A Quickie

But this is not about sex. It's about love. Dog on Master, Master on Dog, love.

I've admitted previously that I'm not a born Animalist, as many are. There are people who prefer animals to other people and feel more comfortable in the company of the little beasts than the big ones (Humans). I'm not one of those people. Come to think of it, I fit into neither category; as a writer, I tend to be a hermit first and foremost. Though I'd rather be with my husband, kids and grandchildren than be alone -- most of the time. But to be a Poodle owner, you need to know that Poodles, above and beyond every other breed, need, insist on, live for the intimate presence of their Human. I actually knew this before acquiring Sugar, but frankly, I was more focused on her brains and appearance and small size (my needs) rather than her inbred urge to be constantly by my side -- at least within smelling distance, if not actually on the lap.

So I've learned a great deal during the past three months of Sugar's presence in my face, er, household. Here's the long and short of it: I was timid with her, afraid I wouldn't REALLY love her, afraid that therefore she wouldn't truly love me. If I was too strict and enforced rules, I seemed to be an ogre. She only weighs five pounds, after all. So Sugar, brainy canine, pounced on my insecurity and grew into a spoiled brat. All documented in a previous post. The trained professional was summoned who confirmed the diagnosis: Sugar=bratty and out of control puppy. Time for tough love. Well, you know how we Humans are. If we get a diagnosis from a specialist, we believe it and proceed to implement the necessary remedy. Which I did, though I won't put you through the specifics of treats withheld and why. Suffice it to say that this smart puppy needed, for her own good, to be TAUGHT manners. And perhaps the cliche holds: believe me, this hurts me more than it hurts you. Not totally sure about that. Sugar doesn't cotton to discipline. But she's coming round.

What's my point? I think it's this. There are others in our household who find Sugar so adorable, which is undeniably and objectively true, that they won't help in disciplining her. Yet it's said that consistency is vital. I don't want to be the only bad guy. But it's me or nobody. With expert diagnosis in hand, I went for it. It had to be me, or Sugar would become a Paris Hilton-type dog. (I refer to both Human and animal in the comparison.) This could not happen, or our relationship would not last. Don't forget, soft-hearted, starry-eyed reader, that pets, unlike children, can be got rid of. We couldn't let it come to that or even approach it. God forbid!

So I went to work and I have a good progress report for you. Though we're not perfect yet in the behavior department, we've learned a great deal. Sugar has learned that I'm the boss of her. Yes, I repeat for my own ears even, I'm the boss of Sugar. Sugar is learning to like that, I think. Maybe not, but tough. She can't talk to tell her point of view anyway, but she kisses me even more than before (could be Stockholm Syndrome, who knows?). And I? Well, what can I say? I'm tough, I'm thorough, I'm like the FBI. I feel myself to be in charge. Aware of her slapdash efforts to please me (I can intuit the drowsy question in her mind when she's napping on her bed and I say, "Come, Sugar," and she thinks, "What the hell does she want from me now?"), and how bothersome it must be for her, my heart emits a rush of compassion. But just for a moment. Then I pounce on the lead attached to her collar and glower, hoping not to have to repeat myself. Tough love.

Now that I know what I'm doing I love her more. And she loves me more. Sometimes the growth of lasting love is hard. Ask your children, ask your parents. You will understand what I mean. And this post didn't turn out to be a quickie as advertized. But explaining the architecture of love is bound to be long-winded.