The Battle of the Dumbbell
Red passed Retriever class.
He started as a scared and stubborn puppy and ended as an enthusiastic retriever
dog. I started with a willingness to
learn, but much skepticism that I could pull it off. We weren’t a team, nor was I the pack leader
and Red was not the pack. As Red’s
breeder, his behavior and personality led me to believe that he showed
promise. For example, he used his nose
to follow a scent along a line of cover; he retrieved a dokken mallard at eight
weeks with unbridled enthusiasm, although it was a big job for such a young
puppy. He needed his own space; he
didn’t “go with the flow” of the other puppies in the litter. His mother, who loves to play, seemed
impressed with his physical bravery and love of the water as he grew. Here was a dog that might be worth the
struggle! I didn’t know then how intense
the struggle would become or how much it would challenge me and my dog.
When you enroll in a class, you start with a conviction that
is much like faith—in your dog, yourself and your teacher—and the belief that you
will learn. My faith was shaky at
best. So much so that I only told one
person that I was taking the class, and that was because she kept inviting over
on Sunday and I wanted her to know I had a good reason for the rain check. Each coming week challenged my weak faith. I didn’t think we could demonstrate the skills
required by the tests. We fell
behind. I became discouraged and doubted
my dog and myself. But I honored my conviction
and commitment to see it through to the end, wherever that led. If we failed, somehow I would have to
reconcile my experience—was I wrong about the dog? Did I not have what “it” takes? I never dared to think about what would
happen if we succeeded.
I was pretty upset when the class ended and we didn’t
graduate, but for some reason, I kept going. I guess the little seed of faith was bigger
than I knew. It seemed as though my
prospects for success were bleak, but I didn’t give up. We had come too far. After a few weeks, I became unfocused and let
Red play with bumpers and even an actual dead duck. When I mentioned this to Roxanne, she asked
me: what are you doing Deb, if you don’t win the dumbbell battle, you will
never be the dominant party in the relationship. (This was her version of the ear pinch,
applied to me.) So, we went back to the
dumbbell and it was a battle. I
determined to work every day; I’m not really sure why because, at this point, I
was very doubtful. Each day for about
two or three weeks our training protocol was the same. I’d throw the dumbbell, he’d fail to launch,
I’d pinch his ear and lead him to the dumbbell.
Red really laid it on; he was the perfect victim. He howled and cried and I felt terrible. Slowly, however, another conviction grew out
of the struggle. It occurred to me that
if I don’t win, Red won’t reach what I thought was his potential. As this fact settled in my mind, the ear
pinch continued.
Some days are better than others, and eventually one such
day rolled around. Red launched! He went out and picked up the dumbbell, not
too fast, but still on his own, and I could tell he thought about not bringing
it back to me, so I pulled the line, and he bounced towards me with the
dumbbell in his mouth. As I reeled him
in, he looked me in the eye, and I believe we had a meeting of the minds. Because we didn’t give up on each other, we
had reached an understanding. The battle
of the dumbbell had ended with a glance.
Those of you who know I am a military historian, understand
how relevant it was for me to think of this as a battle. You win or you lose and it changes you
forever. Maybe you learn something. It could be what you should do, and sometimes
it’s about what not to do. I learned
that faith is worth acting upon, challenges are worth accepting, and my
instincts were sound. Giving up is the
worst thing you can do, because you will never know what could have been. While it’s normal to be discouraged and
skeptical, what you do about it is up to you.
In short, don’t limit your convictions; do overcome challenges and
believe in success.
Each of you had an initial conviction that your dog was
capable of learning this skill set, and that you were capable of being the pack
leader. I saw many positive changes in
all the dogs and owners as we progressed through the course. You did what it took—ear pinch is no fun for
anyone—to reach the goal, or maybe you are still fighting the battle. As “they” say, the struggle is real, but so are
the possibilities. It might be a little
farther to the top than you think. But
keep the faith, fight your battles, and that day of achievement will come.
Thanks Roxanne, for believing in me. Now on to the battle of handling!
Deb and Red
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