As one who shares his life with several animals, not to mention two children, 'no' is one of the most-utilized words in my vocabulary. This, and all its inherent difficulties, was recently illustrated to me in a rather stark and arresting manner.
It was a beautiful Spring afternoon, and I had let the dogs outside. They were wandering aimlessly around the yard, sniffing and squirting urine virtually everywhere, when I noticed Jinks the Cocker Spaniel taking an experimental nibble of one of the leaves of my spearmint plant. I didn't believe ingesting it would result in any long-term ill effects, but I wanted him to stop all the same.
Just as I went to correct him, a nugget of wisdom shared with me years earlier came to mind. When I was in high school, we enrolled our puppy (an alarmingly devious and naughty Brittany named Bix) in obedience school. The instructor, a woman of stern demeanor whose Chows not only came on command and walked at heel, but could also doubtless solve differential equations and perform a passable version of Wozzeck, told us very early on to never use the dog's name when correcting it; otherwise, it would begin to associate its name with negative outcomes and react badly to its use. This seemed reasonable enough. As such, any indiscretion was dealt with with a forceful, if nonspecific, "No!", causing some of the puppies to immediately cease what they were doing while others continued blithely on their way. Bix was almost invariably among the latter; little did he know this would necessitate the advent of the Spray Bottle of Doom. It even got to the point where he would listen to correction. Sometimes.
At any rate, with this in mind I spoke a single, sharp "NO!". Jinks glanced at me briefly and then resumed his taste testing. Now would probably be a good time to mention, for those of you who are unaware, that my other two dogs are Border Collies. Border Collies are a sensitive breed that thrive on praise and activity; conversely, they react with great regret and sorrow to the smallest items of unseemliness. Basically, they are the Canadians of the dog world.
Hence, it should come as no surprise to any of you that they both assumed they had committed some grave transgression. There was much swishing of tails and teeth bared in a submissive and ingratiating manner. The object of my correction, on the other hand, continued apace with his nibbling.
I noted that I would need to be a bit more specific with my correction. I thought to myself, "Perhaps, if I say his name to get his attention, and then allow a brief pause before correcting him, he won't associate the two and everything will be golden."
"Jiiiii-iiinks!" I crooned. He looked up at me balefully. After allowing a few seconds to elapse, I let out a thunderous "NO!!". But it was too late; he had already turned over a new leaf, so to speak, and was busily chewing it.
The effect on the collies, on the other hand, was electric. You would have thought I'd caught them pooping on the floor while simultaneously destroying an heirloom wall hanging and siphoning money out of my checking account; Quandary lowered his head and tail and dove for cover behind one of the lilacs. Abiquiu dashed over to me and positively sniveled. Ears down, she rolled over onto her back and writhed around in a manner that seemed to indicate that, while she wasn't sure exactly what she had done wrong, she was more than willing to do whatever was required to rectify the situation. Had she been a human, I've no doubt she would have given me her watch, her billfold, and her lunch. Having none of those things to offer, however, and after having prostrated herself in front of me for an acceptable amount of time, she ran off and returned with her beloved Frisbee as a peace offering.
At the end of the day, I was faced with two extremely penitent Border Collies and a willfully oblivious Cocker. What could I do, I called the collies over to me and painstakingly explained that they were Good Dogs and hadn't done anything wrong. A soothing voice and a vigorous belly rub seemed to convince them of this.
And as for the guilty party? I went down off the deck, picked up the damn Cocker, and carried him into the house. I've threatened to give him to a nice farm family, but he seems unfazed. Evidently an alternate strategy is required. I'd be open to ideas.
