Winston has taken strides.
"Lay down" has been added to his repetoire of tricks. Compliance is not immediate. He paws the air vigorously, thinking I mean shake, before lowering himself. This is done with much wiggling and writhing, channeling Uriah Heap, though to cuter effect.
Fetching has improved tremendously. We've gone fetching a ball from kitchen to living room, to chasing the Chuck-It across vast expanses. The ball is not yet willingly returned.
A consistent response to "Come!"eludes me. Our success rate hovers around 70%. Sometimes he gets this coy look in his eye. He sits there in a weird, lumpy way. Not like a normal dog, but slouching on his butt, like an off-balance egg with legs. His belly pops out, I can see his wiener, and his lazy eye gets really lazy. I feel as uncomfortable as a lady on the New York subway might. He just sits like that, ignoring me.
I try to grab him, he runs. Then plops. Off-kilter. Belly out. Eye wonky. I approach. He runs. Repeat.
I've learned to solve this problem by lots of swearing to myself. Usually if I go inside, he's at the door in minutes. Then one of two things will happen.
He may, knowing he was bad, look at me with puppy eyes and tuck his tail, saying "I'm sorry!" Though I want to strangle him, I give him lots of love, and bacon flavored treats.
More frequently, he bounds into the house gumming the thing that drove him to disobedience. A turd. First it was a deer turd, which crumpled into a million pellets on the carpet. Next, a flat, round turd of unknown, perhaps bovine origin. Today, a deer turd in the shape of a human turd, which confused and scared me.
Still, I am glad I have a puppy.
"Lay down" has been added to his repetoire of tricks. Compliance is not immediate. He paws the air vigorously, thinking I mean shake, before lowering himself. This is done with much wiggling and writhing, channeling Uriah Heap, though to cuter effect.
Fetching has improved tremendously. We've gone fetching a ball from kitchen to living room, to chasing the Chuck-It across vast expanses. The ball is not yet willingly returned.
A consistent response to "Come!"eludes me. Our success rate hovers around 70%. Sometimes he gets this coy look in his eye. He sits there in a weird, lumpy way. Not like a normal dog, but slouching on his butt, like an off-balance egg with legs. His belly pops out, I can see his wiener, and his lazy eye gets really lazy. I feel as uncomfortable as a lady on the New York subway might. He just sits like that, ignoring me.
I try to grab him, he runs. Then plops. Off-kilter. Belly out. Eye wonky. I approach. He runs. Repeat.
I've learned to solve this problem by lots of swearing to myself. Usually if I go inside, he's at the door in minutes. Then one of two things will happen.
He may, knowing he was bad, look at me with puppy eyes and tuck his tail, saying "I'm sorry!" Though I want to strangle him, I give him lots of love, and bacon flavored treats.
More frequently, he bounds into the house gumming the thing that drove him to disobedience. A turd. First it was a deer turd, which crumpled into a million pellets on the carpet. Next, a flat, round turd of unknown, perhaps bovine origin. Today, a deer turd in the shape of a human turd, which confused and scared me.
Still, I am glad I have a puppy.
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