Some water dogs just don't like water

Swimming should be in a poodle’s DNA, shouldn’t it? The breed, after all, was developed around 600 years ago to jump into the water and bring back whatever bird its master had shot.

A few months ago, Wan-Wan, my poodle pup, had an operation on the knee of her right back leg.
The wound has healed, but Wan continues to favour that leg. She’s stopped limping, and she’s started to jump around on her hind legs, but she doesn’t like climbing stairs the way she did before the operation.

Instead, she simply waits for me to carry her up.

I worry that she’s not exercising that knee enough, and without exercise, the muscles around the knee will not develop.

Swimming, my vet tells me, is a good way to help her with that knee, without straining it too much.

“Just put Wan in the water and she’ll swim,” my vet tells me.

I want to be sure, though, and from an upmarket pet shop, I find an expensive doggie swimsuit. It fits Wan’s tiny body just right. It even has a little string on top so that I can support her in the water.

At home, I remove my soft-shell turtle from her tub and add more water, so that Wan will be able to swim comfortably but still raise herself out of the water on her hind legs. Then I put the swimsuit on her. She’s excited. She thinks it’s a new kind of leash for a walk down the soi.

When I lower her into the tub, she’s startled. I think she gasps, as in “Oh, no!”

Now, with instinct, Wan should start swimming, right? She should kick her legs in a dog paddle.

No.

She freezes. Then she starts kicking, but not with the leg I want her to exercise. That leg remains tucked under her. When I let go of her, she rolls over. With horror, I see four little legs sticking out of the water.

I grab her and pull her out. Perhaps the suit is uncomfortable, I think. I take it off her and put her back in the water.

With my hand supporting her stomach, she paddles but without much self-assurance. When I let go, she rolls over again.

Wan’s terrified. For sure, she won’t go in the water again. (The turtle will be so happy.)

You could call the exercise a failure, except that night, I look for Wan to carry her up the stairs to bed. I can’t find her.

And there she is, waiting for me on the second floor. She’s climbed the stairs herself.