not the smartest dog in the world

I don't know what to do anymore with our black lab, Dee Dee. She's driving me crazy and I can't figure out a solution. Actually, that isn't true. I can think of a solution. I just can't do it.

Wednesday, for the second time in a week, she got out of the house. It was pouring down rain, thundering and lightning. The streets were flooded, cars struggling to stay on the road, the kind of day you don't want to set foot off the porch. One of the kids (this time Gumby) didn't shut the front door all the way and the wind pushed it open. It was like that for maybe five seconds. The other two dogs approached the open door, peered out and turned around in search of a warm sofa. Not Dee Dee. She bolted. I headed out after her in the car and got her two blocks away, drenched to the bone. She climbed meekly into the backseat and came home.

The last time she did this was not even a week ago and it was the scariest one yet. She got across not one but two major streets before one of Sasquatch's friends (the one who had let her out to start with) collared her after she had worn herself out. He's the only person to ever be able to actually catch her when she's run, and I suspect it's a good thing he did. She was on the side of one of the major streets she had crossed - a black dog at dusk. Can you hear the clock ticking? I sure can.

We got Dee Dee the beginning of March 2005. She was a shelter dog and they figured she was between two and three years old at that point. She and her brother had been brought in together from the next county over, and from the info we got it seemed that the family who had them was financially unable to keep them. She was skinny and scared, not unlike most shelter dogs. After a fair amount of politicking, we brought her home.

And in a lot of ways, I've regretted it ever since. She has some interesting issues. The first relates to food. She has lost her girlish figure and now looks like Fat Elvis. No food is safe in my house. She has even eaten boxes of crackers and loaves of bread off of shelves and out of cabinets. I wouldn't think she would be smart enough to pop a cabinet, but clearly where food is involved she is genius material.

She also had some chewing issues when we first got her, enough so that I started to doubt the original pound story and think that her former people just got tired of her destructive ways. She ate two living room arm chairs and a fairly expensive slipcover right off the bat. Then there was this little trick - she would get on a bed and kick all the covers off. Then she would lay smack in the middle of the bed, on the fitted sheet, and kick backwards as hard as she could. This would inevitable rip the sheet straight down the middle. We have a California King bed. Do you know how expensive those fitted sheets are?


Of course the obvious solution (other than taking the dog back to the pound) is to keep the doors closed, both so she can't destroy the beds and can't get out of the house. And, while I agree wholeheartedly about the validity of that, it's not always feasible in my house. Our back yard is totally enclosed. The fence was the first thing we put up when we bought the house. But I have too many kids in and out of my front door on a daily basis. I can yell and scream to shut the blessed door (and most of the time they do), but it only takes once. Then there's this aspect of it -

Gumby panics when she gets out. In a lot of ways, she's become his dog. One time last year when she bolted he chased her. Chased her across a street, chased her down the road, blindly followed her. And no matter how hard I screamed for him to stop (in my very best "do not screw with me" mom voice), he wouldn't. He was so afraid for her that he put himself in danger. I probably don't have to even say this, but that sent me over the edge. I'm terrified that he's going to do it again, and we live in a more urban area than we did then.

That leads into her only saving grace. The children positively adore her. And she is fabulous with them. Absolutely fabulous. Not a speck of temper, gentle as can be, sleeps with them at night and watches over them. Perfect. She's also very protective of her house, barking like mad if anyone approaches. And she's a big girl, with a big bark. She's intimidating if you don't know her. Or if you don't have a pocket full of food. The chewing and the sheet wrecking even stopped after a bit. The running slowed down, but never completely went away.

The fact that she runs away is even more aggravating because she cannot stand to be outside. If you let her in the yard to do her business, she's finished in about thirty seconds and then parks at the back door and barks until you let her in. But she'll bolt every chance she can. She doesn't usually get too far, because she's so heavy that she has no stamina, and after running full out for a couple of minutes she's too tired to do anything else. Unfortunately for me, she moves pretty fast initially. Ultimately, she flops down in an exhausted pile, but she can cover some ground in the meantime.

Last week, when she crossed the major roads, I said to my friend Laurie (who was here when it happened), "She's dead. There's no way she isn't going to get hit." And all I could think was Oh, please don't let any of my kids see it happen. (This was also right after Gumby's rat died, to add to the stress level). Laurie ran one way, I ran another, Sasquatch and his friends headed in yet another direction. Laurie's husband John took off in their van, and Gumby and Surfer Dude stayed home to man the phone in case someone grabbed her and called. And we caught her. That time.

I really believe her luck is running out. She's just not smart enough to realize it.

But I am.