Our
huntaway, Sable, whom readers of the Trilogy know as Audi, can be a right brat
at times. Huntaway’s are very intelligent dogs and this shows in their
personality. In New Zealand they’re usually bred just for farm dogs because of
their innate desire to work. They want to work and they LOVE it. Not the best
choice for a pet unless you intend on taking up agility training or something
else equally demanding (Search and rescue? Got chickens you want herded?). We
did have two dogs, but our gorgeous staffy had to be put to sleep in Oct 11. We
were worried about how Sable would
handle being an ‘only’ child but we shouldn’t have—the little brat loves it
*grin*.
huntaway, Sable, whom readers of the Trilogy know as Audi, can be a right brat
at times. Huntaway’s are very intelligent dogs and this shows in their
personality. In New Zealand they’re usually bred just for farm dogs because of
their innate desire to work. They want to work and they LOVE it. Not the best
choice for a pet unless you intend on taking up agility training or something
else equally demanding (Search and rescue? Got chickens you want herded?). We
did have two dogs, but our gorgeous staffy had to be put to sleep in Oct 11. We
were worried about how Sable would
handle being an ‘only’ child but we shouldn’t have—the little brat loves it
*grin*.
(Stealing my seat)
Onto the
bedtime drama!
bedtime drama!
Every
evening Sable ditches our company in lieu of hanging out on my seat in the
conservatory. When bedtime comes around I head on in there and call her out,
ushering her to my writing room, where she and Griffon (the cat) sleep.
Normally it’s an easy call, and she’s up and at my side. Lately however this
hasn’t happened. I think it may be due to when I was sick and she played being
‘sick’ and slept on the bed with me till Glenn came in. Apparently the
three-seater couch with the comfy, fleecy dog bed on top isn’t cutting it
anymore…
evening Sable ditches our company in lieu of hanging out on my seat in the
conservatory. When bedtime comes around I head on in there and call her out,
ushering her to my writing room, where she and Griffon (the cat) sleep.
Normally it’s an easy call, and she’s up and at my side. Lately however this
hasn’t happened. I think it may be due to when I was sick and she played being
‘sick’ and slept on the bed with me till Glenn came in. Apparently the
three-seater couch with the comfy, fleecy dog bed on top isn’t cutting it
anymore…
The routine
now goes like this.
now goes like this.
‘Sable,
come!’ —Dog doesn’t budge.
come!’ —Dog doesn’t budge.
‘Come on,
bedtime!’ —Nope. Still not budging.
bedtime!’ —Nope. Still not budging.
‘Sable,
COME!’ —Not happening, not even a flicker.
COME!’ —Not happening, not even a flicker.
At which
point I grumble, stomp over to the seat and pry her reluctant body from it onto
the floor.
point I grumble, stomp over to the seat and pry her reluctant body from it onto
the floor.
And this is
where she gets sneaky.
where she gets sneaky.
The moment
her feet hit the floor she dashes for the dog bed in the conservatory (where
she’s actually meant to be—rather than on my seat) and drops. Goes fully,
ragdoll floppy. Another bunch of growled orders from me get completely ignored.
With much grumbling I reach down and haul the heavy ass up (25 kilos of
unrepentant dog) and sort of half carry/half drag her out the room into the
hallway. Usually at this point she very begrudgingly gathers to her feet.
her feet hit the floor she dashes for the dog bed in the conservatory (where
she’s actually meant to be—rather than on my seat) and drops. Goes fully,
ragdoll floppy. Another bunch of growled orders from me get completely ignored.
With much grumbling I reach down and haul the heavy ass up (25 kilos of
unrepentant dog) and sort of half carry/half drag her out the room into the
hallway. Usually at this point she very begrudgingly gathers to her feet.
Then
fervently looks for an escape.
fervently looks for an escape.
If I
haven’t shut the door to the lounge, bedroom, and any room in the house other
than my room, she promptly dashes through the open door and repeats the ragdoll
routine. Accompanied by a strangled shriek of frustration from me.
haven’t shut the door to the lounge, bedroom, and any room in the house other
than my room, she promptly dashes through the open door and repeats the ragdoll
routine. Accompanied by a strangled shriek of frustration from me.
Then when I
do finally get her into my room, she refuses to climb on her bed. Instead she
flops to the floor with a long suffering sigh and a pointed look that plainly
says ‘animal abuser’.
do finally get her into my room, she refuses to climb on her bed. Instead she
flops to the floor with a long suffering sigh and a pointed look that plainly
says ‘animal abuser’.
(playing ‘sick’)
I’m hoping
this wee performance won’t last too long, and I can’t even blame it on
adolescence (yep, dogs go through it too) as she’s nine and a half now.
this wee performance won’t last too long, and I can’t even blame it on
adolescence (yep, dogs go through it too) as she’s nine and a half now.
Perhaps
it’s old age… ;p
it’s old age… ;p
LOL I know it's probably not for you, but that is too cute. Hopefully, if you keep at it, she'll give up and start obeying.
*grin* it is cute, and while it drives me mad I love her spirit so can't ever be too grouchy with her. She'll change her tune in a month, for sure ;p