Tug of War: Jolene and I Ponder Our Options.

I have a too-cute collection of plush dog toys Jolene thinks are silly and beneath her. I understand; I didn’t play with dolls when I was little.

Most of my dogs don’t play ball either. They know it’s a game that always ends the same way. Where is the fun in that? Call it splitting hairs, but Jolene prefers anything that can be a tug toy. Rugs, leashes, my pant legs. Tug is wolfish and wild, with growls and teeth. So I throw the tug, and Jolene runs for it. Sometimes she takes it to Mister instead of me. Sometimes Mister steals one end and drags her around the yard. Eventually she brings back and throws it at my feet. She doesn’t need to be told to drop it because she knows that’s how the game continues. I have trained nothing.

But her dog-friends like to play ball. So, I bought a special ball, and set to training. I threw the tug a dozen times, just to get her in the rhythm. And then, I tossed the ball. Jolene half-heartedly followed it. I hooted and chirped praise. She wandered off. I persisted. A few days later, I saw Mister lift his leg on the ball, but considering other things Jolene puts in her mouth, I don’t think that’s the problem. Mister is just stating a similar opinion.

There was a time when this rebellion would have started a war of wills. I thought it was my dog’s obedient responsibility to show everyone what a great trainer I was. It didn’t work because I was an overthinking, Type-A, Virgo perfectionist. Every animal’s worst nightmare, except that my passion for animals is just an inch stronger. Eventually, I had to wonder why I was asking animals to act against their instincts to please my ego. We’ve all done it. The harder we push, the quicker the thing we want runs the other way.

Horses are the best at redirecting that human failing we call ego. And a string of herding dogs helped. They asked me to relax with calming signals. I had to give up trying so hard because it was as futile as fighting gravity.

And it’s true about hearing, too. Some people have said I’m being stoic about my hearing loss, or that I’m valiantly rising above. Trust me, I’m not. But what are my options? Sob, whine, complain, howl at the moon? Nothing will bring it back. As it is, my hearing aids give me a little sound in one ear. They are not a fix. It took me a while to understand that. Now what? I knew there was a gadget, an audio assist, that a friend clipped on me at clinics so she could hear me from her horse.

My audiologist explained the technology. I already had Bluetooth software on my phone to adust my hearing aids in different situations. There are remote wireless microphones. They work like a hearing aid for your hearing aids. I blurted out that I wanted one without asking the price. I tried it out in his office and it was great, but I needed a new phone. Worse than that, this Android girl needed an Apple phone. I bought one of those, too. Because I am made of money. And being able to hear feels like a superpower. It took a few days to set the phone up, and during that time, without my old phone software, I was back to listening with my eyes. Nothing different for the dogs, but I couldn’t even talk on the phone. Humans had to yell at me again. Nothing makes me feel older or more fragile.

Four days later, I had all the parts connected. I hadn’t mastered a fraction of the phone, but it was coming. I forced myself to dig into the new hearing software, not because I’m good at technology but because what are my options?

Meanwhile, Jolene wanted me to know I was a drag. I bought her a huge blue tug as a peace offering, but I was still trying to make friends with this new phone, which I refuse to hate, because that won’t help. Finally, it was time for our weekly scentwork class. Jolene gets better every week, and it’s becoming more fun for me because I stopped feeling guilty about not practicing. I mean, Jolene uses her nose all day, every day. In a way, she can’t not practice, but class is special. Just us at the scent work nose spa.

We parked in front, and Jolene tried to dig her way out of the truck, through my arm and then my thigh. I smiled and exhaled. What are my choices? Jolene practically huffs back at me but settles. After double-checking my app, we go in. Jolene skittles her way to the instructor, and I turn on the mic. The instructor is happy to wear it, and pigs fly, I hear every word. Usually, I hear every fifth word and make up the ones in between.The first hide was two scents in an area with chairs and a nightstand. Eventually, I won’t know where the hides are located, but we do in the beginning. The nightstand has four drawers, the scent in top one, barely cracked open. I was doubtful; it was as high as she is tall. I said, “Find it,” and seven measly seconds later, she is on her hind legs, with her pointy nose on the crack. Then she sat and looked at me. This is my cue to say, “Alert.” Which I forgot to say because I was cheering. We did five searches, and I only remembered to say “Alert” once. Jolene has siblings who are bringing home big ribbons, but she slows down so I can keep up. What are her options?

Jolene would tell you that training a willing partner isn’t about dominance; it’s about finding common ground. Staying in the conversation. The art of noticing patterns and working the puzzle. It’s a shared hunt for the right answer.

Kyra Kirkland, Finnish dressage Olympian and my hero, was asked how she trained piaffe. She said that training involved asking the horse in any way you could think of- for a movement sort of like what you wanted- and if he gave you something remotely in that direction- then reward him like crazy and ask again.

Successive approximation. It meant I didn’t have to be an Olympian to do it. Affirmative training is the game of asking a question and letting the animal figure it out. I get such a thrill every time a horse surprises me with a better answer that I expected. Why even pretend to be the smart one? I’m having more fun letting Jolene lead. Letting the win be hers. I thought that drawer that she made a beeline for would be a stumper. What fun to be wrong. My friend, who has Jolene’s parents, warned me to get used to being the slow one. Happy to, what are my options?

Then she added, “Don’t you think that if we had let ourselves be the slow one for our horses years ago that the horse world might be a little different today?” I hear that loud and clear.

Dusk comes earlier every day now. The wind is colder. One afternoon, there’s more barking than usual. Mister is the long-distance runner of barking, but oddly, it’s Jolene. She barks like a toothache feels, so I go check. Looking at me with sleepy eyes, Mister has blocked the dog door with his body so she can’t get in. He truly is a donkey in a dog suit.

We make the best pack. I have the dog food, can drive, and own the debit card. The dogs get me up early, take care of my personal security, don’t let me spend too much time working, and clean any drool or leftovers off my clothes. And when I don’t have my hearing aids in, I trust Jolene will be almost too close. That Mister will sound an alarm that near-deaf people can hear.

Dogs. Keeping us safe from real or perceived danger for 30,000 years. God bless the barkers.

[Part 22. Read all the episodes of Jolene’s Story here.]

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