Yellow Crayon

My Dad – The Yoda of Dog Training

I stopped by my folk’s house a few days ago in an attempt to catch a glimpse of my Mom between trips. My Dad and I went outside to “Say Hi to the Dogs” and I noticed a difference in Sugar-the-leaping-jackass-dog. Less leaping.

Not only has my Dad broken her of the habit of jumping wildly about when you see her, but he’s also taught her to FETCH. If you have a sporting breed dog like a Golden Retriever or a Lab, this is no big achievement…but if you’ve ever had a boxer, you know that my Dad is now only 2 miracles shy of sainthood.

Darn. Calling her “Sugar-the-jackass-dog” is just plain mean.

Kindred Spirit

Last weekend my parents went out of town, so I watched the dogs…I watched Sugar-the-leaping-jackass-dog more closely than the rest of them. I took my folks to the airport at the crack of dawn and when I returned to their house to let the dogs in I found that the backyard was covered in shredded paper. Oh…I remember this phase.

Juneau the Wicked and Princess Duke used to enjoy shredding magazines that were unwisely left on the coffee table. I think this is some sort of dog motor-skill lesson…all of a sudden they realize that if they stand on something with their front paws they can use their teeth to yank on it and shred the object into a gazillion little pieces. They start with paper and then if you’re SUPER lucky they move onto books (“Dog Training for Dummies…true story), blankets, hot tub covers and if you’re my folks – the arm of your brand new leather couch.

So I picked up all the little pieces of what appeared to be a magazine and a catalog of some sort. When I got to the very last piece, I realized what Sugar had shredded. In my hand I held the cover of the LL Bean CHRISTMAS CATALOG!!!  Evidently Sugar is irritated by the early arrival of the holiday shopping season too.

Merry Labor Day!

I love Christmas as much as the next person…maybe more, but this is getting completely out of hand. Case in point – the arrival of the first holiday catalog of the season…over Labor Day weekend. 

Juneau (the wicked dog) still lays on the air conditioning vents to keep cool, the neighborhood kids are still scampering around in their bare feet, I’m still watching reruns of Grey’s Anatomy, leaves on the tree outside my window are still GREEN and I am currently in possession of a catalog brimming with Santa’s and Snowmen a full 104 days before Christmas.

Take a moment to let that wash over you. 

Bad Dog!

I am an only child. But I suddenly find myself understanding my friends with younger siblings…they lament that when THEY were little they weren’t allowed to eat sweets/ride their bike to school/stay out late/jump on the bed, but their younger siblings get to run on a much longer leash then THEY ever did.

 

My parents have a puppy. A boxer puppy that has got to be, hands down, the cutest dog I have ever seen. They named her ‘Sugar’. They should have named her ‘Monster’, or maybe ‘Crash’. While I was growing up my Father elevated dog training to an artform, the man instilled such strict training on our dogs that they wouldn’t even set a paw on the carpeting. They would sit with their toe nails resting on the very end of the kitchen tile and peak around the corner at us while we sat in the living room. In a moment of weakness my Father agreed to allow the dogs to sit on a blanket in front of the fireplace, “But that’s it!”

 

Now fast forward 15 years. When you enter my folk’s backyard, you say a little prayer and hope to heck that Sugar doesn’t get a running start because this little darling’s idea of a greeting is to run AS FAST AS SHE CAN at you. Like a heat seeking missile, Sugar barrels toward you and crashes, that’s right, crashes right into your legs. Heaven forbid you are foolish enough to think “Awww….what a cute puppy! And she’s SO excited to see me.” That kind of thinking leads a normal dog-lover to bend down and pet the puppy…Sugar greets this kind of behavior by biting your neck. Not a little puppy nibble…we are way past that…the little sweetie-pie can bite your whole jugular. It makes you cough, and then it makes you fight the urge to throw her in the street.

 

My father’s response…”She’s so happy to see you!” or “Isn’t she cute?”

 

“Oh, yeah…adorable.”

 

Eventually my Father will tire of having muddy paw prints on the back of his pants and as Sugar begins to push 30 pounds the bull-in-a-china shop routine will lose its charm. But I don’t expect for Sugar to be confined to the kitchen tile like the Boxers that came before her – my Father will teach her the important stuff (don’t bite family members) and forget the rest (stay off the furniture). Perhaps this is the gift of adulthood…letting go of some of the rules that bound you in youth so you can enjoy the small pleasures of life.  

 

Live and learn…and consider carrying a rolled up newspaper.