How I Became a Pack Leader by Katherine Peacock

Click here and here for Holly’s background.

Holly’s unconditional and instant friendship was the first step to my “recovery.” But secondly and maybe most importantly, she gave me something to do. I was going to train her.

I had never had a dog. All the other dogs I knew were kinda crazy, except for Gator. Gator defied craziness. A beautiful purebred yellow Lab, Gator was also the meanest fucking dog in Florida. He lived with my grandparents. And there were rules about Gator. No running, period. If you dropped any kind of food on the floor, forget it, it was his. That goes for jellybeans too. Don’t go anywhere near his food bowl. Don’t go anywhere near his bed. Don’t Don’t Don’t. It was a lot of rules for a little kid to remember. But if my brothers and I didn’t obey them, we got bit. Believe me, I still have the scars. Gator ruled that house. In a sense, he was my grandparent’s master instead of the other way around.

I refused to let Holly become a Gator. I poured my heart into books about raising and training dogs. My first book was A New Owner’s Guide to Training the Perfect Puppy by Andrew De Prisco. My cousin laughed at me when she saw me reading it. She doesn’t remember Gator. I read that book front to back at least three times.

At some point, I realized that I couldn’t stand to be away from Holly. Leaving her for college classes wasn’t that bad, but the long days landscaping were a different story. I ended up putting in my two weeks notice. Essentially, I quit my job to be with my dog.

The good news is that I spent all those suddenly free hours training Holly. First off, I refused to have a dog that was food aggressive. During every meal I would put my hand in her bowl. She would stop eating and wait, then I removed my hand, and she would dig in. I repeated the exercise from the start several times. I still do it, occasionally. I taught her how to sit with a snap of my fingers. And I crate-trained her. I covered the crate with sheets and put blankets inside. I’d say “Cubby Time” and in she would go. Every once in a while, I’d give her little puppy massages and spend extra time holding her paws. If she tried to pull her paw away, I’d gently hold onto it until she relaxed. This exercise made cutting her nails really easy. With practice and patience, Holly eventually sat still long enough for me to paint her nails purple.

The other behavior I really wanted to master was heel. Being walked by a dog isn’t enjoyable for either the owner or the dog. But Holly struggled in that department. That’s when I looked into actual training classes and came across the Nashville Dog Training Club.

When Holly turned 12 weeks we started the classes. They didn’t train Holly. They trained ME on how to train Holly. There were 6 others puppies in the class. The teacher was Ms. No-Nonsense Drill Sergeant. I almost felt like we had enrolled in Puppy Boot Camp. But it was wonderful. What I learned in class, I took home and we practiced drills. The commands down, off, and stay were a breeze. We “graduated” with flying colors. Holly would heel in class, but she still had problems with walking around the neighborhood. So, I signed us up for the next class. Once you pass Level 2, you can earn your Canine Good Citizen certificate from the American Kennel Club. A goal! Nothing was going to stop me from earning that title. And we did earn it. 

The other equally important part of training Holly was socialization. I needed to get her around other dogs. A classmate from puppy boot camp mentioned dog parks. Dog Parks!?! Sounds like a little slice of heaven! Where are these things? After asking around, I found The Edwin Warner Dog Park, a place where dogs can go and socialize off their leashes.

Holly and I went to investigate one late Saturday afternoon in early March. The park was packed! Holly and I stayed together on the sidelines and observed: big dogs, little, dogs, old dogs, and puppies, all different types and kinds of dogs with humans just as diverse. People my age too!!! We must have stayed and observed for at least 2 hours. Several puppies ran up to Holly. They would circle each other in the classic ass-sniffing doggie hello. There were also some casual greetings from people as our dogs ran off together. I was still recovering from my boozing loner days and human contact had almost become something foreign! The setting sun let us know it was time to go home, but I realized that I didn’t want to leave. After making myself walk to the car, I promised Holly (and myself) that we would return.

Hey that was tons of fun! May we come back tomorrow? Her dark brown smiling eyes asked.

Absolutely Kiddo! I said with a return grin.

(I consider Katherine and her husband Peacock as my number one source when I’m having behavioral problems with my pack or my foster dogs. If anybody has a question for Katherine, please email her at thefarnival@gmail.com)