My parents came over for dinner tonight. As they entered through the garage, Miss Puppy exited.
I read, while researching Tibetan Terriers, of their cleverness, their stubbornness, their tendency to regard any instance off leash as a state-sanctioned game of Oh No You Can't Catch Me. Our dog trainer (yes, the dog can afford a trainer, but I'm reduced to riding the stationary bike while watching The Weakest Link over and over and over) insisted that any dog could be taught to walk peacefully and obediently off leash, implying that what the dog hasn't learned is the fault of the owner, since there are no bad dogs but only bad, neglectful, lazy and incompetent owners. I've learned to smile and nod agreeably in conversations with obsessives, and then ignore their preaching. I'm not going to take the chance that the dog will bolt just as I'm trying to teach her not to bolt, so she's never allowed off the leash in an unfenced area.
Keystone Cops image from lawyersconveyancing.com.au
This is not to say that Miss Puppy has never bolted before, because she's small, quick, clever, motivated and elusive as a cockroach. Occasionally she does get out, despite our strictest precautions, and we've developed a sort of klutzy tag team chase sequence. One of the kids shoots me a piece of turkey or cheese while I lumber up the street tracking Miss Puppy on her usual rounds:
- Through the woods to the next door neighbors' on the prowl for their cockapoo
- Then to the next house in search of a treat
- Finally to the house at the top of the street to visit the miniature dachshund she loves to torment
Usually she stops there to bark at the door and insist Sophia come out and let herself be bowled over, and I have a chance to sneak up behind her and grab some puppy body part. But today it was drizzling so nobody was outside to distract her; meanwhile, Robey had given chase, and see above: Oh No You Can't Catch Me.
Miss Puppy made it all the way to and across the street, trailed by a near-hysterical boy visualizing his dog flat as a pancake in traffic; fortunately Sunday afternoon in our neighborhood = no traffic, so she made it across the street unpancaked, and he followed.
As I reached the top of the street he hollered that she was behind a house harassing a big dog that lived there. I ran around to the back, cookie in hand, and saw a polite and baffled husky hovering confusedly over the small, furry, presumptuous thing helping herself to his food without so much as a Thank You.
When I was a kid our neighbors on each side had dogs. To our left was Alfie, an Airedale Terrier, and to our right was Archie, a Standard Poodle. Alfie was friendly and calm, while Archie was possessed by the devil. Archie chewed shoes, jumped on visitors and ran away at every opportunity, usually making a beeline for Alfie to torment him by staying just out of reach of his chain. But one day Archie miscalculated and made a pass that was just a little too close to Alfie, and the frustrated terrier reached out and bit that nasty poodle's tail clean off.
Envisioning a race to the emergency clinic with a bleeding, howling dog and the remains of her tail (why wasn't I concerned for my own safety?), I leaped onto the deck, flourished my Milk Bone, cornered Miss Puppy between a wall, a chair and her (unwilling) host's food bowl, and grabbed her by the collar. Then, right in front of her incredulous snout, I offered the treat to the Husky and hustled her away while he munched. Removing my belt, I attached it to her collar and marched her back home, where she was confined to solitary for the rest of the evening. Every once in a while she'd press her black, rubbery nose against the bars of her cage and give me the puppy eyes, and I'd scowl back and will myself not to release her and give her dozens of ear and tummy scritches.
