My dog is the smartest dog in the world.

At least, that's how I felt after our first obedience class last night at Sound Animals. Pooka already knew "sit," as you may recall. But she did a great deal of "down" (lured by treats) and even responded well to "come," on the leash, at least. We went before dinner, so she was even more food-motivated than usual. Which is to say, she kept an eagle eye on my pocket hand the entire time, and if I wasn't poppin' them out like a PEZ dispenser, she was eyeing some other poor sap. Very smart. I think I'll get a longer leash for next week, to give her more room to work with.

One of the other dog owners (he and his wife brought their 4- and 5-month-old beagle puppies) took his pups out for a potty break. When he came back in, the typically silent Pooka barked loudly -- the barking she usually reserves for "stranger walking around the house." The training people asked if she always barks at tall men with beards. I thought not, but then remembered she also barked at Berg's dad one night. It was in the front yard, so hard to tell whether she was in turf protection mode or reacting to another man-with-a-beard, but now I'll be on the lookout for patterns.

Crate status: Yep, still hating!

Chin Up

To encourage the canine to walk nicely on a leash next to or beside its "owner," the Dog Whisperer suggests said "owner" walk with her head up high and chest out. Apparently the posture says, "I'm the leader." I tried that on some early walks with Pooka, and it made no difference. After we got the harness, she stopped threatening to dislocate my shoulder and I stopped stressing so much.

These days, I try to keep Miss Pooka off to the right and moving along at a good clip, but there's plenty of abrupt stops for wild sniffing, and she has a tendency to veer in front of me and get us both tripped up. I've experimented with turning my hips/feet ever so slightly toward her for a few steps, which she picks up on, the result being less veering in front of me. I have also noticed that an exaggerated chin-up, chest-forward posture seems to keep us going smoothly. I'm talking eyes about 45 degrees above the horizon. Looking UP, really. Which forces an odd chest-out gait. Not the most comfortable for me, but surprisingly effective.

The CEO of the Humane Society was on the case last week to help us figure out if Pooka had received a rabies shot. No word back from the deadbeat adopters who returned The Pook, so I went ahead with the shot. Our weekend dog park trips were decidedly less interesting to her, and on Sunday she was a drooling machine. I had my first blast of terror that something was wrong with her, but she did perk up for good game of chase with a giant German Shephard.

Photos of the wonderdog soon to come.

Today when she gave me the "I'm not going in the crate, ohh no, I'm going to run and lie down in my bed, see what a good dog I am??" behavior, I gave her a treat and shut my bedroom door with her inside. She did a bit of flipping out (standing on my bed, paws on the window). I went back inside after being gone for literally two minutes, and she did the same dance as she does when I free her from the crate. Makes me think that it's being alone, not being in the crate, that's making her spaz out. We'll see if the place is a shambles when I get home for our lunchtime walk. I want her to be safe and comfortable, if not happy to be alone.

Pooka is...

...scared of the vacuum cleaner! Not quite hide-under-the-bed scared, but definitely scared enough to get as far away as possible from it. Is it cruel to be very amused?

Surely there's more food around here somewhere...

Pooka is staring at me. It's a pitiful sight. Staring, sniffing around the couch cushions, whining a whistly little whine through her nose, and watching me eat every morsel of a bran muffin. Sniffing the bag. Licking her chops. Geez, kid, it's not as if I'm starving you. The bag says four cups MAX per day, and that's what you're getting. Plus treats for sitting down nicely. Plus treats for coming back to me at the dog park. Plus treats for exploring the crate. Plus treats for ... you get the idea. And yet.

I'm trying to explain to her why we go in the crate, on the advice of a coworker/angel. "You see, Pooka, you need to go in here for a few hours because I have to go to work to earn the money that keeps us in squeaky toys and dog food. I will be back in 5 hours for a walk. I will not leave you in here forever. I promise." Yesterday she seemed to get it.

Tired Pooka

I win!

I took Pooka to Magnussen dog park yesterday to play with Oona's Olli (so far, the best match for P.'s endless desire to run and run and run). The highlight reel includes a moment where Pooka was trying to get the attention of this big Rottweiler who was chasing rocks his owner was throwing into the lake. Rottie would take off running into the water, swim/wade back, and wait for owner to repeat. Pooka would wait in ankle-deep water for him to come back and then try to entice him to play. When it became clear Rottie was only interested in the rock game, Pooka made it more fun for herself by hiding behind a big rock and waiting for Rottie to return, then pouncing. Very sneaky!

My reward for all the time outside this weekend: one tired dog. I had to rouse her from the dog bed this morning at 6 for our first walk of the day. There's hope.

Sit!

Pooka is doing very well with "Sit!"

This could be because both of us know it's the only thing I know to ask her to do, so we're getting lots of practice and treats for our one trick. She saw me whip out the cell phone and ducked a little, as if to say, you and I both know that's not a treat, so stop screwing around and fork it over.

We walked around Green Lake this morning. Pooka really wants to be let go to chase squirrels up trees, and I really want her to not want that. Clearly neither of us is going to get our way. I try a combination of calm breathing, thinking, "this is the essence of dog, and I love dog, so I love my lunging, distracted dog" and a few stern "leave it" commands. But we're still very into squirrels.

Week in Review

It's been a week now since Pooka arrived at Hazard Flats. We've both got a lot of work to do still, but I think we're getting the hang of it. I'm not going to stress about the fact that she walks a few feet in front of me, even though Cesar Millan thinks this is sending her the wrong signal about who's boss. We'll figure that out later. I'm also not going to worry that she's not pooping on purpose to avoid going home, because she seems to do it early in our walks and there's no reason for this particular neurosis to be manfesting, but I'm very poop-aware after the great crate break-out incident.

The coolest part of this is that I'm starting to really like her, and to be very proud of her. All the other doggie mamas think Pooka is adorable, and after my initial lukewarm feelings (at best) about having a wild animal snuffling ahead of me on the leash, I'm starting to agree.

This morning she was kind enough to wait until 7am to wake me to go out. GOOD DOG. I forgot we were out of food (BAD JESSICA), so after a long walk I stuck her in the crate while I got some grocery shopping done. Note to self, Ballard Market has a crap pet food selection. One bowl of overpriced Newman's Own dog food later, Pooka was anxiously pacing around the house. She didn't stop as I did dishes, put laundry away, gathered recycling and trash, so we went in and out a few times. She kept up the whimpering and pacing even after I settled down on the couch, but then I brought out the dog bed and put it in its living room position, and Miss Pooka immediately cured up and settled down without a peep. GOOD DOG. I'm going to read the paper and maybe take a nap, then gear up for a dog park session in the driving rain. That REI rain gear I bought this spring is proving invaluable. GOOD JESSICA.

Scandalous!

Just back from the vet. Pooka did great, and the doc passed her with flying colors. She leaves dog lovers swooning in her wake.

However, Doc raised an eyebrow when I told him the shelter said Pooka is two. Apparently her teeth look younger, so he's guessing she's closer to a year old. Not that it makes much of a difference at this point, but it does help explain why she's got so much play-time energy. We're going to try to track down whether her almost-adopters had her vaccinated for rabies when they went to the vet a few weeks ago, and will be anxiously awaiting the results of her fecal parasite test.

Doc also assured me that I'm doing no harm by sticking her in the crate during the day.

Scrubs

I forgot to mention two things. One: Pooka may not be the best leash-walker ever (the harness is helping her not drag me around the block, but she still wanders right in front of where I'm walking and trips me not infrequently), but she's an excellent jogging companion. As soon as the pace picks up, she's right beside me trotting along. Too bad I'm not in better shape, because I think she could go for quite a ways.

And two: We went to the dog wash last night. It's a lot like going to a do-it-yourself car wash. For $17, I get an apron and a tub station. Pooka goes up the steps and (reluctantly) hops down into the tub. I try to cram soggy treats in her mouth while hosing her down and scrubbing her with delicious lavendar-mint shampoo and conditioner. We toweled off, hopped in the car and went home. Voila! Good-smelling dog who seems to have tolerated (though clearly not enjoyed) the experience. Is it worth $17? This time, yes, since I didn't know how she'd react to all that spraying, and we could be as messy and shake-shake-shake as we wanted.

Crate hater

Pooka did an excellent job of not spazzing out pre-walk this morning...and very calmly chilled in her bed while I got ready for work. I'm not sure whether her stress level is down because mine is, or vice versa, but I think we're both feeling a bit more stable.

Yesterday I tried filling a Kong with delicious venison and giving it to her in the crate. She took a few swipes and seemed to like it, but when I put her in the crate with it, she just sat down and gave me the bummed-out stare. I thought she'd resume licking when she realized I wasn't coming back in the door...but no. When I came home and let her out, she did what I'm coming to learn is the out-of-my-crate dance -- dash out, jump up on me a few times, shake shake shake all her parts, paw at her head, lie down, repeat -- and then grabbed the Kong and began licking. Um, hello? Why are we waiting for me to watch before we lick the Kong?

I left her with another one today, we'll see what happens. We've got our first vet appointment at noon, for which I have prepared a nice little baggy of poo.

A brief history

Just for the record: Pooka arrived in my life a few weeks ago, but another family was already signed up to adopt her. I didn't get too attached, but when I heard they returned her to the Humane Society because she was "horrible" about chasing and cornering their cat, I rushed to the rescue. Meant to be! Or something.

She cleared the landlord-test (B and C adored her) and was ready to come home with me last Friday night...until I was stricken with food poisoning. Needless to say, Saturday and Sunday were a grim blur of anxiety and exhaustion and dread. What is this wild animal in my living room, this snorty, sniffing thing?

Highlights: Pooka runs fast. She loves meeting new dogs. She plays a little rough with her big-dog peers, but mostly just sniffs and backs away from those little furball yippers she meets around town. She broke out of her crate once because she really, really, really needed to go to the bathroom, poor thing, but otherwise is very well-behaved. She does not sit on the couch. She likes chewing on smoked meaty bones and, I kid you not, bull penises. She doesn't really get "fetch," but the squeaky tennis ball is really, really interesting.

So, what exactly is a Pooka?

I wish I knew.

The shelter tells me she is 56 pounds, two years old, and part Rhodesian Ridgeback.