living beings in my life at present. It started early when I took my
journal out to the yard on our amazing, cool and breezy morning. The
gate opened and in walked my neighbor with her ancient, sweet, blind,
deaf, arthritic, held together with duct-tape mini-scottie. Oliver
took off and while he didn't touch poor old Boris, he probably scared
the crap out of him by running at him and barking barking barking. My
neighbor knows Ollie and is patient with him. But, I was embarrassed.
I screamed at the top of my lungs, "NO! Oliver, NO!" Come here, I
shouted at him. He slowly lurched towards me, knowing he had done
wrong. I brought him into the house and to his chagrin (and mine, too
really) I put his bark collar on him.
The normally peppy, friendly dog transforms. He is now a grounded
thirteen year old GIRL, moping around the apartment with a
you'll-be-sorry-when-I'm-dead-
This doesn't however stop him from following me everywhere and getting
under foot like and anxiety-ridden toddler.
I start baking some holiday cookies. No hanging in the kitchen when
I'm cooking. You're in my way and the space is too small. "Go on,
Oliver. Out please" I say firmly, pointing to the other room. He
meanders in a different direction entirely from the one I am pointing
and lingers over his food dish in the kitchen by the fridge. He won't
make eye contact with me.
If the dog doesn't look at you, is he still in the way?
Um, yeah, you are still in the way.
I patiently coax him to move. Pointing again, which he usually gets.
"Ollie, that way please" I tell him nicely. He walks to my feet and
sits on the kitchen mat by the sink, "Did you mean here?" he says to
me with a look.
Um, no.
My dog has reinvented lollygagging.
Eventually I get him out of the kitchen and praise praise praise him
for going the correct direction. But rather than sit in the doorway,
out of my way as he usually does, he continues walking, disappearing
into the living room, which links to the bedroom, which links back to
the kitchen. "Fine, you don't want me here, I'm leavin'" he says. Off
to eat worms no doubt.
Having friends over tonight, I take the dog for a walk before they
show up. He has been cooped up a bit today and following me from one
room to the next as I sew, watch TV, bake, clean, vacuum, and pace as
I chat on the phone hardly counts as stretching one's legs.
So, we head out for a brisk one and he does his usually smelling here
peeing there bit. But he does so in a slightly slower than usual way.
I'm positive it is the collar that has him feeling blue. I know it's
uncomfortable kid, but I'd rather you be uncomfortable for a bit and
get instant distraction at the moment of barking until you catch on,
than you scaring the shit out of some poor little kid or old person.
Heck, maybe you'd even bite someone? I don't know.
No in fact, I do know, you little punk. You BIT your human girlfriend
Rachel when she was dog-sitting you once. True, she grabbed your
collar but still, nipping is not cool at all! If someone's attacking
ME, by all means go Kujo in his ass, but if someone's just trying to
get you outside to pee? Chill.
Back to the walk. He is meandering, again, back and forth, walking in
my path over and over.
I just can't decide WHICH side I want to commit to sniffing, he thinks.
Unfortunately, on one of his lane-changes I accidentally step on him.
He lets out a yelp and out of frustration, I shout, "Damn it Oliver,
HEEL!"
And to my complete shock, He did! My dog walked directly at my left
side, if not a pace behind me, for the last half of the walk. This is
the thing with adopting - you never know what may come-up.
In my frustration and poor patience, I do forget that I have a very
good boy here.
My friend Shannon arrives for the movie and I tell her about my
frustrating day with the dog. I am preparing munchies for our movie
viewing and the dog is again under foot. I give a smile to Shannon,
wordlessly saying "it's been like this all day!"
"Go on, Oliver," I coax him with a point out of the room. He leaves.
I continue telling Shannon about the day as I arrange cookies onto
plates. I look up at her and she is looking from me to my knees then
back again giggling. I look down, and who should be at my feet,
sitting quietly and watching me tell stories but my stealth hairy
wonder.
Yup, that's Ollie.
No comments:
Post a Comment