Training & Behavior

The first bike that came past, he exploded. Bramble, my terrier, who's calm with most things, became a small furious rope the second a wheel appeared, the lunge, the scream, the lead that burned my hand, and I'd been told terriers do this, the prey drive, the small fast thing, and I'd nodded and done nothing, because the bikes were rare on our lane, and rare meant I could pretend it wasn't a problem, which is the lie you tell about a dog who's fine until he isn't.

They weren't rare. The lane got a cycle path, the bikes came ten a day, and the walks became a fight, me bracing, him bursting, the lead between us a live wire, and the burst was the panic, the old terror of the fast thing, and a terrier in panic is not a dog you reason with, he's a dog who's gone, and the going happened every walk, and the walks got short, and the short walks were the dog losing his freedom to a wheel he couldn't have.

A trainer said feed him. Not after, before, the moment the bike is a dot, the treat, the good thing, so the dot means the good thing, not the terror, and the dog who gets fed at the sight of the wheel learns the wheel is the dinner bell, and a terrier will trade a lunge for a dinner, always, the maths again, and the food was the bridge over the panic, laid down before the panic could build, which is the trick, the timing, the treat that lands before the scream.

We started far. The lane end, the bikes a hundred yards off, the treat the second he looked, and the look was the cue now, not the lunge, and the cue paid, and the bikes got closer as the pay held, and a terrier who's paid to look is a terrier who's not paid to leap, and the leap needs the panic and the panic needs the empty hand, and the hand was full, and the full hand fed the calm, and the calm was the win, small at first, a look instead of a lung, a step instead of a launch.

The hard part was me. I had to watch for the bike, catch it early, feed before the burst, and a handler who's late feeds after, and after is too late, the panic's already spent, and the treat then is just a treat, not a lesson, and I missed, sometimes, and he burst, and we reset, and the reset is the job, the endless early feed, the watching, the hand ready, because the dog's calm is built by the handler's eyes, and the eyes have to be on the lane, not the phone, which they were, after the burn.

He walks past bikes now. Not relaxed, not yet, a terrier relaxes about wheels the way he relaxes about mailmen, which is never, but past, the look, the treat, the step, no burst, and the lead is a lead again, not a wire, and the lane is a lane, not a battlefield, and the freedom is back, the long walk, the calm one, the one we lost to a wheel and got back with a handful of food and a handler who finally watched the road.

The food is his now, the bike treat, kept separate, the high-value thing, the cheese, because a bike rates cheese, the cheap stuff won't pull a terrier off a wheel, and the cheese pulls, and the pull is the point, that the dog chooses the cheese over the chase, and the choice, made a hundred times, becomes the habit, and the habit becomes the dog, the one who looks at the bike and turns to you, because you have the cheese, and the cheese is the treaty, signed every walk, with a wheel in the distance and a hand that's ready, finally.

I still brace a little, old habit, the hand half-raised, the cheese ready, because a terrier is a terrier and the wheel is the wheel, but the brace is calm now, not fear, the brace of a handler who knows the trick, and the trick is just food, early, every time, and the early is everything, the meal before the panic, the calm before the storm, the dog before the lunge, and the dog wins, because the dog is fed, and the fed dog is the safe dog, and the safe dog walks the lane, and the lane is ours again, both of us, the terrier and the cheese, the cheese and the wheel, the wheel that lost.

The lane is busy now, the bikes ten a day, and the dog walks it, the look, the treat, the step, no burst, and the burst is the past, and the past is the wire, and the wire is the burn, and the burn is the hand, and the hand is the cheese, and the cheese is the calm, and the calm is the walk, and the walk is the freedom, and the freedom is the lane, and the lane is ours, the terrier and the cheese, the cheese and the wheel, the wheel that lost, and the lost is the panic, and the panic is the empty hand, and the hand is full, and the full is the feed, and the feed is the early, and the early is the trick, and the trick is the dog, who looks at the bike and turns to me, because I have the cheese, and the cheese is the treaty, signed every walk, with a wheel in the distance and a hand that's ready, finally, the handler who watched the road, and the road that's ours, both of us, the terrier calm, the bike passed, the treat given, the war over.

He still watches them go, the bike, the dot, the wheel, the small fast thing, and the thing is the old terror, and the terror is the past, and the past is the empty hand, and the hand is full, and the full is the cheese, and the cheese is the now, and the now is the calm, and the calm is the dog, who turns from the wheel to the hand, and the turn is the win, and the win is the walk, and the walk is the lane, and the lane is the home stretch, the one we lost to a wheel and got back with food, early, every time, and the time is the handler's eyes, on the road, not the phone, and the eyes are the calm, and the calm is the dog, and the dog is the terrier, who used to lunge and now looks, and the look is the treaty, and the treaty is the cheese, and the cheese is the wheel that lost, and the lost is the peace, and the peace is the lane, ours again, both of us, finally.