Books by Ian Rogers
Books by Ian Rogers
Jilly isn’t my dog although I have known her since she was a puppy. My friends Heather Churchman and her family have always had dogs and we sometimes walked our dogs together. As Flip, her old dog, became infirm Heather bought Jilly, hoping to start agility eventing when Jilly was old enough.
Jilly was gorgeous puppy. Her puppy fur was short and dense; her brown patches were an almost Teddy Bear orange, her white patches brilliantly white. She had a small foxy face, alert eyes and upstanding, pointy ears. I recall being in the Churchman’s lounge and fussing the puppy when she rushed over. She sat and stayed as I crouched down and scratched behind her ears and stroked her back.
“You realise she’s just using you?” said Ruth, the middle child, aged 15.
“As long as we both enjoy it and I can stop when I want to, does it matter?” I asked.
“Ah, but can you stop when you want to?” Ruth challenged.
“Of course,” I said. “Watch.” I stood up, held my hands out, palm down, and said firmly; “That’s enough.” Jilly got up and went to look for other doggy interests. No training required.
On another occasion some weeks later, I was sitting on the Churchman’s lounge sofa. Jilly came and dropped a rubber bone at my feet and stood back expectantly. Not sure whether it was wise to throw dog toys in someone else’s house, I lifted it carefully to shoulder height - Jilly’s eyes riveted to it - and dropped it over the sofa’s back. Jilly couldn’t believe that I hadn’t thrown it but the toy had still vanished.
“Where’s it gone?” I asked. She looked this way and that, then back at me. I must have stuffed it up my jumper or something.
“Look round there,” I told her, sweeping my arm round the end of the sofa. She rushed to look and found the bone. Really pleased with herself, she brought it back to me. She enjoyed ‘hide-and -fetch’ as much as ‘throw- and- catch’ and there was much less risk to the furnishings.
Heather had hopes for Jilly who proved able to run tunnels, wiggle through posts, leap jumps and walk ramps in the peaceful garden of her home but sadly she couldn’t perform at agility events. She was far too distracted by all the people, the other dogs and every noise and smell. She just couldn’t concentrate.
I lost track of her for a while. Then I heard that Jilly had also become a bit snappy. Heather’s work-from-home involved tutoring children and their constant procession in and out of the house bothered Jilly. Worried for the children’s safety and as Heather’s mum had lost her old dog, Jilly was passed on to mum. Mum lived on a farm and I heard Jilly was very happy with the new space, freedom and being the top (and only) dog. I continued to visit the hospitable Churchmans and met their new dogs who were agile, focused and could concentrate. They won lots of agility rosettes. Sally, the female - a black and white collie - had beautiful puppies. I saw and handled one a few days after he was born.
My own dog, Shana, developed some kind of lymph-node cancer at the age of 16. Deirdre and I, with vets help, gave palliative care and nursed her along. Her appetite waned and we tempted her with an ever-escalating range of tasty things. At the end, she was eating better than we did ourselves, mainly pre-packed slices of roast beef! Inevitably with time she became so weak she had to be put to sleep.
A little while afterwards Heather’s mum, Jane, sold the farm and moved to our village. I would look out of my window and see Heather and her two dogs walk past, going to see Jane and Jilly. They would all go to the community wood for a wild run-about (the dogs, that is, not Heather and Jane).
My wife’s health deteriorated and we felt it best not to have another pet, not even a cat. On occasions when the Churchman tribe went away Jane would house sit for them and care for all the dogs - Sally and her son, Blaze, and Jilly too. Jilly, now 9, was still bottom dog. The newer and younger dogs hogged the toys and, if one were thrown, they’d run and get it while Jilly ran a curved arc around them. If she had a toy they’d take it off her. Even when on her own I thought she was a bit withdrawn and she was still easily distracted from obeying commands. She was also a picky dog who would walk around a puddle rather than through it, even if a car was coming - not a good idea on narrow country lanes. I got into the habit of borrowing Jilly and taking her for walks on her own, throwing sticks for her and doing a little training. ‘Come’ and ‘heel’ were obvious necessities that just needed revising. I also tried to teach her what my long-gone dog Judy had learned spontaneously; the command ‘side’, meaning move to the gutter or onto the verge. I said it to Jilly every time a car came and I would to pull on her lead to make her do the action and then praise her. I could soon walk her off the lead, although I had to watch her carefully. She was still in a world of her own if distracted by an interesting smell! Then on one walk we turned off a larger road into a smaller one. As we ambled along she spontaneously went to one side. As I saw her going, I said in surprise: “ ‘Side’? That’s sensible.” She wagged her tail as if to say; “See! I can do it all by myself!”
Although Jilly would come to me or obey the ‘side’ command when a car came along, she really had no idea why she was doing it. Without the command, she’d have been run over. To show her that moving cars were actually nasty and to be avoided , I’d say in a revolted voice, “Urgh, car!” and then praise her after the car had passed. I sometimes wondered if nearby people thought I had car-phobia!
More about ‘Jilly’ in the next blog.
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