Sherry’s Story
Just as I began creating this site, preaching the foolproof method of crate training, I got my first seemingly un-crate-trainable foster dog.
When the call came in, the only information I was given was that Sherry was extremely shy, literally folding herself up as small as possible to appear invisible to visitors.
Origami basted in full-on anxiety.
So I started off like I always do—healthy diet, lots of exercise, plenty of toys, encouragement, and crate training.
Each morning, I’d place her meek and mild body in the crate and by the time I returned for lunch it looked as though she had constructed and detonated bombs in there.
There was poop. There was pee. She would tear the bars right off the crate, bloodying her mouth and paws in the process. She’d be drooling, shaking, and having a meltdown of epic proportions.
I rallied the trainers for advice, including moving the crate “to a central location,” which ended up being the living room.
On my next lunch hour, I found her sitting in the crate, in that central location, buried in a pile of blue foam. She looked like a gymnast in a safety pit. (9.9 for showmanship, little lady.) At first I couldn’t even comprehend what I was seeing. Then it became horrifyingly clear. She scooted the crate over to the couch and skinned it like a piece of fresh prey. She ate the entire end of the couch off—through the crate.
(Notice what Keeper thinks of this nonsense. Not even enough to look at it.)
Before I scare you straight, let me say, this is the first major property damage I’ve ever experienced in more than 10 years of fostering. I certainly don’t want to discourage others from giving it a try. But for reasons we’ll never know, the crate was an absolute torture chamber to her.
I even took a chance, against my better judgment, on leaving her loose the next day. That’s when she went to town on the seat cushions (now repaired with duct tape), rendering the whole damn thing a total loss, except for its current utility as our “practice couch.”
So I dove into research on separation anxiety, a complex and sometimes difficult condition to cure. I’m continuing to unravel the mystery and make progress, exploring everything from medication to DAP to Scat Mats, which sound an alarm when dogs (and your friend’s kids) get near the furniture. I even hear that music might be beneficial. Ironically, she also demolished the Bose speaker cord so that is not an option right now.
As monumental as her issue is, it’s the only one she has. In person, she’s a dream.
She is impressively confident at the dog park, rides great in the car, sleeps soundly at night, behaves better than humans at the office, spends time alone in the yard, takes direction like a pro, and has even started running with me, no longer terrified by traffic. Early on, the sound of cars had her hitting the pavement in fear. Now she looks up for encouragement and keeps on trucking.
She has endless potential in my estimation and I’m in it for the long haul. Only time will tell how her story concludes.
Where we are today: I’ve never had a dog that was so attentive to my every move and spoken word. She’s constantly looking for direction, and it’s building my own confidence as a leader and trainer, no small thing after living with the alpha beast that is Keeper. Our current trick is a sit-stay at the front door before a walk. She sits. And she stays! And she waits for the next command. And I feel like I actually know what I’m doing. Thanks, Sherry.
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Update: Now she can handle half days in the crate without a meltdown. I’ve employed DAP and Ultra Calm Biscuits, but what she needed most was time. I think she’s become so comfortable in her surroundings, and with Keeper, that sitting two feet from him in the crate for a few hours isn’t so bad after all. Unseasonably cold weather forced this latest crate run and it was a blessing. She’s that much closer to being adoptable.
Update II: A friend’s dog stayed with us for Christmas and her affect on Sherry was like canine chamomile. Rolling around, sharing toys, giving kisses, taking naps, not a trace of worry about what I was up to. Trainers wisely warn that adding a second dog to the mix may do nothing to solve the first dog’s behavioral problems, but in Sherry’s case I think a dog sibling will do wonders. All week, instead of worrying about when I was leaving for work, she was completely distracted by fun. (I may have to borrow this dog from time to time.)
Update III: Nirvana! Six months in, I can go on short trips (grocery store, gas station, dance class) and leave her loose at home…where she’s hanging out like it’s no big deal. Oh, yeah.
Update This-Is-Getting-Ridiculous: Sherry’s about to win the prize for “longest time in foster care at Kristine’s residence.” We’re approaching the one-year mark. It may be the economy or her checkered past, but nobody’s biting. (Except Keeper. Duh.) The good news is, I am absolutely loving every day I have with her. If nobody comes forward to claim her, at some point she’ll just be mine. Then I’ll be the one winning a prize.
Conclusion: After a year and a half, just as I was preparing to sell my house and move far away with Sherry, everything fell into place. I met someone special, with even specialer parents, who are retired and whose lives revolve around dogs. They have a gentle Great Dane and fell just as hard for Sherry as I did. She spent a week with them over Christmas vacation and fit in like she had been there for years. Now Sherry has a loving home, a big (ginormous, really) brother, and round-the-clock attention that I could never give her working full-time. She’s also got a ready-made pack of dog friends she’ll see every day at the dog park—her favorite place on earth. Our time together was unforgettable and her happy ending is pretty unbelievable. Smooches, Sherry, you are so loved by so many people.
