Finally Home-Lessons on Life from a Free-Spirited Dog (6 page)

Since he found enjoyment in shredding the toilet paper, we had to change where we stored it. Instead of a cabinet, o
ur bathroom sink
had
a cute cur
tain-like cover around it where the toilet paper was kept. We removed it from there and hid it out of Buddy’s reach, assuming
that would take care of
any future
issues with toilet paper.

This was not the case at all.
Buddy learned that
he could still get at it while it was on the toilet paper roll in the bathroom.
He found an edge he could grab and started pulling.
Again,
it was all staged
for us to come home to his obsession with unsightly redecorating.
While funny at first, it became somewhat annoying after a long day at work.
The last thing we felt like doing was parading around the house picking up confetti-sized pieces of toilet paper, especially after we
’d
spent countless hours cleaning the house the previous day.

If that wasn’t enough for him, he decided it
was enjoyable to go fora
ging through the trash cans
to
p
ick out what was
in his eyes a treasure.
For the record, t
here
wa
s nothing more disgusting than pulling used and slobbered-on tissues out of the depths of a dog’s throat.

T
ho
se times were definitely trying.
Not really a firm believer in hitting our dogs, our methods of punishment were
to give
him
a
“time-out”
session
in his crate.
He grew to
recognize
the
irate
tone in our voices so well that if he thought he was in trouble, he would just take the liberty of punishing himself.

He would walk into his crate, glare back at us as if
we
had some nerve
,
and occasionally growl at us in what
he
thought was a threatening way.
The
amusing
thing was that
his growl only
made us laugh because we knew he was completely incapable of hurting a fly.
He
had tried
to
appear
mean and vicious
by displaying
all of his pearly whites as he peeled back his jowls, but we knew better.
He wasn’t hurting anyone.

W
hen he growled
, we would
kiss his nose or stick our hands in his
mouth just to show him he wasn’t fooling anyone though I don’t recommend doing this to any dog.
He knew we weren’t afraid of him one bit.
And we knew he was not afraid of us at all.
The latter did not exactly work in our favor.

Yelling at him did not
faze him
.
He was never scared of us.
In his
ongoing
quest
to
steal, he would systematically search for whatever item would get him the most attention.
He
grabbed
whatever he could and instead of hiding the fact that he stole something, he would come find us with his tail wagging out of control and
recite
what became his trademark stealing bark.

Each
time he stole something, he sounded this
musical
bark
alerting
us
that
it was playtime. The more you chased him, the more he would bark
,
and the faster his tail would wag.
It was very difficult
to become angry with him while he was clearly having so much fun.

There were times, though, when
we grew tired of his actions—
for instance wh
en he steal reports for work that we
ha
d
been diligently working on for hours.
He
felt that
it was good to at least drool on them, or if he was really devoted to giving us a good time, rip them to shreds.

His thievery became such a
common
routine that we would
wait to
hear him lugging something up the stairs every morning without fail.
One day, it would be a
sneaker, another day a shoebox;
the next day it would be the sound of him dropping heavy work boots down the stairs, running down to grab it
,
and try
ing
once more to carry it up.
If he finally made it up the stairs, he would jump into bed with us and greet us by dropping the dirty boot on our heads.
Getting knocked in the head with a heavy boot was not really a great way to wake up
.

He was always up to something and kept us on our toes. One of the funniest memories I have of his puppyhood took place o
ne morning
.
I awoke to Buddy standing on the floor
by
the base of the bed
with
his tail wagging at
one hundred m
iles per hour.
As soon as he realized I was awake, his tail moved even faster
, like wiper blades on full blast
.
I could only imagine what this dog had in his possession t
hat would make him this happy. I was a little worried.

As I rose from my peaceful sleep, I patiently awaited the harmonious
bark. I could
immediately
tell
if whatever he had was a treasured item from the speed of his tail and the intensity of his bark.
This particular bark was about as loud as it gets and his tail could not wag any faster.

As I braced my
self for what I was about to discover
, t
here
at the base of the bed was Buddy.
And there in his mouth was my brand new bra.
The straps were stuck between his two front paws as if he
was
trying to wear it, and apparently, he could not figure out a way to get it off.

If anyone has
ever doubted
that a dog laughs, trust me. Without a shadow of a doubt, I am positive
that
they do. I can guarantee this dog found this entire episode to be the funniest thing he had ever experienced up
to
that point.
I
chose
not to help him since he was so amused
; he was loving life
and his tail was still wagging away.

I sat and watched for a while, enjoying his determination, but a
fter a few minutes, I had to get up and wrestle with him.
He was just too damn cute.
He would always win the wrestling match though.
H
e was
already
way too strong.

To add to
Buddy’s
extra long
list of favorite things to steal
, scrunchies is probably number one
.
He has an inexplicable, strong obsession with these things.
Without fail, h
e c
an
find the scrunchy in any girl
’
s hair and gently but expediently pull it out.

I’d see him actually eyeing my head to see if I was wearing one
,
or if I was on the floor he would make his move to smell my hair and then make his
next
move to steal.

Various times
I ha
d
tried to turn the tables on him and wrap my scrunchy around his snout, but this just made it more entertaining for him.
He would always win.
He would run off barking and then eventually come back with the scrunchy in his mouth as if to say
,
“
S
ee, you can’t outwit me!” He was absolutely right.

There were m
any mornings
when
I wore my hair tied up in a scrunchy and foolishly bent down to pick something up, tie my shoe
,
or get something out of a cabinet.
Sure enough, before I could get up in time, there was Buddy ripping the scrunchy out of my hair
. It amazed me that he could do so
without so much as pulling a hair out of my head
.

This pilfering also led to a chase throughout the house: up the stairs, around the dining room table, over the couches, around the coffee table.
Anywhere was free game.
It was normally entertaining
, but when you
we
re late for work or an appointment, it
became
highly
irritating. He did not care one bit.
To him, this was
considered a great time
.

My
young
niece, who I think was maybe six years old at the time, was utterly terrified of Buddy.
She had come over one day for a family party dressed adorably
and
wearing a bright purple scrunchy in her hair.
We were all enjoying the beautiful summer day
and
eating lunch in the backyard.

I noticed her running and crying
with a look of pure terror in her eyes. I
did not realize
exactly
why she was running until she kept s
creaming that
Buddy was trying to eat her head.
It took only a second for me to understand.
H
is one desire at that point in time was the bright, enticing
scrunchy.
He was
in the zone,
chasing her all over the backyard for this brilliant toy
that
he
assumed
was rightfully his.
It was at this point that I realized I
w
ould
never be able to
fully explain Buddy’s behavior.

It was situations such as this that kept us laughing and in good spirits. Since the day we brought him home, h
e had been a hilarious clown.
The key to handling Buddy was to be a wise-ass right back. It seemed when we started in with him
play-fighting, chasing him
,
or even dressing him up, he found it to be hysterical.

Some people did not feel the same way, and v
isits from family and friends were often somewhat stressful depending on the patience threshold of the people visiting.
In
most
of the books
that
we
had
read, they explained
not
to lock
up the dog when company came over. This
would
only
make the dog behave worse, associating company with something bad: solitude.

If the person visiting had a love for big dogs, coupled with no fear,
he or she
stood a chance of surviving the day
. That person might
only get
jumped on once or twice
,
and maybe a little drool
would adhere
to
his or her
clothes.

If the
person
did not really like dogs, or exhibited any
hint
of fear, th
at person
did not have a prayer.
It was a nightmare for everyone involved, except
,
of course, for Buddy.
He would sense the
person’s
uneasiness from the second
he or she
walked
through
the door and make it a point to torture
that person
for the entire day.
He
might
relax for a little while and then jump up from a seemingly deep sleep
,
only to
focus on that one
fearful
individual the entire time.

When I say
“
jump,
”
I do not mean the occasional hop.
I mean a full-fledged jump in the
person’s
lap, kiss
his or her
face,
and
put his paws on the
person’s
shoulders
to
try
and
dominate type of jump.
If
he or she
were carrying anything, Buddy’s main goal was to carry it for them.
Not such a good idea if the item happened to be a cake or a glass of red wine
.