Ready for school

Editor’s note: This is part three in an occasional series about Carl Gidlund’s new dog, Sadie.

I had thought my gym workouts had muscled up my arms, but walks with our 4-month-old border collie, Sadie, have disabused me of that.

My left arm is darn sore from the constant pulling on her leash as I try to teach her to heel. She’s too young for a so-called “choke” collar, so we rely on an ordinary collar and come to a halt every time she starts pulling. When she quits pulling, we proceed, but an hour-long walk might gain us a mere quarter-mile.

I’m sure our excursions are as frustrating for her as they are for us. That pup wants to go, especially when we’re homeward bound.

Note that 4-month birthday. Hooray! She’s now old enough for the required vaccinations that permit us to enroll her in puppy kindergarten and, if we travel, to board her in a commercial facility.

So Sally, my wife, and I and Sadie will soon be pupils in the North Idaho School of Dog Obedience. The curriculum promises to teach Sally and me to teach our dog not to bolt and run away, to sit, come, lie down, retrieve and heel. We’ll also learn a few fun games, we hope.

Our last dog, a loving and well-loved German shepherd, died three years ago at the age of 13. So it’s been 16 years since we’ve had a puppy in our home, and it’s amazing how much we’ve forgotten, like the demands on your time, the need for repetition of commands and the careful watch required when the pup is in the house.

Shoes aren’t chews, we frequently explain, and wastebaskets are to put things in, not take things out of.

But we’ve remembered a few things about raising a puppy, and with refreshers from doggy how-to books, we amateurs have started Sadie’s lessons.

She (usually) responds to “come” and “down,” especially if we reward her with a treat. And she’s always in the mood to fetch a ball, figuring – usually correctly – that a treat also is in store for bringing it back. Most of the time the ball is within an arm’s reach, too, and she sits, quite ladylike, while waiting for the expected little chunk of Milk Bone.

On her own, she’s learned to descend steps, and for that we’re very grateful. She never had much trouble climbing them, but on quite a few occasions we heard mournful howls from our second-floor family room. Sadie was marooned and begging to be rescued.

Sadie will never be a watchdog, I’m afraid. She greets every human with the exuberance that you’d think she’d reserve for the folks who give her food and shelter. And we’ve tried like heck to teach her not to leap in her happy delirium on us, the UPS delivery man and other assorted human beings who wander her way. So far, it’s to no avail.

But bless her, she sleeps through the night now, all snug in her crate next to our bed. Reveille is about 5:30 each morning as nature calls her to her special spot in our backyard at that semi-dark hour.

That’s changed my routine. It’s impossible to go back to sleep after being aroused by frantic moans and a dash to the grass, so I go to the gym a lot sooner than I used to, usually by 6:15.

I guess I ought to thank Sadie for that. You can get a lot more done during a day when you begin moving at such an ungodly hour. But forget about late-night television.

We’re grateful too that puppy “accidents” in our home are pretty rare these days. That’s due in large part to constant vigilance (the price we pay for clean carpets) and to Sally’s intuition.

She’s a nurse and because of that, I suspect, is acutely sensitive when a fellow sentient being is uncomfortable. So when Sadie begins certain moves, Sally gets the hint immediately, and out the door they race.

Or maybe it’s because they’re both of the feminine persuasion. Understanding females, even lady dogs, is tough for us guys.