Last night it was obvious that Tsunami, after having been cooped up for months with an unfortunate let injury, had regained some of her old energy. Which is to say that after an hour-long walk, she went crazy at 7 o’clock. First there was just a little running around and I threw the ball in the house for her a couple of times. Then she relocated to the back yard and we tossed her rope around for a little bit until she grew tired of that and refused to set paw on the grass to retrieve said rope. So I went inside because there are mosquitoes out there and if she doesn’t want to play then I’m not getting all eaten up just watching her stare off into space.
But The Snizz was having none of it. Soon her playfullness escalated into plain bitchiness. There was barking, followed by bolting around the backyard, a favorite game of hers that neither Wes nor I can stand. She’s come to think of the backyard as her place and refuses to listen to us when we give her commands. Yes, we should do a better job of making her understand that we rule her, and not the other way around (and I will get to that), but last night I wasn’t in the mood to chase her around the backyard because you can’t catch her when you’re alone. Instead I went inside and shut the sliding glass door, my signal to her that I’m not putting up with her shenanigans and she can either sulk outside or she can start playing nicely.
But the barking got louder and, not wanting to upset the neighbors, I went back outside to try to calm her down. She didn’t want to play with any of her toys; all she wanted to do was run around and bark. She clearly missed the dog park, but I am not a dog and I don’t enjoy chasing my puppy around – it makes me look crazy.
Now here I have to interject and say that a couple of weeks ago we put a dog door in our screen door. It’s made all our lives so much easier.
Back to last night, though. Tsunami is running around the backyard, barking like I’m a burglar (or how I hope she would bark if there were a burglar, though I’m pretty sure she’d just wag her tail and then roll over for some tummy rubs) and I’m getting more angry by the moment. I’m nearly ready to cry or yell or both when she bolts past me and runs smack into the sliding glass door.
The thud her head makes when it connects with the glass is so loud that I’m nearly certain she’s going to pass out. But she doesn’t. She turns around and walks slowly to the grass and I can see the confused look in her eyes like, But I was sure there was a door there? And there would have been, if I hadn’t shut the sliding glass door.
Don’t worry, she’s fine. I’d like to say that she learned her lesson and will think twice before she rushes through the dog door, but I know that won’t happen. She’ll forget about this – like dogs forget about most unsavory things – and somewhere down road she’ll do it again. Dogs, unlike elephants, always forget.