When Jan and I meet on the casita back porch to watch Carma and Luci play, we're like two mamas of toddlers. She's reading Cesar Milan's book on training puppies and I'm reading How Dogs Think.
Will came over Monday to go to an appointment with me and he gave me pointers on getting Luci to stop play-biting and licking. Alfred gave Jan a suggestion for discouraging Carma's digging huge holes in her yard: deposit Carma's poop in the digging spot and she won't go near it.
Nobody is more joyous to see me than Luci--and her way of showing affection is to jump on me or into my arms, vocalizing her happiness/relief-that-I'm back with an adorable little whine. I enjoy these over-the-top greetings, so don't plan to train her to stop--though I may have to tamp down her enthusiasm for greeting her friends.
Cesar might suggest stopping that behavior as well as her flights to the dining table top to gaze at birds in the yard--but I'm not going there. If you want a friend who shows affection in more subtle ways and who doesn't sit on your table top, I would suggest sticking with human friends.
My favorite poem of all time about dogs is by my friend and poet and dog-lover Bonnie Lyons, in her book, Bedrock.
Dog Training
Sometimes I think
the only lessons I ever learned
were from my dogs.
So here is the accumulated wisdom
of Sancho, Max, and Zorba,
three sage Airedales.
First, yelp when you're in pain
but let it go when it's gone.
Second, travel the earth
with a quivering nose.
Third, answer the needs of your body
with shameless relish
but then go right on
to the real purpose of the day: play.
And, finally, whenever possible
leap right
into the arms of someone
who loves you.
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