This is something you need to learn early and practice often. When I first moved in with Gary and Susan, I was given dog food. As you know, ordinary dog food is hard, dry and tastes like cardboard. The humans had plates and bowls and an entire refrigerator filled with Real Food. I had to put them through rigorous training before they learned to give me Real Food.
While they are eating the Real Food is the best time for training. First, you must master The Look. Your eyes must remain on your human (or possibly the Real Food in their hand.) Use your eyebrows to make your look as sad as possible. Here is my patented look that I give my humans.
If The Look doesn’t accomplish your purpose, a paw on the knee can alert them to your request. Be careful. Too heavy a paw and it may scratch them and your whole training routine backfires.
Next use your voice. I suggest a subtle whine, a muffled bark, or I have even been known to use a sneeze to get attention on me and my need for Real Food. Again, be careful. Too loud of a bark and you may be put Outside, or horrors, into The Kennel.
As a last resort, you can pray. This is my praying position. Perhaps, praying should be used first.
When you are offered a delightful morsel, remember to take it politely. Humans never do seem to understand when you accidentally bite them. They are rather unforgiving, in my opinion.
If Real Food is seldom given, you may need to help yourself. Look for Real Food on the counter, on the table, or on a plate left unattended. Of course, there is always tasty Real Food in the refrigerator, but I am still working on learning to open that door. I can, however, open zippered backpacks to extract beef sticks, plastic bags to find crackers, and even a 5 pound bag of flour inside a grocery sack in the back of the car. I wouldn’t recommend flour. It’s rather tasteless and oh boy, the dry mouth that follows!
I have my PhD (Professional human-training Dog) in obtaining treats.
Susan calls me a Laborgi and says I am a rare Italian breed. I may be a rare breed, but I don’t think it’s Italian. My mother was a Labrador retriever. My father was a traveling salesman with short legs and a fluffy tail (probably Corgi, perhaps part border collie). I was born under the porch of a farmhouse and shared my home with thirteen other puppies and two mother dogs.
At first, life was good. The people who lived in the house above didn’t bother us (or care for us), my mom fed me, and I had lots of playmates. But after we were weaned, we got hungry. I learned to catch mice and eat all kinds of things Susan won’t let me eat now. Even with these tidbits, our stomachs were never full. So, the moms and puppies traveled down the road to the neighbor’s house and helped themselves to chicken dinners. I’m particularly fond of wings – no hot sauce, please.
For some reason, the farmer who owned the chickens, became angry and used his shotgun to kill some of my brothers and sisters. Loud noises and tall men still frighten me.
After that, the people in the house called an animal rescue, Second Chance. They came to get the puppies. What a day! The momma dogs were barking, people were running and shouting. I am faster than a speeding bullet, or maybe a chubby person with a net, and I escaped capture the first day. The next day, the rescue people came back, and I was caught. I learned a little about people from a kind foster family.
Then Susan came to the shelter. I could tell as soon as I saw her, this woman needed help. So, I crawled into her lap and she took me home. I’ve spent the last five years trying to train Susan and her husband Gary. They are mighty slow learners. But they open the pantry door and feed me my dog food on a regular basis, they know where the treat container sits, and they give me Meaty Bones when I remind them, so I put up with their disabilities.
Now, I have undertaken the responsibility for teaching the rest of the world how to train your humans. This is a big job for a short-legged dog, but I am smarter than the average canine.