|What do you MEAN by these so-called "commands"?|
When we switch to a new skill in class, the trainer will use one of the dogs in a demonstration. Phoebe LOVES to be the demonstration dog and every time the trainer approaches the center of the room and raises her hand for attention, Phoebe will stare at her intently, her whole body quivering as if to say, "Pick me! Pick me!" (Demonstration dogs get extra treats.) And she often is the chosen one, whether because the trainer likes her or because she is seen as needing extra help, I can't say.
Meanwhile, Jon broke his arm so badly that he can't drive, which sucks all around, but also sucks in the dog training department because when working with a dog, it's kind of handy to have the use of both your arms.
We have a long way to go. She has a deep, baying, "the bloodhounds are coming" bark, which she directs at every runner, bicyclist, or car that happens to cross our path when we're out on our walks, while she lunges at them like a tiger after a steak. It's not aggression, she just has a strong genetic predisposition to chase everything that moves.
Speaking of runners, we take her on runs as an outlet for her energy. I truly can't tell if she loves running or if it is too stressful for her. She gets very excited if she sees me in my running clothes--evidenced by jumping higher than the ceiling and attacking the drawstring on my running jacket-- but once we get going, it's like she's running for her life, except every once in a while, she'll jump in front of you and stop, so you're constantly at risk of face plant on the concrete. We do demented sprints through the neighborhood as if we're being pursued by something.
|Still likes to sit on Jon's lap|
Here she is the day we brought her home.
With her best buddy, Sancho:
Phoebe at the window, watching Grace and Seamus drive away. She hates to be left behind.