They communicated as they always had, with their mouths. Everyone knew a dog who snapped or nipped, and we learned to give them the space they were clearly asking for. My friend Joannie Bindrim's big golden retriever disliked being petted, and reminded you of that every time you tried. We kids were his personal Everest; sometimes he nipped us just because we were there.
Dogs who had training seemed like circus performers. They wowed us with their "tricks", but they and their owners were clearly a different ilk. Our next-door neighbour had a gray standard poodle, and when she came to visit one day the dog came along. Into the house! It lay politely at her feet, not interested in anything but her mistress. It didn't sniff or pee or seem to care about doing either. I was dumbfounded.
* * *
Sadie was a backyard dog, living outside in Tennessee. It explains her fondness for pickup trucks and lawn mowers. She'd obviously had plenty of experience with children and none with leashes. Protecting her domain from interlopers was her mission, her calling, her raison d'etre.
From Tennessee to the shelter to Manhattan. Our country girl learned to navigate revolving doors and escalators, up and down. She figured out the elevator, though she sometimes got off a floor too soon. The doors would close before she could correct her error, and I would have to finish the ride up and then go back down for her. I always found her staring at the elevator doors, head tilted in puzzlement.
She knows Sit, Down, Stay (in both Sit and Down), Left Paw, Right Paw, Two Paws (that one still needs work), Touch, Look, Leave It (doesn't apply to chicken bones found on the sidewalk), Wait, Steady, Tummy, Jump, Jump Big, In, Out, Off, and Dance.
Just don't try to burgle the joint. A calling is a calling.
You write beautifully; what a pleasure to read:)
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