Beside the Stream

From the time my dog was very young, Jessie’s mantra has been: good dogs get treats and a place by the fire, while bad dogs get the short end of the stick.   She has worked this angle her whole life.  She was the star of her puppy class.  She’s the only dog in town with manners enough to sit outside the door at the bakery doing tricks for treats.  She can walk a few inches from me, fast or slow.  She knows good dog english, including “out of the garden”, “go for a walk” “out of the road”, “where’s the bear” “ride in the car”  ”bakery”  ”get the deer” “want some food” “go swim”.    She had the world wired… until recently. 

The day the chicks arrived, I left Jessie in the office with the kiddy pool, and came back to find two chicks dead on the floor.  I think she took them in her mouth and shook them, breaking their necks.   Poor dog was punished all day: no car ride, no good times, and every so often I’d hold a chick corpse right in front of her face and call her a bad bad dog.   She was mortified. 

A week and a half later, and she can still barely bring herself to look at them. 

When I specifically ask her to look the chick in the eye, she will, but given her druthers she wouldn’t be within 20 feet of them. 

The truth is, this blog has been a hard stretch for her.  New rules for an old dog takes a lot of concentration, and she’s been knocking herself out getting things right.  First she’s not allowed to chase the deer and wild turkeys, and now she’s not allowed to touch the chicks.  

If not for the bear, she wouldn’t be having any fun at all.