Teaching a New Dog Some Old Tricks

On December 30, 2015, I caved. I said, "Yes" to a furry faced girl I'd met earlier that month. "Chocolate," as she was named, was a chronic runaway, who kept following her human to school and wandering off in search of love and treats. Although she was loved, this cutie pie needed a new home. And I couldn't help myself. 

Folly questions the purpose of fireworks.

I sent my teen daughter a photo, and she texted back, "PUPPPPPY!!!!" Apparently, that meant, "YES!" So I drove out in the monsoon to pick up this two year old rogue and headed to Cleveland Park Animal Hospital to verify her shots. Already the mother of two litters, "Chocolate" was known by the front desk staff as a runaway. Dr. Riddle gave her a clean bill of health and me a reasonable bill for the exam. Puppy and I headed home in my Wagoneer and discussed her new name, "Fiona Olive."

The first two days were a whirlwind as "Folly" met her new siblings, who included a giddy teen, an even more giddy McBee (Lab-Catahoulla), and a pride of suspicious cats. McBee had been in mourning for Genny, who passed away in July from a brain tumor, and he was over the moon to meet Folly. 

McBee tries to hide in his Christmas sweater. "What pizza?" 

Day two brought New Year's Eve, along with the requisite fireworks and party guests. All was well. Day three was nap day. Other than a smashed Christmas ornament, victim of an enthusiastically wagging tail, the day was uneventful. Folly eyed the Roomba but seemed unimpressed.

Day four brought half a dozen teens to celebrate my daughter's birthday, and again all was well, with the exception of one slice of purloined pizza (McBee). I suspect both dogs sampled the potato chips and pizza crusts.

So here we are, a week into adoption. Folly is affectionate, sweet, energetic, and expressive. She sits and lays down well. She is learning to "leave it" with the kitties lest they smack her poor nose. But. Yes, there's always a "but."

Monster, Tweedle, and Muffy
consider their next move in their
quest of world domination.

"Come" seems to be a problem. A major problem. Upon hearing, "come," Folly tears off in the opposite direction as fast as she can or rolls on her back submissively before darting off. I don't know much about dogs as a whole, but I can figure out she's had a series of bad experiences, probably related to running away. 

Pill Pockets? Please!

Introducing "Pill Pockets," aka puppy-dog crack. I'm channeling my best Caesar Milan and retraining Folly to come and stay with generous rewards of this rich treat. I figure it must taste like the best peanut butter fudge ever.

Folly learns the art of the selfie.

Patience, reassurance, love, and more love seem to be all this runaway needs to stay at home. So far, so good. We've all mourned the loss of our dear Genny so much that's it's wonderful to laugh and hug this ball of energy, sharp sparkling white teeth and all.