I recently got in trouble in the elevator on the way to Sunday school. I was dressed down for giving the dog my out-of-date milk.
Everyone in the elevator agreed. Milk, especially slightly sour milk, is not good for dogs. Then the comic in the group, Robbie, suggested that I might give Taz some chocolate milk. Even I know that you cannot give dogs chocolate!
When I got to my Sunday school class, it was a different story. Suzi said that when she was growing up in Mount Olive, she remembered that her mother gave puppies clabber, which is sour milk.
No one in my class said that milk was bad for dogs. I would think the folks in the other Sunday school class were wrong, except that Kathy Parker is all about good treatment for dogs. I need more input.
Just when I thought the dog was making some progress, he turned over the kitchen garbage. He’s a year old, for goodness sake! That’s 7 years old in human terms, huh? Seven-year-olds would know not to tump over the garbage.
(“Tump” is a peculiarly Southern word that is a combination of “turn” and dump. Janice Gatlin Dykes introduced the word to me. I kept it.)
There were coffee grounds and trash everywhere. I hollered at Taz in my ugliest voice, and he was abashed, as well he should have been. The kitchen trash can is now on top of the recycling bin to keep the dog away from it. What more can I do?
In Taz’s defense, he has quit eating the plywood. My living and dining rooms are awaiting flooring. Right now they are just plywood, and the dog was prone to gouging at them and eating it. Of course, it would not go down well, and his stomach would get upset.
The same thing happens when he ingests plastic, cardboard and other inedible things.
He has dog toys. Things that squeak and roll. Things he can hold on to and growl when Gabe tries to take them away. It’s a great game and more fun than the dog can stand. Why will he not just stick with the dog toys?
I have gotten good at getting out the door without his escaping, but it does still happen on occasion. And sometimes I forget that the cat door is open, and he will squeeze through it.
When he gets out, he roams the neighborhood. However, he has gotten pretty good about coming when I blow the whistle. I give him a treat when he comes right in after I whistle, but it does not work all the time.
Dogs are like kids. They do not come with instructions. And I would guess that they do not all respond the same way to the same prompts. I think it is kinda-sorta a trial-and-error process.
Someone asked me if I was going to get rid of Taz when Kya goes to college. This dog is really special — funny, goofy, handsome, good-natured, and athletic, and I would want someone who would appreciate his good qualities, as I do.
I am afraid that Stan is right again; I have gotten very attached to Taz, despite the fact that I am not a dog person.
