Dog Wins!

Sheba came to us about four months ago – a senior Brittany with no training, terrible habits (like eating her own excrement), no ability to read people or commands (“no” means “yes” and “yes” means “YES!”), unfamiliar with other dogs, vastly overweight, riddled with lipomas, restless, desperate, and fixated on (and with an insatiable appetite for) all forms of feces. (As you can tell, her poop thing is a major concern/discussion in our household.)

Living with her is not easy. She knocks everything over, roots through every bag, walks like a whirlwind, and finds a way to climb the table to eat the batch of 30+ chocolate chip cookies we just baked.

But she’s very sweet. Even now, she is resting her head on my lap as I write this.

Still, she is so damn difficult that I can often feel my frustration move to anger.

A couple of weeks ago she bolted out of the front door, unleashed, lead by her need to find feces, squirrels, and pigeons in Tompkins Square Park. Ten minutes later, after she blindly crossed busy streets and tore through the park, someone was able to grab her. There was a moment, maybe more than a moment, when I was okay with her being lost to us.

Then tonight, walking along 10th St. with Barley in tow (her hind legs like parking brakes) and Sheba bouncing from scent to scent, I just gave in. This is who she is, a beast of impulse. She’s a birder, a hunting breed stripped of her purpose, formerly cooped up in an apartment for 10 years with an owner who loved-loved her but, due to immobility, rarely (if ever) walked her, fed her poorly, and relied on veterinary care to make up the difference in his inability to properly care for her. This is who she is – an ungovernable ten-year-old puppy – and I just learned to accept her for her unmanageable self.

Her personality beats my exasperation.