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Running with The Big Dogs

21 January 2024

Jolene is an adolescent now She likes to run with the big dogs.  She reminds me of me during that growth phase!

 

I have given her some pointers on running with the big dogs, although I don’t think she really needs them.  She races, with complete joyous abandon, with dogs who are 3 or 4 times her size.

 

I think she thinks she’s on their level, which is what I thought of myself when I single-mindedly associated with professional types who were 10-15, sometimes 20 years older than myself.  By the age of 15, I’d painfully come to realize that I wasn’t learning anything of positive worth from my peers.  I thus became peer-less!

 

I learned what I needed to learn from those older folks, just before they headed for the rocking chair!  What I perhaps didn’t need to learn was their ingratitude, boorishness, and callous thoughtlessness toward Debra the Younger.

 

Running with the Human Big Dogs was, for me, a lesson in learning.  I hope to spare Jolene some of the insult and/or injury, but, from what I have heard of her rollicking behaviour, I can learn from her.  In fact, I already am.


Every day, even during the torrential downpours of a day like yesterday, Dear Hubby journeys in the Bronco to the local park, the social hub for canines.  There, various dogs of assorted sizes, breeds, shapes, colors, and ages congregate to RUN.

 

Yogurt, or Yogi, or Gurt, is the yellow Labrador of 10 months.  Charlie, who was the newcomer today, is a Labradoodle of champagne shade, though maybe not taste.  We are told that Charlie is a service dog; his owner explained that he behaves much better when he’s in his uniform.

 

Some males improve immensely in many ways, once they’re wearing a uniform!


The Weimaraner is about three years old, with a taupey coat, and name, as yet unknown.  Mr. Why, or Why Not, lets Jolene do the chasing, at top speed.  She gets maximum fun out of chasing him.  They then repose on the grass, keeping an eye on each other, until one moves, usually Mr. Why, who clearly needs more exercise.


Zooey and Daisy are the black Labradors.  That game involves Jolene chasing the Lab while the Lab chases the tennis ball.  Jolene keeps an amazingly equal pace, almost a length behind each Lab.

 

Remi is The Belgian Malinois. She’s three times the height of Jolene, but Jolene keeps up with this loyal, noble breed, basically because Jolene is running at full speed, but Remi is play-running, not sheep-herding.  So there is some consideration given by Big Dog to Little Dog as to the disparities in size, age, and build.


The Hungarian Vizsla, Miss V, likes to stay anonymous, as does her owner, who brings along an Australian Shepherd who won’t take part in the Jolene chase-game.  There are those dogs who just want to be left alone, which an admirable personality trait, imho.

 

Once Jolene returns from Her Park, I get to hear all about her social life which completely blows away any comparison to my socialization, at any age.  My dear father schooled me in the true motive behind the socialization craze of children.  This definition is apt, and aptly posted on even an internet dictionary site:

 

the act or process of aligning with the precepts of socialism.


I do take some exception to the use of the word, precepts, in that denotation.  A precept is a commandment or direction, handed down as a rule of action or conduct; in broad, or loose terms, it’s an injunction or maxim, part of the code of moral conduct.  My running with the big dogs informed me that socialists don’t have a moral code.

 

Part of dealing with Jolene the Teen is to set those firm boundaries, a parental developmental task that so utterly escapes the brats of any generation.  I did that work with my two children; Dear Husband has taken up that weighty mantle with Jolene.

 

It’s a very vocal time in the household.  Yesterday afternoon, I heard yelling on the ground floor, where the Pup Room (formerly mud room) of Jolene is located.  It seems that she’d been outdoors, in the cold rain, and had returned to the domicile without having heeded, or even heard, the call of nature.

 

She went over to the large rug in the Viewing Room, squatted, looked directly into the stern face of Dear Master, and completed her urgent task.


You’ll notice that she’s spending more time in Her Room today,came the triumphant declaration to me just this afternoon.

 

I get to observe such hilarious sights as Jolene walking on the top of the back of the couch, as if it’s a balance beam, looking for a place to hide her favorite stuffed sock, the gold-colored—wool one that I gave to her.

 

One behavioral norm for this six-month-old beagle is a marked up-tick in her piranha-like mouthiness just before she’s ready to collapse into a nap. At that point in time, she becomes Jolene, the Teen-aged Werewolf.  Having a sock not only on-hand, but on your hand is the key to successfully mastering that growth phase of your beagle pup!

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