By Melissa Bowersock
Lily is almost eleven months old now, practically an adult. Well, okay, maybe not. But she’s maturing at a fast rate, and I continue to be amazed at her levels of understanding. Since I’ve never had a Wheaten before, I don’t know if they are all super smart or if she’s a rare Brainiac, but her vocabulary is enormous.
When we first started serious training, I was concerned because my husband had a tendency to use different words than I did, and I was afraid Lily would be confused by the variations.
I’m from the “tell them what you WANT them to do” school, and my husband was very free with the simple word “No.” Surprisingly, Lily seemed to take it all in and figure out exactly what we wanted, no matter what language we used.
Since we take her hiking frequently, the trails out in the wild offer a zillion opportunities for sniffing and exploring. Lily has learned our favorite trail very well and usually trundles along without too much pulling to the side, but of course the occasional scent will draw her into the brush. Luckily, she’s learned the command, “This way,” and almost immediately corrects back to the main trail. If she veers left, “This way” brings her back to center; same with the right.
Once in a while there’s a scent so fascinating that she has to inspect it further, but if we give her a minute for that, then start out again, she’s happy to come along.
One issue that I have is that my knees are bad. I’ve penciled in knee replacement surgery for this winter, but in the meantime, I have to take it slow going uphill or down—especially down. I have to take baby steps, and with Lily’s puppy exuberance, there was always the fear that she would drag me down an incline.
A short time ago, I noticed that if we stopped anywhere along the trail for more than 30 seconds or so—to take a picture or enjoy the wildflowers—she would sit. She wouldn’t whine or pull or jones to go on; she’d simply sit down and wait until we were ready to continue. If we were in shade and it was warm, she would lie down and go full-on frog dog until we were ready. This wasn’t anything we taught her; she just figured it out on her own.
With that behavior in her kit bag, I decided to start training her to walk with me downhill. I keep a short leash on her so she walks beside me, and give her constant reassurance, plus I tell her, “Easy, easy,” and “Stay with me.” Surprisingly, she does, and without complaint. If I need to slow even more in order to find good footing, she will just sit down and wait.
I’m actually amazed that she does so well. We went from the distracted puppy pulling in all directions to this calm, easy walk in record time. Walking with Lily has evolved from a frustrating struggle to pure joy. We know now that she is going to be an absolutely perfect trail dog.
Well, almost perfect. She has this one tiny weakness: Lizards. Ever since it’s gotten really warm, the lizards are out in force, and with their quick, mercurial movements, they grab her attention in a micro-second.
Lily has a very strong prey drive and reacts to anything running away. We’re still working to break her of chasing the cat, but the cat can give as good as she gets so it’s not a huge problem. With the lizards, though, Lily will change direction, make a hard left or right and LUNGE after the tiny beasts, practically pulling an arm out of its socket in the process.
We’re learning to keep an eye out several steps ahead as we go, so we’ve at least got some advance notice that Lily might be tempted to make a wild dash, and we can mitigate her response. Or not. An instinct like that is a little harder to overcome than training simple behaviors like sitting or lying down. But we’re working on it.
I think two things are in our favor. One is consistency. Any dog trainer will tell you that consistency is key, and we’ve worked hard to reinforce the good behaviors that we want to see in Lily. The second thing is time. Most of the over-the-top, reckless, and excited behaviors are easing with Lily’s growing maturity. While she retains her puppyish enthusiasm, she is settling into life as a calmer, more biddable companion, and for that we give a long sigh of relief.
Losing Annie as suddenly as we did was absolutely traumatic, but Lily has reaffirmed for us the unparalleled joy of sharing our lives with one of God’s most loving creatures. She is a smiling, happy pup, always ready for a walk, a treat or a snuggle in my lap.
I don’t know what we, as humans, ever did to deserve such a loving, trusting companion, but I am eternally grateful to our distant ancestors for that gift. More than ever, I understand the maxim: Dog is God spelled backward.
