What Do I Know?

Give the First Dog a Bone

As I watched the rollout of the First Puppy on CNN International yesterday (yes, the puppy has been covered by the media here as much as the First Lady's bow) I was interested to see how the First Family interacted with their new pup.

One episode gave me a clue: I noticed First Daughter Malia making hand motions in front of the dog. The dog ignored her. A minute or two later, Bo sat, and Malia quickly gave him a treat and showered him with praise. The president noticed, too, and remarked to reporters, "positive reinforcement".

Someone, probably the dog trainer Bo has been living with, has tutored the First Family on dog training techniques that actually work. Fortunately they didn't watch the movie Marley & Me for dog training tips. In that film, the "dog trainer", a drill sergeant stereotype played by throaty voiced Kathleen Turner, yells at the dogs to sit. Marley, of course, doesn't, never having heard the word in his life and having no clue what it means. Same with "heel". The trick to dog training isn't yelling and bullying dogs; it's manipulating them into doing what you want and rewarding them when they do it.

Malia had that part figured out. She was watching carefully, waiting for Bo to sit, and when he did, she was there with a nibble and a sweet "good dog!". Good for her, and good for the First Family for modeling such behavior.

And, because I like to pile on the praise myself, good on the Obamas, who have had Bo neutered, which all pet owners should do, but many don't. Bite marks on my rear end attest to the fact that unneutered males can be aggressive, and the last thing we need is another aggressive White House resident.

Give that dog a bone. And keep the treats coming.

Update: Here's the official White House video. And here's the BBC video. And still photos galore.

It's Looking Like Spring

On our walk today we stopped several times to smell the flowers, which are springing up everywhere in southern England, as if they know today is the first day of spring. After I took this photo the dog refused to budge. She doesn't like the flowers getting all the attention, so I took her photo too:

 

She obligingly sniffed the flowers for the picture, then we went on to the pond.

My dog is such a camera hound.

Catching Rays

A balmy pre-spring day, and my dog knows what to do.

On the Hunt for Shiny Plastic

I took this photo on Saturday, at the Common. When I pulled out my camera, I think I pulled out my debit card, which was in my pocket, at the same time and it fell somewhere on the ground. So I've looked at all the photos I took that day to see if I see it.

No, no debit card, but that's okay. I canceled it anyway, after retracing my steps through the woods and ransacking the house in search of it.

I also looked here:

And here:

And even here:

But no luck.

Oh well. At least I got another good walk.

Puppy Love

A nose longer than his legs.

This is Davey, a 16-week old daschund who is currently the cutest puppy in the world. My nephew is his person, and while he was out of town we got to puppy sit. (I'm here in Louisiana, visiting my daughter while she recovers from eye surgery.)

Cute overload is an understatement. Seeing a daschund puppy run is like viewing a cartoon come to life. Ears flying, his tiny legs gallop over the ground as if trying to get up to speed for lift off. Height challenged, he scrambles over tufts of grass and other obstacles. He curls his too-long body in my lap, determined to squeeze between me and the laptop. His nose gets in the way—he tucks it down when he sleeps, which surely he knows is adorable.

But don't be deceived by all that cuteness. Davey's brave—a hissy cat doesn't deter him from his favorite game of Taunting the Cat. Over and over he runs up to her, then veers off just before her claws reach out. She is fascinated by this rat-sized puppy, careering in circles on the carpet while she watches from atop the chair. Too regal to chase him, she merely asserts her authority over this house—from a safe distance.

Davey's smart, too. We quickly came to an understanding: he wouldn't bite me, and I wouldn't speak to him in a disapproving tone. He picked up the first command I taught him in record time, though "sit" is the easiest thing to teach a puppy. But at the same time he learned a more important lesson, that the gibberish coming from our mouths actually has meaning, and sometimes is attached to the tiny morsels we have in our hands. He's ready now for further lessons.

I've learned that photographing a puppy isn't as easy as photographing an adult dog, especially mine, who not only is well attuned to the command "stay" but is also a camera hog. She'll pose for hours when I get out my Nikon, but Davey just wants to eat it.

 

My legs present an obstacle to Davey.

Another thing I've learned: walking a dog with three-inch legs isn't the same as walking a dog with 12-inch legs. A walk around the block took as long as our jaunts through the wood would take back home. Plus Davey is still discovering things like crumbly leaves and acorns and twigs and smashed gum.

I've lost my heart to Davey. I'm like that—give me twenty-four hours with a cockroach and I'll be talking to him in my lovey baby voice. I want to take him back to London with me—I'm pretty sure he'll fit in my handbag, but I doubt I could convince the security personnel that he's one of those realistic toys they sell at the mall, especially when the scanners detect a heartbeat.

Plus I know my dog, the cutest adult dog in the world, would not like having the competition. She's waiting for me, wondering why I left her. She'll be jealous when she smells Davey on my things, and not nearly as understanding as the cat has been about sharing her people with this little runty dog.

Yes, they call it puppy love. But really, who couldn't love a puppy as cute as Davey?

Are you smitten yet?

The Snowman Feast

On our walk through the Common today we came upon a snowman someone had left, a child's proud achievement and symbol of the universal joy that a snow day brings.

My dog, however, saw nothing but easy prey. There they were, two sticky currants, a fat carrot, and other facial tidbits, just waiting for her, guarded only by spindly stick arms.

After disposing of its ridiculous nose, she knocked off the head:

Then ate the eyeballs:

And then proceeded to munch on the frozen brains:

Hey, it was either her or one of the local foxes.

More snow predicted for tomorrow. There's a bit of carrot left, if someone wants to have another go at it.

My Dog Loves Snowballs

The dog forms a snowball with her front paws, just in case anyone wants to have a snowball fight.

(You guys didn't think I'd let a snow day slip by without posting dog-in-snow photos did you?)

What We Did This Weekend

Mostly just lounged around the house, without our collars.

Barack and Baby

All together now: Awwwwww!

(Via Ben Smith)

UPDATE: My dog is chewing the Barack Obama dog toy someone gave me before the election. She is obviously jealous that I posted a photo of another dog with her man.

Is It Party Time Yet?

The dog has added a new word to her vocabulary: Party!