As if our lives weren’t already busy enough, about a year and a half ago, we realized there were a few bits and pieces of time available to stuff with more action and activity…so we got a puppy.
I
really do find it amusing that we have a live animal wandering around, making
our house its home. To earn her keep, this
butler-of-sorts eagerly announces visitors, cleans up spills from the floor and
provides on-going entertainment and insight into the fascinating human-canine
connection. Our Australian Shepherd,
Dingo, gives us much to marvel at.
We
often hear how intelligent this breed of dog is, which leaves me wondering if
I’m smart enough to play Alpha to her Einstein.
Try as I may, I can’t figure out some of her behaviours…or mine, as her
owner.
Given
that I am reasonably uptight about germs – and I’m not referring to those that
spawn the common cold - remarkably, I don’t rush to boil my mouth and seek out
a full course of antibiotics after Dingo head butts my face and her wet tongue
spreads slobber onto my chin, mouth and nose.
Instead, I banish the thoughts of the morsels she’s been snacking on in
the back yard after the rabbits have been to play, the cornucopia of “treats”
in the woods, and the country roads frequented by horses.
When
discussing general dog training advice with the woman at the pet store, she inquired
if our dog is “treat motivated.” I
laughed. The word “motivated” does not
begin to describe the intensity of Dingo’s behaviour when there is a remote possibility
of treat disbursement. “Obsessive” and “fanatical”
are far more apt, as she will frantically and comically attempt to perform any
trick or obey any command when the prospect of a treat looms in her immediate
future.
Dingo
needs near-constant reminders to heel, come, sit…and refrain from demonstrating
her fondness for some people by leaping unbelievably high and jamming her nose
into the face of her object of unbridled adoration. But if we break a rule, even just once, she
sees it as an invitation to start a delightful new habit which is as hard to
break as a non-splintering marrow bone.
If, during a weak moment, we allow her on the couch, she will continue
to confidently hop back up, looking innocently like it’s us humans who have
stupidly forgotten the new and improved rule.
But
most amusing is her irrational fear of inanimate objects…
When
I reach for the broom to sweep, my grasp barely closes on the handle and Dingo senses,
from wherever in the house she is, the “need” to leap to attention. I’m certain
I hear the theme to “Mission Impossible” as her eyes snap wide open, her head
turns abruptly, and in stealth mode, she skids down hallways and slides around
corners. She then mercilessly tackles the
bristles of the broom with a vigour that suggests she is saving her mistress
from almost certain demise.
We
don’t mind that she gets wet – she is a dog, after all – but she seems to have
developed an irrational fear of …the towel.
Whenever she comes in from the rain, she dodges anybody who could be concealing
a towel on his or her person. She dashes
into her kennel, turns and settles in, as though she’s been there for hours. After a few minutes, she’ll venture out to join
us, but not before suspiciously peeking around the corner, checking to see if
anybody is menacingly wielding Terry the Terrible.
Although
dog ownership can be filed, without question, under “What were we thinking?” we
do enjoy our crazy dog.
