Sherlock had been browbeaten into submission by choking, rattling of jars, spraying of citronella, shocking and beatings...when he came to our home a year ago after rescue and a month in the pound, he hugged the ground to avoid being kicked in soft underparts, his tail beating frantically against his belly to signal appeasement, and his mind racing in fear at the slightest noise or movement, so that he either barked and leaped, mad and frantic, or heeled in soulless dull compliance. He was plagued by fleas, itchy skin and matted fur, not to mention a wounded foot and the incipient heartworm-no wonder even now he still flinches at being stroked around the hindquarters, cowers down at an inadvertent hand movement.
All the joys of being with a setter, the wise alert decision-making, the gauging of scents and wind and seasons, the architectural mapping of animal tracks and lairs...the benign gaze as they laze on the couch, the regal poise, the supple equilibrium...all were lost, as wee Sherlock frowned, confused, panicked and hunched up, yet still so eager to please.
|Photo by Yakobu Miyajima|
What was really exciting and uplifting was the way a clicker followed by treats really worked, so that he could begin to understand exactly what was required (simple things like sit, wait, shush) and be rewarded. Thankfully over this past year as my clicker broke down with the constant use, the whole daily routine has become a place of safety and embrace, and he has so much more confidence. Knowing when it's okay to chill, that it's okay to say no if you don't want to be brushed or share the couch, that we wait for each other to peewees or sniff or chat on walkies and choose the paths depending on who has the strongest desire, either to hunt more cats or head for home, that a poopies does not mean an instant u-turn back, that life is good!
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|Photo by Lelantos|