My special dog trained me well

You can train your dog as suggested by dog ​​trainers and behavior experts. And succeed. Or let your dog train you. And make the dog win.

Everything Otis wants, Otis gets. That’s my 17 pound brown brindle pug mix. But don’t get my dog ​​wrong: Otis is the sweetest, most cuddly dog ​​in the house. And he obeys too. But he chooses the orders that he would obey, decides when and what to eat, even what games to play, where and how. For almost three years since my husband and I adopted him, we have learned to play and live our lives by his dog’s rules. From being the outdoor/backyard dog we had envisioned for him, he worked his way into the garage, then gradually into the living room, and then into the den. And straight to our hearts. Many afternoons today, as adoring parents, we see and hear him snoring in our bed. Yes, Otis trained me and my husband very well.

How did Otis succeed? In the most subtle ways, and these can be the methods of any trainer. Otis is never pushy when he wants something. But he makes his message clear and doesn’t relent: he sits and looks at me like in a blink-first contest, sometimes with a little nod, until my heart melts. So whatever he’s eating, he tastes it. Every time I’m on the couch and I get the look, I pick it up to curl up next to me. Or, if he wants, he cuddles with my husband on the couch while he plays Sudoku or watches TV. If I’m upstairs at my computer and he decides to be with me, he calmly comes over, touches my leg with his wet nose to let me know he’s there, and proceeds to nap on his dog bed under my desk.

Otis uses his chew bone to teach us how to do many things for him. He first invented a new way with the game of bones. He picked it up, presented it to me wagging his tail a lot and ran off with him. I thought I had to run after him until he caught up with him. And then we do a little tug of war. He won’t give up until he gives him a body massage. Then I’ll throw it away again and follow the same ritual. Take note: Otis uses the bone to control me instead of me controlling him. Feeling him enjoy a massage from him makes me wonder when I could get a good one myself.

We decided to take it to the spacious green lawn of the nearby community park to play the game differently. Maybe teach him to catch the bone. We fail. I wouldn’t even pick it up. We tried a dog ball. He didn’t like it either. He stood and looked. He preferred to run with us. And he was running fast like a hound on the grass. All puppy energy for an eight year old dog. When we went back to our cemented backyard to play bone again, and he chased after the bone with the same enthusiasm and energy, we feared something was wrong with him. The vet confirmed it: he was going blind with cataracts. At eight years old, surgery was not the best option.

So we all learned to live with it. Otis dictates the rules and chooses his signals according to his ability. He uses his strongest point, his sense of hearing, following the sound of bone on concrete, to compensate for his visual impairment. And he communicates it to us effectively. From the moment we found out about his faulty eyesight, we gave him a lot of leeway and granted him his preferences. The game of bones before his meals that bored me morphed into “I have my coffee and toast in the backyard” while Otis ate his food. When I couldn’t have time to do that with him, he decided he wouldn’t eat until we ate. He today he joins us at every meal: his own plate, complete with some decorations from our food, on the floor next to my chair. And you can hear his food grains crunch and roll against his plastic plate as he chews. That tells us that Otis is enjoying his meal with us.

Before the change in eating arrangements came the change in sleeping arrangements. We decided to transfer his dog bed from the backyard to the garage that had a dog door that Otis can use to get in and out. He found it easily and used it to his maximum benefit, especially when he barked at the neighbor dog or when he needed to perform his chores. Every night it became my ritual to pet him and whisper goodnight to him. He would curl up and hide his face under the flannel sheet he used to wrap himself around. Sometimes he would rest his head in my palm as if telling me to stay with him. So I’d whisper that I love him and that I’ll see him in the morning. When I turn off the light, I look at him and see his sad, pleading eyes looking at me. He always stayed and never tried to follow me. And I would always go to bed feeling guilty with that look, wondering how much he really sees of me.

The feelings of guilt did not last long. Otis convinced my husband and me that he deserved to be an indoor dog: well behaved, no masses, calm and loving. And not only indoors, but also in our dog bed for special occasions. Like the many times when he really, really wants to snuggle with us. Or the many times we love to watch him lie on our bed like a pig, snoring. He’s a dog, all right, and he’s our baby. And everything is fine between us and Otis, everything as he wants.