15-week old Harry is a Samoyed, and on this day he was a wet Samoyed. Our first lesson was on a miserable, rainy morning, and his normally fluffy fur was sporting some frizz. He still looked perfectly adorable to me.
Harry has a house “Mom”, Mei Mei the 10-year old mix, who enjoys his youthful exuberance. After our lesson was over, Mei Mei joined us for some fun and games with Harry – an exhibition match, if you will. (Though I think that she was more interested in possibility of getting some treats from me!)
Harry was the instigator. Barking, nipping, mounting … he did it all in order to get Mei Mei away from my treat bag and into the game.
Am I biased about working with Bostons and boxers? Without a doubt. They just feel so … familiar. When I first meet one it’s like, “I don’t know you yet, but I know you already.”
I was thrilled to add sweet Lilly to my training roster, but she wasn’t the only attraction in the household this morning. Lilly greeted me at the front door with typical Boston enthusiasm (read: jumping), and was followed closely by Gunther the 10-year old German Shepherd.
Gunther was perfection on four legs … mellow, sweet, gorgeous, and very tolerant of Lilly’s silliness.
Then a surprise inquisitor popped from beneath the couch: 12-year old Cleo the cat! She stood on her back legs, rested her front paws on me and checked me out without an ounce of fear. Who are you, she asked, and what do you smell like?
Bugs the 11-year old cat joined us, but opted to watch from afar.
Just when I thought that the ark was at capacity, out strolled the star of the morning, 16-year old Milo.
(Lookin’ good for 16, eh?)
The cats watched Lilly’s lesson for a few moments, then Milo’s nose picked up the hot dog aroma.
Suddenly, Milo was on a mission. “Meow. Meow. Meow.” Nonstop, until I broke down and gave him a hot dog sliver. Big mistake!
That set the stage for the rest of the lesson … Milo meowing, and me feeding him hot dogs to get him to stop meowing. That crafty cat schooled this dog trainer!
(Yes, I realized that I was “training” Milo to beg, and I loved it.)
Lilly, my actual student, did a fine job. She had a tough time figuring out “sit” at first, but by the end of the lesson she nailed both the position and the requisite “pay me” gaze that always accompanies it.
I have an evening ritual with my dogs that I know drives them batty, but I just can’t stop myself from doing it. It begins when I pass by their bed and see this:
Snuggly, sleepy canine goodness! They must be kissed!
I sit down on the floor next to their bed and call them my sleeping princes. Then I cradle their heavy heads in my hand and kiss them. Yes, j’embrasse mon chein sur la bouche! And on the top of the head, and on the cheeks, and under the chin too.
They tolerate my mushiness, and then head back to chasing dreamland rabbits.
Let sleeping dogs lie? Wish I could, but there’s nothing like snuggling with a tired, rag doll dog!
My new client Chief is a mixed breed dog with an interesting back-story. He came from a breeder who claims to take on litters of pups from “designer dog” breeders (the breeders responsible for dogs like Puggles and Labradoodles) that didn’t turn out quite as the original breeder had intended.
Kind of sad if you think about it … who would want to give up puppies because they don’t conform to a perceived standard? (A standard that is anything but given that these designer dogs are essentially mutts!)
Chief’s person was told that he’s a mix of two familiar breeds (granted, one of the breed types is a bit vague) … care to take a guess as to what he might be? Here’s a hint: that nose of his works overtime.
He’s got freckled sleeves:
And he’s very outgoing and friendly:
I’m not sure I actually buy the breed mix he’s supposed to be … I see something else. Let’s hear your guesses.
Can’t quite see what I’m talking about? Let me enlarge the horror for you:
We found this S.O.B. in our bedroom last night, thankfully not attached to anyone. Our romantic mood-setting candle was put to a new use:
Yes, tick season is upon us, folks. Last year’s was particularly bad (I found ticks on the guys even though we used topical preventive), and I have a feeling that this summer could be worse.
I make a point to check Zeke and Sum daily in all of the tick hot spots: groin, arm pits (leg pits?) on the head around the ears … although ticks are crafty and they’ll take what they can get. I turn the tick check routine into a mini-massage, so the guys actually welcome it and willingly submit to my searching fingers.
I’ve already found one on Sum’s head. Hate those things.
I have it easy because they both have short thin fur … how about you? Is it tough to find ticks on your pooches?
I recently found these bouncy balls filled with mesmerizing sparkles, and even though they cost $5 each (Hey … can’t you get them for .25 in a gumball machine?) I bought 3 of ‘em. Pink, blue and iridescent.
Now, they’re not dog toys, but I couldn’t resist showing the pink one to the guys. Would the ball’s trippiness translate? Or would Zeke immediately begin his, “It’s a ball! Throwitthrowitthrowinow!” madness?
“Is it magic?”
Surprisingly, they did have a few meditative moments with Sparkle Ball.
It took Zeke slightly longer than normal to figure out that the thing on the floor before him was, in fact, a ball, and that it fit quite nicely in his catfish mouth.
As it was to be a gift, Extreme Sparkle Ball Play was aborted immediately.
Here’s the pink one at rest (my camera had a tough time focusing on it):
And this is what it looks like once you shake it up and unleash the magic-ness:
Maybe it’s just my inner raccoon, but I couldn’t put these damn balls down. The glistening glittery undulations turned me into a zombie.
My new client Lucy the mini Goldendoodle came to the TV taping but I didn’t really get a chance to meet her while there. (It was quite a busy day for yours truly.)
I was expecting a typical revved up greeting when I walked in the door for our first training session on Saturday – we’re talking Goldendoodle puppy, folks – but she wasn’t having it. She gently took the bone I offered and disappeared.
Oh no. Another shy dog?
Between the shy dogs and surly dogs I think I’ve got my dog training niche all worked out.
Happily, Lucy, like Rocky before her, rallied. She performed all of the Week 1 exercises with ease, and then submitted to my camera for a modeling session.
I think I’m going to have some fun with this redhead!
My final session with Buddy the Fetching Fanatic was lovely. We polished up all of his new skills, and then took a thoroughly enjoyable neighborhood stroll.
Buddy was a novice leash walker when I first met him, which means that our initial leash walks were more “drags” than “strolls.” There was much darting to and fro, and tons of marking.
He’s come a long way, baby.
He’s gotten so good at polite leash walking that his young person can walk him with ease.
Makes me a little teary-eyed! Way to go, Buddy, and nice work Jack!
Wally has a “sister”, Nutmeg. I didn’t know that there were two dogs living in the household the first time I visited, so when I heard the frantic barking on the other side of the door I got a bit worried about the Leonberger I was about to meet.
Loud, menacing barking from what was supposed to be a 4-month old laid-back Leonberger? This is going to be interesting!
Turns out it was Nutmeg the alarm-greeter, ready to bite my face off. Her front door behavior was scary, and though I was there to work with Wally, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to leave without doing some stuff with Nutmeg as well.
I broke down at week 3 and invited her to come leash walking with us. Big surprise: she’s a tough guy too. (Geez, who isn’t these days?) As always, “victim” dogs were few and far between, but we did see a couple and Nutmeg rocked it. Though her leash surliness is deeply entrenched, she managed to pass by a few dogs with just a slight “harrumph.” She also managed to greet me at the door with a more subdued bark … it’s still there, but it’s less intense now.
I know that there’s a training superstar under that grumpy exterior!
The puppy TV shoot took place last week and it was a blast! The turnout was amazing; 45 puppies, all under 16-weeks of age. I came very close to dog-napping a few of them.
This little lady, Zim the Boston Terrier, stole the show (I had to use my crappy camera, so pardon the blur):
I’ve never seen a Boston that small. Seriously – she was about the size of a Chihuahua puppy, but she was 14-weeks old! Super-tiny. We expected her to be overwhelmed by the bigger pups on the set, but she ran the joint. Her confident bad-assitude-ness impressed me.
We had some interlopers on the set as well:
I didn’t see it with my own eyes, but I was told that some of the puppies had more fun with the kittens than their own kind!
This pug had a most unusual accessory: a long, straight tail.
He wore it well.
It was a taxing shoot, and by the end of the day our canine actors were dog-tired.
My buddy Tino has a visitor staying with him … his “Aunt” Ginny.
Tino has been an exemplary student during training (who says English Bulldogs are stubborn?), so I didn’t think that a canine houseguest would throw him off during our lesson. Was I wrong.
To say that Tino was “off his game” would be an understatement. Seems that Ginny and Tino spend every waking moment playing, and the morning of our lesson had been no exception. By the time I showed up he was so tired that he could barely muster a sit. The 20-minute snoozing down-stay? A+.
We let it slide – every dog has an “off” training session, and Tino happened to have a really good excuse.
I have a feeling that he was asleep before I’d even pulled out of the driveway.
I saw another old friend recently, Winston the Great Dane. He greeted me at the door with a barrage of big barks until he realized that he knew me. Treat Lady is in the house, and she brought goodies!
While I sat on the steps and chatted with his people, Winston set about looking for a comfortable place to enjoy his new toys. He tried the couch, but it was too far away. He tried the floor, but it was too uncomfortable.
After much searching he finally found the perfect resting place. It was close to the action, comfy, and definitely kept me within his line of sight. What this 175-pound dog didn’t realize was that my lap couldn’t quite support his weight.
I asked him to move when my knees began to give out. Thankfully, he didn’t take it personally.
You’ve heard of a “play bow”, yes? That chest-on-the-ground-butt-in-the-air pose that dogs assume when they want to get the party started? Every dog does it (or should I say “every happy, well-adjusted dog does it”), but I recently met the undisputed King of the Play Bow:
Young Cody greeted me with a bark, then a bow.
Bark:
Then bow:
Sometimes he did both at the same time:
He did it over and over until his person clued me in that Cody wanted me to chase him.
Ohhh, I get it now!
Was Cody’s invitation to play a bit bossy? You bet. Did I fall for it?
It sure does to me. My time with little Ellie is still fresh in my mind. The furtive glances. The dashes from the room. You guessed it; I’ve got me another shy client!
My new client Dixie the terrier mix was a bit more outgoing with me than Ellie was at the first lesson (and more hospitable – she didn’t bark at me once!) but she was very similar in that I couldn’t teach her much during our intro session.
Sit? Oh no. That requires close quarters. No thanks. Coming when called? Uh, no?
We worked on a very simple exercise loosely titled, “we’re-going-to-walk-around-the-room-and-toss-treats-to-you- so-you-don’t-run-away-in-fear.” It was successful, as was the great exercise, “Victoria-is-going-to-“accidentally”-drop-her-bag-but-don’t-run-off-because-your-person-is-going-to-feed-you-awesome-treats.” She did a fine job.
As always, baby steps. Dixie is Fred, I’m Ginger. Lead away, Dixie, I’m all yours.
The gloom and doom of my last Flopsy post was premature: the four bunnies made their peace and managed to snuggle together happily for two more days. Two left together one night, leaving the final two in the nest. Rabbit-rearing success!
I was feeling confident that we were home free, and there was no need for me to stress about potential dog/bunny run ins.
How wrong I was.
One afternoon I happened to glance out the back door as I passed by and noticed Sumner acting very … focused … about something. It was a head cocked, tense body kind of posture that I’ve seen before.
Sumner was on the hunt. For one of my babies.
I had a feeling that he’s stumbled upon one of our little furry friends that had left the nest, so I hurried out to prevent the carnage. I could tell just by the way he was standing that he hadn’t connected with the bunny yet, but I knew he was close to doing so. I was just four steps away from him when I heard a familiar “Yi-yi-yiiiiiiii!” that made me feel faint.
Flopsy!
I grabbed Sum and hustled him inside. When I returned I found the bunny in the same spot sitting very still. I gently picked him up. More “Yi-yi-ing” ensued (his little mouth was open wide as he cried and I spotted his two front teeth!), and I checked for damage. He looked fine until I transferred him from one hand to the other and saw … blood.
Oh, Jesus, Sumner. What did you do?!
I couldn’t find an open wound, but one of his back legs looked a little worse for wear. He was in shock, and I couldn’t send him back out into the world in an altered state, so I put him back in the nest with his two remaining sibs. Injured Bunny changed positions in the nest and surrounding areas several times as the afternoon wore on, so I felt confident that his wonky leg was temporary.
The next day, no bunnies. The three felt confident enough to leave the nest, and happily, haven’t been seen or heard from since. By the two legged and the four legged members of our household.
Happy trails, little friends. We saved your asses, so please leave our garden plot alone!
You wake up bright-eyed and waggy-tailed after a fabulous night’s sleep. Your person slips some extra banana in your breakfast. You get a round of tug in before she sits down at the computer. You discover a forgotten bone under the couch and spend some quality time munching. You take an excellent, snore-filled nap. She wakes you up TO GO FOR A WALK! before you even have to ask. While on that walk you discover a squished squirrel in the middle of the street … so that’s what they smell like! You come home from said walk and head out to the blue-sky back yard, where you pause and reflect that …
We took Buddy the Fetching Fanatic to the dog park early this morning. Buddy’s person would like him to feel more comfortable at the park … the first time she took him he was overwhelmed by the other dogs and chose to ignore them. We can tell that there’s a very playful dog inside his (overweight) body, he just needs to learn how to interact with his canine brothers and sisters.
(He’s not actually blue, I just didn’t have my camera set properly.)
We arrived at the park, and true to form, there wasn’t a single dog in sight. Not a bad thing in this scenario, as it gave Buddy a chance to check out the pee mail and get some fetching in before any other dogs arrived.
This beauty arrived a few minutes later:
We couldn’t have asked for a more perfect “first dog” that morning. Darla ran into the park and stopped a few feet away from Buddy. She stood perfectly still and allowed him to sniff her all over. She was lovely – I think she could tell that Buddy was green. Examination complete, she gave Buddy a little bow and said, “So do you wanna dance now?”
Buddy said, “No, no thanks, I’ll just watch for now.”
He snuck more sniff in every time Darla was otherwise engaged:
This little cutie showed up a short while later:
She fascinated Buddy, and politely tolerated his inquisitive nose. Another great addition!
(He looks like he was coming on pretty strong in that photo – check out how high and stiff his tails is -- but he was actually quite polite.)
Buddy eventually engaged in a tiny bit of play, but it’s clear that he still needs time to learn how to speak dog.
Jake is a 4-year old Lab from field lines, meaning the urge to work and hunt has been bred into his ancestors for generations. He was trained using traditional methods, hence the choke chain around his neck.
I’ve made my stance on choke chains clear here on Petside.com, but it seems that I didn’t do the same when I was on the phone with Jake’s person during his inquiry call. I never hide the fact that I’m a positive trainer, but I might forget to mention it now and then during a rushed phone call.
I squirmed quietly when Jake got a few “corrections” (collar chokes) for being surly with me at the front door, knowing that I could sell my positive training message after I’d had a chance to step into their home and shake their hands.
It was rough going at first, but I blame myself not my message. I tend to get overly emotional and talkative when trying to explain why positive training is such a good thing … at times I feel like a Mormon on a recruiting mission. Positive training changed my life, friends, and it can change yours too!
Like any good Missionary, I evangelized. And made crappy analogies. And tried to point out that in traditional training, the punishment rarely fits the crime. (You choked your dog because he didn’t sit fast enough? Really?)
I saw their eyes glaze over a bit.
In the end, the proof is in the positive pudding. We got to work, and wouldn’t you know it, young Jake caught on quickly. We saw the tail wagging, smiley-faced attitude so common in positively trained dogs. And I saw some smiles on the human faces as well. Though they were used to traditional training, seeing Jake’s speedy, happy progress might have made believers out of them after all.
Our neighbor called us last night with worry in her voice. “I just found a baby bunny under my newspaper at the end of my driveway, and now he’s heading across the street!”
Seems we’re not the only yard facing a bunny invasion. My neighbor was weeding and accidentally upset (actually, destroyed) a bunny nest, sending the kits scattering. Now, a day later, one of the homeless bunnies was still homeless.
“Let’s add him to our nest!” I suggested. “It’s got to be better than facing certain death on our road!”
We collected the poor little guy from the middle of the street, and then on the way back to our yard found another homeless rabbit. This guy was tougher to catch, and when we finally got our hands on him he screamed “Yi! Yi! Yiiiiiiiiii!” His cries sounded so pathetic and terrified that our hearts broke a little.
Would our bunnies reject the new guys? With little ceremony we plopped them in the nest and watched them both nestle in as if they belonged there. Cool!
The big questions: would mom accept the foster-bunnies as well?
The next morning we checked on them and found that mom had indeed been back to the nest, and it looked like all five bunnies were still there. No bloody infanticide – hooray!
I checked on them almost hourly, and as the day progressed I noticed that one of the new addition bunnies had flown the coop, and another one wasn’t looking so hot. His adopted sibling were shunning him (the blood-sibs have red arrows, the step-sib has a blue arrow):
His breathing was shallow, and he wasn’t responsive to my gentle touch:
Soooo, maybe we made a mistake by blending the families. My thinking was that it’s better to perish with your own kind than alone in the middle of the street. Plus we figured that their real mom could find them if she wanted to, as they’re only one yard away (and with the way that screaming carried, a bunny in the next county could probably find him!)
As of my last visit to Bunnyville, two bunnies are sitting side-by-side about 6 inches away from the nest in the grass, and two are still in it. Hmmm. A house divided. Interesting …
“Grab your camera and come out to the yard. There’s something you have to see.”
The last time my husband told me to come look at something in the yard, this was awaiting me:
A massive, creepy, five-inch Hickory Horned Devil. I kinda have a thing for bugs, and this guy was straight out of science fiction. Awesome! Though we live in a typical suburban neighborhood, we’ve had our share of interesting wildlife in our back yard, from a lovesick fox to prehistoric-looking dragonflies. I never know what he’s going to discover when he’s doing lawn work
“I’m ready. Are we talking creepy or fuzzy?” I asked as I raced out the door.
“Fuzzy. But I’m not sure of what variety. I don’t even know if it’s alive any more. I mowed over it!”
I wasn’t excited to see fuzzy carnage, even if it was a yard-destroying mole. He led me to this patch of grass:
“What is it? Rats? Squirrels?”
He knelt down and gingerly moved the patch of loose fur and grass out of the way and there we saw the creatures’ defining features:
Baby bunnies! Three baby bunnies!
We watched them fuss and squirm and wondered what to do. Were they abandoned? They didn’t look hungry or weak, just chilly. They took turns diving beneath each other in an effort to remain at the bottom of the pile. They were so agile that it looked like they were swimming around the nest.
“Should we bring them inside and feed them? Do these guys need to be saved?”
We did some research and learned that our back yard bunny patch was normal, and the babies were just fine. Turns out we let our grass grow too long, and the Mom rabbit decided that the tall grass would make a perfect home for her babies. (Despite the fact that two canine yard patrollers spend plenty of time out there. How did they miss those little guys for ten days?) Mom rabbits only feed their babies once a day, at night or in the very early morning, and there was nothing we could (or should) do to “assist” her in her duties other than make sure that Zeke and Sum left the nest alone. For the next week. Easier said than done.
Keeping Zeke and Sumner out of the yard when the weather is nice is nearly impossible, so we improvised a solution that works for all parties:
The dog crate stays on top of the nest during the daylight hours and is moved away at nightfall. (The rabbits are too young to do anything but sleep right now.) The guys have shown little interest in the crate, so there’s no fear that they’re going to slip into a primal frenzy and tip it over to get to the bunnies.
We’re having a lot of fun checking up on Flopsy, Mopsy and Cottontail, and they don’t seem to mind our curiosity. Now that we know they’re 100% ok (we devised a little test to make sure that Mom was coming every night) we don’t touch them. They’re getting cuter every day, if that’s even possible.
Soon they’ll be old enough to hop on down to our garden and eat all of our lettuce, and we’ll end up cursing them just like we do all of the other rabbits in our neighborhood!
Zeke has a love-hate relationship with my hairdryer. He wanders into the bathroom whenever I’m drying my hair, eager to get some hot air blown on him. He even moves around to redirect the air to different parts of his body. First the chest … then a little on the shoulders … and don’t forget about the back end, Ma.
“Fire breathing dragon! I want to bite you but I cannot!”
">Post-bath, however, is a different story. He’s so keyed up by the cleansing process that the hairdryer suddenly becomes his enemy.
Then we’ll have moments of calm acceptance where he seems to remember that he likes the feeling of heat on his body.
“Ahh, yes. This is nice.”
Moments later, he’ll revert to kill or be killed mode.
“Be ye not yet vanquished? Prepare to die!”
Of course, the very next time I take it out to do my hair, Zeke is right there beside me, looking cold and pathetic.
Does your dog welcome the hairdryer, or want to kill it like Zeke?
Soon-to-be-jetsetter Cody just finished up with me this morning. He did a great job with his basic indoor manners (although jumping up when he wants something remains a challenge), so during our lessons we focused on reigning in his surly leash behavior. Well, we attempted to focus on that behavior, but the environment conspired against us.
Dealing with “tough guys” is a fairly common training request – I get several calls a week from people who are looking for help to deal with their dogs’ leash walking grumpiness. I enjoy working on these types of cases, but I always warn potential clients that we’re at the mercy of their neighborhood … if there are no dogs out and about during our lesson, all we’ll wind up doing is taking a pleasant, grumble-free stroll. What’s bizarre is that I can go to the most heavily trafficked dog ‘hoods to work on leash issues and we’ll not see a single dog for the entire hour. I show up and suddenly Dog Town, USA turns into Ghost Town.
It’s a curse.
As expected, we rarely saw other dogs during Cody’s lessons. We employed Rex and Maxine initially, just so Cody’s person could get the leash and treat handling mechanics down, and then spent the majority of the lessons chasing down every vaguely canine shape we saw. At one point I mistook a decorative stone lion for a dog. Desperate times …
Thankfully, we ran into a little Westie on several walks and I was pleased to see that the dog-friendly, science-base techniques we used enabled Cody to draft behind her and not flip out. His person told me that in the past, Cody would react even when he saw a dog a few blocks away. That’s progress!
Cody is ready to begin his adventure in England, and I have a feeling that he’s going to greet his new canine neighbors with a smile and not a growl.
The Cherry Blossom swan song has begun. Peak bloom-peeping season ended last week here in DC, and now the sidewalks and yards are carpeted with pink petals. I love to walk through the confetti with my canine clients, but it’s bittersweet. Every petal that falls is a reminder that spring is ending sooner than we’d like, and the heat wave is right around the corner.
I’m not sure that Zeke and Sum share my sentimental attitude about the Cherry Blossoms … they’ve been feeling the effects of the extra pollen, and every time we step outside they serenade me with sneezes. It used to be worse -- back in the day Zeke’s springtime allergies caused him to lick his front paws until they turned an ugly rusty color.
Is your dog a seasonal allergy sufferer? How does it manifest?
I’m a dog trainer so it makes sense that “dog stuff” has infiltrated my life. My house isn’t a shrine to dogs (unless you count numerous dog beds, muddy paw prints and fur balls as mini-altars to dogdom), but take a look around and you’ll find a variety of kitschy dog-themed items scattered throughout the place.
Care for a smoke? Allow me to present you with this magnificent boxer ashtray!
Purchased for a song at a rural antique mart, this unique collectible doubles as a spare change and lip-gloss receptacle.
Please pass the salt! Mr. and Mrs. White Sulphur Springs West Virginia would be happy to oblige:
These two keep it spicy on a high shelf in my kitchen.
It’s not all boxers all the time in this house. When the temperature dips and I’m feeling chilly, my gentleman-style Boston Terrier pajamas save the day:
They’re long on softness, but short on style … the pattern is overpowering and I look ridiculous in them. But I love them.
But wait, there’s more!
I’ve just done a mental inventory and there’s at least one small dog-themed item in nearly every room of our house, including the bathrooms. The only two rooms excluded are my husband’s home office and our formal living room.
It’s safe to say that my career has a strong presence in my house. Good thing I’m not a proctologist.
Do you have any great dog trinkets in your house? Leave a comment and tell me about them!
But mull it over a bit. Does one of your dogs get extra treats when you’re doling them out? Do you give more belly rubs to this one over that one? Do you baby the little pup and make the big guy fend for himself?
Though it might seem “mean” to admit that you have a preference for one of your pets, if you consider it you might come to realize that you have indeed been unconsciously giving one of your pets special treatment. Or in the case of my husband, giving special treatment very, very, very consciously. He’s not shy about loving one of our dogs more than the other, and he’ll happily provide you with a list of reasons why.
So which dog reigns supreme in his heart?
Yes, it’s Sumner, our sweet, loveable boxer. My husband makes no secret of his preference. When I asked him why he loves Sumner the most, his answer elegantly summed up the difference between our two dogs.
“Zeke has a bad attitude.”
I have to agree with him. Though Zeke is incredibly clever, the devil-streak runs thick in him. Not that he’s naughty, mind you. He doesn’t destroy the house or bite visitors, and he’s really well trained. He’s just … a jerk. He takes advantage of Sumner’s softness by bullying him around to the point where we think Sumner has Stockholm Syndrome. Unfortunately, the bullying would be difficult to try to train out of Zeke … it’s subtle (a hard stare here, a nip to the heels there), but the entire household sees it, and is annoyed by it.
That said, Zeke also has a great deal of empathy. When I was recently overtaken by shriek-inducing back-spasms, Zeke followed me from room to room with his ears back and a concerned look on his face. When I finally came to rest flat on my back he sat next to me and placed his paw on my hand as if to say “Are you ok?”</
