I've trimmed her beard and her furry feet, paid the vet for ear meds. No, she can't sleep on the bed with us, there's no room and when she scratches her neck the bed shakes.
She's learned to come for a treat, to sit and sometimes stay. Gotta work on the stay command. She obeys if I'm looking at her but when I walked around the corner of the garage yesterday as she sat obediently at the open gate to the yard, big brown eyes watching my every move, she suddenly shot down the long, straight driveway all the way to the end.
"Mopsy, come! Mopsy come back!" Jim and I hollered as we dashed after her. She glanced over her shoulder to be sure we were chasing her, then bounded off, ears and long tail flopping with every stride. Full speed, she turned right at the sidewalk and disappeared. When she realized she couldn't see us, she returned, again at full gallop.
"Good girl!" we cried. I reached down to pat her--the devil--but she ducked left into the front yard and circled it like a crazy dog, wagging and dropping to her elbows adorably. Thrilled to be the pursued! Not funny to me, damnit. As she sped past I grabbed her like a football.
"Bad Mopsy!" I scolded. "Very bad!"
She wiggled and wagged her long, plumy tail with delight. I returned her to the stay position and stared her down for a solid twenty seconds. She didn't break out again because I never took my eye off her.
Hmm.
She's really delightful company in the house. Lies on the little cushions we set out. Appears to be housebroken although it's quite a chore putting her outside twenty-seven times a day, then listening to her scratch the paint off the back door. Hates the crate, of course, and although she's debarked, she can certainly make herself heard. In fact she sounds like a St. Bernard.
But visitors terrify her. She cowers, she shrinks, she hides behind my legs. No coaxing can reassure her. I think she has really High Anxiety.
I'm not sure she will ever be trustworthy. That I can leave her loose in the house. That I can trust her not to jump out an open car window--gosh, California gets hot and I don't want to leave her home, in the crate, a day at a time.
She's darling but I'm not sure she's the right pooch for us. One of us needs Prozac.
Stay tuned.
2 comments:
Daisy The Frantic Manchester (nicknamed TWITCH) is dictating this to me. She really identifies with Mopsy because she was a showgirl and didn't have a childhood. She says, Mopsy needs a good game of Frisbee every day (Frisbees are more work and tire her out faster - get a regular size one, not a little one) and also, needs marrow bones stuffed with interesting things left in her crate. Also, she says, try several loose rags in the crate instead of a blanket because you can dig it around a lot more. Also, she is sure you know, but just wants to mention, that she enjoys the TV left on Animal Planet when you are gone. Best Wishes!
Thanks, Shirley. Alas, our lot is only 125 feet long and contains our house and garage/office/shed, so is not big enough to throw a Frisbee. Besides, she does not retrieve. And just now, after 10 minutes of walking in the yard, she peed on a rug.
This time I spanked her and crated her. I think I finally got through because she looked abashed.
She sends greetings to Twitch. And I send thanks!
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