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If I was to comfort him while he was in this fearful attitude, I would only reinforce fearful behavior with what he would interpret as praise. I certainly couldn’t bully him into an attitude of boldness. That would not be boldness but him aggressively defending himself from bullying. He’d had enough of that. Little things would set him on edge. If I simply held him by


the collar, he would squint his eyes as if something bad were going to happen. But he didn’t fight. He never growled or protested. He had given up. What was he afraid of? Might this be reversed or, as George had said could happen, was this dog really broken? If life is not a problem to be solved, but a mystery to be lived, would I be able to solve this mystery? Dogs have their truth: tasks


they were bred to perform and aptitudes by virtue of their tem- perament and personality. Dogs also have an honesty by living closer to their truth, without all the complications that we peo- ple layer on top of our own lives. Sometimes we can pile on so much of the stuff of life that we lose sight of our own truth; it’s buried so deep we can’t find it. Not for a dog. A dog’s going let you know. You just have to pay attention. Because this dog was not


had been waiting for. Not only did he offer a behavior unasked, it was a behavior of submission, respect, and acceptance. A truce was being made. He started showing more behaviors that gave me hope –


licking, playing, wagging his tail, and even looking up during our walks. I would touch him softly, or scratch him on the head. On a walk one day, he started jumping and playing, if only a for few moments. He found joy in being a dog. And joy in being. Later that fall, I went over


to his run, and when he saw me he stood up, wagged his tail and made eye contact. The patch of color on his left eye had always reminded me of the dog in the Our Gang series. That dog’s name was Petie. This dog was now ready for his name. Hey, Petie. Nice to finally meet you.


Postscript In the early winter, the first


ready for any formal training, I decided to just be with him without any demands or expec- tations, and try to establish a relationship without fear. If he showed any sign of relaxation or acceptance, it was my goal to reward that behavior. But I could not correct any unwanted behavior as that might cause him to shut down even further. He needed only encouragement for those little signs of hope, and no corrections for any missteps. We spent our time together just walking. No talking. No


He had been named Justin. I never wanted him to hear that name again.


real cold front had come through and there were good scenting conditions. Petie was running at about half speed down a tree line with a strong north wind blowing across his path, when he hit the scent of birds and slammed onto point. I stood back and didn’t say a word. Petie’s head and tail lifted and he stood as tall as his legs let him. At that moment, he didn’t need me. That moment was between him, his instincts, and the scent. He found more birds


sounds. He was still scared enough just being on a loose lead by my side. I clipped one end of the lead to his collar and the other to my belt. I did not want to chance an accidental correction or any kind of action on my part that would cause him to retreat back into himself. I would not risk losing the trust I was work- ing so hard to gain.


Not talking to him may have seemed unkind by some folks.


But this was not so. We speak through our body language and our disposition. Actions do speak louder than words. And atti- tudes speak louder than words. This was our time to listen to each other. His time to show me what and who he was, and mine to find out his truth. One day, while putting water in his dish, he came up to the fence of his run and licked my fingers. This was a sign of hope I


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that day, and with each find he ran stronger, pointed, and stood taller and more confident. He found his passion. That day, run- ning in that field, he had run into his truth. Petie had found his Attitude. My friend, Bobby had been there from the beginning. He was a regular visitor at the training sessions, and together we enjoyed watching Petie run in the field. So it was a natural fit that I should give Petie to Bobby and his family. In the Fall of 2012, Petie, at three years old, was at an age


more right to expect mature, gun dog behavior. Petie was now gun dog broke, not broken. And he was a winner, placing in the ribbons at field events, and qualifying to run at the Regionals. Bobby got a call from a professional field trialer who wanted to buy Petie and take him to Nationals. Bobby said no. Sure, the money would’ve been nice. But


money comes and money goes. Petie stayed put in his now and forever home. In the mornings, he sits with Bobby’s wife as she drinks coffee on the porch. He takes naps in the afternoon with Bobby out back. And he goes hunting with Bobby and his son. Petie is home. And he is loved.


U Summer/Fall ~ 2015 THE NEW BARKER 33


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