Tango and I have been practicing Nose Work. It's a relatively new sport, and for the first time on the East Coast, the Odor Recognition Trial (ORT) was offered.
This was a little bit of a big deal. First time it's been offered waaaay over here on the East coast. It's been a West coast sport for a couple years and is finally drifting over to us.
The trial is relatively easy: there are 12 boxes and Tango just needs to indicate the box that contains the scent (birch). He'd been rippin' it up at home -- finding the correct box every single time. He was good! We were ready!
Yeah, except I wasn't ready. We approached the start line and I gave Tango the "Find it" cue. Except he wasn't looking at me. Being the happy Labrador that he is, he was quite enamored with the judges. Oh, and the spectators, he liked them quite a bit as well. The boxes that might or might not contain the odor - yeah, not so interested in those. Which was NOT a good thing.
The leash got tight. Not a good thing. Tango sniffed the boxes, he sniffed the floor. He went completely off course. He wagged at the spectators. He sniffed the boxes again.
I panicked.
He paused at a box. I alerted. Once you alert, you're done. If your alert is correct, you "win." You get your ORT. If your alert is wrong, you're done. Finished. No second chance.
Well, Tango was wrong. Or, should I say, I was wrong. I thought I was right, but one day later (tonight), Tango proved how good his nose was. And with that proof, it was really easy for me to shift the blame from him TO me.
Here's how it went down: it was dark and I was throwing Tango's tennis ball in the back yard. He typically chases it, somehow locating it in the dark, and always brings it back to me. I throw like a girl (go figure) and I must have tossed it into the lilac bush. The lilac bush, for the record, was pretty far away. I should get points just for getting it TO the bush. Never mind the fact that I threw it into the bushes; we'll just ignore that for now, ok?
Except that I thought it went into the grass. I prompted Tango to "find it." That's the same cue we use in Nose Work. It was pitch black outside. I thought the ball rolled through the Hostas and came to rest in the Lilac Bed. Tango kept looking up into the lilac bushes.
I knew quite well that the ball was not in the lilac bush. I distinctly heard it roll through the hostas! I cued "find it" again. Still, this crazy dog is looking upward! What is his problem?!
Finally, in frustration, I turned the back flood lights on. Guess what I saw? About eye level (to me) in the stupid lilac bush?
That stupid tennis ball.
So clearly, the fact that Tango blew the ORT on Friday was on me. Not on him. He knew where his tennis ball was in the dark in the tree! Ok, so I was more than humbled.
I was a bit embarrassed. Not to mention I was crushed that *I* was the reason Tango didn't pass his ORT. It wasn't Tango. It was ME! Talk about humbled...
So. I'm not sure when our next chance at the ORT will be, but you better believe I'll train hard. I'll work my you-know-what off so I can be the handler Tango needs so he can pass the ORT. I have my marching orders: TRUST YOUR DOG!
We have three dogs who help us raise service dog pups. This is how it normally goes:
Tango, yellow Labrador, is the police officer - he keeps the pup in line. He doesn't tolerate a lot of silliness from the pups. He's the one I count on to put a silly, jump-on-your-head Labrador in his place.
Lily, black Labrador, is the school marm. There will be no funny business around here, mister. Life is serious. There isn't very much time or opportunity for play, says Lily. She also keeps a pretty tight paw on the pup.
Nemo, well, he's usually contributing to the delinquincy of the pup. He's the pal, the one who's always ready for a run around the yard, a game of tug, a wrestling match. He self-handicaps so the pup is always this close to winning. We call him the baby-sitter sometimes because he does such a good job of keeping the pup occupied that he (the pup) stays out of trouble.
When Ike showed up, he gravitated toward Tango. I cringed inwardly - neither Tango nor Ike would ultimately be happy with this choice, I thought. It would irritate Tango to have to continue to tell Ike off, and Ike wouldn't enjoy being told off. But Tango's a pretty good communicator - he gets his point across very well - so I let the two of them work it out.
Well, wouldn't you know: Tango seems to not only tolerate Ike, but Ike's actually gotten Tango to play with him! This is odd for a couple of reasons. (1) Tango doesn't play a whole lot. He retrieves. Retrieving is a one-dog sport. (2) Tango simply doesn't like puppies. At the risk of anthropomorphizing here, puppies make Tango wrinkle up his face in disgust. You can see it on his face, I swear.
Somehow, some way, Ike has broken through (or maybe it's broken down) Tango's wall. And it's not just about play, either. Ike crawls into Tango's bed and snuggles up with Tango. In the past, when a puppy has invaded Tango's space, I see the wrinkly, disgusted face on Tango right before he gets up in a huff and finds a different spot to rest.
Not this time. Not with Ike. I can't explain it, but I do have fun watching this new relationship unfold.
It's gonna be a hot one here in the Mid-Atlantic this weekend. I'm a lover of summer time, and so are the dogs.
That's Tango and Nemo having fun at Lake Anna retrieving the bumper.
Lily's enjoying the boat on Lake Anna.
Lucky enjoying a ride on the raft at Lake Anna.
Tango cooling off with the hose.
The sprinkler is a dog-entertainment toy!
I had Tango at the vet last week and his weight has gone up to a staggering 75 pounds. He's fat.
All of us put a few pounds on over the winter, but the numbers on the scale really surprised me. Tango should weigh about 65 pounds - definitely not 75 pounds.
The picture of him tugging on the hose shows him at a really good weight - that's about 62 pounds I believe. He was younger there - and clearly more fit than he is now.
I, too, am growing older. And, ahem, wider. So Tango and I are going on a diet together. We're going to get more exercise together. It's easier when you have a partner, they say.
I've cut the snacks for us both waaay down. Gone are the days of four rawhides a day. And sharing my lunch with him. True confession time: every Wednesday after our R.E.A.D. sessions, Tango and I would share a hamburger and small fries from McDonald's. Looks like we'll be switching to one of those delicious oatmeals for lunch (they're surprisingly good!).
I'm going to bump the exercise up for us both, as well. We've got a nice big yard, but clearly that's not enough. For either of us. So we'll start walking each morning. Tango's got a bum shoulder so we can only do about three miles before it starts bothering him. But at this point, any exercise is good, even if it's only a mile!
I'll post updates here about our progress. Hopefully in a few months, there'll be less of us both!
We had the misfortune opportunity to dogsit my parent's monster dog, Copper earlier this week. She's been with them for a couple years now, rescued from the local shelter in Virginia.
She and Talos adore each other. They wreck run through the house, barking and playing, until they collapse. They're enamored, truly.
I can't say the same for the other dogs in the house - they're not particularly fond of Copper. Or rather, it would be more accurate to say Copper's not too keen on them.
She's a pain in the neck lot of dog. She's definitely not a dog for a novice dog owner. If she were human, you'd call her, well, I don't really use that kind of language here on the blog. Let's just say this: if she were a human, she'd be the boss of everyone.
She's especially rough on Tango and Lily. If I don't put her in solitary confinement watch her, she'll try to control every move they make. They're (unfortunately) nice enough to take it from her. When she's commandeering visiting our house, Tango can't retrieve the tennis ball if she's around. She'll go after him immediately - and not in a nice way. She's an idiot "up" and "on her toes" kinda dog.
Talos seems to be immune to her bossiness. I know I'm anthropomorphizing here, but I'd venture to say that he laughs at her antics. It looks as if he's saying "That's all you've got?" As much as she tries to boss him around, he'll have none of it. Not because he's bullying back, just because he doesn't take her seriously.
Thankfully, her stay with us was only an overnight one and she's now back with my parents. It was quite sad to see Talos' face, though, when my parents put her in their car and left our driveway. She, too, looked longingly at Talos from the backseat, her eyes never leaving him as the car went up the street.
I guess it shouldn't surprise me that some of our dogs are clearly uncomfortable when she visits, while another dog finds her completely irresistible. I mean, how many times have you said about a friend "I don't know what he sees in her!" I guess opposites attract in the dog world as often as they do in our own world.
Eight years ago today, a little yellow Labrador was born. I didn't know then that the best dog ever had been born. I wouldn't meet him for nine weeks and I thought he'd be just one of another service dog we'd raise. Little did I know deeply in love I'd fall for Tango. Or how happy I'd be when he didn't make it to his final destination as a service dog due to shoulder trouble. Happy 8th Birthday Tango! Here's hoping for many more years and fun adventures together!
Tango's got a war wound. Complements of Talos. Yes, the oh-so-angelic Great Dane star of this blog. He wasn't a star the day he did this, let me assure you.
Any reader of this blog knows that while I love all my dogs equally, Tango's my favorite. All-time, all-star, best-dog-in-the-world favorite.
So when you mess with Tango, you mess with me.
I had given all the dogs a little pork rawhide "cigar." I didn't realize Talos hid his rawhide in the La-Z-Boy. Neither did Tango.
Talos was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room/living room and when Tango tried to move across the threshold, Talos let him have it.
As soon as I heard the commotion, I issued a deep, quick "HEY!" That's enough to get anyone's attention and all dogs turned to me. Tango looked like he had his feelings hurt, so I thought I ought to check him over for physical injuries as well.
Sure enough, Talos took a bite out of Tango's ear.
Talos' new nickname is Mike Tyson.
So from here on out, Talos gets no more rawhides. Period. When the other dogs get rawhides, Talos gets a peanut butter filled Kong. He doesn't think those are nearly as good as a rawhide, so he doesn't guard them.
Talos doesn't get "guardy" over toys, space, or people. Just rawhides and if a dog sticks their head in his food dish. While not ideal, it's definitely something that can be managed, but the service dog agency will have to educate Talos' new home - especially if that new home has another dog.
Thankfully, Tango's not a fighter and the altercation didn't escalate into something more serious. We'll have to do some remedial work on resource guarding and use 100% management from here on out.
As much as it pains me to say it - this incident will make it a little easier for me to say goodbye to Talos come June. The degree of his response - a bite that drew blood - was inappropriate and way more than what was needed. Ahh, it's alright - I had Talos too high on a pedestal anyway. This incident just reminds me that he's a real dog, warts and all.
