Imagine a dog, a pup really, one who is high-energy, athletic, playful. Yeah, my Henry. It didn't take long for me to figure out that this pup needs a lot of free spirited playtime. On days that doggie daycare is open (most weekdays), Henry has his fill jumping, chasing, sniffing with the other dogs. On weekends and days when he cant go to daycare, I take him to a dog park where, again, he gets his fill jumping, chasing, sniffing. He knows that he needs additional outdoor time for bathroom breaks. He's prompt with those. He understands that this is not play, this is an essential part of his everyday. He's compliant.
Now, how well is that dog, that spirited play loving dog going to do on a long leashed walk? In the city, or where leashes are mandated?
Henry no longer understands these longer walks. They are so rare, that he thinks them to be a burden. An imposition on his freedom. He lets me know by grabbing the leash and pulling it mightily, in the hope that I will free him of it. After all, isn't outdoor time either bathroom time or playtime? Freedom from restraints? Don't I understand that he prefers to fly like the wind? To chase whatever there is to chase?
I know better than to engage in a tug of war. And yet, what are my options? He is strong. His neck is long and he is perfectly capable of reaching around, even on a harness, and grabbing the leash with his mighty jaw. And in that rope tug-of-war, we are pretty evenly matched. Sometimes I feel he has the advantage because he can hold out longer than I can.
This wont do.
I knew Henry would be bouncy the minute I looked outside this morning. My boy got me up at 7, which was terrific. We go out. There is a pretty dusting of snow.
I've been down this path before. We go back in as soon as he is done. We have our lovely morning. Breakfast...
(The amaryllis fell despite the stake, but it sure looks grand as a cut flower...)
A couch moment, with soulful gazes and sweet nothings...
After a brief rest, Henry wants to play.
I toss him a squeaky toy for a bit. Fine. He chases it. But then he goes to stand by the door. A signal, to be sure. But for what? I put on the harness, we go outside. He does his stuff and then the tugging begins. Eventually I manage to get him back inside. He calms down. I try again. I am determined to take him for a walk. And initially, he is curious and willing.
And then the tugging starts again.
The conventional wisdom has you stop in your tracks and wait. Bore the dog to death by not moving. Ignore. Don't engage.
This totally doesn't work if your dog is pulling in a different direction. He doesn't want you to move, he just wants you to take him off leash. Treats? Commands? They're for ninnies! I'm not going to give in so easily!
One possible solution that I haven't tried yet is taking a favorite toy along to distract him from his tugging and yanking. I doubt that it will work. Other ideas? Up his training and increase the leashed walks I suppose. Ones where he gets rewarded for walking calmly. And eventually, when he and I are old and gray, he will learn.
In the early afternoon, I do take him to a dog park. It still is the best option for him. I'm never going to provide him with the exercise he needs otherwise. It's funny -- I'd read (before getting Henry) that a young dog needs no more than five minutes of brisk walking for every month of his life (until he is a full blown adult). At ten months now, this would mean that Henry should get up to 50 minutes and be more than satisfied. This may be true for the average dog. It is most certainly not true for Henry. His long legs carry him far. I'm a brisk walker -- much speedier than your average human. And yet, I'm not speedy enough for Henry. Not when he is feeling playful and wants to release pent up energy. Dog park it is then.
Ed joins us. We all get our steps in!
We try Tati's coffee shop afterwards. I'm still not sure how it is that one can bring dogs inside, but they are definitely welcome and I'm thinking this is a good place to get him comfortable with strange places, strange requirements (shhhh!) and strange people.
We have a wonderful half hour. Henry is plenty tired and he sits between us quietly, trusting that this isn't another one of those places where I'm going to make him step on a scary scale.
(selfie!)
At home, he rests. Forgotten are the pulls and tugs and leash grabs. My dog is the most wonderful dog in the world. Obviously. He's trying to learn. To please. To keep his spirits high. To trust.
with so much love...
