This is unbelievable...

...says Henry.

So there I was, (he continues) minding my own business - sniffing smells, looking for dead stuff and poop to roll in, hunting bunnies and squirrels and so on. It was great. Although there was all that cold white stuff coming out of the sky. And it was a bit chilly. And I was a bit damp. So what with me being a dog disadvantaged in the hip department, it did make me feel a bit stiff. Apparently, according to the human, I was 'waddling' (what an unkind description!). Which she seemed to find quite worrying, although me and the bloke weren't that bothered.

So I got home and dried off and thought no more about it - then, today happened. We went for a walk at lunchtime, and she made me wear my jumper! My stupid damn red jumper in the picture down there, that she always said would stay in the house! Unbelievable!

And it gets worse! Tonight, instead of taking me home for my tea, we went to a horrible shop, where I got told off for yipping at the bunnies in the boxes (I thought it was like a takeaway, and you ordered the one you wanted, but apparently this is not the case?), and made me try MORE coats on, and then she bought one. She actually bought me a coat. She says I have to wear it when it's cold and wet so I don't get limpy any more. It's just. Not. Right. AND we're going to see the vet on Friday - what's all that about? Hope they keep their big needles in the box!

Am hoping for good weather so the coat stays in the car where it belongs! Please keep your paws crossed for a heatwave...

Jordan Shelley

Goodness me.

If you haven't seen this, where HAVE you been? All the updates are here:
http://coldwetnose.blogspot.com/

I am not an expert, never claimed to be, but for goodness sake, if you have a dog that guards its food please, please do NOT follow this person's techniques. It is a surefire way to get some teethmarks and to really, really confuse your dog. It won't teach them anything - except that they might just stop warning you to get off their food, and go straight for the bite instead.

Instead, please find a good local behaviourist or a trainer using modern, positive methods and enlist their help.

Resource guarding is a relatively common, and solveable problem - but Mr Shelley most certainly does not have the answer.

Shame on the BBC for promoting this.

Homicidal maniacs

I think I have one. Henry clearly thinks I have taken out life insurance with him as the main beneficiary (I haven't) or have left all my worldly possessions to him in my Will (that would be half a bar of Galaxy and a ropey Ipod Nano - and anyway, I haven't) because I think he's trying to kill me off.

It all started as a result of me meeting A Man. Yes, that's right. An actual human man. A person in my life without paws. Someone who doesn't roll in fox shit for fun (well, not in front of me yet anyway), and whose idea of taking me out to dinner does not involve looking through hedges for decomposing roadkill. As you can imagine, this is a definite step up from young Henry's social skills.

Not that Henry should be feeling left out, mind you. He has played an integral role in this relationship so far (this has been borne with great stoicism by said man), with several dates revolving around taking the dog for a walk.

However, despite this, it's clear his nose has been put out of joint and it seems that he's decided that killing me off is the way forward. It started with a subtle campaign of shame. I'm not sure if anyone has actually ever died of shame, but obviously Henry thought it was worth a try. We started with the 'run around barking and jumping up' technique whenever the poor guy was in range. This was accompanied with a side-order of 'get wet then take a flying leap at him'.

Then, we moved on to 'muscle our way into every situation going'. For instance, don't think you can sit about holding hands without a large furry paw being plopped into the mix. In fact, for Henry the ideal sofa arrangement is him in the middle, with the humans as bookends.

When this didn't work, he tried 'stealing food from the guy's very mouth', although this did not quite have the desired effect as he was simply removed from the room at mealtimes and has not been allowed back in yet.

His latest tactic has been chemical warfare. It has to be said that over the last few years my sense of smell has atrophied to a worrying level (most likely as a defence mechanism) but the complaints rolling in from every angle were enough to convince me that we had a problem. Quite how he had achieved such an impressive level of stench is beyond me, but it was enough to necessitate open windows, followed by a bath. That's open windows for the humans, with a bath for Henry. So far, so good on that front.

Which brings us to his final, last-ditch attempt at murder - the Spaniel Induced Heart Attack. You see, we went to the sea-side on Saturday, and after a stroll into town, a pint at the pub and some fish and chips, we decided to take Henry for a run on the beach before heading back. This was an error.

The cliffs at this particular beach are not high, but they are sandstone and have crumbled in places until they are more of a very steep slope, with plenty of cover growing. It's an ideal place for rabbits, and Henry was in his element, scooting up and down like a very small furry mountaineer.

And then it happened. I called him down, and for once in his life, Henry actually did as he was told. It's the unusual nature of that which makes me think that this was deliberate. He flew down the slope, got to the drop - and launched himself into space. Now, admittedly this was a fairly small cliff. The drop was only about 6 feet. But that's a long way if you're Henry sized! In fact, I think I may have squeaked a bit: my heart certainly missed a beat. He face-planted into the sand, looked a bit dazed - and then, thankfully, was off with no ill effects. In fact he gave a repeat performance about 5 minutes later (after which he was put back on the lead on health and safety grounds).

That was Saturday - today is Monday, and I fear the worst. The man is coming over in a bit, and Henry appears dormant. I'm not fooled though - he's just plotting his next move. Who knows what diabolical plan he may have come up with now?

Oh honestly

I don't know what he's done, or how he did it. In fact, I don't even know what it is. All I know is, Henry has done himself an injury. Again. He has spent most of this week hobbling up and down the stairs like a geriatric sloth, looking mournful, sitting by the sofa looking mournful as he found himself lacking the spring needed to get onto it, looking mournful, forgetting temporarily to look mournful and leaping about, yelping, then slinking over to me and looking mournful, and looking mournful about not being allowed off the lead.

I have spent most of the week worrying, manipulating all his limbs, worrying, debating on whether or not to take him to the vets, worrying, making him get up and pootle up and down the corridor every few hours to stop him seizing up, and worrying.

Fortunately he is now staging a recovery. This is fortunate, because if I had spent months doing physio exercises to make sure I can go walking next weekend only to have it scuppered by the damn dog, I would have sunk into a decline.

Return of the Masked Picnic Raider

As you read this, think of it as being a bit like a therapy session for me. Pull up a chair, perch your glasses on the end of your nose, and assume your most soothing bedside manner, and please do excuse any gibbering on my part. I am sure that in a decade or so, I'll be absolutely fine again.

So, on Saturday I had a nice family day out at a game fair. In fact all of this can be laid firmly at the door of my family. It's all their fault, nowt to do with me, guv...

Henry was veeery excited to be there, and in fact was a bit of a handful. Happily, he did start to settle a bit after a while - which is when my step-dad and step-brother came hurrying over to suggest - nay demand - that we should have a run in the gundog scurry. They had been watching a few of the competitors have mishaps, and were certain that Henry could beat the competition and win a shiny new car in the process.

Yes, that is this Henry here.


















Yes, I know. A scurry champion he is not. But you know, I thought we might have a little go at the novice scurry. Seemed like a nice idea, the fencing looked escape-proof, it was very much about having a go and it was a nice, marked, double retrieve that under normal circumstances Henry would have found easy-peasy.

So the nice man took our entry, and the nice lady threw out two dummies. And Henry, bless him, shot straight over to the first one and grabbed it. OK, he then took it on a lap of honour before he brought it back. But, you know, that's still an improvement on the last time we did this, so so far, so good.

Then I sent him back for the next dummy. He was a bit overwhelmed by all the exciting things going on around the arena, so he ran past it a few times. Then - then it all went a tiny, tiny bit wrong. It all seemed fine at first. There was a family sitting on the floor outside the arena, and Henry seemed to be making friends with them.

Of course, those of you that have read other posts on this blog, or indeed who have met Henry, can probably guess what was really happening. In fact, you have probably abandoned your calming manner and are most likely screaming a dreadful warning at the screen. And you are right. Yes, that family were having a very nice picnic, with a lovely wicker hamper and little triangular sandwiches with the crusts cut off, all laid out on a plate, right up to the point when a dirty great spaniel stuck his head through the fence and relieved them of their lunch (although, is the Novice (i.e. half-trained hooligan) scurry really the best place to have a picnic?!). The realisation of what was happening hit both me and the lady throwing the dummies at the same time, and we both arrived with Henry at once to remove him from the crime scene. Henry then completed his performance by finding the other dummy, and taking it out of the arena, to my mum who was, in all fairness, probably quite interesting due to the fact that she was shrieking with laughter (thanks Mum). We then left the arena, although not before we had been given a cheer by all those watching. We may not have been the fastest entry, but we were probably the most entertaining.

I have been having flashbacks all weekend, but I'm sure they'll clear up in a year or two. When that happens please do remind me of this before I enter another scurry. Unless we're going in as a novelty act that is.

Vets Bills and Haute Couture

Henry has had a mishap, involving another dog that was less than friendly. I took home rather less dog than I took out on that walk. Poor Henry (although if he had listened to me and had come back when I said it never would have happened, but he reckoned he knew best...)

So, one trip to the emergency vets on a Friday night, one rather swift trip to the main surgery, one set of stitches and an overnight stay at the vets later, he's fine and I'm £380 lighter (well, actually Visa is but we won't go into that).


















It's nearly healed now as you can see, so I have decided he can go off the lead again, provided the wound is protected in case he decides to, oooh, I don't know, roll in something revolting (surely not).

Enter the Bespoke Patent Stitch Protecting T-shirt!


















In fact, I think this could usher in a new career for Henry. Look! He can smize and everything!

Vets bills

They don't come cheap...!

It's ok, Henry is fine (despite his best efforts with the electric fencing at work). However, on a trip to the beach last weekend I noticed him walking strangely after swimming (goose stepping is the best way I can describe it) so when the time came for his regular MOT with the vet it was very much on my mind. Henry has mild hip dysplasia, or at least so I was told when rehoming him, so I do get a bit obsessive about his legs at times. And since we're in the Healthy Pet Club regular checkups are included, so this was the perfect opportunity to mention it and get some advice.

The good news is his hips are ok, he has a good range of movement and is in no pain. The bad news is that he needs more muscle on his back end. The embarrassing Nazi re-enactment was caused by the cold water giving him cramp and nothing more sinister. However the vet did suggest hydrotherapy... and therein lies the issue.

I would love to be able to take Henry for this, but at £20-odd a session with two sessions a week needed to begin with it's just not an option. Insurance won't cover this as it's a pre-existing condition, so we are a bit stuck. The plan is therefore to try and build muscle in other (free!) ways, and get the vet to look again when he has his boosters in 6 months time. In the meantime, he'll just have to swim in the duckpond like all the other dogs!

Finally - here are one or two pics from the beach:

The canine beautician

The weather here has been vile. I don't know about anyone else, but I am now thoroughly sick of winter. It fulfilled its purpose when the shooting season ended - it now has no purpose, and needs to begone!

As a result, the field where training classes take place is somewhat soggy. I taught a puppy class today (exciting!) and almost went A.O.T. (that's arse over tip) several times... fortunately I kept my feet, I feel landing on the aforementioned A. would have reduced what little authority I had to begin with.

So, when Henry came out of the car, there was a lot of skidding around behind him until he chilled out. This was the first class we had been to since Christmas, so he was very happy to be back, and very keen to get over to Sophia to say hello!

We were doing just fine until he had to sit for a while - he was so keen to get to the treat in my hand that he leapt up to try and pinch it (naughty naughty). As he landed I felt a splash on my face, and the next handler along did say, 'He got you!', but I thought I'd wiped it all off and was confident that my normal, glamorous (hah!) appearance had been restored.

Until I got into the car to drive home, that is.

Because I caught sight of myself in the rear-view mirror.

Can you imagine a sort of human Dalmatian?

That was me. Covered in lumps and splotches of mud, as though I had just ridden round Aintree in the rain.

I did wonder why people kept grinning at me... I suppose at least I noticed before I went into the supermarket!

Hey ho. Spaniels, eh? Bet I wouldn't have had all this bother with a Lab...

Whoops!

If you're going to teach your dog to sit, then leap up and speed off when you say 'Ready...... steady.......... GO GO GO!'...

And you go dog walking with a friend who has taught their dog something very similar.....

And you end up both doing this trick at the same time....

It's a good idea for one of you to look and make sure the dogs are not facing each other.....

Because if both dogs are spaniels, they will be far too excited to look where they are going when they charge off......

SPLAT!

Bless their little pea brains!

Read a very good book the other day - The Culture Clash by Jean Donaldson. Very interesting look at the way dogs think and learn. Well worth a read!

Shopping

Been shopping for a bridesmaid dress today. Sadly, posh dress shops do not generally welcome smelly spaniels, so as soon as this trip was planned it was clear that Henry was going to have to have a duvet day. Arrangements would have to be made, and Henry would be having a day in with the TV. All that was required was to get past the Spaniel Guilt Trip and out of the door.

So:

Step one: arrange shopping trip. Realise that the venue chosen (Bicester Outlet Village) is a 3 hour drive away. Contact Henry's official biographer (no really, Henry is in Tom's latest book!) to see if he is up for a bit of light dog walking, and receive positive response.

Step two: make special effort to purchase dog's favourite chew bone at supermarket, taking care to select largest one. Ignore woman giving strange look as you weigh one bone in each hand to decide which is the best.

Step three: get up on shopping trip morning, and have bath and select clean and relatively nice clothes instead of putting old clothes on and going for a walk. Try to ignore dog giving disapproving look.

Step four: put on non-dogwalking coat and boots. Suddenly find steps being dogged by dog. Try to explain why he is going to have to stay at home, then realise that a: you are explaining yourself to a dog and b: there is a distinct tone of pleading entering your voice.

Step five: present dog with carefully selected bone. Dog will then bring bone to you and drop it at your feet, then give you a look of disdain at this attempted bribery. Begin explaining self again.

Step six: leave house, attempting to ignore dog's look of complete incredulity that you would do such a thing.

Step seven: spend much of trip switching between wondering whether or not your house is being eaten by vengeful dog, and berating self for allowing life to be run by a creature that rolls in poo for fun.

Apparently, Henry has been on a nine mile walk today. He is not tired, but is having some pretty vivid dreams based on the amount of yipping and twitching going on. The house has not been eaten.

But I am still dress-less...

And now.... a rant.

Every so often I end up browsing though various dog training sites. It's interesting to have a look at what information is out there, and how different people approach their training.

Sometimes this browsing leads me to sites from the good ole U.S. of A. Unfortunately, they seem to have a nasty little trick up their sleeves for teaching a dog to retrieve over there. It's called a force fetch on most of these sites. What they say is that it involves putting 'pressure' on a dog that is only released when the dog picks up the dummy - let's cut the bullshit though, what they mean is that they cause the dog discomfort, or out and out pain, which the dog only escapes by working out it needs to pick up the dummy. They might place a pencil or dowel between two of the dog's toes and then tighten a loop of string around the toes, twist or pull the dog's ear, attach a lead spring clip to the ear and pull, or go hi-tech and zap them with a shock collar. I try not to read these articles, but every so often I end up looking and I am always left feeling deeply saddened for their dogs.

Quite frankly, this 'training method' is completely alien to me. My approach has always been to use positive methods and to build on the instincts Henry has, teaching him rather than hurting him. Henry found the idea of a retrieve very odd at first, so we clicker trained it, breaking each step down and working up to a complete retrieve slowly and patiently. You can see the results at the end of this post. It may not be so macho or dramatic, but it's been bloody effective. And I have a dog that trusts me, and can still look myself in the eye in the mirror every morning. The idea of deliberately causing him pain is one that fills me with revulsion - as do the 'trainers' peddling this outdated crap. Shame on them, with their weasel words and their shiny smiles.

I am sure that there are people out there who would have had Henry being shocked from here to the middle of next week with battery powered collars, would have booted him from pillar to post and would have given up a long time ago. I hope that his continuing progress will serve in a small way to prove these people wrong, as he continues to learn his job, and carries it out with a wagging tail rather than a stressed expression. I hope that as he runs back to me to deliver a retrieve because he wants to bring the bird to me rather than because he's afraid of what will happen if he doesn't, it will be another demonstration that you don't have to be a bully to train a dog, and that discipline does not have to equal pain. And I hope that the 'trainers' out there twisting ears and shocking their dogs meet someone bigger and stronger than them, who decides to put some 'pressure' on them.

Annnnnnd - breathe...

FLOOD!

I'm not saying it's been rainy here, but today's walk might have been easier if undertaken by boat...

Henry does it at last

Yes, Henry can now really call himself a working gundog, as since last posting he has been out on not just one, but two shoot days. What a little star he is.

On his first day, he stayed mostly on the lead (which he greatly disliked, being a dog who likes to be in on the action) but was allowed off on a couple of drives in the afternoon. He immediately attached himself to two more experienced dogs and did what they did - not ideal from my point of view, since he wasn't actually with me (!) but he was learning the ropes and doing it well. We can work on the rest - what mattered to me was that he was doing what he was supposed to, and was totally unphased by all the noise, gunshots, other dogs and so on.

On his second day he was off the lead for most of the day. He isn't too great at stopping (he tends to complain - loudly) but he is hugely enthusiastic (common comment - 'He's keen, isn't he!' as I am towed from drive to drive). He also paid a bit more attention to me (well, a little bit more attention): indeed, at one point my friend and I took our dogs (she has a gorgeous 12 month old Springer named Purdey) to work along a hedge and both of them really were fantastic - listening, going where they were directed, coming back on the whistle. If only we had a video to prove it!

The best thing about this shoot is how relaxed and friendly it is. None of the dogs are perfect (Henry was not the worst behaved!) but it really doesn't matter. I think many people can feel intimidated about taking their dogs out (I know I did!) and worried about their dogs misbehaving. Well, of course you should train your dog, and of course different shoots have different standards, but they don't necessarily have to be pod puppies, perfect in every way. If you can find the right shoot, then go for it. I'm so glad I did.