He Can Dig It

Some people have dogs who can jump a tall fence in a single leap.  Others have dogs who can fetch the morning paper without drooling on it.  I have a dog who thinks he can dig through solid granite.

My son thinks Bodie can see his reflection and is trying to get at "the other dog."  My daughter thinks he is digging a "nest" to sleep in.  I think he is auditioning  for "Berners on Ice."  Whatever the goal, he tries it every night and it's funny as all get-out.

(video and commentary courtesy of my seven-year old)

Operation Suds-a-Pup

Neither of the dogs we had earlier were into re-landscaping.  Sure, Misha would dig the occasional den to curl up in, and Jack laid waste to an entire row of corn stalks one day while I was at work, but for the most part they and the back yard plants had an understanding: live and let live.

Until now.

I know that puppies have a natural curiosity for just about everything and like to explore and in some cases destroy.  But these two have set their sights on a certain member of the plant family that they deem unacceptable landscaping specimens and at the same time great fun:  the agapanthus.

Admittedly, I hate agapanthus.  I have several in the yard, quite large ones in fact, but they were there when I moved in 13 years ago; I claim no responsibility for actually choosing them in the nursery.  They always remind me of gas stations and low-budget motels.  They are a popular meeting facility for snails, and anyone who has ever broken off a leaf or stem knows they ooze a clear, sticky fluid the consistency of hand sanitizer only nastier.  About the only redeeming quality this plant has is that it is bulletproof: needs little water, is evergreen, pretty much keeps to itself and throws up the occasional big blue firework of a flower and calls it a day.

But "bulletproof" apparently does not mean "berner-proof."

Bodie and Leila attack this plant like it's both their worst enemy and Disneyland all rolled into one.  They leap into it, ripping and tearing, leaves flying everywhere like a pair of single women fighting for the bride's bouquet.  The once domed-shaped bush is now flat in the middle and crying uncle. Sometimes Leila sneaks under the canopy of cascading leaves and attacks from beneath.  The agapanthus has definitely met its match.  But it does have a defense mechanism: it can go to the compost bin happily knowing it has covered both dogs in sticky oozy slime.  Take that, hairy destroyers!!

Needless to say, the dogs don't come in until the ooze has dried onto their fur and looks like they have been run over by snails.  Add to the fact that they have then scampered through dirt which stuck to the ooze and Bodie also managed to roll in the one pile of dog poop that Leila neglected to eat, and there is really only once course of action left for these two: bath time. 

I wasn't really quite sure how to give these dogs a bath.  They are still about the size where they can fit into the kitchen sink (although not for long) and that would certainly be an easier reach, so we all set out towels, puppy shampoo, and of course the camera.  This was definitely going to be a family affair.  We started with Bodie since the poop-rolling incident boosted him to the top of the priority list.  He wasn't thrilled but seems resigned to the fact that this was going to happen.  He made a half-hearted attempt to escape a few times by putting one paw on the sink edge and was not at all surprised when my husband gently put the paw back down and continued lathering him up.  He seemed more peeved that I was taking pictures of the event than the actual watering-down itself.  After finishing him up and wrapping him a towel baby-style, we handed him off to my daughter for a rub-down and dry. One down!

Leila was next.  Much to the surprise of no one, she took one look at wet Bodie and then at us coming for her and she bolted from the room.  Once caught, she spread all four feet in four different compass-point directions in order to avoid being lowered into the sink.  This dog was not going down without a fight!  She worked hard to get those sticky snail-trails and was not ready to part with them, apparently.   After a brief struggle, it was obvious this was going to be a two-adult operation, so I handed the camera to my 7-year old son to document the moment (hence the artistic-impression photos).  With both my husband and I holding her and trying to suds her up at the same time, she was not going to win this battle but was making it quite clear she was not a fan.  I thought she would shake wet soapy droplets all over both of us just out of spite.  We finally gave in and called the job done (half-assed as it was) and commenced with the drying portion of this comedy routine.  That lasted about thirty seconds before she took off like a shot and ran full speed throughout the room in what my British mother charmingly calls "having a silly five minutes."  Not to be outdone, Bodie joined the mayhem, and two wooly wet puppies are rampaging through my house, rubbing up against my couches and generally making the entire house take on the aroma of Eau De Wet Dog.  Suddenly the agapanthus slime doesn't seem so bad after all.

To tally up the carnage, the agapanthus now looks like a bald man with a bad comb-over, my husband's tee-shirt is soaked down the front, my kitchen counter is flooded and the Tinkerbell character on the kids' towel I grabbed to dry them off with is covered in black fur and looks like the bearded lady at the carnival freak show.  The dogs, however, are clean and soft and Bodie no longer smells like Leila's backside.  but where is Leila now?

I go into the back yard and clap my hands for her.  A shiny black head with brilliant white blaze pops up from the center of the wounded agapanthus, tail wagging, a long leaf stuck to the side of her head.  I pinch the bridge of my nose.....I feel a migraine coming on.

Who's Training Who?

So, the pups have been with us for over a month now.  I have been coming up with many creative excuses as to why we can't start training these dogs to be the ultimate poster kids for obedient dogs everywhere.  I started with "They just got here and have to get to know us first."  Okay, that might have had merit in its day.  Then there was "They're getting into a routine, they just have to adjust to it."  Not sure why that makes sense, but it worked at the time.  And of course "They are very young, they won't understand why I'm trying to get them to do."  That worked with my kids for awhile but I'm not sure the same rules apply here.  These excuses did, however, fill the need to feed my procrastinating tendencies to "get to it tomorrow."  That also might have been valid when the pups were 12 pounds.  They are now 23 pounds, a lot taller, and way the hell louder.

Time to start learning some manners, my friends.

We have already established how well the leash training is going, and how everything hinges on getting that part right, so I started with the easiest one I could think of that does not really require a leash: "sit."  Granted, the book tells me to teach it with a leash but I figured, one trauma at a time.  Dog treats are a great training aid if you have a puppy like Leila, who is easily bought.  She'll do an Irish jig while calculating your taxes if she thinks there is a meaty treat at the other end.  Bodie is not so convinced.  When I show him a treat, his first instinct is to think "It must be a trap" and he's usually right.  I tried using treats with him to put the leash on and we see how well that worked.  He waits to see what his sister does and if she gets a reward for it before he is going to take the plunge.  No fool he.

So we started off slow, with me showing them that I had a treat in each hand and saying "Siiiit?"  It sounded more like I was pleading than commanding, which is pretty much true.  Leila would stand there and look at me blankly, confused as to why I had a treat and was not giving it to her.  Bodie eventually sat but I think it was more out of boredom than obedience.  After going over this several times a day, me with a treat in hand and begging them to "siiiit?", the breakthrough finally happened where they had obviously learned something.

They learned where the cabinet was that I kept the dog treats in.



Before.....



....and ten seconds later!



Like a cat that comes running at the sound of the electric can opener, whenever I open this cabinet now, two wide-eye expectant puppies magically appear as if from nowhere, sitting and waiting for their bounty.  Mind you, this is a big cabinet that holds many a human food item, not just dog treats, but as far as they are concerned it is theirs alone.  The doors on this cabinet don't even squeak, so how they know when I open it to sneak a granola bar or raid the kids' candy bowl is beyond me.  All I know is that there are no puppies anyway nearby, the coast is clear, so I open the cabinet door ever so slowly, get what I need, then tip-toe away to another part of the kitchen.  Then I turn around and aaaagghhhh!!!  There they are!  Sitting side-by-side in front of the cabinet, grinning at me, bearing an eerie resemblance to those creepy twins in the movie "The Shining."  It is rather unnerving, to say the least.  But at least they are sitting!  At this point in the training, I'll take what I can get! 

So the question remains: who is the better dog trainer, me or a cherry-wood cabinet door?  Maybe I should keep the leashes in the cabinet as well?  Stay tuned....

Leash Me Alone

When we first got Misha, she was one year old.  Jack was three.  Both came with leashes and both loved to go for walks on said leashes.  I just naturally assumed that dogs love walks, and they realize that leashes are a big part of that activity.   It's a natural canine instinct, like chasing cats and wagging tails.  Sure, they will need to be taught the finer points of leash-walking like heeling by my side and not zigzagging everywhere, but the basic walk-with-a-leash-attached-to-your-collar is the easy part, right?

Um....no.

I have never before met a dog with an instant dislike to a leash like these two.  We had the pups at home about three days and I decided it was time to start off on the right foot and train them to do their "business" in the assigned gravel pit I had so painstakingly dug for the a few days prior to their arrival.  If I am going to dig in sun-baked soil and then shovel tons of gravel into it in 90+ degree weather, these puppies are darn well going to use it!   The puppy training guide I bought made it sound so stupidly easy: walk the pups on a leash to the pit when I take them outside and make them stay there until they do "something."  Ta-da!  They will go there every time!  Sure.  I also noticed that all the other training chapters said essentially the same thing: put the dog on a leash and tell them to sit, put the dog on a leash and teach them to stay, etc.  Nowhere in the book did it mention a word about teaching the dog to not go ballistic when the leash is put on in the first place.

After the pups had taken a nap, I figured it was time for their afternoon constitutional, so out we all went to the back yard.  I clipped the leash on Leila's collar first.  She stood there for a second, not even noticing it was there.  Wow, this is going to be easy!  I picked up the leash and gave it a very gentle tug.  Apparently that was not the right introduction.  Leila took off like she was shot out of a cannon, flying back inside the house and straight into the laundry room where she sat and pouted.  I turned to Bodie who had a look on his face that said "Damn, why didn't I think of that?" and started to depart, but I blocked his exit and clipped the leash onto the ring on his collar.  I recall the vet saying that I cannot let the puppy "win" a battle of wits, or else he'll do it every time, so I was not going to let go and we were going to walk calmly to the doggie latrine pit and get acquainted with it.

Or not.

Bodie  pulled back and whipped back and forth like a marlin on a long line, and let loose with a screaming/whining/howling combo that I'm pretty sure translates loosely to words I dare not print here.  I tried to hold my ground but one look at that petrified little face and banshee screams and I defy even the toughest Hell's Angel to not drop that leash and beg forgiveness.  Day One of leash training is now over.  Score: Puppies, 1; Mom, Nada.

Over the next few days I tried to put the leashes on and let them just walk around the house with it dragging behind.  I decided to continue this exercise indoors so Bodie's screams would not alarm my neighbor into calling the police about some sort of animal sacrifice occurring next door.  It got to the point where just the act of picking the leashes up would send the pups scurrying.  Leila would do an about-face from wherever she was headed and instead press up against the grey leather couches like some sort of camouflage.  Bodie would make a beeline under the kitchen table, convinced I could not pull him out from under there (he was usually right).  Even after a week at our house the pups had grown too big to be shoved back into the carrier to go to the vet so the leashes were going to have to work.  Failure was not an option!  Eventually I got to the point where I could put the leashes on (after retrieving the pups from whatever corner they scampered to) and they would resign themselves to the fact that they needed to walk around and drag the things or else I would never stop.  Leila would sometimes retreat to her napping place on the fireplace and roll on her back, perhaps feigning death thinking I would take the darn thing off then.  No dice.

We eventually got to the point where the dogs would get the leashes put on and would actually not scream or hit the ground.  Instead, now they would not budge at all.  We decided to go to the front yard as a treat to see new things and new smells, but Bodie did his best "stubborn mule" pose and was not going to walk come hell or high water.  You could almost hear the screeching of brakes and smell of burning clutch as we tried to drag him to the front door.  I eventually gave up and picked him up and physically carried him to the lawn.  He humored me for a few minutes by walking around and sniffing, but then made a mad dash back into the house like a rental horse to the barn.  Apparently this was still going to be a work in progress.

So when does one actually stand their ground and demand these puppies come to terms with the whole leash idea or throw their hands up and admit defeat?  I am certainly not giving in to the latter just quite yet, as these dogs are going to grow into the size of Shetland ponies and we will have to come to some sort of understanding.  But in the meantime, I am out in the dark of early morning, in my jammies and flannel shirt, with a flashlight and paper towel, harvesting dog poo that the puppies are leaving everywhere.  The gravel pit sits there; a pristine , clean, untouched haven gleaming in the moonlight like a beacon; a monument to leashless puppies everywhere.  These two may have won the battle for now, but they have not yet won the war. 

Stay tuned.....