“I’m so sweet in my new blue collar,” says Yoda. Copyright Ann Carranza, November 2012
I bought “the babies” collars, today, and took Yoda for his first “walk” in which he did little walking but a plethora of jumping, leaping, balking, running, pulling and fussing. I walked him with his mama, Honey, and tried to get his attention long enough for him to get the slightest clue of what he was supposed to be doing. The long-term goal of collars and leashes is to start housebreaking the puppies. Oh, please, please, wish me luck.
Meanwhile, back in the house, Travis was holding Leia, who for the first time, cried real tears. She didn’t like being left behind while the others got to go outside.
Yoda started by backing up against the leash, then darted forward until he came to the steps.
“Nope,” he thought, “not going down those.”
Unfortunately, I had a different idea. I cajoled him to the top step, helped him down the first one while his stiff little body told me that he really wanted nothing to do with steps (this from a puppy that fearlessly jumped off the sofa and clunked his noggin on the carpet, then repeated the action).
We navigated the two low steps, then he darted to the end of his leash, jumped straight up in the air, dashed to Honey (who was totally concentrating on getting to her potty spot) and leaped on her back, stalling all forward progress.
The neighbors’ dogs started barking—he stopped dead in his tracks, perked those silly, donkey ears up to the sky, and looked at the fence. I don’t think he quite figured out what it was he couldn’t see.
Honey did her business and we leaped, hopped, jumped, balked, ran, pulled and fussed our way back to the crying Leia.
Silly puppies—offering lessons in patience along with laughter.
Sweet girl, Leia. Copyright Ann Carranza, November 2012
Later, when Leonel came home, he leashed up both babies. I said that he might want to rethink that action. Perhaps, I said gently, it would be a better idea to take Leia and Honey out together, that way Honey could do the lesson part. After the puppies balked for the first time and nearly pulled their collars over their heads, he seemed to agree. I exchanged Yoda for Honey, and off they went.
First stop, the steps.
“Nope,” Leia thought, “not going down those.”
As I pushed and lifted her stiff front legs and little butt to the first step, Leonel pulled gently on the leash, and nearly pulled it over her head. We got her down off the steps and I warned Leonel to watch when he pulled, so Leia wouldn’t slip her collar. He walked outside with a jumping, leaping, balking, running, pulling and fussing little girl and her mother.
I went back to washing dishes and cooking dinner.
Yoda says, “Get that blinding light out of my eyes.” Copyright Ann Carranza, November 2012
A howl crept eerily up my spine. Yoda didn’t like them going off without him, any more than Leia had, only he was more vocal. Not only did he start crying (tears down his little cheeks) he howled like a tiny wolf until they came back in.
All that stuff was hard work, so they piled up on Honey and went to sleep—a crumple of Chihuahuas. Silly puppies.
“I don’t like the bright light, either,” says Leia. “But isn’t my new collar pretty?” Copyright Ann Carranza, November 2012