4. RUN, FORREST, RUN!

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!

3. SOFTLY, SOFTLY, CATCHEE MONKEY

Just over a week in, and it feels like Finn has been with us forever.  He's no longer skulking in his bed in the corner, but will now always be found wherever we are, or, rather, where KP is!  Their bond is complete.  Man and dog.  Where there is one, there is the other.  Finn has well and truly adopted KP as his master and saviour (someone has to... ) and positively dotes on him (it's mutual between them), to the extent of Finn waiting lovingly outside the bathroom (which can be a while).

As for me, I'm the scary lady who moves too fast, often trips over him, and who makes far too much noise, particularly when things are dropped or broken, which is frequently.  

KP, Master and Saviour

What has become very apparent, however, is that Finn has the double whammy of a blind panic response and an over-sensitive nose combined with a strong hunting instinct.  Put those two together, and you have a dog who will bolt as quick as a flash.

Ready to go, if only he could!

He'll probably always have that, so the best we can do is to give him the tools to cope and stay safe.  Not only teaching him to come back to a call, but to also establish us as his sanctuary so that he will bolt towards us if scared and develop a way of stopping (or slowing) him in his tracks when he's on a scent.  Despite our best intentions, his instincts absolutely will come to the fore from time to time.  As a previous happy, but frequently exasperated, owner of a totally loopy and wilful springer spaniel, I have an idea of what to expect.

A very batty,  Hattie dog who gave me 13 very valuable years of experience!

And so Finn's training begins.  His first trip was the 30 minute walk up and over the hill into Rocca for the Saturday market and total immersion into village life!  He was fairly anxious on the walk to start.  It must be a booming, buzzing, confusion to a little dog who's spent the best part of his life in a concrete pen, but with lots of encouragement he soon settled down and actually seemed to rather enjoy being out.

A little too anxious to worry about too much training today

We didn't worry too much about walking to heal, just let him gain the confidence he needs.  On the extending lead, he sniffed the wind, sniffed the ground and trotted about listening and experiencing.  Until we hit the snow line!  And he bounced!  And bounced again!  He loved it!

The sniff of the white stuff before the bounce!

Market day in Rocca was a bit different, there were barking dogs behind gates, loose dogs in the road wanting to check him out, lots of people, cars, noise and a whole array of scary things.  He was clearly scared, but coped pretty well, and seemed to enjoy the fuss when friends came over to meet the new boy in town.  All good experiences.

The next day we did the same, but this time into Serra along the river, and this time with a bit more discipline.  No more pulling on the lead, thank you.  A bit of a tricky one, this discipline stuff, and a fine balance.  Too cross, and he cowers into a trembling ball.  The good thing, though, is get it right and he learns fast.  He's even starting to come back to Hattie dog's old gun-dog whistle, essential for making yourself heard above howling gales and getting through to a dog on a scent!

The most important tool in the "Saving Finn" tool box.

Getting more confident, and filling out well - his hip bones no longer clearly visible.

The one area where we don't seem to be making progress, is having him outside with us as we work.  Because of his bolting tendency, it's too early yet to give him free rein so we've tried putting him on a long rope as we garden, chop wood and paint so he can get used to just being outside with us as we work.  But no.  As soon the rope is attached to his collar, he cowers and trembles and doesn't stop, no  matter how long he's left or how much reassurance you give, until we go back inside once more.  I don't know why; but the reaction is so extreme I think we'll leave it.  It's not important.  He can stay inside.  One day, before too long, we won't need the rope anyway.

He stayed like this, trembling constantly, for the two hours I was digging.

He laid down for a while, but the trembling didn't stop until we went inside.

Spotty, now buddies with Finn, couldn't see what all the fuss was about.

2. A BLIND PANIC & THE DEVIL'S CAT

Tuesday, day 2, brought a slightly more confident Finn.  Still a terrified rabbit, but not hiding all the time in his chosen bed space under the table in the darkest corner.  Every now and then he'd venture out towards us, slink low along the floor to come and have a quick sniff before darting back again.  He seems desperate for company but is unable to deal with it right now.

I left KP and Finn to have a bit of a male bonding session whilst I went on girls only vintage hunt.  Whilst I was having a good old rummaging session and buying old baskets and boxes, so KP was working with Finn.  More confidence in the garden encouraged KP to extend Finn's world beyond the confines of Kokopelli and to go out and explore the huge (to Finn) hamlet of Garifoli, plus some much needed practice at walking on a lead.  

Garifoli, our home.

All good stuff which finished with Finn in the bath back at home having an even more needed shampoo and scrub - boy did he smell.

I came home to find a very silky, shiny and much sweeter smelling Finn being terrorised/loved by 4 year old Margot from over the way.

Silky, shiny and sweet smelling Finn (for now at least)

Great progress for only his second day but, with hindsight (a wonderful thing), maybe too much stimulation for him in his first 24 hours, and too much relaxing from us.  

Later that evening, as we were walking him round the garden for his final pee and pooh before bed, KP with the lead, me with the torch, all of a sudden something either startled him or he caught a scent on the wind and he was off.  Quick as a flash.  KP didn't stand a chance and the lead was just whipped clean out of his hands.  Finn was gone and we were left stunned as to how quickly it all happened.  We launched into gear almost immediately, KP one way, me the other, both calling a dog running at full pelt in a blind panic who didn't even know his name.  We didn't stand a chance.

All of a sudden, out of the dark we heard terrified yelping and screaming from around the back of the house.  We ran towards the heart-wrenching noise, a disguised blessing to have something to locate him, but knowing exactly what had happened.  The Devil's Cat had got him.

The Devil's Cat, called Kat

Actually, she's not the devil's cat, but the very wonderful and characterful Matriarch of Garifoli called Kat, who came to us two years' ago, pregnant, a stray, and in quite a sorry state.  

Two years and two litters later, she rules the roost and has been know to send Abruzzese Shepherd dogs (bred to fight wolves) running and screaming for their lives.  She'd easily make mincemeat out of a scrawny little runt like Finn.  And she clearly did.  If we ever had any hope in finding him, we'd now lost it.  I heard him go crashing through the woods to make his escape.  I followed on foot, KP went and got the car in case he made his way down to the road.

After an hour, we were almost ready to throw the towel in and have a sleepless night.  Finn still had his extending lead attached which would almost certainly get tangled and he'd be trapped; with the terrain around here he may never be found.  We certainly had no chance of finding him tonight.  A black dog in a black night.  

Just as we were walking, heads hanging, back up our drive, I suddenly had an urge to look closer to home.  What if we were searching too far afield and he was under our noises all the time?  So KP took the torch into the oak trees, saplings and brambles that line our drive and there he was.  Tangled and trembling, too terrified to move.  We picked him up and carried him home.  

The woods on the right where we finally found Finn

1. LEAVING TWO DOGS ON THE MOUNTAIN

Last week, on one of our explorations into the mountains, our route took us past a derelict house with a dirt track leading to it.  Two big, scary dogs came running out and towards us, barking. Being fairly remote, I thought we were in for a spot of bother.  Two angry dogs, no-one in control.  

It fairly quickly became obvious that the only bother we were in would be death by licking.  Two overgrown young dogs of no more than 6 months old were absolutely bowled over to see us.  But so thin, and so starving. Clearly abandoned.  Tragically not unusual around here.

We gave them our lunch as we contemplated the dilemma.  Two big dogs.  What on earth would we do with two big dogs?  We have a campsite - two dogs barking all night, lots of poop to clean up, children to consider, people cooking, scrounging dogs?  No.  High costs, a constant tie? No.  We couldn't cope with two big dogs, one maybe, but two?  How can we?  What happens when we find more abandoned dogs on the mountain (and we will)?  We can't save all the dogs in Abruzzo, (if only we could).  But how can we leave them either?  

Close to where they were found.  A beautiful, but bleak, terrain in the winter.

So they came with us.  Taking a semi-tough line, we took the decision to neither discourage nor encourage them.  If they came with us, fine.  If they didn't, fine.  If they came and were still with us when we got back to the car, we keep them and deal with the consequences.  If they weren't, then so be it.  We moved on, they followed.  But we hadn't planned for what happened next.

We had to cross a river in the gorge, easy with stepping  stones, one dog followed the other didn't.  "Keep walking" we said, not our problem.  By the time we got to the top of the gorge on the other side, our heart strings we being pulled by the crying of the young dog trapped by the river.  Dammit.  To leave both dogs to fend for themselves would be hard enough, but to leave one, all alone?  The weaker of the two?  Nope, couldn't do it.  So KP, with the braver of the two dogs, returned to the gorge to encourage his mate to cross.  He returned alone.  She wouldn't come, and the braver dog chose to stay with his sister.  Decision done, decision made for us.  We continued our walk, which was no longer such a happy walk, both of us secretly hoping we'd bump into them on the way back.  But we didn't.

The two dogs unexpectedly, and so sadly, captured by the camera
 not far from the river that they wouldn't cross

We drove home not happy with what we'd done, but not knowing what we could have done either.  10pm that night we were stumbling back down to the gorge by torch and moon light, our consciences not allowing us to do otherwise.  With heavy hearts we returned without them, no-where to be found.

Should we have saved them?  Who knows, but it's not something either of us are proud of, or will easily forget.

So, pondering the sad tale, we decided if we couldn't save those two, then we would save another.  Monday this week saw us driving home from the wonderful and devoted Canile di Lanciano with a skinny, shaking, terrified rabbit of a hound throwing up all over the back of the car.  Welcome Finn.  

Finn

Saved from the "lifer's wing of the rescue centre.  Shut away with the problem dogs unable to be homed (too neurotic, too dangerous or just too damned mixed up),  we thought we'd give him a chance.  We went to choose a puppy, but came home with a young, no more than a year old, bundle of bones, energy and neuroses.  Puppies will always be chosen, but he was almost certainly confined to a lifetime in a metal cage, bouncing, literally, off the walls - mad, full speed dash to one side, bash against the wall, dash back.  Again, and again, and again.  All day long.

Whether this story will have a happy ending or not, we have no idea right now, but we hope with all our hearts that it will do.  But we will give him a chance.  Time (and plenty of it) will tell.   As always, it helps to write, so here begineth the story of Finn... 

A rare, calm moment - his butchered tail clearly visible

Each venture outside is a major trauma guaranteed to send him, at best, shaking under the nearest hidey hole or, at worst bolting for his life.