Lectures II: the Proper Behavior When Courting

Gizmo and friends: NOT the time to lick your balls

The lectures on the proper behavior when in the company of a lady continue.  I tell Gizmo one of the secrets of getting along with a woman: “Especially when on a first date, and even for a long, long time after that, it is wise not to lick your balls (or anyone else’s, for that matter) even if dinner is over and you are at her apartment drinking Cognac.”

Gizmo looked at me as if he thought I was nuts.  I looked at him with the knowledge that whether or not he needed the wisdom I was imparting, there were the unspoken rules that ought to be followed.

        "I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult." --Rita Rudner

I lecture Gizmo on proper behavior while attracting babes

 

         The lectures on the proper behavior when in the company of a lady continue.  I tell Gizmo one of the secrets of getting along with a woman: “Especially when on a first date, and even for a long, long time after that, it is wise not to lick your balls (or anyone else’s, for that matter) even if dinner is over and you are at her apartment drinking Cognac.”

Gizmo looked at me as if he thought I was nuts.  I looked at him with the knowledge that whether or not he needed the wisdom I was imparting, there were the unspoken rules that ought to be followed.

        "I wonder if other dogs think poodles are members of a weird religious cult." --Rita Rudner

To cage or not to cage

Gizmo, the interior decorator, has flipped his pad so he can get under it.  Earthquake preparedness?

The debate over the “cage” (or training enclosure for the politically correct) vs. letting the puppy roam and scolding him whenever he does something wrong.  Many wise dog trainers advise that scolding or hitting a dog (or rubbing his nose in the Spot of Error) is not the thing to do.  Unless the scolding is virtually at the same instant as the sin, the dog’s brain doesn’t really understand what you are trying to communicate to him.

With Beowulf, the Shih Tzu who lived almost 19 years with us, Grace was firmly of the opinion that cages were cruel and unusual punishment.  She would ask, “Would you like to be in a cage overnight””  The answer, of course, was “Certainly not,” but I am not a den-loving dog.

It took, as I remember, months to toilet train Beowulf.  All we wanted him to do was to relieve himself on a newspaper.  We lived in Chicago at the time and we knew that every winter the temperature would approach Hell Freezes Over (when the Chicago Cubs were sure to win the World Series).  When that weather was upon us, a dog who was happy about urinating on newspaper would save both humans and dog a lot of shivering misery.

(We quickly learned that Beowulf preferred to relieve himself on the Chicago Tribune or the Wall Street Journal, two full-size newspapers which presented a larger target for him.  The Chicago Sun-Times, which was a tabloid, was not his preferred target.)

Beowulf was never caged, meaning that for many months he gnawed on shoes and leather pants and didn’t realize why the newspapers were spread on the kitchen floor.  Perhaps he thought that was where we read them.

Gizmo was not only provided with a cage, but he quickly grew to prefer it.  He would go into his cage if there was too much excitement in the house.  Within a few weeks, at night he would stand at the door of the cage, if it was closed, and look at me as if to say, “I’m tired and I have a tough day tomorrow if you are going to try to train me to fetch that stupid toy you gave me.  So please open the door so I can go to sleep?  Mr. Cute is leaving the building.”

               "If you pick up a starving dog and make him prosperous, he will not bite you;  that is the principal difference between a dog and a man." –  Mark Twain

Lecturing Gizmo on Proper Behavior When Meeting Women

   This morning, while I walk Gizmo, I continue my lectures on the proper behavior when in the company of a female dog or human, it makes no difference.

For instance, today I repeated for Gizmo’s memory and edification, “No matter how much you like the lady, it is frowned upon to shit on the rug on her side of the bed.” 

When I asked him if he understood, he smiled and shook his head, acknowledging and perhaps even thanking me for that excellent wisdom.  And he looked at me as if I were the wisest person who had ever lived.

             "No one appreciates the very special genius of your conversation as the dog does." --Christopher Morley

What was Gizmo's life before us like?

        We have been curious about Gizmo’s life before he was with us.   Was he loved and then put up for adoption?  Was he a stray, living the wild life on the street before being found?  What were his experiences before he arrived at our safe heaven?

         We got a small clue this morning when I leashed him and took him out the side door for a walk.  There was a garbage truck loading cans from our next door neighbor’s home and it was making the loud, rumbling, cranking sounds normal for garbage trucks.

         Gizmo panicked.  He pulled back on his leash so suddenly that it was yanked out of my fingers.  He turned and, despite the temptation of a really fun walk in front of him, tried to run directly back into the house.

         I stepped on his leash, preventing him from going any further.   Then he crouched down, making himself as small and as close to the ground as he could.  His tail was down, way down.  So were his eyes.

         I had to pull on the leash to convince him to go out the door. 

         As soon as he got up on all four legs, he rushed through the door, pulling on his leash with all his might, while trying to arc as far away from that garbage truck as he could.   He continued this full-fright behavior, walking/running/pulling to get away from either the truck or the sound it was making.

         It was not until we were a full block away that he calmed enough to slow down a bit and I could begin to continue to teach him to heel.

         Similarly, a couple of days ago we were walking down a street and saw two trucks, pointed in opposite directions and parked there, mostly blocking the street.   They were large vehicles carrying gardeners’ tools, including nearly a dozen lawn mowers.  The drivers were talking to each other and not at all bothered that they were blocking the road because there was no other traffic there at the time.

         That was the first time Gizmo panicked because of a truck.  He pulled to the side of the road farthest from the trucks. And he looked as if he were about to be crushed.

What caused this new (to us), fright-filled reaction?  Had Gizmo, before he got to us, been endangered or injured by a truck?  Had he actually lived on the street somewhere and learned to be wary of large trucks?

We’ll never know.   It was part of the mysterious background of our beloved dog. 

an embarrassment of diapers

No need for diapers

      From Marty, the ex-judge:  When Dolly, our second dog, was about 8 years old, she became incontinent and I do mean incontinent because she peed enough to cover

a continent. 

     We bought her a doggie diaper but it wasn't nearly absorbent enough to take in her gushers.  So my wife had to go to the store to buy human incontinent pads to insert in the doggie diaper.  

      Each time she would get a knowing look from the sympathetic check-out clerk and would

have to loudly proclaim, "It's for the Dog!"

      To this day, we're not sure if the clerks and customers believed her

Garbage Truck Panic

          We have been curious about Gizmo’s life before he was with us.   Was he loved and then put up for adoption?  Was he a stray, living the wild life on the street before being found?  What were his experiences before he arrived at our safe heaven?

         We got a small clue one morning when I leashed him and took him out the side door for a walk.  There was a garbage truck loading cans from our next door neighbor’s home and it was making the loud, rumbling, cranking sounds normal for garbage trucks.

         Gizmo panicked.  He pulled back on his leash so suddenly that it was yanked out of my fingers.  He turned and, despite the temptation of a really fun walk in front of him, tried to run directly back into the house.

         I stepped on his leash, preventing him from going any further.   Then he crouched down, making himself as small and as close to the ground as he could.  His tail was down, way down.  So were his eyes.

         I had to pull on the leash to convince him to go out the door. 

         As soon as he got up on all four legs, he rushed through the door, pulling on his leash with all his might, while trying to arc as far away from that garbage truck as he could.   He continued this full-fright behavior, walking/running/pulling to get away from either the truck or the sound it was making.

         It was not until we were a full block away that he calmed enough to slow down a bit and I could begin to continue to teach him to heel.

         Similarly, a couple of days ago we were walking down a street and saw two trucks, pointed in opposite directions and parked there, mostly blocking the street.   They were large vehicles carrying gardeners’ tools, including nearly a dozen lawn mowers.  The drivers were talking to each other and not at all bothered that they were blocking the road because there was no other traffic there at the time.

         That was the first time Gizmo panicked because of a truck.  He pulled to the side of the road farthest from the trucks. And he looked as if he were about to be crushed.

What caused this new (to us), fright-filled reaction?  Had Gizmo, before he got to us, been endangered or injured by a truck?  Had he actually lived on the street somewhere and learned to be wary of large trucks?

We’ll never know.   It was part of the mysterious background of our beloved dog.

"No animal should ever jump up on the dining room furniture unless absolutely certain that he can hold his own in the conversation." --Fran Lebowitz