The Little Pack

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.

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.

Sometimes I am convinced that Cheyenne lives solely to torture me. Tonight was one such evening. She smashed the cat out of boredom, pawed at me obsessively and actively failed to listen to me. She seems to have worn herself out and is now curled up in the smallest ball, head on a pillow, feet and legs tangled together, snoozing away. I’m betting that when it is time to go bed, she will pretend she doesn’t hear me. She will then roll over when I walk up to her as if it is some sort of punishment to sprawl out on a pillow-topped king sized bed with her own afghan. She tries this almost daily. As if we would ever give her free range of the house all night long. I can only imagine the trouble she would get herself into. So I will have 2 options: 1. Put her on a leash, yes, inside the house, and literally walk her to the bedroom, or, 2. Pick her up and carry her. Oh, the games that Shoo Shys play.

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.