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I won a free dog training session as part of a silent auction a few months ago. Oz was the simplest dog to train; he learned all sorts of things without much trouble. (He has a harder time picking up new tricks now that he's older, but he still consistently performs the things he learned as a puppy.) Kif is not. I know this sounds mean, but I think he might be dumb. I have had him for five years, and I have tried a lot harder than I did with Oz, and he only performs two commands without enormous effort on your part: Sit, and Go to Your Basket (his bed.) He will do plotz, but you have to show him what to do, putting the treat on the floor. Additionally, Oz has the best temperament. He is cool with people and other dogs, and I can take him anywhere and know he'll behave. We had lunch the other day on the patio of a local restaurant. He had cheese toast. He was an angel. I love taking him places, but I can't take Kif anywhere, because he's a nervous wreck. He is fine in the house and his own yard, but anywhere else he's terrified. He even freaks out in the car. It's not that I haven't tried. When we lived in Savannah, we went on walks to Forsyth Park (and beyond!) almost every day, and he never got any more comfortable with outings.
So I decided to use the certificate for Kif. When I called to set up the appointment, I explained that Kif needs help with basic commands, and that he's seriously shy and nervous. The trainer was understanding and put us in a small class so Kif could socialize and not get overwhelmed.
Boy was that wrong.
Saturday morning, I take Kif to his first class. I should mention just for set dressing that I had an awful headache, but it was too late to cancel. So we get to class early, because I go everywhere early and we had paperwork to do. Mistake. We get there, and the training room is full. Really full. I counted: Twenty people, including screaming children, and twelve dogs. It was loud and hectic and so fucking hot. I rarely sweat even when outside on hot days, but I was sweating there. It was sweltering. Kif freaked the fuck out; he scaled me until I was holding him in my arms. One of the trainers came up, and I said, "I thought this was a small class?!?" She told me it was playtime for the previous class, and that Kif's class had not started yet. I was still desperate to leave; it was absolutely miserable in there. I tried to keep my cool even though I was Very Agitated, but this woman began filming two dogs wrestling, laughing when they rolled on and stomped my purse and paperwork, and finally I lost it at her.
Me: Could you please get your dogs away from my things, which they are destroying?
She got defensive, saying she hadn't even noticed them trampling my stuff. Shall we roll the tape? Ugh, humans are the worst. Anyway. Finally the hell of puppy playtime ended. The room cleared out. Once there was no one left but us and the trainers, I let Kif down. It gets better from there, right? Oh, you. Bless your heart.
So, the trainers come out to introduce themselves to Kif. Kif is Not About That. He hid behind me. He jumped in my lap. He refused to even sniff the most delectable treats. Kif is the biggest chow hound, so this was pretty dire. Finally, one of the trainers went to the kitchen and found him some chicken, and he was tempted enough to take some nibbles and allow himself to be petted. That's as good as it got. We spent 45 minutes trying to get him comfortable, but he never got better than occasionally edging out from behind me to take a little bite of chicken.
"This is not going to work," one of the trainers told me. No shit. She comped that session, and said she'd give Kif private lessons for the same price, so I will be taking Kif back for one on one training on Thursday. Hopefully it will go well, and it can become a regular thing that makes him more confident and competent. Fingers crossed.
So I decided to use the certificate for Kif. When I called to set up the appointment, I explained that Kif needs help with basic commands, and that he's seriously shy and nervous. The trainer was understanding and put us in a small class so Kif could socialize and not get overwhelmed.
Boy was that wrong.
Saturday morning, I take Kif to his first class. I should mention just for set dressing that I had an awful headache, but it was too late to cancel. So we get to class early, because I go everywhere early and we had paperwork to do. Mistake. We get there, and the training room is full. Really full. I counted: Twenty people, including screaming children, and twelve dogs. It was loud and hectic and so fucking hot. I rarely sweat even when outside on hot days, but I was sweating there. It was sweltering. Kif freaked the fuck out; he scaled me until I was holding him in my arms. One of the trainers came up, and I said, "I thought this was a small class?!?" She told me it was playtime for the previous class, and that Kif's class had not started yet. I was still desperate to leave; it was absolutely miserable in there. I tried to keep my cool even though I was Very Agitated, but this woman began filming two dogs wrestling, laughing when they rolled on and stomped my purse and paperwork, and finally I lost it at her.
Me: Could you please get your dogs away from my things, which they are destroying?
She got defensive, saying she hadn't even noticed them trampling my stuff. Shall we roll the tape? Ugh, humans are the worst. Anyway. Finally the hell of puppy playtime ended. The room cleared out. Once there was no one left but us and the trainers, I let Kif down. It gets better from there, right? Oh, you. Bless your heart.
So, the trainers come out to introduce themselves to Kif. Kif is Not About That. He hid behind me. He jumped in my lap. He refused to even sniff the most delectable treats. Kif is the biggest chow hound, so this was pretty dire. Finally, one of the trainers went to the kitchen and found him some chicken, and he was tempted enough to take some nibbles and allow himself to be petted. That's as good as it got. We spent 45 minutes trying to get him comfortable, but he never got better than occasionally edging out from behind me to take a little bite of chicken.
"This is not going to work," one of the trainers told me. No shit. She comped that session, and said she'd give Kif private lessons for the same price, so I will be taking Kif back for one on one training on Thursday. Hopefully it will go well, and it can become a regular thing that makes him more confident and competent. Fingers crossed.
