Naturally, I don't really believe I'm an awesome dog trainer. I'm a slightly above-average dog trainer, most of the time. Today, I was a sucky, lousy dog trainer. Neither one of my dogs would perform worth anything in class, and I couldn't seem to do anything to make it better.
Hilda started off with her nose planted in the grass and basically stayed that way throughout the entire course. She acted like she had never heard of front, or finish. She put on the brakes and planted her feet when I called her to come. She was obsessed by a little rolling cart that held two little Papillons in crates. (A Papillon, if you don't know, is an adorable toy breed -- tiny, fluffy, with relatively giant stand-up ears -- and is one of the few toy breeds known for doing well in competition obedience. These two Papillons are inexplicably owned by a tall, macho man who comes to class every week carting his two cute, well-trained lap dogs. Like I said, a mystery.)
I had chicken for my treats today, which is, like, an A-level treat. Hilda loves chicken, but she wouldn't do a darn thing for it today. Sit? No thanks. Down? Never heard of it. I snugged her buckle collar up under her chin, right up against the base of her throat, trying to stir a dim memory of having her air cut off with the choke chain back at Seeing Eye 7 years ago. Didn't work. I wished for a choke chain. Or a pinch collar, something that would make her obey. She was too interested in sniffing the grass and staring at other dogs and panting like it was 100 degrees instead of the lovely 73 that it actually was. I took her to the water fountain and let her play in it, thinking she needed a break. Then I let her lie down in the shade. Then I took her back to the rally course again and started to run through it with the same lousy results. My instructor, Kit, called my name and I thought he was going to make a comment on how my dog was completely on another planet and looked just like all the other half-trained dogs in this class. Instead he said he was going to be tough on me because I was so good, and then pointed out that I had made my last right turn in a sort of swooping arc instead of a neat, military 90-degree turn that the judges like to see. I nodded seriously and agreed to do better next time, and then walked Hilda off the course and back to the car and threw her in the back. You don't want to work? Fine. I will grant you your wish even though only 20 minutes of our hour-long class has gone by.
I sat in the car and read until it was time for Sunny's class to start. Sunny started out badly by refusing to stay in the car until called out. He leaped out on his own again and again and again, and I threw him back in again and again and again until finally he remembered how to wait for a release. Then I spent the time on our walk over to our class reminding him where Heel position was. He seemed to think it was either lunging in front of me, or else lagging behind with his nose planted in the grass. (What did they do to the grass this weekend? Geez.)
When we finally got to class, I knew I did not want to be there. The guy with the Aussie that everyone hates (ahem, everyone hates the guy, not the Aussie -- the Aussie is a hideous example of the breed, has no confidence, and is in poor condition to boot, but that's no reason to hate him) was standing on the other side of the field blabbing away to someone in another class. "Hmmph, we're not waiting for him," said my instructor, Pat. Pat is about seventy years old. There is only one way to train for her, and it does not involve food or a clicker. I use both anyway and don't care what she says.
Pat introduced the new students in the class -- a woman with a Swedish Vallhund (looks kind of like a Welsh Corgi, but smaller and mostly grey) and a woman with a gorgeous golden. Even though the golden looked gorgeous, he quickly proved to be an airhead. I sincerely hope he is just young and foolish and not untrained, otherwise his owner should be ashamed to have him in this class. He had no self-control and kept breaking stays, running around, and making a nuisance of himself. The guy with the Irish setter wandered in late, looking dazed and confused like always. Irish setters have a reputation for being dumb. I don't know who's dumber, this Irish setter or her owner. Both of them are always hopelessly behind in whatever exercise we're doing. The only one I truly like in this class is Hilde, who is in her 70's (probably) and walks with a cane and a horrendous limp, yet somehow manages to handle a 100-lb. adolescent Akita with a whopping dog distraction. She's been showing dogs in obedience since the 1960's. I always learn something from her.
We started with Heel. Sunny alternately lagged and forged. He forgot Auto-Sit and gave me Auto-Down instead. Pat argued with her assistant instructor, Nancy, over whether Sunny was sitting in Heel position or not. (Pat said no, Nancy said yes. Nancy gave me one of my Rally-N perfect scores, so she is predisposed to like me and Sunny.) They were arguing over mere centimeters so I gave up listening, watched the birds fly overhead, and absentmindedly fed Sunny piece after piece of chicken for no reason. Clearly I was not in the mood to train dogs and should have just gone home.
Sunny managed to hold a 5-minute down stay during the group down. The guy with the Aussie had finally joined us in class and his dog popped up again and again on the down-stay and began ambling slowly over to his owner, who ambled equally slowly using his cane across the grass expanse separating dogs and handlers. Each time the Aussie got up, the guy reprimanded him with an annoying "Tch-tch" sound. Finally Nancy told him she would correct the dog and he should stay where he was. The dog got up again and again, and Nancy popped him down again and again. The dog got this wild-eyed look at being handled by someone other than his owner. Finally he stayed down for a few seconds and Pat said, "Exercise finished!"
I was proud that Sunny did not break, but on the next exercise, the long sit (3 minutes), Pat made the dogs sit in the sun and Sunny decided to lie down and take a nap. I went back and corrected him, and he lasted one more minute -- almost until the stay was done -- and then the golden got up and went racing around and Sunny got up and started walking slowly towards me, looking a little too much like that other Aussie for my liking. So naturally I had to correct him again, which made him upset.
The class worked on the dumbbell next, at which point I had to fess up to the problems we're having with the dumbbell at home (he won't hold it or put it in my hand -- some pretty major problems). I am sure Pat blames the dumbbell problems on the fact that I train with food and the clicker. I can practically hear her thinking, "Nothing a good ear-pinch wouldn't cure." I didn't even bring my dumbbell to class, so I just practiced a down-stay while the rest of the class worked on the dumbbell. I was pleased to see that all of their dogs were just as bad as mine at holding it, though.
So my dogs were lousy and my attitude was even worse. I could feel bad about it, but instead I will remind myself that all dogs and all trainers have bad days and that, even though my dogs couldn't perform worth a damn today, I have a dog at home that can fetch me a beer out of the fridge when asked, and I bet no one else does.
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