‘Do NOT look Lulu in the eye. Keep your voice low and soft and ignore her barking. Do NOT make arm or hand gestures. You can give her a treat, letting her come to you or drop it for her. She has been doing well with strangers outside but her property is difficult for her.’
I was alarmed by this WhatsApp message from my cousin. I was due to visit. Would I be attacked by Lulu when I walked in? Surely I wouldn’t remember these instructions forwarded from her trainer by then?
My cousin’s family, like my own, have always had dogs. But I was dismayed that, like most modern owners, they had sunk so low as to bribe their pets with food. I was trying to resist the contemporary training-with-food obsession with my own new Jack Russell, Peggy. When I’d attended classes 19 years earlier, strict Mr X, who’d trained police dogs, never used titbits. My dog Perry had won the obedience class at a village fête.
For my puppy, I was recommended Joanna. She had 27 years’ experience and was reportedly successful with a neighbour’s labrador. Joanna’s methods, involving many fishy treats, were disconcerting – but, unlike a labrador, Peggy wasn’t food–orientated. (I knew she was intelligent, though, as she had twice turned on the TV remote, once to a programme on dingo dogs, once to a wildlife feature. She watched each intently.)
I hadn’t expected treats from someone so fierce and old-school as Joanna. She insisted I hold the lead in my right hand, treats in the left, with Peggy on my left side.

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