Sit!

Muffy!  Sit!

 So he jumps up on the couch, grabs his chew toy from under one of the cushions and scrambles off in the general direction of Venus.  That was last months lesson, and I know he understood just exactly what I wanted of him.  He's not dumb, it's just that he though it would be OK to sit sometime next week.

The next day we tried again.  Muffy!  Sit!   He did much better.  He put both front paws on my leg and grinned at me.  The normally tightly curled tail started to wag, which meant his whole body started to gyrate and he needed to return his paws to the floor so he wouldn't flip over.  When all four feet were again in contact with the floor, he did what he usually does; he started running living room laps.  Going around both couches, then a figure eight around and between the two recliners, and ending up at my feet constitutes one lap.  If I change my location by even one inch, he adjusts his course to match.  Built in GPS, I guess.  No other explanation works.

He does up to four or five of these laps depending on his pleasure.  He never stops just because he's tired or winded..   At least he stayed in the same room, so I considered progress had been made.  When it comes to training dogs, you can bet I'm in the bottom five percent of folks in the whole universe.  Bottom one percent if all ya include are people on the planet Earth. 

I can completely understand my lack of expertise in this endeavour.  I've never been able to train anyone to do my bidding.  Two wives were beyond my ability, and the third is smart enough to say "Yes, Dear." when I climb on the platform.  She still does exactly as she wishes, but in her case that suits me just fine.  A ton of people I worked with, who were 'sposed to report to me, over the course of a lifetime also fit the class of "Individuals Upon Whom My Wishes Don't Much Matter".   It's why I refused the job of EAA Chapter President when it fell at my doorstep.  I knew better.

Anyway, I completely understand Muffy's hesitation to sit upon my command.  Let's just say I'm used to it.  I have a commanding voice, but really don't much care if someone wants to do it my way or not, and I think that's what matters most in these things.  And ya know? - That's perfectly OK with me; I have about two dozen ex-bosses who gave up trying to get me to do it their way.  I'll do it my way and I expect the same from others.  Goose and Gander or something.

So, one day when our good neighbor Barbara asked if she could take Muffy for a walk and maybe try to teach him a trick or two, I was thrilled.  Paraphrasing Henny Youngman, I said "Take my dog - Please."  What I didn't say was "Thank you Lord for sending someone to save us from this small but totally out of control mutt."  But that's what I was thinking.

Barbara, it turns out, has trained dogs before, and has had much success doing it.  She and her husband are trying to determine if they should replace their last best friend or just do without.  It's a tough decision, opening your home to a mutt at our age, when the mutt just may outlive your ability to care for it.  We've all read stories of animals who mourn their masters for the rest of their lives, and real animal people will pause to consider the consequences of having a new one enter their home late in life.  Besides, it's harder and harder to pick up dog poop after a certain age.  I know.  Believe it.

Yesterday, after only a week and a half of thirty minute daily walks, Barbara was ready to show off her newest pupil. Upon returning from the walk she knocked on the door and instead of letting Muffy enter the house, she said "Go get Carolyn and both of you look out the window.  I want you to watch Muffy perform."

"Already?" I thought, "How totally cool."  I loaded Carolyn in her chair and rolled it to the window overlooking our front lawn.  Our beautiful verdant GREEN lawn.  There they were.  Barbara and Muffy in the center ring.  The lights were dimmed (OK - a passing cloud took care of that for all you doubters), the crowd was hushed, and the show started

"Muffy, Heel."  Barbara started to walk and the dog was right at her side!  The leash actually had all kinds of slack in it!  It hung in a parabolic curve that varied it's shape not one millimeter as they strolled together.  Barbara stopped.  Muffy stopped and sat down beside her.

"Muffy, Stay."  Barbara dropped the leash and walked thirty or forty feet from him and turned.  Twenty seconds later they were still facing each other, both in the same position.  "Muffy. Come."  The dog jumped to his feet and ran all the way, dragging the leash behind him, and sat at her feet. 

She picked up the end of the leash, "Muffy, Heel" and they walked to the door. 

Holy Best in Class Championship Trophy!  My Muffy was a star, not only a star, a ROCK star.  People around the world would kneel at our doorstep, waiting to bow down as he passed, tail tightly curled on top of his butt, and offer treat after treat if only they could pet him for a moment or two. 

A place in Time and History was reserved for both Carolyn and I.  We were the owners of MUFFY the Miracle Mutt.  For all future dog people we would be special.  They would remember Muffy and his amazing owners until the end of time.  I thanked Barbara, never once letting on that I knew she had assured our fame and glory. 

Wait!  There is more!  "I'm not finished with him yet," she said, "We only just started.  But, I wanted you to see his progress.  I'll be back  for him tomorrow."

Wow.  It doesn't get any better than this. 

A little later that evening the dog was running around as usual.  He came over and stood before me as I was seated on the recliner.  "Muffy, Sit." 

Off he went.  Bounding down the hall, he stopped long enough to pick up his chew toy.  Then with a twist of his head, he tossed it up on the dining room table.  He hopped up on a chair, then onto the table, leaped to the floor and was off on his way to Venus. 

I expect no less from my Mutt.