The barks and hisses are laced with spittle. My doors and windows are covered with animal nose art. And, for the time being, I don’t see an end in sight to these unplanned play-dates. Each day I bring Booker into the sunroom of our house to spend one-on-one time with him. We’ve established a routine that includes a training period. Booker is to “come around,” “sit,” “shake,” “go down and crawl,” “twirl,” and fetch. He actually seems to enjoy the session and the resulting treats are enjoyed even more. Now that Pudgy is here, and there remains a lack of dog-cat bonding, I always shut the glass doors that separate the sunroom from the dining room. When I call him, Booker immediately comes inside and goes to the glass door looking for Pudgy. He wants to know what she is doing and if there is any chance at all that he might have a crack at attacking her. Pudgy, counting on the security of the glass between them, likes to amble up to the door to begin a lengthy grooming session. She rolls and licks and stretches. Then she rolls some more. It’s a blatant “In your face Dog-Breath,” sort of behavior.
Today as I began the training session with Booker I noticed he wasn’t paying attention to me. I turned to look at the door expecting to see Pudgy inciting him, but she wasn’t there. I resumed the session and again Booker stopped responding. He was looking at the door, but when I looked there was no Pudgy. Getting irritated with his lack of cooperation, I scolded Booker. He went into a sit position, but continued to stare at the door. Finally I made a quick turn-about glance and this time saw what he was seeing. Pudgy was popping her head up and down behind the door. Her little grey head was playing peek-a-boo while Booker was supposed to be doing his training. As I continued to watch, Pudgy backed away from the door and began what I call “the grizzly.” She stood on her hind feet and flailed her front paws in mock fierceness. She was like the bratty little sister making faces at her brother while the parent’s back is turned. With a shoulder heave of resignation, I gave Booker a treat and sent him outside. Pets! It’s like raising kids all over again…and it was the best part of my day.
We all giggled when we read this story. Years ago we had a similar situation. We had a German Wirehair Pointer named Jerzy who was huge–85 pounds of power and athleticism. Jerzy was the most athletic dog we ever owned, our Michael Jordan. He fearlessly ran,jumped, and hunted with true discipline and wonderful physical abandon. It was not unusual for him to come home from hunting with Rick with his paws bleeding. He was unstoppable.
One morning my husband an I woke to hear Jerzy whimpering in his outside kennel. Terrified, we jumped out of bed expecting to find a grizzly bear mauling him. Nope, our 9 pound cat, Leaf, was walking across the lawn, near his kennel. She had “taught” him as a puppy that she was in charge and he needed to be afraid of her claws in his nose . . .and he was. Nothing scared Jerzy in life, BUT a tiny cat with a ferocious claws and more fearlessness than the giant Jerzy.