Everybody Has a Job

The plasterer is in this week to repair the ceiling in my 3rd floor study. And we all have jobs to do.

His job is to do the plasterwork.

My job is to refrain from asking him so many questions about doing the plasterwork that he never is able to do the plasterwork.

Gwenith and Huw's job is to make themselves scarce.

Llewellyn's job is to stay by me when I'm here and to pretend to like being cooped up in his crate when I'm not, and to contain the barking even if he doesn't like it.

And Rhadwen's job is to go wherever she pleases and look cute.

Swim or Sink, Barking Division

Day before yesterday, the new people moved into the house on the corner, two doors down from the House of the Flying Furballs.

They have a large Doberman named Vader, who does not wear a helmet or have breathing issues.

What he does have is good off-leash discipline, and his people, the past couple of days, have allowed him to lie out on their front lawn while they're with him.

This drives my Llewellyn nuts. Not only is there a new interloping canine in the neighborhood, said interloper doesn't have the grace to run away (i.e., keep going by on leash) when he barks at it. No, this new mutt just lies there and ignores him.

Must need to bark all the louder and longer:

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!!

Hey, that didn't work! Other dog is still there! And now he's walking around with people petting him! Try again:

BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!!

Oh good grief, you could hear my mutt up and down the block. Ferociously. Constantly. Not something any of us can tolerate, especially not me with my nerves.

So I'm trying something. It's the basic carrot and stick approach. If Llewellyn can look at the screen door at Vader and keep his yap shut, he gets a treat and high praise for being a "Good, quiet dog!"

If I catch him barking or even growling at the Dobie, he gets a water squirt from the spray bottle and a "Naughty noise!"

We'll see how this works. The advent of this new dog may be an inadvertent blessing-- or the beginning of tumult and misery for one and all.

My Dog's Other Name Is "Mr. Hyde"

Llewellyn is the sweetest doggie you'd ever want to meet-- if you're a person or a cat.

But if you're another dog, make your will. And if you're a person with another dog, know that he doesn't believe in innocent bystanders.

I'm not happy about this. It severely limits where I can take him. But until I can afford the proper training, that's how it is.

That's how it was yesterday. I was up on a ladder, upstairs stripping wallpaper, when Llewellyn began to bark. And bark and bark and bark and bark and bark!!

"Llewellyn, hush! Naughty noise!!"

Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!

"Quiet!"

Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!!!!

The volley went on unabated. I supposed it wasn't just somebody passing by with their dog. Somebody must've been at the door, and couldn't get the bell to work.

I climbed off the ladder and went downstairs. Llewellyn was still in a barking fury, aimed at the front door. I gave a glance out the window of the wooden front door; I saw no one and concluded it was the little girl from down the street, who doesn't come up high enough to be seen.

But I looked more closely, and saw a woman I didn't know.

Then everything seemed to happen at once.

I open the wooden door--
I hear the visitor say, "Does Kate Carp--?"
Llewellyn rushes past me, snarling with a hatred volcanic--
I look down and notice, oh, no, she's got a chocolate Lab mix dog with her!--
I look up and notice, oh, no, the screen door is off the latch!--
I yell, "My dog hates other dogs!!"--
I reach for the screen door knob to pull it closed to keep my dog in--
The visitor similtaneously reaches for it and pulls the door wide open--
Llewellyn surges out and hurls himself tooth and claw on the chocolate Lab--

And next thing I knew, the visitor and her dog were knocked all the way down my five front steps into the bushes, struggling and tangled in their leash, with my dog doing his best to send the Lab into canine oblivion. I tried to grab his collar but he kept it out of my reach. Somehow I ended up straddling him from behind and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him off the other dog. Then I could collar him, and drag him back into the house.

But I had to get back out and help the lady and her dog and see how they were. Oh, gosh, where could I put him? How could I keep him secured? I've got the stops off all the doors upstairs and they don't close properly!

Leash-- leash-- keep hold of him with one hand; reach up on the refrigerator and grab his leash.

I got it on him as he desperately tried to get back out and finish off the offending Lab. Hooking the loop under a leg of the kitchen stool, I made a mad dash to the front door.

Crash! He had the stool over and was nearly outside before I could seize his leash again.

I dragged him away and this time, wrapped the end several times around a stair baluster, and ran.

Whew! Got outside and the door slammed shut just as he got loose again.

Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!!!! came through the window next to the door. Bark-bark-bark-bark-bark!!!!!

The visitor and her dog had regained their feet by now. I'll pass over my apologies; they were many and profuse, especially once I'd noticed that the woman had a bruise over her left eye socket-- she must've hit it on the concrete steps tumbling down.

She insisted she and her dog were just fine. She hadn't even felt the bruise, and surprisingly, her dog was intact. No blood, no injuries. She said if this had to happen, she was the best person for it to happen to, since she loves dogs and trains them. She told me she'd dropped by because she got this particular dog from the previous owner of my house, who used to socialize puppies to be helper dogs-- this particular chocolate Lab turned out to have knee trouble and got drummed out of the corps. She'd happened to be walking her by my house and thought she'd drop in to show Kate C. how her dog was doing. She discussed what I might do to train Llewellyn to get over his fear agression against other canines.

The visitor told me a lot of things, but one thing she did not tell me was, "I'm sorry I pulled the door open and let your dog out. I saw the state your dog was in, and it was a dumb thing to do."

No. She didn't say that at all.

Maybe in all the tsimmes she forgot that's what she did.

I hope she and her dog really are all right. I hope it for their sakes, and I hope it for my dog's.

Because if it came to a claim being made against my homeowner's insurance, I know what can happen in these cases. And I'd be devastated if anything happened to Llewellyn, simply because he contracted a phobia against other dogs in his previous life-- and now a visitor with a dog had taken it upon herself to open my door and let him-- or his raging alter-ego-- out.

Enough Already!

I'm nervous.

I've got family coming to stay this weekend, and by then I've got to train my dog Llewellyn not to bark for no reason during the night. I can hardly take it myself. How can I expect them to?

His bark is prodigious. It's a loud, resonant, astounding, baying Beagle bark. As it shatters the silence, it gives warning of an entire squadron of invading Martians, of a large pride of lions prowling the streets, of a shipload of pirates out for booty and blood-- nothing less.

But it never is anything. It's bad enough for me to be exploded out of a sound sleep three or four times a night. But what effect will it have on my parents, who are in their late 70s, early 80s? If I can't convince my mutt to keep it quiet, I may have to foot the bill for a hotel.

I've tried the technique where you distract the dog from barking by calling his name and petting him when he comes to you quietly. But I'm afraid Llewellyn thinks he's being complimented for scaring off whatever-it-is so well.

So I'm trying another tack, from another training expert. This one recommends that you rebuke the dog firmly with a one-word command (Llewellyn understands "Enough!"), then studiously and silently ignore him. My boy's a little independent, so I'm substituting glaring at him silently and pointedly.

It seems to work pretty well once I've gotten over the initial shock and remembered the magic word "Enough!" That gets his attention, and it's surprising how soon he quiets down.

"BUH-HARK!! BUH-HARK!! BARK-BARK-BARK-BARK!!!"

"Qu- huh- Enough!"

"BARK! bark!"

(Glaring look.)

"Bark. Bark?"

(Further glaring look.)

"Ruff. Ruff. Uh . . . ?"

(Glaring look maintained, while trying not to laugh out loud.)

This is working well enough, when the lights are on and we can see each other. But at night in the dark . . .

The training manual says to have a squirt gun handy for just such occasions. And wasn't I at Big Lots this afternoon? Didn't I forget to see if they had any water pistols?

Five more nights we have to solve this problem. I don't want to be calling the EMTs because my dog has given my parents heart attacks.