Our chocolate labrador retriever, Aquinnah, is 14 years old now. He does well for his age. But, as I wrote in a previous column, he has a condition that causes weakness in his larynx and hind legs.
Quinn, as we call him, can still climb the stairs to the second floor of our house, with the help of pain medication. But he has trouble with the two stairs that lead from a landing down to the family room.
Those stairs are hardwood and the floor is Pergo. They are more slippery that the carpeted staircase to the second floor. It only took one near fall—Quinn’s legs splayed out, but he recovered his balance—for him to become wary of the two stairs.
He typically has to turn around three times before he musters enough courage to go down the stairs. Quinn often hesitates when he’s called to come up them as well, but if he’s motivated enough (i.e., he hears someone eating in the adjoining kitchen) he’ll bounce right up the stairs on his own. Well, as much as a 14-year-old can bounce.
My husband, Paul, and I thought maybe L.L. Bean “Waterhog” stair runners would help. We already have a big mat on the landing, which also leads to an outside door. The runners would not only be useful, they would coordinate.
So we bought a set and laid the runners on the two stairs. Martha, our 11-year-old lab/pit bull mix, immediately came to investigate. She is showing some signs of aging, but is as energetic as ever and has no problems running, jumping or, yes, bouncing.
Martha took a look, put one paw down on the first step and then ran down into the family room.
Now it was Quinn’s turn. He took a look and turned around. He took another look and turned around. After five spins, it was clear he was going nowhere.
I was reminded of when Quinn was five or so. He loved to swim, and we looked forward to watching him in my sister’s pool with her basset hound, Kal. The two dogs were good friends. But Quinn couldn’t face going down the steps into the pool. He tried and tried, and was clearly frustrated at the sight of Kal paddling around. But he never made it in.
I tried not to catastrophize. It was perfectly possible, given Quinn’s psyche, that he would never go down into the family room again. Even if we removed the new mats.
A second scenario: if we took the mats off Quinn might use the stairs again. But did I want to remove the mats? Of course I would if I felt I had to, but I wouldn’t be happy about it. Those things don’t come cheap.
I thought we might have to remove the mats temporarily and then reintroduce them one at a time. So we tried that. Quinn wouldn’t come down the stairs.
Back to square one.
If he were younger, I would put his leash on him and tug him down. But I was afraid to do that because of the weakness in his hind legs. I told Paul I would work with Quinn. I wanted him to get down those stairs at least once, and as soon as possible. Otherwise, the idea that he couldn’t do it would fester in his head and we’d be in real trouble.
I got training treats from the kitchen and then closed the door to the family room. I put a treat on the first step and tried to coax Quinn down. After three tries, I decided I needed to bring him over to the step and put his paw on it, so he could see it was safe.
The resulting scenario was not pretty and it left me feeling a tad guilty. However, it did work. Quinn ended up half sliding ever so slowly down the two stairs, with me holding on to him. His front legs glided while his back ones sort of walked.
Quinn had a horrific expression on his face when he reached the bottom. “How could you,” he would have exclaimed, if he could talk. His back legs were splayed, but he was still on his feet. I straightened him out and gave him his treats.
Quinn went to his dog bed, stared at me reproachfully for several minutes, then went to sleep.
He was able to get up the stairs later without too much fuss, although he eyed the runners warily.
Then, the next morning, I needed to get him down into the family room again. It took five turnarounds, but he finally made it. No “sled ride” needed.
That evening, he only turned around once before starting down. I saw a look in his faded eyes and read his mind—those new things aren’t bad; they’re good!
Quinn had conquered his fear and proved that you can, indeed, teach an old dog new tricks.
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