Dog-gone bad behavior
It’s a lucky thing this week that I love my dog.
When I first got him from a local rescue, Travis was really calm and mellow. His favorite activities included cuddles and napping. Having gone from his original owner to a kill-shelter, to the foster, and then to my house, I think he may have been worried that hyperactivity or bad behavior could cause him to move again.
Those fears are gone.
Travis is now fully housebroken and trained to ring bells at the back door when he needs let outside to do his business. When he goes outside, he has begun really investigating his surroundings and confidently playing. I love to watch him run and play.
Along with his confidence, however, have come a few bad habits. His current favorite hobby is taking the flower bed decorations down into the yard to chew on them. My cast pig with a butterfly on its nose? Now missing the butterfly. Also, one of his feet has been removed, and there are teeth marks in his wings.
In addition, he has discovered a love for digging. I think there may be a mole living under my Hawthorne tree. Either that or Travis is trying to dig to China. Yet, digging under the tree doesn’t bother me as much as him digging in the flower bed.
You remember, right? The flower beds that I have been working on all summer to reclaim from their weed-ridden state? Yeah, Travis has decided that he loves to move my mulch and pull up the weed barrier below. He kicks the mulch around in a frenzy, but to his credit, he stops and comes immediately when called.
I nearly cried the other morning when I went to bring him back inside and saw how much damage he had done to the bed in only the few short minutes he was unattended. I chastised him and sent him to his place, a bed that he is being trained to stay on while we eat dinner. The three minutes it took to do the damage ended up taking me nearly 30 to repair.
On Sunday, while we were running late for church, he got sick and threw up in three separate spots on the dining room floor. I know that is not bad behavior, just bad luck, but still.
Finally, yesterday, I found him in the kitchen chewing on a pair of my shoes. The brand-new ballet flats I haven’t even worn yet are now little more than limp noodles awaiting their turn at the landfill. I worked him through some commands before rewarding him with a chew toy he is permitted to have.
I know that this too shall pass, and that it’s part of him growing up. I know he’s not trying to spite me, and that continuing his training is the best defense against inappropriate behavior.
I also know my patience is thin some days, and – as it was when my children were young – it’s a good thing God makes babies so stinking cute.