Solving Counter Surfing
Most of us know at least one dog who’s found a way to use height or ingenuity to grab food off the countertop. This behavior is one of the most common reasons owners call me for help. This one is actually a bit tricky to fix because most dogs learn very quickly to be perfect angels when their owners are near—but the minute they’re alone, they go surfin’!The solution to this problem starts with a trick every great parent knows—having eyes in the back of your head. Actually, a little secret surveillance is the tool you’ll use to get this done, but your dog won’t know the difference between a hidden camera and your ability to see all things at all times.
You’ll need eyes in the back of your head, courtesy of a hidden camera, to stop counter surfing.
Let’s break down the process. You’ll need a couple of tools for this technique:
•Your trusty penny bottle or Shake & Break
•A baby camera or other video monitor
•Bait
You only need monitoring equipment good enough to let you see what your dog’s up to—so an inexpensive used monitor from a garage sale is as good as a new one for our purposes. You can even set up streaming video on your phone, tablet, or laptop as long as you’re able to monitor it from the next room.
For the bait, I’d recommend something tempting but pet safe like sliced roast beef or chicken—good stuff your dog is going to want badly enough to pull out all the stops to get it.
When the trap is set, watch your viewing monitor with your noisy training tool in hand. Get ready to move quickly once your dog’s paws hit the counter.
Step 1. Place your camera in a location with a view of the countertop. I recommend choosing a bird’s-eye view of the room instead of a close, tight view. This will allow you to see what your dog is up to before she makes her move, so you can act in a timely manner to catch her mid-theft.
Next, place some of that bait on the countertop. Don’t place it right on the edge; set it far enough back so your dog will have to work a little to grab it. You want her to get caught red-handed (with her paws on the counter) when you’re making the correction. She’ll learn the lesson faster if she’s busted in the moment.
Now that your trap is set, grab your viewing monitor and your penny bottle or Shake & Break and leave the room. Be sure to stay close enough to be able to quickly return, but not so close your dog knows you’re right outside the door. She may be too smart to fall for an obvious setup. Watch that monitor and wait. Habitual counter surfers will most likely make their move in the first minute or two, but some dogs may take longer. Whatever the case, wait out your dog.
Step 2. When your dog approaches the counter, get ready to move. The moment you see her place her paws on it, quickly walk into the kitchen, vigorously shake the bottle, and give the NO command. As soon as your dog gets down, walk out of the room and go back to waiting mode again. When your dog jumps up again, repeat this process. I find that most dogs quit after the first couple of times they experience this, but that doesn’t mean the issue is solved. It means you’ve won the first round. Tomorrow is another day . . .
Since dogs learn by trial and error, they’re always testing to see what they can get away with. Figuring out they can’t feast on deli meat today doesn’t mean they won’t try again, especially because counter surfing is an easy gamble that’s probably paid big dividends in the past. The key to making this work is to convince your dog that grabbing food off the counter actually triggers the dreaded noise—and there’s a good chance you’ll have to repeat the technique a few times a day for a week to convince her. Each session should only take ten minutes or so, and each time you should focus on pulling off enough of a surprise to startle your dog. Over the few days this conditioning takes, your dog will learn not to jump on the counters—and undoubtedly get to wondering how the heck you know what she’s up to when you’re not even there.
Training Tips to Remember
Mix It Up to Convince Your Dog She’s Alone. Some dogs need extra convincing that they’re alone before they’ll fall for this technique—especially after you’ve done it a time or two. For starters, be sure to keep completely still and quiet when you’re in the next room waiting for the jump. Next, change where you wait so your dog doesn’t decide that surfing only has to be postponed if you’re in one particular room or chair. Lastly, don’t hesitate to get a little creative as you test this technique over a few days. Say good-bye. Put on your shoes. Slam a door. When I’m training tough cases, I often grab my keys and pretend to walk out the front door. I’ve even gone as far as having someone else sit in my truck and drive it down the block—that usually convinces even the smartest dog that it’s time to belly up to the buffet.
Set the Game Up So You Win. Keep in mind that if your dog happens to actually grab the food while you’re training this technique, that’s not a reason to get angry with her. Remember, you set the game up, so set it up so you can win. If your dog beats you in a round, set it up better the next time. The key is to set the food far enough back that your dog has to work for a few seconds to get it, struggling to get her mouth around the prize. Those seconds are vital to ensuring you catch her in the act. If your dog is really superfast, you can put a leash on her for the first round so you can quickly correct without a struggle.
Don’t Leave Food Unattended. Try not to leave food unattended on the counter unless you’re training this technique—it’s an invitation for your dog to get into trouble and potentially ingest something that could make her sick. I really can’t stress this enough. Expecting an animal to ignore perfectly good food on countertops day in and day out is a lot to ask. It goes against every instinct. The technique here is for teaching your dog to steer clear of food occasionally left on the counter. But if you make a habit of leaving steak bones or cold cuts at the counter’s edge, well, that’s basically like dropping a hundred-dollar bill on a city sidewalk and expecting no one will take it. It’s a lot of temptation—far more than the average dog who breathes and eats can withstand. All I’m saying is be reasonable and realistic.
Keep Chews and Toys in the Kitchen. Be sure to have some attractive chews and toys in and around the kitchen that your dog is allowed to gnaw on and play with. Providing an alternative to counter surfing will help ease the hardship of having her surfing days come to an end.
Solving Garbage Raiding
Sawyer was a young Lab I rescued from a shelter, and he was going to make a great pet for a family one day. But Labs are notoriously adventurous eaters—over the years I’ve had people tell me theirs have eaten everything from batteries to diapers to lightbulbs, rocks, and socks. These are dogs with no full sensor whatsoever, and that makes them frequent offenders when it comes to raiding the kitchen trash. Sawyer was no exception.
While I was reading on the couch one day, he sat down beside me and started working over a banana peel—which could only have come from the garbage can. A little bit of fruit is no big deal, but there was no telling what Sawyer might get into next. Another trip to the trash might bring him in contact with something poisonous, sharp, or otherwise dangerous.
Over the years, I’ve had a front-row seat to witness the consequences of a number of dogs eating dangerous things out of trash cans, and it’s not pretty. This is why the lesson I designed to teach dogs to stay out of the trash is a little more bitter than most of my techniques.
I always tell my clients with this problem: when life gives you lemons, teach your dog to stay out of the trash can. For this technique, all you’ll need is a little patience and a couple of fresh, sliced lemons.
Step 1. Take your dog to the scene of the crime as soon as you notice she’s been dumpster diving. Show her that great spot where she found her last treasure and see if she goes looking for another one. You can even speed things along by showing her something you know she’ll find interesting in the can. I know this sounds like entrapment, but it’s better for your dog to learn this lesson sooner than later. In Sawyer’s case, I b
rought him and the banana peel to the trash can, threw it in, and he went right for it again.
Remember that this is not the time to punish your dog for taking whatever she stole five, fifteen, or fifty-five minutes ago—in her mind, that’s ancient history. Do this either while your dog is in the trash or within a minute after.
Step 2. If your dog goes for the bait, use that opportunity to correct her in the moment. Have your lemon wedge ready, tell your dog NO, and then quickly squeeze a little lemon into her mouth. In Sawyer’s case, the moment he jammed his snout in the trash can to retrieve “his” banana peel was the perfect moment to correct him. If your dog goes for the object again, give her another shot of lemon. Most dogs won’t want to get a mouthful of lemon juice twice.
If your dog isn’t interested in taking the bait from the trash when you lead her to it, then you’ll have to wait for her in order to get this process started. To do that, you can stay close by, or you can set up a monitor as was outlined to combat counter surfing earlier in this chapter.
Once your dog has been caught and given a shot of lemon for getting into the trash, take the rest of your lemon wedges and rub them all over the can. I like rubbing the rind on it because it tends to be a little more pungent and less sticky. Doing so will leave a strong scent your dog will associate with a bad taste in her mouth, and chances are she’ll leave it alone. Dogs explore the world through their noses, so if your dog comes across the harsh scent of lemon in the future, she’ll remember this lesson.
One Lucky Dog
Courtesy of Litton Syndications, Inc.
By the time I was finished rehabilitating and training Tweety, she’d gained five pounds and mastered the 7 Common Commands. She was ready to go to her forever home. Tweety had been with me for several weeks, and we’d developed a close relationship. I had been her nurse, her trainer, and her family at a critical time in her life. Whenever I get that close to a dog, I worry a little bit that bonding with a new family might be difficult.
The family Tweety was about to join needed and deserved a dog who would be completely committed to loving them. They’d been through the loss of a loved one and were finding their way to a new normal in the wake of that tragedy. They hoped Tweety would bring a new energy and joy to their household, and that she’d give the children a new sense of purpose and responsibility.
When I brought Tweety to their home, the family welcomed her with open arms. I hoped she would embrace them, too. As I worked with the oldest daughter, Leilani, to help her become the primary handler, she put Tweety through all her commands. They both did a great job. And then I showed her the one extra command I’d taught Tweety during our time together. Since she was going to be a lapdog in her new home, I taught her GET UP THERE as a way to tell her it was okay to climb on someone’s lap.
With the family sitting in a circle in their living room, Leilani guided her new dog from person to person, telling Tweety GET UP THERE as she moved around the room. Tweety moved from one lap to the next, happy to obey and meet the family. That little lap-sitting ceremony cemented it for me: I knew that this dog who’d been barely surviving when we first met had finally arrived in the place she belonged. She’d found her forever home.
17
SEPARATION ANXIETY (A 7-DAY START)
When I first met Grover, his story was a mystery, but he was clearly in trouble. At just two years old, he was already a boomerang shelter dog. The facility that was holding him was a typical city shelter—cold and stark, with concrete walls and floors, bars on the doors, and no heat or air conditioning. The volunteers who kept the place running were doing everything they could, but with hundreds of animals on-site and few resources, the best most dogs could hope for was a few minutes a day out of their cells. I walked in to a deafening storm of barks, growls, and cries from every dog in sight—a sound that’s as unnerving the thousandth time it’s heard as it is on the first. As I made my way through the aisles, passing dozens of big, imposing dogs who looked like they could hold their own on the streets, I spotted Grover hunkered down against the noise, staring at the floor. The little poodle mix was pure underdog—small, defenseless, and scared.
Grover met me right up front at his kennel, as if he knew I’d been on the way to rescue him, and it was about time. He sat quietly while I opened the door and hopped on my lap as soon as I sat beside him. It was easy to see how he’d become a pro at getting adopted. What wasn’t clear was why this charming little guy was getting so much practice.
I needed to figure out why people kept falling for Grover and then changing their minds, because every return trip to the shelter made it less likely he’d find a forever home. In all likelihood, with his track record I was about to give him his last chance.
In his assessment, Grover showed mastery of a few basic commands. He was able to SIT, get DOWN, HEEL, and COME on my first request—pretty impressive. Getting him to STAY was another story. Grover couldn’t handle being more than five feet from me—and even then, his response was lackluster at best.
His first night at the ranch, Grover cuddled next to me on the couch and then slept like a baby through the night. No whining, no chewing, no marking, no accidents. But in the morning, I went outside to grab a leash from my truck, and the calm demeanor I was just starting to get used to disintegrated.
The second I closed the door, Grover started screaming—and I mean screaming—like he was wounded or under attack. I ran back inside, thinking he’d hurt himself. Grover met me at the door, wagging his tail as if I’d been gone a hundred years. I scooped him up and put him on the couch to check him for injuries. I pulled on his legs and poked around his body to see if he had some tender spot I’d missed before, but he was fine.
I went out again to grab that leash, and the screaming started as soon as I closed the door. From there I went into test mode. I had a hunch about what was going on, but I needed to be sure. I walked outside and simply stood behind the door. On the other side, Grover went ballistic. The second I peeked my head back inside, he quieted down and wagged his tail. I repeated this process a few times, always with the same results.
After that, I had a pretty good idea what the mystery of Grover was all about. He hadn’t been attacked, but he might as well have seen a ghost. This dog was suffering from separation anxiety. And he had it bad.
Grover’s was a classic case of a dog who’d become a product of his environment, whose life experiences had profoundly altered his personality. A life spent in and out of shelters, combined with an innate craving for companionship, had left him terrified of being abandoned. In just seconds spent alone, the specter of his deepest fears rose up and threw him into total, desperate panic. Grover’s fate had come to be defined by a cruel catch-22: his fear of abandonment was causing him to be left behind again and again. Each time he came back to the shelter, his separation anxiety got worse, and his odds of being adopted into a loving home decreased.
If Grover continued on this path, he’d never find a home. I had a prospective owner in mind for him—one who worked from home, no less, but she lived in an upscale apartment complex, and unless I could cure Grover of this problem, he’d end up evicted by her HOA after just a small sample of the banshee-like antics he was showing me at the ranch.
Grover couldn’t afford one more rejection. As I walked toward the door to go get that leash, I could see him gearing up for panic mode—whining, panting, and starting to shake.
This dog and I had a lot of work to do.
The Problem
It can be difficult to appreciate how traumatic separation anxiety is for a dog when you’re the person who comes home to a wrecked room, a torn sofa, a soiled floor, and complaints from the neighbors about the awful racket that’s been coming from your house. It’s easy to feel, in that moment, like you’re the victim in this situation, or even that you’re dealing with a “bad” dog. If you have a dog with separation anxiety, I’m guessing you know exactly what I mean.
The thing is, though, dogs suffe
ring from separation anxiety don’t wreak havoc or bark themselves into a stupor when they’re alone as a way to pass the time; they do it because they’re overwhelmed by feelings of fear, panic, and grief. Being alone can be incredibly stressful for some pack animals, and it can be a cruel reminder of a troubled past for those with abandonment issues. The dog knows you’ve gone away, and he’s terrified you’ll never come back. That’s separation anxiety in a nutshell.
Some dogs are much more susceptible than others to this condition, and Grover was the perfect candidate for a bad case: a sensitive personality who’d suffered a lifetime of neglect. He was loyal. He didn’t like change. He had an active mind. He’d been abandoned before. All these components of his personality and experience, combined with his deep-seated fear of being alone, made him just the kind of dog to suffer a genuine, overwhelming sense of heartbreak each time the door closed and he was left behind. His case also highlights the reason training for separation anxiety is tricky—it means battling both nature and nurture.
If I had to guess, I’d lay odds that one of Grover’s old families kept him as a neglected outside dog. Some dogs are bred for independent, outdoor work and might be able to handle an environment like that—at least for a while. But poodles are definitely not that kind of dog. They’re a sensitive breed that needs attention and affection, and when they don’t get it, they start fighting for it. It’s in their nature to crave human contact and to build close relationships with their families. Grover probably got none of this at a young age—and then he was abandoned altogether. In the fallout, he turned his intelligent mind to coming up with creative, expressive ways of trying to prevent it from happening again; things like not letting the new owner out of his sight and screaming bloody murder every time I walked out the door.
There’s really no way to overestimate how serious this problem can be. I’ve known dogs who’ve had such extreme cases that they’ve ended up wounded and in need of veterinary care. One terrier pawed at a door for so long some of his nails came loose and his feet began to bleed. Even then, he kept at it, thinking his actions would somehow let him out or bring his owner in. In another case, a shepherd mix chewed at the side of his crate until the metal came apart, damaging his mouth and teeth.
Lucky Dog Lessons Page 21