Don't Answer the Phone While the Puppy's in the Bathtub

I'm going to write a book. I'm going to title it "Don't Answer the Phone While the Puppy's in the Bathtub". In this book, I'm going to include all the things that I've learned from my puppy, Daisy. It may just be a list of wisdoms like: A 30-pound puppy WILL try to swim in a 1-quart bowl of water; A 30-pound puppy takes up MOST of a full-sized mattress; A 30-pound soaked-to-the-bone puppy can hurl 60 pounds of itself against an all-glass storm door; there is no direct correlation between the size of a puppy and the size of a hole in a fence.

There are all kinds of self-help books on the market. How-to manuals, CD's, DVD's, Magazines, etc.; all of these are available to teach us how to build a deck, build a planter, control our tempers, whip up a meal, manage our time, manage our money, raise our children, raise a garden, lower our cholesterol, raise our self-esteem, get to Heaven, file our taxes. If we take the time to read, we can learn how to operate our computers, ties our own dry flies, tan a hide, can our own vegetables, maintain our automobiles, fix our faucets, and give a speech. There's probably even a book out there on how-to-write-a-self-help-book. What I really need is a book on keeping your sanity while trying to train a willful puppy.

I know I'm going to come across as an idiot here, but let me qualify all of this by saying that I've NEVER before had a dog that I could not train. Until recently, I've never had a dog that didn't consider me the Alpha female of the house. I've had dogs that sat, stayed, begged, shook hands, sneaked, fetched and rolled over on command. I've had dogs that would "sic" any varmint that ventured into my garden, smiled on command, kissed on command, got in the truck on command. I even had a dog that sang on command. But I have never, ever, EVER had a dog like Daisy!

I'm working with her. We've got the whole Sit, Stay, Come thing. Sometimes. Well, really only when she feels like it. We go through it every morning and every night. Daisy, sit. She sits. Daisy, down. She downs. Daisy, stay. She stays. Daisy, come. She comes. Once. Then she's done. Daisy has the attention span of a goldfish.

That's how it goes INSIDE the house.

Here's how it goes OUTSIDE: Daisy, sit. She attacks my leg. Daisy, sit! She takes off after one of the cats. Daisy, SIT! She starts digging yet another hole in the yard. Daisy, come. She rolls over and wiggles all over, which means, "Play, play, play." Daisy, come! The horses grab her attention. DAISY, COME!! She'll be back in a few minutes.

She's learning; she's just not learning what I want her to learn. In her little mind she has learned, "If I tilt my head just so, the people laugh and forgive me". She's learned that shampoo and hot sauce are not her favorites. She's learned the hard way the holes in the fence have to be a little bigger in order to get her head in AND out.

We make excuses for her...(she's only 7 months old, she's been cooped up all day, we're not asking consistently). but what it all comes down to is this: We've got a monster on our hands and don't know what to do about it. With the dogs that came before, it was just a single softly spoken word. (No, Babe. Charlie, no). This dog is A.D.D. (Attention Deficit Dog). Possibly even A.D.D.D. (Attention Deficit Devil Dog)

I need a book. I need it fast, and I'm taking donations. Maybe a book on how to train a dog, maybe a book on dealing with exasperation, or maybe just a book on living with failure. Oh, well.

(Originally published March, 2008)