Barking mad.

I was thinking about dog training-  on Saturday night, actually. Gill has long believed that the best thing to do about bad behaviour is to make it unrewarding, usually by simply ignoring it. This works well in the case of a first offence, especially with puppies that are really only craving attention. (This only applies to Border collies of course; she doesn’t try it with me. I look so cute when I’m misbehaving that ignoring me just isn’t an option.)

Well on Saturday night one of the outside dogs was making a fuss, and barking. She was ignored for ages, but didn’t stop. Andy went to make sure there was nothing wrong, and there didn’t seem to be, but she continued to bark and I was getting quite tense I can tell you. I need my sleep.

Eventually Andy wondered if she was complaining because she was hungry. She wasn’t fed when the other dogs were fed that evening, because she hadn’t eaten her breakfast. He took her a very late supper; she ate it, and then settled down for the night (and so could we).

But it got me to thinking. “Bark, bark, bark” = food. Hmm…

I looked at Chester, but before I could say a word he said, “If you do, you’re on your own, Big Guy” and tucked his head under the blanket. Of course, I didn’t (I’m watching my waist line) but I thought that any dog with half a brain isn’t going to forget a lesson like that in a hurry.

I was forgetting – this is a collie we’re talking about. Sunday night came, and she didn’t make a peep!

It’s still true that it’s as easy to teach bad habits as good habits to a collie, but as Andy tries to explain in his DVD, sometimes you have to relax, let things go the dog’s way and see what happens.  He’s always saying, “Have faith in your dog” and in this case, the dog seems to have repaid him.

But what a wasted opportunity!

Training sheepdogs . . .

I may have suggested before that I don’t always agree with Gill and Andy’s training methods. Well, to be fair it’s the whole idea of training that I disagree with, but given my privileged position within the household training is something I’ve managed to avoid, pretty much.

You’ll often hear dog trainers say that the key to training is timing. That’s so true. Chester is in awe of my timing. I train people so well that I can completely ignore them when they call me. Of course I hear them, but I turn my back and look intelligently absorbed by whatever is around me.  If I start to walk towards them and they get excited (and why wouldn’t they?) and call my name, then I just turn smartly the other way. But I know just how long to wait. The instant they’re starting to feel put out and ignored, and perhaps contemplating ‘the long lead’ for the next walk, I go galloping back to them at top speed, fur flowing majestically behind me. I look as though I couldn’t possibly wait another second for their company and they, poor things, fall for it every time.

“Butter wouldn’t melt,” apparently. I don’t have a clue what it means, but they say it every time.

Those puppies!

Gill took me to see Jill’s puppies last night. They were 16 days old, and to celebrate they had their third consecutive day of worming. Poor little grubs, but their eyes are open now and what am I saying, “little”?  They’re HUGE! The bigger of the girls is almost as big and heavy as me, I think. I’ll have to keep an eye on them and make sure they understand the rules around here before they try to give me any trouble.

I think we should call them Lucky and Chance, after what happened to their siblings. The Romans had a Goddess of Chance, called Fortuna, but I don’t think that’s a very easy name to shout. Sheepdogs should have short names that you can use while they’re working (so says the International Sheep Dog Society) which is why Gill and Andy give their dogs names like Dennis, Tony, Mog and Mo. It just proves that even short names aren’t always sensible. Mog! I ask you!

A dog friendly pub in Caunsall?

A couple of weeks ago I was taken out for lunch by Gill and my doting aunties. They live in Stourbridge, and as we drove over I thought I could guess how this would turn out. You see their idea of a good lunch usually involves mussels and white wine, and the sort of restaurant that doesn’t understand how a cultured Chihuahua will add to the ambience of any establishment. I wasn’t worried about waiting in the car, but I wasn’t looking forward to it. So imagine my surprise when we pulled up outside The Anchor Inn in Caunsall and I was allowed inside.

There are lots of places where dogs aren’t welcome (and given the behaviour of so many dogs, it can’t be wondered at) but at The Anchor on Saturday lunchtime a dog seemed de rigueur. I shared the room with a Labrador and two muddy Jack Russell terriers, and there were more dogs in the next room. It was lovely and warm, and small dogs like me can lean against the heating pipes under the seats and just come out when someone drops something. Perfect.

There weren’t any mussels, which suited me because I’m not keen on seafood (though Chester would sell his soul for a couple of prawns) but The Anchor is famous for its cobs (rolls or baps, depending on which part of the country you’re in). That’s it. The entire menu is cheese, ham or beef cobs* and people flock from across Worcestershire to eat them. They even do takeaways. My aunty Chris knows people who’ve had Anchor takeaways for birthday parties and even funeral gatherings! And having sampled the beef (home cooked brisket that melts in the mouth) I can understand why.

If you want to visit The Anchor Inn (with a well behaved dog or two is probably best) then it’s very close to the canal, which makes a lovely walk for all of you. You can find it here http://www.theanchorinncaunsall.co.uk/location.htm

Gill and Andy are often asked about dog friendly pubs and hotels and, although this one isn’t very close to home, Gill says we’ll be going again and we both recommend it.

*Other fillings may be available, but these are the ones that interested me!

The injustice of it all . . .

You know I’m not a great fan of border collies, and even less, of sheepdogs, but the disaster that happened to Jill and Eli’s puppies shocked us all.

I wanted to write something on the blog but just didn’t know what to put. Now, things have settled down, the puppies’ eyes are open and they are growing very fast. Of course, this is because they are getting the milk their brothers and sisters should have had.

Now, whilst I have every sympathy with Jill and her babies, I can’t help feeling it’s rather unfair that when puppies get fat, everyone thinks it’s a good thing but if they start to get bigger, I’m constantly reminded about it and (far worse) I’m put on a diet.

Oh – NO ! (Puppies again)!

When border collie pups are first born they are very sweet, but Alfie remembers what they are like when they grow to chihuahua size!

When border collie puppies are first born, they’re just like little grubs. This picture is of a one day old puppy.

Harmless, aren’t they?

Don’t you believe it.

Before you know it these sweet little grubs are big as chihuahuas – and they don’t seem to be able to take “no” for an answer.
I hate border collie puppies.

Why can’t we have some chihuahua pups instead?

If you really want to know more about border collie puppies, you’d better go here.

A dog in need . . .

OK Glen, if you really insist, I'll sleep on the floor.

Never let it be said that I’d overlook a fellow dog in need (to be honest, at my height it’s not easy to overlook anything).

Towards the end of that cold, wet, snowy fortnight the old stager, Glen began to suffer more than usual from the arthritis in his shoulder. He’s normally quite a buoyant chap, and even if his shoulder slows him down sometimes he doesn’t let it bother him. ‘Til now, that is. He limped stiffly out of his pen, hunched up and miserable, and looked around him as if he really couldn’t handle any more of this weather.

There was only one thing to do, of course. Glucosamine and Chondroitin (though excellent at keeping Glen’s arthritis at bay) can only do so much, so I’ve allowed Glen to move into the house for what Gill and Andy are calling “TLC”.

Glen’s “Time with Liberal Chihuahuas” is certainly paying off. His limp has all but gone, and he looks happier and more relaxed now. And why wouldn’t he? He probably can’t believe his luck at getting to share the place (albeit it in a very lowly position) with Chester and me, and I think it’s good for him to experience a little refinement in his twilight years. It’s never too late to learn, and as Andy says in his training DVD (talking of twilight years), you can teach an old dog new tricks, it just takes longer. He’d know.

Though when it comes to finding the chew hoard (under the dining table) or squeezing into the best bed in the house (mine!) Glen’s proving to be a quick learner. He’s even been known to steal Mousy from under my very teeth! Gill always retrieves him for me (I can’t touch Mousy again until he’s dried, ugh!) and then, as compensation, finds Glen something else to chew instead.

Hold on…I can see a pattern forming…

Surely there can’t be a trace of Chihuahua in Glen? But how else would he have learned such devious tactics?

He’s only a border collie!

I’m in trouble again . . .

This is me telling a border collie puppy, just who's wearing the trousers around here!

No I don’t mean the picture – that was taken in April 2007 when I first arrived here. When you’r so much smaller than the other dogs (there are about 15 border collies, a great dane and a deerhound x lurcher to contend with) you have to assert your authority right from the word go.

The reason I’m in trouble is because I forgot to mention the WorkingSheepBlog – that’s the blog for the Working Sheepdog Website.

We’re having some pretty bad weather here in the UK (well, bad compared to what we’re used to) and so Andy and Gillian thought it would be sensible to keep everyone informed about sheepdog training and other boring stuff like that.

Commercial:

For lots of information about sheepdog training and up to date news of the Working Sheepdog Website, read the WorkingSheepBlog. (OK, I’ve done it – now do I get to sleep on the radiator)?

Who said Chihuahuas aren’t tough?

Chihuahua x Papillon Chester (left) and Chihuahua Alfie, enjoying themselves in the January snow

I thought you’d like to see this picture of Chester and me in the snow today – and not a dog coat in sight! We both love a good run in the snow (as long as it’s not too deep).

Elitist? . . Me?

I can’t believe it, but I’m getting complaints. I’m accused of elitism. It’s not elitism, it’s called noblesse oblige – we Chihuahuas have responsibilities. Chihuahuas are born to be adored leaders, firm but fair (ish). Collies, Kelpies, Huntaways and Corgis, for example, are born to work with sheep and cattle; Labradors collect shot birds (ugh) and St Bernards deliver brandy in the Alps. All dogs have different jobs. One of Pearl and Glen’s puppies actually works on a lifeboat!

Chester’s asked for a few minutes to consider what he was bred for: he’s trying to choose between dancing, rolling in fox poo and lying on the radiator.

There are days when he does all three, but I don’t lie on the radiator with him on those days.

I never asked to be transported to the Worcestershire wastelands. There are no pavements, no street lights, and you know what that means – no lampposts. It took me months to acclimatise.

I came here from a management role in the suburbs. The family I was living with decided to keep tropical fish. I kid you not. Fish in, Alfie out: it was a disgrace. I’d done all I could reasonably be expected to do. I’d rushed around the house, yapping hysterically, to alert them to strangers in the house – and for as long as there were strangers in the house. I’d assiduously cleaned up after the toddler’s mealtimes – sometimes not even waiting for him to drop food, but saving time by taking it off the plate. I cleaned the plate. I even cleaned the toddler! And I’d hate to think what state that child’s toys would have been in if I hadn’t constantly tidied them up.

But some people won’t be managed, so I was transferred down here. Gill claimed I was a rescue case, but didn’t specify who was being rescued. Anyway, Andy couldn’t say no. Chester was surprised to meet a dog that was smaller than he was. I really think he thought he was just a Border collie like the rest, or perhaps a Lurcher. Eris was Chester’s special friend until her legs started to get so long that the two of them grew apart.

As soon as I’d got over the shock I explained about the One True Breed. I think it’s lucky I turned up.