked like he was willing to bite off splinters until he reached what I assume he hoped would be a chewy center. I always respect his determination.
He outlasted my patience. I began to wonder if he was choosing to stay at it out of embarrassment over the possibility of giving up before he got to the hollow center. Maybe interrupting him is what a friend would do.
I pulled out a treat and waved it in front of his nose. When he turned in my direction, I began walking away with it. Asher followed me, but I would describe it as begrudgingly. It worked though. I saved him from any embarrassment.
We made our way toward the perimeter trail in search of other adventures.
The next day, when we found ourselves bushwhacking in that same vicinity again, that tree held no interest to him whatsoever. Maybe no critters were at home by that time.
Or maybe it’s just that Asher’s fixations are fickle.
.
.
Training Advice
We decided to pay a local dog trainer to stop by our home to meet us and Asher, to see some of his behaviors first-hand, and to advise us on what we could work on to improve his compliance in a few problem areas. She makes it sound so easy.
The good news is that we obviously have achieved success in a variety of areas, which the trainer framed as a good sign we should be able to apply the necessary focus and repetitions to train even more desired behaviors.
It will serve me well to get Asher to the point of being able to soothe himself in the house. I’m looking forward to some exercises where Asher will be tethered beside us but will get ignored until we are ready to interact with him. I feel more confident about allowing him to fuss after the latest assurances from a professional.
Dog trainers exude a confidence that I lack when it comes to interpreting dog behavior. After witnessing some of Asher’s behaviors yesterday, our visitor said it was akin to a toddler not getting their way and having a minor tantrum about it. When I am unclear about reading dog behaviors, I give them unhelpful feedback that rarely leads to outcomes I prefer.
Asher will be two years old this month. He has lived with us for just over 9 months and we have made good progress in training him to respect many commands. He will continue to grow out of his puppy rambunctiousness and we will continue to teach him behaviors we require him to master.
I’m feeling optimistic, even though I wasn’t interested in being a dog trainer. It feels a little like taking medicine. I don’t like it but I know it’s good for me.
.
.
More Training
After the recent banishment of Asher from the canine playtime facility for his aggressive behavior, we are endeavoring to return our attention to obedience training. Asher has also begun to disregard (or overrule) our attempts to keep him from climbing up on visitors. We’ve noticed he becomes obsessed with returning repeatedly to try putting his paws on guests while we struggle to redirect his focus to something acceptable.
Last night we watched a webinar from a trainer we are considering and saw that we should train him to better respect our space. That is very logical but it won’t be easy for me to tell him “No” when he shows up at my side (or on my lap) seeking affection.
At 75 pounds and with a long enough body to stand taller than us, Asher is far from being a comfortable lap dog. That hasn’t stopped him. He likes to climb on top of me in the recliner while I am occupied with my computer. I think he was proofreading one of my blog posts in that picture.
As with most dog training issues, it isn’t so much that we need to train him as we need to train ourselves.
If he finds his way to lying down on my lap, I feel happy to have a warm companion for as long as my legs can stand.
It’s different when he obsessively approaches visitors. It’s as if he is demonstrating a need to assure them that he is the boss of them. It doesn’t feel that way when he decides to nap on me.
We also learned that we should avoid ramping up our energy when we command him to keep all four paws on the floor. There is definitely room for improvement in that regard. I’m actually looking forward to practicing more non-verbal gestures to communicate what we want him to do. We align completely with the trainer’s philosophy of teaching a dog to think about the results of his behavior more than simply responding robotically to a command trigger.
What would be more fun for him: pulling against the leash as we stand firm or coming back to us to seek direction? When returning to us brings a treat, one can see where a smart dog would begin to recognize which behavior is preferable.
If Asher wants to nap on my lap, I am not inclined to object, but I am not a guest he needs to respect. I’m family and weak against his superior levels of persuasion.
.
.
What Responsibility?
Sometimes I question what my responsibility is to direct Asher’s activity on walks. I understand there are times when training a dog to heel –as in, to walk obediently by my side– I would completely be directing his behavior. That is not what is happening when I take him out to burn off some of his energy on a walk around our property.
These are times when I am granting him the freedom to be on a sniff-fari and to explore to his heart’s content within the confines of our property borders. Here are a few things that happen when allowing him to determine our agenda:
- Asher picks up a fresh scent on the trail and immediately decides he must follow it at the highest speed he can muster, regardless of whether it exceeds my top speed or not.
- Asher freezes and stares to find a squirrel that may be prancing around, oblivious to his presence. Then he dashes off after it, again, at the highest speed he can muster.
- Asher smells the hint of a rodent’s presence and turns into a crazily obsessed predator that must destroy the log or brush pile to get after the prey with the passion of a stray dog that might not find another meal for days or weeks if he fails.
More than once I have stood by and watched as mice bail out in an emergency evacuation as Asher attacks the far side of their quarters. It has yet to quell his impassioned battle against the wooden fortresses. One was an 18-inch log with a diameter of about 12 inches with mouse-sized holes in each end. He chewed on both ends of that log until his saliva was starting to soften the hardwood but he never came close to making any functional progress toward reaching a reward that might still be stuck inside.
Is it my responsibility to interrupt his useless battles? Am I being negligent in allowing him to obsess to such an intense degree? From my perspective, he’s getting time to chew, which he LOVES to do and which we encourage in the house with an endless array of chew toys. He’s getting his mind occupied and exercised as he tries to figure out what angle to bite from since the previous attempt didn’t work. If I wasn’t allowing him the opportunity, he would be in the house whining for something to do, so I figured I might as well let him have at it.
It gives me a chance to practice being patient while standing in the fresh air of the great outdoors, forest bathing, and listening to bird calls in the wind.
Yesterday, Asher went to work, not on a log, but on an entire downed tree trunk.
The snow below was all white when we showed up. The wood dust and shrapnel are what Asher has clawed, bitten, and spit out in his lust to reach some reward his nose seemed to promise.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
I felt a little guilty at times during the 30 minutes he toiled away since he was working so fervently at a lost cause. Although, it’s kind of cute to watch his belief in himself as he thrashes against this ancient tree-trunk beast as if he actually stood a chance.
Honestly, whether or not it should be my responsibility to talk him out of these epic potential conquests of mouse houses, I tend to give him the benefit of the doubt because attempting to tear him away always creates a battle of wills that I’m barely capable of winning.
Maybe, just maybe, I’d be more responsible being a cat guy.
.
.
Different World
In the middle of rambunctious wrestling play in the backyard, Asher suddenly dropped the large JollyBall and cocked his head as if someone had called to him. Something had grabbed his attention from the direction of an aging pile of woodchips.
An aroma. One to which I was entirely oblivious. It was beyond the level of perception that my olfactory system could detect. I am well aware that dogs have a better sense of smell than people, but in that moment it struck me how different his world is from mine.
A couple of days ago on a walk around our property, Asher suddenly grabbed something in his jaws and I could immediately tell it was a dead something. It was a prize. The surprisingly large fur blob had broad, clawed feet that I identified as one of the biggest burrowing moles I’ve seen.
I decided to play coy and not battle with Asher to drop the critter against his wishes, even though that is precisely what I wanted. Watching his behavior, I sensed right away that he wanted to bury it somewhere of his choosing. He picked the pile of woodchips.
Just like that, he dropped his precious find and I didn’t need to get involved. I would come back later to collect the carcass and dispose of it surreptitiously. Indeed, I tried to do just that, but when I checked the pile yesterday morning, there was nothing but woodchips. I wasn’t sure, but it’s possible the top of the pile showed evidence of recent traffic.
When Asher sprinted for the pile, it was the top of the pile that grabbed his attention, not the spot of his prior burial exercise. From probably 50 yards away he picked up the scent of activity on the spot where he had buried that dead mole.
His perception of the world is so different from mine.
A few days ago I granted him full freedom to dig away on the path around the horse fence where new mole activity recently appeared. He dug with impressive fervor for the longest time which I assumed reflected he was smelling a scent that indicated prey was close at hand, or paw, as it was.
He didn’t come up with anything. Each time we’ve walked that same path in the days since, he has shown no interest at all. Must not smell like a mole anymore.
I’m guessing the rat activity in the barn has ended for the season because he no longer digs passionately in there.
He laid down and waited patiently while I braided scraps of polypropylene twine as we waited for horses to finish emptying their feed pans in the afternoon.
Okay, maybe our worlds aren’t that different.
.
.
Accepting Frustration
The feeling of frustration happens when I can’t control situations in the direction I wish for them to go. I am not a dog trainer and rarely succeed in influencing our dog, Asher, to behave in a way that will be convenient for me and safe for him. I found myself in that miserable place yesterday because of a flock of wild turkeys and a growing weariness from two weeks of being the sole person feeding horses and walking the dog.
We currently have a lot of activity around us tempting the poor dog to stray beyond our property lines. Corn fields on two sides of our property are being harvested and Asher finds the big machines and guys frequently walking between tractors and trucks very fascinating. Soon there will be deer hunters out in numbers.
For that reason, I can’t let him roam loose on walks around the property. Unfortunately, being leashed doesn’t always stop him from getting away from me. The urgency with which he bolts into tight squeezes between trees at the sight of a squirrel jars me off my feet and forces me to let go of the leash to save myself.
Not letting go of the leash is how Cyndie ended up breaking her ankle with Delilah a year ago.
After a very long time of allowing Asher to follow his nose and explore the far reaches of our property at will yesterday (sniffari), we stopped in the barn to tend to the horses. While they were gobbling feed, I decided to walk Asher up to the house. Without warning, he pulled me off balance around the corner of the garage. He flew over the large rocks by the front door and disappeared around the outside of the sunroom. I let go as my feet hit the biggest rock, sailing over it and landing in the yard on my stomach like a humiliated Superman fallen from flight.
That’s when I noticed a lot of big birds taking flight for treetops in the neighboring woods. I could hear the leaves crunching under Ashers’ bounding leaps but I couldn’t see him. By the time I made it back on my feet, it was all quiet and Asher and the turkeys were nowhere in sight.
I wanted to just wait for him to return but he was dragging a leash and the odds were high that he was going to get hung up in a tangled mess. I heard one distant bark that sounded like it could be his, so I set off on a search and rescue mission.
With occasional calls and whistles, I climbed toward a high ridge seeking the widest view and ultimately a farm road around the next field over. Soon after making my way out of the woods, I spotted Asher just as I feared, with the leash caught on a branch, passing through a rusty barbed wire fence, and wrapped twice around a small tree trunk.
Struggling to get him to walk straight home with me, I was in no mood to fight off my simmering frustration.
.
.
Autumn Scenery
I started to title this post, “September Scenery” before I realized it’s already the eleventh day of October. Since it doesn’t feel at all like October, I went with, “Autumn.” I needed to mow grass again yesterday because it is still growing, despite the mornings starting frosty in our low-lying areas.
It might be frosty, but it really doesn’t feel like October.
I wasn’t able to give Light any extra attention yesterday because my time was constantly being demanded by Asher. Cyndie headed for the airport before Asher and I were out of bed in the morning and when he wasn’t begging me to distract him from loneliness, he was searching for where Momma could possibly be. She flew out of state with friends for a few days to celebrate each of their different milestone birthdays occurring this year.
Asher didn’t seem too happy to discover it was just him and me and he failed miserably when it came to employing any self-soothing skills.
His skills of stealth in the woods were still as keen as ever, though.
You might think that’s just a shot of one of our paths into the woods, but look closer…
Sometimes Asher can hide in plain sight.
While he and I were playing with his Jolly Ball in the front yard I heard a familiar screech overhead. I figured I knew what it was but Asher’s wrestling prevented me from being able to turn my head skyward right away to look. The screeching continued enough times that I finally pushed him away so we could both look up.
Sure enough, it was a bald eagle. Three bald eagles, in fact, were circling surprisingly low directly over our heads. I wondered if the screeching was a comment on our activity. Both Asher and I stared for a while as the three majestic eagles circled higher and higher away from us.
I wasn’t quick enough to capture a photo before they were too high to easily see.
Plus, Asher was back to bashing his Jolly Ball into my leg so I would resume wrestling over control of it.
Since Cyndie wasn’t home when he went to sleep last night and won’t be home when he gets up this morning, I’m hoping it will be a little easier for him to adjust to her absence and sync up with my solo routine for the next few days.
It’s not that big a deal for him, but I fear my sanity depends on it.
.
.
Relative Something 