When we moved here twenty years ago, there weren’t very many other dogs in the complex. Our condo is off in a corner of it, and we rarely saw the few other dogs who lived here. There’s practically no traffic, and I can see any cars coming well in advance.
So I used to be able to let the girls off leash when I took them out to potty and let them wander a bit on their own in our tiny green space. That has changed in the past year or two, though. We have a lot more residents with dogs, and they walk them through our end of the complex, just as we walk our dogs through the other end of it. Unfortunately, Twyla is territorial and has taught her bad habit to Harper. The two of them together think they are mad, bad and dangerous to know. There are a few of these newish dogs that they don’t like–and, to be fair, who don’t like them, either. After a couple of “surprise” visits from them, I put an end to the off-leash outings (except for Bella, who is a complete lady and can’t see or hear anything anyway).
More importantly, I’ve been working with Harper to improve her attitude toward big dogs. She’s been iffy around them ever since she was attacked by the Boxer last year, and I can never tell when one is going to set her off into a frenzy of barking. Sometimes it’s big dogs, sometimes it’s dark dogs; oddly, it’s not always dogs who look like Boxers. I went into high gear last month after she decided to give what-for to a German Shepherd, and her collar broke as she pulled to get at him. (Turns out it was frayed where we’d had a D ring added.)
Now, when we see any dog coming, big or small, Harper must sit and watch me. If she’s still focused on the other dog, I block her view and point The Finger of Doom, which in most cases is all my dogs need to stop doing something. We’ve made enough progress that now when she sees big dogs up ahead she stops on her own and waits. I may have been a little too successful. Now I have to coax her to walk by them, but she does so happily once she’s given the okay.
My best reward came yesterday. The people who moved into Chicken Man’s condo last month have a dog. (In case you’re wondering, Chicken Man handed out chicken jerky to the girls. He is sorely missed.) The girls have never had a canine neighbor before, and they always barked at Cracker if they were downstairs and saw him being walked past our door. We all happened to be downstairs yesterday when Cracker came by and I instantly pointed the FOD and hissed “Quiet.” Much to my surprise, they were. Oh, Harper was grumbling under her breath, but she sat nicely and didn’t jump on the screen door. Twyla didn’t say a word; just acted like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
I don’t have any illusions that the same thing would happen if I wasn’t there to put the fear of BitchQueen into them, but, hey, it’s a start.
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