Okay, So I’m The Worst Dog Trainer… Ever.

 

I admit it. My terrier Libby needs work. Like the misbehaving child in school, I see where my “slight spoiling” has created a great sense of entitlement in this little Yorkie. I’ve had her over four years and you’d think I would’ve taught this animal better by now. How bad a wild child is she? Let me count the ways…

She sits at the dinner table. No, I don’t mean she sits near the table while the humans eat. I mean she actually sits at the table — if there’s an empty chair, that is. Now in my defense, I don’t give her a plate and tie a napkin around her neck. Even I have my standards. But Libby will sit there at times, looking from person to person, like she’s trying to follow the conversation, when in reality she’s assessing who has the best food and who’s worth begging from later.

She jumps on people’s laps and licks their faces (whether they want it or not). The other day our accountant came over, a dignified, young man ready to discuss retirement plans and tax laws. To my embarrassment, Libby wouldn’t leave him alone. As he went over his pie charts and Excel sheets, she kept trying to jump on his lap and kiss him. We finally had to put her in our bedroom. This behavior is beyond embarrassing, although the other end of the spectrum is even worse…

She barks at one person. Incessantly. There’s no rhyme or reason. Sometimes she’ll bark at someone and not stop. We hosted a graduation party for my nephew last year. Out of thirty people, she singled out one poor guy and wouldn’t leave him alone. Even worse, she kept coming back to him as if to say, “And another thing…” Even more frustrating is when she’ll seem to make peace. At one point, she let him pat her. She wagged her tail. Phew, we thought, awkward situation over. Then she went back and barked some more.

She steals food. The other day I left a piece of cookie near my plate while I went to get a cup of coffee. I turned my back for one second when I heard her jump on my chair. Before I could yell, “You little brat!” she snatched away the goodie, high-tailing it out of the room as fast as she could (which is pretty fast). Libby’s done the same with cheese and dinner rolls. In her crate, I’ve found chewed up lifesavers, Trident bubble gum wrappers, and once a box of Cheese Nips. Clearly Libby believes it’s easier to seek forgiveness than ask permission.

She comes when called … selectively. Sometimes Libby comes immediately when summoned. Other times, especially if outside, the world enthralls her too much. “Libby! COME!” I’ll say over and over. But she’s too busy snuffling under bushes for… God knows what. This is especially precarious on a sultry summer night around 10:00 p.m. when Libby’s at the end of our leash, barking at something in our woods. It could be a deer. It could be a mountain lion. I end up having to step outside and reel her in like a marlin.

She sits on furniture. I’ve met people who don’t allow their dogs on sofas and I admire their fortitude. Of course, that’s easier to enforce with big dogs. But an eleven pound terrier? Forget it. She sits with me on chairs. She shares our bed. She jumps up beside Randy on a daybed while he’s practicing bass. She jumps onto the high stools in our kitchen. I’ve even found her napping on the kitchen table. For Libby, there’s no such thing as “out of bounds.”

But recently I read an article that gave me hope. It said it’s possible to over-train dogs. They can be made so jittery, so afraid to make mistakes, they become depressed and downtrodden.

I looked over at little Libby, strutting proudly, head high. Chalk one up for me! At least I didn’t over-train her. I’ll remember that next time I see her sitting across from me at the dinner table.

 

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