Monday, April 14, 2014

Doggy School

My pooch, Sandy, attended her first day of doggy school.  It's safe to say she will not be graduating with honors.  In fact, graduation may not even be in the cards.

There are approximately 20 other pooches in her class.  They range in age, size, color, intelligence, and manners. You'll soon figure out where on the spectrum my dog falls.

Sadly, this first class reminded me of one of many a fraternity party I attended about 20 years ago.

You know that awkward moment when you arrive at a frat party and you wonder where you should stand so to avoid getting any bodily fluids on you?  It is kind of like that.

Sandy and I gingerly make our way over to a corner and stand between a wolf-like creature and a dog that resembles a cotton ball.

We all stand in a circle sizing each other up.

Remember how there is always one guy at the party who is boisterous, drunk and obnoxious? Well, there was a German Shepherd there playing that role.  He was all bark.  By the end of class he is passed out and insignificant.

You know how there is always a blond at the party who acts like a total ditz? Everyone wonders how much she's had to drink when really she is completely sober, and is just naturally scatter-brained, high strung, and clueless?

That is my dog.  Seriously embarrassing.

The class focuses on sitting.  This is a concept that 19 of the dogs come to understand.

Not Sandy.  Nope.

Sure, at home she delights in sitting on command.  Ask her to sit during doggy school and she looks at you with her big brown eyes, cocks her head to the side and seems to say, "Huh? I have no idea what you are saying. Let's go run around."

The other dogs eventually learn they are in class and should pay attention.

My dog seems to believe she is at a fraternity party, and it is her sole responsibility to get the party started.  My dog is a party girl.

This may have been the longest sixty minutes of my life.  I may also have tendinitis in my left elbow from pulling on her leash and trying to get her bum to touch the ground beneath her.  I get to do this again next week.

When we get home, Sandy and I have a little heart to heart.  I tell her she needs to focus.  I tell her I expect more from her, and that I am not going to pay for college school if she doesn't focus and work harder.

Ironically, she sits during my rant.  I think she's going to do better next week.

To be continued....

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