The Little Pack

Just recently chased Cheyenne down the street. In flip flops. Again. But this time, I had Dixie and Jackson with me. And my husband had no awareness of the crisis in progress. But I should back up and explain. Cheyenne always refused to leave the yard even when she was on the leash and did not have her the electric collar on. To take her for a walk in the neighborhood I would have to put her in the car and park on the side of the yard. So, one day I decided to try to leave the yard with her on a leash.  She was very apprehensive, but trusted me and was ecstatic to discover that she was able to leave the yard with me. Since then she been really excited to go for walks with me. Until. The disaster of the other day.

I decided to just take Jack and Dixie and come back for Cheyenne. I thought it would be fine if she stayed in the yard while we went. Unfortunately, because I was leaving the yard she thought the magic of me was in place and proceeded to walk right through the electric fence. I heard it beep, I told her to stay and she walked through it like nothing. Fantastic. She was so amped that I don’t think she even felt the shock. Then it was as though the world was her oyster and she took off down the street, kicking her back legs out straight behind her like a deer. I was calling her and calling and she did not hear me. I had Dixie on the leash and started running, in my flip flops, no phone. Dixie was not keeping up with me. My running seemed to encourage Cheyenne to run faster. I began flashing back to the last time she ran away. By now I was screaming.  Oh and praying. Because as we’ve established I become quite the believer during times of stress. Against all my better instincts, I stopped running. Inside I was completely panicked. I couldn’t believe all the work I have done with was crumbling.

I stopped to see what would happen. She slowed. I think she was just super-excited to be on a walk and be able to be with Jack. I kept screaming her name and telling her to come. I scooped up Dixie and calmly (ha!) walked towards Cheyenne. Somehow I caught her attention and got her to come to me. I put her on Dixie’s leash and carried Dixie back. And thanked God that Dixie is small enough to carry. I took off Cheyenne’s collar and threw it in the yard. My heart was pounding out of my chest, but at least she came to me.

I have been worried that she would leave the yard but I think that she thinks there is some sort of magic that occurs when I escort her out of the yard and she has not tested it. This whole event has given me reason to pause though.

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.

One day, I was doing laundry and switched the load from the washer to the dryer. I turned it on and heard THUNK.. THUNK.. I thought, hmm.. weird.. THUNK… THUNK.. no shoes.. what the… I opened the dryer and surprisingly Baby Titten leaped out. At the time, BT was about 8 months or so. Still curious. Still a pistol. Apparently she had sneaked into the laundry room and decided to explore her surroundings. Oh my God. I cannot convey the immediate, simultaneous fear and relief that I felt. I grabbed her and held her close, and BT, not a cuddler, and even less so then, clung to me for dear life; our hearts pounded in unison. Her fur was static-y and warm, and I was apparently pale as a ghost. We held each other for what seemed like forever. That was beyond a close call. Although she only went around 2 full times, she could easily have snapped her neck in the short amount of time it took me to open the dryer door. To this day I have a fear of the dryer and even though at 15 and 17 pounds respectively, the thuds would be much louder I have to physically touch each cat when the dryer is going to reassure myself they will not be lost in this horrible way.

Although not as funny as the first time, Cheyenne struck again tonight by rolling in a dead animal. Still aromatic, this time wasn’t quite as pungent. In fact, my husband said he thought it was his feet, until he realized her neck was crusty. He thought this could be taken care of with a washcloth and having experience in this matter, I just laughed. Clearly, this did not work out and he soon announced that we were putting her in the tub. The crust was down the length of her body. I grabbed a pitcher, towel, and shampoo. My husband wrapped her up in a dirty towel and carried her into the bathroom. He set her in the tub and climbed in with her. I dumped the first pitcher of water over her and was as0tounded to see the water running off her body turn YELLOW. A moment later I realized my husband’s feet were in the water and that is precisely when the laughter started. I simply could not stop. Even Cheyenne’s dejected little face and trembling body did not deter me. Post-bath, we discovered her collar was covered in guts. I can’t wait to discover what poor little thing caused this ruckus.