The Magical Upstairs

To preface this story, all you need to know is that we live in a basement apartment, and the people that live above us also have a dog. Dux happens to be obsessed with this dog (his name is Charlie). To Dux, upstairs is this amazing, unobtainable place wherein lies all of his hopes and dreams. He knows that Charlie is there, and his past experiences have taught him that there will ALWAYS be bones there. And probably food. And really nice humans. I imagine him looking like this whenever he thinks about it:

So anyway, there's this little hallway between the upstairs and downstairs where we come in and out that separates the two living spaces. EVERY time Dux comes inside, instead of going immediately down the stairs to his home, he goes out of his way to run UP to the neighbors' door. 

There's probably a ghost or some other magical creature living in this hallway, because on occasion, both or one of our doors won't close all the way when we think they are shut (it probably just has to do with air pressure or other scientifical things, but I like to imagine a ghost pushing the doors open).

 To Dux, this is the most amazing thing that could possibly happen. Because when this happens, he has free access to upstairs. We never even notice when the door isn't shut, so if Dux by chance is near the door when this happens, I'm assuming it looks something like this: 

 







I'm sure that he tentatively sniffs around for a minute, testing to make sure we don't know what he's doing. When he's sure we can't see him, he bolts.

He frantically runs up the stairs, knowing that this is his one chance and it won't last for long.

So we're just sitting down in the living room chillin like this, until we hear it.

Above us, chaos is happening. "Ummm, do you see Dux?"

Our neighbors tell us that whenever he gets up there, he immediately runs for Charlie's food bowl (what a well-mannered dog I've raised). He frantically eats as much as he can. At this point, we've usually registered what's going on and are on our way up the stairs to retrieve him. But not before he finds and steals one of Charlie's bones.

I'm pretty sure that he can sense how close we are and how much time he has left to cause as much destruction up there as possible, because right when we get up there, he casually walks out, bone in mouth, wiggling his butt like he's the happiest puppy in the world, looking like this:

"Can I keep it???? Can I can I????

Obviously, we're not impressed by his antics.

Oh, and cooincidentally while I was working on this very post, this happened at ONE in the MORNING. That was a first. I can only imagine what our poor neighbors were thinking as they were probably woken up by Charlie and Dux's joyous reunion in the middle of the night, when we all least expected it. Well played, Dux. Well played.

PsychoSydney

There comes an inevitable moment in every day (multiple moments each day, actually) when Sydney comes up to us and puts her head in our lap, looking something like this:

This can mean only one thing: she wants to go outside. Those adorable brown eyes and furry ears with the scraggly hair lure you into a false sense of trust. I mean, how can you resist a face like that? The answer is, you can't. You give into whatever it is she wants. You would give her a million bones and a pile of empty water bottles if she wanted them. But, all she asks is to go outside. That's reasonable, right?

So we let her outside.

What an adorable little dog sniffing those peaceful-looking flowers! She calmly makes her way around the yard, checking to see who has been in the yard since the last time she checked, makes sure there's no one trying to sneak in our basement window. You know, the usual.

And then this happens:

Neighborhood dogs make themselves known. And the loveable Sydney we love and adore is gone.

PsychoSydney has shown her ugly face.

Why My Puppy is a Jerk

To understand this post, you must first be aware of one of the fundamental aspects of Sydney, our big-sister dog:

Sydney is socially retarded.

Being a dog must be a very hard thing for Sydney, because one of the essential parts of being a dog is communicating with other dogs. And Sydney simply does not know how to communicate like a normal dog. Her first instinct when introduced to a new "friend" is to attack it. If this "friend" immediately cowers in submission, Sydney is OK with it. If she gets to know it, she might even want to play with it. But that's the furthest step that is taken in the friendship; because Sydney might WANT to play with a new dog, but she doesn't know how.

So one of Sydney's only joys in her poor, anxiety-ridden life is to play with her humans, and if she's in a REALLY good mood (which is rare), she might just find a super fun toy and play by herself.

So we thought to ourselves, "Maybe if we get a puppy, it will teach Sydney the ways of her kind!" And ya know what? He sort of has. But not completely. And especially not with the whole "playing with other dogs" thing.

And another thing about Sydney: she is very non-confrontational by nature (more on this subject later...).

So poor Sydney, despite her best efforts, is now condemned to a play-less, joy-less life, because when she does get the urge to play, this usually happens:

Dux immediately senses a shift in the atmosphere. Action must be taken to amend this imbalance in nature.

After shamelessly stealing Sydney's beloved object of joy, he continues to demonstrate just how much joy that toy can really possess.

This is probably all just Duxy's elaborate attempt at enticing Sydney to play with HIM, but he just comes across as a jerk because Sydney pitifully reacts like this:

My Dogs are Obsessed with Plastic

Both of my dogs derive some sort of sick pleasure from ripping apart plastic with their bare teeth. It doesn't matter what type of plastic it is...if they hear it, they will find it...only to leave a trail of tiny little plastic pieces in their wake.

Sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of anything going on around them.

Suddenly alert...

How I Get my Dog to Lay Down

We got Dux about 6 months ago. Now, I knew very well what I was getting into. Having a puppy is a lot of responsibility and hard work. But this puppy, let me tell you, has been something else. With my puppy's intelligence and dutifulness also comes a smug, "I know what's really going on here" attitude.

When you have a dog, you just expect that you will be smarter than it. Such has been the case with millions of dogs and dog owners all over the world, since the beginning of time (or since dogs became domesticated...). After all, you are human being, dominant over all other forms of life. A normal dog accepts this willingly, its only prerogative to please its humans in every way it possibly can.

And I won't deny that this is the case for Dux. Except he was also born with this strange opinion that he's actually the one in charge, just patronizing his measly humans because he loves us so much (After all, we do give him food). So my puppy came into this world with two personalities: willing, eager to please us no matter what it takes, yet smug and self-assured. Combine all this with his freaky Australian Shepherd energy level that can only be described as crazy, and you get quite a predicament in training.

Laying down is by far his least favorite command. After all, lowering his body in a subservient manner beneath his humans would only be construed as submissive, and Dux is way too smart in his own mind to ever let that happen. Yet, he still wants us to love him and give him food. So it usually goes something like this:

The initial command. Easy.

He looks at me with this smug look on his face, as if saying, "Come on, we both know that's not gonna happen." But if you didn't know him, you would probably just think it was a blank stare.

A little more force in my tone, to let him know I really mean business.

He slowly raises his chin in a blatant act of defiance. "Nope."

Patience runs out. "I AM HUMAN! LISTEN TO ME!"

The turning point: when Dux's human-pleasing side of his brain finally switches on, and a look of terror becomes evident on his face. But he will still not be told what to do. There must be another option.

He will then almost always offer his paw in an attempt to please us, on his own terms. "I can shake, is that what you really wanted?????"

No.

His attempts become more desperate and pathetic, as he desperately wants us to be happy with him. He wags his paw in the air to no one in particular, hoping that eventually we'll decide his meager attempts are enough.

Shame finally kicks in. He bows his head in submission and accepts defeat, slowly completing the lay down command. Eagerness to please has won out in the end, but the smug part of him leaves him feeling defeated and depressed.

He'll lay there for a while, looking like he just found out his poor puppy world was going to end, throwing in a puny whine or two for added dramatic affect, then his self-assuredness will kick back in, and he'll start the process over again.