A month or two ago, Colleen wrote a blog about one of the dogs here that she calls Bub. Her description of my lovable australian shepherd is way off as is the name that she calls him. Being that the name of the dog is still a issue of contention and a long story, I’ll gloss over it, and cover a different matter of subject on this sweet dog that I covet
Unfortunately, there is a negative verdict around Sweet Ridge Farm about this particular dog of whom I shall address as B in this post.
B is still going through the puppy phase. So he has certain tendencies such as compulsive barking and growling at strangers (and pretty much anyone he sees), chewing up shoes, chewing at Robert’s wedding gifts that arrived by UPS while we were away, and um, nipping at people. These actions have not resonated well with my family, neighbors and the general public.
Over the last 10 months that we have had B, I must say that I have not had a single problem with him, with the exception that he dislikes riding around with me in my car. Over the winter I would put on carharts and go outside to sit on the step with him at night. I would feed him dog biscuits slathered in butter and tell him about how much I hate the cold weather and how happy I am that he’s such a tough dog and can hack it. Now that the sun is out B is always at my heels. He helps me in my flower garden, is out their in Dad’s fields with me, follows me to the clothes line, chases after my kite when I fly it, and loves to sit on the porch with me. Just like a perfect gentleman, he also always walks me to my car.
Now that I have finished gushing over B, I will confess that though he is the perfect dog for me, he did make me righteously uncomfortable the other day after the epiphany hit that he does have some very rude behaviors.
Pulling into the driveway with a trunkload full of flower transplants, I was met by the sweet grandmotherly neighbor 2 miles down from my parents place. She greeted me with the explanation that she was so glad to see me pulling in because she wanted to come snoop on us about our well ( which by the way, is in need of 100 ft of digging TLC), but didn’t want to walk up to the house because of “that biting dog”.
Hearing a woman in her 70’s expressing discomfort over “that biting dog”, made me in turn uncomfortable. Up til then, the only critters here that I take issue with are the chickens. They scratch and peck at new flower transplants and seeds, which in turn makes me loose my mild nature as I throw clods of dirt at them and squawk like I am one of their own very upset species.
The merit of the neighbor lady’s visit is that it made me conscience of the tendencies that B has that need to be rectified. Blessedly our well snooping neighbor told me that she once had an australian shepherd too, but had to give it away due to biting issues. Before she did this though, she bought a shock color in an attempt to curb the biting. This color has been offered to me. Yay! Though I can start a horse to saddle, I am not sure how the heck to train a dog that has my heart but nobody else’s.
Hopefully, with the service of a few helpful sessions of electrocution, B will shape up, stop barking and biting, and prove to all that he really is a sensitive gentle dog. I think that the job of dog whisperer/shocker will go to James. Applying shock therapy to B seems like the perfect summer job for him. It’s much more productive than playing computer games and crashing cars.
Readers, please mark my words that if any of you ever do stop on by in the future, you’ll be greeted by a fine freshly reformed gentleman of a dog. Just don’t call him Bub or Bob or anything else that my family calls him, and if you think of it, bring along a dog biscuit covered in Wisco butter.