We take Gus off-leash out to the far pasture in the morning, he is fascinated by the pond and drinks from it. This morning, Fate plunged in to cool off from sheep-chasing and Gus was quite worried, he rushed to edge and kept offering her his paw, I think he was trying to guide her in, that is what it looked like. He look very worried.

Fate came over to touch noses, I think to reassure him that she was okay.

I am learning a lot about small dogs and their training, I can see how easy it is to cripple them or mess them up. Their size makes people love them, but it can also be a handicap.

In a sense, I treat it that way. I ask Gus to do everything the other dogs do, except run long and fast and herd sheep. But he is a farm dog, and he has made friends with the donkeys and getting to know sheep and their movements. We want him to be a farm dog.

I think it is essential to train her through issues rather than pick her up. At this point, we make it a point to almost never pick him up. We train him in the same way we train the other dogs. If he won’t come when called, we get a treat, wait a few minutes and call over to us. When he come, he gets a treat or is praised. He is getting “sit.”

Gus is not allowed on the furniture, neither are the other dogs. He is never fed any food that does not come from his bowl. He is never spoken to or acknowledged when we are eating.

When he gets excited, and starts tearing around, we gently say “good crate” and he goes into his crate, which he loves. He eats there and there are always snacks and bones there, and it is a quiet dark little retreat for him.

Outside, he is off-leash, free to explore the grounds, crawl into the garden, challenge Fate to play. In the evening, I put a long lede on him and tie it to my arm when I sit and read. No playing or running around, he can chew on his stuff, which is right there for him, or go to sleep, which he often does.

Afternoons, he is with Maria in his studio.Gus and I are great pals, but Maria is his chosen human.

When I go to work in the morning or evening, I call him into my study, throw a bit of rawhide twist onto his bed and sit down and go to work. Gus has his treat, stretches out, and I write accompanied to the sound of snoring. Good for me, good for him. He is learning to do nothing, and has plenty of time to wreak havoc and run.

We love Gus, but he is just another dog to me, and I will treat him in that way. I do not wish to raise a monster of any kind.