You can’t teach an old dog…

It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me.”

– ‘Anti-Hero’ by Taylor Swift

My Taylor Swift journey continues. As does my tempestuous relationship with the dog named Waffle.

Up until last week, I had not, for one fraction of a micro-second considered that I myself might be part of the problem via-a-vis the hound’s regular cheeky antics. Up until now I was solid as stone sure that when Waffle chews up something he shouldn’t have and I go correspondingly mental, this was his fault and not mine. Or when he poops in the garden and then I stand on it and consequently chuck a wobbly, this is once again his fault and not mine.

Over time, Waffle’s infractions and the resultant fits from yours truly have solidified into a concise history of, ‘What Your Dog Shouldn’t Do and How Not to Lose Your Mind and Develop Epilepsy in the Aftermath.’ I know I shouldn’t be annoyed and yet, it is decidedly difficult to empathise with someone who shreds my driving licence or does a dirty protest all around the utility room wall. In those situations, any latent empathy is immediately replaced with pure, incandescent rage. It’s a knee-jerk thing and yet, I have always been of the opinion that, as I am not the instigator of these problematic scenarios, I am therefore not to blame.

However, Taylor’s lyrics for ‘Anti-Hero’ took on a new meaning last week when I was forced to re-evaluate my relationship with the hound and specifically, my reaction to situations when things haven’t exactly gone to plan. The catalyst for that reconsideration was an email from dog trainer and behaviourist, Sharon West.

Sharon runs her own training school for woofers and as such, had been reading with concern recent instalments about mine and Waffle’s fractious relationship. She reached out last week with some helpful tips about how to avoid strangling Waffle if and when things go wrong – which they tend to do, all the time.

“You obviously have a love for your dog the way that you talk about him,” Sharon said and I had to smile. Sometimes I wonder if this comes across in these columns at all and sometimes I wonder if it’s even true.

Sharon explained that she wanted to help with the “quandary about why he destroys things when you are away.”

She continued, “Along with intelligence comes over thinking, and they are naturally anxious dogs. (I’m) not sure how old Waffle is but there are a lot of dogs that have come out of lockdown with more severe anxiety. When they were pups there was no socialising for them and the owner was always home, and then all of a sudden the world opens up again and people go back to work and the dog is left wondering what the heck has happened. Then add in an extremely intelligent dog.”

Crucially, Sharon went on to detail how, despite infractions and consequent annoyances, Waffle doesn’t know if and when he has done something wrong.

“Think about your body language when you walk through the door and realise that he has shredded something, he has absolutely no idea what he has done wrong,” she said. “But your body language is different, your smell is different and your face is different. So he runs, and you chase him, maybe shouting, telling him off, worse smack him – and all you are doing to your incredibly intelligent dog is breaking his trust. So then you go out again and he wonders if he is going to be shouted at again when you come (back) and he starts chewing as he has no idea what he has done. And that’s what is causing his issues, you haven’t taught him anything. Dogs can’t speak English, they speak body language…”

I fuppen body language him!

Seriously though, Sharon’s fresh input has definitely been food for thought and has made me second guess instances whereupon I arrive to find he has ravaged the Persian rug (or another associated priceless artwork a la maison – if we had them –which we don’t). Rationally of course, I know he can’t speak English and I also know that my fits of rage aren’t going to have any beneficial effect apart from my letting off steam.

“You have not changed anything you are doing but you are expecting the dog to come up with a different result,” Sharon summed up. “The definition of insanity, is doing the same thing and expecting a different result.”

I’m hearing you, Sharon, I’m hearing you.

And yet, despite all your stellar advice, I am almost convinced that Waffle is what my grandmother would have called, a bad egg.

Last week as I was lighting the fire, I assembled my makings – a firelighter, kindling and logs – but soon discovered that I had no matches. Rising from the fireplace, I set off in search of said matches or even a lighter. Remember now: I had been with Waffle all day. He’d had breakfast, a walk in the morning and a snack when I was eating lunch. He even received a goodly scratch behind his ears when he chased the deer out of the garden. He seemed as happy as happy could be.

So, upon returning to the living room, I knew immediately that something was wrong. Waffle was standing with a guilty hump on him, looking at the ground. Casting around for a shredded newspaper, a grisly regurgitation of hair or even a poo, you might imagine my surprise when I noticed none of these things. Instead, the firelighter had disappeared, with only crumbs remaining.

Full from breakfast and snacks, happy as Larry the Dog and content to have his master at home, Waffle still found the need to eat a firelighter, a household item he has seen hundreds of times and had never been permitted to eat. I mean… what a pheasant plucker!

With Sharon’s words echoing in my ear, “Think about your body language when you walk through the door and realise that he has shredded something, he has absolutely no idea what he has done wrong,” I looked at Waffle standing with his hump, his eyes downcast, the guilt dripping off him. He KNEW exactly what he had done. And he KNEW it was wrong. Most importantly, he KNEW what was coming.

“Get ta f…” I roared and before I could brandish a fist in his direction he had scampered from the room with his tail between his legs.

Dear Sharon, I suppose that old adage stands true: You can’t teach an old dog new tricks. And I’m not talking about Waffle.