Gone to the Dogs: The Return of Heidegger T. Cooldog

Things have changed in casa-de-danedy since the Cooldog was last among us. It seems that Digger is no longer top dog. He's not even number two.

Well, it depends how you count.

When Digger was here in May, I knew nothing about dogs, except that one should feed them and walk them occasionally. So, when Digger whined outside my bedroom door, I let him in so I could get some sleep. I tried to persuade him to sleep on the floor, to no avail. Within about a half an hour, he had persuaded me that the only way I was going to get any sleep was to let him into my bed, which I did. (A pause to note that most rational animals couldn't have accomplished that, and certainly not so fast!)

But now, Lily has arrived. And because of her, I have acquired a certain amount of knowledge about dogs and about pack dynamics. I did a little reading (Monks of New Skete; Cesar Millan) and learned that I should be the pack leader and some ways of maintaining that. The Monks of New Skete sold me on the idea that dogs do best when they sleep in your room but not your bed. This communicates to them both that they are part of your pack and that you are the leader. Lily sleeps in a crate on the floor near the foot of my bed. So, what to do with Digger?

I decided to put his bed on the floor near Lily, but not too close. He was determined not to stay there but to climb in bed with me. I ended up anchoring him by his leash to a knob on my dresser, where he had a little play in the leash, but certainly not enough to get to my bed. He whined, he yelped, he begged to be released. It seemed clear to me that he remembered the sleeping arrangements from before. I ignored him. He kept yelping. I kept ignoring. And before TOO long (maybe 20 minutes), he calmed down and went to sleep. (Thank God!)

By the way, Lily was an angel through all his yelping last night. Today, of course, was another story. There was about 20 minutes where Digger lay at my feet like a saint while Lily yelped and whined from her crate. (I suspect that his non-verbals were communicating (you have to read this to the "tune" of a playground taunt) "Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, she likes me better, I'm at her feet and you're in a jail cell!")

I think that we've settled into a sense that, for a couple weeks at least, this is the pack, like it or not. Also, we ended up having 2 doggie-play-dates with other (big, rough, wrassling) dogs and one run-around-romp with 2 kids and a tennis ball in a fenced-in softball field). I think we're all exhausted, especially the beta and gamma dogs that did all the serious running and wrassling.

Actually, Alpha Dog is a little tired, too. But she's writing a page of her dissertation before she turns in.