Holy puppy training, Batman!
News EditorI have owned a dog for almost a year. Sophie, my 12-pound bottle of explosive energy, has been nothing less than trying from the second I set her down in my car. She cried through the night during crate training, has eaten five cell phones, refused to go to the bathroom on snow in November — now refusing to go on the grass. And she will literally eat anything within tongue distance. That includes my roommate’s antibiotic, which dropped to the floor one evening while I was out. An incident that I didn’t find out about until the following morning — from a post written on my Facebook wall. It was a great day until I saw “Sophie ate my antibiotic!!!!!!!!!!” Luckily, the pill my dog ingested wasn’t lethal, and she is still kickin’ like a bull at a Texas rodeo. But in retrospect, I feel this probably should have been a sign. One that was flashing in front of my eyes in flourescent blue that said “do not let this woman buy a dog…ever.” Unfortunately my eyes were incapable of looking away from that angry, buzzing sign, and I ran face first into the bug zapper. The next thing I remember, I was driving on US-23 with Sophie and my roommate, headed to Owosso to look at puppies. Oops. Three hours later the three of us were back in Ann Arbor — plus one. Call me a sucker, but golden retriever puppies are the cutest damn things I have ever seen. And in my defense, my roommate honestly sounded like she knew how to take care of a puppy. We named her Hakuna Matata, or Kuna, because my roommate and I both have an unhealthy obsession with Disney films. And it just seemed right for two single girls, getting ready for summer, to name a puppy after “what a wonderful phrase” from The Lion King. As this tiny ball of “no worries” began to roam the apartment, and found the water dish, the realization hit me that my days of relaxation and peaceful nights were long, long gone. The assumption that my roommate knew how to train a puppy was so wrong. So, so, so wrong. “She’s going to have to go to the bathroom as soon as she’s done drinking,” I explained. But I apparently wasn’t the only one repeatedly banging against the bug killer like a super-sized moth. Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt went the light as my roommate lovingly watched her new, fluffy stuffed animal lap up the cool, refreshing water. She watched as Kuna stopped drinking. “She really needs to go outside now,” I said. Bzzt, bzzt, bzzt went the light. And Kuna squatted on the floor, relieving herself. I grabbed the puppy, rushing her outside to finish her business and congratulate her for urinating on the grass. I returned inside to find my roommate cleaning the piddle with Windex…and my bath towel. One hour of puppy ownership down, about a million to go. Yeah, this should be interesting.