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A few minutes later, Max pranced out the side door into the fenced dog park attached to the clinic, wearing a new red harness attached to a new red leash, which was attached to Sam who was being fast stepped right at me. Sam bounced along and Max looked resplendent and maybe a little smug with the bright red against his black and tan. Exactly the color I’d have chosen. Being Italian, I’d probably feel smug too, since fashion is, after all, a top priority no matter what your species.
The sun was out, which meant I’d been up all night, but I was too excited to care. Bailey had set me up with a table that held dog treats, poop bags, a metal water bowl, a new tennis ball, and an instruction book. Max reached me and sat down. His nose was level with the table and his sniffer went nuts.
Sam said, “He’s all set. I fed him, but not too much,” and handed me the leash.
Bailey thanked her, Sam went back to work and I looked at Bailey without so much as a single clue.
“Well. I don’t know who’s more pitiful, the untrained person or the untrained pup.”
“Ha ha. What do I do first?” My heartbeat picked up. I was about to become the best Mom dog trainer in North America. Max was smart, I was smart, Bailey was expert smart, and I wanted this more than I’d wanted anything in a very long time. Well, other than Jack, but that’s a whole ‘nuther story.
“Dogs,” Bailey started, “have impulses, fears, bouts of silliness, temptations and all the things we, ourselves, go through. Not with as much logic, mind you. But they can reason, as you’ll see.”
Sly and cunning came to mind immediately. Yes, I had no doubt Max could reason. I just had to out-con the con artist.
Max barked, impatient for whatever treat was on top of the table.
Bailey said, “Max, no,” and pulled on his harness just as Max was about to hitch himself onto the table with his front paws. “The first thing you’ll need to do is to teach him the basics. Sit, wait, stay, down, come. Maybe something cute like shake or roll over.”
Okay, I could do this. I would make training a special kind of fun.
Bailey quickly explained how to get Max to sit. “Sit, Max,” I said, holding a treat in my closed fist near his nose. I slowly moved my hand up, and his head followed the treat. Yay! Max was so smart! Next, his butt would lower and this would naturally put him into the sitting position.
Max’s nose raised... his butt lowered, (see, such a smart boy!) and... he sneezed and fell over.
“It’s okay!” I said, patting his head. “Everyone sneezes. We’ll try again. Ready? Okay, Max, sit!” I said, again holding a treat in my closed fist near his nose. I slowly moved my hand up, and again his head followed the treat. Yay! He was going to do it this time! Just like at Chandra’s!
Max’s nose raised... his butt lowered, (see, I knew it!) then... a bee did a fly-by and Max went nuts. Snap, snap, snap went his jaws. My brain saw bee!, I danced backward, smacked into the table, Max went PLEH and spit out the bee, the treats went airborne, the ball tumbled a few feet into the grass, and the poop bags went plop. Max moved with light speed and gobbled down half a dozen treats before I could get them back onto the table.
“Che diavolo! Did he just get stung? Is he going to be all right? Will he swell?” I didn’t know squat about dogs and bees. What if he was allergic?
Bailey walked over, looked down at the bee, then knelt. “Well, what we have here is not a bee, but one buggered up dragonfly. She rubbed Max’s head. “Sure, and it’s a silly muppet ya are. No more bugs, ya?”
“What if it had been a bee? What should I have done?”
“Many dogs eat bees and other bugs without a single problem. No harm done unless he’s stung and starts to swell. If that ever happens, you’ll call me immediately and I’ll guide you through it.”
“Okay, then.” I nodded and looked at Max. He looked so proud of himself, I didn’t have the heart to scold him for munching a pretty little dragonfly or for snitching the treats. “Back to sitting.”
I took Max’s leash in my hand and once again hid a treat in the other. Hand near his nose to let him get a good whiff of the doggie treat. “Sit, Max, sit!” I moved my hand up, slowly, slowly. Max’s rear inched down, slowly, slowly. And then... then he hunched. And unloaded the biggest steamer I’ve ever seen. Dinner plate? Ha, turkey platter was more like it. And it was right there. Right in front of me and as the aroma wafted up, my eyes started to water. Possibly they were bleeding.
“Grazie a Dio, Max, you musta feel better, eh?” I turned to get a poop bag, then decided I’d probably need several and grabbed a handful.
Bailey stood there, arms crossed, grinning like a fool. “You’re doing great, Soph. Really. Keep practicing, you’ll get it. His poop looks pretty normal, not runny and it’s the right color. Leave a small bagged sample on the table and I’ll check it for parasites.” She looked at her phone. “I have to get to work, just keep going. The training book has instructions for some other things to try.”
I bagged up the poo, left some for Bailey and disposed of the rest. I gave Max a treat for doing such a good job, then went off on a long tirade in Italian. I could see bribery in my future. Surely someone in my family wouldn’t mind bagging up dog poo.
Anyway. Back to Max. I flipped through the book looking to see if there was something that might be easier for us both. I noticed it said to have frequent intervals of play time in between training periods. Oh thank goodness. I nearly sagged to the ground in relief. Er, um, yay, good! We could play fetch!
I grabbed the tennis ball, unhooked the leash from Max’s collar, and threw the ball as hard as I could toward the other end of the play yard. “Max,” I said, “go fetch!”
He gave me a head tilt.
“Get the ball, Max!” I pointed.
He wagged his tail.
I stood there stupefied. What kind of dog didn’t know how to fetch? Have I stolen, and fallen in love with, the dumbest dog to ever bark the face of the earth? Were the wires in his brain crossed at birth?
I refused to feel hopeless. No matter how dumb my dog was, I loved him. I’d just have to show him how to play, that was all. Probably no one had ever played with him before.
“Max, watch! Play, Max!” I bear-crawled to the tennis ball, then got down on all fours. “Grrrrr,” I growled. “Woof, woof!” I barked, and pawed at the ball. I tried picking the ball up in my mouth but it wouldn’t fit. Hmm. I bit the ball instead, and captured enough fuzz in my teeth to give it a good shake. I threw the ball up in the air and pounced on it. “Grr, woof!”
“Havin’ a grand time are ya?”
Oh, no. No, no, no. I closed my eyes. Resigned, I ditched the ball and stood, quite sure my face was on fire. “Hello, Jack. Good morning.”
Jack (black hair, blue eyes, sex on two legs, kinda-sorta blackmailer extraordinaire) stood there, all relaxed, arms crossed over his chest, with a fluffy golden retriever standing next to him. They were both grinning like loons.
My mind screamed abort, abort, but my hormones bitch slapped my brain back into my head.
Trying to regain my lost dignity, I started walking toward Max. But then Jack said, “Aren’t ya forgettin’ your toy, Sophia?” And I tripped. I didn’t fall or anything, but it did probably look like I was taking three giant stumbling lunges like in Simon Says. Crap balls! “Of course not. Just,” I did another lunge, stretched my hands over my head, “exercising a bit.”
“I see. And who’s your friend, sitting there?”
“His name is Max and he is the dumbest dog in the history of all dogs. Bailey says he’s smart. Ha. He won't sit, lie down, or even fetch. If pooping counts, he’s bloody brilliant.”
“Marches to the beat of his own drum, does he now?”
I glanced at Max who was presently licking his butt and decided to change the subject. “I thought you left last night because you had to work today.”
Jack avoided my gaze. “I... I do, yeah, well sort of. I wanted to work with Buttercup. And surprise you.”
“Jack O’Donlan, are you turning into an actual liar?” As well as incredibly attractive, kind and confident, obnoxious and irresistible, and I was suddenly having a hard time breathing. Better to think of algebraic equations.
“Of course not. Lies and surprise are not the same.”
“A dog is a big commitment.”
“Aye. So?”
“Oh please, you broke your pinky toe and quit the NFL.”
“I wanted to be home, is all, here in Live Oak.”
I squinted at his companion. So did Max. “Okay, so who’s your friend?”
“This is Buttercup. I adopted her a few weeks ago.” At the sound of her name, Buttercup gave him a sweet head tilt. Then barked like a girl.
I stood there, not quite believing my eyes. “You. Have. A. Dog?” I couldn’t help it if my voice went up an octave. The idea of him owning a dog ... and the sheer commitment of it ... well, let’s say there were times Jack wouldn’t even commit to ordering a pizza.
“Aye. And it looks like you do, too. Where’d you get him and when? I just saw you last night. I’m pretty sure I would’ve noticed a dog.”
“I, uh, was on my way to work, and he was wandering down the road all lost and alone, probably terrified, so I got him into my car and here we are.” I gave Jack a bright smile.
Jack stared at me. Kinda squinty-like. “Sophie, you live above your work. No driving involved last I heard. Unless you suddenly moved in the wee hours?”
I huffed. Brushed a piece of grass off my shirt. “Of course not.”
“Why is it then that you’re dressed like a cat burglar?”
“Black is chic.”
“Uh huh. I’ll ignore the how of you getting him, and ask instead, what the bleeding hell are you going to do with him?”
“I’m going to keep him.”
“In your apartment? Isn’t he kind of big?”
“Yes to both. My apartment is plenty big enough. Besides, I’m going to give him a job.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “What kind of a job? Ya just told me he was dumb as a crate. Will he be fertilizing the flower beds for ya then?”
Max whipped his gaze away from Buttercup and gave Jack a go suck it look.
I knelt down and gave Buttercup some petting and scratching. She rolled over so I could pet her tummy. “She’s a sweetheart. Aren’t you, pretty girl? What a sweet puppy. So, let’s see what she’s got.”
“Oh, well, I wouldn’t want to be embarrassing Max, now would I?”
Max lifted his lip at Jack in a sneer. I swear this dog either read minds or maybe Shakespeare. He sure seemed to know what we were saying.
“No, no, it’s fine. Let’s see.” I secretly hoped maybe I could learn something that would help Max. I was desperate but wasn’t about to admit that to Jack.
“Aye then, if you’re sure.”
I nodded and Max and I moved closer to them. Jack and I stood about five feet apart, and the dogs stood between us.
Jack told Buttercup to sit. She sat.
So did Max.
He told her to lie down, and she did.
So did Max.
He told her to stay, walked several feet away, and Buttercup stayed.
So did Max.
He said come, and they both went. Then sat at his feet. Like two very well-trained dogs. He said shake, and they both took turns. Next was roll over. They rolled like a synchronized swim team.
Oh my God, Max had been trained. And well.
I just stood there. Dumbstruck. Max had been, what? Playing me? All this time? Oh boy. My head was going to peel open just to let the steam escape. I think my hair was on fire.
I marched straight up to Max and pointed my finger at his face. “You! Che Palle! You miserable beast of a conning canine! How could you! I saved you from firecrackers and horrid humans! You ingrate! You bamboozler! You sneaky, manipulative, lying fleabag! I’m dropping you off on the side of the road. In the mountains. In winter. Five hundred miles from nowhere! Without treats! Or...or food! You’ll have to eat cabbage! Cabbage I tell you! No kibble, none! You’ll be milking yaks for food! You’ll be captured by wolves! They might eat you! Or send you to Siberia! Into the wilderness! You’ll never see a toy again, ever!” Oh my God, I think I was about to have an aneurysm. I stuck my hands in my back pockets and took a deep breath.
Jack grinned and said, “He’s probably capable of sniffing out whale poop floating in the Atlantic from ten miles away. There might be statistics or something in your training manual.” He nodded at the table.
Max brought me the training manual off the table, gave me a snarky grin, then went off to chase a butterfly.
Jack said, “Not so dumb after all it seems.”
Once I had somewhat recovered from my temporary insanity, Jack’s words sank in and I nodded. “Apparently. Bailey warned me he was smart.”
Bailey approached holding Tilley, and Max galloped up to her in wagging maniac mode. She put the kitten down in the grass and Max plopped down until the kitten climbed onto his back. Max carefully stood, the kitten dug in, Max winced, and together they went for a slow stroll.
Jack said, “Looks like the little lass has a new friend.”
“Does Max think Tilley is his now?” I asked, wondering if I was going to have a major doggie tantrum on my hands if we left without the kitten.
“I think they’ve adopted each other,” Bailey said.
“But, you said I can’t have her. You said I wasn’t ready.” And I wasn’t. Not by a long shot. Not that I didn’t think I couldn’t handle a huge dog and a special needs kitten, but my family thinks I’m still five-years-old most of the time. They would start in with the guilt (“Oh, the poor kitten, the sweet puppy, how you gonna care for them both and work a full-time job, Sophia? How could you be so selfish?”), the head-shaking, hand-tossing, have-I-lost-my-mind questions before I ever opened my mouth. I might be kinda, almost ready, but my family was going to need advance preparation.
“Yet,” Bailey said. “But more to the point, Tilley isn’t quite ready. Let her grow a bit and gain a wee bit more confidence, then we’ll see. You’ll need to bring Max for frequent visits.” She gave me a knowing grin. “Plus, it’s probably a good idea to introduce Max to your family first, then Tilley later, after you’ve softened them up a bit.”
“What about bonding? I can bond with Max, I think I have bonded with Max, but I’m going to need to bond with Tilley too, aren’t I?”
“Aye, and you will. No worries. The times you can’t come here, I’m sure Jack or myself can bring Tilley to you. And to Max. Isn’t that right, Jack?”
Jack was busy playing some sort of weird game with Buttercup and I don’t think he even heard, although he did mutter, “Sure, uh-huh.”
I watched Max taking Tilley for a walk, and my heart swelled. Then I saw what Buttercup was doing and my brain went sideways. “What is she doing?”
Buttercup had amassed every single thing on the table, only now it was under the table and she was guarding her newly acquired stash a little wild-eyed like it was going to make a break for it any second.
“Kleptomaniac hoarder,” Jack sighed. “She’ll steal you blind if you’re not careful. So,” he brightened and changed the subject, “how about an early lunch at the pub?”
“No, I can’t. I wouldn’t feel right leaving Max in the car.”
Bailey waved that away. “Ach, let’s take the whole crew and go eat.”
“Really? Dogs in a pub?”
“We own the pub don’t we? Besides dog-friendly restaurants are the newest rage. Sometimes inside, but mostly out on the patio, all kinds of new dog/restaurant themes are popping up. A lot of them even have menu items for your canine companion. Come on, let’s get this motley crew and go eat.”
I nodded, wondering what kind of parallel universe I’d landed in.
#MyDogIsSmarterThanIAm
#That’sGonnaLeaveAMarkOnMyBrain
#IfMaxWasAPersonHeWouldBeACrossBetweenAlCaponeAndChevyChase