A Shaggy Dog Story

About six weeks ago we agreed with the two women living next door that we should get a dog, to be shared between our two households. Just over two weeks ago we all went to a shelter to meet and ultimately to adopt a fine pooch. She is about 5 years old, of medium size, about 75 pounds, with a handsome not quite shaggy coat and most important of all a lovely disposition, at least as people are concerned. She is quite smart and someone has trained her well. She seems to have but one drawback. She does not care for her own species. On seeing another dog she invariably freezes into an aggressive posture which at best leads to a stare down. At worst she snarls, snaps and lunges at the other beast with the apparent intent of having it for lunch. We always walk her on a leash so as yet no blood has been spilt. This is however at least embarrassing and at worst tending to give the leash holder a sore shoulder. We are hopeful that this rudeness can be overcome in time.

Peggy is a woman in the neighborhood who once owned and loved a dog, but as happens, lost him to age. Her response was to take up dog walking as a profession and is now to be seen several times a day with one to four dogs out for some exercise. She also seems pretty knowledgeable as to our cannine friends and we have chatted several times in the time leading up to and since getting our dog. A couple of days ago she instructed me with care and at some length about what to do when out with Kodiak and meeting another dog. I am to get Kody to sit, stand in front of her so she can't see the other dog and make her focus on me, while petting her and trying to make her feel at ease. As it happened that very afternoon while walking Kody I saw Peggy approaching on the other side of the street, with 2 or 3 dogs in hand. I immediately thought, "There's my mentor. I must do this right." I stepped in front of Kodi, got her to sit and kept her attention on my face. I knew Peggy and her charges were passing behind me, but I did not look away from my dog. Then after a moment I heard Peggy say in a crisp voice, "Good boy Paul". I did not however get a milk bone.