Winter has been worse than I’d imagined. My dog was diagnosed last spring with Canine Cognitive Dysfunction, dog dementia, and by midsummer I was worrying how he would do in the cold. January’s heavy snow and arctic blast of sub-zero temperatures tested him and tested me. We managed.
My greatest fear was that he’d “stall out” in the ice and snow in our back yard, where it would simply not be safe for me to go to bring him in.
I’d been working on recalls with him, as his had faded from reliable to iffy. I used a British Police Whistle as a cue and his most favorite treat, Happy Howie’s, as a reward (see Canine Cognitive Dysfunction—Recalling The Recall for more details).
I’d been practicing him on a long line, too, which would, I hoped, keep us both as safe as possible. Our back yard is six steps down from a small screened porch off the kitchen. I used the long line from just inside the screen door that opens to those stairs, so I had to stand back from the doorway. (In ice and snow, the steps can be dangerous and there’s a handrail only on one side. Keeping a good balance was mandatory and I’m not that steady on my pins lately.) I had to keep a constant tension on the long line, also, to keep it off the ground as he walked around so he wouldn’t get tangled in it. He jerked the line just once, on one of the first days it was in use. I was wearing safe shoes and standing on a non-slip surface of big dog towels laid flat like rugs. I think I yelped, but I was firmly in place, so no problem other than my surprise. He never jerked the line again.
Photo by Val Hughes
Long story short: My dog adjusted to doing his business on the long line. He clearly “wanted” to walk to parts of the yard he could not reach, but he did not try to get there. He would stand, pitifully staring at our neighbor’s house on the far side of the back fence. He clearly missed her, our neighbor who brought him treats and visited with him. She was a big part of his daily routine and now the routine had changed entirely.
Peeing while on the long line was easy for him in no time, but my dog was not as comfortable at first with pooping while on the long line in parts of our yard where he’d never pooped before. He accepted it eventually, but never in full comfort, I suspect.
First we had snow and ice, then the deep freeze. To stand on the porch while he went out, I had to dress in layers, with extra layers at night. For sixteen days, the cold went on. Coming downstairs from the bedroom to the kitchen to throw on a coat over those layers and then to hook him up to the long line, to stand on that freezing porch while he eliminated—that became what we did, many times every day. Many times: he’s old.
I am not a youngster myself, and for me it was miserable.
The colder it got, the less he screwed around when he was out in the yard on the long line and the quicker he came up the steps to go inside where we were, thank goodness, warm and cozy in our home.
We were both exhausted after a couple of days. We stayed exhausted for the whole experience. Multiple “potty drills” went on every night, depending on his expressed need to go out, up to three times a night—again, he’s old—then back to bed to try to sleep. We napped during the day because we needed the rest. We needed a vacation!
We didn’t get a vacation. On the best days, we had sun, rare but a morale booster, for sure. Mostly it was dark as Mordor daily. We were both, in our own ways, depressed, physically and emotionally down. Even when it started to end, it didn’t. Warmer temperatures were predicted but even warmer temperatures brought more issues, like freezing rain and fog. Mother Nature tried us all, us, our friends, our neighbors. Were we okay? our closest asked. We’re okay, I replied—my dog was still alive. That was the most important thing, to me at least.
We made it.
As a very slow warm-up started, I set an arbitrary temperature at which I planned to let him out not on the long line: 27 degrees, which was predicted to occur almost a week away. That turned out to be a joke. When it reached 27 degrees, the freezing rain turned all outside surfaces into sheets of ice. No way would I let him out in that! I used play sand on the back steps so he would not slide down. That helped, giving him safe traction.
One day, when I could see lawn instead of snow on about a third of our back yard, the temperature was 40 degrees, and the sun was waiting behind the clouds, I had let my dog out before dawn on the long line. This will be the last time, I decided: Today was the day. If our neighbor was home and willing to join in, I’d let my dog out not on the long line later that morning. She was home and she’d meet him at the fence line … with treats.
I opened the kitchen door to the screened porch and motioned my dog to go through without hooking the long line to his collar. He didn’t hesitate. I opened the screen door to the back yard, he went down the steps … and he broke into a run directly to the back fence!
Where he started barking loudly.
As our neighbor hustled across her yard to meet him, he was ecstatic. I watched until the treats were eaten and they visited a little longer, then our neighbor went back to her house. He turned, spotted me standing in the doorway, he dipped his head down …
I held up the thin slice of Howie’s—yeah, I’d shown him the Howie’s before I opened the kitchen door. Why? Why not!
I blew the whistle.
He dropped his head … and broke into a very fast run straight to me.
I cheered.
He grabbed the slice of Howie’s as he came in the door, without taking any of my fingers with it. We went inside, where he got more Howie’s, a couple of hard biscuits, and a drink (of water!).
I was so proud of him.
Our neighbor texted: “He hasn’t forgotten his routine.”
I said to myself happily: “Hey, this training sh*t works!”
Would I have chosen not to go through this winter with my dog if I could have known exactly what weather to expect? I certainly considered it. But we can’t know and, since that’s the way it is, I’ll take the inevitable anxiety of “wait and see.” Not every day will turn out to be a good one, but not every setback will turn out to be bad. I’m not ready to let him go; I don’t think he’s ready either. So far, together, we manage.
