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.
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| 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.
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