Loyal, Trustworthy, A Trip Hazard

It's nice to be loved.

How does your loved one show that they care?  Do they bring you flowers or make your coffee?  What about your pet?  Do they bring you the morning paper (for those who still subscribe to the old-school way of getting their daily news) or curl up in your lap and purr?  These two pups show me they love me in such a special and thoughtful way.

They try to kill me.  Daily.

How, you ask, could such fuzzy, lovable bundles of joy be so treacherous?  Maybe it's puppy paranoia, or maybe it's just that they associate me as the giver-of-food and provider-of-treats, but these two will not let me out of their sight for a minute.  Everywhere I go, they must go too.  Not by my choice, mind you, but they must think that they are going to miss out on something amazing if I go solo into another room. Many is the time I have narrowly avoided a twisted ankle or wrenched back trying to not to fall over them or step on them when they tangle with my feet.  Even when they are curled up on the rug, supposedly asleep, and I quietly get up and try to tip-toe away, their ears perk up and maybe one eye will slyly open, and before I know it they are getting to their feet and the march begins.  I have even tried saying "Stay!" and backing away, but they just look at each other as if to say "Is she serious?" and away they go.  I'm almost embarrassed when I try to explain I'm just going to the bathroom...really no need for an escort, thanks all the same.

Case in point when they came in from their outside romp one morning and were otherwise occupied with chewing on each other's ears.  I casually wander into the kitchen to fix some breakfast.  They stealthily sneak up behind me, silent as a ninja (no small task for a bouncy puppy with three metal tags on their collars), only to have me turn from the kitchen counter and suddenly stop short so as not to step on the black furry blobs directly at my feet, my English muffin flying off my plate and across the room like a whole-wheat Frisbee, landing with a thud on the floor (butter side down, naturally).   Or when I sit in the oversized computer chair in my office with no dogs in sight, only to be blocked in two minutes later by two giant lumps sleeping on the carpet.  They are strategically lying in such a manner that I cannot push my rolling chair back, as there is not enough room for me to do so without rolling over a tail or ear.  Of course, rather than try and scoot them away enough to gain suitable exit, I try to shimmy between the desk and chair arms and step over them so as not to wake them.  This rarely works but the one time it did I managed to sneak out of the office, letting sleeping dogs lie, only to have two fuzzy shadows tracking me by the time I made it to the fridge.

This ability to not go anywhere alone in the house is a little like an episode of "Big Brother, Canine Edition".  They look up at me like there is some sort of action item required of me that I am not privy to.  I don't think it's separation anxiety so much as it's just the need to keep an eye on me.  While I appreciate the fact that they seem to enjoy my company, I have come close to squashing one or both on many occasions while carrying a large box I can't see beneath, or dousing them with hot coffee as I turn from the pot on the counter.  If I sit on the floor to fold laundry, forget about it.  That means my lap is open season and one (sometimes both!) magically appear and climb up into it, blocking the view for miles.  At forty pounds, these guys are hardly considered lap dogs anymore, although they apparently did not get that memo.

I wander into the kitchen, ducklings in tow, to grab a soda and then plop on the couch.  Dog at feet?  Check.  Other dog on couch with me because she pretends not to know the "Off!" command?  Check.  I get up again to get the fleece blanket from the other couch.  Jingling I.D. tags give me a musical accompaniment  for my journey.  Back to the couch, foot warmer there on cue, knee warmer again pretending it's her God given right to curl up on the couch with me, where she can get a better view.  Right about then my husband comes home from work, keys working the front door lock.  Ears perk up, maybe even an inquisitive woof escapes from one, and they spring into action, racing to the entry way to see their favorite Dad, tails wagging.  Suddenly I'm chopped liver!  Hey, remember me?  The one you've been following all day?  I have been demoted from "She We Adore" to "Persona non Grata" in the length of time it took him to take off his jacket.  He says he hearty hellos to the bouncy noisy livestock at his feet.  "These dogs love me!" he says.  "I wish they could be with me all day!"

I just smile.  Be careful what you wish for!

Moving On Up (But Not Down)

The writers of the puppy training book I bought obviously do not think a puppy bigger than ten pounds exists on this planet.  They cheerily tell me to not let my puppy have run of the whole house in the beginning,  and to confine him or her to their crate whenever possible.  Okay, I understand the need for a pup not to run pell-mell throughout the entire house, but when your puppy is the size of a Shetland pony colt and you have not one but two of them, you would need to buy a crate the approximate size of a Sears tool shed and then have that much free room in your house to put it.  If I lived in a Beverly Hills mansion, this would not be an issue.  But I don't live there.  I have a comfy suburban 2,700 square foot two story house with an adequate-sized laundry room on the first floor that now doubles as a makeshift dog crate.  It works for the time being (except on laundry day) but as each day goes by, it becomes readily apparent that the laundry-room-as-crate is a temporary fix.  The sooner these puppies get used to the rest of the house and don't pee in every corner of it, the better.

We have now gotten to the point where the pups are roaming the first floor freely, except at night.  For their own safety (and my sanity) I have kept a baby gate at the bottom of the stairs to keep them from going up there.  The kids' rooms are in a constant state of upheaval, looking like a very isolated California earthquake hits there daily.  Not the best place for a toy-chewing, sock-ripping nosey puppy to explore.  But the dogs see us go up and down there all day and are quite curious as to what exactly we are hiding from them.  There is obviously a gross injustice afoot and they aim to get to the bottom of it.  So they decide to use the most evil, diabolical,  defenseless weapon they have in their arsenal:

Giant brown puppy eyes.

I got up one morning to let them out for their morning constitutional, and after enthusiastic greetings were exchanged and the morning poop was picked up, I climbed over the baby gate in order to go upstairs and get the kids up for school.  For some reason I stopped and turned around, only to see two very sad, confused faces staring up at me.  How could I have made such a fuss of them a minute ago and now abandon them?  At least that's what they thought.  Ears wilted and giant shiny eyes the size of hubcaps glistened up at me.  I was losing my willpower rapidly.  Then Leila figured it might help (couldn't hurt!) if she uttered a solemn "Wooooooo....." in my direction.  That did me in.  That, and the idea of how hilarious it would be to wake up my not-a-morning-person 7-year old by having an energized, tongue-wagging barrel of fuzz leap onto his bed at 6:45 a.m.  I pulled down the baby gate and set it aside, opening up this whole new world to the pups to explore and conquer.  Welcome to The Stairs and all its magical wonder!!!!

They were less than impressed.

They sat there staring at me blankly, not sure of exactly what their action item was here.  Leila looked at the stairs and then back at me as if to say "You want me to climb that?"  Bodie took advantage of her hesitation and pounded up a few stairs, stopped, and then realized he was stuck.  He then managed to make it to the top where he sniffed around and then proudly looked back down at his sister, laying down the challenge.  Not to be outdone, Leila tentatively worked her way from step to step until she got to the second-to-last riser where Bodie pounced on her like only a brother can.  She managed to sidestep him and work her way to the top where she whipped around and shot him a look that would freeze fire.  Then they both finally realized they were in a whole new realm, and commenced exploring.  And yes, one of them (they won't say who) had to commemorate the occasion by leaving a puddle at the top of the stairs to mark this historic occasion.   Gee, thanks.

After the kids were awakened and silliness expended, we all headed downstairs for breakfast.  The pups were not sure just exactly how to do the staircase-shuffle in reverse.  Bodie took a tentative step onto the first riser, changed his mind and backed up again.  Leila just sat there, giving her best Paris Hilton look, waiting for someone to carry her down.  Tipping the scales at about 37 pounds now, that ain't gonna happen anytime soon!  We watched as both dogs attempted to make their way down, hopping from riser to riser with ears flapping and feet together.  Not exactly graceful, they looked like two bulldozers on a motocross track.  Bodie managed to make it to the bottom where he then turned and gleefully hopped back up in order to torture his sister who was only partially down.  She was not amused. 

Bodie hopped down again as if to demonstrate. Hey, I'm getting the hang of this!  Leila got about half way down and then sat down, refusing to budge.  She looked like a castle gargoyle, with her backside on a riser and her front feet on the step below that one, glaring down at us at this insult to her dignity.  At our coaxing (and the threat of Bodie bounding back up to harass her again), she finally bounced to the bottom, where Bodie gave her a congratulatory kiss before pounding back up the steps again for another assault.  Leila dutifully followed the kids into the kitchen, pretending she had never heard of stairs or the mystery that lies at the top.

Since that day, the pups have gone up the stairs a number of times, and the downhill climb is always the same knuckle-biter scenario.  Every time I point the video camera on them to film the hilarity, Leila stops and sits, refusing to be part of this demeaning charade.  I know the time will come soon enough where they take the stairs two-by-two and are up and down in mere seconds, especially when I don't want them up there.  But in the meantime, it's like watching a toddler take their first tentative steps.  It's funny, awkward and cute, but you also know it's the start of them growing up, and they will never be at this silly stage again.  Enjoy it while you can still roll your eyes and smile about it.

Stay tuned....

Sibling Rivalry? Not in This House......

I read on the internet that when comedian Russell Brand married singer Katy Perry in India last month, he rode into the ceremony on an elephant, but the elephant's sibling had to walk beside them as well, as they are fraternal twins and can't be separated from each other without each having a panic attack.  I can understand not wanting an elephant to have a panic attack at your wedding...talk about a party crasher!  I can also understand the bond that siblings have in the animal kingdom.  It's a strong and sometimes impenetrable force that we mere humans are just going to have to live with.  I have a bond with my sister but it's not like I'm going to come unglued if we are not in the same room together.  (sometimes I come unglued when we ARE in the same room but that is a story for another time!)

I guess I should have read the puppy care book a little closer before I decided on my two fuzzy kids.  It suggested getting two puppies so they have someone to play with and keep them company, but to avoid getting two littermates, as the bond is so strong there that they have no need for you, the unofficial pack leader.  Not that it would have made a difference, I suppose, as when we took one look at these guys we were hooked regardless of what the $10 puppy book had to say.  But it does bring up a valid point.

Bodie takes his job as "big brother" quite seriously.   He can be away from her, in a different room in the house or in the yard, but it has to be HIS choice and on HIS terms.  A human forcing the separation is simply not acceptable.  Case in point, when Leila got a stick caught in her throat, and I thought we were going to have to rush her over to the vet to get it out.  The kids and I put Bodie behind the baby gate in the laundry room where they sleep, put Leila on a leash and rushed out the door.  The kids held Leila's leash while I locked the front door, and even from the front walkway I could hear Bodie frantically barking and hitting the walls, going completely ape shit at having been separated from the pack.  He is usually the quiet one in the duo, but that is partly because with Leila it's hard to get a word in edgewise.  By now, Leila is patiently sitting on the grass, having spat out the stick a few minutes ago on her own but we were all too frantic to notice.  She is looking at us quizzically, with a "Whazzup?" look on her face, so I figured a high-speed chase to the emergency vet was probably not needed.  We went back into the house where Bodie was still hysterically voicing his displeasure.  We put Leila over the fence and he was all over her like a second skin, with a sideways glance in my direction that needed no interpretation...he was pissed.

For some reason, when it comes to forced separation of the two, so far it's been Leila who needs to be pocketed away for one reason or another and Bodie is left behind.  When Leila needed ear drops put in each ear (a task I really don't recommend unless you have a suit of armor and six burly dudes to help hold her down) Bodie got so involved that we had to take Leila outside and leave Bodie inside so we could deal with one frantic dog and not two.  Bodie became unglued again, throwing himself at the window so he could see her and barking what could only be a string of canine obscenities.  The only good part of this whole scene was that even Leila was amazed at his bravado and stopped squirming enough to stare back at him through the glass and I could squirt in the medicine while her focus was elsewhere.  I may have to re-enact that special moment when I have to do it again next week.

The funny part about Bodie and his sibling-separation anxiety is that the rest of the time he is so mellow and really doesn't get worked up at just about anything.  The cat comes walking right past his nose....meh, no big deal.  The leashes come out and it's time for a walk....yeah, whatever.  Dinnertime....no, after you.  So when he does go into his "Demon Seed of Chucky" devil-dog routine, it is a bit of a head-turner.

The cute, tiny, 20-something technicians at the pup's veterinary clinic  first saw the pups as little 9-week old fuzzballs and have watched them grow into lanky, pre-teen fuzzballs.  They comment about how Bodie is coming out of his shell each time they see him, and is slightly more adventurous.  So imagine their surprise last week at the pup's visit when they had to take Leila into another room for a urine extraction (to check for a UTI as a result of her poop-eating antics) and sweet, mellow Bodie completely loses his shiz and goes nuclear.  From the waiting area in the front lobby I can hear him going ballistic from somewhere behind the closed doors, as I am sure everyone in a three-block radius could as well.  The little blonde vet assistant comes out to the lobby, wide-eyed and looking like just a little frazzled, as if someone just set off a firecracker right next to her.  "Uh.....they're all set now!" she blurts, trying to regain her composure.  Maybe she thought I thought they were abusing my quiet, timid Berner behind closed doors?  Although I was enjoying her discomfort immensely, I decided to let her off the hook.  "Sounds like Bodie had fun!" I chortled.  "Yes" she replied, "they seem to have a little bit of separation anxiety."  "Ya think???" I laughed.  I assured her this is not the first time has protested his sister being squired away against his wishes, probably won't be the last.

That being said, I am obviously going to have to alter my training tactics going forward with these two.  The book says to teach them to walk properly on a leash separately before taking them out together so they learn the ropes without distraction.  I think Bodie's hair-raising rant back in the house would be a distraction to just about everyone.  The puppy trainer at the pet store said to bring them to classes separately....yeah, I don't think so.  Bodie has definitely defined himself as the elephant at the wedding, and the rest of us are going to have to deal with it.  In a way, it's kind of comforting that Leila has someone willing to go completely postal in order to protect her, even though she takes full advantage of it in her flirty, starlet way.  When she is chewing on his ear or stealing the toy right out of his mouth, he looks to me as if to say "See what I have to put up with?"  My answer to him is always the same: "You love it and you know it!"

 

 

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.....