I think you could say training has well and truly begun, and I'm not sure who's winning. With the help of You Tube videos, some interesting techniques are being employed (including walking backwards with a pocket full of turkey), to varying degrees of success.
We certainly have a much more confident and happy Finn, but he certainly has his quirks. This week has seen him being mightily unimpressed with his new bed on wheels. It's a tub. The type that goes under the bed, hence the wheels. It's the perfect size for fitting in his corner, and would stop him "making" his bed and ending up on the cold marble. KP thought I'd bought him a caravan, Finn refused to go anywhere near it.
After a week, I've finally given up and taken away his caravan. He's now got a nice little duvet in his favourite corner. But will he go on it? Will he heck.
It's the training, however, that has dominated our week. In the mornings, whilst I work, KP takes him up the hill or into the village, the dog without a brain, who's probably never been on a walk in his life, let alone walk to heal on a lead.
One huge success is that when he's let off the lead, he does come back. Eventually. We trialled it one day last week, in a field close to home, and he just went. On and on he ran, like a greyhound, down into the valley, through the trees, over the stream, and up the other side. A mere black dot of a bullet disappearing over the horizon. Gone. Hattie's gun-dog whistle, and my high pitched screeching, to absolutely no effect what so ever. Good training, then. Coming on well. But as quickly as he disappeared, suddenly he shot back and landed at our feet, stumpy tail wagging as though it would fall off, and grinning from floppy ear to floppy ear. Re-named Forrest Gumpp.
He just wants to run. And run, and run, and run. Run, Forrest, run. Who can blame him? If I'd spent the last 8 months in a concrete kennel no bigger than the privvy at the bottom of my old garden, I would certainly run, and no-one would stop me. And so with Finn. He runs for the sheer joy of running. He may not come back when you call (hopefully that will come in time), but he does come back. Eventually.
So we balance the formal training, as we did this morning on our usual trip into Rocca to visit the butcher, with the freedom to run at the end. The walking to heal is tedious, with constant reminders not to pull, chase birds or shoot off after the next interesting scent trail, but it's more than paid off by just watching Forrest Finn run. Absolute joy.
 |
| A million times Finn is brought back, made to sit, wait, walk on calmly, again and again and again |
 |
| Not a bad walk to the butchers |
 |
| And still we walk to heal, no matter what sights, sounds and smells. |
 |
| If he starts to chase, he's brought back, and he sits, even if we don't ask him to, and even in the snow! |
 |
| A beautiful morning it was too, damned cold, but still beautiful |
 |
| Almost home, almost done working, and almost freedom |
 |
| Free at last, time to play, and so much space - which way to go?! |
 |
| Run, Forrest, Run! |
