and trying to get in.
It was very hard work, but after an hour and a half, our perseverance paid off and Guinness became noticeably calmer. By the time I left the house the attention-seeking behaviour had ceased. I knew there was a long way to go, but I was hopeful they’d made a good start.
I left them to it, but asked them to stay in touch if there were difficulties. Over the course of the following week, I heard from them on a daily basis. Guinness had calmed down a little and was behaving less manically when they ignored him. But problems arose whenever they went to reward him.
Terry loved playing with Guinness. To him there was nothing more fun than lying on the floor and treating his dog to a bit of rough-and-tumble wrestling or throwing a stick around in the park. But these were precisely the sort of signals that had to be avoided. As I told Terry, Guinness couldn’t play the game until he knew the rules. And he was showing no signs of understanding them, nor would he while Terry was effectively paying homage to Guinness as leader. He had made progress, but the reality was that Guinness’ leadership instincts were so powerful, it only needed the slightest false signal for him to forget all he’d been taught and to resume power once more. Any sign of the old affection or warmth from Terry or Sandra sent Guinness into a real flip. He would jump up, begin barking and generally revert to his old ways almost immediately. It was as if he was a deposed political leader, unable to accept his removal from power and desperate to take over again.
Terry understood that he had to adopt a colder, more detached manner with Guinness, but he was finding it hard to do so. ‘It seems so formal. I want to play with him, I want to show him I love him,’ he said.
This was a comment I heard a lot. For most people, ruffling a dog’s coat or giving him a squeeze is one of the most natural and instinctive acts in the world. I knew this only too well for myself. Yet I also knew how important it was to remain in control, to display the aloof, slightly detached demeanour of the leader of the pack. So my response to this had already become well established. ‘I know how natural it feels to show love to a dog, and you are not going to stop doing that. You’re just going to channel it in another way, turn that affection in a different direction,’ I told Terry.
Terry understood the risks if he didn’t stick to the method. ‘It’s tough, but I’ll persevere,’ he said.
It was probably three months or so before I heard from them again. This time Terry and Sandra sounded much more positive. They were making great progress, Guinness was going out for long walks, he was behaving much better around visitors and – most importantly of all – he was doing what Terry and Sandra asked of him.
They had learned to reward him in a matter-of-fact way, with a ‘good lad’ and a stroke of the head rather than the ruffles and cuddles of the past. It was a sacrifice worth making, they said.
It was about a year later that I saw them next. I happened to be in their village and thought I’d pop in. Terry answered the door and was soon joined by Guinness, who approached him in a very controlled, self-disciplined way. When I asked how they were getting on I sensed a hint of sadness in his voice.
‘We’re OK,’ Terry said.
I was still uncertain of where I was going with my method – if anywhere – and I really needed the feedback.
‘Please tell me if you’re not convinced we’ve done the right thing or if it’s not worked. I need to know,’ I said.
‘Oh no, it’s worked, Guinness is a different dog these days,’ Terry said. ‘What breaks my heart is that I can’t get close to him.’
Terry called him over, stroked his head and said ‘good boy’. ‘That’s as much as we can do without him going back to his old ways,’ he said.
As ever, they had not been short of advice from friends and family. Many had said they were wrong to adopt such a ‘way out’ method. But whenever anyone had sounded off, Terry had challenged them to do better.
He had simply let them call Guinness over, shower him with cuddles and then watch him revert to his former, uncontrollable self. On one occasion, his brother had criticised what Terry was doing as ‘cruel’.
‘I told him he was free to have a go, but within ten seconds Guinness had jumped at him, knocked him over and pinned him to the floor,’ Terry said. ‘It was the only way I could get the message through to them,’ he told me with a resigned smile.
There were consolations. Terry and Sandra loved walking and were now able to go on long rambles with Guinness. He was now very responsive to their requests and behaved impeccably when he came into contact with other people or dogs, allowing Terry and Sandra to relax and enjoy themselves much more when they were out together.
‘I still have to stop myself picking up a stick and throwing it though,’ Terry said, the regret unmistakeable in his voice. ‘But I accept it. I know it will set him back into his old ways. Nobody else is going to do this for him, it’s our responsibility and it’s up to us to look after him.’
In some ways theirs is a sad story. Even now, years later, and armed with much more experience and knowledge, I honestly don’t think there would have been an alternative solution to Guinness’ problems. He was such a powerful dog, the signals required to get the message through to him had to be powerful and unequivocal too. He needed to be managed very carefully.
Yet, theirs is also an inspirational story, one that has stayed with me over the years. In really difficult circumstances, Terry and Sandra did something of which they could be very proud. They had wanted something else from their dog, but they’d accepted the reality – it wasn’t possible. Rather than abandoning him, they’d been big enough and brave enough to accept these limitations and build their life with him on that basis. I’m sure they both learned something in doing so. It certainly taught me something priceless.
When I first ventured out into the world with my ideas about how to improve our relationship with dogs, my greatest concern was that I was in a minority. I had been unsure whether many people shared my passionate feelings for dogs and anyone actually cared for them the same way. I had seen more than my share of bad owners. More worrying in a way, I knew there were many, many people to whom their dog was a minor priority, something to be enjoyed as long as it didn’t require too much effort or thought.
The method I had evolved was simple, yet it required a great deal of thought and hard work. Since I had begun working with owners, I had become assailed by doubts. Was I living in cloud cuckoo land? Would I find many owners willing to put in that graft and make the sacrifice sometimes necessary to make their relationship with their dog work? Terry and Sandra provided me with my answer. At a time when I needed to see it, they showed me that there were people in the world who were prepared to go as far as necessary, and to live within whatever limitations necessary to make their pet happy. It was a humbling – but also hugely encouraging – lesson. And I’m always grateful to them for having provided it.
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