When Fergus first arrived on the farm he was quite
overwhelmed. All of the sights, sounds and smells filled his senses and he
spent many long hours sitting on the front porch, surveying his new kingdom.
Occasionally he would summon the nerve to hop down the big set of stairs that
his little legs could barely reach, so that he could lie on the cool green
grass and nap. That was when he was nine weeks old.
Over the next month, Fergus’ legs grew so that he could leap
up and down any set of stairs with ease if not grace. He began chasing the
birds that had scared him by swooping down and dive bombing him when he had
first arrived on the scene. He followed his nose down a groundhog hole under
the playhouse and discovered the joy of running laps in the loose soil of my
vegetable garden. Finally, after weeks of sitting on the back deck studying the
cattle in the meadow, Fergus decided to wriggle under the fence to the
barnyard.
On his first attempt he was scolded for eating the garbage
ash around the burn barrel. He immediately understood that he was not to go
into the barnyard again, after a sharp tap on the butt and a stern tone of
voice from his master. However, the attraction was too great. The next time I
caught him tip toeing deeper into the barnyard and peering around the corner of
the shed toward the big barn.
“Fergus!” I shouted. He turned and looked at me, then turned
back and ran as fast as he could toward the manure pile. I had just dumped the
kitty litter there and realized, with horror, that he thought he could smell a
potential midday snack. Over the next week we caught Fergus in the barnyard
several times a day, sampling other disgusting delicacies. He developed a
digestive issue.
I was up two and three times a night, changing the puppy pad
at the end of his bed. Fergus needed a bath in the morning, as he had soiled
his fur. The vet did a test on his feces and called me with the results. “We
found something strange in Fergus’ poop,” she announced, “so we sent it off to
someone who looks at this sort of thing all day long.” I can only imagine a few
jobs worse than that.
“It seems Fergus has a rare parasite that is usually only
found in earthworms!” she declared. “Is it possible that he has been eating
mud?”
I had to laugh. Mud? Try mud, manure, cat litter, garden
soil…anything that is smelly and on the ground at Ferg level. The vet assured
me that the parasite would harmlessly work its way through the puppy’s system.
She also prescribed something for the loose bowel problem. Then I looked at the
bigger picture. We had to find a way to keep Fergus out of the barnyard.
We have inherited the invisible fencing collar that my
daughter used with her hunting dogs. The first morning I walked the perimeter
of the property with him on a leash beside me. Every time the collar beeped I
told him “no no no” the way I always do when he is leaving his boundary. I made
sure the system was set to encompass his established toilet area, the front and
back porch and plenty of yard. But he could no longer access the chicken shed,
my vegetable garden, or his beloved barnyard.
I adjusted the collar to Fergus’ scrawny little puppy neck,
and set him free. Within five minutes he was under the fence and trotting
happily into the barnyard. Just then, the collar started to beep. He stopped,
turned and looked at me, wide eyed.
“Come, Fergus!” I called, holding the gate open to the house
yard. He turned to go farther into the barnyard, and then suddenly started
hopping around and yelping as if he had been stung by a bee. He yipped and
yelped and covered the fifteen feet between us in about three leaps, landing in
my arms. He shivered and whimpered like a European football star who had just
had his ear flicked during a match.
I set the collar a little lower in intensity, realizing it had
been dialed up to control Annie’s high-strung German Pointer, Skor. Surely a
little Golden Retriever doesn’t need more than a subtle reminder of his
boundaries.
Now Fergus turns tail and runs back to the house whenever he
reaches the outskirts of his property and his collar begins to beep. He is a
smart dog and is determined never to let his collar sting him again.
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Email: dianafisher1@gmail.com
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