When we were away last weekend, we happened to come across a dog training presentation by the rather appropriately named Wolfman. After he had finished we asked him about deaf dogs. We expected him to roll his eyes and perhaps even to tell us we were wasting our time. Not a bit of it.
“What’s the big deal?” he said. And proceeded to give us thse tips:
1. The only real difference is that you can’t use voice commands.
2. Do not use fingers or thumb signals. They can’t be seen at a distance. Instead, always use the open palm.
3. Dogs sleep 16-20 hours a week so it is okay to have them in a vehicle during the day so long as they have exercise at night.
4. Use a ball, or the lead to throw to catch the dog’s attention.
5. Set imaginery boundaries and train the dog not to go over them.
Now to practise them
We were both working at the office today so we had to take Chester in to the city with us. It is a 30 minute drive and he was sick three times on the way in. If only we lived just 9 minutes away. We left him in the back of our old Range Rover while we were in the office. At lunchtime Sue had a meeting elsewhere so I drove to a large central city park to a quiet parking area. I had food and water bowls that I put on the ground for him and walked him around on a lead. A man pulled up in a Volvo stationwagon and let his two dalmations out of the boot unrestrained. They immediately ran over to Chester’s food bowl and helped themselves.
I lookd at the man who was wearing a suit and was about my age, I reckon.
“Can you please control your dogs?” I said.
The response was extraordinary. He went off his tree.
“You f…old fart! Look at you! Control my dogs? You f… old fart!”
I think all I said was “Give me a break!” and looked as bemused as I could.
Dog rage. No, of course, it wasn’t. It was just rage. Perhaps dog owner’s rage.
He stormed off, his dogs charging ahead of him. Didn’t he know I had a deaf dog? A dog I couldn’t control off the lead. He could control his dogs by his voice but he chose not to. He let them run loose and eat my dog’s food. Of course he may have had a bad morning. He may have 6 dog vomits to clean in his Volvo. And of course he didn’t like being corrected. But I really didn’t think he looked any older than me.
I moved house today.
For most of the day, instead of living in a large old house in the country on 19 acres, I lived in a large blue tin that drove around the city. And it didn’t just travel in straight lines. Every time it changed direction my stomach didn’t. It kept going straight ahead and I wait for it to catch up to me as if it was connected by a long elastic band. Which I suppose it is. Sometimes, in fact to be precise three times before we stopped, by the time it caught up to me we had changed direction again so it had no choice but to stop suddenly, disgorge its contents and try to catch up.
In the middle of the day I was let out in a park and I thought for a moment I was back home but then another vehicle stopped and two rolled-up newspapers on legs jumped out and ate my food. And their owner seemed very angry at Grimy.
Why would he be angry? It wasn’t his food that had been eaten. I tried to make out what he said. Some words were repeated. But they weren’t ones I’d read before.
In the afternoon the blue tin did it all over again.
And so did I.
We came back from dinner out to find the den and kitchen in a state of total disarray. Dismay. Dismemberment.
A friend had lent us her dog cage to keep Chester in.
It worked for one night. Until the night we went out for dinner.
Chester had got out of the cage although how he did it was something of a mystery because at first glance all seemed normal. It was only on very close inspection that we saw that two of the bars were slightly further apart. They had almost closed back after he had forced them open.
He had pulled the rubbish bin over and strewn its entire contents all over the den and the kitchen. It was like a crime scene. There is something quite disturbing about seeing one’s rejects reappear. It is like deja vomit.
He had weeed on the carpet. And pooed on it. He had pulled a china teapot down from the dresser and smashed it. A paper towel rolled and curled through the detritus like a runaway bandage.
Chester ran to the corner of the room as soon as we entered. One side of his nose had been rubbed raw from his efforts to extricate himself from the cage. Bailey was asleep but as soon as he awoke he seemed very eager to get out of the room.
On the other hand Tigger hopped up on the dresser and surveyed the carnage with a rather detached self-satisfied air. And that reminded us that when we arrived home, unusually, Tigger was there to greet us and escort us to the back door. Could it be that he had spent a while on the freedom side of the cage. Watching and taunting.
And last night they put me in a cage.
Even He did not do that. They were still trying to keep me away from Bailey so there was I in a cage while Bailey was free to wander all around the den. The fact that he chose to sleep all night in one place does not matter. It would have made more sense to put him in the cage. He wouldn’t have been any more active.
So I freaked out. I ran around in circles. Very tight circles. Then back the other way. And the other way again.
Then I pushed at the bars. Really really hard. They moved. Just a bit. Then a bit more. Bailey inspired me. I wanted to swap places with him.
Eventually I pushed the bars open enough to get out. Then I thought I should go back into the cage. But without trying too hard.
If I could break out of one cage…
And then I found the rubbish bin.
Chester is back.
He’s almost back to what we were getting accustomed to in the short time we had him before he went to the vet. Which is to say he is hungry and lively and still looking emaciated.
But there is a catch. For the next 10 days we have to keep Chester and Bailey apart. For both their sakes. But we aqre also supposed to keep Chester warm.
So Bailey spends most of his day outside. And that actually means at the kitchen door looking through the kitchen to the den where he sees Chester. At night we had Bailey outside and Chester inside. And then it turned cold. So Bailey was in the laundry and Chester in the den.
Periodically, we swap them over. Chester goes outside through one door while Bailey comes in another. It is like Picadilly Station. It all seems a little pointless as they are spendimg times in rooms or outside where the other one has been.
But so far all is well.
Chester has pavo.
We had taken him to the vet when his condition had not improved. And even before we took him, we had become to believe that he was deaf. So there was the decision to be made about whether the deafness was enough to make us change our mind. As I’ve said before, we are not fanatical, at-all-costs, literally at-all-costs, pet owners. But we didn’t feel we could draw the line just yet.
The vet said she would have to do tests. Of his stools. Which, we thought, rhymes with fools. As rash rhymes with cash.
We thought some more. And pushed the line out a bit further.
But the real test came when the vet rang to give us the pavo news. And to tell us not only that it would cost more to try and treat him but there was no guarantee that he would recover.
Line rhymes with fine. As in penalty or price. But also with fine as in “He’s fine. He’s back to normal.”
Normal but deaf. Or is it normal and deaf?
Another road trip. This time I was even too sick to be sick. I didn’t want to get ino the car. And when we stopped I didn’t want to get out. A lady in a white coat smiled at me and then wanted to look in all different parts of me. She kept talking but I had no idea what she was saying.
And then Grimy and Sue left me. The nice lady in the white coat was still there but she didn’t seem to be interested in me any longer. Every now and again she would come into the room where I had been left all to myself. But all she did was smile at me and move her lips.
I was still there at night. All night. It was a very long night. I had no idea what was going on. I had been found. And then left again. The white coat lady gave me pills that I tried to spit out. Other people I didn’t know came to see me. But not Grimy and Sue.
Another day. And another night.
And then they were back! I was feeling much better. I was eating again. I was happy.
And back in the car.
Chester is not good.
Over the last 24 hours, he has gone downhill. He has deteriorated to the point where he just wants to sit in front of the fire. He doesn’t want to eat or drink. It started with signs of lethargy. He seemed to lose interest in playing with Bailey.
He remains very wary of me. It is as if each day starts for him with his recent memories erased and he wakes with renewed fear of men in general. When I come in the room, he just wants to be near Sue. On one occasion he was on the bed with Sue and when I came into the room he growled quietly and briefly.
And when I approach him he remains quiet right up to the point where I gently brush his coat and then he jumps and cowers back.
I’m beginning to have second thoughts about this place. I have an odd feeling in my gut. It’s enough to put me off my food. But I’m not quite sure what it is.
I seem to be tired all of a sudden. I’d much rather just sit in front of the fire. Bailey seems relieved that I can’ be bothered following him around and annoying him. He even starts up towards me as if he wants to play but he just nudges up against me.
At least he doesn’t surprise me the way Grimy does. I don’t know why he keeps touching me. I jump with fright each time and then he looks at me and then at Sue.
I wish they would just let me sleep.
