Life with a Dachshund

      Once a Dachshund owner, always a Dachshund owner.

      We’ve never owned a Dachshund before, being lovers of bigger dogs. But my German brother-in-law living in Cologne, Germany with my sister, has had nothing but Dachshunds all his life. Another example is my aunt when she and her husband were raising their 5 kids; they once had 20 of them.

      This is a dog with an independent mind. That mind is where the antics come from.

      One day, Jonathan, Spot’s dog trainer, told me he was looking for a market for Dachshund puppies from a breeder. I remembered my aunt, long widowed. I contacted my cousin Marie if they would like to buy a puppy. They haven’t had a Dachshund in over 30 years.

      Marie consented but she had one condition: that the dog be housebroken first before I bring it over. That meant the pup will stay at our house in the meantime.

      Jonathan brought the little black puppy to the house and it stayed with us for a whole month.

      I was working then and I’d see the pup only in the mornings and evenings. It would spend the night in my elderly dad’s room so it never cried at night. We called it Tutti. She was a female Dachshund.

      Tutti quickly became a ball of energy. When I’m home in the evenings, I’d watch with fascination as the little dog would start chase games with our one Boxer and Dalmatian, calling all the shots. Tutti would challenge the bigger dogs and lord it over them in every way.

       “He seems to have no sense of size,” I observed amusedly. Tutti was very small then, shorter than the length of an adult Boxer’s leg. I’d watch with unease as I’d see Tutti grasp one of the Boxer’s hind legs and playfully pull it, fearful that with one snap of the Boxer’s mouth that pup’s life would end. But the Boxer tolerated it.

      Faced with a more assertive canine houseguest who knew what it wanted, the larger dogs were quickly compliant.

A sleeping Tutti when she was still a pup

      My father noticed this trait immediately and admired it. The leader of our large dogs was an aggressive little Dachshund. During the day the dog would sleep between my dad’s feet while he watched TV. Other times she’d gladly belly up on my dad’s lap and take her nap. When she wakes up, Tutti would emerge from my dad’s room to round up the adult dogs and challenge them to another game of wrestling and chase for that afternoon. I’d hear the mad scrambling of feet and panting rushes of breath as the dogs played till evening time.

    That one month passed, though, and the sound of that light-hearted playfulness in our house ended when my cousin arrived to claim Tutti.

      My dad probably tried to keep his sadness to himself.

      But Marie saw it in his face.

      A few days later Marie gifted my dad with another Dachshund.

Packy Lives With Us

      Packy was my dad’s dog and I left him to keep my dad company. But Packy’s temperament was different. He wasn’t merry and playful like Tutti. He seemed of a more serious character. After he “cased the joint” and profiled all of us, his new owners, I think Packy decided to train us – and his canine packmates – than the other way around. Nobody was going to tell him what to do!

      That happened easily enough, as the dog was correct in his assessment. I was just learning my training fundamentals from a dog trainer. All the more my household -- nobody was yet equipped to handle an "independent thinking" canine type like the Dachshund. Packy seemed to know that.

      So while I was away at work, Packy spent the days training his new family.

      One weekend morning, however, while my dad sunbathed in his favorite chair and we were all outside in the front yard, I watched the househelp trudge heavily behind a pulling and heaving Packy on a leash. I read the signs easily -- the dog was “dictating” to his handler where he wanted to go, how fast the pace, and what he wanted to do. I had to step in. I was going to teach Packy his basic walking commands.

      Packy protested against my handling but I had been warned early enough that this was a dog that needed a firmer hand than our bigger dogs. I wasn’t going to give in to him. It was a fight between me and the Dachshund.

      Eventually, Packy learned to walk beside me.

      But that’s only when he’s with me. When he’s with our househelp – they walk behind him. . .

      My brother-in-law had once warned me: “That dog will try to be number 1” when I told him the top dog in our house was Spotty.

      Thus, I had to assign his position at once. He would be dog number 3, being the new arrival, after Toby who was dog number 2.

      But I soon saw that the rank placement was not quite right. Packy was more assertive and persistent. Toby was submissive. Based on the dogs’ strength of character, I switched Toby and Packy around. I moved Packy up as dog number 2. Toby didn’t mind.

True to his breed Packy was fearless.

      But my brother-in-law’s words of experience were ringing true. In the morning, I find Packy sleeping in Spot’s bed in my room while Spot is out for his morning walk. When all the dogs are out for a “pack walk” Packy insists on walking on the same level as Spotty, pulling and heaving against his handler until he is beside Spot, then his leash slackens.

A Dachshund dressed as a drag queen in a dog club Packy attended.
Note the false lashes!

A Schemer in Our Midst

      When it comes to deviousness, Packy leads the pack. As I learned to train dogs, I ambitiously thought of training them to sing on command. Packy was already howling at a passing ice cream cart so it was a matter of transferring that cue from the ice cream cart to my command – followed by a biscuit. The little dog noticed early enough that a biscuit follows every time he “sings.” (He even got to make Toby, our other Dalmatian to sing as back-up. See my August post, “The Biscuit Jar”). One day, the dog wanted a biscuit. He had no access to food because mealtime was still an hour away. But he knew how he could get a biscuit -- if he sang.

      Thus, Packy waited until the next food vendor came along – and decided he would howl at it. It happened to be the “taho” (sweet soya dessert) vendor just calling out with his voice. But Packy is Toby’s cue so Toby automatically caught it up and carried the tone to higher (and longer) levels. We heard the racket from inside the house and noticed the dogs howling at a new sound. After singing, Packy scrambled up the house with Toby close behind and headed for the biscuit jar, expecting to be rewarded. We gave each a biscuit. He howled, didn’t he?

      But Packy didn’t stop there. Next, he decided to “expand” his understanding of this reward technique, testing how far it would apply. One day, standing before the gate he just howled – at nothing. Again, we inside the house wondered what he was howling at. There was no food vendor passing by. But Toby’s vocal acrobatics which followed enlarged Packy’s song, making it longer and louder, a singing duo’s racket you could not ignore. After that they headed up the house towards the biscuit jar and we, the amused owners, so taken by the antics, gave in to the expectant attitude.

      Dachshunds were originally born and bred to hunt underground and fight badgers, an animal slightly taller than them. It is a dog that doesn’t have any concept of size, height or fear. With this background and genetic makeup, the breed was developed to have a mind of its own so he can manage alone without depending on his master.  “He’s down there under the ground,” my brother-in-law once told me, “and he can’t see you there to wait for your command. He has to decide by himself on what to do.”

      Packy’s constant challenge to his superiors (and inferiors) has sometimes resulted in dog fights. Like a true fighter, the dog has a never-give-in battle attitude, screaming and fighting wildly even if held at the neck up in the air by Spot’s bigger jaws. I’ve never seen anything like it; between bigger dogs I see the lower ranked pack member back down soon after the fight erupts. The dogs are equally sized so I usually let them solve their issues. But if Packy is involved we have to do “rescue” work. The little dog fights back even if we manage to make Spot drop him. We have to bar Packy from attacking after he is released (short of throwing a net over him and dragging him away)! Without our interference this dog will go down fighting. . . (Now if I were Spot. . . with that piercing racket so close to his ears when he grasps that wriggling annoyance up in the air? I’d let him go down fighting just to stop the ear-splitting noise!).

Packy -- when he's not plotting how to outsmart us

      These dogs also solve their own problems actively but from their doggy point of view. Tutti, now called Tootsie, over at my elderly aunt’s house in another city, lives a solitary canine life with a basket of toys, a cat, a rabbit, my aunt and a household staff as company. Turned out the dog is ball driven. Her concept of doggy heaven is a non-stop game of fetch-the-ball.

      But when potential playmates are too busy to accommodate (which is often), Tootsie found a way in which she could have a ball tossed for her so she could chase it. One day, my aunt noticed a tennis ball bouncing down the steps from the upstairs bedroom – and saw the dog chase it.

      But the scene repeated itself again.

      And again.

      Curious, she looked to see the source of this unusual incident. At the top of the stairs she found Tootsie, swinging in the air by a loose thread an old tennis ball. After a few seconds the dog dropped the ball down the steps. As the ball bounced away, she chased it. . .

      Packy, meanwhile, tried to go around my rule about his being allowed his afternoon walk only if he's quiet and well behaved. He didn’t quite agree to that but I was the alpha. Those were the rules.

      But his proposal of a Win-Win negotiation is pure doggy. He still screams and shouts excitedly while being leashed until the instance he is at the gate. Then I hear the barking stop suddenly – almost like a hiccup – and I know where he is. He is immediately in front of the gate as the maid’s hand is probably on the knob. Then I hear the gate open and – his mouth opens again, announcing to the whole world he’s out. I hear the mayhem follow him down the road as the dogs from the other houses race to their front yards to bark and shout at the passing challenger.

      I shake my head in disbelief and amusement. The dog has outsmarted me. I want silence when it’s time for him to walk? I get that silence – but only at the last 2 seconds before the gate is opened. Then he gets his walk – plus the added license to yell and challenge all the dogs in the neighborhood (a point we didn’t talk about…).

     This breed is difficult to co-exist with other breeds unless its packmates are all submissive. This is one dog that will immediately assume leadership position (if you don’t claim it upon his arrival). A few years ago, I met Marie Grace, the cousin of a childhood friend of mine at a dinner gettogether. She walked in with a Dachshund. I was with Jonathan that time and our eyes lit up when we saw the dog. We had a dog school at the local park that time and we invited her to bring her dog there.

      Marie Grace reacted as if I gave her a mouthful. She can barely breathe, she complained, running her pastry breads business from the house and keeping her 3 dogs from taking over everything. Top of her conversation was her 3 dogs (1 of which was with her) and how they seemed to drive her crazy so she always has to keep an eye on them.

      The occasion we went to was the Catholic novena Mass of a common friend of ours whose mother had died 9 days earlier. During the home Mass, at a moment of silence and prayer, while everybody was standing up, the serenity was suddenly jolted by the sound of a dog's bark. My eyes roved to the sound and there was Marie Grace's Dachshund, looking up at his mistress, asking to be carried. His mistress obediently broke her prayers, bent down to gather the dog, and carried it in her arms as she stood up. 

      I heard Jonathan trying to remark between gnashing teeth, "No wonder the dog controls her. One bark from him and she obeys!"

      Other dog owners used to the compliant and dependent canine pet will be up for surprises when faced with this breed. This dog is no robot you can train to just obey at the push of a button.

      This dog has his own set of buttons. Make sure your name is not among them.

The Devil Wears. . . a Maid’s Uniform (this is just a joke -- Part I)

      They spend more time with your dogs than you do.

      I don’t intend to scorn this one of the most can’t-live-without persons in the domestic household. If you’re a responsible and educated pet owner, you would, of course, teach all family members how to handle your pets the same way you would. Uniform and consistent handling of your pets at home is the key to a peaceful co-existence between them and us. That means training your maid/s too. They spend more time with your dogs than you do.

      Many of them are trainable anyway.

      But occasionally you will meet one you cannot train.

There Goes Your Investments

      Ching joined our household because my elderly father needed closer supervision in his daily life. She liked dogs too.

      It was Ching who undid all the training I invested in my dogs – and taught them bad habits. All the time, money, and effort I spent on teaching my dogs good habits drained away when she had her hands on them.

      I was working then and saw my home only in the evenings. So bad habits the dogs learned had plenty of time to establish before I noticed them.

      The daily afternoon walks, for one, taught the dogs to compete for the privilege to be walked out first. Whenever Ching brought out their collars and leashes the uproar was enough to disturb the neighbors. One weekend the riot was so bad I walked to the front of the house to watch the proceedings. I saw Packy, the little Dachshund, compete for the first to be walked, screaming and barking wildly. But I knew Spotty was the top dog so I stressed to Ching the importance of observing their hierarchical positions, a subject I’ve repeated to the househelp time and again. I reminded them Spot will not allow Packy to go over his head if it happens often enough.

      Ching does as instructed, leading Spot out first for a walk, but I noticed she does not do this consistently. One afternoon, there was a ferocious dog fight at our front door. By the time I got there, the maids had managed to separate the dogs and nobody would know what caused it.

      But I could guess.

      “Who was the dog you were preparing first?” I demanded of Ching.

      “Packy,” was the expected reply.

      “Packy is second. Spot is always first!” I protested furiously.

      “But Packy wanted to go out first,” she reasoned.

      Ching tested my patience severely because I was seeing the dogs’ training getting undone. Regardless of how many times I explained to her and the other household staff the reasons for why the dogs must be handled according to my direction, the look remained blank in her eyes. She couldn’t understand why.

      Our doggy gate, for example, which I installed at the entrance to our kitchen, was developed because of her.

Our doggy gate

       Ching was a great cook – and the dogs seemed to know it. Everyday when she’s preparing the meals, the dogs crowd around her in the kitchen, sitting on the floor expectantly because they’ve become accustomed to her throwing regularly a tidbit their way. After meals when she gets the empty plates in the dining room the dogs scramble from wherever they are and follow her into the kitchen. She tosses a leftover piece of meat here and another piece there, and the dogs know they get something all the time.

      The effect of this particular doggy habit I saw when I was at my aunt’s house for Christmas eve. Spot came in sporting a Santa cap to the delight of the guests. While everybody was in the living room chatting, my aunt’s maids started to get the dining plates. As soon as Spotty heard the clatter of plates and silverware, I saw the dog’s head spin around to the sound, with the intention of hurrying to the kitchen.

      I was horrified. Like a parent horrified to see one’s child display disagreeable conduct at another house, I reacted exactly the same way. I had to command the dog to stay where he was and not leave his place.

      That was Ching’s work. I had to install a doggy gate at the kitchen to bar the dogs from entering because they were being trained by Ching to find rewards there.

      Another undoing was her manner of walking the dogs. I used to teach Ching the proper heeling position with Spot whenever they go out into the street, to establish the dog’s training behavior. But one night, as she and another househelp named Lourdes was out walking the dogs, I happened to arrive from work. I saw Spot from a distance -- dodging a passing car. I thought the dog was loose. Then I saw Ching and Lourdes along the road walking away from me, their heads deep in gossip, Ching not looking at what was happening to Spot. She was using the retractable leash on the dog, the cord extended beyond a length I knew she could not manage.

      I had to stop the car by the road and chase them on foot.

     What was her reply when I demanded why she kept Spot on a long leash? From her point of view, because the dog was trained – “Spot knows what to do.” She felt she didn’t have to keep an eye on him.

      I got exasperated. What if they encountered stray dogs? A cat? A reckless driver? Or the dog saw a sharp bone on the road, or something poisonous like a dead toad? The dog “knows what to do”?

      Ching would’ve effectively reverted my dogs back to their wild ways hadn’t I always been there to fight the results of her handling. Regardless of my constant explanations, though the rest of the staff finally understood me and learned to follow, Ching never did. When she left after my dad died, I spent many weeks undoing the bad behaviors she allowed to develop with my furkids.

(more below)

The Devil Wears…a Maid’s Uniform (Part II)

       New maid, new reasons. Same damage.

      Whatever your lifestyle, if you have household help like we do, your dogs will spend more time with them than with you.

      You may bring home the dog food but they are the ones who will feed them.

      You may buy them their special shampoos but they are the ones who will bathe them.

      You may buy them good quality leashes or harnesses but they are the ones who will walk them out everyday.

      You may strive to bond with your dogs every weekend -- long walks in parks or in the countryside -- but your pets have bonded with your househelp earlier.

Here We Go Again

       Spot is the dog I took care of personally and my household is aware of this. Thus, they keep a respectful distance, as if to say, ”This is the boss’s dog.” So they spoil the other two dogs.

      Consequently, I find the other dogs faring badly (from my point of view, not from theirs). The two have formed a bond with our new maid, Lourdes. They also sleep in her room.

      Lourdes took over the care of the dogs after our other maid, Ching, left after my dad died. I didn’t need that many people in my household anymore. We prefer middle-aged women as househelp because they are more mature, have better managerial skills, better judgment, and don’t need meticulous training. But midlifers have a disadvantage: their ways have settled. Their minds are in the comfort zone.

New Maid, New Handling

      When it comes to Lourdes, it seems our pushy little Dachshund named Packy has taken over. Packy has taken it upon himself to train Lourdes. The result is bedlam with Packy and his partner-in-crime, Toby, having their way. These two dogs, in contrast to Spot, require constant supervision when we are all out together. They prefer to obey Lourdes.  

      But does Lourdes discipline them? She does not. Their wild antics are largely left to run free; she does not reward any good behavior either. Her reason for the doting tolerance is commonly seen in all uninformed dog owners.

      Dominic, Lourdes’ teenaged son, observed amusedly, “Mama treats Packy like her own grandchild.”

      At bedtime, I hear baby talk as Lourdes plays with Packy before they turn in for the night. Sometimes when Packy goes to bed earlier I catch him sleeping on Lourdes’ bed. I order him down.

      But -- I found out later – Lourdes lets the dog sleep on her bed during the night. Even though Packy has his own cozy little canine basket with pillows, he prefers Lourdes’ bed.

      I warned Lourdes, “This is a dominant  dog. If you let it sleep on your bed you are putting it on equal authority as yourself. You will not be able to make this dog easily obey you.”

      But did that concern Lourdes? It didn’t.

      Indeed. Dogs are any dog lover’s delight. Its antics amuse dog owners no end, especially with an assertive little Dachshund giving Lourdes endless surprises. But with a dog comes responsibility. A spoiled pet is an untrained pet.

      I would hear Lourdes chide Packy (or Toby) in a high singsong voice, “Hey, what are you doing again? Stop chewing that plastic! I’ve told you time and again you’re not supposed to do that!”

      Or, “Packy, you’re so noisy. Quiet down. I told you again and again you’re too noisy! If you’re noisy I will not take you out.”

      I used to correct Lourdes with her manner of talking to the dogs. “They don’t understand anything you say,” I’d warn her. “Your sentences are so long they don’t hear any one familiar word. Just use one word to command the dog.”

      One day it dawned upon me her high tone of voice actually mimics praise to the dog. She makes the dog believe his unruly behavior is right!

      No wonder she was getting nowhere.

      I’ve told this to Lourdes time and again. But like Ching, I felt I wasn’t getting anywhere with her either. Once, I got so fed up I exaggerated her singsong “doggy talk” so she can hear how she sounds. I didn’t hear the doggy talk for several weeks as she kept quiet.

      Then one day, I heard it again, “Packy, what are you doing here? You’re not allowed to go here. I’ve told you time and again you’re not allowed to enter the kitchen!”

Packy the Trainer

      I used to take everybody out for a walk along the river during the Christmas season to enjoy the lights and cool breeze. Packy enjoys himself to the hilt. The dog barks at any other passing dog, lunges at stray cats, and competes with Spot for the leadership position as they all walk along the lane. I’d watch Lourdes allow herself to be dragged by the small dog. I’d correct the positioning, admonish Lourdes for allowing Packy to lead her instead of the other way around, and things go right for awhile. Then I hear the patter of determined little feet behind me and I know. Packy is racing to position himself beside Spot. Lourdes is dragging behind him again.

      To discourage this competition, I would transfer with Spot to the lane across the river while Packy and Toby are walked on their side. Regardless, even though Spot and I pass by high bushes or a grove of tall trees, I hear that screaming dog’s voice travel over the waters from across the river, barking at other dogs or cats, and God knows anything that moves.

Packy, typical of his breed, was fearless and easy to train for the contact obstacles of agility sports.

      Once, I got Packy’s leash to prepare him to walk with me because I had a plan to review his old training. The dog had long learned his basic commands from me when he was younger. But succeeding maids (like Ching) had tolerated Packy’s misbehaviors.

      Packy refused to go out with me. He got on all fours and refused to get up.

The Price of Brattiness

      Unfortunately, all this boomerangs on them. When the handler is tolerant, the dogs are taken out less and less because of undisciplined behavior. On weekends as the dogs see signals for a ride in the car and a walk to a new place they circle the car excitedly, waiting for the cue for them to jump in soon as the door is opened. In the end, they find themselves barred from hopping in and watch with confusion as only Spot is allowed to enter the car and we drive away leaving them behind. It’s easier to just take Spot.