Terror on the Trail
Don’t I look vicious? Grrrrrrr.
Probably more freaky than vicious…
I usually love walking the trails around where we live, but today, whew! We mostly walk trails where humans take us dogs off our leashes. When we meet other dogs, we socialize. Simple concept.
We see a small dog running down the trail to greet us. There are introductions of the doggie kind. Then, his big dog brother lopes on down. More intros – all good. When their human joins us, all H-E-double-hockey-sticks broke loose. The little dog barks what seems like orders to the big dog and big dog attacks. It’s an intimidation strike, teeth bared, but no intent to bite… yet. Their human reprimands, as I snuggle myself in the human tunnel of mine, between both his legs with my tail in assault mode. The human apologized for her dogs, even gave me a little pat on the head and they were on their way.
It was pretty much out of sight, out of mind for me. I heard A-Dog say that the little dog reminded her of the cartoon dog with a hat and cigar, barking orders to his big, dopey dog friend. I don’t know about that, but I do know that dogs can be unpredictable to humans. We don’t always act sweet and want our heads rubbed. And when you’ve got more than one, you must be wary of the dynamic. Those behaviors live deep in our furry genes. Woof!
In the Doghouse
Originally published 11-12-08
The humans are so angry.
I can’t help myself… I’m a dirty dog.
Me and A-Dog have been out running for the past couple weeks. She takes me places where I can run free (as long as no one is there), because I run too fast for her. When she’s holding the leash, I need to summon all my patience to “run” at her pace. She lets me off when the coast is clear and we each do our own thing. That’s where I run into trouble.
As I’ve mentioned, dogs like things that smell. We don’t make a good or bad judgment about the smell; it’s just smell. I lose my mind a little in the presence of decomposition. You can snap me out of almost anything with the promise of a treat, but not when I smell poor little mousy, three days gone. I get a smell, then a smear, and if I’m really lucky, a roll. That’s when the shouting starts. It’s usually my name and NO! and COME NOW! This is my third mouse in as many weeks, so the words coming out of A-Dog’s mouth were a bit different. She was speaking so fast and loudly that all I heard was “gonna kick your barking a**!”
Needless to say, that didn’t happen. I got a bath and a fresh collar (the smear is always on my neck, like a fine perfume) and a lot of attitude from A-Dog. I’m acting as contrite as possible, but it looks like no ears rubs in my future.
So why? Why do we rub ourselves in death with such passion? The ancient instinct to mark our discovery to the pack is one theory. Masking our odor for hunting is another. Whatever the reason, I don’t think about doing it. I just do. And I only remember that I’m not supposed to do it, until after it’s done.
What can you take away from this? Either accept it as natural dog behavior or keep me on the leash and run faster. Here endeth the doggie lesson – woof!
