The hidden dog

Another favorite napping spot: under my desk

Grace, who had an appointment for which she was late, wanted to get Gizmo into his cage (training facility to the more politically correct).  Gizmo hid under her bed.  WAY under her bad in her office. 

She tried to coax him with treats.  She attempted to be stern and say, in no uncertain terms, “I’m not fooling around: get out her and get in your cage.”  Gizmo just retreated further under her bed.

Finally, she had to leave.  Her note told me: “Gizmo under the bed.  Can’t get him out.  Hope no accidents while I am out.”

When I arrived about an hour and a half after Grace left, there was Gizmo, happy to see me, prancing around, joyous in his greetings (as he always is).  No “accidents”, no problems in allowing him to roam free.

My fear: Gizmo has learned something new.  The next time we need to have him in his cage, he will retreat to beneath the bed in Grace’s office.

Sure enough, I was about to leave, Gizmo just stared at me from the end of the hallway and, when I made a move towards him, he dashed into Grace’s office and disappeared under the bed.

But I was as determined as Gizmo was.  I reached under the bed, found his collar, grabbed his front and back end, and dragged him out, carrying him to the cage.

I did not scold or yell at him.  I merely forcefully picked him up and deposited him in the cage.

The next time, when we were going out for the night, I opened the cage door, tossed a treat inside and Gizmo ran, not walked, into the cage.  When he settled down in there, it was with a sigh of apparent relief.  Humans one, dog zero.

"Man is a dog's idea of what God should be." -- Holbrook Jackson