Stewie, A Small Tribute

Michael Baugh, CPDT-KA, CDBC

Looks aren’t everything, but they count. And, for the record, size does matter.

Stewie is cute, and Stewie is small. If he were a beast of lesser aesthetic value or greater mass, he’d be in trouble, maybe dead, or worse.

FoundDoxie2 — Stewie the day he was found

He’d just dodged death when I met him. Death might have been a Dodge, in fact, or a Chrysler. Whatever it was, it had passed, and Stewie had made it across the street. It was raining. Stewie was pathetic, and helpless, and adorable. What happened to you little guy, I said. He looked up, wide-Chihuahua-eyed, soaked and trembling the length of his Dachshund body. I’ll take you home.

He was good at first, good in a magical way, good in a too-good-to-be-true way. He was cute too, and small, so small. He took a bath that first night, ate a meal, and burrowed under the covers to pass the night with me. What a find.

The jumping isn’t a big deal really. It’s the claws, just shy of being garden rakes that are a big deal. Trimming them is a big deal too, a big, ugly, dramatic deal. The little puddle in the bathroom wasn’t a big deal either. The pile in the entry way was (both times), and much bigger than you’d expect from such a dog, so cute and small. Chewing a bone anywhere near our other dog is a big deal, too, a big nasty deal. These are all problems you can manage with crate training. The crate is a big deal, an ear-splitting, crying, like from the gates of hell big deal. Baby gate? Climbed it. Pooped again. What a find.

Another thunderstorm rolls in, and Stewie burrows under the pillows on the sofa next to me. He shakes, and I stroke his back. He’s so cute, so small. What happened to you? I can only guess. No one taught him how to survive humans, unseemly and uncaring, despite our clever large brains. Eventually, the cuteness wore off. The problems were too big. He ended up on the street, wet and terrified in a storm, inches from death. That’s how I imagine it.

Then, he found me, slunk into my car, burrowed beneath my covers and into my heart. I wonder for a moment about the others, the under-bite dogs with dark faces, the ones not-so-small, the mud-pawed jumpers and the shedders. What happens to them? Who saves them from the storm? Who teaches them that some of us are okay, clever but still kind?

Originally posted in October 2010. 2022 updates: Stewie’s behavior issues were resolved within his first year. He is now a delightful old dog, still so full of life. Though he appeared, at first, to be a Chihuahua – Dachshund mix, he is actually 50/50 Chihuahua – Cocker Spaniel.

Safety First: The One Cue Every Dog Should Know

_MG_1041 — Stella! Photo courtesy Robyn Arouty Photography

Michael Baugh CDBC CPDT-KSA

The other dog’s eyes were hard. I could see a flash of white around her dark pupils. Her teeth flashed white too. Under it all was a low rolling growl. Stella, drunk with adolescent bravado was heading for trouble. There was no time.

Stella Come!

We’d practiced it since the day she first came home, always the same words, an invitation more than a command. I’d call her name, sometimes like Brando in Streetcar Named Desire but not always. Then I’d call the word, “Come,” with a smile and a hint of melody to it.

When you’re first teaching coming when called it’s best to keep it easy. Set your dog up to win. That’s what I did with Stella all those months ago. I’d say “Stella, come!” when I was right next to her. Then I’d run away, luring her to chase me. When she arrived I’d click and treat followed by some cheering and petting. Then I’d do it again. And again. And again.

I taught it lots of different ways. She learned to touch the palm of my hand for a click and a treat. So sometimes I’d call her and then hold my hand out so she’d run towards it. Other times I’d hide and call her. Stella loves hide and seek. Still other times my friends and I would call her back and forth between us. Every time it starts the same: Stella come! And every time it ends the same: click and treat with lots of hoopla and lovin’

The other dog sure looked menacing that day. But I don’t think she would have hurt Stella. She’s super sweet and belongs to another trainer. But it’s up to me to keep Stella safe, especially at this age when she’s frequently a bit too big for her britches. So I called her away from the other dog. Stella, come!

And she came. She trotted right over to me, just the way she’d learned. Click, treat. Good girl Stella!

Michael Baugh teaches dog training in Houston TX. He specializes in aggressive dog training.

Position Statement on Training

I remember trying to trim Juno’s nails. She was struggling, and unsure about what was happening. I was following the rules I’d learned in my introductory dog training class. When she resisted I rolled her on her side and growled. Juno, bless her sweet soul, looked at me like I was an idiot. She wiggled her way away from me. When I caught her, I gave her a scruff shake and growled once more. We struggled again; she got away again. After a couple more rounds of that I was both exhausted and defeated. Juno sneezed and shook it off. She came up to me, and gently placed her paw on my leg. Slowly and gingerly I trimmed the four nails.

That was so many years ago, and Juno is now just a flurry of sweet memories and training parables. Good training, she taught me, is about give and take, push and yield, you and me. It’s less about where you are going or what you’re trying to achieve than about who you are with. It’s about the relationship. Juno and I found our way, together. The path was not always clear, but she was by my side and I by hers.

My sidekick now is Stella and we are both better because of those who came before us. We live by a few training rules, and share them with our clients. The most important of these is the simplest. Everything we share should lead us to a closer relationship with each other. I sometimes call it, the Juno rule. Yelling and sulking on my part draws us apart (I never hit). For her part, yelling (barking) and jumping are also nonstarters. We avoid those things. Sitting and gazing at each other draw us closer. We both do that shamelessly. Pulling on leash is not relationship building. I’m as careful not to do it as she is. Learning to communicate with my words and her actions is bonding. We do that a lot. As is the case with my human friends, the sharing of play and food factor mightily into our relationship. We cuddle, and kiss, and nap together. All these things draw us closer.

Stella and I are always building things. We’re building a faster recall now. We put together a little comedy routine that makes it look like she “speaks” several languages. We’re building some agility skills (she’s much better than I am). We’ve also built a work partnership, and she’s begun helping me with mildly reactive and under-socialized dogs (not bad for a 20 month old). We’re using some of the same techniques we use in that work to help Stella build confidence when people visit our home. She’s not too sure of visitors, especially if they’re wearing a hat.

I think these building projects help draw us closer too. They fall under the Juno rule, but they also have two general rules of their own. 1) No matter what we’re working on, I have Stella’s back. It’s my job to make sure she’s safe and that she feels safe. Most of the time that means I’m cheering her on and keeping the mood light, without pushing her too far on any given project. 2) I’m responsible for clearly and gently showing Stella what I want, and then joyfully letting her knows when she got it right. Timing is everything, so I don’t dawdle. My deal with Stella is this: when you do something I want I will let you know immediately. So it all boils down to this – we set up some fun times which aren’t at all scary or too difficult. Then we figure out things we can do to make each other happy. How’s that for a cool relationship?

Oh, on the subject of nail trimming, Stella and I have a deal too. We do it just the way Juno used to like it. Go figure. Her spirit is always with us.