The Sacrificial Pooch

Buttercup and Boo-Boo

This morning I tried a trick which undoubtedly is up every parent’s sleeve: major deception.

Meet Boo-Boo, BC’s alter ego.  Twice her size, and as clean, as when I found him at a garage sale for 50 cents, she adores him.

BC is cute and sweet, but she’s got a bark like Cujo, and I’ve been asked, more than once, not to bring her on return visits.  She created a problem at my last location, and I’m hoping to cure her during this one.  I’ve read up on dog tips, purchased a simple clicker and finally broke down and used my cousin’s Christmas gift card for a fancy collar which vibrates rather than shocks.  At first I thought it was working, but I’ve either ruined it by forgetting to take it off while she splashed in the pond, or else she’s just developed a tolerance to pain, as Sis and I learned to as kids in a Christian Science household.

And we both had braces on our teeth, the old-fashioned kind, without the aid of Novocain.  Ouch.

I weighed in on that subject in a local paper, tongue in cheek as I do, and received my first hate mail.  I momentarily thought to avoid even mentioning the words Christian Science here lest I open myself up to  more harassment, but then I realized that I was already considering breaking one of my own cardinal rules.

Lucky for me, in addition of no mouth brake, my fingers have little self-control either.  But back to BC’s plight.

I’ve sent her to ‘the corner’ for a time-out; I tried the overgrown shoelace-turns-into-a-muzzle which the vet gave to me, but after a couple foiled attempts at escape, she just resigned herself.  It’s hard to punish those brown eyes.

“Have you tried it yourself?” a concerned pet owner asked when I described the collar.

No; I’m afraid it won’t shut off.  Or what if it got stuck and I couldn’t remove it?   That would be embarrassing to explain.  Reminds me of a story…

In the 70’s, when I thought my 20-year-old thighs were heavy, I purchase a pair of wraps, which looked like what a doctor straps on to check blood pressure, only these were designed for your legs.  Strap them on; blow them up with the extended mouthpieces (the visual itself…well, you can imagine), throw on a pair of sweats and no one will be the wiser.   Watch that flab drip away,  with little or no effort.

My then-husband berated my gullibility; I was consoled by a friend, who will remain nameless thus continue as.

“Don’t feel badly…I once bought a whole suit.  Couldn’t get out of it; had to wait for my husband to get home and then we just popped it.”

That’s all I’m looking for in a friend.  Someone who can share embarrassing moments.

Desperate this morning when she wasn’t responding to anything I did, I picked up Boo-Boboo and, holding him in front of my face, walked towards BC, alternately yelping and admonishing, more softly, Quiet!  BC was transfixed; this was something new.

I gently placed Boo-Boo in the corner, removed the bark collar from BC and placed it on the stuffed animal, then grabbed the shoelace and tied his snoot.  Left him there for a short period, but long enough to take the photo, which doesn’t adequately show BC’s reaction; she definitely felt akin, and quieted down to watch.

So now Booboo is the Sacrificial Pooch.  I wonder if that’s something Cesar Millan, the Dog Whisperer, has tried. I’m keeping my own mutts, oops, mitts crossed.

Author's Note:  August 2012:  Somehow, we're almost there, whatever combination of things I tried.  But there's a definite payback, on her part:  after that first, piercing yelp which precedes spilled coffee, she quietly turns and looks for my reaction.  She gets, at most, a scowl.  She is getting better.