In The Dog House
(originally posted @ My Day Job)
I think we need a dog trainer. A nice visit from Cesar Millan: aka The Dog Whisperer. Or that Victoria whatshername from "It's Me or the Dog". Or maybe just anyone with a basic knowledge of how to make our dog behave and listen!
Don't get me wrong. When he's inside he usually does a nice job of following directions. He can "sit" with the best of them. And "lie down". And on some occasions he will even "stay". But once he escapes the confines of the home and gets some freedom outside - all bets are OFF. He's a wild dog, free in the great outdoors, with no master to tell him what to do. (Despite the fact that said Master is standing just yards away telling him to "come here")
I think it's his favorite hobby: Wait for an opportunity to slip through a door carelessly left open (or at least not latched all the way), dash out door slipping just past the grasping fingers of the humans, race mindlessly and joyfully about the neighborhood stopping to pee on every stationary object available, all the while practicing selective deafness to the commands and cries of the humans.
Once upon a time we had an invisible fence to keep stray pets inside the property lines, while giving them freedom to run and frolic. But when one of those gets a kink or some other damage somewhere along the line, it sets off a catastrophic series of events that renders the fencing completely useless. And expensive to repair or replace. So, now he is only allowed out if he is on his lead.
Today it was my own fault. I went out into the garage to check on what the Princess and her little Prince were doing out there. And yes: I left the door from the laundry room to the garage open. And yes: the dog saw the open door and took full advantage of it. And - YES: I ended up in the car chasing him around the neighborhood trying to catch him.
Usually a good call of "Want to go for a ride?" will draw him into the open car door and back into captivity. Not today. Today he was in rare form. Today he would walk toward the car, grin at me, and run off to mark the next available tree or shrub.
I did manage to get him into the car and back to the house. Where he strutted around, grinning, looking all too pleased with himself for a while.
And I admit; I considered calling animal control on him myself. Or at the very least looking into some dog training.