A Possible Canine Valedictorian

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A baker’s dozen of dogs sit in a loose circle, about 100 feet in circumference, in the dusty floor of an arena at the Gregg County fairgrounds. The dogs are tethered by leashes to their owners. Both the dogs and owners vary widely in size and shape. There are four German Shepherds, a poodle, one of those bug-eyed carpet dogs whose breed I can’t place, a few Labrador mixes.

And Rosie. That’s our rescue dog of unknown lineage. Rosie is a cinnamon-colored 14-pound dust mop, with a feathery tail and bounce to her gait. She draws admiring glances and frequent compliments when we walk along the trail. She is, after all, the World’s Cutest Dog. I have threatened to rent Rosie out to single men hoping to strike up a conversation with eligible women. But my wife, the Beautiful Mystery Companion, opposes such a foray into free enterprise.

Here at the arena, Rosie is just another dog being taught some manners.

For six weeks, the BMC and Rosie are spending an hour each Monday evening in dog training classes. Rosie has three bad habits: she loves to jump up on people since she is convinced the entire world is in love with her. After all, she is in love with the entire living world: dogs, cats, humans. All are friends in Rosie’s little brain. We have already learned a simple command, barking “Back!” at her fiercely, that works great since it scares the bejeebers out of her. Now we have to teach it to all our friends.

A second, more serious shortcoming is that when Rosie gets loose she takes off like a rebellious teenager sneaking out the back door. We want a dog that will return when called, not one that has to be corralled by a posse of friendly strangers walking on the trail.

Last, Rosie has a licker problem. Not the booze kind; she’s a teetotaler. But she will walk up and start licking your bare toes, any skin she can get to. This tongue fetish is likely incurable, from what I have read, but we hold out hope. Neither of us enjoy being licked by a dog, even one that we dearly love. If the dog trainer can teach us how to cure the first two shortcomings, we can live with the licking. I just push Rosie away, and after a few tries she gives up.

The trainer is a no-nonsense woman named Pam. She has two spaniels that lie unleashed at her feet waiting for her next command, while she teaches the class. Some of the owners are having a devil of a time keeping their charges in the proper place, seated at their left side. A couple of the German Shepherds are the size of yearling cows. At least Rosie is small enough to physically dominate — plus she wants to please us.

But Pam teaches us how to control a dog with one’s voice, not brute force, though the choke collar quickly gets Rosie’s attention if necessary. In short order Rosie is walking at my BMC’s left knee, sitting when she stops, staying put with a hand command. Just days earlier, this dog meandered back and forth on the leash, forcing us to constantly switch hands and not to get wrapped up in the line.

I had forgotten how much joy a dog can bring to a household. It has been nearly 20 years since I have lived with a dog, though several cats have passed through during that time. Dogs take up a lot more time than cats. There are walks, trips outside for bathroom breaks, teaching them tricks and not to chew up stuffed animals (they look just like dog toys), and so forth. As my compadre Jaìme liked to say, “Perros much problema. Gatos no problema.”

That is true. After all, you don’t have to walk the cat, and can leave them alone for days as long as there is adequate food and water. But dogs also give more back than cats in terms of love and loyalty. And I haven’t seen a cat yet that can fetch a rope worth a darn. Rosie will play that game for hours.

We are hopeful that Rosie will graduate as valedictorian of her obedience class, or at least ahead of the German Shepherds. But there’s a toy poodle in the group who was performing quite well the other night. We’re keeping an eye on the competition and planning some extra study time.

I would spring for a miniature cap-and-gown for commencement, but this dog hates to dress up. Daughter Abbie tried to put a pink tutu on her last Christmas, and the dog turned into a canine version of the girl in “The Exorcist,” whirling around in a mad attempt to get that girly thing off her.

That’s our dog.

 

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