Some of My Favorite People are Dogs, Part III
In which I complete the list of dogs in my life as an adult (so far).
Why am I telling you about the dogs who’ve been part of my life? It’s a way to set the scene for the Be the Dog project, which begins in our next segment. Be the Dog is a means to improve my life (and, perhaps, yours as well, if you decide to join me on this quest), by emulating the positive qualities in my dogs.
So let’s wrap up this intro!
Zoey (Little Miss In-Your-Face)
By the time I began my campaign for a third dog, I’d abandoned any subtlety in my approach.
“Listen, life is short and I simply can’t exist without dogs,” I announced to the HH. “I need another puppy.”
Presented with the same contract as before (I would get up for night-time bathroom breaks, I would train her, I would be responsible for most of her care, etcetera), the HH once again reluctantly agreed.
After a couple of false starts, we found an ad on Kijiji: “Eight week-old lab-border collie cross pups. Raised at home with parents on site. First shots provided. Call. . . “.
It sounded perfect!
So, we drove two hours to the location, an old farmhouse with a sprawling property of valleys and trees. We were led to a basement room buzzing with pups bounding after each other on those wobbly, stocky puppy legs that I love.
There were puppies everywhere: tumbling from the sofa cushions onto the floor, pouncing on the array of toys scattered across the tiles as they yipped and squealed in delight, smashing their noses against the rug in an attempt to explore underneath it.
As soon as one saw us and sprinted in our direction, we were accosted by the entire litter, leaping up our legs and tugging at our shoelaces.
I was determined to get a relatively submissive pup who’d be a good match for Chaser’s natural timidity. After all, she’d had an idyllic relationship with Elsie, who’d been both her playmate and her protector. This new pup had big paws to fill.
After one female scampered across the room, hiding under a table to escape her more boisterous siblings, we knew she was “the one.” Besides, she was all black except for a small white spot on her chest and little white strips on her back feet—almost exactly like Elsie.
Ah, how completely off the mark one can be when assessing puppy personalities! To paraphrase Senator Bentsen in the 1988 Presidential debate: I knew Elsie. And this pup was no Elsie.
I should have known the moment she hid under that table. Just because you’re the most submissive in a group of Tasmanian Devils doesn’t mean you’re actually submissive.
As we sat on the basement floor with our new pup crawling over our legs, I casually inquired, “So, she’s a border collie-lab cross, right?”
“Oh, yes,” the woman responded. “And also half Australian cattle dog.”
Cattle dog? That was one I’d never heard of before. But I was familiar with the tailless Australian Shepherd, known for their keen intelligence, trainability and strong family-oriented nature. Surely this breed was similar, right?
It wasn’t until we’d got home, the pup whining and squirming while Chaser cowered in the back seat during the entire trip, that I really began to wonder and looked up the description for “Cattle Dog.”
No, scratch that: it was during our two-hour wrestle-match in the car as she wailed and barked nonstop, catapulted out of my grip over and over and almost made it out of the crack in the car window that I first felt that little tingle of concern.
Here’s the description of the Australian Cattle Dog from rover.com:
“Australian Cattle Dogs are the culmination of cross-breeding the Blue Merle and the Australian Dingo by British settlers in Australia in the late 1800s. These working dogs have plenty of energy and love to run. They’re devoted to their people and can be good for families. . . “
Ah, great, good for families. And–WHAT?! Cross-breed of Blue Merle and DINGO?! The dingo, the WILD DOGS of Australia??
I could feel the blood draining from my cheeks. The horror! I’d had reservations about Chaser because she had German Shepherd in her. How on earth would I deal with a dog that was part wild beast, a natural predator, an animal that ATE MERYL STREEP’S BABY?!
Chaser was, needless to say, a wee bit hesitant of Zoey’s exuberance right from the start. Still, trooper that she is, she was willing to give it a try. That first afternoon back at the house, she even play-bowed and romped, inviting Zoey to play in her back yard.
And then it happened.
In a bout of excitement, Zoey leapt up, front paws outstretched, and came down with her nails across Chaser’s nose.
Chaser emitted a blood-curdling squeal. She shrieked, she batted her nose with her paw, she cowered in the corner of the yard.
Zoey tried everything to entice her to return. There was barking, bowing, brushing up up against Chaser’s bum. She even lay on the ground, belly exposed, as if to cry out, “See how harmless I am?”
But Chaser, remember, is the dog who needs but a single command to learn a lesson. One scratch was enough. And so, I’m sorry to report, that was the first—and last—time Chaser and Zoey ever played together.
To this day, Zoey lives in hope, repeatedly employing every trick in the book to engage her sister, sort of like a reverse Groundhog Day where she never learns and nothing ever changes. Chaser, for her part, acts as if Zoey doesn’t exist.
And while it broke my heart that Chaser and Zoey didn’t share the same loving bond I’d seen between Elsie and Chaser, what was worse were my own mixed feelings for the puppy.
I was feeling regret over a puppy, for goodness’ sake! I LOVE PUPPIES!! Yet this was no regular puppy. Pretty quickly, I confirmed that Zoey was, indeed, a wild beast.
At every opportunity, she bit and chewed whatever was in front of her. For the first time, our rug had a corner missing. Zoey attempted to eat the furniture, our comforter, my socks, glass, toilet paper, her leash, my fingers, the HH’s arm (and ankle), and too many other items to count. Organic matter or not—it didn’t seem to matter.
It became a daily ritual: I’d beg for an emergency call with our then-trainer and spend most of the time blubbering (Zoey barking and yipping behind me while tethered to a long leash that looped around the sofa leg) while he attempted to reassure me that she was a normal puppy. “She’s a ten out of ten!” he kept repeating.
“She’s a monster!” I’d counter. “I’ve raised four puppies and I’ve never seen anything like this! I tried to put her leash on and she bit me! My husband tried to take the stick from her and she bit him! He tried to put a collar on and she bit him again! And then she BIT ME AGAIN!!!!”
It wasn’t until we enlisted our fourth trainer, the owner of the nearby doggie daycare, that we finally began to see some improvement.
By then the house (and my hair) was in perpetual disarray, there were permanent bags under my eyes from lack of sleep and excess of crying, and the puppy-pact had long been broken (“Do you really expect me to get up eight times in the middle of the night for this—WILD DINGO?!”).
Yet within seconds of his appearance in our back yard, Derek managed something that no one else had been able to accomplish before then. Speaking in a calm, almost imperceptible whisper, he transformed Zoey into a quiet, obedient dog! With the famous laser focus of the Australian Cattle Dog, she zeroed in on her new master and waited to execute his command.
While Derek taught her to “sit” and “come here,” all the while, Zoey’s eyes remained trained on her new idol, tail wagging furiously against the ground, sweeping grass and leaves aside with the enthusiasm of a tween brandishing her “Shake It Off” banner at a Taylor Swift concert.
At long last, our new dog had revealed her true self. We could finally see her authentic personality! And all it took were four trainers, two rugs, a sofa leg, four punctured appendages, several thousand dollars and nine months of hell.
Now, at almost four years along, Zoey is a model citizen: obedient, loving and eternally playful.
At the same time, she’s also in-your-face, mouthy, bossy and a drama queen. She still howls, yelps, barks, whines and yips at Chaser every morning, hoping the past will right itself and that her older sister will finally recognize her many charms.
Chaser, for her part, has learned to tolerate her bratty younger sibling. Once in a while, when we least expect it, she might make a weak attempt to nip back, and Zoey goes ballistic with excitement and unbridled optimism. But Chaser wants none of it. She nips, she keeps walking, she never looks back.
We couldn’t live with two more opposite dogs. One is quiet, shy, demure, perfectly sweet and obedient, never a bother and always a delight. The other is exceedingly smart, eternally energetic, raucous, demanding–and somehow, despite it all, still entirely endearing.
Chaser and Zoey: The Be the Dog Project.
Together, my dogs will be my role models for this experiment.
Over the coming year, I’ll share what I learn from them. Behaviors, attitudes and general philosophy of life they exhibit as they navigate their days. I’ll choose one major trait per week and do my very best to emulate it and incorporate it into my own life.
And you, dear reader, are invited to join me. We can make it like a game: how much can we act like a dog this week?
At the end of the week, I’ll report back and let you know how I did, and ask you the same. My hope is that we’ll all learn a little something about how to change our lives for the better.
Because honestly, couldn’t we all stand to Be the Dog a little bit more each day?