When we first got Misha, she was one year old. Jack was three. Both came with leashes and both loved to go for walks on said leashes. I just naturally assumed that dogs love walks, and they realize that leashes are a big part of that activity. It's a natural canine instinct, like chasing cats and wagging tails. Sure, they will need to be taught the finer points of leash-walking like heeling by my side and not zigzagging everywhere, but the basic walk-with-a-leash-attached-to-your-collar is the easy part, right?
Um....no.
I have never before met a dog with an instant dislike to a leash like these two. We had the pups at home about three days and I decided it was time to start off on the right foot and train them to do their "business" in the assigned gravel pit I had so painstakingly dug for the a few days prior to their arrival. If I am going to dig in sun-baked soil and then shovel tons of gravel into it in 90+ degree weather, these puppies are darn well going to use it! The puppy training guide I bought made it sound so stupidly easy: walk the pups on a leash to the pit when I take them outside and make them stay there until they do "something." Ta-da! They will go there every time! Sure. I also noticed that all the other training chapters said essentially the same thing: put the dog on a leash and tell them to sit, put the dog on a leash and teach them to stay, etc. Nowhere in the book did it mention a word about teaching the dog to not go ballistic when the leash is put on in the first place.
After the pups had taken a nap, I figured it was time for their afternoon constitutional, so out we all went to the back yard. I clipped the leash on Leila's collar first. She stood there for a second, not even noticing it was there. Wow, this is going to be easy! I picked up the leash and gave it a very gentle tug. Apparently that was not the right introduction. Leila took off like she was shot out of a cannon, flying back inside the house and straight into the laundry room where she sat and pouted. I turned to Bodie who had a look on his face that said "Damn, why didn't I think of that?" and started to depart, but I blocked his exit and clipped the leash onto the ring on his collar. I recall the vet saying that I cannot let the puppy "win" a battle of wits, or else he'll do it every time, so I was not going to let go and we were going to walk calmly to the doggie latrine pit and get acquainted with it.
Or not.
Bodie pulled back and whipped back and forth like a marlin on a long line, and let loose with a screaming/whining/howling combo that I'm pretty sure translates loosely to words I dare not print here. I tried to hold my ground but one look at that petrified little face and banshee screams and I defy even the toughest Hell's Angel to not drop that leash and beg forgiveness. Day One of leash training is now over. Score: Puppies, 1; Mom, Nada.
Over the next few days I tried to put the leashes on and let them just walk around the house with it dragging behind. I decided to continue this exercise indoors so Bodie's screams would not alarm my neighbor into calling the police about some sort of animal sacrifice occurring next door. It got to the point where just the act of picking the leashes up would send the pups scurrying. Leila would do an about-face from wherever she was headed and instead press up against the grey leather couches like some sort of camouflage. Bodie would make a beeline under the kitchen table, convinced I could not pull him out from under there (he was usually right). Even after a week at our house the pups had grown too big to be shoved back into the carrier to go to the vet so the leashes were going to have to work. Failure was not an option! Eventually I got to the point where I could put the leashes on (after retrieving the pups from whatever corner they scampered to) and they would resign themselves to the fact that they needed to walk around and drag the things or else I would never stop. Leila would sometimes retreat to her napping place on the fireplace and roll on her back, perhaps feigning death thinking I would take the darn thing off then. No dice.
We eventually got to the point where the dogs would get the leashes put on and would actually not scream or hit the ground. Instead, now they would not budge at all. We decided to go to the front yard as a treat to see new things and new smells, but Bodie did his best "stubborn mule" pose and was not going to walk come hell or high water. You could almost hear the screeching of brakes and smell of burning clutch as we tried to drag him to the front door. I eventually gave up and picked him up and physically carried him to the lawn. He humored me for a few minutes by walking around and sniffing, but then made a mad dash back into the house like a rental horse to the barn. Apparently this was still going to be a work in progress.
So when does one actually stand their ground and demand these puppies come to terms with the whole leash idea or throw their hands up and admit defeat? I am certainly not giving in to the latter just quite yet, as these dogs are going to grow into the size of Shetland ponies and we will have to come to some sort of understanding. But in the meantime, I am out in the dark of early morning, in my jammies and flannel shirt, with a flashlight and paper towel, harvesting dog poo that the puppies are leaving everywhere. The gravel pit sits there; a pristine , clean, untouched haven gleaming in the moonlight like a beacon; a monument to leashless puppies everywhere. These two may have won the battle for now, but they have not yet won the war.
Stay tuned.....
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