The Pet Bull refuses to labor on Labor Day!

While I am new to the breed; I am one of those people that actually consciously chose to get a pit bull and a fair amount of research went into the decision. We wanted a medium sized dog, with short hair that didn't drool. The dog needed to be stocky and able to withstand the occasional accidental purse to the head and foot on the paw - because graceful I am not.

We also wanted an extremely affectionate dog. Our previous dog was a Basset Hound - Ms. Frances Abigail - and we loved and lived with her for almost 14 years. But Ms. Frances; and I hesitate to say this as it almost feels like speaking ill of the dead; was not so affectionate. Either that or both myself and my husband are too emotionally needy in the canine love department; because Frannie spurned the majority of our affections with a decisive nip to the face. Our fault entirely, we were the idiots that kept going back for more.

So we did want a dog that could be manhandled; hugged and kissed and squeezed - with the added benefit of actually liking it. Everything screamed pit bull and our decision was made. I confess the possibility of dog aggression sounded like a pain in the ass. Manageable and not as bad as drooling; annoying but not in a deal breaking kind of way.

The real possibly deal breaking concern was energy level. The reality of our situation is that both me and the husband work fairly long hours. and while the dog wouldn't be alone during the day; my 70 year old mother was hardly fit to provide day care for a psycho dog off the wall with pent up energy.

But with everything else seeming so perfect, we were determined to make things work. We had to start with a puppy as that was Grammy's preference; and since she wasn't a dog person and would be providing a fair amount of care and supervision...it was only right to consider her preference and comfort level. But that did obviously make it more of a crap shoot in terms of the ultimate temperament and energy level of our dog-to-be

Thanks to my copious amounts of research, I knew to avoid game bred lines as the general consensus seemed to be that they tended more towards the very, very, energetic side of the continuum. We settled on a nice UKC Pitter-staff and began to rearrange our lives to provide the optimum stimulation and exercise possible for our high energy pit bull (which included the purchasing of a $1700 tread mill).

So little Veronica Lynn came to our home; and as most puppies are want to be, she was fairly energetic. Nothing off the wall; but I was prepared for her energy and exercise needs to climb as she aged.

Well, turns out...not so much. I hate to say it, but my little high energy pit bull turned into a couch potato power-napper. She has no interest whatsoever in the treadmill. Despite that she learned to use it quite easily, she seems to feel it is boring and she has absolutely no interest in walking on it...or jogging...or running. While she of course can't actually tell me this; sitting down, sliding off and looking at me with disgust....sends a clear message.

This past weekend she even refused to take a walk with me. The day started out well enough. She needed some things, so we ran to the pet store to do her monthly shopping. She was quite into and pleased with that activity; and especially loved helping herself to the biscuit buffet that Pet Supplies Plus lays out at dog‘s eye level. Then we went home to drop off her Dad so he could work on some lesson plans and we could get some treats for a nice long walk on an absolutely gorgeous day.

We stepped outside the front door and Veronica planted all four feet solidly; and took a deep sigh. Definitely not boding well.

"Don't you want to go for a walk"?, I asked in a cheery peppy voice.
She sat down.

"Come on! It's beautiful out"! I pleaded and pulled. She continued to sit and offered the resistance of a 60 pound sack of potatoes.

"You'll have fun I cajoled", lifting her up on her feet and pulling while she simultaneously sat down again.

"Think about it", I begged turning away from the car and encouraging her to sniff about the yard hoping she'd get revitalized.

"What do you think? Walk?" I asked hopefully.
She laid down in the grass.

"Stop fooling around! It'll be good for you"! I commanded.
She rolled over on her back, swishing from side to side in the grass.

So there I was. I could force her to walk with me; which frankly is right up there with paying for sex...

"Do you want to go home", I asked, hoping against hope. And up she jumped with a spring in her step turning towards the front door and scampering up the steps in eager anticipation.

In she went and joined her Daddy in her dog bed under the desk while he worked on lessons.

I thought about going for a walk by myself, which was immediately followed by the thought of "how sad and pathetic is that". I then thought about going to the shelter and borrowing a dog; but considered the logistics of "Hi, you don't know me, but if I could just borrow a dog for a couple of hours, promise to bring him back ship-shape, now hand him over"…

Ultimately I decided that I had no choice but to accept the fact that I, a soon to be 45 year old woman undoubtedly entering peri-menopause; officially has more energy than my "high energy" dog. So I left her in her dog bed and I went to Wal-Mart.

The Tale of The Pet Bull & The Lascivious Dachshund

Veronica was victimized this past weekend. Molested, violated if you will…fondled in a most unseemly manner. It happened on a crowded street, in a good neighborhood, in the bright light of day.

Every summer the tiny seaport town of Wickford hosts an Art Festival. One weekend a year – the weekend after the 4th of July to be exact; the streets are magically transformed into a serpentine labyrinth of white tents each containing a stunning visual array of paintings, portraits, photography, glass, metal and all manner of art. People seem to come from far and wide, despite the oppressive summer heat; and the sidewalks to the quaint little colonial town are packed with tourists like sardines in a can. Narrow alleys wind through the town – shops and boutiques on one side, white canvas tents on the other. The art festival has been a staple in Veronica’s short life. It presents an excellent training opportunity - throngs of people, toddlers waving soft pretzels at dog’s eye level, baby carriages and leashed dogs. The perfect training ground for a high maintenance, occasionally skittish, dog reactive pet bull.

I have to say I was very proud of her. In years past we stuck to the outskirts and gave wide berth to leashed dogs; but she has been making slow, steady progress and this year we were in the thick of things. Veronica did extremely well sitting and watching me while leashed dogs passed by in fairly tight quarters. She did great responding to the clicker and looking calmly at other dogs, then looking at me…instead of trying to bore a hole into their souls with an unwavering gaze.

She also did well with not soliciting attention from strangers. Don’t get me wrong; she flashed the eyes, gave the big, goofy pet bull grin and amped up the charm to lethal levels…and she was rewarded with many “howdy-dos” and some pats and the occasional love fest – but there was no unsolicited licking of strangers feet, only 1 wet-willy cold dog nose to the back of someone’s knees (I didn’t actually catch her, but I heard the woman directly in front of her let out a startled “WOOooo” and give a little jump), and she did not stick her head up anyone’s skirt – despite ample opportunity.

All in all it was proving to be a good day. We didn’t stay long because the heat was unbearable. We stopped at St. Paul’s Church to sit on the steps in the shade and give Veronica a drink of water. She thought it was wonderful to sit and watch the crowd of people parade by. She was the veritable Princess on her throne; and of course many loyal subjects stopped by to pay her tribute and she held court like the royalty she knows she is.

It was when we decided to head back to the car that the incident occurred. We opted to take a shortcut which sent us by the street where shops tapered off to private homes. We were passing one of the first homes, still quite in the thick of the crowd; where the home’s residents were enjoying their prime location by sitting out in their yard. Perhaps 10 older folks were clustered around their patio enjoying a bite to eat and a cool drink. Then we saw…him. Small (no more than 10 pounds; 15 tops), low to the ground and perky as hell. He saw Veronica and his little heart sang. He made a beeline for her as fast as his little feet would carry him; which is when I noticed “no leash”. The lascivious dachshund with love in his heart and lechery on his mind was making a skippy beeline towards Veronica and he was not wearing a leash. No worries. The dog came from the group of people sitting outside of their house. Surely one of them would come to the rescue of their diminutive charge. I called out to them, “She’s not good with other dogs”…just to hasten things along, and picked up my pace. No one moved. Really, Not at all. Not a muscle. Meanwhile the miniature lothario is bearing down on us and catches up ramming his little needle nose snout directly into Veronica’s behind. And let me just take a moment to share that Veronica does not like to have her behind sniffed; she’s very selective about who gets to go back there and when.

Luckily I was armed with my clicker and my treats and a sturdy leather collar. I nonchalantly took Veronica’s collar in hand (if nothing else control the head) and I clicked and I treated…and surprisingly, she took the treats despite the impromptu proctology exam she was undergoing. Lots of people passing by…still, the dachshund’s owners are not moving. To Veronica’s credit she didn’t let out a peep. My main concern was not that she would try to eat her perpetrator; but rather that she would make “the sound”. “The sound” is something that comes out of Veronica when she needs to establish her position with another dog. It rather sounds like something out of the exorcist and one fully expects her head to spin round right after she vomits up pea soup. It’s sort of a cross between a guttural snarl and a low growl…and it’s a show stopper. It is NOT what I wanted issuing forth from her saintly muzzle in the middle of a crowded art festival even if she was being rudely accosted by an unleashed heathen.

So now we’re at least a full 1 to 2 minutes into Veronica having her derriere continuously assaulted and my clicking and treating. Now she’s getting just down right curious. She’s less interested in my treats and trying to whip her head from side to side to see “what the hell is going on back there”????? At this point the dachshund’s owner decides to make an effort to remove his dog. He ambles over and calls the juvenile delinquent…who ignores him; because “Hello! Busy with my head up a hot girl’s hiney”!!! Eventually after several more efforts he gets through to his dog and Veronica is free!! Not knowing what to say, I exclaimed the first thing that came to mind, which was “Well! THAT was a vicious attack that came out of nowhere”!!! – which got a few laughs from people not belonging to the dachshund. And one lady consoled me with an “at least you knew what to do”.

In retrospect we were very proud of Veronica for handling herself so well; proving that when the chips are down – she really can come through with some good behavior. We also realized that since my husband was standing right there the entire time, he could have simply picked up the dachshund – funny the things you don’t think of in the heat of the moment. We also took a minute to ponder whether or not the Dachshund’s owners WANTED him to be eaten. I mean here you have a strange Pit Bull, the owner says “Not good with dogs”…and no one moves? Why didn’t they just squirt him with mustard and throw a bun on him??

But in the end everything seemed to work out okay. Veronica had a good day, lots of new exciting experiences and she didn’t seem overly traumatized by having been so rudely accosted. She was quite happy to spend the rest of the day lying in front of the air conditioner.

Adventures in Pet Bull Land: The Tao of the Fur Mommy.

The Tao of the Fur Mommy...

Not an easy row to hoe...

Take for instance this mornings adventures...makes me want to reconsider putting the dog outside on a tether and opting for blissful ignorance.

But you know I won't. I'm a Fur Mommy through and through; though I may bitch and complain...it is what I am...and I am old enough to have reached, if nothing else: an acceptance of self.

So here's what happened.

This morning I decided to get up early. I start my vacation tomorrow and I wanted to get things organized at work so that I could then concentrate on 10 blissful days at home. The alarm went off and I gently hit the snooze button for 5 extra minutes. Actually...I jabbed my husband in the side and grunted "Snooze"..but it amounts to the same thing.

That is when I heard "it". You know that gurgly, wet, retching sound that clears your head and makes your eyes snap open as if someone waved smelling salts under your nose? Oh...dear...Lord! I sprung out of bed and dragged the dog with me. We made it to the hard wood floor which was my goal. I patted her head, rubbed her tummy, cooed in her ear and up she threw. No worries...floors are easy to clean. I pampered her until I thought she was better; then left her with strict instructions "not to throw up on the rug if she felt sick again".

Well...the best laid plans of mice and men...I ran to the kitchen, grabbed the paper towels and disinfectant...ran back to the bedroom...and what do I find? Veronica throwing up on my rug. Exactly where I specifically asked her not to! So of course I exclaim "Oh Crap"; which awoken my husband who then exclaims, "Ut Oh"!

Turns out "Ut Oh" translates into "you were too late all along, she threw up on the bed". Luckily on the sheet that I put over the comforter in paranoid preparation for just these occasions...but on the bed no less. Okay...we have it covered; the floor is clean, Jon cleans the rug, I strip the bed, run the sheet and the comforter underneath (just for good measure) downstairs to the washer...ummm...where's Veronica? And what are those wet spots? Oh Holy Mother of God she stepped in her...well her "youknowitstoogrosstoactuallysayit". I have to clean her feet!! Where the hell is she? Oh wait...duh...follow the trail...and while you're at it, clean it as you go.

There she is in her crate...where she has now managed to squeeze out about an extra tablespoon of vomitus on her crate blanket. Grab the dog, wash her feet, wash her face, throw her back on the (now clean) bed, run her crate blanket downstairs for the next wash...breath.

All done. Back on schedule. Get my cereal and head into the office to catch up on the news of the day...or at least the dog forums...What the hell? How and when did she manage to throw up on the rug in the office? Clean the rug, sit down, take a bite of cereal..."HON"?!?! My husband is calling me. "Do we have a blanket for Veronica? She's chilly". Of course he has the day off and has gone back to bed with the dog and knows where all of the blankets in the house are as well as I do...but apparently Veronica also requires a Fur Mommy's touch.

So...I cast one longing look at my cereal, find Veronica a blanket, cover her up, pat her head, kiss her nose, make senseless soothing murmurings...and go back to my cereal...which is now...soggy.

Oh well...there really isn't time to eat now anyway. Just out of curiosity...can someone tell me - in what way is this different than having children?

And THAT is the Tao of the Fur Mommy...definitly NOT an easy row to hoe.

A Day in the Life of a Pet Bull

Pet bulls are spoiled. Not spoiled as in out of control, ill-mannered heathens and needing the canine version of Nanny 911; but spoiled along the lines of royalty. Think young Princes William and Harry; knowing that their behavior must always be exemplary, yet at the same time realizing that they hold an important place in the world. Knowing that their world revolves around them. So it is with the pet bull; always under pressure to put one’s best paw forward - yet at the same time, secure with one’s place in the world.

Take Veronica for instance, she is secure in the knowledge that on Momma’s day off; her place is with Momma. Since I work Monday through Thursday, Friday’s are “our day”. This is not to imply that there is always something exciting planned. More often than not it is simply life as usual. Like today…life as usual.

I roused Veronica around 9:00 am. I had gotten up earlier and checked out some things on the computer, but Veronica likes to sleep in when she can. After getting up I took her for a quick peep and poop and then off we went next door to Grammy’s for breakfast. Veronica loves breakfast at Grammy’s, Grammy taught her the “better deal” game. That is where one completely ignores their morning bowl of kibble and waits for Grammy to offer her a few succulent morsels from her breakfast…or if Grammy isn’t eating anything enticing to little dog palates then Grammy will make V. her “peanut butter cookie”. Probably not the best choice for V.’s waistline, but I have 2 choices. I can either graciously allow Grammy to spoil her one and only “grandchild”; or I can protest and listen to Grammy accuse me of trying to turn the dog into an anorexic - which would eventually lead to my killing Grammy. (And I’m not certain that 3 seasons of Dexter qualifies me to dispose of a body).

Anyway, Grammy was scheduled for a hair appointment today, so the rest of the day was just the 2 girls: me and V. As usual Veronica went back to bed after breakfast (and by bed; I mean My bed…or technically Our bed) and waited for me to get ready. Then after a brushing, a tooth brushing and an ear cleaning Veronica also was ready.

First order of business was to take a short walk. Being as it was about 85 degrees I was quite lucky to get Veronica to go along with the program. I jazzed her up in the beginning by popping by the Shaggy Chic Pet Boutique to see if her birthday collars were in yet. Maybe next week. Veronica got to say a quick hello to her friend Jake the pit bull. This is always a treat for Veronica since her doggy friends can be counted on 1 paw, and that still leaves a toe or two open. In her defense, she’d have allot more doggy friends if they recognized her as the royalty she is and showed a proper amount of deference - but this being America apparently even the dogs are into democracy and equality and all that crazy stuff.

Veronica very reluctantly completed our walk, but I cheered her on at the end with a few upbeat reminders about getting to her car and having a drink. Then we were off on our second errand of the day; getting a lube, oil and filter. I called ahead to see if V. was welcomed as I was going to a new dealership (seeing as how my usual one disappeared over night) and they said they were dog friendly. We then sat in a teeny tiny, barely air conditioned waiting room for over an hour. Veronica threw herself on the floor in disgust and sulked. I threw myself in a chair, realized there was not a magazine to be had and the television was turned to Fox news (and me being an MSNBC girl) and sulked.

The dealership was a novel experience for Veronica because she was pretty much ignored. At our previous dealership she held court; and was thus treated like the royalty she knows she is. Women came out from behind the glass window to give her treats, salesman, mechanics passing by stopped to give her a scratch. Today…well, I can’t say "no attention at all". One mechanic made it a point to give her a scratch behind the ears, and a manager said “Hello” to her and told her what a pretty, good girl she was. Veronica got so excited her whole body vibrated, but when he didn’t come out from behind the counter to actually touch her, she nailed me with a re-directed kiss. (Have you seen those? I’m guessing it’s the same dynamic as a re-directed bite; only with affection instead of aggression. When people give Veronica verbal attention but don’t actually come over and physically connect with her, she’ll get so wound up that she needs to let loose that kissing energy and put it somewhere…so she’ll turn to me and plant one on me).

After leaving the dealership, I considered another walk, but it was still hot out. I thought about going to the pet store to pick up some treats for agility; but seeing as it was so hot out I didn’t want to wear her out since she had agility class at 7.00Pm. So we went home, had an early dinner, one of us had a nap and then we headed out to Agility class.

Veronica did, overall well. She was the fastest dog in class. Of course there were only 3 other dogs in class and none of them were Border Collies…but still. She only had two episodes of launching into a rendition of The Who’s “I’m Free” and surprisingly was re-directed to the A-Frame both times.

And that was our Friday. Pretty typical. We came home from Agility and Veronica passed out. Me and Dear husband watched the last episode of Dexter Season 3 in solemn reverence and now I have to rouse my sleepy dog to take her to do her business and bring her to bed.

That's it...a day in the life.

How The Pet Bull Got Her Groove Back

I should have known.

When I called Veronica’s breeder for an update on how my soon to be puppy was doing and got this report:
Breeder: Well, the puppies are almost housebroken! I took them out today to potty and let them play for a bit and then I called and they all came in.
Me: Oh how wonderful
Breeder: Yes! They all came in, ummm except for your Veronica.
Me: Oh. Well what did my Veronica do?
Breeder: oh she just stood there and looked at me.
Me: Is she deaf?
Breeder: Oh no! Definitely not deaf. She just has…personality.

And there you have it. I should have known. And deep down…I did. Sure some people may have thought “stubborn, obstinate, hard to train”. I thought, “well, now there’s a little budding “free thinker” in the making”. I’ll share a dirty little secret that I harbor. I don’t actually like biddable, milquetoast, obedient dogs that live to please their masters. I like dogs with a little bit a flair, a bit of “je ne sais quoi” - personality! I know there is a place in the world and a function for those Lassie dogs who live to find Timmy in the well…but; I don’t think the place will ever be with me.

So Miss Veronica-Lynn (not intentionally named after a porn star) came to our home four years ago…and has brought love, laughter, and the occasional moment when you are certain you are about to throw the mother of all blood clots and just stroke out right there on the spot. But I wouldn’t change her for the world.

What has got me reminiscing about all of this; was last night’s agility class. My trainer was unable to rent a spot for the winter, and we hadn’t been on an agility course in about 8 months. And truth be told last summer…it was not looking good. I have been making a valiant effort to keep up with Veronica’s training since she was 3 months old. We have had our share of ups and downs which I attribute mostly to my inexperience and a little bit to the Divine Ms. V.’s “je ne sais quoi”. But our experience on the agility field was definitely going down hill…as in Veronica was deciding she just didn’t want to play with me. She had started off well and according to our trainer showed real promise in agility but by the end of last summer she was more interested in running around making her own course and sniffing out mysterious smells in the grass than she was in me or my treats. I actually could have hung slabs of roast beef on my person and I think she would have still pretended that I wasn’t there. I just naturally assumed she was going into an obstinate phase and we would have to persevere.

Having time off from agility, didn’t mean time off from training. And in fact the focus of our time was turned to some behavioral issues related to Veronica’s difficulty interacting with other dogs. Not that I wanted her to play nice…but I did very much want her to SHUT HER FREAKIN’ MOUTH!! Especially with the hopes in the back of my head of one day perhaps competing with her,..in something…it would be nice if we could “blend”.

So it was a winter of learning and I made a few discoveries…about dog training, about Veronica…but mostly about myself. I discovered that I had become a stick in the mud…a real downer. I was so concerned about having the “perfect” dog…that biddable, obedient, hang on your every word dog…that I forgot it was actually a partnership. I forgot it was a relationship and got sucked into wanting to have a well trained dog so that I could look good. Veronica told me to go get @#$%’ed. It was then that I realized I’d lost myself.

I started agility because it was supposed to be FUN!! Veronica and I were supposed to enjoy a shared activity and have FUN together. I stopped making it fun when I started wanting to make us look good. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was very discouraging to an extremely emotionally sensitive dog. A dog that takes every verbal correction to heart. Not to heart in the way that she immediately tries to correct the behavior…but to heart in the way that her feelings are crushed and she slinks off (metaphorically speaking of course) to eat some worms, because nobody loves her and why even bother to try. My lack of praise, my lack of FUN, my constant verbal corrections and clear communication of my disappointment in her…shut her down…and she chose not to play with me anymore.

Coming back to agility last night…I think I was wiser (I know I was older, not too happy about that actually). My instructor had some time to think as well. We devised a new plan…10 steps back…and no more reactive “time outs” in the car after Veronica had been “bad”. We were going to be very proactive and make sure she was good. Instead of running the whole course, we decided I would do 3 obstacles at a time, stop praise to the high heavens and treat galore! I also decided that since my sensitive, emotional pet bull thrived on extravagant, over-the top, worthy of a Broadway show level of praise…then that is exactly what she would get. I would put on my best, effusive, high pitched, Edith Bunker-esque voice and praise her to the heavens. And if a passerby thinks I sound like a fur mommy on crack…well…screw ‘em!!

As you can imagine, since I’m writing this little blog…the plan worked like a charm. Veronica and I had an extremely successful first night back. Of course my definition of “extremely successful” has undergone an adjustment. What I mean is…we had fun…we had fun together…we had a blast actually. I could tell by the fact that my dog was once again interested in me! She wanted to play with me! She wanted to know what we would be doing next! I could also tell by the happy, excited grin on her face and her furiously wagging tail. So what if we never officially compete, or even if we do - who cares about winning…we’re having fun!

Truth be told; we’re a good match. Neither of us is particularly athletic. We each had our turn at “first night back” accidents. Maneuvering a tricky pinwheel out to a teeter; we crashed…and burned. I went down like a ton of bricks. Veronica took a jump too enthusiastically and face planted skidding a good couple of inches on her snout. (Which made her Grammy none too happy. When she saw her red, scraped snout Grammy launched into a tirade of; “OOOOhhhh what did Mommy do? What did Mommy do to you? You can’t take care of this dog! She’s going to have to come and stay with me!” Then Veronica had to allow Grammy to futz around her snout for a good 5 minutes, cleaning it and putting Neosporin on. I think she secretly enjoyed the attention, although she tried her best to look annoyed.)

Hopefully we are back on track!

Here’s a little video of our efforts; but unfortunately it doesn’t capture Veronica taking me out by the teeter; or face planting over the jump…just the girls enjoying each other.

The Pet Bull's Adventures at Grammy DayCare

I work 4 days per week. And on the 4 days that I work, I get Veronica up as I am leaving, I march her outside to potty and I walk her across the hall and deposit her at Grammy Daycare.

I never anticipated that this would be our arrangement. My mother is not what one would call a "dog person" by any stretch of the imagination.

Point of fact, when my dear Basset Hound Frances Abigail got on in years...she got a little stinky from her oily coat, skin allergies and drool...and my mother promptly developed an "allergy" that prevented her from being in Frannie's presence. "Cough, wheeze, cough...oh my throat is closing..." I'm not saying it was definitely a psychosomatic reaction...but when one considers that my mother is an obsessive-compulsive clean freak...it was looking a little suspicious.

So never in my wildest dreams when we decided to get another dog after Fran passed; did I imagine my mother developing an intense bond with the new addition.

In retrospect, the timing was right. We had lost my Dad 2 years prior; and my mom was one of those old-fashioned ladies who's lives had revolved around their husband...so his passing left her without any sort of focus in her life. She actually encouraged me to get another dog because after losing my Dad, then losing Frannie 13 months later - I was turning into a pretty angry, miserable bitch. Since the husband and I both work, Mom volunteered to help with the puppy...which I assumed meant checking on her several times a day, taking her to potty and spending some time with her. Seeing as my mother lives with us in an in-law apartment and is slightly agoraphobic...it seemed a reasonable arrangement. Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine my mother inviting Veronica into her apartment - that was always a "no dog zone".

It started almost immediately. I think the second day we had V. she was invited over to Grammy's apartment "so she could get used to the whole house"???? I was very confused. Then somewhere in that first week that I had taken off work to get the new puppy adjusted, Grammy decided I needed to go out and buy a second crate for her apartment (Grammy loves spending my money)...just in case V. ever needed to "be there for any length of time". Then when it came time for me to go back to work...Grammy couldn't bare the thought of little puppy V. all alone, so I was instructed to take her to Grammy's and deposit her in her crate (which is next to Grammy's bed) so they can both get a few more "Z's" until Grammy is ready to get up and start her day. And that was how Grammy DayCare came into existence.

Fast forward almost 4 years...V. spends 4 days a week in Grammy DayCare. It is an excellent service and I receive periodic updates on my email at work as to how their day is going.

Generally the email will consist of Grammy singing V.'s praises. "Oh she is an Angel! An absolute Angel!! She waited in her crate for me to make the coffee (we don't close the crate door anymore) then came out to get her morning peanut butter cracker. She sat on the deck and watched the squirrels in the yard and barked "Hello" to the neighbors". Then she'll usually tell me that she took her out a time or 2 and threw the ball, and V. was such a good girl and came right in when Grammy called her. Then they went in and V. "let Grammy know" she wanted to get on the couch and waited for Grammy to get the blanket and make her spot ready (yep, V. has conquered the couch in a "no dog zone" and some suspect that the bed isn't far behind). Then there is more snacking throughout the day, and naps...and generally they are quite harmonious, with V. being Grammy's little side-kick.

But...every so often...the report is not so favorable. Every so often I open my email at work and see something like this, "You're dog is being a brat. She is a BRAT. A BRATTY BRAT. I have had it with her!! She is a very fresh girl"!!!!!! (Another sure sign of V.'s behavior is the reception that my husband gets when he arrives home -several hours before me. If he is invited in and is offered a cup of coffee, V. has been good. If Grammy opens the door and screeches, "COME GET YOUR DOG AND GO HOME"!...V. has been a brat.)

So yesterday, she was by all reports a very large brat. The day started out well according to Grammy; but then V. got bored and obnoxious. She wanted to go out in the yard and wanted to be on her schedule not Grammy's. So she kept poking her with her nose and barking to go out; which could easily be handled by ignoring her...but Grammy is a sucker for "that little face"...so basically she spoils V. filthy rotten.

Out they go in the yard, but V. was in "bad dog" mode. She immediately went "off like a bullet" zipping around the yard, stopping to dig in "all the places she knows she shouldn't" and zipping away before Grammy could catch her. She horrified Grammy by trying to get under the shed, huffing and puffing like she was one inch away from putting the bite on "the great under the shed beast". Grammy's head was reeling with images of 12 foot snakes slithering out and eating Veronica whole, like an extra-large overly plump mouse - then setting it's sights on Grammy.

If that weren't bad enough, when Grammy chased her away from the shed, she ran over to dig in the garden and almost got her head caught under the decorative metal border. Then she took off willy nilly running around and digging everywhere and EATING DIRT!!!! Ms. Veronica-Lynn is a genteel young pit bull and she does not eat dirt! Have you any idea what is in dirt? BUGS, BUGS are in dirt!! And Ms. Veronica-Lynn does not eat bugs!! Aside from "eeewww gross": Grammy had visions of V. eating a bug that would sting her insides out and cause an allergic reaction...and V. would turn into an oompa loompa and explode right before Grammy's eyes. Compounding all of this was the fact that V. was not coming when Grammy was calling. Grammy saw red.

Eventually Grammy turned to bribery and lured V. in with a delicious slice of American cheese...but once she was in...Grammy told her in no uncertain terms what a Bad, BRATTY, FRESH girl she was!

Grammy was quite satisfied that V. knew she was wrong and was properly chastised because she took herself off to her crate, and lied down, and put her blanket over her head...and she stayed there for a good, long time and let Grammy do her work.

The Prideful Petbull

I'm new to dog training. Since we've gotten Veronica I've taken a class with her...pretty much consistently in the almost 4 years we've had her; and I read allot about training and canine behavior...because I've decided that my dog is absolutely fascinating and I want to understand every nuance of her magical being.

Along the way I've formed some opinions. I have always preferred positive training methods; even when it was just an academic discussion (because truth be told the only thing I taught my precious Basset Hound Frances Abigail- Ms. Veronica's predecessor...was not to potty in the house).

My preference for positive training is based on the way I look at my relationship with my dog. I want training to enhance our ability to communicate with each other and bring us closer. But even more importantly, I want her to do as I ask not because she's afraid of the consequences if she doesn't - but because she wants to do as I ask.

In retrospect, it's a very, very, very good thing that I think this way, because Veronica is one of those super soft dogs that would really in all honestly, I think "go bad" with correction based training. Sometimes I forget how soft she is because "soft" has nothing to do with being bratty, and willful and pushy and obnoxious - traits that also make up her character. On a good day I find them endearing, and she makes me laugh and I'm glad she is who she is; and on a bad day I want to list her on Craig's List as "free to any home that doesn't blow their brains out after a week"

But today I was treated to an illustration of just how soft my dog is, and why I best forget everything I read to the contrary and stick with all positive, all the time. We had a Rally Obedience class. We've been doing Rally for at least a couple of years. I'm actually thinking of competing the next time that a convenient opportunity arises. Veronica is now able to do the courses without food reinforcement (of course she gets the jackpot at the end). Our biggest challenge is her reactivity towards other dogs; and this is something we have been working on diligently for years. It can be very frustrating - 3 steps forward, 2 steps back - even more so, because I'm sure it's me who scews things up not her.

Anyway, we had class today and because of close quarters there is always a part of the course that runs very close to the other dogs; one of whom happens to be Veronica's Arch Nemesis - Romona the Wicked Whippet. (Total mutual dislike down to their toes). I could have held my own pride in check and reminded myself that having to use a treat to keep Veronica focused simply meant "we weren't there yet" - she wasn't ready to pass that closely by her Arch Nemesis in that context and that was OK. But noooooo...I didn't want to use treats at all, I totally ignored the fact that Veronica wasn't ready in favor of my preference which was that we'd worked hard enough and long enough and she knows what I want her to do and how hard is it and she should be ready damn it!

Not only didn't I use treats, I opted for something I rarely (if ever do) I gave a correction. Not a harsh correction by any means. We came to the weave cones - the part of the course that was right next to the dogs - and when Veronica wouldn't focus on me and tried to bark at Romona; I reached down with my left hand and grabbed her snout. I gave it a little shake and a stern "No" and held her snout past the cones. When we were away from the dogs, Veronica decided to turn around and give Romona a little "up yours anorexic bitch" lip; and again I reached down gave her snout a little shake and a stern "No". Feeling all satisfied in my "handling" of the situation we finished the course and took our seats.

Then our turn came again. We cruised through the first half of the course - no treats. "Well, I certainly told her", I thought as we approached the cones and the evil Romona...at which point Veronica stopped dead in her tracks, fell to the floor in a crouch and attempted to crawl away from the cones. Discussion ensued and it has hypothesized that Veronica was a bit traumatized from the snout grabbing. At the risk of sounding anthromorphic, it looked to all the world (well at least all present) that her feelings had been hurt by my public correction, and now she was afraid to try further). Much hoopla and treating ensued; then my trainer got her to reluctantly do some of the course with her because Veronica suddenly decided she could not suffer the possibility of that sort of humilation again. So again, with many, MANY treats (you know the ones I didn't want to use since I'm planning on competing) Veronica finally finished the course looking like a dog that had been pulled from the shelter that morning, never having seen a Rally course in it's life and believing there was a strong possibility that the ceiling could fall on her head at any moment.

Then came our next turn...using the treats but back on track. Not quite...now it's actually worse. This time around Veronica has concluded that it is not safe to be anywhere near the left side of my body - lest I assault her with a humiliating snout shake. She refuses to finish herself left, and takes it upon herself to finish herself right. She also decided that heeling means heeling as far away from me as she can possibly get while still attached to her leash and positioning herself at an angle - to again fend off any vicious attacks from her crazy human. (and at this point let me reiterate, for those of you who don't have that good of a sense of me from other posts...I hardly touched the damn dog!!! I put my hand over her mouth, and when I say gave her muzzle a little shake...I've seen parents shake 2 year olds in the middle of Walmart harder than I shook that dog; I was simply trying for the effect of stern communication). Oh and the best part; twice she tried to leave the course and run to my trainer like she wanted to be saved. Seriously. "Help me Miss Alice, help me; Momma's been abducted by aliens and this woman next to me is a...a...a snout shaker"!!!!!!!

The class was highly amused. It isn't often that this level of drama is introduced to a Rally Obedience class. Usually they're pretty bland. Veronica's runs were starting to look like a Shakesperian tragedy.

Our final run...I knew I had to get her over this and end on a good note. The treats were flying fast and furious, I was praising her up one side and down the other - what a good good girl, wonderful dog, nice job, so smart, good baby ..."...and Veronica finally started to heal from the grave injustice I dealt her earlier. She decided just maybe it was safe to be by my left side...of course I also switched leash hands ( I prefer to hold the leash in my right hand for Rally and have her target my left) - but since in her mind my left hand had grown teeth and was going to eat her face whole - that had to be adjusted.

So...3 steps forward, 2 steps back - I think we're back on track.

In retrospect my pride (I want us to be ready now) got us into the mess just as much as Veronica's pride (I cannot believe you did that to me in front of all those other dogs). So maybe we're a good match for each other.

The other lesson learned - I will never, ever (at least with this particular dog) let myself think that a correction is the way to go (other than verbal, of course) and I will from here on out praise her til the cows come home!