Sadie aces puppy school

Editor’s note: Writer Carl Gidlund and his wife recently brought a border collie puppy into their lives. This is the fourth account of their experiences.

Sadie, our 5-month-old border collie, is now a graduate of puppy kindergarten, a basic obedience course consisting of five one-hour sessions plus lots of homework in the form of practicing commands.

As unbiased (sure we are!) “parents,” my wife Sally and I are convinced that Sadie should have been the class valedictorian because she seemed to learn commands faster than her 20-odd classmates, and she never picked a fight.

Oh, she barked now and then, but only when appropriate, and they were very ladylike sounds.

What was amusing (and frustrating) about the experience is that she seemed to do so well in class, just like she was showing off. But to get her to repeat her performances sans audience in the seven days between classes was sometimes a struggle.

Nevertheless, she now fetches balls and assorted empty plastic vitamin bottles (a favorite toy since they bounce, carom off fences and trees and make a heck of a racket). She also walks rather prettily, heels, sits, lies down, rolls over, comes when summoned, stays (usually) when ordered, and Sally is introducing her to swimming in Hayden Lake.

That’s not to say Sadie’s an angel. We just discovered a new and unwelcome trait. A few evenings ago, she was guarding a favorite treat, a rawhide “bone” containing meat, when Sally approached. Sadie tensed up, growled, and even bared her teeth. A light slap to her face and a firm “No!” rendered her submissive. She rolled onto her back.

But a repeat performance of that behavior at the veterinarian’s office convinced us that she likes those particular treats a little too well. After all, they are food, and even though she’s a household pet, Sadie and every other dog are indeed predators.

So, she’ll get those rawhide bones containing meat only when we leave her alone in our yard while we’re out earning money to feed her.

Our poor cat, Libby. She’s been with us seven years and, since our last dog died three years ago, Libby’s been the undisputed queen of our household.

Her regal bearing is challenged daily by Sadie, whose ancestors were trained as herding animals. And Sadie’s genes dictate that she follow that profession.

They’re often on good behavior when they’re together, even grooming one another, but now and again those herding instincts kick in and Libby is smothered by a big (to her) dog pushing her around and barking at her.

When Libby wearies of the attention, she either leaps onto a fence where Sadie can’t reach her or gives our puppy a healthy swat on the kisser. That slows the action a bit.

Tiring of brown spots on the backyard lawn, we bought some little green pills at a pet store that promised henceforth dog urine wouldn’t discolor our grass. However, the vet suggested we ditch them, as they might mess up our pup’s plumbing.

So, until we can teach Sadie to do her business only in dirt, we’re learning to appreciate the spots. In fact, Sally is convincing me that plain green lawns are rather boring.

We’ve had other dogs through the years and in the past always used simple leather or nylon leashes.

But the puppy kindergarten teachers introduced us to those new-fangled (to us, at least) spring-loaded retractable leashes that let a dog wander a bit to sniff and really examine all those wondrous objects that inhabit our world. Now, Sadie can check them out if they’re within 16 feet from where she and I stroll.

What a marvelous invention! Our pup is free to roam a little and satisfy her curiosity, yet she remains under control. A slight tug and the command “come” brings her back to my side.

Speaking of strolling, Sadie has a great hiking pal, Elvis, an 8-year-old Labrador retriever that belongs to a lady friend of Sally’s. The three females and Elvis trek Canfield Mountain at least three times a week, and for most of their hikes, the dogs are off leash.

Elvis plods along on the trail like the mature feller that he is, while the kid, Sadie, runs up the trail and back down it, up the slope, then down the ravine. By the end of their 90-minute excursions, the kid is dragging a bit.

But she’s learned at least one valuable lesson from her pal. Nice dogs don’t poop on the trail, but on either side of it.

We wish more dogs would have a teacher like Elvis.