Struggling to crochet—her newest hobby—Sylvia sat on the porch with a pitcher of fresh lemonade and butter cookies while Fiona listened to the client repeat the gist of their phone consult.
“My husband and I had to cancel our vacation this winter.” Lissy Childs stroked the ball of fur in her arms while that ball eyed Fiona suspiciously. “We couldn’t get anyone to take her for the week—or house-sit, if she was in it. She’s so sweet, really, and so adorable, but, well, she is incorrigible.”
Lissy made kissy noises, and Chloe responded by shivering all over and lapping at Lissy’s face.
Chloe, Fiona noted, wore a silver collar studded with multicolored rhinestones—at least she hoped they were just rhinestones—and pink booties, open at the toe to show off matching pink toenails.
Both she and her human smelled of Vera Wang’s Princess.
“She’s a year?”
“Yes, she just had her very first birthday, didn’t you, baby doll?”
“Do you remember when she started showing unsociable behavior?”
“Well.” Lissy cuddled Chloe. The eye-popping square-cut diamond on her hand flared like fired ice, and Chloe made a point of showing Fiona her sharp, scissorlike teeth. “She’s really never liked other dogs, or cats. She thinks she’s a person, ’cause she’s my baby.”
“She sleeps in your bed, doesn’t she?”
“Well... yes. She has a sweet bed of her own, but she likes to use it as a toy box. She just loves squeaky toys.”
“How many does she have?”
“Oh... well.” Lissy had the grace to look sheepish as she flipped back her long blond mane. “I buy them for her all the time. I just can’t resist. And little outfits. She loves to dress up. I know I spoil her. Harry does, too. We just can’t resist. And really, she is a sweetheart. She’s just a little jealous and excitable.”
“Why don’t you put her down?”
“She doesn’t like me to put her down outside. Especially when...” She glanced over her shoulder where Oreo and Fiona’s dogs sprawled. “When other d-o-g-s are around.”
“Lissy, you’re paying me to help Chloe become a happier, better-adjusted dog. What you’re telling me, and what I’m seeing, is that Chloe’s not only pack leader, she’s a four-pound dictator. Everything you’ve told me indicates she has a classic case of Small Dog Syndrome.”
“Oh, my goodness! Does she need medication?”
“She needs you to stop allowing her to lead, fostering the idea that because she’s little she’s permitted to engage in bad behavior you wouldn’t permit in a larger dog.”
“Well, but, she is little.”
“Size doesn’t change the behavior, or the reason a dog displays it.” Owners, Fiona thought, were all too often the biggest obstacle. “Listen, you can’t take her for a walk without stress, or have people over to your house. You told me you and Harry love to entertain, but haven’t been able to have a dinner party in months.”
“It’s just that the last time we tried, it was so stressful with Chloe so upset that we had to put her in the bedroom.”
“Where she destroyed your new duvet, among other things.”
“It was awful.”
“You can’t leave her to have an evening away without her having a tantrum, so you and your husband have stopped going out to dinner, to parties, to the theater. You said she bit your mother.”
“Yes, it was just a nip really. She—”
“Lissy, let me ask you something. I bet you’ve been on planes, or in the shops, a restaurant where a child’s been running wild, disturbing everyone, kicking the seat, arguing with his parents, creating a nuisance, whining, complaining and so on.”
“God, yes.” She rolled her eyes as she spoke. “It’s so annoying. I don’t understand why... Oh.” Cluing in, Lissy blew out a breath. “I’m not being a responsible mommy.”
“Exactly.” Or close enough. “Put her down.”
The minute Chloe’s pink booties hit the ground, she leaped onto her hind legs, yipping, scrabbling at Lissy’s lovely linen pants.
“Come on now, baby, don’t—”
“No,” Fiona said. “Don’t give her that kind of attention when she’s misbehaving. You need to dominate. Show her who’s in charge.”
“Stop that right now, Chloe, or no yummies on the way home.”
“Not like that. First, stop thinking, But she’s so little and cute. Stop thinking about her size and think of her as a misbehaving dog. Here.” Fiona took the leash.
“Step away,” she told Lissy, and positioned herself between them. Chloe yipped and snarled, attempted a quick lunge and nip.
“Stop!” Voice firm, Fiona kept eye contact and shot a finger toward the dog. Chloe made grumbling sounds, but subsided.
“She’s sulking,” Lissy said with indulgence.
“If she was a Lab or a German shepherd sitting there growling, would it be cute?”
Lissy cleared her throat. “No. You’re right.”
“Spoiling her isn’t making her happy. It’s making her a bully, and bullies aren’t happy.”
She began to walk the dog. Chloe struggled, trying to turn back to Lissy. Fiona simply shortened the leash, forcing Chloe to fall in line. “Once she understands there’s no reward, no affection shown for bad behavior, and that you’re in charge, she’ll stop. And be happier.”
“I don’t want her to be a bully or unhappy. Honestly, that’s why I’m here. I’m just terrible at discipline.”
“Then get better,” Fiona said flatly. “She depends on you. When she’s already excited and heading out of control, speak to her firmly, correct her quickly, don’t placate her in that high baby-talk voice. That only increases her level of stress. She wants you to take control, and you’ll all be happier once you do.”
For the next ten minutes, Fiona worked with the dog, correcting and rewarding.
“She listens to you.”
“Because she understands I’m in charge, and she respects that. Her behavior problems are a result of how she’s been treated by the people around her, how she’s come to believe she should be treated and now demands to be treated.”
“Spoiled.”
“It’s not the squeaky toys, the yummies, the outfits. Why not indulge yourselves there if it makes all of you happy? It goes back to allowing, even encouraging, unacceptable behavior and giving her the controls. She goes on the attack with big dogs, right?”
“All the time. And it was funny at first. You just had to laugh. Now it’s gotten a little scary every time we take her for a walk.”
“She does it because you’ve made her pack leader. She has to defend that position every time she comes in contact with another dog, human, animal. It stresses her out.”
“Is that why she goes on those barking jags? Because she’s stressed?”
“That, and because she’s telling you what to do. People think of Poms as yappy dogs because their owners often allow them to become yappy dogs.”
Not yapping now, Fiona thought as she stopped and Chloe sat and watched her with those almond-shaped eyes. “She’s relaxed now. I want you to do the same thing with her. Walk her back and forth. Stay in control.”
Fiona led Chloe to Lissy, and the dog rose up to paw the air, to scrabble at Lissy’s legs.
“Lissy,” Fiona said firmly.
“Okay. Chloe, stop.”
“Mean it!” Fiona ordered.
“Chloe, stop!”
Chloe sat, tipped her head from side to side as if evaluating.
“Now walk her. Insist that she heel. She’s not walking you.”
Fiona stepped back to watch. She was, she knew, training the human every bit as much as—possibly more than—the dog. Progress, and a satisfied client, would depend on the human’s willingness to adhere to the training at home.
“She’s listening!”
“You’re doing great.” And both of you are relaxed, Fiona thought. “I’m going to walk toward you. If she exhibits unacceptable behavior, I want you to correct. And don’t tense up. You’re walking your cute little dog. Your cute, polite, happy little dog.”