A Tale of Two Dogs

Introduction

First of all let me get this out of way right from the get-go: "I have the perfect dog."

What is a perfect dog? A dog that does (almost) everything you want a dog to do. An almost faultless dog. My dog.

Quincy is his name He’s a forty pound, black-tan-white Sheltie. A little large for a Sheltie, that breed averaging around twenty-five or thirty pounds, but a perfect size for my taste.

But prior to Quincy's arrival we had a four-pound toy Pomeranian, "Max." Cute as a button with his fox-like face, long brown coat and little pink tongue always ready to give you a sloppy kiss. Unfortunately, however, Max was "trained" by my then ten-year-old daughter, Jessica. You know the drill, "Dad, I promise I'll take care of him, walk him, bathe him, feed him, and train him!"

And what do you do when your young daughter, who has never given you an ounce of trouble, begs for the privilege of showing how responsible and adult she can be. You give her the reins, of course.

And what did Jessica, a voracious reader even at that age, do? Stock up on books or videos from the library? Ask to buy a book on training your dog? Seek out advise from anyone. Of course not. For she knew intuitively how to train a dog. She would do it by loving the dog so intensely that Max would never dare to do anything to wrong her.

Unfortunately, Max, like every dog, needed, besides someone to love him unconditionally: training, discipline, someone who could firmly but lovingly "explain" what was required of a puppy.

The upshot was, Max was never ever house broken. We made some progress, but all in all we failed. I failed to realize that Jessica needed instruction on how train a dog. I deferred to a ten year old and got what I deserved.