the ramble

I’m a little hard on Luna. I expect no barking. I expect perfect attention and listening. I expect heeling and sitting and staying and stopping and going. And did I mention no barking?

Mostly she’s good at this. But occasionally she barks–and I shush her. Occasionally she pulls the leash and I get annoyed.

I didn’t realize, though, how very well trained she really is for a one-year-old. Until I pet sat for a friend.

I’d like to preface this with a simple fact: my friend’s dog is not a bad dog. This wasn’t a Marley & Me situation–it was just shocking for me because the dog I live with is Luna, who wouldn’t dare howl out my window until I put her in the kennel or pull my arm out of its socket when we’re walking in the park or rip up my garbage bag and leave crap all over my floor or eat goose poop out of the yard and try to kiss my face.

Luna, my dears, doesn’t do those things.

Part of this is because I’m lucky: Luna never was one for the garbage (even if I put the tastiest morsels ever in it); she never really had an interest in following me into the kitchen and standing under my feet; she is not inclined toward barking.

But part of this is because I have high expectations and spend a lot of time walking, training and rewarding. She had to learn to heel (and it’s still a bit of a work in progress, though she’s leaps and bounds beyond our petsitting charge). She was inclined to eat goose poop at first, and we had to nip that one in the bud. She did want to eat my food when I left it sitting on the floor.

But she’s a good listener and she is smart and she’s happy, because for everything I deny her, I offer something else. You can’t pull the leash, but we can go for a long walk in the park and sometimes in the yard I’ll let you off the leash and we’ll play fetch. You can’t chew my pajamas, but you can chew this tasty bone. You can’t eat my salsa, which I just left on the floor, but you can have a puppy treat.

Now I’m a proud mama. Cause Holy Crap, I just realized that Luna is the best trained one-year-old I’ve ever met. Ever. Including all the dogs we grew up with and every dog I’ve met since then.

Good job, babypants.