I’ve got a year-old Australian Shepherd dog. I don’t intend to use him for livestock; his job will be barker. We live in a rural area. The dogs are penned at night and released during the day into a three-acre house and barn lot surrounded by shock collar wire.
We have regular invasions of coyotes and javelina that can make short work of barn cats and outside dogs. Barking is a good deterrent and alarm for intruders.
Back to Rudy, the new dog. From the beginning he was a boisterous, happy, destructive puppy. It was cute when he was three months old, but now it’s a pain! I thought he was genetically goofy, but Mr. Jeb, the dog trainer, met Rudy and convinced me the dog was smart, he just needed better training.
After a year has passed, I’ve contained his exuberance and he minds well, but he still gets excited when company comes.
The issue I’m still dealing with is his destructive tendencies. One dare
not leave a bag, jacket, pillow, piece of Styrofoam, 69 Ford
instruction manual, set of reins, saddle blankets, turkey wrapped in tin
foil, pruning shears with wooden handles or electrical wire within his
grasp. He is a universal shredder.
He has eaten four of our
screw-on pistol spray guns. Other objects that have been wrecked in his
wake: placemats, rugs, water jugs, buckets, lamp shades, gloves and a
plastic hub cap. I know he knows better.
While tearing down an 8-foot shed made of canvas, I caught him in the act. I chastised him firmly, rolling him in the ragged canvas and shouting, “No! Bad dog!” To this day, all I have to do is point to the canvas and he slinks off.
While tearing down an 8-foot shed made of canvas, I caught him in the act. I chastised him firmly, rolling him in the ragged canvas and shouting, “No! Bad dog!” To this day, all I have to do is point to the canvas and he slinks off.
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