Relative Something

It was just going to be a simple walk with our dog. I was barefoot, so I stepped into my clogs and off we went. Earlier in the day, Delilah had chewed two places on the web of her retractable leash, to within a few fibers of severing it entirely, so now we were using the straight leash that maintains constant contact. I think that inspired Cyndie to bring treats and a training clicker, to work on Delilah’s lessons for following commands.

Delilah is so strong, when she sets her sights on a goal, and is fixated on getting there, she can practically pull us off our feet. Most often, it is rabbits that command her strongest reaction, but she seems to also have a thing for flying creatures: moths, butterflies, and birds.

As soon as we got under way, I spotted a rabbit down the driveway, seated right on the edge of the pavement. I suggested to Cyndie that we choose the opposite direction. She reacted quickly to turn Delilah around and took the opportunity to engage her in some training exercises. When we got to the back yard, Lilah immediately spotted a bird hopping around on the ground, and Cyndie was put to work trying to hold on against the pull.

We picked a trail through the woods, and headed toward the paddocks, so I could show off the work I did earlier in the day, digging out the space where we will put one of our round pens for working with the horses. Cyndie had Lilah running some circles, as if she were a horse.

We made our way toward the end of the driveway, with Lilah chasing the occasional white moth, and decided to return on the freshly cut trail across from the hay-field. Delilah appeared to having a great time, maybe calming down a bit from all the exercise. After we turned the corner, I suggested we try getting her to respond to one of the commands. I got the clicker ready, and Cyndie was digging for a treat, when I glanced down the trail and spotted a skunk.

I hollered, “Skunk!”

Cyndie reported that Delilah was aware of it. I figured we’d have to fight her to get her to turn around with us. We turned to hustle back the way we had come. In the distance, I saw the white tail stand straight up.

All my momentum was headed south when Lilah, in her convenient effort to join us in retreat, stepped on the heel of my clog, giving me the equivalent of a “flat tire.” My body kept going, but my shoe stayed behind.

“Delilah stepped on my shoe!” I complained as I hopped around trying to reclaim it.

We burst into laughter over my predicament, Delilah’s hasty retreat, and the circus our simple walk had become.

I don’t know why, but for the remainder of the walk back to the house, Delilah wanted nothing to do with any command training.