The Little Pack

We took the dogs camping this weekend. Well, sort of. We went for the day. We had a blast. Jackson immediately made friends with 2 little boys who threw his ball relentlessly. He was in his element and exuded absolute joy. Cheyenne was so over-excited that she fell asleep in the car before we ever got to our destination. We even let her off-leash for awhile and she did well… until she found a pile of poop to roll in. She wore herself out so much that she is still recovering 3 days later. IO found a cozy spot and just relaxed the whole time. Dixie seemed to love it too. She has been very happy since we came home and very loving. Next time, we will attempt to spend the night.

Dixie’s next check-up is tomorrow night–fingers crossed that stone has moved and there are no new ones!

Tonight I was sitting on the loveseat with Jackson next to me and Baby Titten on the armrest furthest away from me, but next to where Cheyenne normally lays. Cheyenne came and pawed at me with her razor sharp talons and I told her no. She pawed at the coffee table and I told her she was pushing her luck. She then jumped up on the armrest and walked along the back of the couch before stopping on the armrest next to me, sniffing my eyeball and promptly pawing me in the face. No one ever said she was normal. She was trying to tell me that the cat was by her spot, and yes, I am also disturbed that I understood what she was telling me. This time I decided to test her. I said, “Cheyenne there is plenty of room to lay in your spot next to the cat.” I didn’t even say any of this like a command. I said it like it is normal to reason with your dog, as though we were having a conversation. And to my amazement, she went and laid down exactly where I suggested. If Cheyenne were a person, she’d be the brilliant kid in school practically failing because she was not applying herself. My new theory is that just like the brilliant kids in school who are not applying themselves, she is really just bored and needs to be challenged. Apparently by holding conversations. We’ll see how far this theory gets me.

After the drama with Dixie the past few weeks, tonight finds me writing about a more familiar topic: Cheyenne. Also, I am thinking I have used the phrase “tonight finds me” a few too many times recently. But I digress. Cheyenne. Is too smart. For real. We have now had this unique, hilarious, spirited, stubborn dog for a little over 3 years. You wouldn’t know it, but she is 4 years old. You wouldn’t know it because until very recently she a) acted like a puppy on speed most of the time, and b) didn’t really know that much. Maybe that last statement is inaccurate: she knows plenty, just not the things I would choose, or have attempted to teach her. And to be fair, she sits almost every time now, lays down and even comes most of the time. But “Don’t smash the cat” and “Quit pawing” still aren’t going so well. So I have known all along that she is super smart, but not motivated and I finally have proof. She has this really fun game she plays where she refuses to come to bed at night and I have to put her on the leash inside the house to get her to follow me. A coworker of mine thinks she likes the extra attention, and I am pretty sure she is right. Sometimes I just show her the leash, and I say, “are you really going to make me use this? Inside? Really?” And with the last “really,” I drop my voice an octave, like I am tough, and I give her The Look. You know the one where I raise one eyebrow, and look super serious because I mean business, young lady, and pretend to be badass but really no one, even my dog, actually believes it, but it works because it plants a seed of doubt in her little brain, like maybe, just maybe, this time I mean it. And I don’t think I can actually raise only one eyebrow, but, you know, its sort of along those lines. Lately, more often than not, she then gets up and walks down the hallway and goes to bed. The other night she went into the bedroom, and while I was brushing my teeth, she slowly and deliberately wandered into the hallway and began to head back to the living room, all the while looking over her shoulder to make sure I knew what she was doing. Sternly, I said, “Shooey, no.” She waivered but decided to keep going.  Sterner yet I said, “That is e-nough. You go back in the bedroom and go night-nights. Now.” And then I employed The Look. (Note to self: use of the term “night-nights” may hamper the effectiveness of my sternness).  She did. Which proved to me she understood everything I said to her. I told she no longer had an excuse, I knew her secret. The next day she was super-excited when I came home, smashed the kitty excessively (I can’t even comment on how disturbing and ridiculous the last sentence sounds to me). So I put her in time out, in our bedroom, by herself. Which didn’t work, because she scratched at the door. So I went in there and I told her to sit and that she needed to calm down. Then I pointed at the bed and said, “get on the bed, go to your spot, and lay down.” She tried to look confused and wagged her tail as though she was unsure. Nice try Shoo Shoo. I am on to you, dog. So I pretended to raise my eyebrow, and cocked my head to the side like I meant it. And she complied. Which means she understood every single word I said to her and all 3 commands I had given at one time. They say that knowledge is power, but I am pretty sure that this knowledge doesn’t help me make her behave.

Mornings are a special time in the Little Pack household, packed full of sweetness and celebration. IO very often greets me with nose nibbles and headrolls. These are clearly joyful acts. Once I start to stir, Jackson and IO will often begin to bark and carry on with celebration while Cheyenne races back and forth next to the bed, wiggling all the while. Archie waits at the bedroom door and purrs the moment he sees me.  Everyone races down the hallway. Baby Titten sits on the arm of the couch and burrupts as I walk by and I pat her on the head. Dixie speeds ahead into the kitchen and leaps and twirls around, woofing. She wants  a morning snack. Archie also gallops into the kitchen, bounds up onto the counter and waits by the sink for me to turn his water on. Meanwhile Jack rejoices that he found his favorite toy and asks me to throw it. Sometimes IO lingers in bed a little longer, catching a few more zzzzs before strolling out to the living room to wait for a few last bites of my breakfast.  All of this takes place while I am on autopilot, still in stupor. I am not a morning person, in fact, I can barely function when I first wake up. It occurs to me just how sweet these waking hours are, and how ironic that it all takes place while I am still too unconscious to fully treasure and savor each moment the way that I would like to.

Cheyenne, like several of our other dogs, is afraid of thunderstorms. A few nights ago, an exceptionally forceful storm rolled through while we were sleeping and lightning struck close to the house multiple times. One struck so close that I heard a sizzle as the lightning flashed, closely followed by a very loud thunderclap. Immediately, Cheyenne’s little head popped up over the side of the bed. I told her to come up, which she did and then she immediately pawed me in the face several times to warn me of the danger close at hand. Thanks Cheyenne, I hadn’t noticed. She trembled and refused to lie down. Every single cell in her body was telling her that danger was near, and to be fair, it was. I kept talking to her calmly, trying to bring her anxiety level down.

If you haven’t figured, I don’t buy into that whole theory that if you comfort your pet when they are scared you will teach them to be more afraid. Sure if she was only unsure, and I made a big deal about it, I might only reinforce her fear. However, she was all ready beyond  scared. It would have been heartless to ignore her needs. Besides, research is starting to agree with me on this point. But I will save my argument for another day.

So back to my point. Cheyenne was in a full-blown panic. And because I believe that warrants comforting, I talked to her calmly and told her it was all right. I stroked her face, but she continued to sit there—she had assessed this situation and decided she needed to stay alert. She is a natural watchdog, very aware of her surroundings. She backed up to me and still trembling, sat with her back facing me. She somehow knew the exact direction of the storm and she strategically positioned herself exactly between the storm and me.  She proceeded to “watch” the storm.

I am at a loss to explain how unbelievably touching I found this. She was completely terrified, and uncontrollably shaking with fear, but she put my safety and the desire to protect me above her own terror. This literally brings tears to my eyes. The absolute selflessness that dogs possess never ceases to amaze me. But more particularly, I am struck by just how far of a journey Cheyenne and I have taken together. As the storm passed and turned to rain, I told her it was okay to lie down—and she did. In this moment, I realized she trusts me absolutely and I am awe today of this bond that we have forged.