Writing about bad dogs is much more interesting than writing about good dogs.
And it’s not that these particular dogs are really bad, they're just more, shall we say, challenging.
Meet Jack.
He’s a one-year-old field-bred white lab. Jack is a beautiful dog. He can jump about three feet from a standing position. And he’s fast—especially when it comes to food.
Jack is perhaps the worst (or shall I say best) counter surfer I have ever had the pleasure of watching. Gus comes close, but he’s a little stealthier.
Jack is a brazen, in your face, “Do you want the rest of that?” kind of dog. He will jump on the counter right next to you, run his tongue along the tile, look you in the eyes as if to say, “Hey, what are you making me for lunch?”
Jack comes from a wonderful family. His human mom, Julie, is very sweet and always hesitantly drops Jack off with a sort of grimace.
I let him run around the yard for a while like I usually do, so he can do the “happy pee” ceremony over everything that can’t run away from his lifted leg, well, except Moondoggie who found it necessary to stick her head under his rear end while he was in mid-stream.
Perhaps it was my fault, because I had a turkey to get into the oven, but I didn’t let him spend as much time outside as usual. I went into my kitchen, keeping an eye on Jack, keeping him off the counter and prepping Mr. Turkey all at the same time.
I thought I was doing a good job of it too until I heard my husband gasp, “Oh No!” Maybe Jack wasn’t happy with my cooking and decided to create a fecal sculpture in protest right in the middle of one of my Persian rugs. Highly unlikely for Jack to protest any food given the fact that he finds tennis balls delectable.
My husband was kind enough to clean it up for me, seeing that his dinner depended on it.
After I popped the turkey in the oven I took Jack Attack for a walk. He needed to release a little energy. Jack is getting much better on leash. I can now postpone my shoulder surgery for a couple of years.
After the walk we came through the door to the wonderful aroma of roasting turkey. I took off my shoes and put away the leashes and came into the dining room to find Jack on top of the table Joyously polishing off the last of the pumpkin pie I had made for my family for breakfast.
Last time Jack visited Doggie Heaven Hotel I decided to order baby gates to keep Jack attack off my kitchen counters. My gates showed up the day after Thanksgiving. Since I didn’t have my gates, my husband, again coming to my rescue, constructed a barrier between the dining room and the kitchen, between the dogs and the last pumpkin pie.
Jack lounged on my couch and watched my spouse erect the barricade. He was thinking about the pie and plotting how to get to it. He was not supposed to be on the furniture. When I got off the couch, he got on—then I pulled him off.
When my husband got off the couch, Jack got on, and then my husband pulled him off, you get the picture. Jack’s jumping on the couch bothered my husband. But it didn’t bother my husband as much as the eighty pounds of flying field bred Labrador retriever that landed on his sleeping body every morning.
Jack was a little wary of people he didn’t know, especially men. He had a rather menacing bark when people he didn’t know, especially men, approached him. The bark grew in intensity and then he began to bare his teeth and lunge and snap. I have used several of Cesar Millan’s techniques for this particular behavior, but to no avail.
Watching TV around Jack was challenging. When someone knocked on a door or rung a doorbell on TV, Jack broke into his terrifying bay. He ran from door to window, window to door trying to find the culprit.
Jack liked to stick foaming saliva filled tennis balls between your legs from behind as you unsuspectingly walked by. I’m not quite sure how to break him of that habit, just one more question for Cesar.
I have grown to love Jack and—believe it or not—he is not my most “challenging dog.”
Jack keeps my feet warm during meals. He keeps me company when I cook, clean, walk, run, garden, do laundry—do anything.
He would be happy to be stapled to my left leg all day long. Jack gets along with all dogs. Jack is affectionate. He has great recall and his manners are getting better every day.
Jack is welcome at my house any day.
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