Graduation day

So concludes our final session (session six) of dog obedience training with Scarlett at Lollypop Farm (yesterday, Sunday November 9, 2008).
A session wherein dog-training by a stroke-survivor with compromised speech shown through.
To train a dog, you have to immediately “praise-praise-praise” for the dog doing as desired.
As a stroke-survivor I can’t speak immediately; in fact, I can hardly speak at all.
It’s more body-english; certain positions and looks that engender dog reactions — e.g. a certain look will prompt “sit.”
There is, of course, the verbal “sit” command, which Scarlett confuses with submission, including “down.”
“Reward your dog immediately when he/she does what you want.”
Um, yeah sure. I can hardly talk. I can, but I’m not inclined to.
The instructor congratulated herself that “everyone finished the whole class.”
Well, not exactly.
The lady who browbeat her enthusiastic but confused dog wasn’t there.
But that’s only one of eight. All the rest finished.
“Your dog is confused. That’s why she’s barking at you.”
“Immediate praise-praise-praise.”
BOINK!
Down-sit-down-sit (bouncy-bouncy). I can’t respond fast enough. There’s always a delay; often no verbal response at all.
“These people don’t know that,” Linda said. “All we can do is go through the motions.”
“Yeah, but now what? I never heard what we’re supposed to be doing.......”
The class was confined to a room. That’s eight dogs in a room — a surfeit of distraction.
Perhaps the most successful exercise was to walk your dog around the room.
A fair approximation of heeling; except Scarlett was much faster than the others, and hot to check butts.
Scarlett always loves walking with me, but that’s because I let her be herself and lead.
She always stopped at the doors. “This is out. Are we done yet? I want out!”
Finally we were dismissed.
“If you want to sign up for the Advanced class, online only.”
Yank-uh-pull. “Let’s go!”
Now for the good part; our hike along the abandoned right-of-way of the Rochester, Syracuse & Eastern.
We went the other way; across the highway, and into the woods.
It’s more rural. The RS&E was passing through open countryside. No adjacent houses; no backyards.
“Somewhere this line turned south,” I said, but all I could see was a long straightaway that climbed a slight grade toward the end. (We were headed east-southeast.)
We passed a runner with his black lab on a leash — fear of aggressiveness — but nothing happened.
We turned around and began the long hike back to Lollypop.
Yank-uh-pull.
Off into the boondocks in search of critters.
“That’s a path, you monster.” BOINK! “Oh no ya don’t. This way!”
I guess in our case the whole import of this class was dog-socialization: contact with other dogs and people.
“About all I can do is walk my dog,” I said.
After returning home (no Weggers) I walked the dog.

“Scarlett” is our current dog; a rescue Irish-Setter. She’s three-plus, and is our sixth Irish-Setter.

Lollypop Farm is the Rochester area Humane Society and animal-shelter. It offers courses in dog obedience training.

I had a stroke October 26, 1993, and it slightly compromised my speech.

The “Rochester, Syracuse & Eastern” is a long-abandoned interurban railroad east of Rochester that skirts Lollypop. —“Interurban” in that it was a special railroad designed to move passengers in outlying areas. It used self-propelled cars often powered electrically via overhead trolley-wire, but usually the cars were bigger than regular city trolley-cars. —The Rochester, Syracuse & Eastern was more than the ordinary interurban line, since it was double-track. Most interurbans were single-track. The RS&E could run much faster, but it never went beyond Syracuse. It’s abandoned right-of-way (grade), was made into a hiking trail.

“Weggers” is Wegmans, a large supermarket-chain based in Rochester we often buy groceries at. They have a store near Lollypop.