A Well Trained Dog Quotes

I well knew the rules to follow with our training Dogs: Speak when you're spoken to. Keep out of the way. Obey all orders. Get killed on your own time.

Armies have spent a lot of time and effort training their soldiers not to think of the enemy as human beings. It’s so much easier to kill them if you think of them as dangerous animals. The trouble is, war isn’t about killing. It’s about getting the enemy to stop resisting your will. Like training a dog not to bite. Punishing him leaves you with a beaten dog. Killing him is a permanent solution, but you’ve got no dog. If you can understand why he’s biting and remove the conditions that make him bite, sometimes that can solve the problem as well. The dog isn’t dead. He isn’t even your enemy.

There are roughly 1,200 dogs trained to detect bombs and bomb making materials in the US - and over 40,000 trained to detect marijuana. Some of the bomb-dogs are also cross trained as drug-dogs which accounts for their ability to sleep well at night.

First came bright Spirits, not the Spirits of men, who danced and scattered flowers. Then, on the left and right, at each side of the forest avenue, came youthful shapes, boys upon one hand, and girls upon the other. If I could remember their singing and write down the notes, no man who read that score would ever grow sick or old. Between them went musicians: and after these a lady in whose honour all this was being done. I cannot now remember whether she was naked or clothed. If she were naked, then it must have been the almost visible penumbra of her courtesy and joy which produces in my memory the illusion of a great and shining train that followed her across the happy grass. If she were clothed, then the illusion of nakedness is doubtless due to the clarity with which her inmost spirit shone through the clothes. For clothes in that country are not a disguise: the spiritual body lives along each thread and turns them into living organs. A robe or a crown is there as much one of the wearer's features as a lip or an eye. But I have forgotten. And only partly do I remember the unbearable beauty of her face. “Is it?...is it?” I whispered to my guide. “Not at all,” said he. “It's someone ye'll never have heard of. Her name on earth was Sarah Smith and she lived at Golders Green.” “She seems to be...well, a person of particular importance?” “Aye. She is one of the great ones. Ye have heard that fame in this country and fame on Earth are two quite different things.” “And who are these gigantic people...look! They're like emeralds...who are dancing and throwing flowers before here?” “Haven't ye read your Milton? A thousand liveried angels lackey her.” “And who are all these young men and women on each side?” “They are her sons and daughters.” “She must have had a very large family, Sir.” “Every young man or boy that met her became her son – even if it was only the boy that brought the meat to her back door. Every girl that met her was her daughter.” “Isn't that a bit hard on their own parents?” “No. There are those that steal other people's children. But her motherhood was of a different kind. Those on whom it fell went back to their natural parents loving them more. Few men looked on her without becoming, in a certain fashion, her lovers. But it was the kind of love that made them not less true, but truer, to their own wives.” “And how...but hullo! What are all these animals? A cat-two cats-dozens of cats. And all those dogs...why, I can't count them. And the birds. And the horses.” “They are her beasts.” “Did she keep a sort of zoo? I mean, this is a bit too much.” “Every beast and bird that came near her had its place in her love. In her they became themselves. And now the abundance of life she has in Christ from the Father flows over into them.” I looked at my Teacher in amazement. “Yes,” he said. “It is like when you throw a stone into a pool, and the concentric waves spread out further and further. Who knows where it will end? Redeemed humanity is still young, it has hardly come to its full strength. But already there is joy enough int the little finger of a great saint such as yonder lady to waken all the dead things of the universe into life.

Couples, singles, gay, straight, cats, dogs, and well-trained lizards are welcome. No babies.

Our first point of discussion is the hunt. (...) My idea is to start the film with an image of the vixen locked out of her lair which has been plugged up. Her terror as she's pursued across the country. This is a big deal. It means training a fox from birth or dressing up a dog to look like a fox. Or hiring David Attenbrorough, who probably knows a few foxes well enough to ask a favour.

A well-trained dog is like religion, it sets the deserving at their ease and is a terror to evildoers.

There are no bad dogs or bad humans, just inappropriate behavior.

means that of all God's creatures a cat is at all times himself. When in the presence of a king, mere mortal man must bow and lady, curtsy. A dog, well trained, will grovel and beg. Horses wait patiently in the rain upon his pleasure. But a cat cares but for himself. He will walk into any room and stare you in the eye, be you king or clown and he will hold his own opinion of you. He will turn his back on you if you displease him, stand, sit, or walk away as is his will. And a king will tolerate this from a cat, but from no one else, since to protest would be the veriest waste of time.” “How

Let me sing the beauty of my Maggie. Legs:--the knees attached to the thighs, knees shiny, thighs like milk. Arms:--the levers of my content, the serpents of my joy. Back:--the sight of that in a strange street of dreams in the middle of Heaven would make me fall sitting from glad recognition. Ribs?--she had some melted and round like a well formed apple, from her thigh bones to waist I saw the earth roll. In her neck I hid myself like a lost snow goose of Australia, seeking the perfume of her breast. . . . She didn't let me, she was a good girl. The poor big alley cat, though almost a year younger, had black ideas about her legs that he hid from himself, also in his prayers didn't mention . . . the dog. Across the big world darkness I've come, in boat, in bus, in airplane, in train standing my shadow immense traversing the fields and the redness of engine boilers behind me making me omnipotent upon the earth of the night, like God--but I have never made love with a little finger that has won me since. I gnawed her face with my eyes; she loved that; and that was bastardly I didn't know she loved me--I didn't understand.

With two pit bulls in the house, we have a responsibility to make sure they’re always under control. I mean, we’re well aware of how sweet and harmless they are, yet the fact that they even exist intimidates others, so we train for our neighbors’ peace of mind. As an added bonus, the dogs love it!

Billy,” she said, “I don’t approve of this hunting, but it looks like I can’t say no; not after all you’ve been through, getting your dogs, and all that training.” “Aw, he’ll be all right,” Papa said. “Besides, he’s getting to be a good-size man now.” “Man!” Mama exclaimed. “Why, he’s still just a little boy.” “You can’t keep him a little boy always,” Papa said. “He’s got to grow up some day.” “I know,” Mama said, “but I don’t like it, not at all, and I can’t help worrying.” “Mama, please don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ll be all right. Why, I’ve been all over these hills, you know that.” “I know,” she said, “but that was in the daytime. I never worried too much when it was daylight, but at night, that’s different. It’ll be dark and anything could happen.” “There won’t be anything happen,” I said. “I promise I’ll be careful.” Mama got up from the table saying, “Well, it’s like I said, I can’t say no and I can’t

Used to be a hobo right smart. back in the thirties. They wasnt no work I dont care what you could do. I was ridin through the mountains one night, state of Colorado. Dead of winter it was and bitter cold. I had just a smidgin of tobacco, bout enough for one or two smokes. I was in one of them old slatsided cars and I'd been up and down in it like a dog tryin to find some place where the wind wouldnt blow. Directly I scrunched up in a corner and rolled me a smoke and lit it and thowed the match down. Well, they was some sort of stuff in the floor about like tinder and it caught fire. I jumped up and stomped on it and it aint done nothin but burn faster. Wasnt two minutes the whole car was afire. I run to the door and got it open and we was goin up this grade through the mountains in the snow with the moon on it and it was just blue looking and dead quiet out there and them big old black pine trees going by. I jumped for it and lit in a snowbank and what I'm goin to tell you you'll think peculiar but it's the god's truth. That was in nineteen and thirty one and if I live to be a hunnerd year old I dont think I'll ever see anything as pretty as that train on fire goin up that mountain and around the bend and them flames lightin up the snow and the trees and the night.

Gentleman Jim [dog] was cheerful enough, partly because his owner was so well trained... He had alsot trained him to get up when he didn't want to, simply by climbing slowly and painfully on top of him and squeezing all the breath out of him as he slept. On the occasions this didn't work and Gordon seemed to be simply lapsing into a coma, Gentleman Jim would unroll his massive tongue, containing over a half a pint of drool, and dribble it slowly into his ear until Gordon finally awoke...

It was young Schneermann, Anton Schneermann, who sat at Mademoiselle Kleefeld’s table. You see, his place is empty. It will soon be filled up again, I am not worried about that—but Anton is off, on the wings of the wind, in the twinkling of an eye, rapt away before he knew where he was. Sixteen years old, and had been up here a year and a half, with six months to go. But how did it happen? Who knows? Perhaps somebody dropped a little word to Madame his mother; anyhow, she got wind of his goings-on, in Baccho et ceteris. She appears unannounced on the scene, some three heads taller than I am, white-haired and exceeding wroth; fetches Herr Anton a couple of boxes on the ear, takes him by the collar, and puts him on the train. ‘If he is going to the dogs,’ she says, ‘he can do it just as well down below.’ And off they go.

Joffrey called out, “Dog!” Sandor Clegane seemed to take form out of the night, so quickly did he appear. He had exchanged his armor for a red woolen tunic with a leather dog’s head sewn on the front. The light of the torches made his burned face shine a dull red. “Yes, Your Grace?” he said. “Take my betrothed back to the castle, and see that no harm befalls her,” the prince told him brusquely. And without even a word of farewell, Joffrey strode off, leaving her there. Sansa could feel the Hound watching her. “Did you think Joff was going to take you himself?” He laughed. He had a laugh like the snarling of dogs in a pit. “Small chance of that.” He pulled her unresisting to her feet. “Come, you’re not the only one needs sleep. I’ve drunk too much, and I may need to kill my brother tomorrow.” He laughed again. He was mocking her, she realized. “No one could withstand him,” she managed at last, proud of herself. It was no lie. Sandor Clegane stopped suddenly in the middle of a dark and empty field. She had no choice but to stop beside him. “Some septa trained you well. You’re like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren’t you? A pretty little talking -bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite.” “ Take your look.” His fingers held her jaw as hard as an iron trap. His eyes watched hers. Drunken eyes, sullen with anger. She had to look. The right side of his face was gaunt, with sharp cheekbones and a grey eye beneath a heavy brow. His nose was large and hooked, his hair thin, dark. He wore it long and brushed it sideways, because no hair grew on the other side of that face. The left side of his face was a ruin. His ear had been burned away; there was nothing left but a hole. His eye was still good, but all around it was a twisted mass of scar, slick black flesh hard as leather, pocked with craters and fissured by deep cracks.

Tyler had seen village dogs trained in much the same way for the ring. When an animal was beaten hard enough, it would work just to not be beaten, and consider itself well rewarded. The status quo could shift at any time.

Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?' Worries Forget your worries All the stations full of cracks tilted along the way The telegraph wires they hang from The grimacing poles that gesticulate and strangle them The world stretches lengthens and folds in like an accordion tormented by a sadistic hand In the cracks of the sky the locomotives in anger Flee And in the holes, The whirling wheels the mouths the voices And the dogs of misfortune that bark at our heels The demons are unleashed Iron rails Everything is off-key The broun-roun-roun of the wheels Shocks Bounces We are a storm under a deaf man's skull... 'Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?' Hell yes, you're getting on my nerves you know very well we're far away Overheated madness bellows in the locomotive Plague, cholera rise up like burning embers on our way We disappear in the war sucked into a tunnel Hunger, the whore, clings to the stampeding clouds And drops battle dung in piles of stinking corpses Do like her, do your job 'Tell me, Blaise, are we very far from Montmartre?

Our dogs relieve chronic pain, lift our spirits, sniff out cancer, detect impending heart attacks, seizures and migraines, lower our blood pressure and cholesterol levels, help us recover from devastating illness, and even improve our children’s IQ, as well as lowering their risk for adult allergies and asthma. Just think—the unconditional love, limitless affection and to-die-for loyalty of a well-chosen, well-trained, well-cared-for dog could be just what the doctor ordered!

The essence of Druidry is training the mind to both handle contradictory input and construct contradictory output.' What? Oh. Well-- 'I continued to lecture a bit more, to disguise the fact that I was getting my ass handed to me by my dog.

I started to spend my extra time caring for myself in little ways that reminded me of the generosity of my dream-dog who shared his seatbelt. The big pet. My dream-dog. I think he was training me in my dreams so that I could eventually play well in my days.

John Coffee Hays, without formal training, developed tactical combat concepts that are still used today. Hays’ philosophy of giving men superior weapons, training them well, and utilizing speed and audacity on the battlefield would be adopted later by another Californian, George Patton.

The dominance panacea is so out of proportion that entire schools of training are based on the premise that if you can just exert adequate dominance over the dog, everything else will fall into place. Not only does it mean that incredible amounts of abuse are going to be perpetrated against any given dog, probably exacerbating problems like unreliable recalls and biting, but the real issues, like well-executed conditioning and the provision of an adequate environment, are going to go unaddressed, resulting in a still-untrained dog, perpetuating the pointless dominance program. None of this is to say that dogs aren’t one of those species whose social life appears to lend itself to beloved hierarchy constructs. But, they also see well at night, and no one is proposing retinal surgery to address their non-compliance or biting behavior. Pack theory is simply not the most elegant model for explaining or, especially, for treating problems like disobedience, misbehavior or aggression. People who use aversives to train with a dominance model in mind would get a better result with less wear and tear on the dog by using aversives with a more thorough understanding of learning theory, or, better yet, forgoing aversives altogether and going with the other tools in the learning theory tool box. The dominance concept is simply unnecessary.

Understanding dog-psychology is simple and there are only a few essential (yet very simple) things that you need to understand – but you need to understand them well! The photojournal format makes it conducive to offer helpful tactics, techniques, tips, and tricks that can be accompanied by illustrative photos (when necessary) that are spread throughout the book.

Jacob’s dogs were soon the envy of other men, who offered to buy them. Instead, he traded a day’s work for the stud of the male cur with cunning wolfish eyes. When the smallest of our bitches bore the wolf-dog’s litter, Jacob trained her puppies and traded four of the five for what seemed a mountain of treasure, which he quickly converted to gifts that proved how well he had come to understand Laban’s daughters.

People who think they need high-pressure methods or tools—pinch collars or electric appliances—to train a dog have no clue how to train a dog well. Training, both as a hobby and as a profession, should be pleasant for the dog and the handler. It should be a successful learning process that yields progress for both parties. If training becomes a torment for the handler or the dog, then both parties are on the wrong track.

Like well-adjusted children, dogs require significant training and supervision. They must be fed, watered, and exercised every single day. They need love, lots and lots of love, and they need to know you are there for them. In other words, caring for a dog is not a hobby or a part-time responsibility – it’s a real relationship. This is somewhat true of cats, as well. The relationship maybe weirdly one-sided and kind of embarrassing, but you still have to turn up.

And so I learned by observation, interaction, and experience - as well as active study and research - growing up and throughout my life how to understand dog-psychology, how to behave around dogs, and how to physically handle them (without fear or worry of being bitten) if/when necessary. I've had both good and bad experiences with countless dogs thus yielding many lessons learned as well as useful insights which will be shared with you throughout the course of this book.

Humans think they’re in control, but cats and dogs seem to have humanity well-trained. Dawn’s cat gets fed twice a day, his kitty litter is changed, and he gets to sit on her lap, purring while she watches television. Is that what life is like for AI? Humans care for their computer servers, provide them with electricity and play with them, but instead of dangling a toy on a string, it’s an electronic task that needs to be accomplished. Or is it humanity that’s the cat? Maybe, one day, when artificial intelligence achieves actual sentience, it’ll be humans that become pets.

Do not fail to abundantly caress him and speak kindly words, and never under any circumstances, no matter what the provocation, allow yourself to scold or strike him, as this is entirely at variance with our system, and is sure to result in the defeat of our plans. Should he jump upon you with his dirty feet, or tear your clothes with his sharp teeth, do not get angry and cuff him, but gently yet firmly place him upon the ground or unclasp his jaws from your garments, consoling yourself with the thought that in a short time you will have him so well in hand that he will know better than to commit these faults.

He arranged the ceremony for two o'clock in the afternoon a week before she was to leave. The exam had gone well and she was almost certain that she would qualify. Because other couples to be married came with family and friends, their ceremony seemed brisk and over quickly and caused much curiosity among those waiting because they had come alone. On their journey to Coney Island on the train that afternoon Tony raised the question for the first time of when they might marry in church and live together. 'I have money saved,' he said, 'so we could get an apartment and then move to the house when it's ready.' 'I don't mind,' she said. 'I wish we were going home together now.' He touched her hand. 'So do I,' he said. 'And the ring looks great on your finger.' She looked down at the ring. 'I'd better remember to take it off before Mrs Kehoe sees it.' The ocean was rough and grey and the wind blew white billowing clouds quickly across the sky. They moved slowly along the boardwalk and down the pier, where they stood watching the fishermen. As they walked back and sat eating hot dogs at Nathan's, Eilis spotted someone at the next table checking out her wedding ring. She smiled at herself. 'Will we ever tell our children that we did this?' she asked.

As a child I had grown up around individual dogs that belonged to various members of an extended family and friends, as well as around packs of dogs on family's and neighbors' ranches. Growing up in the United States, I had countless encounters with both familiar dogs and strange dogs. Through the many encounters and interactions with many dogs over the course of a lifetime of now 5+ decades, I have learned to read the behavior of dogs quite well, and eventually have come to understand much about dog-psychology, how to behave around them, how to handle them, and how to train them to acceptably behave – all in the most instinctive and natural way possible.

Martise had remained silent since first entering his domain, offering no hint of her character. If he refused her, it would alarm the priests even more. “Martise of Asher.” He smiled when she stiffened. “His Grace has spoken for you during this entire meeting. Have you no words? Or did you suffer as my servant and have your tongue cut out?” He followed her gaze to Gurn. The servant gave her an encouraging nod. Silhara might have considered her easily intimidated, save for that calm demeanor. “No, sir, I’m no mute. It is rude to speak out of turn, is it not?” He stilled at her question. Bursin’s wings, what generous god blessed this woman with such a voice? Refined and sensual, it possessed a silky quality, as if she physically caressed him. The contrast between her dulcet tones and bland appearance startled him. Before she spoke, Martise had faded into her surroundings, forgotten. Now she shone, riveting the attention of anyone within hearing distance. He glanced at Cumbria who treated him to a smug smile. He didn’t like being caught off guard and lashed out. “Far be it from me that I compromise the deportment of a lady. I wouldn’t tempt a well-trained dog into forgetting the commands of ‘Fetch’ and ‘Sit’.” Her jaw tightened. She dropped her gaze, but not before he saw the sparks of anger in her eyes. Not so docile as one might first believe, yet his new apprentice exercised admirable control over her emotions. Behavior of a long-time servant. Cumbria had indeed brought him a spy.

I am going to share with you the very essential (yet very simple) philosophies, strategies, tactics, techniques, tips, and tricks that you need to know to successfully and quickly house-train as well as instill obedience in your GSD puppy – even if you receive your puppy earlier than the recommended 8-week earliest recommended safe age (as I did) for separation of a puppy from his/her mother and siblings. Understanding dog-psychology is simple and there are only a few essential (yet very simple) things that you need to understand – but you need to understand them well! The photojournal format makes it conducive to offer helpful tactics, techniques, tips, and tricks that can be accompanied by illustrative photos (when necessary) that are spread throughout the book.

the streets. So now everyone is afraid of it. Petr GINZ Today it’s clear to everyone who is a Jew and who’s an Aryan, because you’ll know Jews near and far by their black and yellow star. And Jews who are so demarcated must live according to the rules dictated: Always, after eight o’clock, be at home and click the lock; work only labouring with pick or hoe, and do not listen to the radio. You’re not allowed to own a mutt; barbers can’t give your hair a cut; a female Jew who once was rich can’t have a dog, even a bitch, she cannot send her kids to school must shop from three to five since that’s the rule. She can’t have bracelets, garlic, wine, or go to the theatre, out to dine; she can’t have cars or a gramophone, fur coats or skis or a telephone; she can’t eat onions, pork, or cheese, have instruments, or matrices; she cannot own a clarinet or keep a canary for a pet, rent bicycles or barometers, have woollen socks or warm sweaters. And especially the outcast Jew must give up all habits he knew: he can’t buy clothes, can’t buy a shoe, since dressing well is not his due; he can’t have poultry, shaving soap, or jam or anything to smoke; can’t get a license, buy some gin, read magazines, a news bulletin, buy sweets or a machine to sew; to fields or shops he cannot go even to buy a single pair of winter woollen underwear, or a sardine or a ripe pear. And if this list is not complete there’s more, so you should be discreet; don’t buy a thing; accept defeat. Walk everywhere you want to go in rain or sleet or hail or snow. Don’t leave your house, don’t push a pram, don’t take a bus or train or tram; you’re not allowed on a fast train; don’t hail a taxi, or complain; no matter how thirsty you are you must not enter any bar; the riverbank is not for you, or a museum or park or zoo or swimming pool or stadium or post office or department store, or church, casino, or cathedral or any public urinal. And you be careful not to use main streets, and keep off avenues! And if you want to breathe some air go to God’s garden and walk there among the graves in the cemetery because no park to you is free. And if you are a clever Jew you’ll close off bank accounts and you will give up other habits too like meeting Aryans you knew. He used to be allowed a swag, suitcase, rucksack, or carpetbag. Now he has lost even those rights but every Jew lowers his sights and follows all the rules he’s got and doesn’t care one little jot.

But now, preposterously, the morning hard-on was gone. The things one has to put up with in life. The morning hard-on - like a crowbar in your hand, like something growing out of an ogre. Does any other species wake up with a hard-on? Do whales? Do bats? Evolution daily reminder to male Homo Sapiens in case, overnight, they forget why they're here. If a woman didn't know what it was, it might well scare her to death. Couldn't piss in the bowl because of that thing. Had to force it downward with your hand - had to train it as you would a dog to the leash - so that the stream struck the water and not the upturned seat. When you sat to shit, there it was, loyally looking up at its master. There eagerly waiting while you brush your teeth - "What are we going to do today?" Nothing more faithful in all of life than the lurid cravings of the morning hard-on. No deceit in it. No simulation. No insincerity. All hail to that driving force! Human living with a capital L! It takes a lifetime to determine what matters, and by then it's not there anymore. Well, one must learn to adapt. How is the only problem.

What did you just call him?” “Rufus is a stupid name,” she says with a shrug. I choke on air. “Excuse me?” “You heard me. What even is a Rufus anyway?” “A name,” I answer. “A manly name for a manly dog.” “He looks like vanilla ice cream with chocolate sprinkles. It had to be changed.” “You can’t just change a dog’s name. He’s eight months old. He likes his name. He knows it.” “Does he?” she asks, arching a brow. Jesus, she looks so much like her mother right now it’s almost scary. “Rufus.” I whistle. “Come here boy.” He lets out a whimper, but stays rooted in place, his eyes trained on the girl with the snacks. “Sprinkles, come.” Priss points to the floor. That traitor rises to all fours, looking more regal than Queen Elizabeth herself as he marches to her side. Man’s best friend, my ass. “Good boy,” she says, stuffing another treat into his mouth. “Sprinkles, sit.” He sits. “Shake,” she says, holding out her hand for his paw. “You taught him all of that in less than two hours?” “Uh-huh. Wasn’t hard. I watched some dog training videos.” “Let me guess, YouTube?” She grins. “Well, it worked.” “I see that.” “So…Sprinkles?” She steeples her hands in front of her face, poking out her lip for added drama. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the story of how my beast of a dog became a pansy.

Shall I have the carriage readied in time for you to catch the late morning train?” “I’m afraid you won’t be that fortunate.” West took a swallow of tea. “I can’t go back to London. I have to stay in Hampshire until I’ve met with all the tenants I had planned to visit.” “Mr. Ravenel--” “I have to,” he said doggedly. “My brother never asks anything of me. Which is why I’ll do this even if it kills me.” Kathleen glanced at him in surprise. “Very well,” she said after a moment. “Shall we send for Mr. Carlow to accompany you?” “I rather hoped that you would go with me.” Seeing her expression, West added warily, “Only for today.” “Mr. Carlow is far more familiar with the tenants and their situations--” “His presence may prove to be inhibiting. I want them to speak to me frankly.” He glared at his plate. “Not that I expect more than a half-dozen words from any of them. I know what that sort thinks of me: a city toff. A great useless peacock who knows nothing about the superior virtues of farm life.” “I don’t think they’ll judge you severely, so long as they believe that you’re not judging them. Just try to be sincere, and you should have no difficulty.” “I have no talent for sincerity,” West muttered. “It’s not a talent,” Kathleen said. “It’s a willingness to speak from your heart, rather than trying to be amusing or evasive.” “Please,” West said tersely. “I’m already nauseous.” Scowling, he took another bite of the bacon sandwich.

Albert?" The barking became more passionate, with cries and whimpers breaking in. Slowly Beatrix lowered to the ground and sat with her back against the shed. "Calm yourself, Albert," she said. "I'll let you out as soon as you're quiet." The terrier growled and pawed at the door. Having consulted several books on the subject of dogs, one on rough terriers in particular, Beatrix was fairly certain that training Albert with techniques involving dominance or punishment would not be at all effective. In fact, they would probably make his behavior worse. Terriers, the book had said, frequently tried to outsmart humans. The only method left was to reward his good behavior with praise and food and kindness. "Of course you're unhappy, poor boy. He's gone away, and your place is by his side. But I've come to collect you, and while he's gone, we'll work on your manners. Perhaps we can't turn you into a perfect lapdog... but I'll help you learn how to get on with others." She paused before adding with a reflective grin. "Of course, I can't manage to behave properly in polite society. I've always thought there's a fair amount of dishonesty involved in politeness. There, you're quiet now." She stood and pulled at the latch. "Here is your first rule, Albert: it's very rude to maul people." Albert burst out and jumped on her. Had she not been holding on to the support of the shed's frame, she would have been knocked over. Whining and wagging his tail, Albert stood on his hind legs and dove his face against her.

I saw her as soon as I pulled into the parking lot. This beautiful woman with a gigantic smile on her face was just about bouncing up and down despite the orthopedic boot she had on her foot as she waved me into a parking space. I felt like I’d been hit in the gut. She took my breath away. She was dressed in workout clothes, her long brown hair softly framing her face, and she just glowed. I composed myself and got out of the car. She was standing with Paul Orr, the radio host I was there to meet. Local press had become fairly routine for me at this point, so I hadn’t really given it much thought when I agreed to be a guest on the afternoon drive-time show for WZZK. But I had no idea I’d meet her. Paul reached out his hand and introduced himself. And without waiting to be introduced she whipped out her hand and said, “Hi! I’m Jamie Boyd!” And right away she was talking a mile a minute. She was so chipper I couldn’t help but smile. I was like that little dog in Looney Toons who is always following the big bulldog around shouting, “What are we going to do today, Spike?” She was adorable. She started firing off questions, one of which really caught my attention. “So you were in the Army? What was your MOS?” she asked. Now, MOS is a military term most civilians have never heard. It stands for Military Occupational Specialty. It’s basically military code for “job.” So instead of just asking me what my job was in the Army, she knew enough to specifically ask me what my MOS was. I was impressed. “Eleven Bravo. Were you in?” I replied. “Nope! But I’ve thought about it. I still think one day I will join the Army.” We followed Paul inside and as he set things up and got ready for his show, Jamie and I talked nonstop. She, too, was really into fitness. She was dressed and ready for the gym and told me she was about to leave to get in a quick workout before her shift on-air. “Yeah, I have the shift after Paul Orr. The seven-to-midnight show. I call it the Jammin’ with Jamie Show. People call in and I’ll ask them if they’re cryin’, laughin’, lovin’, or leavin’.” I couldn’t believe how into this girl I was, and we’d only been talking for twenty minutes. I was also dressed in gym clothes, because I’d been to the gym earlier. She looked down and saw the rubber bracelet around my wrist. “Is that an ‘I Am Second’ bracelet? I have one of those!” she said as she held up her wrist with the band that means, “I am second after Jesus.” “No, this is my own bracelet with my motto, ‘Train like a Machine,’ on it. Just my little self-motivator. I have some in my car. I’d love to give you one.” “Well, actually, I am about to leave. I have to go work out before my shift,” she reminded me. “You can have this one. Take it off my wrist. This one will be worth more someday because I’ve been sweating in it,” I joked. She laughed and took it off my wrist. We kept chatting and she told me she had wanted to do an obstacle course race for a long time. Then Paul interrupted our conversation and gently reminded Jamie he had a show to do. He and I needed to start our interview. She laughed some more and smiled her way out the door.

Ryder’s heart beats madly against my ear as we cling to each other, holding on for dear life. Adrenaline races through my veins, making my breath come in short gasps. I can feel Ryder’s fingers in my hair, his nails digging into my scalp as he presses me tightly against his body, his muscles bunched and rigid. I know I’m supposed to hate him, but all I can think right now is how glad I am he’s here--glad that I’m not alone. I’ve never been so scared in all my life, but I know it would be worse without him. It’s over in a matter of seconds. The freight-train roar quiets, the rain returning with a vengeance. I don’t need Jim Cantore to tell me it’s a rain-wrapped tornado. I’ve watched enough Storm Chasers to recognize it, even from my little hidey-hole under the stairs. If we had been outside, we probably wouldn’t have seen it coming, not till it was too late. Ryder releases his grip on my head, and I pull away slightly, peering up at him. His deep brown eyes are slightly wild-looking, but otherwise he looks okay. His face isn’t a shade of green, at least. I lean back against him, my head resting on his shoulder now. We’re still holding hands, our fingers intertwined. Somehow, it doesn’t seem at all weird. It just feels…safe. Neither of us says a word, not till the sirens are silenced a few minutes later. “I guess we should give it a few minutes,” I say, my voice slightly hoarse. “You know, just to make sure that’s it. No point in going out just to climb right back in.” He nods. “Besides, it’s perfectly comfortable in here.” “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.” “Okay, let me rephrase. It’s not uncomfortable.” I swallow hard. “I hope it’s not bad out there. I’m afraid of what we’re going to find.” “No matter how bad it is, we’re fine; the dogs and cats are fine. That’s what matters, Jemma. Anything else is replaceable.” “You sound like my dad, you know that? Have you been studying at the Bradley Cafferty School of Platitudes or something?” “Your dad’s a smart guy,” he says with a shrug.

I head someone say once that passionate people live violent lives. At the time I didn't really get it but if what they meant was the way love waits in ambush traps your well trained sense of control and tortures you into a confession you'd just as soon not make I now understand.

Ways to train puppies or pet dogs efficiently? Individuals have to choose the qualified puppy shop in order to get large collection of puppy devices. Various categories of canines for sale in Miami and animal owners can make use of that chance to get high quality young puppies. Focus and concentration of the pet dogs can get enhanced when they train their puppies in a qualified training company. Consumer young puppies will certainly well-adjust with other one only when they get training from certified canine fitness instructor. Responsible and social characters will certainly get established when these puppies attend training in their young duration. If they desire to know dogs for sale in Miami, they have to refer a number of online puppy shops offered on the web. Though they get the puppies in miami from the best dogs for sale in Miami, they need to comprehend the feeding options. Medical therapy and feeding practices plays an essential role in growing puppies in a healthy manner. Getting puppies from online store is a better way for the user because they can avoid the confusing tasks. One can analyze the pros and cons of different kinds of puppies in a steady manner using the internet facility. People have to find the website that offer dogs and dog accessories at reasonable that will certainly convenience their consumer. Handling, socialization and training is essential for dogs in order to improve the capabilities of dogs. Puppies will get easily attached to the relative when it gets correct and efficient training. Number of effective suggestions and suggestions are offered on the web to grow the puppies or dogs without getting impacted from illness. One should get at least small history of the puppies from the stores to know the breeding capability of canines. Husky and poodle young puppies have vast understanding, and it will quickly comprehend the things by offering appropriate training.

And he pranced around in front of her until Nannerl angrily jumped up, extending her arms in a shove that she didn’t intend to be violent but was. The child fell hard on the floor and hit his head. He didn’t cry. He looked at her with immense surprise, while she, terrified, knelt on the floor: “Wolfgang! Wolfgang! Did you hurt yourself?” He said no, rubbing the sore place on his forehead. Everything vanished in an instant: excitement, the wish to play, the attempt to provoke his sister. She shed copious tears of guilt, and this left him even more bewildered. Then he stood up mechanically and insisted on getting into his nightclothes without any help from her; by himself he removed the heavy bed warmer, got into bed, and an instant before falling asleep gave her a warm smile of understanding. Their parents found them like that, he in a deep sleep, she curled up beside him watching, with reddened eyes. The night walk had made no dent in Leopold’s bad mood. With a gloomy face he went into the adjoining room, sat down on the bed, and began to untie his shoes. Meanwhile Anna Maria whispered to Nannerl, “What happened? Did you quarrel?” She didn’t answer. She was listening with growing anger to the sounds her father made: a rustling of garments hung on the clothes rack, an indistinct muttering of disappointment for who knows what foolish reason, until she went to him and burst out: “Tomorrow Wolfgang won’t play! Do you understand?” “What’s wrong with you? Be quiet or you’ll wake him! Holy shit!” Anna Maria said, joining her. “He’s exhausted! He’s not himself! He’s always tired and sick, he’s lost weight, he’s not growing, and he has two black pouches under his eyes worse than yours. You can’t make us perform like trained dogs every night. Wolfgang should go to bed early!” Leopold, impassive, slowly continued to undress. He was now half naked, but he didn’t care if his daughter saw him in that state; it was a way of communicating to her that her presence had for him the same value as that of a night table or a bedside rug. “I will tell you one time only, Nannerl, and I will not repeat it,” he replied in a low voice. “When you have your own children, you can bring them up as you see fit; for the moment it is I, I alone, who will make decisions for Wolfgang. He endures fatigue very well. Maybe it’s you who are weak, and your thoughtless actions are the proof.” Furious, Nannerl pushed to the floor the rack on which her father had so carefully hung his clothes and returned to her brother, slamming the door behind her.

Having consulted several books on the subject of dogs, one on rough terriers in particular, Beatrix was fairly certain that training Albert with techniques involving dominance or punishment would not be at all effective. In fact, they would probably make his behavior worse. Terriers, the book had said, frequently tried to outsmart humans. The only method left was to reward his good behavior with praise and food and kindness. "Of course you're unhappy, poor boy. He's gone away, and your place is by his side. But I've come to collect you, and while he's gone, we'll work on your manners. Perhaps we can't turn you into a perfect lapdog... but I'll help you learn how to get on with others." She paused before adding with a reflective grin. "Of course, I can't manage to behave properly in polite society. I've always thought there's a fair amount of dishonesty involved in politeness. There, you're quiet now." She stood and pulled at the latch. "Here is your first rule, Albert: it's very rude to maul people." Albert burst out and jumped on her. Had she not been holding on to the support of the shed's frame, she would have been knocked over. Whining and wagging his tail, Albert stood on his hind legs and dove his face against her.

The continued good health of some moral meltdown who has threatened my well-being (or my dog's) doesn't top my priority list.

Adaptive learners expect to succeed (hopeful), whereas maladaptive learners expect to fail (hopeless). Adaptive learning promotes confidence, well-being, and an elated mood, whereas maladaptive learning saddles dogs with apprehensiveness, worry, insecurity, and generalized anxiety. Dogs that generally expect to fail are constrained to exist in a small corner of life where they feel most secure and likely to succeed. Dogs

Anders turned to peer at her and hesitated. He wanted to kiss her. More out of curiosity than any great desire. The more he got to know this woman, the more he liked her. He admired her courage and strength, and was impressed by how well she’d trained her dog. The loyalty the animal showed her mistress spoke well. And so far, he liked everything about her. But he wasn’t lusting after her, and wanted to know if kissing her would bring on the life mate passion he’d heard so much about. Unfortunately, it had been a while since he’d wooed a woman and he wasn’t sure how to go about it. Did he just grab and kiss her? Or was he expected to wait for some sign from her?

Rescue dogs are trained to perform such responses on command, often in repulsive situations, such as fires, that they would normally avoid unless the entrapped individuals are familiar. Training is accomplished with the usual carrot-and stick method. One might think, therefore, that the dogs perform like Skinnerian rats, doing what has been reinforced in the past, partly out of instinct, partly out of a desire for tidbits. If they save human lives, one could argue, they do so for purely selfish reasons. The image of the rescue dog as a well-behaved robot is hard to maintain, however, in the face of their attitude under trying circumstances with few survivors, such as in the aftermath of the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. When rescue dogs encounter too many dead people, they lose interest in their job regardless of how much praise and goodies they get. This was discovered by Caroline Hebard, the U.S. pioneer of canine search and rescue, during the Mexico City earthquake of 1985. Hebard recounts how her German shepherd, Aly, reacted to finding corpse after corpse and few survivors. Aly would be all excited and joyful if he detected human life in the rubble, but became depressed by all the death. In Hebard's words, Aly regarded humans as his friends, and he could not stand to be surrounded by so many dead friends: "Aly fervently wanted his stick reward, and equally wanted to please Caroline, but as long as he was uncertain about whether he had found someone alive, he would not even reward himself. Here in this gray area, rules of logic no longer applied." The logic referred to is that a reward is just a reward: there is no reason for a trained dog to care about the victim's condition. Yet, all dogs on the team became depressed. They required longer and longer resting periods, and their eagerness for the job dropped off dramatically. After a couple of days, Aly clearly had had enough. His big brown eyes were mournful, and he hid behind the bed when Hehard wanted to take him out again. He also refused to eat. All other dogs on the team had lost their appetites as well. The solution to this motivational problem says a lot about what the dogs wanted. A Mexican veterinarian was invited to act as stand-in survivor. The rescuers hid the volunteer somewhere in a wreckage and let the dogs find him. One after another the dogs were sent in, picked up the man's scent, and happily alerted, thus "saving" his life. Refreshed by this exercise, the dogs were ready to work again. What this means is that trained dogs rescue people only partly for approval and food rewards. Instead of performing a cheap circus trick, they are emotionally invested. They relish the opportunity to find and save a live person. Doing so also constitutes some sort of reward, but one more in line with what Adam Smith, the Scottish philosopher and father of economics, thought to underlie human sympathy: all that we derive from sympathy, he said, is the pleasure of seeing someone else's fortune. Perhaps this doesn't seem like much, but it means a lot to many people, and apparently also to some bighearted canines.

Everywhere I went, it was Balto this and Balto that. Truth to tell, I knew Balto well enough. He was in my kennel. He was owned, bred, raised, and trained by Sepp, same as I was. Sepp called Balto nothing but a scrub freight dog. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice-enough fellow. But he was no racer. And he didn't have a whole lot going on upstairs. What he had was luck. It was luck, pure and simple, that he happened to be leading the team that made the last leg of the Serum Run.

Beginning at thirteen weeks, a pup will show more pronounced expressions of independence: the dog who only last week was your shadow, who seemed well on his way to being trained, now begins to ignore you when you call, and during training and play sessions you have to work extra hard to keep his attention. His rapid growth produces a corresponding increase in activity that makes him highly excitable and difficult to manage. While he does need plenty of exercise, for most owners this translates into walks with lots of pulling and lunging. Bad habits develop quickly. When guests come to the house, the juvenile pup turns into a juvenile delinquent, jumping up and making himself a pest, continually demanding attention. It is also common for pups of this age to become very mouthy, so that by the teething period (four to six months), they are chewing on everything, people included. To top things off, your puppy will probably go through a second fear period, when his behavior will swing from being independent and bratty (twelve to fourteen weeks) to periodically cautious and fearful (sixteen to twenty-four weeks), even of things with which he had formerly been comfortable.

Tell me, Brother Gregory, in your opinion can a woman think as well as a man?” “Properly speaking,” he said in a learned voice, “a woman cannot think at all, or at least, think as we men know it. But the imitative ability is very greatly developed in women, so that by copying men, some may attain the appearance of thought.” “This imitative ability,” said Margaret in a careful tone of voice, so as not to seem leading, “—how far does it carry women in the most extreme cases?” “Well, as far as true rationality, it cannot lead. In invention, mathematics and the higher philosophy, these being products of original thought and therefore pertaining to men, a woman cannot hope to enter. But in simpler things they have occasionally been trained. And it is, in my mind, entirely just to do so. For is not a falcon made useful to man by being trained in hunting? Is not a dog capable of being changed from a wild, dangerous creature to a gentle companion, capable of retrieving objects and protecting his lord’s house, if trained to the height of his capacities? Thus it is with women – they, too, should be trained as well as they are able, for the sake of their service to man.

The scientists who tell us that dogs are simple creatures have never owned sled dog teams. They have never tried to organize twelve minds and forty-eight canine legs into a unit that moves forward with conviction. The physical differences in dogs are sometimes the least of the musher’s worries when matching up a team. He must consider the dogs’ personality quirks and varying degrees of dedication. When a well-trained team glides quietly down the trail, spectators may think the sport looks easy, but I guarantee that the driver of that team has put in his time.

Then they got to this dog named Hach-something-or-other. Hatchet-toe, maybe? Seems his owner died (for the record, I object to the word “owner,” but we’ll set that aside for now), and Hach-something-or-other sat around for over nine years in the same spot at the same train station, day after day, waiting for him to return. Thing is, the narrator guy was blabbing on and on about this dog, really over-the-top stuff: How loyal! How loving! Break out the Kleenex! Blah blah blah, wah wah wah! Man’s best friend! They made a statue of this dog. I kid you not. A statue of the dog who sat around nine years waiting for a dead guy. in my opinion That dog was a ninny. A numskull. A nincompoop.

Backing down to my father was not optional. My mother's obedience was more like a well-trained dog than an equal partner. Fear is not love. I know that logically, but healing from that has taken longer than I thought it would. My mother will never admit the abuse she endured from my father because dead people all turn into saints for some reason

People thought that a magic like that was like calling a well-trained dog to heel, certain of obedience. She and Cyrus both knew better. It was more like luring a cat with a bit of fish and hoping the cat would deign to do as you wished.

Then, too, there is nothing that gives one more pleasure and satisfying enjoyment than watching and listening to a pack of well-trained dogs as they work out an old, difficult trail. The intensity of interest shown, the untiring persistence, the amazing ability of a cold-nosed dog, the cooperation of one dog with another, their reactions when the trail is lost, when found again, when the scent becomes dim, and when it suddenly freshens, are delightfully fascinating to observe.

Another thing to avoid at all times — before, during and after this fear phase — is pulling back on your dog’s leash when meeting friendly dogs or people. This common puppy-owner mistake will actually increase a puppy’s fear or make him aggressive. He needs your upbeat voice telling him all’s well in his world.

They were hunting dogs, the student continued, who ran in packs behind a falcon or hawk, the bird guiding them towards their prey. In each pack there were two principal dogs whose role it was to watch the hawk as they ran. The complexity and speed of this proceed, he said, could not be overestimated: the pack flowed silently over the landscape, light and inexorable as death itself, encroaching unseen and unheard on its target. To follow the subtlety of the hawk’s signals overhead while running at speed was a demanding and exhausting feat: the two principal dogs worked in concert, the one taking over while the other rested its concentration and then back again. This idea, of the two dogs sharing the work of reading the hawk, was one he found appealing. It suggested that ultimate fulfilment of a conscious being lay not in solitude but in a shared state so intricate and cooperative it might almost be said to represent the entwining of two selves. This notion, of the unitary self being broken down, of consciousness not as an imprisonment in one’s perceptions but rather as something more intimate and less divided, a universality that could come from shared experience at the highest level - well, like the German training before him, he was both seduced by the idea and willing to do the hard work in executing it.

Didn't go too well? Well, it is not the dog's fault, so you have no reason to be cross with him. Do what you can to adjust the following training session to avoid the same mistake happening again.

The Bible promises trials for followers of Christ, so we’re wise to prepare for battle now. A soldier doesn’t begin his training after he’s called into battle; he’s been sacrificing and preparing for months and years before his boots hit the battlefield. So, how do we put on our armor for a spiritual battle? By studying and memorizing God’s Word. It forms a protective shield over our souls, warding off enemy attacks. Many times this past year, I’ve had to cling to the Bible. From sad incidences like pit bulls killing our favorite family dog; to therapies not quite working to allow my youngest son to eat solid foods; to my oldest heading to Iraq again; to dangerous stalkers disrupting our lives; to parents’ health issues; to getting canned from one job and not knowing what was next; to a daughter’s long-awaited happy wedding that didn’t happen; to biopsy results positive for cancer; to all the messed-up political and national security issues I cover in my work; to . . . well, a whole lot more. It’s been a heck of a year, and I couldn’t get through it without God’s promises for a brighter day. SWEET FREEDOM IN Action Memorizing Scripture is a tool to get us through to the other side. Write verses on Post-It Notes and stick them on mirrors, the fridge, the TV. Commit to memorizing new Scripture every month so that when trials come your way, you’ll be locked and loaded and ready for spiritual battle!

The United States military officially began using canines in World War I and by World War II more than four hundred scout dogs were taking part in combat patrols, finding and hunting the enemy. After Pearl Harbor, a group of dog breeders formed “Dogs for Defense,” with the goal of building a well-trained canine force in the event America went to war. Come Korea, roughly 1,500 canines performed guard duty with the Army while others joined patrols. During Vietnam, with its close-quarters combat in treacherous terrain and tropical climes, dogs were once again called into action: around four thousand joined patrols to hunt for weapons and enemies, and served duty on army bases, especially at night when soldiers were most vulnerable to attack. But many of the dogs that served alongside U.S. soldiers never made it home; some were euthanized and others abandoned in

I tend to place kids in a class with dogs, preferring the quiet, the smart, and the well trained.

If parents carefully and consistently train up their children, their performance will be superior to that of a well-trained, seeing-eye dog.

that he learns what has to be done faster and effectively. Below are some guidelines that will help you potty train with no problems

I was a dog in my former life, a very good dog, and, thus, I was promoted to a human being. I liked being a dog. I worked for a poor farmer guarding and herding his sheep. Wolves and coyotes tried to get past me almost every night, and not once did I lose a sheep. the farmer rewarded me with good food, food from his table. He may have been poor, but he ate well. and his children played with me, when they weren’t in school or working in the field. I had all the love any dog could hope for. When I got old, they got a new dog, and I trained him in the tricks of the trade. He quickly learned, and the farmer brought me into the house to live with them. I brought the farmer his slippers in the morning, as he was getting old, too. I was dying slowly, a little bit at a time. The farmer knew this and would bring the new dog in to visit me from time to time. The new dog would entertain me with his flips and flops and nuzzles. And then one morning I just didn’t get up. They gave me a fine burial down by the stream under a shade tree. That was the end of my being a dog. Sometimes I miss it so I sit by the window and cry. I live in a high-rise that looks out at a bunch of other high-rises. At my job I work in a cubicle and barely speak to anyone all day. This is my reward for being a good dog. The human wolves don’t even see me. They fear me not.

Very good,’ May smiled. ‘Likewise, if my sub has pleased me, I will let him know. I’ll praise him, tell him he’s a good boy, perhaps pet him a little.’ She reached out and stroked Romy’s hair from the top of her head to her shoulders. ‘So it’s a bit like owning a dog?’ Lesley piped up, and Romy couldn’t suppress a giggle. May sighed. ‘No, Lesley,’ she said, rolling her eyes in exasperation. ‘It’s nothing like owning a dog.’ ‘Well, you give the sub collars and you train them, and they get treats for being obedient. And you give him a pat on the head and tell him he’s a good boy. Sounds like a dog to me.

It means that of all God's creatures a cat is at all times himself. When in the presence of a king, mere mortal man must bow and lady, curtsy. A dog, well trained, will grovel and beg. Horses wait patiently in the rain upon his pleasure. But a cat cares but for himself. He will walk into any room and stare you in the eye, be you king or clown and he will hold his own opinion of you. He will turn his back on you if you displease him, stand, sit, or walk away as is his will. And a king will tolerate this from a cat, but from no one else, since to protest would be the veriest waste of time.” “How

but if he starts to lose focus and begins to fail trials, go back to a behavior that he already knows well and enjoys. Reward him for that and end the training session on a positive note, and go log it.

potty. From the crate, go outside (with a sit at the door) to do a potty on cue. Give your dog a treat when she obeys you. A sit at the door, then back inside for breakfast. breakfast. A sit as you prepare to give your dog her breakfast. puppy potty. If you have a puppy, go outside again to potty, using the potty-training protocol we’ll discuss later. Always give your puppy a treat when she goes potty. brush and comb. Handle your dog all over as you brush and comb her coat. walk. Use the walk training program. puppy potty. Each time you crate and uncrate your puppy, take her outside to potty. crate time is nap time. Your dog learns to

Throughout this training program, I recommend returning to the crate exercises if your dog’s behavior backslides at all. This is not a form of punishment. Rather, it is a way to get her refocused on success. After Saxon died, Brieo understandably backslid: He didn’t eat well, paced and looked for Saxon, and chewed on himself and developed a rash. I rebuilt Brieo’s comfort and confidence by going back to basic crating and hand-feeding protocols; that helped a lot.

You can use other marker words besides good. Common markers include “thank you” and “yes!” Whatever marker word you teach your dog, use it consistently, including how you pronounce the word. Try to say it the exact same way each time: at the same volume, in the same tone, and with the same level of emotion. Learning to give your dog well-timed markers is essential to your training, so work the program by doing many sets of reps with the intention of learning to give well-timed feedback markers consistently.

As owners, it is our responsibility to take the time to socialize our dogs—with people, as well as with other animals—from the very beginning. That’s why you should spend at least one session this week (as well as throughout the five-week program) training in the presence of other people, and, if your dog is fully vaccinated, with other dogs. If you know people with dogs, set up an indoor or

Potty area. If you don’t want your dog doing his business everywhere he wants on your property (and who does?), establish his potty area from day one. If you have a yard, the ideal potty area will be located near the house for quick access, as well as within reach of a garden hose. It should be at least 10 feet by 10 feet, and about 3 inches deep, and layered with a bed of absorbent sand, covered with pea gravel or small river rock. Be prepared to clean the potty area often.

I highly recommend that you record your dog’s schedule, as well as her progress in meeting your training goals, in a notebook or logbook. It

positive reinforcement training holds at its core that dogs learn good behavior by being rewarded for doing well, and that punishment doesn’t have to come in the form of a reprimand or, worse, physical force. In

Faced with the task of building a strong, cohesive corporate culture, many software companies have borrowed heavily from other organizations. Trilogy Software made headlines by sending its new recruits to a training “boot camp” for three months—with classes running from 8:00 a.m. to midnight, seven days a week, for the first month. Other companies, such as Scient, subject their new recruits to intense pep rallies, with constant repetition of the company slogan— “I’m on fire!” The popularity of these tactics has even led to some hand-wringing about the cult-like character of many business initiation rituals. One writer for Shift magazine captured the dilemma quite well in a brilliant article entitled “Why Your Fabulous Job Sucks.” “Work is a blast. Your colleagues are cool and they dig having your dog around. But something evil lures you to the company beer fridge. Ever wonder why you’re never home?” The observation here is quite astute. Creating a cool work environment, holding fabulous office parties with great bands, letting people wear whatever they want, setting up the LAN for multiplayer gaming— this may all seem like corporate generosity. But it also has a sound economic rationale. All these devices help to build among young employees allegiance, loyalty, and a willingness to work. The easiest way to persuade people to pull an all-nighter is to make being at the office more fun than being at home.

Hey man’ works equally well as ‘my God’), help me be the best pack leader I can for this great dog Nemo and help me strengthen the connection and bond between his species and mine. For those people to whom I have borne resentments recently, help me remember that I have forgiven them, but I wish their lives to be healthy and meaningful, and it is my hope that they find value in all they do. Help me be a great partner and confidant to my cherished Kate, and uplift her in any way possible. If there are those to whom I can be of service, let them cross my path in such a way as I will be aware of their need, and give me the courage and strength and perseverance to reach out my hand. Help me always to expand my mind and awareness, and continue to seek and strengthen my connection with you at all times. And also help me to train my physical body to function in maximum health and as efficiently and effectively as possible.

Pay attention to the good stuff, deal with the bad. It’s an unsigned contract we’re bound by; if you want to live, you have to accept life’s terms. It seems simple; it is when everything is going well. When we’re shocked out of complacency, that’s when faith and determination are tested. For those of us who vacillate, who have an unsure relationship with our place in life, every test is an opportunity to believe. Every traumatic event, big or small, is just another chance to take an option on the “life deal,” to assert a contextual framework that declares: This is all worth it.

The biggest mistake in puppy training, which is also the most common one, is punishing the dog for bad behavior.

Peeking out the door at John and puppy, she had to pause just for the merest moment. The dog sat curled on John’s lap, looking up at him as he whispered to it. John looked up at her, dark brown eyes guarded. When he saw her grin, he grinned as well. “What? She was crying.” “She’s going to have you trained in no time.” He made a face at her and set the pup down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Shannon

Being a good owner involves accepting that dogs come with some limitations and respecting those limitations, so that we don’t place dogs in situations where they are likely to fail. Avoiding Pitfalls and Staying on Track Remember to look at the entire dog, not just one body part or a single vocalization, and to also look at the situation to get an accurate read of the dog’s emotional state. Dogs understand some words, but they can’t understand a full conversation. Gestures and body language are clearer ways to communicate with dogs. Clear communication takes attention and effort, but is well worth it! Not every dog can succeed in every situation. Watch your dog for signs of anxiety or aggression and change the circumstances so that the dog doesn’t get overwhelmed. If something seems like it’s about to happen, step in. Either remove the dog from the situation or change what’s happening. What Did We Say? Sometimes our dogs must feel the way you would if you were dropped into a place where you don’t speak the language and no one speaks English. Dogs primarily use nonverbal communication. Learn to read dog body language. Listen with your eyes as well as your ears. Using visual cues and training techniques based on positive reinforcement will help you be more successful in communicating with your dog. Not every dog can do every task or succeed in every situation. Pay attention to your dog and make smart choices.

He’s obviously very well trained. He’s probably just confused about being handed around a bit and is acting out.” Ryder didn’t think Tiny was confused at all. That dog was smart as hell. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was enjoying putting Ryder through the ringer then acting all butter-wouldn’t-melt whenever a chick walked by in case he got to lick a cleavage or two. He was evil. An evil fucking genius.

Jim Blair didn’t want to raise unnecessary attention. The Fayetteville attorney made a few discreet phone calls, worked some personal connections, and quietly arranged to buy a $10 million bond note that was owned by the investment firm Stephens Inc., in Little Rock. A bond note is a form of corporate debt, and in this case the $10 million in debt had been borrowed by Clift Lane, a poultry magnate from central Arkansas. In all likelihood, Stephens was more than happy to unload the debt at that point, in the early 1980s. Lane was looking like a shakier borrower by the day as his company foundered, due to weak sales and high interest payments. Lane almost certainly had no idea that Blair was buying up his debt, but he would find out soon enough. Blair handed over the note to his biggest client, and Lane’s most hated rival, Don Tyson. Tyson had cajoled Blair into becoming general counsel for Tyson’s Foods, a high-pressure job Blair was hesitant to take. He didn’t need the money, having become independently wealthy by 1980 from a series of shrewd stock investments. In spite of his personal wealth, he found himself working far more than he wanted to on the Tyson account. Blair had a job that was never done, and to call him Tyson’s general counsel was to miss his larger role at the company. He didn’t just handle lawsuits or regulatory matters. He was more like a well-trained attack dog, with a deep and creative understanding of U.S. law. Don Tyson kept him on a short leash.

He called us Butterflies, but really we were well-trained dogs.

them entertained and supplied with a surfeit of horseflesh. But none to really worry about. Their source of food and sustenance, the buffalo, roamed the plains in record numbers and still ranged into every corner of Comancheria. The tribe’s low birth rates virtually guaranteed that their nomadic life following buffalo herds was infinitely sustainable. Their world was thus suspended in what seemed to be a perfect equilibrium, a balance of earth and wind and sun and sky that would endure forever. An empire under the bright summer moon. For those who witnessed the change at a very intimate and personal level, including Cynthia Ann and her husband, the speed with which that ideal world was dismantled must have seemed scarcely believable. She herself, the daughter of pioneers who were hammering violently at the age-old Comanche barrier that had defeated all other comers, now adopted into a culture that was beginning to die, was the emblem of the change. Somehow she and her husband, Peta Nocona, survived the cataclysm. As nomads, they moved constantly. One imagines her on one of these migrations, on horseback, moving slowly across the open grassy plain with hundreds of others, warriors in the vanguard, toward a wide, hazy horizon that would have looked to white men like unalloyed emptiness. There were the long trains of heavily packed mules and horses and the ubiquitous Comanche dogs. There were horses dragging travois that carried the huge tent poles and piled buffalo hides and scored the earth as they went along—perfectly parallel lines drawn on the prairie, merging and vanishing into the pale-blue Texas sky. All trailed by the enormous horse remuda, the source of their wealth. It must have been something to behold. Cynthia Ann lived a hard life. Women did all of the brutally hard work, including most of the work that went into moving camp. They did it from dawn till dark, led brief difficult lives, and did not complain about it; they did everything except hunt and fight. Her camp locations show just how far she roamed. Pah-hah-yuco’s camps were found in 1843 north of the Red River and south of modern-day Lawton, Oklahoma, on Cache Creek (the encampment was on a creek bank on the open prairie and stretched for half a mile).25 In 1844 he was camped on the Salt Plains of present-day north-central Oklahoma, on the Salt Fork of the Arkansas River,26 well north of the Washita, where Williams found him in 1846. In 1847 his band was spotted a hundred miles north of Austin, in rolling, lightly timbered prairie, camped in a village of one hundred fifty lodges,27 and again that same year in a village in the limestone hills and mesas west of Austin. She was identified as being with the Tennawish band in 1847, who often camped with the Penateka (with whom Pah-hah-yuco was often

I broke an arm once,” Muriel said. “An arm is no comparison.” “I did it training dogs, in fact. Got knocked off a porch by a Doberman pinscher.” “A Doberman! Came to to find him standing over me, showing all his teeth. Well, I thought of what they said at Doggie, Do: Only one of you can be boss. So I tell him, ‘Absolutely not.’ Those were the first words that came to me—what my mother used to say when she wasn’t going to let me get away with something. ‘Absolutely not,’ I tell him and my right arm is broken so I hold out my left, hold out my palm and stare into his eyes—they can’t stand for you to meet their eyes—and get to my feet real slow. And durned if that dog doesn’t settle right back on his haunches. Good Lord, Macon said.

The cats multiplied. New litters hit their first heat and inbred. Red Fox corralled them like a stout colonel with a monocle and declared to the other hounds that this was his territory. Most of the dogs shoved off after a day or two. But the cats remained and overran our porch, and as the spring warmed, so came fleas and the starving mews of wormy felines badly in need of a vet. One of my blog readers donated supplies. The stench of urine rose with the morning dew.

So, in my urgent rush to get everyone loaded, I tried to ignore the dog. Red Fox barked, upset and crazed, for a reason I couldn’t make out. I wondered if I should put him in the house while we were gone. But we were late, and the kids were in the car. I started the van and pulled out of the driveway.

I broke an arm once,” Muriel said. “An arm is no comparison.” “I did it training dogs, in fact. Got knocked off a porch by a Doberman pinscher.” “A Doberman! Came to to find him standing over me, showing all his teeth. Well, I thought of what they said at Doggie, Do: Only one of you can be boss. So I tell him, ‘Absolutely not.’ Those were the first words that came to me—what my mother used to say when she wasn’t going to let me get away with something. ‘Absolutely not,’ I tell him and my right arm is broken so I hold out my left, hold out my palm and stare into his eyes—they can’t stand for you to meet their eyes—and get to my feet real slow. And durned if that dog doesn’t settle right back on his haunches. Good Lord, Macon said.

William was pale and silent. He wouldn’t let me hug him. “William, what’s wrong?” He clenched his fists and glared. “It’s the dogs,” Katie whispered. “What dogs? The puppies?” “He made William kill them,” she said, her lip sticking out and weighted tears streaking down her face. William turned and ran upstairs. Ashen and horrified, I chased him. At the top of the landing, I caught his right sleeve. When he spun around, his forearm cuffed my cheek. The force knocked me to the wood floor, shocked and dizzy. The bedroom door slammed behind him. “Go away!” he yelled.

He's a sweet boy, and actually very trainable, even if he is something of a natural disaster for the moment. He's the star of his puppy kindergarten class, and can sit, lie down, roll over, and high-five. But stay and heel are hard for him because he has so much playful puppy energy. He's also gaining about ten pounds a day, and I think maybe I should have named him Clifford, because I fear he's going to be bigger than my house by the end of the month." "Well, at least Volnay likes him." "Whatever else is wrong with him, Wayne was right about one thing. Volnay seems to be happier and perkier. She's helping train him, which I think is the only reason he hasn't eaten the entire neighborhood by now, and she has absolutely adopted him. Which is hilarious, because she is so alpha, and he is already bigger than she is. When he's full size, it is going to be pretty funny!

Cesar’s Rules FOR MASTERING THE WALK Leave and enter your house in front of your dog. Position in the pack is important. Don’t let your dog leave the house in an overexcited condition—make sure she is calm-submissive and in waiting mode before you open the door. Make sure you are the one to invite her outside and to trigger the activity. Walk with your dog behind you or next to you, not in front of you (though there is a time and a place for that), and definitely not pulling you or creating any tension on the leash. Make your walk a minimum of thirty minutes for older, lower-energy, or smaller dogs and forty-five minutes for larger or higher-energy dogs. Walk like a pack leader—head up, shoulders back. Your posture is part of the body language that your dog reads when assessing your energy. Keep your arm relaxed and the leash loose, as if you were holding a briefcase or pocketbook. Alternate between the formal, structured walk and short breaks for your dog to pee, sniff, and explore, which may even include short bursts of walking ahead of you. The key is for you to be the one to start and stop the behavior.

Since they’re in dog country, both the Redds and the Bleus have dogs. But they do own different types. The fixed family chose their dog based on its size and its capacity to be trained. Big dogs with a loud bark are well suited to scare off would-be thieves. Even though Brentwood has a vanishingly low crime rate, people who see the world as a dangerous place can’t be too careful. (Those differences in wariness help explain, incidentally, why the Redds keep a gun in a lockbox, while the Bleus find the idea of a gun in the home to be anathema.) For owners with a fixed worldview, large and untrained is a bad combination, however, so obedience is an important characteristic in dogs. When they are out for a walk, the Redds’ dog, Rex, follows close at James’s heels. When he’s inside, Rex knows where he doesn’t belong, namely on the furniture. Man’s best friend gets a smack on the nose when he tries to get up on the couch. The notion of him sleeping in the same bed as James and Mary is a nonstarter.

use of eagles in falconry demands access to open countryside in unpopulated areas. These large birds are quite capable of killing small dogs. Only the most experienced and responsible falconers should even consider flying eagles. Because they are highly individualist eagles that often do not take well to being handled by more than one person. Due to their size, basic training practices must be altered to accommodate their bulk.

In Transylvania the keeping of sheep involves constant vigilance and a pack of large and well-trained dogs. The dogs are not for herding but for protection against wild animals. In the British Isles bears were wiped out by the sixteenth century, and the last wolf was said to have been shot by Sir Ewen Cameron of Lochiel in 1686. But here wolves still carry off sheep by the scruff of their necks and bears tear pigs in half like loaves of bread. As Gregor Von Rezzori wrote in one of his beautiful memoirs of Romania, 'The poetic gentleness of the flowery slopes was all too deceptive in obscuring the wildness of the deep forests.' (p. 221)

But there was another type of person Ivar felt he could trust even more. By 1922, Ivar secretly had hired a handful of men with no previous connection to him or his companies. These men trusted Ivar for all the wrong reasons: because he had saved them from prison or bribed them or paid them five times what they deserved. Ivar could ask these men to do things he would never ask of friends. Sometimes Ivar needed a person he could trust for reasons more dependable than human love or respect, someone he could rely on as a master relies on a well-trained attack dog. Then, if one of Ivar’s schemes unraveled, he could lay the blame on an out-of-control animal.

From the Saturday afternoon Piper and her mother had gone to the animal shelter and spotted the little white dog with the floppy ears and a big brown patch around his left eye, they were goners. Piper had still been working on A Little Rain Must Fall, and it was the week before she attended her first---and last---Daytime Emmy Awards ceremony. She'd named the terrier Emmett in honor of the occasion, only later realizing how appropriate the moniker would be. The dog could just as easily have been named for world-famous clown Emmett Kelly. Happy-go-lucky and friendly, Emmett was very smart and responded exceptionally well to the obedience training Piper's father had insisted upon. But it was Piper's mother who cultivated the terrier's special talents, teaching him a series of tricks using food as a reward. The dog had already provided the Donovan family and their neighbors with hours and hours of delight and laughter when Terri came up with the idea of having Emmett featured in commercials for the bakery, which ran on the local-access cable channel. As a result, Emmett had become something of a celebrity in Hillwood.

typical training session should run 30-90 seconds. Resist the urge to push longer, even if you’re doing well; that’s a great time to stop, before any mistakes happen! When your dog really understands this behavior, you should be completing about 15 target repetitions per minute.

Not that Singer’s behavior had ever been . . . well, ordinary. Except for the peeing thing, the dog had always acted as if he thought he were human. He refused to eat out of a dog bowl, he’d never needed a leash, and when Julie watched television, he would crawl up on the couch and stare at the screen. And when she talked to him—whenever anyone talked to him, for that matter—Singer would stare intently, his head tilted to the side, as if he were following the conversation. And half the time, it did seem as if he understood what she was telling him. No matter what she told him to do, no matter how ridiculous the command, Singer would carry it out. Could you go get my purse from the bedroom? Singer would come trot. ting out with it a moment later. Will you turn off the bedroom light? He’d balance on two legs and flick it with his nose. Put this can of soup in the pantry, okay? He’d carry it in his mouth and set it on the shelf. Sure, other dogs were well trained, but not like this. Besides, Singer hadn’t needed training. Not real training, anyway. All she’d had to do was show him something once and that was it. To others it seemed downright eerie, but since it made Julie feel like a modem day Dr. Dolittle, she kind of liked it