He threw himself on the ground and started crying loudly and pitifully. I glanced around hoping nobody would run out and accuse me of kicking my puppy. I managed to coax Colt into walking 20 feet for his first time on the leash before we turned back home. That was then.
This morning, 120 pounds of jumbo size Doberman dragged me across the yard on my butt, so he could bark at imaginary axe murderers in the woods. I keep him on the leash when he goes out at night to prevent him from barking, so I ended up near our fence with a big wet spot on my bottom.
I have a tendency to hang on stubbornly when facing a dilemma. If I were falling off a galloping horse, I would cling to anything I could grab. Friends would be yelling at me to just let go as I’m dangling under the horse. Instead I would be grabbing brochures on horseback riding techniques as I rode by.
Dobermans are supposedly very easy to train. That’s why I chose the breed even though I have osteoporosis, degenerative disk disease, and an old fracture of the shoulder that has never healed up properly. Okay, walking Colt was partially responsible for the fracture. Colt is generally a very calm dog, except when he’s excited, scared, or awake.
To combat his fears, if he shied away from something, I would walk up and sniff the offending flapping tarp, helium balloon, or construction worker. He would only hang back for a moment before coming over to sniff. Last week when Colt hurtled away from a garbage truck, dragging me across the neighbors yard, I lay on my face contemplating my options. I could sniff the garbage truck or live in fear of breaking the other shoulder when he decided to run for his life.
I didn’t sniff the truck.
Colt scared away a prowler about two weeks ago, so he takes his job of patrolling the perimeter very seriously. When he charges the fence, he has all the grace of a drunken hippo, but it gives him great joy to do the job that he was bred for. It gives me a literal pain in the neck.
Maybe someday I’ll learn to let go. Don’t hold your breath, unless you’re near the garbage truck.
Tenacity. That’s what it’s called.
Okay, I suppose some people might call it foolishness….
Sounds like the dog was walking you.
Oh, that brings back memories…my dog walking me. I always hated that.
I’m just sitting here in bed on a cold Saturday morning, picturing you sniffing a construction worker….
I have to say, he was pretty surprised.
“Sounds like the dog was walking you.”
Indeed!
The dog’s got you well trained?
I’m still kind of a loose cannon. Colt never knows who I’m going to sniff next.
Love the sniffing. Never thought of that when I had a very large collie that was afraid of everything in her path. Perhaps you should patent that technique. Might be a money maker.
Terri
😛