Eleven p.m., Saturday night. May 15, 2010.
Jodi and Kristin arrive at Jodi's house, tired, after a long night of cleaning Kristin's place. They ate at India Palace--garlic naan with raita, chicken curry, basmati rice, and two glasses of Merlot.
They open the front door. On a normal evening, Rex would nose his way around the door, excited to greet them. Today, no one greets them.
KRISTIN
Rex!... Rex?
They enter. Lock the door. Look around. The search quickly leads them to the spare bedroom on the main floor. Rex lies on the pink-striped comforter, which has been folded into a square big enough for a 105-pound dog.
JODI
Rex?
Rex does not move.
KRISTIN
What's wrong with him?
JODI
He was fine when I left at five-thirty.
Kristin leans down, feels his forehead.
KRISTIN
He's hot. What's wrong, honey?
In his lethargy, Rex is non-responsive.
JODI
Call the emergency vet.
Jodi whips out a Yellow Pages.
JODI
Here.
She rattles the number off. Kristin punches it into her cell.
KRISTIN
He won't move. He feels hot.
THE VET
If he's lethargic, you need to bring him in.
After nudging and pulling Rex for several minutes, he rises. Rex holds up his back left leg, obviously in pain.
JODI
He was fine when I left him.
Kristin straps the dog harness around Rex. He limps out the front dog, finds the nearest tree and squats. He's in too much pain to lift the leg.
To be continued....
Friday, May 28, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Who was Gorbachev?
Some people have distinguishing marks. Mikhail Gorbachev was one of them.
Rex has white fur in his scruff. I initially thought he was an old dog because of the white fur. But it turned out to be the St. Bernard in him.
He also has a lower lip that juts out into a pout like Elvis. These are two of his distinguishing marks.
What were Madonna's?
I have one.
People often ask me about it.
What's that mark on your arm?
I hope someone's not beating you up!
What happened to your arm?!
It's a BIRTHMARK. Okay? Let it go.
Summer shirts for women have short-short sleeves--the kind that are exactly high enough and revealing enough to show my birthmark.
Ten years ago a work friend talked me into having a mole removed from my face. At the dermatologist's office, the doctor said, "You know that's considered a beauty mark."
I knew, but I hastily got rid of it anyway. Later, I wished I had waited.
Do we need to all look alike?
If Gorbachev had had the stain removed from the top of his head, wouldn't he have looked like myriad other leaders? What would the cartoonist's have done to give him character? Would anyone remember him now?
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Rex's Personal Ads
Before we adopted Rex--when we were just fostering him--we couldn't believe some of the awesome things about him: He didn't beg for food at the table, he didn't eat much more than Ruby who is half his size, and he didn't even shed! Wow, we thought, this is the perfect dog! How did we get so lucky?
After the adoption was final, things changed.
Stringy drool hung from his jowls at mealtime.
He nudged us for more food once his blue and white bowl with the paw prints was empty.
And when spring hit, he shed golden tufts everywhere like it was a furry monsoon season.
My friend Patty said, "That's just like a man. As soon as he realizes it's permanent, his true self comes out."
We joked that we should take out an ad now and see if anyone wants him.
Rex's Personals
10. Do you need a pony for your party?
9. Big dog with flatulence problem needs home. Male owner preferred.
8. Will work for food. Able to pull leashes and large plows. I'm the horse you want before your cart!
7. Garbage disposal on the fritz? Call Rex. He'll sniff out the problem.
6. Need a companion? I work cheap -- hugs and belly rubs are all I ask.
5. Clifford the Big Red Dog impersonator. Specializing in parties for children.
4. Security Guard -- all bark; no bite.
3. Karaoke Crooner -- specializing in Elvis', "Hound Dog"; Lou Rawls', "You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine"; Led Zeppelin's, "Whole Lotta Love"
2. Perfect Gentleman. Svelte. Likes long walks. Loves to laugh. Enjoys ice cream cones. Could you be the one?
1. 105-pound lap dog. Loves to cuddle. Is there room for me on your couch?
I was looking for a house where Rex would be more comfortable. I also wanted to take advantage of the alleged great time to buy a house. But my dad thought Rex was too big for me and was stifling my search, so he emailed me this:
"The dog seems to be an impediment. I can place an ad in a couple of rural papers, The Lafayette Ledger, Winthrop News, etc. and maybe a farm family will take him."
Thanks, Dad. But no thanks.
After the adoption was final, things changed.
Stringy drool hung from his jowls at mealtime.
He nudged us for more food once his blue and white bowl with the paw prints was empty.
And when spring hit, he shed golden tufts everywhere like it was a furry monsoon season.
My friend Patty said, "That's just like a man. As soon as he realizes it's permanent, his true self comes out."
We joked that we should take out an ad now and see if anyone wants him.
Rex's Personals
10. Do you need a pony for your party?
9. Big dog with flatulence problem needs home. Male owner preferred.
8. Will work for food. Able to pull leashes and large plows. I'm the horse you want before your cart!
7. Garbage disposal on the fritz? Call Rex. He'll sniff out the problem.
6. Need a companion? I work cheap -- hugs and belly rubs are all I ask.
5. Clifford the Big Red Dog impersonator. Specializing in parties for children.
4. Security Guard -- all bark; no bite.
3. Karaoke Crooner -- specializing in Elvis', "Hound Dog"; Lou Rawls', "You'll Never Find Another Love Like Mine"; Led Zeppelin's, "Whole Lotta Love"
2. Perfect Gentleman. Svelte. Likes long walks. Loves to laugh. Enjoys ice cream cones. Could you be the one?
1. 105-pound lap dog. Loves to cuddle. Is there room for me on your couch?
I was looking for a house where Rex would be more comfortable. I also wanted to take advantage of the alleged great time to buy a house. But my dad thought Rex was too big for me and was stifling my search, so he emailed me this:
"The dog seems to be an impediment. I can place an ad in a couple of rural papers, The Lafayette Ledger, Winthrop News, etc. and maybe a farm family will take him."
Thanks, Dad. But no thanks.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
The News
"We should watch the news," Jodi says. "I don't know what's going on anymore."
"So what? Who cares?" I say in my best Brooklyn accent, impersonating Fred Armisen from SNL, impersonating Joy Behar from The View.
But the news is in trouble. And we are out of the loop.
Between dog training class twice a week, working, making dinner, and walking and training the dogs, there is little time left to catch up on national, much less local news.
I worry that my news is coming from satirical bits played out on SNL. And they are being selective of what will fit into their Weekend Update with Seth Myers, so that is only a fraction of what is going on in the world being mocked on Saturdays.
I used to love watching Jay Leno's monologue when he was the host of The Tonight Show before Conan O'Brien took over. But after all of the hubbub and the unsuccessful ratings transition of the show to Conan, and the eventual law suit and $32.5 million settlement to Conan to leave his contract early and hand the show back over to Leno, I've become disenchanted with Jay and don't watch any of the late night shows anymore. But before that happened, I got a nightly dose of satirical news from Jay's monologue.
Speaking of being selective of what to include in the news, I once attended a conference at The New York Times offices in NYC. I was working as the Associate Editor of my school's newspaper, The Metropolitan, and scored an all-expenses-paid trip to the Big Apple to attend their one-day conference called "Inside the Times." My friend Patty, the editor of the school paper, finagled the trip for herself and another staff member -- and, as associate editor at the time, I lucked-out and got to go.
At the conference, they said four names would be drawn and those four people would join The New York Times section editors and editor-in-chief in their Monday night meeting to decide what would appear on the front page the next day. The process and its importance is unseen by the news consumer. We read what is easiest to see. What's above-the-fold. What jumps out at us.
But important news can be buried inside those pages, and news story placement is all determined in this one meeting.
At the end of the conference day, we shifted in the theater-like chairs of the auditorium. Felice Nudelman, the conference coordinator, drew names for New York Times door prizes: baseball hats and t-shirts. Patty won a baseball cap she would present to her husband who was watching the kids.
Then, the front page meeting names were drawn. The first name was.... Christina something!
My heart jumped at the assonance of my name.
The second name was drawn Christopher something!
Again, I was jarred.
The third name... a less-Scandinavian name, which the reader struggled to pronounce.
The fourth and last name was called... "And from Metropolitan State University, Kristin Johnson!"
I was shocked. I pushed myself up and out of the comfy seat. Patty and I planned to meet later back in the room. I wandered up to the front of the crowded auditorium and waited with the others selected.
Felice looked at my empty hands. The others all had shirts or hats. "Let' get you a t-shirt," she said. Yes! I had wanted that gray logo-ed shirt.
Felice herded us up to the meeting. The Times offices looked like any other corporate company I had worked at -- cubicles sprawled out to cover the floor. The difference was that signs hung from the ceiling marking sections of the paper which split the floors into various departments: Business, Sports, Entertainment.... This wasn't the busy newsroom I had seen on shows like Mary Tyler Moore and Kolchak: The Night Stalker. This was an office. A professional office.
Finger to her lips, Felice motioned for us to be very quiet. We filtered into the conference room where the meeting would be held. we were the first to arrive. Felice handed out index cards and asked us to write down what we thought would be on the front page the next day.
As we waited, I worried. What if Bill Keller, the editor-in-chief, pointed at me and said, "What do you think? What should we put on the front page?"
I scoured my brain, praying I would not get a deer-in-the-headlights look if I were put on the spot. What would I say? I remembered that the Red Lake Indian Reservation shooting had just occurred. Maybe being from Minnesota they would ask my opinion on that. I sweated.
Section editors began filling seats.
I once had a microphone held under my chin and a huge television camera on me. That was in Newport Beach, California, at the annual Newport Beach Film Festival. "What did you think of the movie?" they asked me.
Deer-in-the-headlights stare at the camera lens. Then, "It was great. I thought it was great" was all I managed. They moved on to the next movie-goer.
Could I come up with something better, more witty to say if put on the spot at The New York Times? I wanted to sound intelligent. After all, they "expect the world." It was even on the baby blue conference folder handed out to us earlier that day. the folder included all sorts of great information, like how to be an ethical journalist.
The rest of the section editor seats filled and in walked Bill Keller. Everyone quieted. I sat up straighter, determined not to let my school or my state down.
Then, one of the Chris's next to me whispered, "Felice said do not say a word during the meeting. We're to be absolutely silent."
I froze in my chair. Then I passed along the information to the next girl in our group seated next to me. Our whole entourage was tucked away in a corner of the conference room. How did they get that huge table in here? We were to be seen and not heard. The pressure was off, except to try and not make a sound. Why wouldn't Bill Keller want my opinion? Well, he didn't.
We observed the discussion. Placement of articles tells the reader what is important. If the war is buried on page five, will anyone read about it? Or a soldier who died by a roadside bomb?
In the center of the table lay a Star Trek-like speaker-phone. The voice coming from it was a conference call from Baghdad. The war correspondent. What was going on with the war?
Michael Jackson was in the news then -- should he be on the front page? Was the public more interested in pop singers than billions of dollars and thousands of lives spent on a war away from home? What was news? Who has the right to determine what we will see as news? The news was the product and similar to product placement on shelves in bookstores or grocery stores, what is easily accessible and at eye level is what will be seen by most of the public. The front page is what we are told to care the most about.
After the front page debate, Felice led us out of the room as quietly as we had been brought in. they had not nailed-down decisions when we left, so it would be for us to guess what would appear the next day. I managed to maintain silence and followed the flock onto the elevator and out the front door.
It has been nearly a year since Michael Jackson died.
The war rages on in Iraq.
An oil spill in the gulf has gone on for 37 days with no resolution to the slick liquid gushing out of an under-the-sea pipe. President Obama was quoted as saying: "Plug the damn hole!" The spill has already been labeled the worst environmental disaster in history.
And the Facebook privacy debate also made The New York Times front page today.
The news at home:
Rex has recovered from a sprain of unknown origin. He took Rimadyl, Cephalexin, and Tramadol for a week and a half. Initially, he lost 5 pounds because he wouldn't eat. He became growly because he was in so much pain. He couldn't put any pressure on his back left leg. But thanks to the doggie dope we referred to as canine crack, now he seems back to his old self.
And the weather in Minnesota in 72 and sunny.
"So what? Who cares?" I say in my best Brooklyn accent, impersonating Fred Armisen from SNL, impersonating Joy Behar from The View.
But the news is in trouble. And we are out of the loop.
Between dog training class twice a week, working, making dinner, and walking and training the dogs, there is little time left to catch up on national, much less local news.
I worry that my news is coming from satirical bits played out on SNL. And they are being selective of what will fit into their Weekend Update with Seth Myers, so that is only a fraction of what is going on in the world being mocked on Saturdays.
I used to love watching Jay Leno's monologue when he was the host of The Tonight Show before Conan O'Brien took over. But after all of the hubbub and the unsuccessful ratings transition of the show to Conan, and the eventual law suit and $32.5 million settlement to Conan to leave his contract early and hand the show back over to Leno, I've become disenchanted with Jay and don't watch any of the late night shows anymore. But before that happened, I got a nightly dose of satirical news from Jay's monologue.
Speaking of being selective of what to include in the news, I once attended a conference at The New York Times offices in NYC. I was working as the Associate Editor of my school's newspaper, The Metropolitan, and scored an all-expenses-paid trip to the Big Apple to attend their one-day conference called "Inside the Times." My friend Patty, the editor of the school paper, finagled the trip for herself and another staff member -- and, as associate editor at the time, I lucked-out and got to go.
At the conference, they said four names would be drawn and those four people would join The New York Times section editors and editor-in-chief in their Monday night meeting to decide what would appear on the front page the next day. The process and its importance is unseen by the news consumer. We read what is easiest to see. What's above-the-fold. What jumps out at us.
But important news can be buried inside those pages, and news story placement is all determined in this one meeting.
At the end of the conference day, we shifted in the theater-like chairs of the auditorium. Felice Nudelman, the conference coordinator, drew names for New York Times door prizes: baseball hats and t-shirts. Patty won a baseball cap she would present to her husband who was watching the kids.
Then, the front page meeting names were drawn. The first name was.... Christina something!
My heart jumped at the assonance of my name.
The second name was drawn Christopher something!
Again, I was jarred.
The third name... a less-Scandinavian name, which the reader struggled to pronounce.
The fourth and last name was called... "And from Metropolitan State University, Kristin Johnson!"
I was shocked. I pushed myself up and out of the comfy seat. Patty and I planned to meet later back in the room. I wandered up to the front of the crowded auditorium and waited with the others selected.
Felice looked at my empty hands. The others all had shirts or hats. "Let' get you a t-shirt," she said. Yes! I had wanted that gray logo-ed shirt.
Felice herded us up to the meeting. The Times offices looked like any other corporate company I had worked at -- cubicles sprawled out to cover the floor. The difference was that signs hung from the ceiling marking sections of the paper which split the floors into various departments: Business, Sports, Entertainment.... This wasn't the busy newsroom I had seen on shows like Mary Tyler Moore and Kolchak: The Night Stalker. This was an office. A professional office.
Finger to her lips, Felice motioned for us to be very quiet. We filtered into the conference room where the meeting would be held. we were the first to arrive. Felice handed out index cards and asked us to write down what we thought would be on the front page the next day.
As we waited, I worried. What if Bill Keller, the editor-in-chief, pointed at me and said, "What do you think? What should we put on the front page?"
I scoured my brain, praying I would not get a deer-in-the-headlights look if I were put on the spot. What would I say? I remembered that the Red Lake Indian Reservation shooting had just occurred. Maybe being from Minnesota they would ask my opinion on that. I sweated.
Section editors began filling seats.
I once had a microphone held under my chin and a huge television camera on me. That was in Newport Beach, California, at the annual Newport Beach Film Festival. "What did you think of the movie?" they asked me.
Deer-in-the-headlights stare at the camera lens. Then, "It was great. I thought it was great" was all I managed. They moved on to the next movie-goer.
Could I come up with something better, more witty to say if put on the spot at The New York Times? I wanted to sound intelligent. After all, they "expect the world." It was even on the baby blue conference folder handed out to us earlier that day. the folder included all sorts of great information, like how to be an ethical journalist.
The rest of the section editor seats filled and in walked Bill Keller. Everyone quieted. I sat up straighter, determined not to let my school or my state down.
Then, one of the Chris's next to me whispered, "Felice said do not say a word during the meeting. We're to be absolutely silent."
I froze in my chair. Then I passed along the information to the next girl in our group seated next to me. Our whole entourage was tucked away in a corner of the conference room. How did they get that huge table in here? We were to be seen and not heard. The pressure was off, except to try and not make a sound. Why wouldn't Bill Keller want my opinion? Well, he didn't.
We observed the discussion. Placement of articles tells the reader what is important. If the war is buried on page five, will anyone read about it? Or a soldier who died by a roadside bomb?
In the center of the table lay a Star Trek-like speaker-phone. The voice coming from it was a conference call from Baghdad. The war correspondent. What was going on with the war?
Michael Jackson was in the news then -- should he be on the front page? Was the public more interested in pop singers than billions of dollars and thousands of lives spent on a war away from home? What was news? Who has the right to determine what we will see as news? The news was the product and similar to product placement on shelves in bookstores or grocery stores, what is easily accessible and at eye level is what will be seen by most of the public. The front page is what we are told to care the most about.
After the front page debate, Felice led us out of the room as quietly as we had been brought in. they had not nailed-down decisions when we left, so it would be for us to guess what would appear the next day. I managed to maintain silence and followed the flock onto the elevator and out the front door.
It has been nearly a year since Michael Jackson died.
The war rages on in Iraq.
An oil spill in the gulf has gone on for 37 days with no resolution to the slick liquid gushing out of an under-the-sea pipe. President Obama was quoted as saying: "Plug the damn hole!" The spill has already been labeled the worst environmental disaster in history.
And the Facebook privacy debate also made The New York Times front page today.
The news at home:
Rex has recovered from a sprain of unknown origin. He took Rimadyl, Cephalexin, and Tramadol for a week and a half. Initially, he lost 5 pounds because he wouldn't eat. He became growly because he was in so much pain. He couldn't put any pressure on his back left leg. But thanks to the doggie dope we referred to as canine crack, now he seems back to his old self.
And the weather in Minnesota in 72 and sunny.
Dinner Conversation
Jodi and I sit down to dinner. I have just blackened catfish on the stove. Having made the dish a few times, now I do not use a recipe. I liberally shake cayenne pepper, white pepper, garlic powder, black pepper, and paprika on the fillets and cook them in olive oil for three minutes on each side. The oil is ready when a hint of smoke billows up from the pan.
Jodi props open the side kitchen window to filter the smoke out of the house.
Rex lays on the floor--not begging at all, another thing we like about him.
I microwave two baked potatoes and serve them with pepper and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Light.
"The strongest sense a dog has is olfactory, you know."
Jodi is eating the bowtie pasta salad she brought home from Cub to accompany the meal.
"This salad's good," she says. "It's got chicken in it."
"When I walked them today, I noticed more how much Rex sniffed things. I was really observing him."
Jodi keeps eating.
"That book I'm reading (Inside of a Dog) says that dogs aren't really marking. They are leaving little notes all around. The notes say: I'm in the area or I'm tough or I'm ready to mate. Ruby left some notes too."
Ruby wags her tail, perhaps thinking I meant that I am about to share some catfish with her.
Jodi polishes off her pasta salad.
"Rex actually pees higher on those tree trunks because he wants the other dogs to be able to smell it. It's at their nose height that way. The wind can make the scent carry farther too."
"Enough." Jodi is drinking her milk.
I cut my potato in fours and butter it, then shake some pepper on. "I used to be grossed out when he would lick pee off the ground, but he's just being a dog."
Jodi nearly chokes on her milk. "Nice dinner conversation. Is this what we've come to?"
I laugh. "Well, if we were really parents, we'd be saying: 'Junior had a B.M. today' and it would sound perfectly normal."
"Enough!" she says again, striking her hand on the table.
And I laugh harder, now remembering my Grandma on my dad's side who always asked us if we had a B.M. each day when we would visit. I can't stop laughing. The catfish is getting cold. It has to be served right away after being fried. This must be tricky timing for restaurants.
"He never did that crotch-sniffing that so many dogs do. Maybe his previous owners punished him for that. Charlie does that," I say, mentioning my sister's dog. I slice off a chunk of catfish and dunk it in light Miracle Whip.
"I'm glad he doesn't do that," Jodi says. "Now can we move on?"
"I'm just saying that those things make him a dog. We're teaching him to be a dog again."
Rex stretches his neck up near the table and sniffs then lays down underneath again with a loud thunk.
Jodi props open the side kitchen window to filter the smoke out of the house.
Rex lays on the floor--not begging at all, another thing we like about him.
I microwave two baked potatoes and serve them with pepper and I Can't Believe It's Not Butter Light.
"The strongest sense a dog has is olfactory, you know."
Jodi is eating the bowtie pasta salad she brought home from Cub to accompany the meal.
"This salad's good," she says. "It's got chicken in it."
"When I walked them today, I noticed more how much Rex sniffed things. I was really observing him."
Jodi keeps eating.
"That book I'm reading (Inside of a Dog) says that dogs aren't really marking. They are leaving little notes all around. The notes say: I'm in the area or I'm tough or I'm ready to mate. Ruby left some notes too."
Ruby wags her tail, perhaps thinking I meant that I am about to share some catfish with her.
Jodi polishes off her pasta salad.
"Rex actually pees higher on those tree trunks because he wants the other dogs to be able to smell it. It's at their nose height that way. The wind can make the scent carry farther too."
"Enough." Jodi is drinking her milk.
I cut my potato in fours and butter it, then shake some pepper on. "I used to be grossed out when he would lick pee off the ground, but he's just being a dog."
Jodi nearly chokes on her milk. "Nice dinner conversation. Is this what we've come to?"
I laugh. "Well, if we were really parents, we'd be saying: 'Junior had a B.M. today' and it would sound perfectly normal."
"Enough!" she says again, striking her hand on the table.
And I laugh harder, now remembering my Grandma on my dad's side who always asked us if we had a B.M. each day when we would visit. I can't stop laughing. The catfish is getting cold. It has to be served right away after being fried. This must be tricky timing for restaurants.
"He never did that crotch-sniffing that so many dogs do. Maybe his previous owners punished him for that. Charlie does that," I say, mentioning my sister's dog. I slice off a chunk of catfish and dunk it in light Miracle Whip.
"I'm glad he doesn't do that," Jodi says. "Now can we move on?"
"I'm just saying that those things make him a dog. We're teaching him to be a dog again."
Rex stretches his neck up near the table and sniffs then lays down underneath again with a loud thunk.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Meet the Parents
"You irritate me!"
"You irritate ME!"
This is a sometimes exchange between me and Jodi.
"Please adopt a less marital tone," I say, quoting Glen Close's character from Dangerous Liaisons.
"It's like we are married," Jodi snaps back.
"Yeah," I agree. " We fight over money and we fight over the children.
The two dogs look up sitting on the slobbery kitchen floor, waiting for treats. Rex has just had a drink from the blue glass Corningware mixing bowl (the large one from the set of three) and excess water drips from his jowls like someone spilled a pitcher of water on the floor. Hyperbole is not lost on this dog.
"Only we don't have sex," Jodi says.
"But that is just like a married couple."
"You irritate ME!"
This is a sometimes exchange between me and Jodi.
"Please adopt a less marital tone," I say, quoting Glen Close's character from Dangerous Liaisons.
"It's like we are married," Jodi snaps back.
"Yeah," I agree. " We fight over money and we fight over the children.
The two dogs look up sitting on the slobbery kitchen floor, waiting for treats. Rex has just had a drink from the blue glass Corningware mixing bowl (the large one from the set of three) and excess water drips from his jowls like someone spilled a pitcher of water on the floor. Hyperbole is not lost on this dog.
"Only we don't have sex," Jodi says.
"But that is just like a married couple."
The Graduate
We have T-Rex in two classes now. He is in level one obedience and started level 1 of 4 for Good Citizenship Certification(GCC). We wanted to get him as much schooling as possible. And, like our trainer said, then you at least you know you have those hour-long sessions each week that are devoted to his training.
Rex started GCC April 24. After class, he was moved up to level two! Yesterday, we went to the level two class, squeaky ball in hand. There were two pit bulls in the class and Ruby and Rex. And, once again! Rex moved up to level three! But, we expect him to be there for a while.
In level 3, the dogs have to interact with each other. Rex has stopped his growling behavior but he still barks and lunges. We correct this quickly now by getting his attention with the squeaky ball. It's amazing how not tough a huge dog can look when he is playing with a little pink balls that squeaks.
Rex doesn't do the annoying crotch sniff that most dogs do. When we first noticed this, we thought: Great! But, in reality, I think this means he doesn't know how to meet other dogs.
I just started reading a book recommended by our trainer: Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know by Alexandra Horowitz. I'm hoping to gain more insight into Rex from this book and will comment on it once I've read more.
Initially, our goal was to get Rex the Good Citizen Certification within a year -- but we may make this goal much faster than expected! Will re-evaluate and change goal as he progresses.
Rex started GCC April 24. After class, he was moved up to level two! Yesterday, we went to the level two class, squeaky ball in hand. There were two pit bulls in the class and Ruby and Rex. And, once again! Rex moved up to level three! But, we expect him to be there for a while.
In level 3, the dogs have to interact with each other. Rex has stopped his growling behavior but he still barks and lunges. We correct this quickly now by getting his attention with the squeaky ball. It's amazing how not tough a huge dog can look when he is playing with a little pink balls that squeaks.
Rex doesn't do the annoying crotch sniff that most dogs do. When we first noticed this, we thought: Great! But, in reality, I think this means he doesn't know how to meet other dogs.
I just started reading a book recommended by our trainer: Inside of a Dog: What Dogs See, Smell, and Know by Alexandra Horowitz. I'm hoping to gain more insight into Rex from this book and will comment on it once I've read more.
Initially, our goal was to get Rex the Good Citizen Certification within a year -- but we may make this goal much faster than expected! Will re-evaluate and change goal as he progresses.
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