So, here I am, back with another update on Otter, our supersized cavapoo. For all unfamiliar with Otter, he is what our last trainer called, an out-of-control teenager. He chews furniture. Steals shoes. Guards his food bowl.
After trying and failing to curb these behaviors at home, we recently sent him away to two weeks of boarding school between Thanksgiving and Christmas, hopeful that we could restore peace with the help of some professional intervention.
But it seems that once again, Otter has outsmarted the professionals.
Our journey started with research. We wanted a program that used positive reinforcement. That would not only work to eradicate undesirable behaviors but also teach obedience. We wanted trainers who would treat Otter with affection and love. After looking into several options, we picked a program that seemed to do just that. There was a team of dedicated trainers. Glowing reviews. A recommendation from a friend of a friend. And a warm, welcoming facility.
When we brought Otter in for an evaluation, he seemed happy and at ease. And so we decided to move forward, scheduling him for two weeks of doggy boot camp in the hopes of not just regaining some order at home, but also helping Otter be a happier dog.
“Dogs need discipline and routine. He’s a good boy, he just needs to learn that you are in charge,” the trainer told me when I dropped him off. “Teenagers can be a challenge, but I promise, he’ll return so much happier!”
I nodded along as I handed over the leash, my heart welling as it had all those times I’d dropped children off at the first day of school. The emotions surprised me. This dog was destroying our home! No one could sit on the couch – or eat at the table – in peace! How could I miss him? So I pushed down my feelings and stayed strong, trying hard not to notice that, in the coming days, I actually missed chasing Otter around with a spray bottle of bitter apple no-chew spray.
Not that I was alone. The kids missed him, too, randomly bursting into tears whenever they noticed his absence. I tried to reassure them that the break would be worth it. That Otter would return a better dog.
And based on the daily videos we received, it seemed true.
At boarding school, Otter appeared to be thriving. He could “sit,” “stay,” go “down,” and go to his bed with ease. He could “leave it” when a treat was thrown near him and “drop it” when it was time to finish playing with a toy.
Excitedly, I shared the videos with friends and family.
“Can you believe it? It doesn’t even seem like the same dog!” I said gleefully, as I played the videos over and over.
As promised, Otter looked calm, healthy, and cooperative. The training appeared to be all worth it!
And then he came home.
Our reunion was tearful and joyous. All five of us drove down to retrieve him. He spent the car ride home sprawled across the laps of all three kids.
“We love you, Otter!” they chanted as he drenched them in kisses. “We’re so happy you’re home!”
The next day home was his transition day, to be followed by several home training sessions. He spent most of the day sleeping in his favorite spots, obviously worn out from boot camp.
When he was awake, he was pleasant, albeit uncooperative with his new commands.
“Maybe we’re doing it wrong,” my oldest said, when he refused to go “down.”
I nodded. “Hopefully, the trainer will train us tomorrow.”
But when the trainer arrived, he was equally surprised. Upon seeing him, Otter ran to his crate and refused to leave. After ten minutes, when we finally coaxed him out, Otter continued his uncooperative streak.
“Wow,” the trainer said. “I’ve never seen a dog that acts this differently during training and at home. Usually they’re a little different, a little more relaxed at home, but this is night and day.”
I frowned as the trainer gave us more homework. He was convinced the problem was that Otter still didn’t see us as the pack leaders.
“Keep him off the furniture. Don’t leave his food bowl out during the day. Work on his commands in five-minute intervals throughout the day. He should improve in a couple of weeks.”
I took notes as he talked, my fingers typing out the instructions on my phone.
When he left, I got to work. And for the next week, between shopping and meetings, house cleaning and homework help, I chased Otter around, pulling him off the furniture and yelling corrections. All. Day. Long.
But instead of getting better, Otter got worse. Every time I’d leave the room, he’d jump on the couch. When I returned and told him to get off, he sometimes listened, but more often he stayed put.
At the trainer’s advice, we attached a leash with no loop to the collar’s end so he could wear it in the house. It was supposed to make it easier to pull him off the furniture, but Otter caught on to this quickly, sitting atop the leash and guarding it as if it were a precious toy.
Every time we tried to discipline Otter, his behavior deteriorated. I began to feel defeated as all the behaviors we’d tried to eliminate came rushing back, smashing the dam we’d tried so hard to build.
After a couple of weeks at home, I declared training attempt two a failure and stopped fighting every time Otter jumped on the couch.
And, overnight, Otter seemed to calm down. He stopped acting so anxious. Resumed his long naps on my cushy white chair. Slowly, we fell back into our old status quo.
Of course, this meant he returned to chewing my furniture. So I returned to chasing him with the spray bottle. And the resource guarding the training had promised to fix remained; his desire to steal and protect anything within his reach was still unusually strong.
Today, a month later, those tendencies remain. But with his quirks also comes a whole lot of love. Hours of him sprawled over little laps during TV time, endless wet kisses when the kids come home from school.
Is Otter a model dog? No. But he is ours, and he loves us.
And while I’m still unsure what will come next for him (is it time to find a third trainer?), I do know that the house is fuller when he is in it. And I am hopeful that, in time, he will learn that I am indeed the pack leader – just a kind one, who lets him sleep on the furniture.
