About 5 months ago I met a couple on Dillon Beach while walking the dogs. They had three well behaved dogs off leash -- a pitbull mutt, a terrier mutt. and a border collie. Percy, our Corgi enjoyed chasing a ball with the border collie, and we became dog friends.
Recently, I noticed that the pit bull mix wore an electric collar so I asked about it. The woman showed me her remote control and explained how the collar worked. She put it on each of my dogs to demonstrate its function, and they both responded to the tone and vibrate prompts like a charm. Usually, Percy and Sadie selectively listen to me. Sadie is capable of running far away when the moment strikes her, and both dogs are incorrigible when it comes to eating crabs and other beach crap. I decided to order them collars.
Yesterday, I used the new collars and walked the whole expanse of the beach without needing to put them on leash. I wore the remote around my neck, and toggled between dog 1, and dog 2, sending them tones and vibrations when they tried to eat crabs, or started running away.
This morning, confident that I had them under control, I started down the beach. Sadie took one look at me, then looked away, and suddenly took off. I sent her a tone, then a vibration, and while she stopped for just a split second, defiant, she ran in the opposite direction. Percy followed after her, and they ran into the empty beach parking lot, then headed up the hill towards the Dillon Beach store.
I finally caught up with them, put them back on leash, and returned to the beach, at which point I saw my friend with her dogs. I explained what had happened, and she encouraged me to keep working with Sadie. When Sadie headed off on her own or didn’t respond to my voice command, I should send her a signal, making sure she understood that I was in charge, not her.
After the woman, who is a rugged, no nonsense, slightly gruff type in her sixties, instructed me, Percy played with the border collie for a while. Then Sadie trotted away from us. “Zap her,” said the woman. I hit the vibrate button; Sadie bolted once again towards the parking lot, fleeing me and the remote control I wore around my neck; this time she headed to the right, on the road towards the campground. The woman helped me chase after her and Percy.
When we finally caught Sadie, roaming in the sand dunes, she was clearly agitated; she looked at me and shook; she wouldn’t even accept a treat.
“Sadie has always been in charge,” the woman observed. “Now you are in control and she is reacting.” She told me that I was welcome to come to her nearby farm to train Sadie; she has a huge yard enclosed with a fence. “She’ll get it eventually,” she said, noting that little Percy seems to have adapted to the collar quite well.
As we exchanged phone numbers, the woman asked me my name “I’m Shirley,” she told me. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “You’re Shirley. My mom, who died this past August, was named Shirley.”
I thanked Shirley for her help and told her I would give her a call, and that I would see her soon on the beach.
As I resumed my walk, Sadie would not move. She laid down in the sand, and I had to pull her along. I detoured off the beach and walked around the neighborhood for the rest of our morning exercise, all the while astounded that my mom, Shirley, had somehow shown up in this battle of wills.
A couple of months ago I met a Shirley who was the receptionist at an urgent care clinic. We had a couple of interactions over a few days. She was very compassionate and interesting. My mom was also Shirley.
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