
Barty and me
When it came round to writing my editorial this week there is one key thing on my mind – my dog. Barty is my loveable but naughty lab-cross puppy.
I got him just over a month ago now and while I love him to pieces, he’s quickly growing to be a handful of colossal proportions. As I write this Barty is THANKFULLY asleep on the couch. He’s not allowed on the couch, but I’m too scared to wake him up since he’s been a crazed loon all evening and even relieved himself on an innocent girls leg earlier. She paid the forfeit that many do for walking past the house while Barty is on a toilet trip. These moments of sweet silence have become few and far between as he gets older, so I have learnt to relish them.
The day I got him was both wonderful and heartbreaking for both of us. When I arrived to choose him out of his five brothers and sisters, he was the one who kept tottering off to investigate and was set apart by his white nose, paws and tip of his tail. I never thought taking him home would be so difficult, as I drove off with him shaking on my lap and I watched his mother in the rear view mirror sitting solemnly, and staring after us. It was just awful! I felt like some kind of dog-napper. Things worsened at home as he hid under the bed from me crying, and the only time he cheered up was during a fleeting rush of excitement when he caught a glimpse of himself in the bedroom mirror and thought one of his siblings was there too.
After a couple of days of doggy blues, he cheered up and we were the best of friends.
Looking back at those first few weeks, how easy life was! Apart from the house being one big dog toilet, he was very well behaved – he didn’t chew much, didn’t bark, slept lots and was too scared to go near anything that moved or made noise, so I had little to worry about – although I did go through an uncanny amount of floor disinfectant during that time. He’s a clever pup and was toilet trained within three weeks, he even did ‘sit’ and ‘paw’ from day one. Naively, I thought this was an early indication that he was freakishly clever and I could turn him into one of those special trained dogs and that within months I’d have him putting his own toys away, bringing me the morning paper and playing basketball like you sometimes see in Disney films….sigh….I don’t know what I was thinking…the only thing he brings me is chewed up odds and sods that were once useful, like my headphones, multiple pairs of shoes and my Chanel face bronzer (Weep).
However, it’s the barking that’s causing me the most problems at the moment. He barks when he wants to play or go out – never an aggressive bark or particularly loud, but it’s loud enough to bother neighbors, especially those that work night shifts…I think I am in danger of becoming the target of some neighbourly animosity.
Aside from the barking which, lets face it, most dogs without their voice box removed will do, Barty had developed a number of other habits, some unique and some not so unique to young pups. Things Barty loves to do: Peeing on legs, drinking my tea and then having a caffeine rush, , walking through his own poo and then finding anything white in the house to paint a poo picture, chasing children (lovingly), humping for no particular reason, getting stuck under the car seat after too much pizza-stealing, herding people (thats the Australian shepherd in him), ripping up my dads new map and leaving little pieces of BC all over the floor…the list goes on…
There are various deterrents I’ve tried for his bad behaviour but nothing seems to work…When he started chewing chunks off my wooden bed, someone at work gave me an anti-chewing spray thats supposed to taste horrible. ‘Simply spray on furniture to eliminate the aggravating problem’ the label promised…Lies! Barty likes the taste – the more I sprayed, the more he chewed! While my parents were visiting a couple of weeks ago we read in a training book that a good way to prevent puppies from barking and nipping is by spraying them with a water pistol when they commit the offence. It seemed to work a treat at first! Hooray! A method in those darn books that actually works! It was short lived…now when the pistol comes out he just sits still and opens his mouth, waiting to drink the water…its become his favourite game.
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