“That little shit,” said Barnard, pointing at Arki, “has cost me $600 this week.”
“That bloody dog!” I said, as I vacuumed up the little bits of chewed-up slipper and sneaker that were scattered across the lounge like confetti.
“I was passing through Featherston,” said the dog ranger standing on our verandah, “and I found your dog loose on the footpath.”
“I just saw your dog run in front of the train,” said our neighbour, Ross, when I opened the back door. He was wearing a Fargo-style hat with brown sheepskin flaps to ward off the evil cold.
“OK, I’ll let Barnard know.”
He giggled and left.
“You wanted him,” said Barnard when I told him about Arki’s train encounter.
“So did you.”
He smiled.
More swears. More expense. More vacuuming. And more random visitors. Why does anyone get a dog?
It was hard saying goodbye to our Jack Russell, Mikey, just before Christmas. He’d been Barnard’s faithful companion for 13 years, and had welcomed me to the house with open paws. But his heart condition finally caught up with him, and he passed away peacefully as he lay on his beanbag supervising our decoration of the Christmas tree. Barnard’s daughter, Lisa, used his tartan winter coat to make a beautiful cushion with a large ‘M’ on the front. It sits in the lounge as a permanent reminder of a very special dog.
It took us a while to recover from Mikey’s loss. But when I caught Barnard perusing Retired Working Dogs on Facebook, I knew we were about to enter a new phase.
Barnard showed me some photos of Arki and a video his owners had posted. He was a black and white collie cross with a cute face and long, skinny legs. He also looked slightly unsure of himself, sitting off to the side of the video frame, while a second dog (an obviously cosseted rug-rat) posed for the camera like a princess. We agreed to meet him.
It almost turned to custard. Arki hurtled out of the van, barking wildly and jumping up on me before I could say “Hi”. Then he turned to Barnard who had crouched down to meet him at eye level. His response to Barnard touching his face was to nip him on the nose. His owners were mortified.
“I don’t think this is going to work,” said Arki’s mum. She opened the back door of the van and pointed to the cosseted rug-rat, who was sitting serenely on a blanket. “THIS is the kind of dog you need.”
Something in the air changed at that point. I don’t know if she sensed Barnard’s infuriation at being told what he needed, or if she realised she was wasting an opportunity to get rid of a dog she no longer wanted. “Why don’t you take Arki for a little walk?” she suggested.
Barnard took the lead and within seconds, we were watching a totally different dog. Arki calmly walked beside Barnard like a docile little lamb. The die had been cast and it was two sixes for Arki. We agreed to take him on trial for a couple of weeks.
That was six weeks ago and happily for us all, Arki is still here. But it hasn’t been without its challenges.
His owners warned us Arki was a bit possessive. Soon after they left, I put his bed in the hallway to help him feel at home. Our big ginger cat, Axel, who is always sociable and curious, stepped up to the bed and took a sniff. Arki barked angrily before chasing Axel through the dining room and down the hallway before Axel escaped through the cat door.
Our normally sociable cat then disappeared for several days, eventually returning to eat a meal before dashing away again. We found him three doors down at the neighbours and brought him back home. He disappeared again. Back to the neighbours we went. This went on for a week or so while our four other cats made themselves just as scarce.
One by one, as they returned home, we locked them inside and forced them to spend some time with Arki each day. They quickly got used to him and now accept Arki as just another member of the household. Axel took a bit longer but is back to normal now, and is not averse to giving Arki a swipe with his paw if he gets too close.
So, Purchase Number 1: a microchip cat door that enabled us to control each cat’s comings and goings while they got used to Arki. Next up: a GPS collar with a subscription app.
It was incredibly frustrating that despite having a large section to run around in, Arki preferred to explore the neighbourhood unchecked. Initially we thought he was crawling under the gate. We blocked that up with bricks, but his breaks for freedom continued. We checked for gaps in the white picket fence that surrounds our property. Nothing. We concluded he must be jumping the fence.
So it was back to Doctor Google where Barnard purchased a GPS tracker for Arki’s collar. Let me tell you, this device and its accompanying app are gold on a stick. Our phones alert us whenever Arki leaves the virtual fence and we can use “live” mode to track his whereabouts. The first time it happened, the app told me he was down at the neighbours (the same place Axel used to escape to – coincidence?) He can’t be that far away, I thought, but sure enough he was. Nowadays, whenever he escapes, I just stand on the front verandah and call him. Pretty soon he appears.
We haven’t yet spent any money on a trainer, but I suspect that’ll be the next step. Arki’s behaviour is a work in progress, to put it kindly. That calm, obedient dog Barnard walked around the lawn on his first day has now turned into a bucking bronco whenever he is clipped on to the lead. I’ve already mentioned his penchant for ripping shoes into shreds. Another favourite ripping toy is rolls of toilet paper stolen from our bathroom. Doesn’t he know we’re in lockdown and there’s a shortage of tp on?
Prior to lockdown, when I was the only one at home, I was another potential source of entertainment. I got into the habit of wandering outside and throwing a stick for Arki for a while before starting work for the day. But then he wanted me to do it all the time. He’d follow me inside and bark and bark. He’d jump up on me constantly while I tried to work at my desk. He’d bring me random rocks from outside and dump them at my feet. “There you go,” he seemed to say. “Throw that.” I’d give him a Kong filled with peanut butter or grated cheese which kept him busy for 10 minutes before he returned to annoy me again. Eventually he’d give up, flop down in his bed and close his eyes. I’d send Barnard a photo. “Finally he sleeps.”
But he is also intelligent. We’ve taught him Sit, Foot (as in “shake hands”), Come, Stay and Bring. He quickly figured out how to fetch a thrown stick and scamper back to place it on the ground at my feet. He rarely jumps up on us anymore; the “ignore” strategy that was recommended to us by another dog owner has worked a treat. He knows to get off the couch without being asked, when we finally realise he’s on it. And his random escapes are becoming few and far between. It’s as if he knows about the GPS as well.
Why does anyone get a dog? Like anything we acquire, it probably seemed like a good idea at the time. And mostly it works out. The unconditional love, the loyal companionship, the perfect excuse to go to the beach and the free home security more than make up for the mess, the inconvenience, the cost, and the embarrassing moments when your dog just won’t behave. Mostly.
That bloody dog is here to stay. I can’t imagine life without him.
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