The Finnish summer ends around mid-August. That’s when the hats and gloves come out. And as anyone who has ever met my dog will tell you, it’s also when the trouble starts.
Bravo has a thing for outerwear. Last year, he was very into gloves. By the end of the season he was able to steal them right off the hand of any stranger passing by him in the crosswalk. That was impressive at the time, but now that he is bigger and faster, he’s lost interest in such an easy target.
Nowadays, he’s moved on to hats, plucking them from the head of anyone 5’7” and under. And that’s a much bigger problem for me as his owner. When a stranger loses a glove here or there to a leashed dog on the sidewalk, they will usually laugh. But let them come face-to-face with an open-mouthed, airborne dog aiming for the face and they aren’t so quick to smile.
It’s a theory that I’ve been able to test twice daily since September.
Granted, Bravo doesn’t pull that hat-grabbing shit with me. I’d like to think that’s because he respects me. He recognizes the fact that I buy the toys and dish out the food. I have granted him access to the bed and he knows that I can take it away. He learned the hard way, once upon a time when he snatched the hat off my head as I tied my shoe or picked up my handbag, that I won’t tolerate it. I showed him very clearly which one of us is in charge – and it’s the same one who has an opposable thumb.
Dog trainers all over the internet have insisted that this was not the right approach – that grabbing him by the scruff and yelling doesn’t work. They insist that dogs respond better to positive reinforcement of wanted behaviors. To a point, I’m sure they’re right. Give me a dog with limited mobility and the extreme desire to please – say a Golden Retriever – and I, too, could probably cookie and praise my way out of any situation. But I know my dog. He is sweet, but he is cunning. He is agile. He is opportunistic. And he is patient. Bravo will wait for someone to absentmindedly set a bag down in the park and then make off with whatever he can grab, which over the past several months has included a set of car keys, a bikini top, and even an entire potted plant.
The reason why he’s doing this is because it’s fun. Most people have a sense of humor, which is a very good quality when one finds their basil plant in the mouth of an animal that not five minutes ago had been at the business end of a Springer Spaniel mix. To humans, laughter is a coping mechanism. But to a dog, it’s a reward onto itself. So too is the chase that follows.
That’s why I yell. Because if I don’t, he just assumes it’s fun. Bravo loves the reaction. The attention. He wants me to run after him in an elaborate game of keep away. So I don’t do any of that, which I’m sure is maddening to the people who have lost the hat and want me to swoop in with a stern “leave it” and snag it back. But I know better. Bravo can outrun me and most of the time he can outmaneuver me too. He was bred for endurance. If I don’t catch him in the act, then it’s too late. Better to let him lose interest than add to it.
Sometimes, I tell people about Bravo’s habit and give them permission to stop him in the moment with the power of their opposable thumb. That’s not realistic, however, as I’ve found most Finnish people to be quite unwilling to grab another woman’s large breed dog by the throat.
And that’s why I hired a professional.
Dog trainers are notoriously eccentric, as is anyone who chooses a line of work with minimal human interaction. The ones you see on YouTube and TikTok don’t count, by the way – because those are people who are at least comfortable talking. They may have limited interest in doing so directly with other people, but at least they understand the process.
I imagine the trainer we chose falls into this camp, as she started speaking the second we came through the door and didn’t stop for the next 25 minutes. She delivered her notes exclusively in Finnish (which I knew going in) but did so rapidly and without pause (which I did not anticipate). This was frustrating to me since I was coming to her for help on how to solve my dog’s actual behavior as opposed to listening to her general philosophy on dog-rearing in the teenage years.
Since Valtteri is too polite to interrupt anyone, even when we’re paying them by the hour, and I couldn’t do so myself in Finnish, I decided to demonstrate my intentions for coming, by which I mean I attempted to sneak a knit hat with a fur pompom onto the trainer’s head.
“Hold still,” I told this woman. “He will steal his right off your head in less than a minute. Watch.”
She opened her mouth, as if to tell me she did not care to see my dog’s magic trick, but I cut her off. “What I’d like to do,” I said, “Is work with you to figure out some ways to get him to stop stealing the hats. Because he already knows he’s not supposed to do it.” To demonstrate this point, I put my hands on my hips and swung my head in a large semi-circle toward the floor. “Do you see?” I demanded, pressing my head to my knees and rolling my neck from side to side like a deranged aerobics instructor. “He knows not to steal from me. But he can’t help but steal from other people.”
The woman turned back to Valtteri in a way that made me think she was going to recommend a specialist visit – not for the dog, but for me. I locked eyes with him and held up one hand to the trainer, “Focus,” I said. “It’s going to be a long winter if we can’t get this under control.”
“She’s saying that the problem isn’t really with Bravo, but the other people,” Valtteri explained. “They don’t know how to interact properly,” he said, matter-of-factly. “She said people shouldn’t look him in the eyes because it’s very inviting,” he added, oddly smug about having a dog that misreads social cues.
I laughed into my own face mask. “Oh that is rich,” I said. I will do just about anything to solve this problem but I will not tell people who lose a hat to Bravo that they are somehow responsible for their own misfortune because they briefly made eye contact. Besides, if recent history has proven anything it’s that it will be far easier to train one problematic dog than attempt to shift the behavior of humans, even those at risk of being charged by a full-grown Dalmatian.
“I can’t tell people to check their hats at the gate,” I said to the woman who was supposed to be in charge.
“Well you can try to redirect him,” she said through Valtteri.
“With what?” I asked.
“Food,” she answered.
“No,” I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “I could have an entire rack of ribs and that dog would still go for the hat.”
“With a toy,” she countered.
I sighed. $65 an hour and the best this woman can do is suggest I throw a ball. “No,” I said. “That won’t distract him once he’s on the way to a hat.”
“One that makes noise?” she suggested.
I considered that for a second. “Well that could work,” I admitted. “But not a toy he knows. It has to be a special noise that he doesn’t recognize. Something loud, but that can fit in my pocket.”
And that’s the story of how I came to start carrying a kazoo every time I go to the dog park.
I don’t want to give the dog trainer too much credit, because truth be told she was pretty terrible. But even I must admit, the kazoo has been working like a charm and I wouldn’t have thought of it without her help.
Since I recognize those few crucial seconds when my dog is about to pounce on a stranger and he is obviously intrigued by the sound of his mom’s voice reimagined as a duck, it’s a winning strategy. We’ve been at it for a week and so far I’ve only had to chase down one hat, which is one more than ideal but about 15 less than usual.
True, I look even more eccentric than the dog trainer herself, a woman who showed up in a hooded sweatshirt that simply said Ger / Man / Shep / Herd across the front, but I don’t care. I would rather be the nutcase honking at her dog from the far corner of the park than the one chasing down a misbehaving and uncontrollable 80-pound animal.
Many dog park regulars who know Bravo’s habits are amazed by his turnaround. They, like I, cannot believe that all I had to do to solve this problem was quack. Perhaps more importantly, as soon as I blow the whistle, they recognize the risk and immediately stop to reevaluate what they are doing. Are they crouching down to greet a small dog?Looking him in the eye? Escorting a small child who is holding a plush toy? Doing something else that they know is a no-no around dogs you don’t know-know?
The noise doesn’t just stop Bravo – it stops people. As soon as they hear it, they realize that they’re doing something that they shouldn’t be. They turn around and apologize to me, the woman with a duck whistle, for inviting my dog to misbehave at their expense.
If only the dog trainer could see me now, changing the dog park dynamic, one toot at a time.
This is so funny! That is a perfect ‘Advice I could have used yesterday’ story. Needs to go into your future book.
A kazoo and a dalmatian… what has my life become?? :D
Hahahahahahahhahahaaha!!!
I have a beagle and also wish people understood that “people pleasing” is not an inherent trait in all dogs. Not only does my dog not really care to please me, she also has no shame. If only I thought a kazoo could stop her food stealing!
right?! like, Bravo is concerned with pleasing me TO A POINT. that point stops the second he sees knitwear. i have to say though, he is SO GOOD at stealing. if i wasn’t so annoyed, i’d be impressed. and if i had any sense i’d use his powers for good… though i can’t really think of a great use case at the moment. i’ll keep you posted.
I will find this funnier when I manage to break the habit! But i do see the humor in it, I really do.
Very funny. You have way more patience that I do. He would be in doggy prison around here long ago. LOL
oh it’s tempting but the thing is, prison is my house. and a high energy dog in a limited space does not mix well. so the trips to the dog park (and the runs to and from) are actually quite necessary for both of us. but yeah… he’s gotta learn.
Hysterical, although I’m sure it wasn’t the case initially. Our dog, Lemon, required a personal trainer’s help for a few terrible habits. I ended up with a giant pink pacifier that makes a ridiculous sound when squeezed. Our trainer also recommended a squeaky dog toy, but they never held her attention very long. I found the pacifier at a party store in the clown costume section. I attached it to her leash, making it readily available when needed. You can only imagine the comments I get when people notice it, but it works. LOL!
i agree. hysterical. i will appreciate it more later, but even in the moment it is pretty funny! the effect of the whistle has worn off since he now recognizes the sound. i may just have to get a pacifier – or an air horn! we’ll have to try something though because while there was some improvement initially he has since regressed and it is SUPER annoying. another visit to a another dog trainer may be in order too … appreciate you stopping by and thank you for the comment!