Take it to the Max
Created | Updated Jan 13, 2009
Hound from Hell
We've still been struggling with early morning waking (and barking), despite a slight improvement which was partly the result of a new piece of stuffed vet's bedding, which fits neatly into the crate, and provides a warm and comfy sleeping surface. One Saturday morning, therefore, I was surprised to be woken at 5 am by the sound of him scratching furiously at the crate's metal floor. I opened one eye and my brain whirred sufficiently to ask - how did he get to the floor under the bedding? When I opened the door to where he sleeps, he had somehow managed to bite or claw his way into one edge of the bedding, and there was white stuffing all over the place. The overall impression was similar to the aftermath of a fox in a hen house.
You little sod, I thought - well, you'll regret that tonight when you're back onto your old scrap of blanket. So after my long day, which involved driving to Enniskillen and back to watch my daughter in Anything Goes, and then drive her home, I'd got in at about 11.30 pm, had one glass of wine, and put Max to bed. Well he was Not Best Pleased. And to show his displeasure he was barking loudly. Dai and I have a method of teaching him not to bark: it consists of us being very strong willed and ignoring him - this way he doesn't get a reward for such bad behaviour. So, earplugs in, we turned over and tried to sleep. And then the doorbell rang. Oh dear. Obviously the neighbours could hear him, and were also Not Best Pleased. It was now a quarter to 1 in the morning, and not the ideal time to make decisions. We took a risk and let him sleep out of the crate, hopefully curled up in his basket in the kitchen, or outside the bedroom door. And while there was the odd low whine, and a bit of him going up- and downstairs, it appeared to be OK.
Sunday 6.30 am I woke to an eerie silence. Maybe this would be a way round the early morning barking, I thought, as I yawned and stretched my way down the stairs....to find a pile of pooh outside the kitchen door. Ah. This wasn't going to work then.
Deep in despond
I spent the rest of Sunday slipping further and further into the Slough of Despond - we've had Max for almost a year now, and are obviously terrible dog owners, and rapidly turning into the neighbours from hell, to boot. Was he not even properly house-trained? I hate it when I get episodes like this - my default role in our family is the cheerfully optimistic Pollyanna, always ready to suggest other options, and to smile and persevere. My Achilles heel, personality wise, is my need to please people, and I came out in a cold sweat every time I thought of our poor neighbours having to get up in the dead of night to ring the bell. I lay low and tried desperately to buoy up my self-confidence by doing anything that I felt competent at - Mount To-Be-Ironed was soon conquered, and I started planning a tasty dessert for dinner that evening. I also tried to repair the old soft bedding, with some ham-fisted half-remembered blanket stitching. Dai suggested a ride on the bikes, but with low confidence and lack of sleep affecting my reactions and balance, I declined, shaking my head sadly, and instead began Operation Tire-Max-Out, with a 2 hour tramp around the forest. And after making and devouring raspberry cranachan, took him for a game of frisbee in the playing fields.
Back home, we discussed tactics. I volunteered to take the first part of the night. If he barked, I'd install myself on the sofa nearest to him, ready to make loud noises and squirt water at him in a sort of aversion therapy. Dai would go to bed early, and I would let him take over at about 4 am. I sipped a large glass of Baileys, steeling myself for a possible week of sleepless nights, before putting Max to bed at midnight, without any great fuss or hoo-ha. I crept up the stairs, slipped under the covers, and closed my eyes and crossed my fingers.
What to do?
We can't go on like this. Max barks at 4 am - we get up to let him out and he gets to sleep on the couch, usually snuggled up next to me. He's learned that this is what happens. We need to break this cycle. But without annoying the neighbours. So just letting him bark isn't an option. Should we try some aversion therapy, for a week, say? Take it in turns to get up when he barks, but not let him out, just rattle the crate, bang saucepan lids, squirt water or citronella at him. Quietly of course, so's not to disturb the neighbours. I can't trust him enough to let him have a free run of the house, especially if he thinks it's OK to leave a little present for us.
Who believes these surveys that show how pets can reduce your level of stress, and help you live longer? Pah! Tears of exhaustion and frustration course down my cheek as I drive to work, desperately trying to think of other options. Move to a house in the country where no-one would hear him bark? Seems drastic, plus hardly a good idea in the current housing market.
Desperate Measures
So after another sleepless week, on the following Sunday morning we paid a visit to the Pet Supplies store. I was still very dubious - I'd not read anything on the 'net about any purchasable device or solution that would work in stopping barking: it all seemed to come down to training. We'd tried the high pitched noise maker, to no discernible effect, and I'd read unconvincing reports about citronella collars, and none of us was prepared to cross the Rubicon of electric shock collars. But a pet store exists to make money, and I knew we were unlikely to escape without making a purchase. And so we were persuaded to part with £80 (gasp!) for a puff-of-air collar. Just air to start with, although if that didn't work there were citronella refills available. Also mustard smelling ones, although the shop didn't stock those as they cause some pain to the animal. And I was reassured that they neither stocked nor recommended shock collars at all. £80 seemed awfully steep, but I said 'If it works, it'll be worth every single penny'.
We got it home and examined it - I'm not sure where exactly £80 worth of technology is evident in a snap-on collar with a plastic box and a battery-powered valve system, which releases a sharp puff of air triggered by the dog barking. But that evening we decided it was time for a trial run - we topped up the compressed air chamber, strapped it around Max's neck - and waited. The doorbell rang, he leapt out of his space snuggled by my side on the sofa, and began barking. Instantly the collar gave a loud 'Pfffft', and he stopped at once. Suitably impressed by its effectiveness, we put him to bed at the usual hour, and crossed all our fingers and toes.
At around 5 am I heard him give his usual bark, followed straight away by silence. Jolly good. We arose at 6 am and gave lots of praise and cuddles. The next night he started scratching the crate floor again - but no barking. At least this would give us time to work out why he was waking early, and could be ignored by ourselves and the neighbours.
One week later…
I was really impressed at how quickly Max learned that putting on that particular collar equals no barking. We've now enjoyed a week of decent nights' sleep. He's stopped his early morning barking AND the frantic scrabbling. We're all in better form as a result of good sleeping habits, and absence of frustration and uncertainty as to what to do. And I think I can detect a more mature, calmer Max. I believe that us taking control of the barking has re-enforced our position as pack leaders - no longer is he able to command us to come to him, he now has to wait until we decide that it's getting-up time. It's early days yet, but that was quite possibly the best £80 I ever spent!
