Obedience school can work wonders on your pup

Alright, relax and paws for a moment of reflection (unforgivable, I know). I'm talking about puppy training, silly, not some new-age discipline coaching for three-year-olds. Or, as I call it, the "class that saved Smurf's a**".

So that brings me to the aforementioned Smurf, the protagonist of both my recent life and this piece. Smurf came into our lives about three months ago – he was priceless and endearing in his eight-week-old puppy antics. In short, just like a human baby, or um, perhaps a human baby crossed with a piranha, because this tiny chubster had teeth, and doggone it, did he use them.

The cry of "Mommy – the puppy's biting me" quickly replaced the whine of "I'm hungry" or the even more annoying bedtime wail "my bum is sore". So you see, my usual retort of "sleep it off, kid" did not really work so well with the whole teeth-on-skin scenario.

There were exasperating weeks of trying to explain to the small ones that Smurf was just like them – cute, but somewhat dim-witted. "You know when I tell you little dearies to stop playing jump-off-the-couch-body slam, you don't listen and – BANG! – someone gets concussed? Well, same thing... -ish."

On the children tip, Jim Stephens, a pet behaviour counsellor based in Dublin, cautions that "70pc of all dog bites occur in children". So I was trying to avoid the above horror-show scenario. But I have to be honest with you, readers: I have hidden a sordid little secret.

Let me air my dirty laundry right now, before that damn puppy has it torn to shreds. When my husband arrived home with our little (and last) bundle of joy, I could almost hear the strains of 'I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In'.

This was background music from the gods, telling me, nay, warning me, that I was heading for an emotional tailspin. You see, the puppy he brought home that day was – ok wait, we need the lights dimmed and can I get a Vincent Price-type voice up in here – a ROTTWEILER.

Arghhh! Here comes the stampede of the moral brigade. Before you say anything – yes, we do love our children (except when they're doing the "sore bum" thing – see above). We got a rottweiler because my husband adores them and always had them growing up. We had talked about it a little beforehand, slipped in between snippets of conversations about lunches and hurling blitzes.

So you see, a well-thought out decision ensued and whaddya know? There we were with our petite Cerberus, helldog of the underworld, and for the time being, our world. Puppies are for life and all that, but this guy had a six-month probation period slapped on his head the minute he entered into the house.

The first decision that had to be made was what to call him. We assembled to headquarters for a meeting, as all highly organised families do. There were nominations, vetoes (a male rottweiler called Lisa?), and a clear winner. "Smurf" was the new puppy's name and so sue me, there was a bit of vote-fixing. But this was bigger than me just wanting my own way...

Because I like to consider myself somewhat savvy (not "down with the kids" and all that, but more worldly really), I knew that the name this puppy brought through life was going to be very important. Moving away from the traditional rottweiler names of 'Killer' and 'Psycho', I wanted something innocuous and almost vomit-inducingly cute. More warm fuzzy little blue guy, than sadistic lunatic Fran from 'Love/Hate'.

So Smurf was set. He had a cool new name and an even cooler owner who knew a thing or two about dog training. I am descended from a long line of farming stock who just happened to be dab hands with the old dog whispering. Really.

We started to do all the right things with Smurf. We did crate training and within two weeks, he was accident free at night. I even managed to get him to sit from about ten weeks. Cesar Millan, eat your heart out! But then, after about a week, the growling started.

After questioning my husband, I realised that Smurf had come from a rather "isolated" place and wasn't down with the whole human contact thing. This scenario – getting a puppy from the "wrong source", Jim Stephens pointed out to me, is one of the main reasons "the relationship between dog and family does not work out".

As I felt the proverbial noose tighten around both mine and Smurf's neck, I grew increasingly stressed. It was literally blood (that damn play-biting), sweat and a lot of tears for those first two or three weeks. Did I want my kids to see me as the real-life Cruella Deville? No, and so me and Smurf had one of those hard-hitting talks they have in the movies, where the mentor guy slams some lockers and the bad egg kid looks down at his scuffed shoes. Except we did it on the lawn. I slammed some clothes up on the line, and Smurf just gnawed on my shoes. Either way, we both agreed that outside intervention was necessary.

Enter Dave Brunnock, Limerick's dog trainer extraordinaire. At the very first one-on-one consultation Smurf had with him, Dave said that my ten-week old rotten rotty was a "little bit bold, but bold is ok, we can work on bold". Yes!

Both Dave and Jim routinely see clients with their puppies first for a private session. It is during this time that both experts are able to focus on the relationship between the puppy and its owner, and to teach the puppy basics, like sitting and lying down. Both agree dog training must be tailored to the specific owners.

Dave says: "Occasionally, the training has to be slowed down to the owner's pace, or speeded up accordingly."

Well, I fancied myself one of these fast-learner types so off we headed to Dave's 9am Saturday morning class, aka puppy school. Dave likens these classes to playschool and says: "The three goals of these training classes are for the puppy to get used to other puppies and dogs, for the puppy to engage with the owner, and for the puppy to focus on the owner around distractions." (You're welcome Dave, for the many distractions I provided.)

The first class went off without a hitch, with the young Smurf not really knowing what hit him. Second class, not so much. His first buddy/victim was Bentley, a similarly aged Newfoundland puppy owned by Maria Maher and Bob Kiely.

And so it went. Hi, his name is Smurf, snarl, attempted bite, move on, repeat. Calmly, Dave assured me that Smurf would need "just a little more work".

Once Dave had shown me the proper way to work the "clicker", there was no stopping me (and no stopping Smurf ingesting a half pound of Lidl hot dogs). Both Jim and Dave rely on clicker training as a fast and effective way of teaching a puppy a certain behaviour. Sit-click-reward, pretty simple.

After Smurf's dreadful second class, I began to see results, and quick. Smurf rose in the ranks from naughtiest in class to most attentive. Finally, something that listened to me without yelling, threatening no TV, or throwing favourite dolls out windows (it was only the once, and can I help it if Smurf found it and was a teensy bit hungry?).

At times, I did indeed feel like I was at playschool, with Dave constantly talking about "positive reinforcement". Just like with child-rearing/education, dog training has moved on to the more David Coleman-esque way of thinking. So while you may not be kneeling down at eye level with your puppy and discussing why he is so angry, neither are you lording it over him and telling him "no".

But like kids, each puppy has different issues. Beautiful fuzz-bucket Bentley suffered from separation anxiety when Maria and Bob first got him. Maria says she felt like "we were on the phone every day to Dave, but eventually after giving us several options to try, Bentley is now settled".

And I am settled too. Settled that although it may not have been the most popular decision (fellow mums, you can't hide "the fear"), it was the right decision for us. I am settled that we did the best thing by going in very early with Smurf to get some training, because as Jim and Dave both agree, the earlier, the better.

But most of all, I am settled here on the couch, my puppy Smurf at my feet (only gnawing occasionally). With his six-month deadline fast approaching, he ain't going anywhere. Except back to Dave on Saturday morning...

Dave Brunnock: brunnockcaninesolutions.ie

Jim Stephens: petsbehave.com