He’s back, my bratty barker. Months ago, I got him to quiet down before dinner by ignoring his bad behavior (unnecessary and unwarranted barking directed at me), but it’s slowly crept back into his repertoire. First it was just one excited bark as I carried his food to his bowl. Then it became extended bratty barking as I prepared the food. Now he’s barking at the back door to be let in—so he can continue to bark at me before and after I serve his supper. At mealtimes, the only time he doesn’t bark is when he’s eating! But even that’s not as bad as the barking in his kennel.
He’s a noisy dog, that’s for sure. He always has been, from the day I brought him home from the animal shelter. He vocalizes loudly when being groomed, for example. When he first joined our family, it took the help of another human being to hold him down (even to sit on him) while I cut mats out of the thick fur on his underside. He still yowls when I’m in the process of trimming his nails, although he usually times those vocalizations to coincide with when I’m about to trim . . . which is how I know I’m not hurting him at all. He’s just protesting the indignity, I think.
Even apart from the noise, his behavior is still not trustworthy enough for him to be loose in the house when I’m not supervising him—although he’s certainly come a lot closer to being civilized than the day he got here, when he nabbed my best pair of leather driving gloves off the banister and ate one. That really ticked me off. I do not have destructive dogs. I wasn’t really mad at him, though. My gosh, he was a stray dog off the street, how could he know any better? He’d managed to make it to one-and-a-half years old without any civilizing that I could see. He ate cigarette butts off street corners! He was like a doggy gangster.
He’s smart, though. Very smart.
I am not that smart myself. Every time I solve one problem with him, he manages to create another. Destructiveness put him into detention—and he’s never actually destroyed anything since that very first day. I’ve watched him very, very carefully, believe me. He’s been so good about not getting into things he shouldn’t that I’ve begun to let him be loose out of sight in the house. Although I may not be able to see him, I can still hear him . . . and I’m paying close attention to what I hear. When it’s too quiet, I call him to me. And he comes.
There have been many incidents of counter-surfing. He’s the height of a German Shepherd, so it’s easy for him to put paws up on the kitchen counters—even on the stove! He’s never stolen anything edible, though, that had any value. (Nothing to compare with my older, well-behaved golden retriever’s foray into 18 still-warm snickerdoodles on a cookie sheet. A one-off for that dog’s entire life!)
I’m very good at keeping edibles and breakables off the kitchen counters, and even off my bedside table. I changed the doggy treat jar that used to sit on my dresser from one with a lid that wasn’t screwed on to a great big old-fashioned glass jar with a fastener that sometimes even I have trouble unlatching. Gangster Dog no longer even checks the dresser now. It’s been six months.
He’s pushy, he’s demanding, he’s greedy—yeah, that’s all true. But he’s also sensitive, thoughtful, and brave. In fact, he’s more of a wuss about having his nails trimmed than he is about walking onstage to a packed audience, with a live band playing loudly beneath him. He might be the perfect temperament to be a search-and-rescue dog, a physical-assist service dog, or an emotional support dog for traumatized persons. But he’s not pursuing those lines of work. He’s first and foremost a pet dog. My pet dog, who simply makes way too much noise when he’s frustrated.
Last week, I came in from weed-whipping in my back yard with what must have been an allergic reaction to the mold I’d stirred up. I was coughing, choking, spitting out phlegm—I was a mess. I was sitting on my bed with tears running down my face, almost unable to breathe. In the middle of this misery, my noisy dog decided it must be time to get out of his kennel. He whined, he moaned, he broke into loud barking. I found myself yelling at him to stop. That’s right, yelling! I could hardly speak, I could hardly gasp, but dammit, I could yell. Which made the choking even worse!
When I recovered enough to breathe, I got very mad . . . at myself.
I was being mean!
I was being a fool!
I was making the whole situation much worse. So much worse.
I was demonstrating to my dog and to myself that, although I knew exactly how to deal with my dog’s over-barking, I chose not to do what I knew would be effective. I chose instead to yell.
It’s embarrassing. I have been training dogs for 35 years and I should know better. Heck, I do know better.
In a couple of weeks, I have company coming. Human company, who would—if I continued dealing with my dog’s barking by screaming my head off at him—be listening to said screams and wondering if I’d lost my mind.
I do not wish to appear to have lost my mind. I would truly like to be perceived as at least sane. I thought some more, and decided.
I have chosen to act sanely.
I will not continue to yell.
I will use what I know instead.
I will do my best, in the next few weeks, to not reinforce my dog’s bratty barking. He’s getting high off that barking. It’s releasing endorphins that make him feel better. Yelling is not making me feel better, and it is not making him stop barking. Yelling at him is making him bark even more. I will not yell.
Instead, I will refuse to reinforce him in any way for his bratty barking or for whining in his kennel or anywhere else (like at the back door when he wants to come inside). I will ignore the noise until it stops. I will cover my ears, turn up the music, close the doors—because, you know, that noise is really, really annoying. The darn dog counts on that, I am sure! (I anthropomorphize, too.)
I will wait until he is silent before letting him have what he wants, whether it’s out of the kennel, in the back door, access to his dinner . . . whatever. He will no longer be rewarded for bratty noise-making—not by yelling, not by anything. I will tough it out until this proven method works.
It won’t be easy.
He barked in his kennel last night for over an hour straight, with only seconds-long breaks to breathe, I guess. I only knew for sure that he had stopped after about ten minutes of silence had passed. Then I went to his kennel, told him he was a good boy, let him out, and fed him his dinner—two hours later than the other dogs had eaten, as a result of his incarceration for barking violations.
I hope that, by the time our company arrives, I will be less likely to make a total fool of myself by yelling at my dog. I am working very hard to break myself of that very bad habit.
I hope the dog’s unnecessary barking has decreased by that time, too. But even if it hasn’t, I will know I have done what I should to give my dog the very best chance of success at relearning a very tough lesson.
I have remembered that I am a dog trainer.
Training, not yelling, is the solution I need!
NEXT WEEK: Will my dog and I succeed in reducing his bratty barking—again?
