The Recycled Dog: Unlocking One Dog’s Potential Through Play
This issue’s training article is contributed by agility competitor & AKC Agility League participant Norah C. Strebel of Utah, who shares her story of working with an “unadoptable” rescue dog. Norah discovered the world of dog sports with the adoption of a flying disc-obsessed mixed-breed dog in 2000. Her work as a professional dog groomer, dog trainer and agility instructor over the past two decades has fueled her passion for building relationships between humans and dogs. She runs on the League team Versa Supernovas in the International/Ph.D. division.
It might have been arrogance or stupidity but in my early years of professional dog training, I wanted to prove that there is no such thing as an “untrainable” dog. In hindsight, I was both arrogant and stupid. This humbling experience also taught me that no matter what you think you know, there is always more to learn. This is the story of Abby, the untrainable dog.
After the cuteness of puppyhood wore off, Abby, a 1-year-old Australian Cattle Dog/Border Collie mix, found herself at a pet shelter as a “owner surrender.” Her offense list was long: hyperactive, unmanageable, won’t listen, excessive barking, runs away, chases everything, plays rough, and destructive. Abby, the unwanted dog.
Abby stayed in the shelter for 27 days, confined to a 6×4 foot concrete dog run, totally lacking in any stimulation or exercise beyond what she could create for herself. True to her herding dog heritage, Abby invented her own games, including chasing her tail, flys, lights and shadows until one sunny Saturday when she arrived outside a pet supply store for an adoption event. The first time I saw Abby, she was on leash, being “walked” by potential adoptees. Abby’s idea of walking included lunging, sniffing, pulling, jumping, and climbing all over anyone who got near. She was trying to go everywhere, all at once, dragging a bewildered man behind her. Her huge ears and massive nose working overtime to take in the whole world. Amazingly, she found her “forever home” that day only to be brought back by her new family the following week. Abby, the returned dog.
The second time I saw Abby, she was crammed into a wire kennel, chewing at the door. As I stood in front of the kennel, she stopped to stare at me, and for smallest of moments, she held my gaze. “That’s it, you are the one I want.” I took Abby home with me. Abby, the adopted dog.
That first six months were the hardest I’ve ever had as a dog owner and trainer. I soon learned to keep her on leash or inside a kennel. Abby ate everything thing within reach: paper, strings, carpet, blankets, garbage, drywall. She broke three kennels and destroyed every chew toy I bought. She swallowed a nail and barely made it out of surgery alive. She had a less than three second attention span and an endless amount of mischief. She pulled like a freight train no matter what kind of training collar I used. Every waking moment became consumed by managing this chaotic thing that was quickly unraveling my sanity. Our training sessions were frustrating. Although she learned the basic commands, without a handful of treats, Abby had very little interest in listening to anything I had to say. At the off-leash park, it’s at least three hours before Abby holds still long enough for me to clip on the leash again. It was during our first fetch session that I began to see a glimmer of hope for Abby, the ball-obsessed dog.
“Sit, Abby.” She sits. Ball hand rises. Abby jumps. “No, wrong answer.” Ball goes into pocket.
“Sit, Abby.” She sits. Ball hand rises. Abby jumps. “Nope, wrong again.” Ball goes into pocket.
“Sit, Abby.” She sits. Ball hand rises. Abby jumps. “Still not it.” Ball goes into pocket.
“Sit, Abby.” She sits. Ball hand rises. Abby jumps. “That’s not what I want.” Ball goes into pocket.
“Sit, Abby.” She sits. Ball hand rises. Abby holds her sit. Ball flies.
A moment for her to process, then she was after it. As fast as she runs out, she speeds back only to swing wide to run laps around me. I chase her then wrestle her to the ground. After prying ball out of her mouth, we begin another round.
“Sit, Abby.” She sits. Ball hand rises. Abby jumps. “No, wrong answer.” Ball goes into pocket.
Sit, Abby.” She sits. Ball hand rises. Abby holds her sit. Ball flies.
My friends, family and fellow dog trainers all began to wonder if I could ever get this mutt under control. Maybe I had adopted an untrainable dog? Despite all the doubts, I knew, with every fiber of my being, that there was something inside this crazy dog that was worth digging in for. I refused to give up on her. Abby, the worthy dog.
Abby and I were 18 months into our relationship when my perseverance pays off. Abby became my training demonstration dog, working with me every day in public spaces, in countless group classes, performing in trick dog contests, and showing off her obedience skills at dog training events.
The day we stepped into our first agility class, Abby, at 3 years old, was a changed dog. Abby stayed calm amongst the overly excited dogs in class. She held every stay, complied with every command. She willingly and enthusiastically worked for her ball to learn this new “run and jump” game! By the end of that first hour, Abby and I were running a line of jumps together, off leash, her working with me and loving it.
Abby and I went on to compete successfully in several agility organizations, reaching the highest skill levels. After retiring from agility, we took up Barn Hunt, eventually completing her Senior Barn Hunt title. She had finally become the dog I knew she could be. Abby, my competitive sports dog.
Abby, now past 14 years old, is living her best life. She never did learn to walk nicely on leash and has an occasional naughty moment raiding the trash. I know that our days together are numbered. There is a beautiful thing that happens toward the end of life, when the appreciation of everything you’ve been through with a dog settles in. I look forward to every last head butt, begging eye stare and slobbery ball in my lap that I can get. I would never want her to be anything other than Abby, my recycled dog.
“Abby-Gale Force Winds 4/1/2008 -1/12/2023 She left on her own terms, just as she lived her life.”