It was around this time that
Target became… a handful… It seemed that
I had laughed in the faces of all of those people who had looked at me like I
was crazy for wanting a border collie as my first dog for long enough and karma
had finally come knocking. Any
distracted puppy issues that people had with regular dogs were multiplied tenfold
with Target, because he didn’t have hearing other things he might want more to
distract him from the things he thought he wanted. This meant his process consisted of becoming distracted
by the best thing in the world (because he was a puppy so everything was) and
staying completely engrossed in that distraction at the loss of everything and
all else. My boyfriend and I had to get
creative. We worked on training Target
with an ecollar for recall. We turned
the shock function down to zero, and only used the vibration to get his
attention. We started with him young so
he could adapt to the feeling of the collar and not be afraid.
Even with the physical
reminder that we were calling him, he would still not look at us and ignore the
sensation to do what he wanted. We were
parents and therefore, not entertaining.
He also didn’t want to be picked up or cuddled, especially not by
me. If we ever did something he didn’t
like, he had no issues barking at us: Volume Maximum. At my in-laws house he would try and knock
over my father in laws beer so he could drink it off the table or the grass.
Stubbornness?
Distance?
Attitude?
Drinking?!
My sweet, obedient puppy had
become a terrible creature I didn’t recognize.
He had become a Teenager!
On the weekends and sometimes
after work during the week, I would make jam.
It was a hobby of mine and over the years I’d become practiced enough to
be able to sell my jam to friends and family and make a little bit of extra
money. One of these nights, while my
boyfriend was at work, Target went and sat on the rug next to the door. I eyed him suspiciously, he had been out to
the bathroom before I’d started canning half an hour before. This was definitely a red herring so he could
go outside and get into mischief in the backyard. I signed to him,
“Really?” and pointed at the
door. He wagged and pawed the door, “OK”.
I let him out and went back to
my jam. Seconds later I saw a fluffy
tail soar past the kitchen window.
Target’s zoomie game had definitely leveled up as he lost his puppy fat
and grew long legs. Split level zoomies
were now the name of the game. The
ground level backyard was not enough, he needed to bounce up onto the picnic
table, jump the garden ties, and steal my empty plant pots. He didn’t need our constant attention. If we weren’t there to play with him, he’d
find a toy, or invent one and play with himself. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see him
throwing a backyard object around, or carrying a gardening tool while he ran,
just for the hell of it.
The only difference between
this night and every other night was the “toy” Target chose for himself in my
absence. My 3 foot tall Rosemary plant from
my garden was the latest victim and the next time I looked up Target was
charging around the backyard, rosemary tree, roots and all in his mouth. I turned the stove off, put on my flip flops
and trudged out to the yard in my sweat pants.
Target lay down in the grass
with the tree resting on his paws, tail wagging. Mom was here, now this could really be a
party! I signed “no” to him and he
wagged harder with his mouth open in a classic Target smile.
“Bring that here” I gestured,
pointing at the tree. He looked at me,
tilted his head, and then started towards me with the rosemary.
Now
this is a change! I thought to myself, He might actually be improving!
I can’t be certain if Target
ever intended to give me the rosemary or if he wanted to taunt me on purpose,
but either way he got two feet away from me before he faked to the left, then
the right and zoomed past me across the yard.
With this, a very involved
game of “pretend I don’t want what he’s got, while I try and get what he’s got”
started and lasted. This game lasted
even when the rain started. Even when
the rain turned into a down pour. It
lasted while my white dog ran around a dirty back yard and became a tan dog… then
a brown dog!
The game finally ended when I
out maneuvered him and tackled him on the grass. I grabbed his collar, steered him into the
house and directly into his crate.
When my boyfriend got home
from work that night, I was sitting quietly on the couch with wet, disheveled
hair sipping a cup of tea. I had sterilized the jars and myself completely so I
could finish the jam, the remanence of the splatters speckled up my arms. The
Rosemary tree, now a rosemary stick was resting in peace in the middle of the
backyard where it had been abandoned with Target’s capture. Target was in his crate asleep, still covered
from head to toe in mud, his dirty footprints, evidence of the struggle, still
trailing across the floor. My boyfriend
slowly looked around the kitchen, then in the crate to Target.
“What… What happened here?”
I stood up, smiled at him and
gestured towards sleeping Target as I walked away to the shower.
“Welcome home. He’s your dog now.”
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