Sprawling Dogs in Tight Spaces-Julie Rubenstein
Julie Rubenstein
My dogs adore me with that unconditional love that only dogs can offer. Jack and Domino, two mostly black Lab retrievers who’ve been faithful family retainers for 14 and 16 years, respectively. We’ve been through a lot together, not only the thousands in veterinary bills but all the stages of life in a family - from childhood to old age. They watched my kids grow from little to adult, and then move away - siblings mysteriously lost. They’re the kids who stayed behind.
I love them too but as a human, my love, alas, is the conditional kind. Though I have abiding love for them at all times, I love them MOST when they are
a. Clean — this includes not only good personal hygiene in the rear compartment, but that fresh-from-the-bath smell when their thick black fur shines and doesn’t smell like the goat pasture next door, and they’re not shedding gobs of black fur everywhere.
b. Quiet - not leaping up in a sudden barking frenzy in the middle of the night when the coyotes start on the prowl. This has gotten to be less of a problem lately. Not only are they more hard of hearing all the time but the sniffers have started to go too. A mixed blessing, for sure.
c. Polite - this encompasses a lot of things, but as dogs go these guys are actually better than most. They don’t jump up on anybody, will heel without a leash, come when called, and lie down, sit and skedaddle when told. Flatulence they can’t help, and I’m responsible for that in a way- if I give them the wrong foods we all suffer for it later. The one command that they consistently resist, and perhaps the one I care most about because it is a near-constant problem, is MOVE.
We have a sprawling house but the rooms and traffic areas are on the small side with lots of tight corners and narrow hallways. If one passageway is blocked you have to go around the Horn to get to the next room. Our dogs’ habit, both of them, is to lie in doorways, passageways, next to the sofa, next to the bed - in short, any place they can position themselves for the best vantage point or closest proximity to the objects of their undying affection - me and my husband. I know it’s because they love us so much that they do this, but it still annoys the hell out of me. I am always tripping over them in the dark, stepping over them, or required to take the long way around because of their devotional adjacence. It’s a constant power struggle not only between me and the dogs over whether they’ll move if ordered, but also between me and my husband over the mere issuance of the command. He thinks I shouldn’t require it of them, and simply step over or around. For me, it’s a matter of principle - who’s the boss? I AM, at least with respect to the dogs. They know it, and they largely accept it. Except in this one persistently annoying habit.
When they were younger and spryer this was less of a problem. I could say, “Move!” in a normal tone of voice and after one or two commands they’d get up - reluctantly but obediently- and be out of my way with little friction having passed between us. Over the years, though, their hearing has diminished so that “Move!” turned into “MOVE!!” and gradually, for emphasis, “JACK, MOVE!!!” This got rather startling and not a little annoying to my poor husband, who objected to the practice in the first place but would jump out of his skin when startled by my barking orders to the dogs. I won’t burden you with that end of the dispute, other than to say it finally led to a different solution that recognizes the limitations of their advancing age. I’ve compromised a little. I step around if it’s not too much of a detour just because Domino especially is so creaky and arthritic that it’s a long wait for him to rouse himself anymore, and the Boss principle only goes so far.
But sometimes the detour is too long, or they’re lying end to end across a doorway and I’d need a running broad jump to get over them. On those occasions these days, instead of saying anything I slip my toe beneath their prone bodies and give them a little nudge. After a training period of several renditions of this motion accompanied by the shouted “MOVE!!” (carefully deployed only in the husband’s absence) they now understand that the toe nudge means they need to haul their tired, arthritic old bodies up and over a few feet where their presence will be less intrusive. For a while. They always seem to migrate right back into the doorway.
