The Little Pack

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Cheyenne is something else. Once Cheyenne is wound up, she is almost in a trance. It can be nearly impossible to break the spell she is in. Tonight she was in one of these altered states, obsessively pawing at my husband. I finally put her on the leash–yes, inside. I do this often and with the most amazing results. She immediately calms down, relaxes, and lays down at my feet. I can’t believe how effective this method is. I don’t understand why this works, I just know that it does.

I thought that I knew everything about having a dog, that there was no dog I couldn’t train, nothing I couldn’t conquer. I trusted my instincts would see me through. Indeed, a lot of my identity was tied up in being great with dogs. Truth be told, I fancied myself a Dog Whisperer. And then, along came Cheyenne. Two and a half years later, Cheyenne’s only 2 “tricks” are “Sit” and “High Five”. “High Five” occurs without fail, because there is a treat. “Sit” occurs 98% of the time, and of the successful attempts, most of those occur with additional prompting, such as “What do you need to do?” and/or gentle tapping on her flank. Often “Sit” is successful because there is something that she wants involved, such as treat, her dinner, or to go outside. Other inconvenient commands such as “lay” and “come” have about a 50% success rate. It is not that she doesn’t know what they mean. She just absolutely cannot figure out why she should lay down when she is doing something else, like, say, pawing at my face, or chasing the kitty, or sitting. The best part is that my 2 perfect angel dogs have learned by her example instead of the other way around and frequently ignore my increasingly frantic pleas to listen. I have learned the truth and that is that the serene pack leader I once imagined myself to be was all an illusion, fostered only by the sweetness of my other 2 dogs placating my fantasy.  In retrospect, I suppose I had it, and by it, I mean Cheyenne, coming to me.

Let me start by explaining that I understand, or more accurately thought I understood, dogs with issues. Jackson, my Border collie, was an emotional wreck when I adopted him. He was terrified of everything, most notably stairs and riding in the car. I worked tirelessly to get him over both fears. I learned what motivated him, I encouraged him, supported, pushed and comforted him. We sat in the car without it running, I treated his motion sickness and I was patient and encouraging, and he not only conquered these fears but worshipped me in the process. I let his adoration go to my head. Looking back, I was probably quite smug; I thought I knew it all. I expected Cheyenne to react the same way, grateful, hanging on to my every wish, existing only for me. I had no idea what was in store for me or the ways that my life would change. The thing is that somewhere in between the many, and I do mean many, eaten shoes, chewed up couches, shredded blankets, books, pens, holes in the backyard, chases through the neighborhood, small rodent kills, and rolling and eating decaying creatures and feces, this little brown spotted dog has run away with my heart.

This picture depicts Cheyenne’s personality exactly. Everyone knows that hoarding 2 bones and the biggest toy you can find is the secret to happiness.

She was beyond sweet this morning and insisted on cuddling with me before I left for work, even putting her head on my shoulder like a little person. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, that crazy brown spotted dog is something else.

Also it should be noted, the nicknames Shoo Shy and Shoo Shoo are derived from the children’s song. As in, shoo Chey–don’t bother me.

I have noticed that Cheyenne responds better to visual cues than verbal ones. If I have her attention, she will respond almost without fail if I use a visual command rather than speaking it. If I hold my hand up, or tap her rump, she will sit. If I point, or tap the floor, she lays down. I am learning to be patient and just wait after asking her to do something. Most of the time she will do what I have asked, although sometimes only after an exaggerated delay. I can only assume this is evidence of her sight hound heredity.

She is finally begining to act like a teenager instead of puppy. She still has her moments though. We have seen quite a transition since Dixie came to live with us. Now Dixie is the newcomer, and because she associates herself with IO and Jack, by default, she is graduating into a “big dog.” I am amazed that she is beginning to take direction and have high hopes that in another 6 months or so, she will be a really good dog.

Tonight one Cheyenne mystery solved: lately she has been pawing and pawing and pawing at me. Persistently. Sometimes my head, sometimes smashing my hand underneath her body. Although this sounds like a dominance thing, I must first explain that pawing is Cheyenne’s one way of communication with humans. Which, frankly sucks, because there is really no way to tell if she has to go out, if someone took her toy or bone or looked at her sideways, if she wants a treat, etc. She doesn’t vary the way that she paws, it simply means that she has something she desperately needs to tell me and she is so frustrated she can’t just speak in my language. Instead she is forced to just reiterate, Mom! Mom! Mom! with her perfectly groomed, razor sharp claws, until I finally either lose my patience and yell at her to lay down, or I miraculously telepathically figure out what the issue is. A side note: the other dogs–the former angel dogs–have also taken to pawing when they want something. This, by the way, is not how learning between the dogs was supposed to happen. Why does the bad influence always prevail? That is contemplation for another day, back to the recent resurgence of pawing.  Lately she has been taking my spot when I leave it, so more and more its beginning to seem like a dominance issue after all. Tonight, I got up and came back and there she was curled up in my chair on my blanket and I had an epiphany to the point I burst out laughing. She wasn’t trying to take my spot. She wanted my afghan. She loves afghans. She has simply been trying to tell me that she wanted a blanket. I got hers (yes, she has her own afghan) from the bedroom and spread it out on the ottoman. She immediately leaped into the new spot, made the perfect nest, and curled up happy as a clam. And now as I write this, somehow she has both of the blankets, is passed out and snoring with her body pressed against mine and dreaming I can only presume, of chasing rabbits and shrews. What would life be without this crazy brown-spotted dog?