Page 23 of Scout Takes the Lead
“What if he doesn’t want to?”
Becca stroked Navajo’s head. “Then the decision is made, right? You reached out to someone who’s hurting. I know that kind of thing matters to you. If he doesn’t reach back, it’s off your plate.”
The server delivered our food, and I said, “How long has Navajo been getting anxious when you leave?”
“I’ve been away from home more because of all these meetings I have to attend at school, now that I’m in line for a full-time job. When I come home I find he’s torn something up.”
“What do you do when you leave?”
“I tell both dogs that they’re good boys and I love them and tell them to behave.”
“I wouldn’t make a big deal out of leaving,” I said. “That alerts them that something might be wrong. Instead, I’d take that ball you put the treats in and give it to Navajo a few minutes before you leave. Make sure he’s obsessed with it and then slip out.”
“I’ll try that tomorrow. I’m going to be gone all afternoon.”
We ate and I pretended not to notice when Becca slipped a couple of bites to Navajo. One problem at a time.
Which brought be back to Alex, as I was on my way home from the restaurant, and by the time I got back I had made up my mind.
“I want to help Scout help you,” I texted to him. “Come back to the class on Saturday if you want.”
Then I waited. He’d said his sleep and work schedules were erratic because of his nightmares. But almost immediately he texted back, “Are you sure?”
I sent him a thumbs-up, and he responded with the same icon.
Over the next two days, I did some more research on therapy dogs. I’d already established the basics. His mix of golden retriever and collie made Scout a good match as a service dog, and he had developed a bond with Alex and was able to understand and carry out basic commands easily.
I found three advanced steps we could take to help Scout help Alex. Scout already was aware of Alex’s emotional state, so he could easily be trained to handle interruption tasks. If he sensed Alex getting stressed out about something he saw, heard or dreamed, he could interrupt Alex with licking, kissing, and whimpering. That would help Alex shift his awareness from his issue to pay attention to Scout.
The other two were going to be tougher. Guide tasks were useful if Alex got in trouble somewhere, and Scout needed to lead him away from the problem. I wasn’t sure how to train Scout for that without simulating problems for Alex.
The final was called deep pressure therapy. When a therapist applies mild but consistent pressure on the torso, the brain responds by releasing hormones that create a feeling of calmness and peace. That was why people felt so relaxed after getting a massage.
Scout could simulate that by climbing up to lay his body on Alex’s. But again, I wasn’t sure how I could train a dog for that. My focus had always been on behaviors, and human-dog interaction. I could help humans reduce anxiety in their dogs, train them to take their business outdoors, help them become better partners. But this kind of therapy might be beyond me to teach.
Saturday morning I was nervous, moving around my apartment unable to concentrate on anything. I wasn’t frightened of Alex—-I knew he hadn’t intended to hurt me. But I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to help him and Scout in the way that they needed.
At least I had Kenny and Cheyenne and the two nurses and their dogs at the training. Alex and I greeted each other awkwardly, and then we jumped into a quick review of the commands we’d gone over. Scout and the pit bull mix did the best, with the poodle coming in a close third. Of course Cheyenne appeared to have forgotten everything he’d learned.
I was interested to see that Alex didn’t jump up to take over Cheyenne’s lead. Good. Kenny had to learn how to control the dog. It took a few minutes, but he began channeling patience and Cheyenne responded to that.
Then we moved on to teaching the stay command. The two nurses paired up to work with their dogs. It was funny that the pit bull mix had trouble leaving his mom behind, no matter how she tried. The poodle performed well, but poodles are like that. They’re not as clingy as some dogs.
“Alex and Kenny, you’re next,” I said.
“I’ll go,” Kenny said. “I tried this at home with Cheyenne. I have to get down to his level to make it work, though.” We all started to laugh as Kenny waddled backward from a squat, issuing Cheyenne the stay command repeatedly.
He got three feet away before he said, “Cheyenne, come!” and the dog joyously romped over to him, to be reward with a treat and lots of head rubs.
“Now you’ve got to do it while standing up,” I said.
While Alex kept hold of Cheyenne’s collar, he said, “Give the stay command.”
“Cheyenne, stay,” Kenny said.
Cheyenne strained to rush toward his daddy, and I shook my head. “Say it like you mean it. You’re his pack leader. He has to do what you tell him to.”
It was comical to see Kenny butch it up, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his eyes at the dog. “Cheyenne. Stay!”
