I brought you home and meant to do better. To get the yes, I promised John I would devote hours every day into making you the best trained, most agreeable canine ever. Somehow we didn’t get past “Sit” before you grew to approximate a small truck. I sent the biggest boy out to play with you but didn’t like your muddy paws all over me. I bought the book “A Well-Trained Dog in 21 Days” but after 17 days of it laying on that kitchen counter, you were still unimproved. So you jump on us. You nip at us in excitement. You run in circles and knock things down and destroyed the yard, in boredom. I don’t blame you at all, because I know the rules—the parent is responsible for the untrained child. When it wasn’t easy, I put it off until that magical “Later”.
More than anything, I am sorry that when I didn’t know how to do it perfectly, I did nothing at all. Trust me, pup-you aren’t the first to fall victim to my avoidance tendencies…
Oh but you are so forgiving. It’s true-dogs, above all, are naively faithful. Everyday you stared at me through the window glass with those brown, soulful eyes. Asking “Why am I here, anyway? Don’t you love me?”
And I do. Despite the evidence to the contrary these last few months…I do love you, you giant goofy, noble dog…
So I am grateful that our small town library has all of the “Dog Whisperer” DVDs.
It is such a relief to have Cesar Milan tell us what to do for you, and just what it is you need.
Now I am learning to lead.
And you are happily obeying.
And there is so much hope now.
Good girl. Stay.