Even Better, Jolene Becomes an Adolescent.

People said puppies are so much work. They said they were glad it was me and not them. Amen to that. I am glad it was me, too.

I’m 70 and at the top of my training game. And by that, I mean I’ve finally figured out how to shut up while they figure things out. I think the biggest difference now is that when I see a potential problem, I sit around and wait to see if it’s actually a problem. When I was young, I pre-corrected animals. I assumed the worst would happen if I didn’t fix it before it happened, and scolded them away from anything my vivid imagination saw as potential trouble. Which naturally includes most fun and stinky things. Boot camp for puppies, with love and my best intentions.

Now I don’t get in the way of their curiosity. Just like horses, a curious dog becomes a confident dog. Ends up dogs are smart enough to do the right thing, if they aren’t constantly being nagged and corrected. Or, wait. Is that me?

When I turned 30, I proclaimed that I’d learned everything I’d ever need to know from negative reinforcement. Being told NO! only made me fight the naysayers. Tell me I can’t do it and I will shoulder the impossible and carry it with defiance. Sure, I proved them wrong, but success never brought happiness. I kept looking for trouble. What would it be like to just say yes? To ignore hollow obligations and rules that make no sense? To live in the possibility of What If. Not to minimize 20 years of therapy, but could it be that easy? My dogs said yes. My horses agreed. 

I’m not saying I’m perfect. I worry about the future, the price of hay, the state of Mother Earth. I lament the downside of my awkward age. Sometimes I indulge in missing a few souls who have recently departed. There is a sticky, dark sweetness to mourning that can get addictive if you aren’t careful. 

It doesn’t help that Mister gives me a long-suffering look and lays his head on my lap. Oh, the troubles he’s seen. Oh, the unrequited work of being Uncle Mister. Oh, the dog days of summer that make our bellies clammy. Mister is a dog born to commiserate. But five minutes later, he’s ripping around the backyard with Jolene on the other end of a tug toy. Mister is stronger, but Jolene, being a girl dog, still has all the advantages. She swaggers, tug toy in her jaws.

Jolene is above most puppy antics now, although sometimes she still nibbles on the soft fat of my triceps before I’m quite awake. She still has a taste for Human Pâté. 

Jolene has lost her puppy body. Her black hairs on her back are so slick they seem like a plastic cape, and she’s grown some white pants on her backside, framing her negative tail space. Jolene is an adolescent now. She is a confident, self-contained girl, never quite apologetic for anything she does. Sometimes dizzy from bitey-face. Other times, she comes when I call and stays on my lap with Zen-like stillness. We are forging a sober trust.

We had a very sociable week. We went to meet a Vallhund puppy named Tachi who came to live with our friend, Nikki. You could say it’s Jolene’s fault. Tachi is younger, and Mister was immediately smitten. Mister tries to act sophisticated, but he comes off as a bit of a creepy curmudgeon. Jolene watched Tachi cautiously. Always on the brink of but reluctant to let herself play in any vulnerable way. 

I think it’s a hangover from being half the size of her siblings. She ran with the pack, but always at the edge. She plays, but by her own rules, favoring brains over brawn. A concept lost on Mister, bless his heart.

We camped there overnight, and Mister got a bit overwrought. He wasn’t jealous or overprotective, but Willie, the donkey, came up to our ex-pen and gave Mister a very threatening side-eye. The new puppy was as relentless as Jolene and the barn cats mocked him constantly. It was an exhausting sleepover. Jolene was fine, and she watched over Mister, bless his heart.

By now, you have noticed that I write about all kinds of dog action and tomfoolery, but I only post photos of Mister and Jolene glued together, usually with a chair. Their play is a blur, and by the time my camera is out, they are innocently crowded onto a small bed. Or Jolene becomes invisible, always at my heel. And turn around as I do, I can’t find her. Herding dog humor.

Days later, Ruby, the Border Jack, came for a visit. My friend Lara and I have had some perfect, yet wildly complicated dogs over the years. We know to expect the unexpected at every turn. What was remarkable about Jolene and Ruby meeting was that it was unremarkable. There was some sniffing, and Ruby got to dig some holes, considered good form in our yard. Jolene played her cards close. Mister ran past them with a tug and tried to distract them with feats of athleticism, but wasn’t quite cool enough for the girls, bless his heart. Then the dogs slept at our feet as we ate lunch. We checked for heartbeats and lounged in the anticlimactic peace. 

Back in the day, my parents thought I should settle down and have kids. That being an artist, competing my horse, buying a house by myself were foolish distractions from real life. That holidays with more animals than people were a problem. Why couldn’t I be normal? Again, notwithstanding 20 years of therapy, it is normal for some of us.

Jolene and I went to our first scent work class today. Our breeder suggested it. There are three other dogs, two Aussies and a Schipperke puppy. The other dogs got restless, but not Jolene. She sat on my lap and listened to the instructor. You get to look for smells. Search for the invisible. The instructor said things familiar to me  — no punishment, let the dog lead the way. It sounded perfect.

When it was our turn to “find it,” meaning a bowl with the scent, Jolene trotted right over, again and again. I cheered and whooped, again and again. The secret to training with praise is that you can’t be embarrassed to be a bit of a loon in public. Jolene got a treat, too. Even the instructor said it seemed secondary. 

I know we will have challenges ahead. Jolene still turns into a bag of snakes if you try to look at her teeth. There will be adolescent over-reactions as her hormones start to stir. She and Mister will continue hoarding chewies, and then bark at each other in outrage.

Seasons are shifting, nature rules our lives. The hawks are back, calling and riding the wind. For the first time in years, the pond is brimming with ducks, and I saw three great white herons glide in circles over the pond. And it’s grasshopper season at Infinity Farm. Wings with a crunch and no stinger. Jolene’s tastes have evolved. At dusk, two tom cats were howling like tigers in the tall grass. Edgar Rice Burro galloped to the fenceline to break it up. 

We’ve had four months with Jolene. Lots of people wish puppies would stay puppies forever, but not me. Every day, I am seeing more of the dog Jolene will become. I think she will be a serious girl, like her mother. I think she will always be a friendly greeter, like her father.

As for me, eventually I wore the naysayers down. Near the end of his life, my father told me my dogs were better behaved than his grandchildren. Like any good dog, I sat and smiled. It’s good to be trainable.

[Part 17. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]

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