You might remember my telling you that we’d adopted a puppy and that Cassie might be kinda sorta batshit crazy? I think I mentioned that her preferred snack appeared to be throw rugs and upholstered furniture? And that her favorite exercise equipment was a trampoline–which would have been fine but that trampoline was my husband’s or my upright body–and that she’d perfected a running four foot jump-on landing? (I tried to be proud that she clearly liked me best, possibly because I was easiest to knock down, allowing her to combine gymnastics with bowling, her other favorite sport.) I probably let you know that she was her own best cheerleader: she’s been so brilliant at barking in celebration of her spectacular athleticism, that our town approached us about using her to replace the aging tornado sirens that aren’t heard well enough in our more rural areas.
Well, she’s come a long way. Seriously, dear readers. All it’s taken is about ten years off our life spans, maybe half our retirement accounts to pay for training, more patience than your average twenty preschool teachers combined, and about an hour and a half a day to exercise her. Our great vet also prescribed medication to calm her down. (I took it instead of giving it to Cassie–why should she get all the good stuff? and it’s been quite helpful.)
My theory about what’s really really made the difference is: we found out that we (and by we I mean my husband) found out that given a few patient lessons, this dog was born to swim and loves it passionately. Apparently some beagadors* (half Lab, half beagle) take after their Lab parents and live for the water, and Cassidy is one of them. All Alan had to do was to first discover that, also like her Lab parent, she lives to retrieve tennis balls, and she’s actually possibly the best and most faithful retriever we’ve had yet. She chases down a tennis ball with total concentration and immediately runs it all the way back, drops it without needing to be told, and (yeah, this part not ideal) barks until he or I pick it up and throw it as far as we can again. We’re working hard on the barking part there. But the swimming? All Alan had to do was ruin a couple pair of shoes by first tossing the ball maybe three feet into the river. At first she wouldn’t go in without him, so in he went, up to about his knees, pants, shoes and all. A few days of that, and he didn’t go in at all.
Then he started throwing the ball farther and farther in. Soon the ball was deep enough that it was over her head. She swam. And from then on, she’s been swimming after that ball no matter where he throws it. And–go figure–her devotion to her other sports has waned. I’m not thinking she’ll be entering a bowling tournament, and the Olympic vault gymnastic competition is a no-go. She’s not even practicing. Now she carries her ball in her mouth and eagerly leads the way to her favorite swimming hole daily. And it’s not even one she dug in our backyard!
Yes, it’s true. She’s stopped her yard excavation endeavors. Now…is this because she’s harried all the moles enough that they’ve moved on to establish their city with its own zip code elsewhere, or because of magnificent training?
There’s a life lesson in all this somewhere, right? Can anyone distill it into a sentence for me?? Put it in the comments section. Most useful answers will win one of my books ( I have at least one copy of most of them here) signed and mailed to them–winners’ choice of book! Any one you want (provided I have it).
I’ll be back next month, too, with news of the next book coming Aug. 6th.
Watch Cassie Here: cassie-swimming
