Midnight Acres Quiller.
Fired my enthusiasm for the breed, a hunger to show, and unleashed a multitude of sins.
He was a goofy, intelligent, loyal, protective friend every day that he lived.
He taught me about finding good trainers (I didn't at first and ruined him.), about dog intelligence (much greater than I had even imagined) and, ultimately, saying goodbye.
He worked hard to teach me the ropes of dog ownership 101, paving the way for a better understanding of each succeeding Belgian. I am on only my 3rd. I have Belgians one at a time.
Bassets pack up well. Mostly they get along. A Belgian requires my full attention. Otherwise they teach themselves amazing things,many of which are not things I would have them learn at all.
Quiller desperately wanted to please, to do it right.Unfortunately I picked a newbie trainer who had learned to do it the old-fashioned way, with jerks and collar corrections. In an effort, I believe, to stop the corrections (I think now that Quiller did not know what we wanted him to do, so the corrections were not corrections. He did not understand why he was being punished. It breaks my heart.) Anyway he began grabbing the leash. This became a lifelong habit that carried over any time he was stressed. He would grab the leash and yank back. "Here!"he'd say, nearly jerking me into traffic,"How do YOU like it?"
No amount of training ever broke him of that.
Somehow. and I no longer remember the actual path that led me to this, I finally decided that he was anxious, and that in his anxiety, he would have to chew on something. Grabbing the leash was like chewing gum. The more stressed, the faster the gum was chewed.
In a stroke of not-repeated genuis, I took a flat slip-lead from the clinic, tied a knot in it so it could not slip, put it over his head and cut it off,leaving about 6" dangling. I taught him-- when in doubt, grab the tab. And he did! Forever after, he wore the tab anytime we went out. Passing by dogs behind fences challenging him--he'd grab the tab and carry it past the fences. Gradually, over the years, he got better and better, but he ALWAYS had the tab when we left the security of the house.
And no, I didn't show him anymore. "He's nice" one Judge told me, after watching him gallop around the ring dragging me with the leash in his mouth, "but he's a little wild."
Everything Quiller did, from sheep-herding to tracking to conformation he did with enthusiasm and nervous energy. He taught me more than I ever taught him. He became a star patient at the University of Illinois. "He's so sweet: so well behaved." They said, after removing a cancerous tumor and 1/3rd of his lower jaw.
I had told them, honestly: tell him what you want and he will do it.
He never complained. He kept going as long as he could carry it off.
When I finally put him down, after the cancer had come back nearly a year later, he laid in my arms on the floor of our house. I don't think he even knew Dr C was there. He went quietly, possibly relieved. My Big Black Dog.
