Walter got away from me tonight, which was scary because it’s dark and raining. I was fumbling with my flashlight when a cat ran by. Walter’s got little impulse control, so he took off. My first thought was, “Oh shit, now the leash is gonna be wet.” Then I was worried he’d get run over or stuck in a tight spot. I whistled and called for him a few times, but mostly just walked around and waited. I’m not chasing him. A minute later, he came sprinting back to me. My first instinct was to pet and praise him for coming back to me. But he was all wet, so I just praised him. Then we continued our walk. Only assholes get mad at their dogs, right?
I had a conversation with a lady at the dog park this morning. She trains her dog to do tricks and uses only positive reinforcement. We talked about some people in the big dog side, and how almost everyone there relies on physical dominance to control their dogs. One guy even wears thick leather gloves when he brings his large pit mix to the park. What the fuck? We’re like, “Yeah, that idiot watches too much Cesar Milan.” Pfft. He’s not even the real dog whisperer.
If your dog fucks up, it’s your fault for setting him up for failure.
Comments on this entry are closed.