Column: Thing I Tell My Wife, by Matthew Knutson

“She didn’t even ruin your shoe,” I said to Sera as I picked up some pieces of my wife’s favorite pair of flats before she had a clear chance to see what our dog had been doing. The shoe honestly wasn’t ruined, but several pieces from the sole insert had been destroyed. Beesly turned 6 months old this week, so I figured it was time to update you on how life with a puppy is going.

She sits when we tell her to sit. She stays when we tell her to stay. But she doesn’t do either of those things when she wants to jump. All dogs have something to work on, and this is Beesly’s. She’s over 30 pounds now, and it’s time for her to break the jumping habit. It’s interesting how well you can train a dog, and then when you bring people into your home, the dog no longer cares about any of it.

We originally picked Beesly from her litter because of how much attention she gave us. The other pups seemed excited to see us, but then wandered away after a few moments. Beesly would have followed us into the car if we let her. To this day she still insists on being in the same room as us (if she’s allowed).

While having a friendly dog is admirable, it also means she thinks everyone is her friend. The other day I was taking her for a very brief jog around the block to relieve her of some pent up energy. A dedicated runner was heading our way and Beesly and I clearly interpreted the person differently. Beesly saw a new best friend; I saw someone braving the cold temperatures to get some serious exercise. When the jogger actually stopped to pet her quickly, I realized my perception of the dedicated runner was wrong. Apparently even fitness fanatics have time to stop and pet a dog.

Beesly wants people to be with her so much so that she’s recently taken up her most annoying habit: barking to let us outside of the house. That’s not a typo. She rings her bell to go outside and do her stuff, and then proceeds to bark until we go out to play with her. We’ve tried ignoring her pleas, we’ve tried luring her back inside with food, and we’ve tried disciplining her to break the habit, but she still so desperately craves our attention outside that we now have to plan for an additional 15 minutes of chasing her into the house when we let her out into our small fenced-in yard. It’s completely random when she decides to play this game and almost always at the most incontinent time.

Last week she added on to the fun by ringing the bell to go outside and then walking away from the door when we opened it to let her out. Let me be clear, we’ve had this procedure down for months without any flaws. She acts as if we don’t already spend a ton of time playing with her daily, but we do.

We researched and prepared for this puppy quite well before finally jumping into pet ownership. What we didn’t really pay attention to would be what the puppy would teach us. We’re learning patience. Sera’s had to learn it more than I have. I’m not sure if it is because she has been home more during the day with Beesly or if her lack of experience with dogs means she has had to learn more.

Sera still doesn’t get that when she squeals it will get the dog excited. She doesn’t understand why petting the dog is better than patting it. Most importantly, she doesn’t understand why Beesly likes all of her socks and none of mine.

But Sera does understand that Beesly is still a puppy (most days). Neither of us may understand why the dog likes to crawl under our bed and then bark at us when we won’t join her, but we’re learning that sometimes it takes a dog to take someone out of our comfort zone. Afterall, if Beesly is willing to venture under the bed into the dark unknown, we should be willing to take a risk and explore potentially scary areas in our lives. Just as Beesly calls for us to join her under there, Sera and I will have each other to call on when we’re about to embark on a journey into something new.

 

Matthew Knutson is a marketing specialist at Waldorf College in Forest City, Iowa. Find him online at thingsitellmywife.tumblr.com.