Ripe for the Picking

A house full of dogs, so it was a clever idea to have a Christmas tree loaded with all sorts of plush toys. Cute, Santa-hat wearing soft and cuddly puppies lined the sofa waiting for their rightful place on the tree. Boughs laden with real candy canes and colored lights highlighted all of the temptations like a neon sign in a store window, beckoning shoppers to browse the selections. And Chase was in a shopping kind of mood.

He restrained his canine urges for a few days before I caught him carefully plucking a toy from the tree. As he attempted his getaway, I ordered him to "drop it" and he was quick to obey. I retrieved the pilfered toy just in time to spy Chase picking several more from the forbidden tree. He was in a generous mood and had chosen several ornaments for the other dogs in the house. And just to ensure that this was the gift that kept on giving, he dutifully taught his canine companions how to select their own ornament. The deviant behavior extended far beyond the Christmas tree. I caught dogs attempting to pull the singing musical reindeer from an end table. One over sized stocking hung by the mantle with care had newly acquired teeth marks in the toe and the wiener dog had stockpiled miniature Christmas stockings that he found tucked away neatly within the branches of the tree.

Christmas canine chaos ruled the house for several days before the dogs finally began to understand the "new" annual rules and ceased their attempts to strip the tree bare. While the stuffed-animal themed Christmas tree was not my idea, I can't say that my Edgar Allan Poe themed Christmas tree on the sun porch was any better with its jet black bird glaring down from its lofty perch at my bird dog. "And quoth the raven, Nevermore".

Oh! Christmas Tree

Many of my Christmas trees past have been determined by what new pet I had in my home. Would I dare hang the expensive Christopher Radko ornaments with a curious kitten on the prowl? Would I unwrap the precious ornaments from my childhood, rich with Christmas memories, while a rambunctious puppy flashed through the living room?

My first year with Chase, I thought that I would forgo the tree until he was older. My roommate, Regena, had other plans and we purchased a semi-dry and barely "live" tree from the Food Lion down the street. We had a choice of three as it was December 23rd and all the other evergreens had been long since purchased. We wrestled the tree into the house and as expected, we were unable to align it within the cheap metal stand. Resorting to fishing wire to aid the tree in a tall, straight stance, we spent fifteen minutes decorating it with the Barbie doll ornaments that Regena had collected for her daughter over the years. No lights, no garland, our no frills Christmas tree was ready for inspection by my 10-month old puppy and her completely insane cat, Samantha.

There was no time to place wrapped presents under the tree. Each of us had plans for the next two days that kept us away from our home. Christmas was over and I expected December 26th to be spent lazing around my home, enjoying the companionship that can only be given by cherished pets. Pets who were very hyperactive that chilly morning after Christmas. Samantha was crazily dashing through the house with Chase hot on her trail. I cringed as Samantha lunged for the tree and clawed her way up, bits of dry pine needles floating to the floor. The tree leaned precariously, hanging on by a thread, literally. Chase studied the tree with its newly acquired crazy cat and flung himself at the trunk. It was too much for the fishing wire and the tree crashed to the floor flinging out Samantha from the brittle branches. I rushed to survey the damage and attempted to upright the tree. Most of the ornaments and pine needles were on the floor and I wondered why I was even bothering.

Decision made, I stripped the tree of the remaining ornaments, and dragged it with its bent stand to my truck. My neighborhood of senior citizens were in their yards watching their newest episode of live Sarah Reality TV. This was the earliest that I have ever taken down a Christmas tree. Back inside, I finished cleaning up the needles and water from the hardwood floors and sat down with Chase to pluck pine needles from his white fur.

Pets, trees, even roommates and their animals come and go throughout the years but the memory of the three-day Christmas tree comes to mind once a year as I pull out all of the Christmas festivities and my artificial pre-lit sturdy Christmas "tree". I tend to do a quick survey of the pets in my house as I place the hardiest ornaments at the bottom of the tree with the rest out of paws reach.

A Toy Story

Chase loves toys. He is especially fond of colorful stuffed animals with a squeaker inside and believes that it is his mission in life to frantically dig and pull all stuffing out in order to remove and destroy the squeaker. I have previously mentioned my financial support of the pet stores and they have a wide selection of dog toys. I feel they are also clever by allowing owners to bring their dogs into the store. Chase enjoys shopping for toys and looks adorable carrying one in his mouth, tail happily wagging, to the cash register. I have spent more money simply because my dog looks cute doing something.

As a puppy, he enjoyed the “Kong” so long as I filled it with peanut butter and would be entertained for the duration of the creamy snack inside. He also enjoyed the heels of my shoes, headphone cords and antique oriental rugs so it was critical to keep the Kong filled with peanut butter. Chase was not very impressed with those dog toys that have no fluff or squeakers inside. To him it was similar to having a non-alcoholic beer…a complete waste of time, effort and money.

The toys that I discovered lasted the longest and were most treasured by Chase were regular children’s stuffed animals. I find them at the Goodwill and other thrift stores for under a dollar apiece and have also discovered them at garage sales. At a recent garage sale, there was a bin filled to capacity with plush bunnies. As my talkative mother chatted up the owner of the bunny bin, she discovered that the woman proudly collected all things rabbit and her husband was forcing her to downsize her collection. I selected a bunny from the bin, handed the woman a dollar, and dragged my mother down the driveway before she could reveal my intentions to present the bunny to my dog for his chewing pleasure. Because of the woman’s passion for bunnies, I didn’t have the heart to tell her the fate of the toy and hissed under my breath at my mother to stop talking.

My experience with purchasing second hand stuffed animals has proven to me that they last longer than the pet store toys, they are easier on your wallet and less likely to be completely destroyed in search of the evil squeaker. I am always careful to squeeze the stuffed animal like a package of Charmin toilet paper to make sure there are no small pellets or beans in the bottom. I’m not sure if they are toxic to dogs but I do know that Chase has pulled them out on a penguin given to him by my sister and, once strewn across the floor, are very hard to clean.

A few toys purchased have been for my own amusement. I presented Chase with a gigantic plush flower with a large stem that could be bent and twisted. He would gleefully parade around the house with it firmly clutched in his teeth and run full speed ahead at the doorways simply to get stuck as the flower was too big to fit. Chase would back into the doorway, drop the flower and then grip the end to drag it lengthways into the next room. He enjoyed an Easter Bunny that sang an old “Easter Bonnet” song when pressed in the center of its belly. Chase would work his teeth around the center until the song would play, jump back and bark along. He currently covets my father’s Walter the Farting Dog toy which is placed out of reach above my dad’s computer.

There are so many joys to having a dog as part of your life, but to me, there is nothing better than watching my English setter race manically around with a favorite toy in his mouth shaking his head back and forth, trying to tempt anyone to take the evenly coated, drool covered, unrecognizable, tattered and torn, bargain bunny-bin animal from his grip.

Travel Bound

Ever since I first traveled to Nashville, Tennessee to pick up Chase when he was a mere six weeks old, he has been a road warrior. For Chase, the proper place for him to be in a vehicle is not necessarily in line with where he prefers to be. In my truck, he had no choice but to ride up front on the split bench seat, happily resting his furry white head in my lap. That is his preference in all modes of transportation...unfortunately. It is not a pleasant or safe experience while navigating the twists and turns of a southern back road to have a flash of white fur pounce into your lap like an oversized cat without the grace or agility of one. Legs dangling down the side of my seat, his toes will press into the buttons that control the seat moving it to press against the steering wheel or in the opposite direction away from the pedals below.

Solution? Off to the pet store to continue my financial support. A barrier or gate in my car was not an option. Chase was also too big for a booster seat doggy restraint.

I decided to explore the seatbelt systems that worked with your existing vehicle seatbelt. My first choice was a lambs wool harness system that attached to your dog in an intricate manner across his chest and then to the seatbelt. Satisfied that this was "the one", I muscled my dog into place and headed off on a short two hour trip to Atlanta to visit my sister. Twenty minutes into the trip, Chase was in my lap. He had successfully twisted and turned and squirmed his way out. In Atlanta, I visited the pet store to return the seatbelt and tried a similar version in a smaller size. Chase chewed through it in five minutes on the interstate. He kept me warm the remaining way home.

I found success with a much simpler design. It looks like a short leash of approximately 12-14 inches in length. One end has a typical dog leash clasp and the other end holds two types of universal seatbelt buckles and is guaranteed to fit your car. This is used with a regular dog harness and you can have the dog leash and the seatbelt attached at the same time. It is especially useful when pulling into a rest stop or other destination. I am able to detach Chase from the seatbelt while holding his leash. Chase is able to ride in a seated position or he can lie down. The only difficulty I have with this dog seatbelt is that sometimes it can be difficult to remove from the car if I have an additional passenger that is planning on being in the middle seat. It is also not for use with your dog collar as this will not keep the dog safe in an accident. It is best to splurge on a decent harness which is also good to use in walking the dog.

Now accustomed to the routine of travel, Chase will bow his head to insert it through his harness and wait patiently on the backseat to be clipped into place. After leaving several nose prints on the back window, he settles down to happily slumber until our destination is reached.

Doggy Devices

I believe that I am soley responsible for keeping pet stores in business. If there is a toy, I'll buy it. Dog collars with "Paws N Crossbones" or "Maine Lobstahs" and matching leashes keep Chase fashionably in style. I have no fewer than ten types of brushes and combs yet he still prefers my human brush. Urban dog gear including boots and a backpack for traversing the dangerous streets of Atlanta protect him from glass, hot tar and other hazards. Traveling dog dishes long lost have been replaced with simple tupperware. Chase still prefers to drink straight from the water bottle on trips and has mesmerized more than one person at the rest stops with his amazing talents.

So when Chase decided that it was his duty to bark at every sound at the new condo, I knew a trip to the pet store was in order. I had tried other methods for controlling the barking yet I was at a loss for what to do when I wasn't at the condo. I had images of angry residents in my head and knew that an anti-bark device would probably do the trick. I certainly didn't want a repeat of the recent grocery store trip where I decided to bring Chase along to stop him from barking at the condo alone. It wouldn't have been bad except that it was an especially hot August evening and when I parked, I left the windows down and the sunroof open. Chase popped out of the sunroof to survey the area causing a great deal of attention. Dark parking lot with a white head looking like a submarine periscope? I had no choice...my dog needed food. It was the fastest trip of my life!

After careful research and eliminating shock collars, I opted for a more humane collar that sprayed citronella when a bark was emited. The first time I tried it, I left the condo and lingered outside the door. I heard nothing. I creeped down to the parking lot. Nothing. No barks. Soon I was able to put the collar on Chase without actually engaging the collar. He did associate barking / getting sprayed with the collar because my smart dog knew the difference between his cute lobster collar and the citronella collar. A downside to the collar was that other dogs barking in close proximity could trigger the spray action. Chase also figured that out and tended to be anti-social if he was placed in that type of situation.

I was not only happy with the results of the collar, but also a bit smug that I could train my dog, with a little help, to control his barking. I believe it also is a fantastic deterrent for mosquitos as I discovered on a recent trip to Maine!

The Leash Rule

Chase is the kind of dog that needs to be on a leash. It doesn't matter that he always comes back, knocking on the front door to be let inside. The problem is that he won't come when called, unless I channel my inner Linda Blair Exorcist voice and even then, he weighs the value of freedom over the fact that he might be in trouble. I thought that I had conveyed the leash rule adequately enough to my friend, Stephen. I realized that I was wrong when I pulled up at my condo one afternoon and saw him sitting on an air conditioning unit near the entrance to the woods. Puzzled, I walked over to him and noticed a bottle of beer in one hand and the leash in the other.

"He got away and won't come back," Stephen told me, swinging his legs and taking another swig of beer. "He keeps coming to the edge of the woods to taunt me, " he insisted.

I wanted to question how that happened since it didn't appear that the collar was attached to the leash, however I held back the sarcasm and asked when he last saw Chase. Apparently the last taunting occurred less than twenty minutes before my arrival. I gingerly entered the woods in my practical 3-inch heels and walked until I reached the clearing. Stephen trailed behind me insisting that the dog was the devil and couldn't be made to do anything (unlike his perfect tiny dogs that could be carried around in a pocketbook.) As the sun shone brightly onto the wildflowers and butterflies darting around the small clearing, I called for Chase. A small white head poked out from his hiding place and he walked slowly yet deliberately toward me. His eyes fixated on Stephen and Chase froze, refusing to budge. I had to send Stephen away and Chase ran at me, full speed nearly knocking me over. Leash securely in place, we catwalked out of the woods and across the parking lot to where Stephen was waiting. I'm sure that we both had a smug look on our faces.

Travels in Margaritaville

Each winter I packed up the car and headed south to Miami and then traveled the narrow two-lane Highway 1 down to the end of the world at Mile Marker 0. It was a week long tropical escape from the cold dry winter, lifeless trees and grey skies. The Florida Keys were very dog-friendly with outdoor dining and low pet fees at the hotels and other rentals.

Chase’s first experience with Key West was several months after Florida had been hammered by hurricanes throughout the summer and early autumn months. Fantasy Fest had been moved to the end of November and I brought along festive red sequined devil horns for Chase to wear during the merriment.

Our small one-bedroom cottage had an enclosed deck that kept my dog safe from roaming the streets. Off-street parking was difficult to find and once parked, I refused to drive out of fear of losing my space. Walking Chase was challenging. He preferred soft grass for his daily doggy duties. Grass was scarce in Key West and the small patches of lush lawns were secured behind elaborate wrought iron or picket fences. I found a small scrap surrounding a palm tree directly outside an Italian Bistro and it seemed to suit my dog. I also discovered a bit of dirt conveniently located next to a garbage bin around the corner from the cottage. I became a frequent visitor to that area. In hindsight, I should have avoided it as Chase will now squat in any bit of dirt regardless of location. This proved especially embarrassing on a recent walk through East Atlanta Village with my sister.

My first and only attempt to adorn my dog with the glittery devil horns was successful in the privacy of the cottage. The moment I led him out onto the street, he tossed his head to and fro until they flew off into the street. I secured them back onto his head. When he realized my determination in making him wear the horns in public, Chase tossed them off his head again and bit into them with such ferocity I had a difficult time getting him to release them. I placed them back inside the cottage and hit the streets, sans Diablo.

Besides tourists, Key West had an abundance of two things: birds and cats. Taking a bird dog throughout a city that has chickens and flocks of nautical birds can be trouble. Getting Chase out of a point was nearly impossible. The point isn’t problematic; it was what came after. The creeping and crawling low to the ground until he was ready to attack was a quandary. Rope burn from his leash was a common condition on my arms and wrists.

Thanksgiving of 2007 was spent with my entire family on Little Torch Key in a vacation home located on a canal. Large fish leisurely swam by in slow motion and Chase would peer over the edge of the sea wall, mesmerized by the ever-expanding rings that would gently form on the surface of the water. He would spend hours in the rosemary bush hunting lizards. I discovered that rosemary is the best natural dog deodorizer and Chase earned the nickname “Lamb Chop”, courtesy of my father. To prevent Chase from roaming, I tied a 50-foot lead to one of the columns of the tikki hut. I instructed all family members to only let him outside if he was securely tied to the lead. Several days into our stay, I realized that my mother and grandmother were ignoring my orders and would let him roam at will. This meant that I too had to roam from yard to yard in search of land mines planted by my dog.

On a recent trip to the Keys, we decided to try camping. I am not an outdoors sort of person but camping on the beach seemed less treacherous and cold as camping in the woods. The plan was to camp at Bahia Honda State Park. 12 hours of driving and no reservations at the fully booked park sent me into survival mode. Armed with a list of pet friendly camp grounds, I found one near Big Pine Key. I felt like an outsider as I pulled into my camp site. I was surrounded by luxury campers and busses – all snowbirds from up North. My “next door neighbors” had a parrot in a cage that remained inside their camper for the duration of our stay after our dog was spotted pointing and creeping in its direction. Tent set-up was quick thanks to my practice session back in South Carolina. I placed the sheets and pillows onto the air mattress and began to pull out chairs and small area rugs to shelter my feet from the hard coral surface. Chase immediately entered the tent and secured his spot on the air mattress. I, in turn, secured Chase to a large cooler, heavily weighed down with beer and Gatorade. After several days of observing my immediate surroundings, I noticed that other dog owners would put their pets into cages at night, unlike me who preferred the warm company of my own personal “electric blanket”. Chase spent the warm afternoons pointing at the electrical box. A lizard had taken up residence underneath it and tormented Chase at regular intervals by popping out to agitate him.

One morning, the tent was attacked by a flock of seagulls, Alfred Hitchcock style. The feathery fiends would land on the tent and fly into the sides creating a strange shadow show that drove Chase into a frenzy as he flung himself at the inside walls. Fearing a collapse, I quickly crawled out to shoo the birds away. My dog was right behind me pulling furiously at the cooler. Deep marks were left behind by the cooler’s wheels but the birds retreated permanently.

On my last morning at the campsite, one of my older neighbors wandered over to pet my dog. He asked if it was an English setter and reminisced about the setter he had loved so many years before. He told me that everyone was impressed with how well behaved he was (I nearly choked) and that he would sleep in the tent without problems. He had never known a dog to stay in a tent like Chase. This conversation reminded me of my elderly neighbors back in South Carolina who would “spy” on me. I had been pretty sure that had been occurring all week at the campground and now I had confirmation. However, I was grateful that Chase had a companion to keep him occupied while I finished packing up for our trip home.

Finished packing, I buckled Chase into his seat in the back, rolled down his window and hit the road. I stopped for some overpriced coffee and Danish at a café on the right that I had always wanted to try, mainly because of the tacky, purple over-sized coffee cup that boasted the establishment’s name. It was a beautiful day and twenty minutes later I pulled into Long Key State Park in an effort to extend my vacation. The tide was on its way out exposing white sand, shell fragments and coconuts. I set up my chair, dug my toes in the sand and watched boats in the distance while people splashed in the salty water patterned with aquamarine, charcoal and blue. Chase napped and occasionally sniffed the air, content to dream away the afternoon. As the sun began to fade, I headed north again but pulled off at a hotel in Miami. I decided to prolong the end of my winter holiday despite knowing that my procrastination would add more hours onto my journey. I chose to follow the advice of a favorite author, James Thurber: “It is better to have loafed and lost than never to have loafed at all". I curled up on the bed with my furry companion and combed the sand spurs from his ears. I was content, sunburned and sandy. A perfect ending to a perfect week.

A Garden Variety

During the work week, Chase spent the warm days lounging in comfort at my parent’s pool. It was a perfect puppy paradise: safely fenced with the shade of the cabana, the swimming pool to cool his paws, soft grass to roll in and the tiered garden boasting blooms, vegetables and lizards to chase.

My mother would garden in the morning and I would drop off my dog before leaving for work. He would join her among the plants, offering his excavation expertise. My mother made the mistake of introducing him to the wild strawberries growing among the ivy and oleander. Chase had a way of knowing when they were ripe and would carefully pluck the juicy berry from its leafy home between his tiny front teeth. Soon, all of the berries were harvested.

Tomatoes also grew on one of the top tiers. He observed my mother staking vines and mulching the soil and his curiosity about the plants grew. For weeks he added tomato plant inspection to his routine in the morning. Sneaking casual glances at me or my mother, Chase would brush his nose up against the ripening green and red streaked fruit. My mother would check the plants throughout the week to determine the best time for collecting them. Several days before she was ready to pick them, the tomatoes would vanish. The possibility of a rabbit or deer grazing on the tomatoes seemed unlikely. The area was completely fenced and my parent’s aggressive cat was always on patrol.

To combat the mystery of the disappearing tomatoes, my mother began picking them days before they were ready and placed them on the window ledge in the kitchen to ripen in the afternoon sun. The tomatoes began departing from the ledge, too. My mother accused every two-legged body in the house of eating her tomatoes until we discovered dried tomato pulp and seeds on the Oriental rug in the dining room and the focus was directed at a small white and orange-spotted thief.

Ta-may-to, Ta-mah-to…however my English setter preferred to pronounce it in his devious brain; we were no match for his determination in his favorite outdoor treat. My mother no longer plants tomatoes in her garden – they are now in large pots under careful guard from the garden variety tomato bandit.

One

For nearly two years I lived in a tiny coastal town in South Carolina, halfway to nowhere between Charleston and Myrtle Beach. One road in and one road out which typically meant that everyone knew when I was in town and everyone knew when I left...down to the minute. I lived on 50 acres of property flanked on two sides by ponds and the marsh leading to the Intercoastal waterway on the other. Three hunting dogs kept me company: an English Setter, a Springer Spaniel and a Black Lab. They brought me gifts and each day I would have something new in my direct path to my truck: raccoons, blue heron, fish and my favorite...a whole deer. Yes, my three hunting dogs dragged back an entire doe for me one evening. After that, I kept them inside at night. In the event that I didn't have time to feed them in the morning, I couldn't just plan to come back at lunch. All three of them knew where I worked and would travel the half mile or so to the school, climb up the fire escape to my back classroom door and let me know their displeasure. They were not the only dogs who tracked down their owners at the school, either. I was also tracked down by the post office at my employer. Anytime there was a large package or something that needed a signature, they just sent it by the school. They knew I was there.

There were three churches in this town of a population of under 500. If I remained in town for the weekend, I would attend one of the churches with a congregation of approximately 35 parishioners. Halfway through each Episcopalian service, there would be a pause for the "peace". Every week this pause turned into a lengthy social gathering in the aisles until the minister attempted to restore order with a loud "Now where were we?” I would stifle my laughter as someone "reminded" him of where in the service he needed to continue. Needless to say, they knew who I was and would call me at home, out of concern, if I didn't show up one Sunday.

It was difficult to be 45 minutes in any direction from civilization. Grocery stores and fast food restaurants, as well as doctor's offices were that far. By 45 minutes, I am not speaking about sitting in traffic or waiting at stop lights or even driving slowly. 45 minutes of driving through the middle of the Frances Marion National Forest (you know the one where The Patriot was filmed?) at 75 miles per hour keeping a watch for deer, fox and people riding their lawnmowers. This distance was especially challenging if I ran out of dog food. The dogs expected to be fed at their regular time each morning. A lack of food meant a short trip to the gas station / grocery store / video store / hardware store / gift center / restaurant to pick up an overpriced tiny bag of kibble. If I was hungry, there was no point in driving 45 minutes to the closet Taco Bell. There were two additional restaurants in town and I experienced having a "tab" for the first time. I would order my weekly shrimp potato or crab cake and add it to my tab. At the end of each month, I would pay the grand total that had been carefully added to my page in the three-ring binder behind the restaurant counter.

It took some time to get used to the complete darkness that would envelope me once I turned out the final light for bed. It was so quiet unless the random tug boat driving through the Intercoastal would pull on the fog horn and shine their spotlight in my bedroom window in a neighborly manner. I also was stalked by a crop duster for a few weekends. I couldn't figure out why the bright yellow plane kept circling my house each Saturday and Sunday morning. It stopped rather abruptly when he crashed into the marsh. Curiously, he had no explanation as to why he was in the area, clearly wasn't dusting crops and he didn't know why he had run out of fuel!

The marsh was so much fun to take the kayak out for a paddle. The dogs would swim alongside me and I would fret about the alligators. I had one in each pond and I knew there were more in the marsh but the dogs remained safe. The path through the marsh to the Intercoastal was ever changing. A calendar reminded me of the high and low tides for the year and each day a new path would be carved out in the tall grasses...the one before long forgotten. I even attempted to enlist the dogs in assisting with dragging the kayak out of the marsh and into the boathouse like three demented Santa's reindeers. I tied the leashes to the front of the kayak but when it came to get them to move forward, all three lay on the ground stubbornly.

Once, I was fighting a bout of strep throat and one of my medications was codeine. After taking a pill, I decided that I needed to retrieve the mail. Typically, I would drive the distance as the driveway was over a mile and a half long. The dogs would ride in the bed of the truck and I loved watching their heads bob back and forth, tails wagging with joy over the unexpected ride. For safety reasons, I decided that I shouldn't drive my truck "under the influence" but that it would be perfectly okay to ride my bike while wearing my insanely impractical footwear (boots with 3 inch heels). Partway down the driveway, shortly after passing the ponds, I veered into the marsh and fell off the bike. Panicking, I untangled myself quickly and dragged the bike from the bog. I just knew there were alligators in there or a snake. Leaving my bike behind, I gracefully staggered on foot to the end of the driveway for the mail. Blaming the medication rather than my stylish boots, I didn't bother with the mail until I was recovered.

There was no cable TV - just a couple of channels that came in with tin foil wrapped antennae and I became addicted to WWF each Wednesday. The following day I would discuss my favorite wrestlers with my 9th grade students while my 12th graders never hesitated to remind me that it wasn't real.

Recently, I took a trip back through Charleston. As I headed down highway 17, I took note of all of the changes. More development, more stores, more traffic lights. It wasn't until I reached the edge of Awendaw that the road began to look familiar with the dilapidated roadside stands that would boast hand-woven baskets during the tourist season and the pale brown grass which peppered the sides of the road and formed the center median. The trees appeared taller and as I reached the Seewee Restaurant, I was relieved to see that it hadn't changed. I turned around in the gravel parking lot and headed back South, afraid to continue on...not wanting to see additional changes to tarnish my memories.

Driving on East Bay Street, I embraced my "tourist road rage" as visitors stumbled into the direct path of my car. Reaching the Battery, I turned down the familiar street of my former landlords and parked the car behind their old battered green Volvo. I unlatched the gate and walked up the path to the front porch. Sleeping on a dog bed and wearing a dusty blue jacket was a small Orange Belton English Setter. I knelt down beside her and stroked her silky ears. As I approached the front door to ring the bell, I felt a soft nudge at my knee. The small setter had wobbled over on unsteady ancient legs to push her nuzzle into my knee. I sank to her height and looked carefully into her eyes. "Brandy?" I whispered. She responded by laying her head on my knees. I hugged her frail body, overcome by emotions. I hadn't realized that she was still alive. Over the years I had received the news that Indy, the black lab and Suttre, the Springer Spaniel had passed away. Since Brandy was older than both of them, I assumed she had met a similar fate. It appeared that no one was home so I scrawled a quick note on a scrap of paper and tucked it into the door. I sat with Brandy for a few more moments, remembering how special she had been to me at a time in my life when I needed it the most. She was my first introduction to English Setters and the reason I have one now. I put her back in her dog bed and kissed the top of her head. She watched me as I walked to my car and drove away. I was sure that she remembered me, too.

It is amazing how one brief experience in my life can hold so many memories and emotions. One museum, one fire department, one tiny library and three churches. Dogs slept in the one road and expected me to drive around them. One town seemingly miles from somewhere but what a beautiful night sky with a million stars and no power lines, buildings or signs to spoil the view. One moment in time but will affect me forever. One town, still unchanged, still untouched. One.

Fixing the Situation

One of the requirements in adopting Chase from the rescue organization was to get him fixed as soon as he was old enough. I did not have a problem with this. The vet, however, wanted to wait until he was at least 8 months old before performing the procedure. Waiting eight months is a very long time, especially when you are stuck with a hormonal puppy from the time he was six weeks old. Eight months seemed like a lifetime to me…and with good reason, too.

With his raging puppy hormones in full gear, I couldn’t leave Chase alone in my fenced in back yard. After watching him balance precariously along the cinder block back wall of the yard, I installed a chain link fence along that wall so accessing it would be impossible. Thankfully, my dog refrained from climbing the links. Chase was a digger, not a climber. My puppy preferred a section of dirt between the chain link gate and the corner of the house to sink his paws into. This dog was fast! Frantically digging, first with his front paws and then in reverse using his rear paws like a back hoe, within minutes, escape was inevitable. To foil his plans, I followed the advice of one of my clients and buried several yards of chicken wire along his preferred path of destruction. Apparently dogs are not fond of digging through chicken wire. Pretty soon, my entire back yard was covered in chicken wire and the irony of using chicken wire to coop in my bird dog was not completely lost on me.

During this waiting period, Chase also became quite fond of a particular chaise lounge cushion out by the pool. My dad named the cushion “Sheila”. During the latter part of the day when the heat of the sun was beginning to fade, Chase would drag “Sheila” from the cabana in search of an audience. He would grip the corner of the cushion tightly between clenched teeth and then have his way with “her”. Just the character trait I always cherished in a dog – his humping capabilities! I was more than ready to take him off to the vet and get this situation fixed.

When the big day finally arrived, I sadly left him at the vet’s office, his tail wagging, happy to be somewhere new. I felt a bit guilty leaving him there, but my feelings of remorse faded as I smiled at the thought of a better behaved puppy. After a very brief period of recovery time, Chase was back to his old habits of digging in the dirt and having inappropriate relations with his “Sheila”. I couldn’t understand his enthrallment with the cushion and was suspicious that perhaps the vet simply took my money and pretended to fix my dog. I’m afraid to admit that I actually pinned my dog down to check out the handiwork. Eventually the digging habit dissipated; however, to this day Chase has a complete fascination with cushions and pillows. He has punctured holes into the corner of each decorative throw pillow on the couch. He slyly steals pillows from the bed. And he has a complete understanding of a rather unusual dog command – yet he is very quick to obey: “Drop the Pillow!”

Chasing Puddles

It really didn’t matter how badly Chase needed to relieve himself: if it was raining he was simply not interested in being outside alone. If he was going to be wet and miserable, so was I. Rain does amazing things to my hair. It turns it into a wavy, frizzy unmanageable mess that a flat iron can’t even tackle. I dreaded the mornings during the week that I awoke to the sound of rain gently pattering on my roof. I knew there would be trouble with my dog.

I developed the “carport method” of dog walking. I would attach three dog leashes to one another in order to extend my reach. Then, I would huddle under the carport and push Chase out into the yard. Inevitably he would yank me as hard as possible so that I would be pulled from my shelter into the open downpour right alongside man’s best friend. If I attempted to push him out the dog door into the fenced-in backyard, he would not budge from the narrow shelter of the roof overhang. Even with the knowledge that he would be treated to the warm air from the blow dryer upon re-entering the house, Chase would not go it alone. So, more times than not I would be walking my dog in the rain. With me by his side he happily sniffed the ground with his dripping wet tail wagging like a limp flag. With me by his side he would conduct all dog business quickly so long as I didn’t carry an umbrella. He would eye the umbrella with such distrust and suspicion that it was easier to leave it behind.

Chase didn’t really hate the rain. He didn’t mind being wet, either. He just didn’t like being alone. Under my watchful eye in the back yard he would pounce into puddles, digging frantically in the muck. He would attack each puddle with determination creating his own private wallow. Slick brown mud would cake his front legs like dripping chocolate leg warmers. He would snap at the rain droplets, trying to catch them in his mouth.

When I had enough, he would follow me back into the house and tap dance muddy paw prints all over the kitchen floor, tolerating the dish towel drying each paw. Into the bathroom to dry his fur, Chase would turn his head and twist his body to alert me as to where he preferred the blast of air. As his fur dried into the gentle waves that English Setters are known for, Chase would nudge his wet nose onto the back of my hand.

All grown up, it is rare that I see him in my yard chasing down puddles, digging in the soft dirt and playing in the rain. Sometimes, on a showery day, I think back and smile and wish that he would make me late for work one more time.

Swimming Setter

Summer had arrived and Chase was curious about the pool. It took some coaxing and massive amounts of trust on the dog's part, but he finally believed that there were actual steps at the shallow end of the pool that he could stand on safely. From there he would swim in a small semi-circle in order to briefly launch himself into the water and quickly back to the relative comfort zone of the steps. It wasn't long before he ventured further into the pool and for longer periods of time, swimming laps around his family members. After he became at ease with the pool, he would jump in without hesitation to retrieve objects that were floating. Chase would swim toward the object with his mouth wide open, snapping up tasty bugs along the way. Unfortunately, the floating "objects" also extended to people swimming in the pool. Chase would dog-paddle over to the closest person, gently take an arm into his mouth and tow the hapless victim back to the steps. He was tireless in his determination to rescue every single swimmer in the pool.

Outside of the pool, Chase was very energetic and playful. He did not care to play with any of the expensive dog toys that we purchased from the pet store. Instead, he focused on empty plastic flower pots - the kind that you discard after planting your flowers in the garden. He was especially fond of the pots that would get stuck on his head. He would run through the pool area tossing his potted head back and forth in the air. If he chose to rest for a moment, the mere words, "I'm going to get your pot" would have him up on his feet to race off with the treasured pot in his mouth.

Throw a pot in the pool and he would dive in immediately to retrieve it. He also liked to dip his pots in the pool and then coat it with a nice layer of dirt from the garden. The pool robot worked overtime to keep the water sparkling. Chase would deposit crushed pots into the deep end of the pool and watch them slowly sink to the bottom.

Another favorite game he enjoyed was to sprint from one end of the chain link fence to the other end with a pot gripped between his teeth. Because of his speed, he would typically stumble, roll and crash into the fence at the end of his journey. Chase began to steal cushions from the outdoor furniture and strategically place them at the fence so that he would have a softer landing pad.

The pool, I discovered, was a fantastic place to give a dog a bath. My father frowned upon my dog washing techniques as he felt it was damaging to the pool filter. My method was quick and efficient: toss the dog into the deep end of the pool. Wait at the shallow end and nab the dog as he climbed out. Lather dog with shampoo. Toss the dog back into the deep end of the pool for a rinse. Repeat if necessary. I found that if I was swift, the dog would be clean before my father knew what I had done. The only difficulty was that Chase would avoid me if he saw a bottle of shampoo. He could be pretty clever sometimes.

The joys of being a dog in the summertime: frolicking in the pool, rolling in the garden, chasing after butterflies and playing imaginary games. I began to look at things from Chase's point of view. All this from simply watching a small white dog on his daily poolside adventures.

Wrapping It Up: A Christmas Story

Chase loved Christmas. It wasn’t about all of the people visiting or the new food smells or even the decorations. This dog was all about the presents.

For his very first Christmas, my roommate and I hastily selected a live tree two days before the 25^th and chose a spot in the dining room corner out of convenience and the ability to straighten the tree out by tying it to two walls. Chase and my roommate’s cat, Samantha, were fascinated with the tree. Chase was more intrigued with the presents under the tree and when an opportunity presented itself, he would attempt to snatch a gift for himself. I finally had to remove all of the presents and hide them in a closet.

This idea of entitlement did not stop at my front door. When visiting the homes of friends and family, Chase would sniff around their Christmas trees, too and select gifts that he deemed appropriate for himself. He had a knack for finding the gifts that held stuffed animals and other toys.

Christmas arrived and I spent it with my family. I had wrapped a few gifts for Chase and figured that I would give them to him after we had opened all of ours. Chase patiently watched his family “ooh and ahh” over presents. Paper and bows were strewn across the floor. He was becoming increasingly impatient and vocal about his unhappiness to participate in gift opening. I called my dog over and handed him one of his special presents. He gently took it in the folds of his jowls, moved to the exact center of the room, and plopped to the floor. As he held the gift between his paws, he slowly and carefully removed the paper until he had revealed a new plush chew toy. His gift unwrapping talent was not a fluke. He demonstrated his technique several times more, tail wagging in happy anticipation.

Five years later and Chase still loved opening gifts. Family and friends would bring him presents to unwrap during the Christmas season and the joy of watching one silly dog reveal the gift inside the wrappings is remarkable. For me, my dog shows that it is clearly more fun to give than receive.

Deviant Dog Behavior Begins with a Bagel

One morning, while getting ready for work, I was in my kitchen toasting a bagel for breakfast. Chase was lying at my feet in such a way that I would trip over him with every move. After the bagel was sufficiently browned, I placed it on a paper towel and began spreading cream cheese on the tops.

Suddenly Chase was at the back kitchen door performing his “let me out I gotta pee” dance. Toenails tapping on the floor and back end of his body wagging violently, I squeezed past him and opened the door. I moved to the side to let him pass. No movement. I turned around. No dog. I returned to the counter. No bagel.

The devious dog had tricked me! I found him huddling under the dining room table with my bagel between his paws. Determined not to reward him for his counter surfing activities, I snatched the bagel away and deposited it in the trash can.

This was just the beginning of more complex sneaky behavior. I didn’t fall for the back door trick again but he did use it an additional time on my roommate with much success. He used an alternative form of the technique at my parents’ house by carefully snatching my mother’s napkin from her lap at dinnertime. When she got up from the table to retrieve it, he attempted to access her plate. Unfortunately he didn’t remember that there were other humans at the table too and his efforts were thwarted.

A variation was also used on other dogs. Two dogs…each with their own bone. Each should be satisfied, right? Not Chase. His bone snatching technique was quite simple yet effective. First he would hide his bone somewhere safe for future retrieval. Next he would race to the front door and bark violently at it. When the other dog would join him, Chase would race back to the abandoned bone, steal it and hide it. This technique worked every time.

Bad habits are hard to break, especially with a determined dog. And it all began with a bagel.

But Remember, It's a Sin To Kill A Mockingbird

It was a hot southern October day and Chase was playing in the backyard. I was at the kitchen sink washing dishes and happened to spy him through the window poking at something in the grass. As I flung open the back door, Chase continued to sniff and prod the tall grass. This was bad. I knew that there was something of interest to the dog in the weeds that had taken over my entire back yard. I gingerly made my way to my dog and pulled him back by the collar. He tried to squirm away and as I dragged him back toward the house, he began to bark and pull violently. I managed to toss him back into the house and he attacked the glass storm door trying to force his way out. I retraced my steps to a clump of weeds and pulled them aside. A mockingbird stared up at me.

My dog had caught a mockingbird. I was stunned. One of my favorite books is To Kill a Mockingbird and as much as I could remember, it wasn’t a good thing. I also held a fondness for Rime of the Ancient Mariner which again has a bird killing theme in it that is basically “don’t do it”. I was determined not to have this albatross / mockingbird hanging around my neck!

I could tell that the bird was still alive but since it wasn’t flying off, I wasn’t sure how long it would remain in its present condition. I am not a bird veterinarian and had no intention of examining the mockingbird any further. I quickly donned a bright orange pair of Home Depot work gloves and secured the bird. I glanced around the backyard and surveyed my two neighbors. The neighbor to the left was not at home so I casually dropped the bird into a bush in her back yard. I made sure that it was still alive before retreating back inside my house. I figured if the bird died, my neighbor would assume that her Jack Russell terrier did it.

October turned into November and I hadn’t seen my neighbor in a few weeks. Hay bales and rotting pumpkins still decorated a corner of her front lawn. In December I saw her a few times at the mailbox but she had not been inside the house for nearly two months. The Halloween decorations were now compost. For my Christmas letter, I mentioned the mockingbird incident and joked that the neighbor must be proud of her terrier. By February, there was a flurry of activity around the neighbor’s house. Several men and women were emptying it of all contents. A few days later I learned that my neighbor had lost her house and it had been resold at auction.

Was it my dog’s fault? I suppose I will never know. I am not a superstitious person; however I have no regrets about tossing that bird over the fence.

And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe :
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.

Graduation Day

It was a beautiful fall day when Chase graduated from dog manners and agility school. I arrived on the scene with my mother and grandmother who had become my ardent supporters. I found a nice patch of clean grass to sit with Chase. Mom parked herself on the picnic table with graduation cake for the dogs and cookies for the owners. She broke off a piece of cake and offered it to Chase. He promptly spit it out. She offered another piece to a dog sitting nearby. He spit it out too. Both dogs eyed her cookie, but she mercilessly stuffed it into her mouth. "All gone!" she declared making a big show of her empty hands.

A group of fat ladies were also parked at the picnic table and discussed the Atkins diet versus the South Beach diet as they filled up on cookies and diet cola. I wondered if they would start eating the doggie graduation cake once the cookies were gone. Mom decided to fill everyone in on how I never practice training the dog. I marched over to the table and informed the dieters that she was making that up and the dog received my entire lunch hour every day for practice. One woman glanced at my mother and said that it really only required 15 to 20 minutes each day. Oh - so now I was practicing TOO much.

The Doggie Stalker came over and gave Chase a treat, which he eagerly took.

I made a mental note about training Chase to not take treats from strangers. I was grateful that this would be the last time Chase would be subjected to the Doggie Stalker.

Class began and because my group was now down to three - we merged with the aggressive dog group. At first it was like a scene out of "Survivor: Doggie Island". Each dog and owner fought for the spot that they were used to. I moved to the very end hoping to avoid any aggressive dog/owner. Eventually it was sorted out and I ended up with Chip to my left (a black Lab from my original group) and Babe the “Demonic Pit Bull With Icy Blue Evil Eyes” to my right. Not only was I completely horrified to be in such close contact with the devil dog - I couldn't believe that the overalls-clad owner had named her Babe.

First we practiced walking and heeling and turning left and right. My dog was a pro and I was actually good at the left and right turns. Next we were divided into groups of three for the figure eights. Chip and Babe were in my group. I was really beginning to believe in karma. All of these weeks I had been relentlessly vilifying the evil pit bull and now I was inches away from her! Chase performed perfectly on the figure eights. Babe, however, was a different story. The trainers finally decided that the group of three next to us was too close because Babe and a massive weapon of destruction in the form of a German Shepherd kept snarling at each other. In the meantime, Chip and Chase and their owners were cowering. I am terrified of German Shepherds and would take the Pit Bull from the Bowels of Hell any day over Rin Tin Tin.

The trainers then divided us into groups of two. Someone up there must really have a sense of humor because once again, I was paired up with Babe the Pit Bull. Each of us faced the other from opposite ends of the ring. Then we were to perform the "Meet and Greet". This involved a stroll toward each other, then a stop, and then the owners shook hands. Then you had to PET the OTHER DOG!!!!!!

I had to pet Babe the Pit Bull! And, might I add, she GRINNED at me the whole time. I was waiting for that dog to lunge at my throat and grab on! Babe's owner had a death grip on her collar so the dog did not eat me. Yep…they are so misunderstood.

Finally it was time for the graduation ceremony. A few owners hummed the graduation march theme song and one by one, our dogs names were called and they were awarded a fancy certificate. I was so proud! Matilda the hound dog got the Most Improved award. The little punting dogs (aka Sugar pie) were once again playing hooky. I suppose discipline is not needed when the dog weighs only 5 pounds.

Grandma beamed with pride at Chase’s fancy certificate. My dog was trained. Supposedly.

Breaking the Grip

I am well known for not wearing sensible footwear. I prefer aesthetics over practicality in my shoe choices. Therefore, it was not out of character for me to walk my dog in boots bearing four inch stiletto heels at midnight.

I am sure that my elderly neighbors were quite amused at the antics they could observe at my house. This had actually been confirmed by my mother. For the most part, the neighbors ignored me unless I had a service truck in my driveway. Curiosity typically got the best of them and across the street they wandered to find out what was being done. Since the houses were all about the same age, I figured they worried that they might need to have something similar done, too. Any other information they gleaned about me came from my mother. Shocker! She comes and goes from my home at leisure, adding a plant here, a tree there, a new couch in my living room. She viewed my house as a project to decorate and chose to do so while I was at work. She also enjoyed chatting with my neighbors who have filled her in on many a story about what I was up to during the week.

Chase was sniffing around the front yard when the gripper collar slid off. Holding back my panic, I decided that he probably didn’t realize it was gone and I could grab him before he ran off. That was when I noticed that he was looking at me from the corner of his eye. The sly dog did realize that he had no collar or leash. As I lunged at him, he dodged to the side and avoided contact with my hands. I decided to convince him that I had a treat in my pocket. That didn’t work, either. The dog was too smart for my feeble attempts at treachery. I looked across the street to see if there was shadowy movement behind the neighbors’ mini blinds, and pondered my options. Chase decided to wander into the street. This was not acceptable, even though it was not a busy street – even after hours. I crept up behind my dog; however he chose that moment to pick up the pace. As I raced, as best I could in my black suede boots, my ankle twisted and I fell into a ditch. Horrified by what could be in that ditch, I jumped out and limped back to the house. Chase frolicked for a bit in the neighbor’s darkened yard as I retreated inside and closed the door. And that was how I discovered that my dog preferred an audience, too. Seconds later he was knocking at the front door requesting to be let back in the house.

While I had high hopes that my midnight excursion had gone unnoticed, that was not the case. My mother kept me up to date on everything the neighbors said regarding that particular night. So nice of them to come out and actually help me! Poor Chase…for months after the incident, he had two leashes attached to him at all times. One for the gripper collar and one for the harness. He wasn’t going to slip by me again!

Look Before You Leash

I was in charge of fundraising for my quilt guild and we chose to make a cookbook for our project. I picked up the books at the printing shop and planned to deliver them to the guild president around 5:30 PM for assembly.

First, I stopped by my house to pick up my dog. Chase had apparently decided that plants tasted good and had demonstrated his plant shredding abilities all over the house. I truly believe that my dog could work for the CIA and shred all of their important documents into miniscule pieces, complete with doggy drool, of course. I practiced my anger management abilities by tossing my dog into his crate while I cleaned up the mess.

Once I was done, I put him on the leash and we were off to deliver the cookbooks. As I parked in Donna’s (president) driveway, Chase was all the way in the back of the Durango happily playing among the golf clubs. I got out and walked over to the passenger side of the car to get the box of books.

Chase, using his incredible puppy powers, was suddenly in the front seat standing on the box. As I attempted to push him off the box, I pressed the panic button on the key ring and set off the car alarm system. This sent Chase into a frenzy and he jumped over my head and escaped into Donna’s front yard.

I couldn’t get the alarm to turn off. I set everything on the ground and turned around to see Chase squatting on her lawn. I lunged for his leash and grabbed it. Unfortunately he had gone to the bathroom on it and my left hand was now covered in doggy doo. The alarm was still going and no one had come out of the house yet! I frantically tried to wipe the mess off my hand into the pine straw and firmly planted my boot on a clean part of the leash.

Donna finally emerged from the house as I tossed the dog back into the car and successfully stopped the car alarm. She carried the books into her house as I clearly had only one good hand. I went in to clean up and reflected over the lessons I had learned: Car alarms do not attract attention and look before you leash!

Progress...With the Dog Not the Mother

I found a perfect parking space up front at the dog manners class. Grandma sat in the front seat so she could see all the action yet remain comfortable. Mom generously held Chase on his leash while I went to find another link for his S&M collar. It had gotten a little snug and I couldn’t put the collar on.

I noticed that no matter how early I arrived at class, the evil pit bull was always there first and eagerly checked out the doggie buffet. She also took a choice spot in the waiting area with a great view of all the dogs.

One of the instructors helped me add a link to the collar. A small dog fight broke out among three of the dogs in the waiting area. Another instructor reprimanded the owners and told them that socializing among the dogs was not allowed.

I found my mother by the minivan and we put Chase’s torture collar on. I then found a secluded place well behind the pit bull and away from the dogs who “socialized” too much. Mom sat at a picnic table with her book. About three weeks ago, I met another owner who arrived each week with his full-figured wife and their 10 month-old well-fed Golden Retriever. He always approached me and said hello to Chase and asked me all kinds of questions about my dog. He told me that Chase was so beautiful and sweet. Now I had visions of “PUPPY STALKER” running through my head.

This Sunday, Puppy Stalker approached me and began to pet Chase. He said that Chase would make a great running dog if I ever decided to take up running. I told him that Chase loved to run and was very fast. Puppy Stalker agreed and said that he was amazed at how fast Chase was when he was running with him in the field. Shocked, I realized that my dear mother apparently let a STRANGER run around the field with my puppy while I was adding a link to his collar! I sent an evil curse in her general direction and vowed never to trust her again.

Class was now in session so Chase and I ran over to join our quickly diminishing group. Down to five dogs now and that included Chase. First, we practiced all of the things from the weeks before. We got to walk our dogs in a circle to the commands of an instructor. Chase and I were really good at the “Slow”, “Normal” and “Fast” commands. Even the “About-Face” and “Halt” were perfect. It was on the “Turn Left” and “Turn Right” that the trouble began. For those of you who truly know and love me…”left” and “right” are not my strongest suit. I had the leash tangled up between both hands and was unable to look at them to determine which hand formed the “L” shape. This is the only way I can remember left and right. As an instructor approached us, I quickly explained that it was not the dog’s fault that I didn’t know my left and right. The instructors looked at each other and one nodded and said “handler error.” I also heard choked laughter coming from the picnic table where Mom was sitting alone. Her two small companions of classes past were absent.

Next we practiced figure eights. Because the aggressive dog class was so small this week, too, one of the instructors came over to our class to watch. I was actually grateful because he took one look at Chase and announced to the class and the regular instructors that “this dog was a hunting dog and was never ever gonna to want to walk slow”. I felt especially smug because the regular instructor always used her prissy terrier to demonstrate new and exciting moves. Her terrier, Katie, pranced around the arena on tippy-toes.

The instructors decided that our dogs were ready for a good citizenship practice run. While one instructor passed out the AKC Good Citizenship pamphlets to all five of us, the other explained that this was a great certificate to get because it could reduce your homeowners insurance if your dog happened to be on the aggressive dog list.

I glanced over at the Aggressive Dog Class and wondered why the pamphlets weren’t being passed out there. Basically, to get the certificate, your dog must pass a series of tests and then is declared a “good citizen”. Unfortunately you must use a regular collar while taking the test. I will need to gradually ease Chase off the S&M collar so he too can become a “good citizen”.

We then practiced a series of “stays”. First up was “Sit and Stay” for 2 minutes. Chase got very bored with this after 30 seconds and lay down to find a stick to chew on. I had to drag him back up. Two minutes seemed like an eternity when I constantly had to drag my puppy off the ground. Next was “Down and Stay” for 2 minutes. Chase was very good at this. Matilda the hound dog was down but in a position to “spring” back up.

The instructors stayed near her to see if this would happen. It didn’t. Finally it was the dreaded “Stand and Stay”. Most of the dogs did not do well and Chase was no exception. He would stand for 10 seconds and then sit. I will have to work on that.

While the instructors praised us and went into great detail about how much progress each dog had made, Mom yelled from the picnic table that she would no longer need the 2x4. One last class and the adventure will be over. I do find it strange that I have met a lot of new people and I can only remember their dogs’ names!

Boot Camp Distractions

Another Sunday and once more dog manners had arrived. Mom chose to stay home and help Dad drill more holes in the kitchen ceiling where they were attempting to hang a new light fixture. It wasn’t a pretty sight or sound so Grandma, who was mostly deaf but could still apparently hear them bicker, decided to go with Chase and me. She was happy with my parking spot choice and once more decided to stay in the car. The evil pit bull was grinning at Chase and eyeing me as we walked to the waiting area.

Chase was always very exuberant when we first arrived at the class as he thought all of the dogs were his friends. The trainer suggested that I take him off the puppy chow and put him on adult dog food. She thought that might help in calming him down. If only I could see five years into the future at that time, I would clearly know it was the breed and not the puppy chow. The six-year-old from last week came over to say hello to Chase and asked me where my mother was. I guess they hit it off. Disappointed that my mother wasn’t there, she perched on the picnic table alone.

A rather large lady waddled over and pet the pit bull. She kept telling the owner in overalls how sweet pit bulls were and how it was so sad that they were so misunderstood. The pit bull agreed because she kept grinning and I swear she had those clear blue eyes rimmed with red fixated on the woman’s throat.

Our class was super small because there was no Chihuahua, the Carolina dog was MIA, Sugar Pie was gone and the other small ball of white fluff had played hooky.

First we showed off our dogs’ figure eights. Then we proved they could stand. Next we walked in a circle and followed commands like “Halt” and “About-Turn” and “Left Turn”. I felt like I was in boot camp. It also didn’t help that I cannot figure out my left from my right. Never could and this class was no exception. Then we learned a new trick. It was called the “Return”.

The best way to describe it is your dog sits facing you. Then you take his leash and by doing fancy things with it in your hand and behind your back, the dog comes to you, walks behind your back and pops up on your left side and sits. It’s like a line dance almost, which I am not good at. It took me 7 years to learn the electric slide and I still have to look at my feet! I find it works much better after a few cocktails. Too bad I didn’t have a few before the class. My dog was smart and figured it out despite my awkward footwork.

Finally, it was time to play “Distract Your Dog”. This consisted of your dog sitting next to you and watching you. The instructors would come by and try to distract the dog. Fortunately I had plenty of Cheese Nips on hand and nothing could distract Chase. He was one hundred percent focused on my pocket.

Class was over, which was a good thing because Chase was on the ground chewing on a stick and basically acting like a puppy. As we walked back to the car, I couldn’t see my grandmother and began to worry. I opened the front door and discovered that she had put the seat back and was taking a nap. So much for grandmotherly comfort and Aggressive Dog Class gossip.

Chase got into his cage and took a short snooze. I could actually hear him snore. I wondered if he was dreaming as I drove back home.

Don't Hit Your Dog With a 2x4

Mom and Grandma accompanied me once more to witness Chase and me behaving ourselves in dog class. Grandma was especially pleased when I found a parking space right up front so she wouldn’t have to actually leave the car. Mom helped Chase out of the back of the car while I got myself organized. As I walked over to take Chase from her, I noticed that Mom was doing a crazy little Riverdance routine in the middle of the parking area.

Apparently she had been waiting patiently on a fire ant hill.

I took the dog and walked over to the waiting area, leaving my mother to the fire ants. The demonic icy-blue-eyed pit bull was already there and she was grinning. Did you know that pit bulls could grin? Well, they can. Probably happy to see more selections on the menu to attack. Her owner was there as well in his usual attire of overalls and a white t-shirt.

Mom walked up to me. She told me that she stopped the fire ants from crawling up her leg. I looked down and was horrified to see that she had pulled her white socks up over her black pant legs! This was almost as bad as the time I introduced her to someone and she had tucked her shirt into her underwear! Chase and I slowly eased away from “Knicker Mom” and found a relatively normal dog owner to chat with. Mom moved on to ask the trainer if a 2 by 4 board worked well in dog training. The trainer looked startled but another owner with my mother’s unusual sense of humor volunteered that it worked best with a nail in the end.

I pretended to ignore my mother and walked into the classroom area. Chase did not drag me this time. Instead he tried to sniff his way, which is apparently a doggie no-no so I now need to teach him the “No Sniff” command. Good thing he was neutered.

The lesson du jour was a figure eight. This is how it worked: two owners with their dogs pretended to be poles. The dog and owner doing the figure eight stood in the center and then wove around the “poles” in a figure eight pattern. My nine month old puppy was up first and I was super proud that he did it perfectly. Most of the dogs did it well with the exception of the Chihuahua drag marks in the dirt. Even Matilda, who now had a fancy S&M collar in a larger model, was behaving herself. I heard my mother’s voice close by. She apparently found me and was now chatting on the picnic table with an audience more her own age: a six-year-old and a twelve-year-old. To my dismay, her pants were still tucked into her socks. The kids didn’t seem to mind. I hope she didn’t start a new fashion trend.

Next up was to get your dog to stand.

This seemed easy in theory but we had been telling our dogs to “Sit” or “Down” when they had been standing perfectly fine in the beginning. Now try to get them to stand. I told Chase to stand. He looked at me and sat. I told him again. He lay down. It wasn’t just me. Soon everyone was hauling their dogs up and I was extremely grateful that Chase weighed merely 32 pounds!

As we left, our instructors reminded us once again of the three P’s”: Practice, Patience, and Praise! They may add another one soon: Please don’t hit your dog with a 2 by 4!

A New Model

While I was on vacation in Maine, Brad generously offered to take Chase to his manners class. I called Brad that Sunday afternoon to remind him. He said he was looking forward to it, although I sensed a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

Then I headed off to Kennebunkport, Maine. I was unable to speak to my “substitute” until later that night. Since everyone else had turned in early (overdose of Kennebunkport shopping) the only place inside the house with a little bit of privacy was the bathroom. I suppose I could have gone outside with the icy cold tundra-like weather but I am a self-proclaimed wimp when it comes to cold weather. So, bathroom it was. I asked how the class went. Brad just kept saying "oh my god" over and over again. I started shaking with silent laughter but I think he sensed this because then he demanded to know if I was laughing. I lied and told him absolutely not but I kind of choked that out so I believe he knew I was laughing. I asked him how the dog had misbehaved - he just kept saying that it was awful and that he would never take him to manners class again.

When I returned to South Carolina, he filled me in on more of his adventure. As soon as he arrived at the class, Chase decided to express his excitement by squatting and leaving behind a not-so-small token. Brad was not pleased with Chase's charming habit. The lesson that day was to get the dogs to lie down. Brad felt very confident because this is what Chase does best. You tell him to sit, he lies down, you tell him to lie down, he does it. You call his name, he lies down. He is really good at the "Down" command. Brad told him the command. Chase did not lie down. Absolutely refused to lie down. The trainers couldn't get him to lie down. All the other dogs were lying down except for the big hound dog named Matilda. She was baying. Matilda's owner looked over at Brad and attempted to negotiate a trade. As appealing as an over-sized baying hound dog was, Brad turned down her offer.

The next class, I was planning on going it alone but my grandmother and mother thought that it might be amusing to come watch the Chase and Sarah "Manners Class Sideshow". As I was lovingly dragged by my puppy into the classroom area, my instructor decided that his choke collar wasn't really working and it was time to upgrade to a newer model. Another instructor fitted Chase with his very own 2004 S&M Gripper Collar. This model had lots of mean looking pincher things on the inside of the collar. If the dog even breathed too heavy it would pinch his neck in an unpleasant way. You don't have to choke the dog anymore. This was now my most favorite collar! My dog was star puppy once more. He "heeled", "stayed", "sat", and "lay down". Matilda was told to get an S&M collar after baying throughout the entire class. Her owner kept holding Matilda's mouth shut but you could still hear a loud muffled sound.

One of the class features that week was to hide behind the shed and call your dog. Now, the dog is supposed to run and find you. I called my dog. My dog ran and found my mother. I think he might have been a little miffed about his new collar.

The next task was to "get your dog to weave in and out of the poles in the ground." Most of the dogs, including howling Matilda, managed to do this with some success. Chase got to the starting point. I told him to sit. He sat down backwards. Okay - off to a good start. We started to navigate the course. Chase managed to walk into every single pole. I now was painfully aware that he would not qualify for the downhill skiing event in the next Winter Olympics. I returned to my spot and watched with glee as the next person dragged his Chihuahua behind him through the course. Am I a bad person? The tiny football shaped dog was tumbling through the dirt like a missed field goal.

Class finished and we walked over to visit Grandma. She told me all of the bad things that happened in the Aggressive Dog Manners Class which was closer to her chair. Grandma always had a way to make things better!

Lessons Learned at Dog School

The second Sunday of dog training had arrived. I had purchased a leather leash for Chase because a trainer the week before had told me that would be the best. Chase developed an appetite for leather and chewed through the new leash on the short drive over to the training field. Fortunately I had arrived early and was able to call Brad to bring me a new leash. I requested a non-leather one since Chase was so fond of the first one.

I leaned up against a tree and yanked back on Chase's short tattered leash as my super smart puppy lunged at a demonic looking pit bull with icy blue eyes. The owner, a man wearing denim overalls, assured me that it was a "safe" pit bull. Yeah right. I then listened to a speech about how pit bulls were so misunderstood. How about so highly publicized EVERYWHERE as being aggressive?

Five minutes and several hundred tugs later, Chase was thirsty, so I let him drink a little directly from a bottle of Dasani water as usual. He preferred to drink directly from the bottle and refused to drink from a bowl so I stopped bothering to carry a bowl with me.

Brad finally arrived with a new leash and we walked into the classroom area and got in a semi-circle position with the other classmates. Chase promptly assumed the squat position and took the biggest dump of his life. I set the water bottle down and got a bag to clean up this steaming mountain of dog doo. The instructors had us introduce ourselves and our dogs. I discovered that, at 9 months, Chase was the youngest member of his class, which ranged from 1.5 years to 6 years. The pit bull was in the other group, which curiously contained other pit bulls, German shepherds, Dobermans, and Rottweilers. I suspected doggie profiling but was perfectly happy to stay among the labs, retrievers and Yorkies. The instructors told me not to expect much from Chase because he was so young.

First command: SIT. Chase sat. Surprise, surprise. He lacked an attention span, however, so after about 20 seconds of sitting, he dropped to the ground and started to clean his private parts. I yanked him up by the choke chain. The next time he got bored with sitting, he dropped to the ground and began to frantically dig a hole. I yanked him back up and decided to give him a drink of water. No water bottle. I looked at Brad who was holding the bottle which was now about half full. I asked Brad if he was drinking the water. He told me he was. I told him who was drinking from it earlier. Brad looked a little sick.

Next we all walked our dogs around in a big circle. Chase did fine. A large lady in front of us with tiny frou frou dog kept dragging her dog. Literally...there were drag marks in the dirt. A big strong man was coaxing "Sugar Pie" - a teeny weeny dog that looked more like a hamster with a long puffy tail. He looked at me and said that he was subbing for his mom who was the real owner of Sugar Pie. A large hound dog kept lunging at Sugar Pie - I think he was hungry. I was feeling much better about my dog's abilities after that "lesson". I threw away the chewed up leather leash on the way back to my car and smiled as Chase curled up on the back seat ready for a nap. School is tough!

All Choked Up and Nowhere to Go

Quickly I realized that my puppy needed to be trained. He had some basics down like “sit” and “paw” and “bow to Sarah”; however I was beginning to realize the value of “stay” and “come”. I signed him up for training offered by the local dog club. The club focused on manners, obedience and agility and met each Sunday for sixteen weeks. I just knew that he would be a star puppy after sixteen weeks of training.

I drove to the first class which was held in a large fenced-in area with lots of agility equipment. Chase, nor I, had ever seen that many dogs convened in one place and he was determined to meet each and every one of them.

After registering (or forking over a large sum of money), his tasks were to meet all of the other dogs in the “classroom” and to master walking through the rungs of a ladder that was laying on the ground in order to build trust and confidence.

After yanking me throughout the classroom area trying to meet every dog, including a giant Schnauzer and a larger Burmese Mountain Dog who rolled over on him, an instructor took pity on me and offered some advice: “yank back really hard on the choke chain and choke him”.

Then the instructor took me to the ladder and told me that most dogs balk the first few times or refuse to go through the ladder at all. Not my dog. He loved it. Practically showed off. The instructor felt that it was a fluke and made me take Chase through the rungs again, still with the same results. It gave the other owners a glimmer of hope. I stood back to watch the rest of the class thinking the dog expert didn't know what he was talking about. I was wrong - all of the other dogs would sit down and dig in, refusing to go through the ladder or the owner would adopt a drag and shove method that involved dragging the dog forward and shoving him back in when he attempted to leave the ladder.

Armed with my new self confidence in dog training, I took Chase home to practice with the choke chain. My dog had other ideas. He quickly realized what was choking him and, as soon as the leash was attached, he either grabbed the choke chain in his mouth or grabbed part of his leash.

So...when I pulled back to choke him....he pulled right back.

“Tug-of-war-while-walking-your-puppy” is not as fun as it sounds. I noticed that the neighbors’ mini blinds appeared to be pulled back slightly on their front windows. Maybe I was saving them a lot of money on cable. Why watch reality TV when there is a show going on right across the street?