My dog is having an identity crisis.
Understandably the continuous ‘conversations’ I have with him has
him a little confused, but the number of uncharacteristic actions has reached
an extreme level.
I always knew there was something unique with my Australian
Shepherd, Hamlet, from the get-go, but when, after a couple of years, I had yet
to hear him bark, I knew he was not like any dog I’ve ever owned. Granted, he
had never been around many other dogs, or anything that woofed, yapped or
howled (although my husband may not agree), but isn’t barking simply an innate
action for a dog? At first I thought he must have some problem with his vocal
cords, but then I wondered if maybe he just didn’t know that he was supposed to bark. Was he that out of touch
with his natural mannerisms? Wasn’t he supposed to be conscious of the fact
that interpreting usual doggie situations like “I have to go outside to pee” or
“There’s a moose in the yard eating our trees” without a telltale bark, is a
little difficult for humans? Couldn’t he figure out that we don’t have that
dog sixth-sense trait, and could use a little yelp-help when trying to be good
dog owners?
We tried to teach him, but even after several lessons with all of
us (except the dog) barking at the door and simulating the standard and
expected canine action, the Ham never did learn. Each time we began a new ‘How
To Get Someone To Open The Door’ session, he’d just stand there looking at us
with what I supposed was his ‘you guys
are idiots’ grin and then sit back and watch the show.
Then, as if to
show us how clever and observant he was, Ham began opening doors himself. Now,
levers, thumb latches or even round knobs are no match for my dog and if we
don’t lock the doors…inside and out….we often come home with the front door
wide open, or the kitchen door swinging in the wind. Normally a little fresh
air is fine, but when you’re upstairs wondering why it’s so cold you can see
your breath, or how the heck the pile of leaves got in your hallway, it’s more
than a problem. And maybe locking doors is commonplace in other towns or
cities, but in our little community, it’s not the first thing you think of when
you leave the house…or are in fact in
your house. It takes effort to bolt all doors…all the time…and now rarely an
hour passes by without someone frantically asking the most frequent question in
our house: “Are the doors locked?!”
You’d think we were paranoid lunatics if you didn’t know what we were
attempting to avoid.
And it’s
absolutely necessary for us to be vigilant with our door locking, for reasons
other than tolerable heating bills. You see, Hamlet has a penchant for baked
goods and chocolates too, and if there are goodies of any kind left anywhere
he’ll eat them…if he is in the house….or can get in the house. We’ve lost
pumpkin pies, sugar cookies, carrot cakes, chocolate bars and brownies to our
sweet-toothed shepherd, simply because we’ve forgotten to lock him out or hide
the stuff in the fridge, microwave or closet…. Oddly, we can leave elk burger,
chicken or juicy steak on the counter and he won’t touch it, but if something
has been baked with butter, sugar and flour, or has the least little bit of
cocoa in it, he can’t control the urge. Remarkably, he never eats the entire creation,
but just nibbles on a few cookies, or half a cake or the top of the brownies.
He just wants a taste, and I guess you have to respect him for his restraint
and willpower to stop. Maybe that’s why he never gets as sick as a dog from his forages, but just contently lies around
in his favorite position - legs crossed at his doggie knees and head leaning
against the wall - with that cheeky and blissful grin on his face.
Most recently,
Ham’s been helping himself to a comfy position on our red velvet couch. Sitting
on the sofa is new behavior for our furry friend, and I can only guess that it
was the natural next step in his attempt to simulate human beings. I also
suppose that after breaking in to a house and eating a few sweets, a deluxe
place to rest might seem appropriate. After all, he is 35 in dog years, which
is like 65 in human years, and I bet he thought he’d earned the right to a
comfortable spot to watch TV. He does indeed have a plush dog bed, but I think
he thinks it’s a cruel joke…and unfair that he has a mere 4 foot round area in
which to lounge, when we have access to a whole house.
The problem I see is that Hamlet doesn’t know he’s a dog. There
are no ill intents or ‘acting out’ scenarios, but instead just an identity
complication. The poor thing doesn’t know he’ll never be top dog in this
house…or that he has about a dog’s chance of ever getting a glass of chardonnay with
his bowl of lunch. Frankly, he’d avoid a lot of disappointment and gruff words if he
only acknowledged his authentic self! Should I get him a canine councilor?
Maybe, had we
called him Rover or Spot instead of the name of a contemplative and tormented man, our expectations would have been
clear. Loyal yet unpredictable….intelligent yet impetuous….how can we blame
our extraordinarily brilliant animal for living up to his namesake? We may
just be the ones who messed things up from the start. Maybe we’re the ones who need to change our
perspective and think of the situation differently, and perhaps we could learn some new tricks. Maybe…
instead of thinking of him as a dog, I’ll try a different approach and start
pretending that he is an inconsiderate uncle….with a low IQ and sugar
addiction…..just out of the correctional facility….and with very poor motor
skills and a shedding problem…That might make it easier for me to remember to lock the doors
and hide the cookies. After all, I’m sure to be a lot more cautious when
there’s a deranged and capricious relative roaming around the house,
n’est-ce-pas?
“Uncle Hamlet! Get your disgusting
slobbery mouth away from the apple crisp…and close that door!”
Oh boy. I’m obviously desperate…
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