The Tadlands

Michael Baugh CPDT-KA, CDBC

The clinic where Tiffany works and Tad hangs out is much nicer even than it looks in pictures. There’s a pleasant chime that sounds when the front door opens. I was pleased as I walked in that I didn’t hear Tad barking. Tiffany greeted me in the lobby and asked me how I wanted to meet Tad this time. “Just let him out,” I said, and around the corner he came. Tad ran up to me like we were old friends. I couldn’t have wished for a better start to my day.

Behavior science is the language we use to communicate with the non-human animals in our lives. Don’t worry; I’m not going to geek out on science again. During our visit we taught Tad to sit and focus, and how to say “hi” to visitors, and how to lie down and chill out with his Uncle Michael, and how to stand calmly at the baby gate and watch people. All that is grounded in sound behavior science. It’s also good communication. If we can change our behavior a bit, and Tad changes his in kind, then we are definitely communicating. And the cliché is true – good communication builds good relationships.

photo(2) — Tad hanging out with me in the lobby

There’s little doubt that Tad and Tiffany have forged a powerful bond. They are learning to communicate at a much different level now, and they are making progress together. It’s cool to watch and I count myself incredibly lucky to not only be witness to it, but deeply involved in the process. We all know how easy and wonderfully alluring it is to fall in love with Tad online. It is something altogether different to be with him in person. For just a few seconds Tad tucked his head into my arms and pressed his forehead against my chest. I scratched him behind the ears and kissed the top of his head. No one said a word. Then we all got back to the work at hand. The moment had passed, but it was sacred nonetheless.

Tad didn’t bark once, or growl or lunge the entire time I was there. I’ve actually never seen him behave that way, and that’s the way it should be. Tiffany tells me he’s doing those things less, and not at all when the front door chimes. We’re changing his life, and changing his behavior. We’re creating opportunities for him to succeed, and relishing in that success with him. There’s no need to set him up to bark and growl and lunge so we can tell him he’s bad. He was never bad, just afraid. Of course, all that is changing now. There’s no need to be afraid anymore. We even have a plan in the works to curb his play biting (most of his bites were attention-seeking). I hesitate to make any predictions, but Tad is improving. I’m hopeful he will continue to do so. Very hopeful.

I don’t like goodbyes so I didn’t make a fuss over Tad when I left. I’d stayed longer than expected, and I would have stayed longer still if there had been time. I headed south toward Houston and remembered Tad pressing his head against me. It made me smile and remember why it is I do this work. Before long I’ll be back in The Tadlands, at the smartly appointed clinic, stealing a moment with the rag-tag dog no one wanted. When did I first notice he was stealing my heart?

Lifetime Dogs

Michael Baugh CPDT-KA, CDBC

I hear them all the time, stories about that one dog that changed a person’s life. Sometimes the dog is right there. More often than not the dog is already gone, dead, maybe a year, maybe decades ago. But one thing is always the same. The dog in the story is or was the dog. And the person I’m listening to is moved to speak of magic and mystery.

Folks who know dogs well call them “Lifetime Dogs.” There won’t be another one like her, they’ll say. And then the stories come. She was the dog who saw me though my divorce, or the death of my mother, or the time I was laid off. When everyone else turned their back on me, she was the dog who stood by my side. When she looked at me I just knew she understood. She was the best dog I ever had and I still miss her.

I understand. I have a Lifetime Dog. She inspired my first dog training business. She’s traveled the country with me and moved city to city. She’s seen me through loss and disappointment. She’s made me smile and laugh, just about daily. She’s one of my best friends. And though I prattle at her all the time she has never spoken a word to me. Her loyalty is silent and steady. Her name is Juno and I could tell you stories about our life together for days. And I find I want to tell those stories even more these days because Juno is near the end of her life.

So, what is it about her and all these other dogs? How do they pull us through life’s struggles? How do they charm and change our lives so? Or are we asking the right questions?

My belief in the true nature of dogs leads me back to observation. I’ve seen dogs do amazing things: run weave poles at top speed, perform in obedience competition with precision, take down criminals with stealth and strength, and find survivors in rubble when all hope was lost. But the new work of dogs as author Jon Katz calls it, is much harder to see. I’ve never seen a dog talk anyone through divorce or death. I’ve never really seen a dog start a business or find someone a job. In truth, I’ve never seen a dog do anything other than be a dog, just be herself.

The sad truth is I see humans being less than their greatest selves all the time. We struggle and persevere and rarely give ourselves the credit. When we suffer and mourn we are the ones who emerge on the other side standing strong and alive and better than before. We raise families and build lives. And on our best days we embrace the glory of our own lives with laughter and joy. That’s us. That’s you. And yes, if we are lucky we do it with a dog by our side.

And what about these dogs? What about Juno in the waning days of our life together? Is she any less special for having done nothing at all? Is she no longer a “Lifetime Dog” for having been just an ordinary dog? Or maybe ordinary is enough. Maybe her magic is just simply in her being and not at all in her doing. And perhaps the best counselor or friend really is the one who stays by your side without a word while you struggle and heal. And maybe she’s the one who steps aside while you grow and create and emerge anew. She’s always there to play and watch you laugh. And that’s enough. She’s the clear simple reflection of your greatest self. Can’t you see how wonderful you are in her eyes?

Dear Juno

I can’t believe it’s been a year.

Tim and I miss you deeply. Still, I’m so grateful when you visit my dreams, even the ones in which you just pass through for a short cameo appearance. Those are as precious as our memories of you.

So much has changed this past year, and so many of those changes have been inspired by your spirit. Once again, I’m helping people full-time with their dogs. All of them want what we had, a meaningful and abiding relationship, clear communication, love and affection. Every time I succeed, I thank you. You taught me so much.

I wake up every day to your picture on my dresser, and your paw print on my nightstand. Tim and I live with two dogs now who came from pretty bad situations. Stella reminds me a lot of you, serious at times, an old soul. You would like her, unless it turned out you were too much alike. Stewie is small, flighty and impetuous. He needs one of those scary “air bites” you reserved for your favorite puppies. I think you might like him anyway, mostly because he means so much to Tim.

Auntie Gay looks after them both, and Stosh. She also tends to your special place in the garden. There’s a pretty bouquet of fresh fall flowers there today. I know she misses you too.

I speak of you often, Juno. Though, today it will be difficult. Tears are still too near the surface. Tonight I’ll teach a week-one Good Manners class, just as you and I did so many times. Stella will play your part, admirably for a 16 month old puppy. She won’t have your flare; she won’t get the laughs you did, but she’ll do fine. I’ll teach the class, and take care not to call her by your name. I’ll teach the class, and take care not to tell a story that would make me cry. I’ll teach it the way we used to, and in my heart I will dedicate the class to you.

Love, Daddy Michael