Al, My Dog-in-law
I was an infrequent visitor at my mother-in-law's. I knew she had been given a dog a few months back and the day I decided to accompany Greg to her apartment, he warned me that the dog would be on the back deck and would be jumping all over me. I told him no, I don't do the dog jumping thing and he'd have to forestall that action somehow.
We headed up the fire escape stairs to her second floor apartment and had just about reached the top when this white fury - moving so fast I couldn't see what it was - hurled itself against the gate of the deck, scratching, growling, banging against the gate. With scenes of Stephen King's Pet Semetary flashing through my mind, I headed down the stairs I had just climbed up, but Greg pulled me back -- oh that's just Al, he's harmless, just happy to see us. Well, I'd hate to see him unhappy - just keep him away from me! I managed to squeeze in and through the apartment door unscathed, with Greg acting as bodyguard throughout the entire visit. I wasn't too keen on going back but managed to get in a few more visits - with the same results. One day we went up and Greg miscalculated his moves. Al got past him to me, just about knocking me off my feet. He jumped and scratched and barked and I just stood there, yelling for Greg to get him away from me. No response; when I looked around, there was Greg, along with his brother who had joined the hoopla - laughing their heads off. Well, I wasn't gonna' get any help there. Stifling the tremor in my voice, I mustered my deepest(?!), sternest voice ... "Al..Get Down"! And he did. The laughs from the two guys turned into open-mouthed shock....Al never listened to anyone. From that day on, Al never jumped on me or tried to lick me. I could go up the stairs first and through the gate and Al would give me a wide birth and start his crazy jumping around on Greg. Inside, he'd lay at my feet, looking up when I moved; eventually he graduated to giving me a tentative lick on the foot which I assured him was okay.
When we moved from Toronto to our new home, Al came to live in the basement apartment, along with Greg's mother. He had a huge fenced yard to run in and he loved running around chasing the squirrels. (Well, I suppose at this point it's easier to call Greg's mother Betty.) So...Betty would "walk" him -- ostensibly around the block -- but Al was not a good walker. A "short walk around the block" could take an hour. Al just didn't want to move. He'd stand in one spot looking around as if to say "now, where do I want to go today?" He'd take a few steps in one direction, apparently change his mind and turn around the other way, then stand there scoping the layout of the land. Not sniffing, not looking for a spot to pee, just trying to make up his mind on where to go. When he finally decided, he would walk for a few moments, stop to get his bearings and go back to wondering which way to go next. It was funny to watch. He did the same "walk" routine when Greg walked him. Neither of these two had much patience and it was a constant barrage of "come on Al, come on Al, come ON Al". The exception to this kind of walk was when Al spotted another dog coming down the street, or a squirrel. Then all bets were off as to where he and his walker would end up. One day I decided to take matters (and the leash) into my own hands. With Greg beside me to take over if another dog came along, I took the leash and away we went. I marched on down the street with a very confused dog at my side. He didn't have time to stop and wonder where he should go next. If he veered off to the grass, I'd let him stop and sniff and do his business and then we were on our way again. He finally got his walk around the block! Next day, walking with Betty, it was business as usual. He never did walk well for her, although after a few more sessions of me walking with him and Greg, he learned to walk well with Greg also.
We headed up the fire escape stairs to her second floor apartment and had just about reached the top when this white fury - moving so fast I couldn't see what it was - hurled itself against the gate of the deck, scratching, growling, banging against the gate. With scenes of Stephen King's Pet Semetary flashing through my mind, I headed down the stairs I had just climbed up, but Greg pulled me back -- oh that's just Al, he's harmless, just happy to see us. Well, I'd hate to see him unhappy - just keep him away from me! I managed to squeeze in and through the apartment door unscathed, with Greg acting as bodyguard throughout the entire visit. I wasn't too keen on going back but managed to get in a few more visits - with the same results. One day we went up and Greg miscalculated his moves. Al got past him to me, just about knocking me off my feet. He jumped and scratched and barked and I just stood there, yelling for Greg to get him away from me. No response; when I looked around, there was Greg, along with his brother who had joined the hoopla - laughing their heads off. Well, I wasn't gonna' get any help there. Stifling the tremor in my voice, I mustered my deepest(?!), sternest voice ... "Al..Get Down"! And he did. The laughs from the two guys turned into open-mouthed shock....Al never listened to anyone. From that day on, Al never jumped on me or tried to lick me. I could go up the stairs first and through the gate and Al would give me a wide birth and start his crazy jumping around on Greg. Inside, he'd lay at my feet, looking up when I moved; eventually he graduated to giving me a tentative lick on the foot which I assured him was okay.
When we moved from Toronto to our new home, Al came to live in the basement apartment, along with Greg's mother. He had a huge fenced yard to run in and he loved running around chasing the squirrels. (Well, I suppose at this point it's easier to call Greg's mother Betty.) So...Betty would "walk" him -- ostensibly around the block -- but Al was not a good walker. A "short walk around the block" could take an hour. Al just didn't want to move. He'd stand in one spot looking around as if to say "now, where do I want to go today?" He'd take a few steps in one direction, apparently change his mind and turn around the other way, then stand there scoping the layout of the land. Not sniffing, not looking for a spot to pee, just trying to make up his mind on where to go. When he finally decided, he would walk for a few moments, stop to get his bearings and go back to wondering which way to go next. It was funny to watch. He did the same "walk" routine when Greg walked him. Neither of these two had much patience and it was a constant barrage of "come on Al, come on Al, come ON Al". The exception to this kind of walk was when Al spotted another dog coming down the street, or a squirrel. Then all bets were off as to where he and his walker would end up. One day I decided to take matters (and the leash) into my own hands. With Greg beside me to take over if another dog came along, I took the leash and away we went. I marched on down the street with a very confused dog at my side. He didn't have time to stop and wonder where he should go next. If he veered off to the grass, I'd let him stop and sniff and do his business and then we were on our way again. He finally got his walk around the block! Next day, walking with Betty, it was business as usual. He never did walk well for her, although after a few more sessions of me walking with him and Greg, he learned to walk well with Greg also.