There are no bad owners, only bad dogs

2006-07-20

Hard habits to break.

You would think that after a certain number of years when a being has reached a certain maturity, that being would stop developing bad habits. Perhaps because that being already has a large number of bad habits and doesn’t have room on the schedule for more. Perhaps because being bad just loses its appeal.

I can attest to the fact that for Labramutes, that age of maturity is not around the 2-3 years old mark. Buster still has plenty of time to come up with brand new unacceptable behaviors to add to his list, which already includes drinking from the toilet, eating cat shit, biting Katy when she barks, stealing food, opening the trash can, opening the gate, etc. Not to say that he’s not occasionally helpful. He scares people away (including ones that are perfectly welcome) and will kill a rat when he gets the chance. Also kills baby birds by licking them to death in an attempt to be maternal.

About 2 weeks ago-ish as I was walking the dogs in the morning, a car passed us with its windows open. A big dog had his head out, enjoying the breeze, ears flapping, barking at everything that lived or breathed or moved. arf arf arf we heard as the car approached. ARF! ARF! ARF! as it passed. arf arf arf as it drove away. Well, Buster was just beside himself. He seemed to be dazzled by the fact that all this time, cars have been driving past and some of them HAVE OTHER DOGS INSIDE! He watched the car approach us, his tail wagging and ears pricked up, then as it passed he barked back as if his life depended on it, dragging me and Katy along behind him as he tried to catch that car. Then he looked at me with this thought bubble floating over his head: “If we catch that car I can play with that dog!”

So I put my arm back into the socket and we continued our walk and our lives. I went off on my bidness trip shortly thereafter and so spent several days separated from my kids.

Since I have been back, Buster has, on no less than three occasions, tried to chase a moving vehicle while we’re walking. This is serious because he’s so freaking big, he just gives both Katy and me whiplash, especially if we don’t see the car coming. No longer does the car have to approach going arf arf arf. Now it just has to be a vehicle that is moving. Not only does he chase these vehicles, he also barks at them. Then he looks at me with this thought bubble: “I know there’s a dog in every single one of those things!” He gets this crazy look in his eye. This morning, as I was bending over to pick up Katy’s ninth pile of crap (I exaggerate, but only a little. Her record is 5 craps in one walk.), a car silently approached. I was too busy being the poop smith to notice anything except the fact that Katy had circumnavigated one of my legs and wrapped the leash all of the way around it. This is of concern because the leashes are tied together for management purposes. Bending, tied up by Katy, then WHAM! A car drives by, the big boy takes off barking like a maniac, and then, as if I hadn’t suffered enough, he knocked over my morning Diet Coke! How much does one person have to bear? When you prick me, do I not bleed? At least it wasn’t a cocktail.

Who’s a big boy?

In other news, Stutter’s wife is having a surprise birthday party for him on Saturday and has insisted on inviting Mrs. LaZBoy. If she shows up, I hope she’s wearing a double-knit sparkly evening gown, because I will go all Krystal Carrington on her ass.


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