Back to School

I overheard Mom tell Aunt Ruth I was acting a little crazy lately.

Aunt Ruth said, "Maybe he's just spoiled. You know, if everybody has been carrying you around everywhere, lifting you up and down and saying things like, 'Aw, poor Gus' for months and months, then suddenly, you're spoiled."

Mom thought that one over. "Hmmm. That's an interesting perspective."

Good answer, Mom, I thought. Don't give in to her crazy. I was all revved up to say nanny-nanny-boo-boo to Aunt Ruth, but I'm glad I didn't. Mom actually fell for that mess!

She told Dad, "I think we need a training reset with Gus." I hoped Dad would stick up for me but no such luck.

"That is an idea I like!" he replied.

"Back to school for you, Gussy," Mom said, as if scratching behind my ears while she said it would make up for saying such scary things.

I wasn't too sure exactly what a training reset was, even though it didn't sound good, so I asked Big Brother. He said he thought it was like what happens after the beach vacation - you have to get back to a regular bedtime, video game limits are back on, no more ice cream for breakfast, and stuff like that. "That sounds bad," I said, and he agreed.

"As long as I'm left out of it, I'm cool." Thanks for the support, Big Bro.

I waited for the start of the "reset" like a death row inmate awaiting execution. I didn't know what it would be like or when Mom would spring it on me. I tried to lurk around, listening for information, but they all just kept telling me to get out.

When evening came, Mom walked me into the family room, gave me my "when the family eats" treat, and said, "Supper time." I always think this is funny, because - duh! It's obviously supper time, because you guys are sitting down to eat. But, hey, if announcing the meal is a thing, I'll start shouting, "Lunch time," when Big Brother sits down to eat some lunch on the weekend. Big Brother told me once that, when I was a pup, I used to sit in my crate while they ate. Now I just wander about . . . sometimes very close to the table to see if anything of interest drops.

I devoured my Beggin' Strip in about 10 seconds and started making my way back to the kitchen table.

"No!" Mom nearly shouted when she spotted me. "You stay, Gus," she said all mean-like, while giving me "the hand."

I stopped. Was she serious? I took a few more steps.

"Gus, no! Stay!"

She might be serious. I paused while they all went back to eating. Maybe if I went real quietly they wouldn't notice. I took a few more steps, this time making my way out of the family room area and into their eating space. My nails clickety-clacked on the hardwood floor, and they all looked my direction. Busted. I slid my ears back so I'd look contrite.

Big brother giggled. Dad said, "Maybe we need to get the crate out," and Mom hopped up and headed my direction.

"He can do this," she told Dad.

I stood firm. I was not retreating. Me walking around while they ate was not bothering anyone. Go out, my foot. When I would not budge with her continued "Out!" and "Go" commands, Mom ran at me stomping her feet hollering, "Go, go, go!"

Now that was a scary sight! I ran hells bells back to my Big Joe beanbag. I waited while they finished eating, angry at this turn of events. I heard Mom push her chair back, signaling the end of supper. I hustled in there, only to be told "Out!" yet again. What was this?! No, no, no. After supper I linger during clean up to net all the stuff that slips off Big Bro's plate.

I backed up to the family room carpet. "That's right. You stay there," Mom said, giving me the hand signal again- not that hand signal, people! This is a G-rated post.

I lay down right at the carpet's edge, watching them with disdain. When they were finally done cleaning up, Mom called me over, all excited, telling me, "That's a good dog who stays!" And then came the little training treats! Yes!

The next day, we played out the same scene, and the next and the next and the next. By the end of the week, I was tiring of this act. I sauntered out of my edge-of-the-carpet spot, ignored all their shouting, and headed to my water bowl.

Mom said, "Oh, he's getting water. That's ok."

I laughed inside. Score one for Gus. The next night, I tried again, only this time, I headed for the front door.

"He's just looking outside," Mom said this time, while Dad tried to protest. "I think that's ok. He's not bothering us," she pressed.

Oh, yes! Score another point for Gus! This was getting fun.

On the weekend, we had family for lunch. Mom pulled together some sandwiches, and everyone sat down at the kitchen table. I did what I do best - test the boundaries, push the buttons.

"Out, Gus," Mom said firmly but nicely. I sniffed up the spot under her chair in reply.

"Gus," Mom said again, this time her voice betraying that she was losing her battle with frustration. "You go out," she commanded, getting up to show me the way.

When I returned to sniff under another chair and lick someone's leg while I was at it, Mom mumbled, "I'm so sorry," got up, grabbed my collar, walked me to the family room, and said, "Now, you stay."

Time for the water bowl trick, I thought, as I sashayed back into the kitchen. This time both Big Brother and Uncle Joe laughed, and Uncle Joe said, "I see how well you have your dog trained, Anne."

Mom gave him a very fake chuckle response and gave me the evil eye. "Yes. We're working on fixing that," she said, this time with a tone I haven't heard before and wasn't sure I liked.

The days that followed involved more focus from Mom on me - super intense focus. Normally, lots of attention from Mom is what I'm after, but her stomping her feet and running at me to get me to move back to the family room got old, so I tried harder.

Me trying harder to stay away during supper.

When the nice man came to fix the air conditioner, Mom put me in the office so I wouldn't bother him. She let me out when she thought he was busy, but he surprised us by popping back up out of the basement while I was just hanging out.

He sat down in the living room to talk to Dad, and I tried to go sniff him up to see what fun places his shoes had been so far that day, but Mom started with her, "No, Gus. Stay."

Mom stood in the kitchen showing me the hand - the entire time the guy sat there and talked to Dad . . . about the air conditioner, Dad's autograph collection, college football, the weather. Holy crap, I thought, I know Mom's arm is getting tired. But I sat and sat and sat, waiting and not bothering the nice man.

When he finally left, Mom nearly lost her mind, jumping around celebrating my victory. I even netted a compliment from Dad and a chicken flavored DreamStick - in the middle of the day!! No lame-o training treats for this effort! This was major excitement!

I enjoyed my victory, too. I can't say that I don't still sometimes enjoy grabbing Mom's attention at supper time, but for the most part, I've got this back to school gig down. I'm giving me a B+ so far - wait! I looked at Mom.

"Come on, Mom. I said to type A+ there."

"You've had one too many of those DreamSticks, Gus," she replied chuckling. "But I do appreciate your efforts, so maybe in time you'll get to the A+ level."