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The boarding kennel I had found was in in a small town about a half hour outside city limits. Although the facility looked a bit run-down and they only raised German shorthair pointers, I didn't care one bit. I'd hadn't even considered that it might be a challenge to find a boarding kennel that could even accommodate a dog of his sheer size, much less find one that was safe and affordable. By the time I called them I'd been just short of desperate, and when they'd asked for his shot records I was impressed. Done deal! Also, it was only about ten minutes away from where I was attending school! She'd insisted that I'd be welcome to visit Riff anytime I was in the area. I could visit my dog nearly every day until I was moved us both into our new place.
When Riff and I arrived at the kennel, the owner met us in the driveway, grinning broadly as Riff leaped out of the car. I'd enjoyed "talking dog" with her on the phone, and I was glad to meet her in person. “He’s a big ‘un!” she exclaimed, watching him stretch and look around. “Could stand some feeding, though.”
She was right. At ten months or so, Riff had just gone through his last big growth spurt for height. Although still very puppyish, he was already thirty inches at the shoulder, and had that gangly, juvenile appearance of a junior high school basketball player. Before he was done growing he'd gain another couple of inches and 10-20 pounds, but for the moment the show was over.
The kennel owner and I turned him loose into a spacious indoor/outdoor run, so he could race the fence line, strut his stuff, and bark at the pointers. The pointers barked back, en masse. It was complete and total bedlam, but I watched it with my hands on my hips and a big grin of satisfaction plastered all over my face.
Money and vet records changed hands, probably all without the stupid, dog-owning grin ever leaving my face, but I couldn't stay. I was on a tight schedule and I'd be late for work if I didn’t hustle, but I had to pet him one more time. I called to him, but he didn’t come, as he was all too distracted by all the pointers. But when I actually entered the pen, he came right to me. Looked up. Grinned a big, toothy borzoi grin, rubbed hard around my legs like a giant cat- then bounded off with a flourish of tail and silly, flopping ears. I was charmed.
One of my friends had insisted I bring a favorite t-shirt of mine to lay on his bedding until I could bring him home for good. He'd insisted it would help with the “bonding process,” so I was all for it. I'd chosen a good one- well worn and soft but expendable, and I'd worn it to sleep in for several days beforehand. Right before I left, I arranged it carefully over the loose straw bedding, then hurried off to work.
I spent the rest of the day floating in a happy cloud of dog ownership. I had a recent picture of Riff I’d gotten from his previous owner, and it’d have to tide me over till I could visit him the next day. I think I showed that photo to everyone on my shift!
The next morning was Sunday- my day off! I packed a bit for my move, then headed out to the kennel to see my dog. I'd been looking forward to the trip with great anticipation, as I had nothing pressing all day. I was hoping that spending some good time with him would help me get to know him.
When I arrived, Riff was standing majestically in the outdoor part of his run. He stood a full head taller than the bird dog convention scattered throughout the other pens. Riff barked thunderously at my approach, then seemed to recognize me as I got close. He quit barking and bounced along the fence line, inviting me to play. I was happy.
After announcing my presence to the owner, I went into kennel building and entered his pen from the there. It was January, after all, and the winter wind could knock the breath right out of your lungs. Speaking of which, Riff did his "winter wind" impression by launching himself through the dog door and leaping for my chest, again and again. The repeated impacts rendered me breathless and coughing. His old owner had warned me- Riff had a bad habit of jumping on people. She hadn't exaggerated! No biggie, though. I was confident we could work through it with time.
After a few minutes of hugs and petting and roughhousing, I decided it was time to get to work.
I let Riff out of his dog run, into the main area of the cavernous barn with me. There was junk everywhere: car parts, straw bales stacked for bedding, buckets, baling twine. Plenty of distractions for a dog to investigate. I left him alone to explore so I could watch and see just what he'd do.
Riff was a bold, confident fellow, and explored every corner of the space available, sniffing and looking at everything. He knocked over a pile of empty water buckets, and although he jumped at the noise, he didn't cower or come unglued. He even tried to dig some mice out from under the straw bales. I laughed long and hard at his silly grin and flopping ears, as he dug, pounced, and dug some more. After a few minutes, I called him to come to me. Riff ignored my first call- as I expected. Riff was a borzoi, he'd been used to being allowed to have his own way and not have to mind anyone, I was a new person in his life, and there were mice to be dug out! Few borzois in that situation would have responded on the first call.
I called again, with a more commanding, insistent tone, and that time Riff looked up, locking his brown eyes on mine. Tags jingled on his collar as he trotted his loose-jointed jog over to me, his expression jovial. When he got to my side, I handed him a little dog biscuit and asked him to sit. He did, his furry haunches hitting the straw without hesitation.
"At least they taught you something." I muttered.
While I was digging out a second biscuit, Riff suddenly exploded into action- a whirling, silly display of spinning and tail lashing, ending with a huge, inviting play bow.
I called him back over knowing there'd be time to play later. I patted one of the knee-high bales of straw. "Up," I said.
With barely a hesitation, the borzoi jumped onto the bale of hay, just as I'd asked and stood there looking proud of himself. This put him at almost eye level with me standing- a reminder of how "vertically challenged" I was. Curious to see how far he'd go, I checked the next level of bales to be sure they were stable, then patted the next highest bale. "Up." I repeated.
Riff nonchalantly hopped onto the second level, and was grinning down at me from the third bale up before I'd even decided if I wanted him to try it! I let him know I was pleased- even though anticipation is sometimes a bad thing in dog training, it gave me a good idea of what kind of a personality I was working with. "You're very smart," I told him, as I handed a biscuit up to him. When I beckoned him back down, he bounded down the bales, as agile as a mountain goat kid and radiating confidence and satisfaction.
We tried a few more commands. Although he was whip-smart and his eagerness to perform seemed out of place on a borzoi, it was soon obvious that Riff had never been taught anything but "sit" and "come." No "lie down", no "stay", and certainly no "heel". No "speak". Just "sit", and "come". Smart he was- but Riff definitely had a lot of catching up to do.
After a few minutes, I'd seen all I needed to see for the moment. Riff had tried hard, kept his focus, and had done his level best to do everything I'd asked of him, even if he didn't always understand what I'd wanted. He'd done well. It was time to play!
I opened the door to the big outdoor exercise area, and made him wait for my ok before letting him run through the door into the inviting wide open space beyond. We stood, bathed in a square of warm sunlight as I watched Riff's intent expression- waiting for my signal to move. After two false starts, I was satisfied with his "stay" and let him go. When I gave the signal, he was off like a spotted bolt of lighting! I chuckled at his antics as he strutted the yard, lifting his leg on everything and barking manfully at all the pointers whose pens lined the exercise run.
The noise was deafening- the dogs were definitely stirred up! To my mind, it seemed that all the locals somehow recognized that Riff was more than a just a stranger to their kennel- he was something else that wasn't a pointer. He ran from pen to pen, tail high in the air... swaggering as only an adolescent male (of any species) can.
Although he barked a lot, Riff didn't growl or show teeth- no matter what the other dogs were doing. Another good sign. I was very pleased by his intelligence, his willingness to please, and his lack of aggression toward other dogs.
I let him tire himself, and the other dogs too. They ran and barked and barked and ran until they had barked themselves out. The January wind was sharp but it was sunny out, and an hour passed pleasantly like ten minutes.
After the novelty of other dogs had lost its charm, I called Riff to me, and was pleased that this time, he came running.
With twenty sets of jealous pointer eyes watching us, I beckoned Riff to the center of the pen. He followed, a dance in his step and flourishing his tail like the plume on a Musketeer's hat. I asked him to sit, and with a flourish I pulled a tennis ball out of my pocket that I'd brought along just for the occasion. I'd expected joyous enthusiasm from my new dog- but he just watched me with a slightly bewildered expression. However, every pointer on the place was instantly on it's feet and vibrating in place with anticipation!
I thought Riff would probably be more interested in the ball when it moved, so with a cheerful "Go get it, boy!" I hurled the ball toward the barn as hard as I could. Riff only yawned and looked around- but the effect on the retrievers was almost magical!
As if they were all part of one gigantic beast, or some type of collective mind, they all heaved forward in perfect unison, plunging like a force of nature to the ends of their separate runs! I erupted into gales of uncontrollable laughter, laughing so hard Riff tilted his head so his ears flopped quizzically before standing on three legs to scratch behind his ear.
I didn't try the tennis ball thing again for quite a while.
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All content (c) C.T. Griffith, 2010. All rights reserved.
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