The Little Bear Dog Blog

So, here’s the story about making the neighbours laugh. 

Little Bear has an annoying habit of standing stock still and refusing to move when a) you put any kind of dog coat on him and b) when he feels like it.

Now the coat issue I’ve come to terms with. I don’t believe in ‘dog fashion’ – they’re not toys or accessories so if you want to dress something up, buy a Barbie. 

I only attempted to get a coat on him because as a puppy he refused to go out in the rain. I’ve stood in the garden before now with an umberalla over him for fear that his bladder would burst before it either stopped raining or he’d get desperate enough to get wet.  Being a delicate little soul a coat seemed like a practical alternative to a shivering, pathetic looking little scrap of a thing huddled on the sofa under five blankets after a trot around the block and a light drizzle. 

Little Bear had other ideas of course.  Coat goes on. Dog freezes. Coat comes off – dog regains motor controls and resumes doing whatever he was doing before the evil dog coat immobilized him.  I’ve tried waiting him out but he has an amazing ability for stillness when he puts his mind to it. 

For the record I’ve tried several types of coat. I even made him one thinking that maybe the weight of a quilted coat was the culprit, but even that received short shrift. He did manage to walk most of the way around the block in it – mostly sideways though and with ridiculous amounts of encouragement and a handful of dog biscuits which meant it took twice as long and we all got twice as wet.  Half way around, presumably in a misguided attempt to get it off or mount a new kind of silent protest, he spent a good three minutes in someone’s front garden doing what looked like a strange doggie yoga pose.  (I can feel a Yogi Bear post brewing).  So we’ve pretty much abandoned the idea.

But the ‘I’ve stopped because I feel like it’ is another matter.  The headcollar is still working wonders, but not wanting to put undue pressure on his face, it does mean that I’m relying on voice commands.  This in itself is quite a  revelation as it’s only when you decide to use a different method that you realise how much you relied on that physical connection down the lead. 

It’s called a ‘lead’ for a reason, but too often we use it to yank our dogs in the direction we want them to go.  I’ve started watching people as they walk their dogs and it’s sad to see so many pulled around from pillar to post, with the lead used as a substitute for giving the dog verbal guidance. 

So, here we are, a stone’s throw from home with LB rooted to the pavement. “LB come!” didn’t work.  High pitched and chirpy didn’t work. “Quick, quick Bear!” Nada. I made the ‘ah hem’ noise, quickly followed by every other well used command we know. He remained stock still, his big brown eyes starring at me as if I was the last lunatic to leave the asylum. 

So determined not to resort to pulling on his collar or picking him up (always tempting with a portable sized dog) I decided to become the most interesting person in the world.  So began the spectacle of mad dog lady (MDL) squeaking, bouncing and pretending to throw tennis balls into the distance.  I threw a handful of dog biscuits into the air to the exuberant call of ‘FIND IT!’.  LB’s eyes followed the biscuits trajectory, first up and then down. He glanced at them as they scattered all over the pavement and remained stock still. 

MDL then decided to pretend to run away (with foot on lead to stop dog rooted to spot from making good his escape) which of course was just an overly animated version of running on the spot. Then, reaching desperation point and slightly light headed from the exertion, I decided to try the trump card – dancing.  LB hates me dancing in a way teenagers must cringe when their parents take to the floor at a family wedding. 

As I start my jig of shame, LB turns his head away from me to gaze forlornly across the street.  Following his gaze, to my horror, I realise that the family in the end house are all starring out of the front window – worse, they’re all in stitches.  As my cheeks burn LB turns back to look at me and with a huff sets off for home.