You all know that our life is a sitcom, and you might–if you have nothing else to do–be glad to know that we’ve been brought back for a second season. The start of this season finds us at the Olde Towne School for Dogs, where we’ll be embarking on an obedience course that will last for weeks.
Today’s episode, however, simply involved a brief consultation with Bad Ass, who will be Barky’s trainer as soon as we decide what training program we want to select. We’re choosing between six weekly one-on-one sessions and three weeks of daily school sessions–and yes, they have a bus to pick up and drop off their students. Or at least they used to; I can’t find information on it on their infinitely irritating Flash site.
I told you that our life is a sitcom. Or an episode of Ellen, even if she didn’t show up at our delivery.
The six personal sessions are certainly cheaper, but the recidivism rate is twice as high, so we’re leaning toward the daily sessions. But what if the other kids pick on Barky on the bus? Or what if he acts out on the bus? It happens, you know.
Aaanyway, the reason that we’re taking him for obedience training is because he seems to be getting more anxious of late, and we don’t want him to end up escalating to where we have to call in a behaviorist and a dog walker and end up with shattered mirrors and blood all over our bedroom again. Once was more than enough.
We’re sure that part of that anxiety comes from the arrival of 3B, part from Barky’s inflamed anus, part from the anxiety Mama and I feel at our life changes like starting new jobs–whatever the causes, there’s sure to be new causes for anxieties as we continue to live together, and so Mama and I are looking for a way to better work with Barky to alleviate his worries, new or old. We do love the little fuzzball, and we worry when he’s worried.
It would also be nice if his new, chilled-out self wouldn’t scratch the hell out of our brand-new, pain-in-the-ass-to-install doorknobs, although I think it might be too much to ask that he won’t jump onto the dining room table to eat the contents of the sugar bowl and lap up a stick of butter. He is still a beagle, after all.