Operation: Amuse Bear

My current occupation? Dog-sitter. It sounds great, and it is great, because the dog I'm currently sitting is not only one of the greatest dogs ever, but he also has some weird quirks that make my time with him very interesting. His name is Bear.

Operation: Amuse Bear is going well so far (e.g. the water bottle hasn't had to act as mediator). The first morning during our walk Bear was being a little difficult... stopping a lot is what I really mean. After a while I got pretty good at getting him to keep the pace. Until... SQUIRREL! He moved at the pace of about 2 feet per minute, and eventually (because he doesn't like being tugged), he sat right in the middle of the street. So I waltzed over, picked his butt up and put him on the grass. He looked at me, looked toward where the squirrel had been, looked back at me and went, "Oh yeah?" And plopped his butt down in the grass. I sat in front of him, gave him some loving, and then we had a talk.

"Bear. Bear? Are you mad at me?"
"I can't even look at you right now."
"I'm sorry about the squirrel, but you can't just plop down any old place. People are leaving for work and need the street."
"But the squirrel!"
"How about a cookie?"

Conservation over.

I was determined not to make the same mistake the second day. I grabbed his toy and, because it's too big for my pocket, I unzipped my jacket and stuffed it in there. After he had done his business, I squeaked the toy. I had his attention. He jumped for me, tail wagging. A toy in his mouth makes the walk much smoother; he's so occupied by the object that sometimes he forgets to sniff around and pee on everything.

At one point, pretty early on in the walk, he dropped the toy and it rolled to the side. He went after it quickly, and shoved his nose into three times. I heard him saying, "This is my toy! I love my toy! I will not abandon my toy!" So he picked it up, but after that his efforts to hold on were pretty half-baked. His will is only as strong as the nearest scent trail. About halfway through we came to a scent that was much more interesting, and the smooth walk we'd been having turned into Chicago traffic: start, stop, are we go--oh! Nope. False alarm!

I guess now would be a good time to interject that Bear is relatively skittish. If we're laying on the floor, sometimes I will set down the remote control in what I believe is a gentle manner. But Bear's head shoots straight up and he looks toward the source of the noise. It takes him a bit, but he eventually decides the noise is non-threatening and will resume laying half on top of me.

Well, this particular morning was Friday, which means garbage day. Let me put it to you this way: Bear-1, Garbage Truck-8 (+~3?). While Bear did eventually succeed in passing the garbage truck, the noises coming from it (the squeaking wheels, the hissing noises, the general rumble of the engine) made him look at me like, "Seriously? You want me to pass that?" He walked across the sidewalk in the same line 6 or 7 times, unable to get himself to move closer to the green monster. He didn't want to get closer, but it was approaching him, and he didn't want to turn his back on it either. Eventually, the monster was only two houses away on the opposite side of the street and Bear decided to get brave. He walked quickly to my right side, putting me between him and the truck, and snuck past it. Let the smooth sailing commence.

After running into some friendly neighbors there was an extra bounce in his step. I wish it hadn't been so short-lived.

GASP! School bus, lady taking in garbage bins, bunny, children on sidewalk, dog barking at next corner. So what did Bear do? He started hyperventilating and plopped his butt right down, naturally. SYSTEM OVERLOAD. What to do, what to do? Chase bunny! Which is equivalent to dragging me across the street. I could have controlled him, but the school bus was getting closer, and I figured it was safer just to cross than to risk him laying in the middle of the road in defiance. He quickly lost sight of the bunny, so he looked across the street to the lady with the garbage bin, whose two dogs had wandered out after her. Bear immediately resumed stalking position, which gave me a moment to assess the situation. Up ahead, the way was clearing: the children were loading onto the bus, and the dog up the street was being guided away. In a fit of impatience (a little at Bear, but mostly at garbage-bin lady who chose an untimely moment to perform chores), I took the abandoned toy in my hand and started using Bear's head to squeak it. This got his attention. He looked at me as if to say, "You are such an embarrassment." We got up, and to the promise of a cookie, we (mostly) trotted home.

Standing at the crack between the driveway at the garage door, we had one last conversation. No matter how much I patted his butt or said the word, "Cookie?" he just sat there. Finally, he made a jump for my jacket.

"Collateral, please."

I gave him the toy, we walked inside, and he would not give me that stupid yellow toy until his kong was filled with dog food.