<html><body style="word-wrap: break-word; -webkit-nbsp-mode: space; -webkit-line-break: after-white-space; ">I hate suspense, so I won't keep anyone in it. Our Elsinore had a fourth try at the pet therapy test on Saturday and passed it. I'm exceedingly relieved.<div><br></div><div>I found out about this chance to have another go at passing this thing about a week before it was held. When I learned we could be worked into the evaluation schedule, I decided to follow the suggestions some of the Droolers had made and not do any further training with Elsinore. This was hard for me. I was one of those students who started studying for tests weeks in advance. While restraining myself from practicing with Elsinore, I kept reminding myself that it'd only been a few weeks since our last evaluation, and there's no way Elsinore would forget everything in that time. Not our Elsinore.<br><div><br></div><div>The day before the test I visited Elsinore's dance teacher. Brigitte poured me cups of tea while her snuggliest miniature poodle sat on my lap, and I told her of all my travails with a hound who's persisted in being either overly enthusiastic or not interested at all during a test that determines whether or not she can continue with the pet therapy job she loves and excels at. Brigitte sympathized with me but also expressed concern that Elsinore, who's pretty sensitive and wants very much to be my heart dog, might be picking up on my unhappiness every time we fail the evaluation. If Elsinore, who's also pretty smart, started making a negative association between the evaluation and me being unhappy with her every time it's over, then she'd be anxious every time we go to one and she might decide not to cooperate.</div><div><br></div><div>Brigitte suggested I not wear the same tired old blue blazer and skirt I've been wearing for every training session and evaluation. That would help prevent some of the negative associations from being made (and widen my clothing options considerably). To reduce Elsinore's anxiety, I should also not talk about the upcoming evaluation or tell her where we're going. Finally, Brigitte made me swear that I'd give Elsinore whatever it was I promised her as a post-test reward, whether she passed it or not. If I told Elsinore we'd get a McDonald's hamburger after the test, then that's what I must stop and do on the way home, regardless of her performance.</div><div><br></div><div>So on Saturday I put on a different outfit and then put <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; ">Elsinore in her pet therapy collar and leash, so she'd think she was going to the hospice, which she loves. The evaluation's venue further helped me in my deception. It was held in a hospital 45 minutes away, which smelled a bit like the hospice (if you're a dog). So it wasn't really until we were in the actual testing environment that she knew for certain what was going on. So, if my thinking is right, she got enough mixed cues to keep her from getting worked up about another test, just in case she was in danger of feeling anxious or making negative associations. She *was* anxious about being in the new place and sitting in a waiting room with other people and dogs, but that's a different kind of anxious than being anxious about another test.</span></div><div><div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><font face="Helvetica" size="4" style="font: 14.0px Helvetica"><br></font></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; ">The room we were evaluated in is also used for eating, but we were the last team to be evaluated and all the other dogs before us seemed to have cleaned up the carpet thoroughly enough to keep Elsinore from being too nasally distracted. It may also have helped that she'd never seen the evaluator or the assistants before, so she didn't greet them like old friends she's delighted to be reunited with. But our Elsinore has never met a stranger, and it was clear she wanted to know the evaluator and her assistants better so they could quickly become old friends. Elsinore was very happy when we reached the part of the test that I'm convinced she thinks is called "Love on the Dog" instead of "Pet Partners Aptitude Test." I was highly amused to see her face actually fall when the "being patted by a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; ">crowd of people" part of the evaluation was over and everyone suddenly got up and left her.</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 17px; "><br></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><font face="Helvetica" size="4" style="font: 14.0px Helvetica">Elsinore and I were able to maintain more control over her enthusiasm, which was good because the night before I threw my back out and couldn't bend over easily on evaluation day. It's kind of hard to give guidance to a very short dog when you can't lean over it without fear of getting stuck in that position. At least if my back went out during the test, I kept thinking, I'd be in the right place to get help with it. The long drive to the evaluation site was difficult. On the way there, my legs and feet tingled. On the way home, my lower back burned, and I had to keep shifting around in my seat. I've seen the chiropractor twice this week and I'm still not comfortable. When I turned 40 I was told my eyesight would take a nosedive, but instead it's my back that's deteriorated. This week, wearing glasses doesn't seem like a bad thing at all.</font></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 17px; "><br></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><font face="Helvetica" size="4" style="font: 14.0px Helvetica">Anyway, the evaluator's overall comment for us was "very nice team," which felt just wonderful to read. After the test we stopped at McDonald's for that hamburger I'd promised Elsinore, pass or fail. The line, however, was out the door, so I told Elsinore we'd go to Arby's instead and pick up a McDonald's hamburger on our way home from the hospice. She seemed fine with that arrangement. </font></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><font face="Helvetica" size="4" style="font: 14.0px Helvetica"><br></font></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><font face="Helvetica" size="4" style="font: 14.0px Helvetica">I'm convinced that Elsinore has a terrier trapped inside her somewhere, she has so much energy and such an intense personality. Because of that, I knew that, even though she'd just been through a long obedience and aptitude test, she'd still be able to do well at her pet therapy job afterwards. Plus, piggy-backing her monthly hospice job onto the end of the evaluation would make one bath do for two events, and I do like efficiency. Especially on days when I can't bend over. </font><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; ">Among other good work accomplished at her job, Elsinore schmoozed with some nurses, entertained someone in a wheelchair (this person was enchanted by her ears, and she was so patient with all the handling they got), and leaned up against someone else who was crying in the hallway until that person felt more collected and ready to leave. I was quite proud of my hound.</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; "><br></span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 14px; ">On Tuesday she went to the vet for her physical. He said that, other than some tartar on her teeth, she's in great health, which was so good to hear. We've been working under the assumption that Elsinore is 8 or 9, but the vet said he'd definitely go with 9 because of her teeth and the cataracts she's developing. By the time our late Jane Basset was Elsinore's age, she'd already lost an ear to a horrible undetected infection and TECA surgery, and she'd had her first of three ruptured disks and two back surgeries. That Elsinore has managed to avoid the major medical issues our Jane wasn't able to dodge is terrific.</span></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 17px; "><br></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">I think Elsinore knows she's done well this time, and I'm very happy not to have to worry about another pet therapy evaluation for another year and a half. </div></div></div></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><br></div><div style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; ">Elizabeth</div></body></html>