That Dog and I Are Stuck Together

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About four months ago I wrote about Sam, a poodle mix who cleverly captured my Beautiful Mystery Companion’s heart by lying down in the middle of our neighborhood street and looking pitiful. She indeed took pity and brought him home. He since has largely lived in my shop at night and outside in the day — with nightly visits on the couch for an hour or so. We never let him out of our sight inside because of his bad habit of marking his territory. That is a poor habit for a dog when inside the house.

Recently, my BMC persuaded me to train Sam to be an inside dog. He would stay in his crate in the breakfast room at night. I would take him outside on a leash when nature called. We would give it a couple of weeks. I agreed and shelled out $30 to have Sam washed and groomed, since it was too cold for me to bathe him outside — and he smelled too badly to carry upstairs and use a bathtub.

Sam is actually a very large cat in a dog’s body. When he sits next to you on the couch, he curls up like a cat, rests his head on your lap and goes to sleep. Occasionally he will raise his head and look at you from an upside-down position, his doleful eyes filled with love. Except for that marking territory habit, Sam indoors is the perfect gentleman. He is still skittish after four months and not very good at coming when called. And Katie bar the door if he gets out the same. He takes off like the police are chasing him. He usually comes back in a few minutes, or a neighbor corrals him, since he is so friendly. This likely explains how he got lost in the first place.

In the back yard, Sam’s behavior is a different story. He prefers hiding under the azalea bushes and pretty much ignores my entreaties even when accompanied by treats. Eventually he might come if called by my BMC, whom he adores far more than me. Since I was placed in charge of training, spent a week working with him, I thought we were making great progress, bonding together. We even went on rides together through town. Sam loves riding shotgun in the car — unlike Rosie the Wonderdog, who turns into a shivering mass of blubber every time she rides in a vehicle. Sam transforms into a sentry, sitting erect, looking out the window with an enigmatic dog smile.

On Sunday morning, when my BMC and daughter Abbie were out of town, I decided to let both dogs go out back to do their business instead of taking them out front on a leash. Rosie came right back. Sam hid in the bushes and would not come inside for anything. It was 34 degrees and raining. After two hours of trying, I gave up because I had to go help my brother-in-law work on fixing up his ex-wife’s trailer. (That’s another story.) Sam stayed outside for several hours but was waiting at the gate when I returned, shivering and ready to come inside. I cleaned him up and brought him inside.

The family returned that night. While we were bringing in luggage, Sam again fled out the front door and into the darkness. That’s it, I said. If he comes back, I am putting an ad in the paper. That ungrateful dog is going to be someone else’s problem. One dog is enough anyway. Sam came back in a few minutes, but I was determined.

My BMC didn’t disagree. She was put out with him by then as well, although she loves Sam dearly. I followed through and placed an ad in the paper the next day. I kept working with Sam, who seemed to feel guilty about his poor behavior on Sunday. He spent most of the time on the sofa in my study watching me write, staring at me with those dang doleful eyes.

The phone rang later that afternoon. It was in answer to the ad. The woman asked a few questions about Sam. I asked a few questions about the woman’s living accommodations. Did she have a fenced yard? Not exactly. Would she be able to give him regular baths, because if not he would smell badly quickly, because of his thick, curly fur? She hemmed and hawed, said she would get back to me. All the while, Sam was looking at me.

The next time someone called asking about the free poodle mix advertised in the paper, I said he was taken. I told that to the next five or so callers. And I guess he is taken, by me. I just couldn’t do it, when it came down to giving that darned dog away.

The weather warmed enough last weekend that I bathed both dogs outside in a galvanized tub I bought, filled with warm water. How can I give up a dog that not only lets me bathe him without complaint, but then tolerates a blow dryer without flinching?

The answer is, I can’t. Guess we’re stuck together, Sam and I.

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