When you are a dog mom or dad and the love is very real, there gets to be a certain level of dog-parenting wisdom you accumulate.
Certain facts of life appear and there are things you just inherently know about your dogs.
For Instance:
I know that if I try and run my bath water without actually being in the tub, Target will steal my bath. I will have to wash him to avoid wet dog smell, he will love it. I won't have hot water left.
I know that, Comet is terrified that one day I'll let Target rip the stuffing out of his favorite stuffed animal. (I also know that Target's greatest desire is to rip up Lamb Chop while Comet watches. He has tried.)
But lastly, I know, that if there is only one, single, minuscule, mud puddle in the general vicinity of an off leash area, my dogs will find it.
Target is nervous when it comes to swimming and deep water. It has never surprised me, considering how sensitive he is to different sensations on his fur. This anxiety stops him from becoming the full bodied, swamp monster that his brother turns into when encountering an exceptionally, delicious source of dirt.
However, what Target lacks in quantity, he makes up for in intensity. Even though mud may only coat him to his knees, it will be caked in, dried up and layered through his fur-pants. Sometimes I have to pin up the top layers to reach the mud on the bottom layers. By the time I get down to his skin, his hair is clipped up in all different directions with multicolored pins. Target no longer looks like my dog, but a creature somewhere between Harry, from Harry and the Henderson's and the Beast being groomed, in the bath in Beauty and the Beast.
Target is an opportunistic mud bather and I can trust him not to seek out the dirt unless instigated.
Enter The Instigator.
I hear about dogs that have excellent recall until they see something that is so tempting, so irresistible, that their instinct makes them as deaf as Target. Other dogs chase squirrels, rabbits or birds; Comet chases mud.
There's a popular trail near our house that is perfect for the off leash antics of our plucky group. Perfect, except, for a single part of the trail that runs parallel to a thick, deep, stagnant swamp. After the first instance of Comet entering and Swamp Beast emerging (usually with his half covered brother and equally dirty friend in tow), it became common practice to recall and leash for this particular part of the trail.
This only worked until Comet figured us out.
After, no amount of enthusiastic recall, no amount of treats or bribery could reach Comet. Now, as soon as his nostrils flare at the scent of mud he is off down the trail in hot pursuit of his obsession.
It's not until after he has dunked his head into the sticky mess and rolled, coating everything from the insides of his ears to the underside of his tail, that the puppy lightbulb clicks on:
Mom called me.
Mom was groaning in horror!
She must need me!
With that realization he bounds back to the trail, sprays gobs of thick muck across the path with a hefty shake and makes eye contact with me.
You called?
The interaction is less than a second, but feels like it lasts a life time. No matter what is portrayed in the look we share, Comet only sees the border collie things, which are:
His dog job is to watch and protect mom (often referred to as "the sheep")
He is now far from mom (the humans have retreated to a safe distance at this point)
He has dropped the proverbial tennis ball and therefore he must return to his post.
Comet comes for me.
Ears pricked, tail up, he's now more mud than dog and there's no point in running, he's going to catch me. Comet's excitement stirs his brother and his friends, so the norm isn't to have one crazy, mud-mutt flying at you, but multiples. They all seem to be coming at you in slow motion.
On impact, their joy at being reunited with us is boundless and Comet's dopey, innocence makes it difficult to be annoyed with him.
Target is always quietly wagging. He's only coated to his knees (on the good days, maybe his waist), but he's a shy dog who did what the other dogs do and that makes him sheepishly pleased with himself.
Maybe peer pressure isn't always a bad thing when you're talking about dogs?
As we move along on our walk with our creatures, Comet continues to "dress himself" by rolling in the grass, sand and sticks he finds along the way. By the time we reach the car, the only white he has left are the tiny triangles next to his blue eye.
Our mud treks are usually followed by a trip to the bath station at the nearby pet store. The boys have no fight left in them at this point, but they are also unapologetic. Comet will leap from the tile into the waist high tub and sit patiently waiting for me to pick, scrub and condition the various debris out of his coat. For him, his bath is a consequence of his adventures, normally he stares forward at something in the distance, ears up and eyes resolute. His expression says,
"I did that mud so well, though"
Target is not as agile as his brother and walks calmly up the stairs into the tub. He's not as confident about the mud itself, but I secretly think he gets muddy so that he can have a bath. While I wash him, he'll push his face into my hands so I rub his ears and his chest. He'll shake a paw so that I rub between his toes. Near the end, he'll spin and push his rump at me, so that I'll scratch his bum and rub the shampoo into his tail.
For a myriad of health reasons we try and limit their full-body mud wrap days, but at some point you have to accept the fact you have a mudder-loving, dirt dog and some days are going to be a little gross.
For Instance:
I know that if I try and run my bath water without actually being in the tub, Target will steal my bath. I will have to wash him to avoid wet dog smell, he will love it. I won't have hot water left.
I know that, Comet is terrified that one day I'll let Target rip the stuffing out of his favorite stuffed animal. (I also know that Target's greatest desire is to rip up Lamb Chop while Comet watches. He has tried.)
But lastly, I know, that if there is only one, single, minuscule, mud puddle in the general vicinity of an off leash area, my dogs will find it.
Target is nervous when it comes to swimming and deep water. It has never surprised me, considering how sensitive he is to different sensations on his fur. This anxiety stops him from becoming the full bodied, swamp monster that his brother turns into when encountering an exceptionally, delicious source of dirt.
However, what Target lacks in quantity, he makes up for in intensity. Even though mud may only coat him to his knees, it will be caked in, dried up and layered through his fur-pants. Sometimes I have to pin up the top layers to reach the mud on the bottom layers. By the time I get down to his skin, his hair is clipped up in all different directions with multicolored pins. Target no longer looks like my dog, but a creature somewhere between Harry, from Harry and the Henderson's and the Beast being groomed, in the bath in Beauty and the Beast.
Target is an opportunistic mud bather and I can trust him not to seek out the dirt unless instigated.
Enter The Instigator.
I hear about dogs that have excellent recall until they see something that is so tempting, so irresistible, that their instinct makes them as deaf as Target. Other dogs chase squirrels, rabbits or birds; Comet chases mud.
There's a popular trail near our house that is perfect for the off leash antics of our plucky group. Perfect, except, for a single part of the trail that runs parallel to a thick, deep, stagnant swamp. After the first instance of Comet entering and Swamp Beast emerging (usually with his half covered brother and equally dirty friend in tow), it became common practice to recall and leash for this particular part of the trail.
This only worked until Comet figured us out.
After, no amount of enthusiastic recall, no amount of treats or bribery could reach Comet. Now, as soon as his nostrils flare at the scent of mud he is off down the trail in hot pursuit of his obsession.
It's not until after he has dunked his head into the sticky mess and rolled, coating everything from the insides of his ears to the underside of his tail, that the puppy lightbulb clicks on:
Mom called me.
Mom was groaning in horror!
She must need me!
With that realization he bounds back to the trail, sprays gobs of thick muck across the path with a hefty shake and makes eye contact with me.
You called?
The interaction is less than a second, but feels like it lasts a life time. No matter what is portrayed in the look we share, Comet only sees the border collie things, which are:
His dog job is to watch and protect mom (often referred to as "the sheep")
He is now far from mom (the humans have retreated to a safe distance at this point)
He has dropped the proverbial tennis ball and therefore he must return to his post.
Comet comes for me.
Ears pricked, tail up, he's now more mud than dog and there's no point in running, he's going to catch me. Comet's excitement stirs his brother and his friends, so the norm isn't to have one crazy, mud-mutt flying at you, but multiples. They all seem to be coming at you in slow motion.
On impact, their joy at being reunited with us is boundless and Comet's dopey, innocence makes it difficult to be annoyed with him.
Target is always quietly wagging. He's only coated to his knees (on the good days, maybe his waist), but he's a shy dog who did what the other dogs do and that makes him sheepishly pleased with himself.
Maybe peer pressure isn't always a bad thing when you're talking about dogs?
As we move along on our walk with our creatures, Comet continues to "dress himself" by rolling in the grass, sand and sticks he finds along the way. By the time we reach the car, the only white he has left are the tiny triangles next to his blue eye.
Our mud treks are usually followed by a trip to the bath station at the nearby pet store. The boys have no fight left in them at this point, but they are also unapologetic. Comet will leap from the tile into the waist high tub and sit patiently waiting for me to pick, scrub and condition the various debris out of his coat. For him, his bath is a consequence of his adventures, normally he stares forward at something in the distance, ears up and eyes resolute. His expression says,
"I did that mud so well, though"
Target is not as agile as his brother and walks calmly up the stairs into the tub. He's not as confident about the mud itself, but I secretly think he gets muddy so that he can have a bath. While I wash him, he'll push his face into my hands so I rub his ears and his chest. He'll shake a paw so that I rub between his toes. Near the end, he'll spin and push his rump at me, so that I'll scratch his bum and rub the shampoo into his tail.
For a myriad of health reasons we try and limit their full-body mud wrap days, but at some point you have to accept the fact you have a mudder-loving, dirt dog and some days are going to be a little gross.
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