Tampilkan postingan dengan label Pointer. Tampilkan semua postingan
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Rabu, 07 April 2010

Your Dog Breed's Chances to Win

Here's a great article that I thought I would pass on...hope you find it interesting! –Kim

See the Odds Your Favorite Breed has of Winning Westminster

Forty-eight of the top 50 show dogs competed recently at the 134 annual Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Several sources rank the dogs. We'll list two today.

First off, what does Vegas say? For the fourth year, Wynn Casino has posted odds. There's no wagering, and it's by breed – not on individual dogs, which some news sources are erroneously reporting. Don't believe them!

The top 10:

  1. Scottish Terrier (8/1) (Is Scottie Sadie the best?)
  2. Doberman Pinscher (14/1)
  3. Golden Retriever (15/1)
  4. Petit Basset Griffon Vendeen (16/1) and Puli (16/1)
  5. (tie at 4)
  6. Toy Poodle (18/1)
  7. Boxer (22/1)
  8. Bulldog (25/1)
  9. Fox Terrier (smooth, 28/1)
  10. Pointer (German wirehaired, 30/1).

The complete list (PDF) is here. The Labrador Retriever, the most popular dog in the USA based on numbered of registered dogs, is 15th (55/1).

Come back later for input from a higher authority on these dogs. Check out the video above with David Frei, who explains why some breeds may be favored, and read the Q&A with the Westminster co-host here.

You also have the chance to vote here for your favorite breed out of the American Kennel Club's top 10 list for this year. Or if, like many of us, you're more for mutts than dogs named Muffy, check out our rescue stories – many from your fellow readers.

Source: http://content.usatoday.com/communities/pawprintpost/post/2010/02/see-the-odds-your-favorite-breed-has-of-winning-westminster/1
©2010 USA TODAY, a division of Gannett Co. Inc.

Minggu, 07 Juni 2009

A Pointer Named Cheyenne

Here's a wonderful story that I received from a friend.... Thought it might encourage you! –Kim

Her aging father needed something to lift his spirits. Or someone...

By Catherine Moore, Seattle, Washington
October, 1995

"Watch out! You nearly broadsided that car!" my father yelled at me. "Can't you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad. Please don't yell at me when I'm driving." My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt. Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back.

At home, I left Dad in front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts. Dark, heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon. He had enjoyed being outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of nature.

He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and he had placed often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy log, he joked about it; but later that same day, I saw him outside alone, straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger man.

Four days after his 67th birthday, he had a heart attack. An ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to keep blood and oxygen flowing. At the hospital Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he survived.

But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone.

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust. Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became frustrated and moody. Soon, I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We began to bicker and argue. Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each session we prayed, asking God to soothe Dad's troubled mind. But the months wore on and God was silent.

A raindrop struck my cheek. I looked up into the gray sky. Somewhere up there was "God." Although I believed a Supreme Being had created the universe, I had difficulty believing that God cared about the tiny human beings on this earth. I was tired of waiting for a God who didn't answer. Something had to be done and it was up to me to do it.

The next day, I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of the mental-health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem to each of the sympathetic voices that answered. In vain. Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article." I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic depression. Yet, their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon. After I filled out a questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each contained five to seven dogs. Longhaired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black dogs, spotted dogs – all jumped up, trying to reach me. I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons – too big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen, a dog in the shadows of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats.

But this was a caricature of the breed. Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hipbones jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then shook his head in puzzlement.

"He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in, I turned to the man in horror. "You mean you're going to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision. "I'll take him," I said.

I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside me. When I reached the house, I honked the horn twice. I was helping my prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch.

"Ta-da! Look what I got for you, Dad!" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog, I would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it!" Dad waved his arm scornfully and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded into my temples. I followed Dad, dragging the dog with me.

"You had better get used to him, Dad. He's staying!" Dad ignored me. "Did you hear me, old man?" I screamed. At those words, Dad whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw.

Dad's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw. Confusion replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then, Dad was on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the pointer Cheyenne. Together, he and Cheyenne explored the community. They spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at his feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years. Dad's bitterness faded and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night, I was startled to feel Cheyenne's cold nose burrowing through our bed covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick, put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying dead beside Dad's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad's peace of mind.

The morning of Dad's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks like the way l feel, I thought as I walked down the aisle to the pews reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and Cheyenne had made filling the church sanctuary. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life. And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "'Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.' I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen before...the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter...his calm acceptance and complete devotion to my father...and the proximity of their deaths.... And suddenly, I understood, I knew, that God had answered my prayers after all.


Source: Guideposts
http://www.guideposts.com/print/11846

Also see: TreeGivers – Plant a Memorial Tree

Senin, 11 Mei 2009

Why Does My Dog Growl at Me?

Here's a great article that I thought I would pass on...hope you find it interesting! –Kim

An Early Warning System

By: Marc Goldberg, CDT

Guarding is an instinctual behavior for your dog. It's useful when he warns strangers who intrude on his (and your) territory. One of the earliest benefits dogs provided to man was to serve as an early warning intruder alert system.

Territoriality is, simply stated, guarding space. It is the dog's way of saying "This space has value and it belongs to my pack and me." In fact, dogs guard all sorts of things: some tangible, such as food or toys, others intangible such as space.

When they guard these items from outsiders, it can be helpful. I leave my home knowing my dog will be alert to an inappropriate intrusion. Dogs also guard tangibles and intangibles from one another. You shouldn't expect to see a submissive dog take a bone or scrap from the "alpha" or dominant dog. Should she try, she'll face a swift correction. But that's rarely necessary because in the structure of the dog pack, it is clearly understood who is entitled to what and when.

But what happens when that clear understanding is lacking between a dog and members of his human pack? The results can be a disaster…a dog who guards something against his very owners.

In this article, we'll concentrate on space-guarding behavior. In the dog pack, if the dominant dog wants to walk from point A to point B, he will do it even if he has to nudge a lesser dog out of his way. If the more submissive dog protests, what he is actually doing is challenging the authority of his leader by trying to guard the space he occupies.

The same event may transpire in our homes. Your dog helps himself to a place on the sofa. You either sit down next to him or try to take his collar to pull him off. Your own dog growls or snaps at you. She's guarding space. Moreover, she's stating in dog language that she believes she is dominant to you.

You need to open a cabinet and the dog is blocking your way. You take his collar to move him, and he growls or bites. The same thing may occur when you want to push the dog out a door, pass him in a narrow hallway, or get too close to him laying in his favorite spot.

In many households, the human occupants never realize that their dog is guarding space until the dog becomes completely out of control. In fact, we often excuse the behavior. That's because, too often, people apply human standards to canine behavior. Among our species it is impolite to pull someone out of a chair or shoulder them aside when you need something. So, if the dog growls when you sit by him on the couch, many people wrongly think the dog is just being grumpy, or that he was too comfortable to be disturbed.

Sometimes, adults may even chastise children for being "impolite" to a dog for sitting next to her on furniture, or for wanting to remove the dog from her place. People subconsciously try to accept these problems as "quirks" of the dog. Many owners try to just work around the issue by not disturbing the dog in whatever circumstance may be causing the dog to guard.

Unfortunately, this sends precisely the wrong message to the dog. Humoring him confirms that he is dominant, and is, therefore, entitled to guard more and more space. That's why guarding behavior escalates for many dogs. Often, I hear from owners who's dog began to growl at them under very limited conditions, say when being pulled off the sofa. But eventually, the behavior escalates to the point where the dog growls when they even get near him on the sofa.

The owner thinks the dog is getting worse. The dog simply thinks she's getting stronger. For some dogs, dominance is a self-rewarding behavior. You want to remove her from the couch. She growls; you back off. In the dog's mind, the behavior works. So eventually she growls when you even look at her on the couch. "They just don't seem to get it," the dog is thinking. "I'll have to warn them earlier."

This can become very problematic for some pet owners, particularly those with young children in the house. Tiny kids often don't realize that they're "not supposed to bother the dog." They just figure they have liberty to safely toddle wherever their little legs will take them. And if you ask me, they should have that right.

Older children must be taught to respect dogs. And younger children must be observed very carefully when they interact with a dog, to be sure they do not accidentally pinch him, for example. But no one can expect a two-year-old child to understand she should avoid Rover when he's laying on the sofa.

Willy is a three-year-old German Short Hair Pointer. His owner, Linda, called me very concerned. Willy had been growling at her baby every time the child approached him in his dog bed. Sometimes, Willy would climb on the couch, and he would also growl at the baby on those occasions. Apparently, this behavior had been going on for over a month. And just recently, the dog had growled at Linda when she sat near him on the couch. Linda was very confused because this entire set of behaviors was only about a month old, but it was getting worse fast.

"Did your baby start walking about a month ago?" I asked her. The answer was yes. That made it all clear to me. Willy always felt Linda was dominant to him. So he never growled at her before. But when the baby started walking, this impudent little human would intrude on his space, and Willy did believe himself dominant to the baby.

Not understanding the behavior, Linda had spent an entire month showing Willy how dominant he was by not correcting him and not letting the baby disturb him when he was comfortable. The unintended message to Willy was that he was more dominant than he had originally thought. That's why he began to guard space from Linda too.

While not all dogs progress from growling to snapping, or from air snapping to contact biting, that does happen with some dogs. And it's tragic, because it usually doesn't need to reach that point. Left untreated, most dogs who effectively guard space will eventually scare or hurt their owners enough to be removed from their homes, or be put down.

Willy became a client of the Chicagoland Boarding School for Dogs. In the time he spent with us, we used our Forcefree Method to show him that space was not a resource he should guard from his human family.

We taught Willy a series of exercises using a vibrating training collar, delivering a series of low level taps. The vibration, while not at all painful, was attention getting. (Before we put the collar on Willy, we let Linda feel the the collar on her hand, so she understood they were not painful. Linda described the feeling as a mild tickle.) During the initial phase of training, our goal was to teach Willy that, when he felt the taps, he could stop them by altering a behavior.

We started out with leash pulling, showing him that pulling on a tight leash turned on the tapping sensation, and that walking nicely on a loose leash turned them off. Then we went to the sit-stay. We showed Willy that getting up when he was supposed to be sitting turned on taps that he could turn off instantly by re-sitting himself.

The reason we didn't go right to the space guarding issue was simple. We didn't want to overwhelm the dog by immediately training for the most difficult behavior first. Also the guarding behavior is very specific to the family. They might be tough to reproduce without his sofa, his baby and his owner.

But when Willy understood that he could stop collar taps by altering a behavior, we were ready to confront the real issue, the guarding of space. By this point in the training, we had established a bond of trust and affection with Willy. That was critical because now we were teaching him to yield his personal space to us under the pressure of the taps.

In short, by sometimes invading Willy's personal space, while tapping, we showed him that he could turn off the tapping, as usual, by giving us a desired behavior…in this case, moving out of the way. Starting on leash, we held the dog close to our body, literally turning into him, and tapped as we moved through his space. Using a combination of leash pressure and body movement, we moved Willy out of the way. The second he began to yield his space, the taps stopped.

Willy began to understand very quickly. Space wasn't worth guarding anymore. In fact, each time we asked him to give up space, he became very willing to do so at once. After all, as far as he knew, any space that we requested became slightly annoying anyway.

We brought this dog home at the conclusion of our ten day program, reoriented him to his family and his environment, and transferred the behavior modification techniques to his owner over the course of two hours. Then we left.

Linda called two days later. She reported that Willy was leaving his dog bed as soon as the baby approached. We were happy with this report, but Linda was concerned. She wanted the dog and the baby to be friends and she was worried that the dog was now "fleeing" from the baby.

We explained that this was progress given that the dog had modified a major behavior and was now yielding space, rather than guarding it. We advised her to give it some more time to see if the dog would eventually find pleasure in sharing space, time and bonding with the baby in his new submissive role. We did warn Linda that not all dogs bond with all people, but that it was still a distinct possibility.

Two weeks later Linda called again, and she was very happy. She found Willy and the baby curled up together in the dog's bed. Apparently, Willy had calmed down enough to realize that while he was no longer able to guard space, there was a wonderful pleasure in sharing it.

Trust is something that grows over time, and with experience. Every day that passes as Willy continues to show the right reaction is one more day in which the trust between him and his family grows. Willy has been home for several months now, and all the reports are good news.

Here is a dog who was at severe risk for re-homing and possibly might have injured a child, curled up in bed with his little master.


The author, Marc Goldberg, is a dog trainer specializing in the rehabilitation of difficult dogs and improving relationships. He is Vice President of the International Association of Canine Professionals (IACP) and Editor of SafeHands Journal. The author also educates professional dog trainers in his techniques. Visit him on the Web at http://www.chicagodogtrainer.com or http://www.dogtraininginchicago.com.