What I Have Learned About Toddlers

It's a gorgeous afternoon, so Trooper and I decided to spend some time in the backyard. He seemed to prefer lounging in a shady corner of the lawn, lazily chewing on a toy, to any sort of enticement to roughhouse play on my part, so I thought it would be safe for me to go inside for a "just a minute" to use the restroom.

Sure, I knew that he's not allowed in the backyard unsupervised, because Madeline told me he recently exercised his gastronomic impulses on an unsuspecting shrub. But the dog was planted in his comfy spot and focused on the chewing; nothing short of my picking him up and carrying him into the house like a sack of potatoes would have distracted him.

Less than two minutes later, I stepped off the back stair to discover the discarded chew toy, sans chewer.

"Trooper?" Nothing.

"Trooper?" A faint jingle. Did it come from the side of the house? I glanced. Nothing. I returned to the yard, wondering if my ears had deceived me.

"Trooper! Where are you?"

Another jingle-jingle-jingle from the side of the house made me take a closer look. I was met by a tail-wagging, yet slightly guilt ridden, dustbunny with something in his mouth that looked like the end of...

...a light bulb. Dear GOD! Don't let it be broken!

So far this week, my attempts at getting him to surrender a toy in our games of fetch have been met with apathy at best and bucking bronco insanity at worst. Fortunately, though, for a puppy who's not particularly responsive to "drop it," "give it," "leave it," or any other incarnation of a give-me-what-you've-got command, he was surprisingly compliant. I felt like I was defusing a bomb; the slightest provocation could send him into an ill-fated chomp. With the gentlest, least threatening, least playful voice I could muster, I secured him by the collar and made him sit so I could pry open his dirt-caked mouth and rescue the (blessedly intact) light bulb.

I do not know what other mischief he has wrought in the crawlspace underneath the house, but I replaced the screen that covers the entrance and took a wet paper towel to his dusty snout. And that is enough excitement for one day.

Unstoppable

He even barks in his sleep.

Canine Indiscretions

Trooper has been better behaved this morning, content for the most part to lie quietly beneath my desk, hidden by the cubicle wall that separates this office into two little rooms.

He does occasionally wander out, though, to sprawl beside my chair. As long as he's quiet, I don't pay too much attention...until I hear a comment from a passerby.

"Well, THAT'S a pretty picture."

Modest Trooper, snoozing comfortably on his back in a pose reminiscent of an untressed Thanksgiving turkey, is apparently visible from the waist down to everyone in the hallway.

Chained to My Desk

This week I'm watching Trooper again; I haven't spent much time with him since he was a wee ten-week-old potbellied pup. He's now six months and wee no longer! He's very strong. He's very "mouthy." And he likes to bark.

The Troop spent a few days up at the GDA kennel before I started caring for him. Madeline, his vacationing puppy raiser for whom I'm dog- and housesitting, will no doubt be thrilled to learn that he left a generous yet unnoticed gift for her in the back bedroom. It was nearly four days before I found it myself...better to discover by smell than by step, I always say.

Today finds me on my first day at work with the little tyke. A brand-new executive assistant has moved in to share an office with li'l ol' part-timer me, so there's all manner of change afoot here. This new employee presumably did not know upon her hiring that she would be A.) sharing an office, and B.) in residence with El Barko. Welcome to your new job!

Trooper wants to follow me everywhere, which is fine at home but not so good when I have to go to, say, the fax machine or the printer or the kitchen or the ladies' room. The first time I tried to get up this morning, he went to the end of his tie-down and sat there, staring at the door. I gave him a firm but wary "stay" command. Really, he could do nothing BUT "stay" at that point, since there was no more lead.

But he could also make his displeasure known throughout the land.

Sorry, new officemate, for the barking while you were on the phone with a person who I hope was not our company president.