Dog Days, Part III
"You want to hear something crazy?" I asked Tim the other morning.
"Crazier than finding a dog on Craigslist?"
"Okay, that's not crazy. We found a babysitter that way, why not a dog?"
Tim flashed a stern look my way. I knew what it meant: We did find a fantastic babysitter via Craigslist. The dog, not so much.
Maybe it wasn't my finest moment. Maybe Toby didn't show us his true colors when we went to meet him. Maybe the planets were not aligned properly. (Maybe it was those damned fairies again.) The bottom line is, we're having trouble with this dog. Or more specifically, Shadow is having trouble.
Here's how a day in the life of Toby goes:
So the question is, how to deal with a bully for a dog? (I could insert a pun here, with respect to a bull dog, of course, but I'll spare you.) We're taking a class, where he's learning that he can get all the treats he wants for 45 minutes each Monday night. And I think he may have learned the sit command. However, I don't care if the dog can sit or stay or jump up and change a light bulb, for that matter. I only want him to leave the dog (and anyone else he cares to nip at) alone.
Which means, I'm calling in the reinforcements. I've asked a trainer to head over next week. If she can't whip this guy into some semblance of shape, it's off to the farm with Toby.
"Farm? That's a euphemism, right?" says Tim, a wicked gleam dancing in his eye.
"No, it's not." I'm sure I can find a place around here that would be suitable for Toby. He's got a lot about him to love.
Plus, the way I see it, Tim crawled out of the sand, and look at him now. If I can manage to teach that old dog some new tricks and good manners, I should be able to do so with Toby.
"Crazier than finding a dog on Craigslist?"
"Okay, that's not crazy. We found a babysitter that way, why not a dog?"
Tim flashed a stern look my way. I knew what it meant: We did find a fantastic babysitter via Craigslist. The dog, not so much.
Maybe it wasn't my finest moment. Maybe Toby didn't show us his true colors when we went to meet him. Maybe the planets were not aligned properly. (Maybe it was those damned fairies again.) The bottom line is, we're having trouble with this dog. Or more specifically, Shadow is having trouble.
Here's how a day in the life of Toby goes:
I think I'll sleep. Oh wait, I need to eat. Here she comes with the food...the woman who found me and brought me into this heaven of a house. And there is is again. FOOD! Oh glorious FOOD. I can't wait to eat you all in one gulp. Yep, there it goes. Let me see if I can go steal from of the other dog's food. He's too big anyway. Uh-oh, I guess not. She doesn't want me to do that. I can tell from the sound of her voice. That's okay, I have my tail. I'll chase it. No, let me chase the other dog's tail. His is better...more hair. I like to get my teeth on that hair. RAR. He doesn't seem to like it...look at those sharp teeth. But I like it. I'll do that again. RAR. Now, she doesn't like it either. RAR anyway. And I'll do it again, and again. and again. Okay, okay, I get it. I'll stop now, and try again later. What to do? Do I have more food in my bowl? Oh rats. No. And neither does he. Huh. I'm so tired, I guess I'll sleep.And sleep, Toby will. Until he finds the need to go after Shadow again. But sadly, he doesn't stop with the tail. Sometimes, Toby goes after Shadow's bum, other times, he chases a leg. For some reason, the growl of an 88 pound dog does nothing to Toby. He's simply not afraid. Which can only mean one thing: Toby is a bully.
So the question is, how to deal with a bully for a dog? (I could insert a pun here, with respect to a bull dog, of course, but I'll spare you.) We're taking a class, where he's learning that he can get all the treats he wants for 45 minutes each Monday night. And I think he may have learned the sit command. However, I don't care if the dog can sit or stay or jump up and change a light bulb, for that matter. I only want him to leave the dog (and anyone else he cares to nip at) alone.
Which means, I'm calling in the reinforcements. I've asked a trainer to head over next week. If she can't whip this guy into some semblance of shape, it's off to the farm with Toby.
"Farm? That's a euphemism, right?" says Tim, a wicked gleam dancing in his eye.
"No, it's not." I'm sure I can find a place around here that would be suitable for Toby. He's got a lot about him to love.
Plus, the way I see it, Tim crawled out of the sand, and look at him now. If I can manage to teach that old dog some new tricks and good manners, I should be able to do so with Toby.
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