When I say "Come, Sugar," It Means...

Nothing, really, not yet. What is One's Word worth? Is one a serious person or is one timid, afraid of disapprobation, even from a dog. This is a question that can dog life (no pun intended) throughout, but particularly when raising a tiny puppy. The little canine sniffs out the slightest wavering, and poof! it's over. You lost the battle of wills to a four-pound weakling, a being who has to worry every moment about being stepped on, literally. Puppy becomes boss. Puppy never needs to come again. Unless she's in the mood. Maybe for a treat she'll push herself. But for nothing? No, she'll make a little show of it, then contract the fake itch.

Dogs are insanely logical. Words must be followed by actions. There has to be follow-through, or there's no obedience. Kind of reminds me of my kids when they were babies. Kids don't just raise themselves. If you want them to come when called, every time, and not get run over by a speeding car, they have to know you mean business.

But puppies, despite similarities, are not children, and they don't speak or understand English. If they get up to ten words, they're geniuses. They have a different form of communication entirely, and the dog's Human must learn their language.

Well, as is normal, Sugar and I have come to rely on the snack for obedience training. Scott the dog trainer showed me how to attach the meat bag to my belt, and this is a powerful draw for Sugar. "Come" snack. "Sit" snack. "Down" snack. You get the picture. But now, Scott tells me, it's time to wean Sugar from the bag and all the treats. Yes, all. She must come, sit, down, stay, down, sit, come, stay, down, etc., all in one go -- treatless. And you only give the command ONCE. Yesterday I asked him, "Do you think she heard me? Maybe she missed the cue."

"Oh, she heard you alright," he said. Dogs have superb hearing. So what do I do now?

This much I know: dogs are immune to pleading, cajoling and all tricks of the tongue. They understand bribery, but that's no longer an option in our power struggle. That leaves Sugar and me face to face, eyeball to eyeball. Her will against mine. Who will win? Well, I must. I mean I just must. As a proper pet owner I MUST win, because her life could depend on it. So I can't let her be a spoiled brat. Who knew I'd have to go through this again?

Take bedtime. Yes, take it, Sugar chimes in. She has no use for it at all. This is when we go upstairs and prepare for lights-out. This is precisely when Sugar finds a stray peanut under the couch. Or when she decides to race through the house. "Sugar, come!" I say. Sugar performs another lap through the living and dining rooms. She's so fast, she's like a squirrel, her curly ears flying backwards, her back undulating. Trying to catch her is akin to deliberately giving yourself a heart attack: I don't think it's possible.

So last night, after my stern lecture from Scott the dog trainer, I got serious. This is about my word. So let's get it right. Final urination: check. Favorite toys: check. Snack earlier in the evening: check. Kitchen dark and quiet: check.

"Come, Sugar," I said quietly, sitting on the bottom step (Sugar's too small to mount the stairs herself, which makes her recalcitrance all the more absurd). Sugar glanced at me, surveyed the dark room, nosed the floor, licked up a crumb from dinner under the table, gazed my way again, sat down, eyed me, scratched her ear with a back leg.

I sat, said nothing. Just eyed her back. The word "come" was practically shooting off my tongue, but I kept my lips closed. Sugar abandoned the shelter of the kitchen table, inched towards me with her back legs, leaving her front legs on the floor, as if being dragged. I was immovable, a Sphinx. It was over. For one night.

We'll see what happens tonight. If my experience with little ones is any guide, it won't go well tonight. But we're moving in the direction of Adult Human Primacy in the relationship.