Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Scaredy Dog

Ever since we brought the poor guy home from his vacation (besides the night he spent, ahem, IN THE GARAGE LIKE A WILD ANIMAL, CAILIN) with his cousin, Bentley, Buxton has become a scaredy-dog. He's always been a sensitive soul, but there has been a definite shift in his cautious nature to completely-flat-out-scared of everything.

For example, when jogging: usually when I see a dog coming in our direction, I have to prepare myself by reeling him in and wrapping the leash tightly around my arm, causing temporary loss of circulation, and then balance myself so that when he pulls my arm off, I am not flung in the general direction of said approaching dog. Now, when we see a dog coming, Buxton slows down, and I'm practically pulling him down the road looking like a very bad dog-mom who cares more about running than the pathetic shaking thing at the end of the leash. When we actually pass the dog, he nearly knocks me over trying to get closer to me and further away from the three pound puffball that is passing. The owner of puffball always looks at me and says: my dog isn't mean. And I'm always like: I (*gasp* because I'm running) know. And then I have to yank him every five seconds until the dog is out of eyesight because Buxton watches puffball over his shoulder like it's a serial killer.

And before he was a scaredy dog, he used to happily jump up on our bed, invited or not because he thinks he's a human. And then when it was time for the humans to go to bed, I'd say 'off!' and Buxton would come off the bed and curl up in his dog-chair after a very dirty look. Now - not only does he ask permission, he doesn't believe me when I tell him it's okay. I'll be brushing my teeth/washing my face/whatever and then I'll feel like someone is staring at me. I'll turn around. No hubby. And then I'll see the dog, staring at me sideways, his chin solidly adhered to the foot of the bed. I tell him it's okay, 'up!' I say. But, he just looks at me sort of forlornly like 'If you loved me you'd let me on the bed.' So I say 'up!' again. He doesn't move. I raise my voice, add hand motions, even give him a pat. But, it's not until I start lifting his big butt myself that he believes me and happily jumps onto the bed.

He is also officially scared of spider crickets, cats, fake geese, vacuum cleaners, bagpipes, and power drills.


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