paws back on the ground. “Off !”
“Yeah, good luck with that. He’s a freaking acrobat. Yesterday he managed to climb up on a stool and eat my sandwich—he likes pickles, apparently—in the five-point-two seconds my back was turned.”
“Consistency.” Fiona repeated the “Off!” command the second and third times Jaws attempted the snatch. “And distraction.”
She walked back a few steps, called him. He ran to her as if they’d just been reunited after a war. He sat when she ordered him to, then preened under her praise and pets. “Positive reinforcement.”
She dug a treat out of her pocket. “Good dog. He’s coming along.”
“Two days ago, he ate my flash drive. Just swallowed it whole like a vitamin pill.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, so I rush him to the vet—and she takes a look and decides it’s small enough he doesn’t need it surgically removed. I’m supposed to . . .” Jaw set, he scowled off into the distance. “I don’t want to talk about that part, so we’ll just say I eventually got it back.”
“This, too, shall pass.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He picked up a brownie. “It still works. I haven’t decided if that’s amazing or disgusting.” He took a bite. “Good brownie.”
“Thanks. They’re the only things I can bake with regular success.” And since these had been a product of her two a.m. jitters, she’d had two for breakfast.
“What are you doing here, Simon?”
Some of her irritation must have come through as he gave her a long, silent look before answering. “I’m socializing my idiot dog. And you still owe me part of a lesson. Two for one. Three for one adding in the brownies.”
“Your dog’s handler could use some socialization.”
He polished off the brownie, poured himself a glass of iced tea. “I’m probably past the training age.”
“Despite the maxim, you actually can teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Maybe.” After downing the tea, he glanced around. “Shit. Where the hell is he?”
“He went in the tunnel.”
“The what?”
She gestured to the line of drums. “Let’s see what he does,” she suggested, and began to stroll to the far end.
They were here, she thought, with the human helping himself to her celebratory snacks. She might as well work in the lesson.
“If he just comes back out where he went in, let it go for now. But if he goes on through, give him praise, and a treat.” She handed Simon one.
“For going through a bunch of fifty-five-gallon drums?”
“Yes.” Her tone took on a scolding edge. “It takes curiosity, courage and some agility to not only go in, but go through and come out again.”
“And if he doesn’t come out at all?”
“I guess you leave him there and go home and watch ESPN.”
He studied the drums. “Some people would complain it’s sexist to assume I watch ESPN. Maybe I’m a fan of Lifetime.”
She gave up. “If he doesn’t come out on his own, you call, coax, try to lure. Failing that, you go in after him.”
“Great. Well, at least he can’t get into trouble in there. So you set up the radio, the computer, all those maps and charts for a make-believe re scue?”
“Eventually it won’t be make-believe. How’s sit and stay going?”
“Fine, unless he wants to do something else. Consistency,” he said before Fiona could. “I got the mantra, boss.”
Jaws gave a yip, then zipped out of the drum.
“Hey, he did it. That’s pretty good.” Simon crouched, and, in Fiona’s observation, didn’t pet and praise by rote. He enjoyed his dog’s success and excitement. When he laughed, gave the pup a good scratch with those long, artistic hands, she began to see why the dog found the man so appealing.
“He’s intrepid.” She hunkered down to add her approval to Simon’s, and realized they both smelled of his wood shop. “If a client’s interested in agility training, I’d start a puppy this age off with one drum, so he can see all the way through. Jaws just skipped a few
“Yeah, good luck with that. He’s a freaking acrobat. Yesterday he managed to climb up on a stool and eat my sandwich—he likes pickles, apparently—in the five-point-two seconds my back was turned.”
“Consistency.” Fiona repeated the “Off!” command the second and third times Jaws attempted the snatch. “And distraction.”
She walked back a few steps, called him. He ran to her as if they’d just been reunited after a war. He sat when she ordered him to, then preened under her praise and pets. “Positive reinforcement.”
She dug a treat out of her pocket. “Good dog. He’s coming along.”
“Two days ago, he ate my flash drive. Just swallowed it whole like a vitamin pill.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Yeah, so I rush him to the vet—and she takes a look and decides it’s small enough he doesn’t need it surgically removed. I’m supposed to . . .” Jaw set, he scowled off into the distance. “I don’t want to talk about that part, so we’ll just say I eventually got it back.”
“This, too, shall pass.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He picked up a brownie. “It still works. I haven’t decided if that’s amazing or disgusting.” He took a bite. “Good brownie.”
“Thanks. They’re the only things I can bake with regular success.” And since these had been a product of her two a.m. jitters, she’d had two for breakfast.
“What are you doing here, Simon?”
Some of her irritation must have come through as he gave her a long, silent look before answering. “I’m socializing my idiot dog. And you still owe me part of a lesson. Two for one. Three for one adding in the brownies.”
“Your dog’s handler could use some socialization.”
He polished off the brownie, poured himself a glass of iced tea. “I’m probably past the training age.”
“Despite the maxim, you actually can teach an old dog new tricks.”
“Maybe.” After downing the tea, he glanced around. “Shit. Where the hell is he?”
“He went in the tunnel.”
“The what?”
She gestured to the line of drums. “Let’s see what he does,” she suggested, and began to stroll to the far end.
They were here, she thought, with the human helping himself to her celebratory snacks. She might as well work in the lesson.
“If he just comes back out where he went in, let it go for now. But if he goes on through, give him praise, and a treat.” She handed Simon one.
“For going through a bunch of fifty-five-gallon drums?”
“Yes.” Her tone took on a scolding edge. “It takes curiosity, courage and some agility to not only go in, but go through and come out again.”
“And if he doesn’t come out at all?”
“I guess you leave him there and go home and watch ESPN.”
He studied the drums. “Some people would complain it’s sexist to assume I watch ESPN. Maybe I’m a fan of Lifetime.”
She gave up. “If he doesn’t come out on his own, you call, coax, try to lure. Failing that, you go in after him.”
“Great. Well, at least he can’t get into trouble in there. So you set up the radio, the computer, all those maps and charts for a make-believe re scue?”
“Eventually it won’t be make-believe. How’s sit and stay going?”
“Fine, unless he wants to do something else. Consistency,” he said before Fiona could. “I got the mantra, boss.”
Jaws gave a yip, then zipped out of the drum.
“Hey, he did it. That’s pretty good.” Simon crouched, and, in Fiona’s observation, didn’t pet and praise by rote. He enjoyed his dog’s success and excitement. When he laughed, gave the pup a good scratch with those long, artistic hands, she began to see why the dog found the man so appealing.
“He’s intrepid.” She hunkered down to add her approval to Simon’s, and realized they both smelled of his wood shop. “If a client’s interested in agility training, I’d start a puppy this age off with one drum, so he can see all the way through. Jaws just skipped a few
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