Last summer I made the bold
decision to make a stand against good sense and wise advice. I got a puppy.
Even worse, I got him from a
breeder I found on Facebook. If a friend had done this, I would have hit them
upside the head. Hard.
Instead, I fell in love, sent a
deposit and planned a trip to Kentucky to pick it up. I cut a deal with a
friend that I’d help her drive a load of racehorses from Los Angeles to
Philadelphia, if we made a side trip to Kentucky to get the dog.
The geographically savvy among you
have probably realized that Kentucky is not exactly along the way to
Pennsylvania from Southern California. But it can be. If you are willing to
drive many, many hours in the wrong direction.
Which is how Kristin and I found
ourselves waiting at an empty, dark Burger King parking lot with six horses, a
huge trailer and a wad of cash. It felt like a drug deal.
“Do you
have the cash?”
“I have the cash; do you
have the dog?
“I have the dog. How will I
recognize you?”
“Um? We are
the six horse trailer in a Burger King parking lot just off the freeway.”
The lady, who I had researched
after I sent the deposit and was in fact a reputable breeder, spent a few
moments marveling at our being there.
“You came all the way from Los
Angeles? You’re going to Pennsylvania? Tonight Really??”
We nodded and made the exchange.
She gave me a wiggling puppy, a bag of dog food, a collar and a bunch of toys.
I handed her an envelope stuffed with cash, we climbed in our respective
vehicles and drove away. The puppy climbed into my lap and fell asleep.
That
was last June. Because the puppy was a Great Dane, he grew like one of those
flat sponges that you add water and watch grow. My 12 pound baby was small
enough to fly from New England to Los Angeles on my lap. The other passengers
kept trying to convince me to go to the toilet so they could hold him.
Now, almost
a year later, he might not be quite so welcome. I haven’t weighed him lately, but he is taller
than Dalai the Dane, and at 125 pounds she’s quite a dainty girl.
Jasper
Johns, named for one of my favorite New England-based painters, is anything but.
The phrase most often used to describe him is goofy. His legs are long and
constantly growing. Most of the time he can control them. When he can’t he
crashes into things, like doors, Dalai, Poppy and me.
He is
distinctly different from my last male Dane. Where Murray was reserved and
careful (some would say mean), Jasper is open and reckless. Much as it pains me
to admit it, Jasper, who arrived housebroken and loving people and dogs, is an
easier dog to have around.
Dalai might disagree. Jasper is,
without a doubt a boisterous puppy. Or a
pest depending upon your point of view. He spends his waking hours playing,
preferably with me, Dalai or Poppy the Brittany. Most of the time they are willing,
but when he gets the evening zooms, they get the hell out of his way or risk
getting flattened.
We’ve all become used to his
antics, but everyone was flabbergasted when he decided to climb on top of my
21-year-old BMW Z3 convertible. Picture a huge spotty goat. With his back feet
through the window.
After I replaced the roof and had
the paw prints rubbed out, I built a fence around the carport to protect the
car. Now he stands outside the car cage staring longingly at the vehicle. I
admit I gloated a bit.
I’m a competitive person (I know, you're shocked) and I like
to compete with my quadrupeds. I spend as many weeks as I can afford at
horseshows, doing what an equally competitive friend once said was making livestock
leap over junk piles. With the dogs, I run agility. I’m not sure which is sillier.
The dogs and I run agility, where they
leap over jumps, run through tunnels and climb on teeter totters. It’s really
fun for all of us. Most of the time.
Murray loved agility and was good
at it, as is Poppy. Dalai’s interest ebbs and flows. But Jasper, well Jasper
was my big hope.
Not only did I start training him young,
he seemed to take to it. He quickly learned how to jump, picked up running
through the Tunnels and the Tire. One day after watching my trainer work with
Poppy and me, Jasper zipped up and down the Dog Walk all on his own. My trainer
and I were amazed and delighted.
There aren’t a lot of Danes that do
agility, and almost none on a serious level. We started envisioning Jasper as
the Great canine hope.
Jasper had his first birthday last
week. It’s the Dane equivalent of the terrible twos. Like a recalcitrant toddler, now he does
exactly the opposite of whatever I want. If I tell him to come in, he stays
out. He chases the horses. He used to have a stellar recall. Now he doesn’t
know his name. It’s
exhausting.
Naturally the “nos” have spilled
over into agility. First Jasper stopped jumping. Completely. Pointed at a jump
he runs away or knocks them over. If we insist, he flings himself on the ground
and refuses to budge. Sometimes he flops on his back and waves his paws in the
air.
If it weren’t so infuriating, it
would be cute. Hell, it’s still cute.
Last week he loved the A frame, so
we tried that. Nope. Instead he turned tail and ran into the nearest
tunnel. Once inside he plopped down in
the middle and refused to leave.
Finally we let Poppy loose and sent
her through the tunnel. When she bumped into a heap of resting Dane, she flew
back out – with Jasper in hot pursuit. We sent her through a few more times,
with him happily following. After a while he did it on his own. It was fun
again.
I keep threatening to start over
again with a new puppy. The breeder does have another litter.
Never mind, this time I’ll pay
attention to my common sense. Maybe.
No comments:
Post a Comment