“That’s nothing! Wait till I tell you what MY dog did!”
Whenever dog owners start trading tales, chances are the stars of the stories will be canines whose actions are demonic, devilish, naughty, clever, cunning or insidiously smart.
Bad dogs make the best stories. ‘Bad’ isn’t the best choice of word though it may fit some of the time. So let’s just settle for ‘unique’ or ‘out of the ordinary.’ Imperfection can be endearing. Nobody wants to hear tales of that gentle canine who slumbers peacefully by the fireplace, always comes when called, never gets dirty and only barks when absolutely necessary. Booooring. But the naughty dogs, well that’s another story. In fact many, many stories.
Brit, one of my early Beardies, frequently turned up in my columns, articles and anecdotes. He was definitely worth writing (or talking) about. His actions were worthy of a whole book. Known as the Hairy Houdini, he was celebrated for his ability to escape from any crate ever made.
Not that he destroyed them. No, he just figured out how they worked and then came up with a way to outsmart them. First was the metal wire crate that latched by virtue of a metal rod slipping through a couple of loops on the door. A piece of cake! Brit just leaned on the side of the crate until it turned over, thereby releasing any pressure on the rod which he just nosed up till it cleared the loops. Freedom! Then he moved into a Vari Kennel, two fiberglass halves held together around the middle with 10 screws. It didn’t take him long to deduce that prolonged bouncing would eventually loosen the screws. When three or more dropped off, he pushed through the opening. As the crates became more complex, Brit became more adept at deciphering how to defeat them. The funny part was, once free, he never took off but instead came looking for me to show me his latest victory. I think he was bragging.
I also never managed to construct a pen which could contain him. The last one resembled maximum security at San Quentin. The base was heavy wire covered with sand and gravel. The six-foot high chain link fencing was cemented into the concrete blocks that encircled the perimeter. It was topped by sheets of heavy wire attached to the poles that ran across the top and ultimately to the kennel building. Could he possibly escape? What do you think? I recall my son informing me, “Mom, Brit’s running around on the roof!” Again?
Brit wasn’t the only one with smarts. Be careful what you teach a bright Beardie. I had the habit of peeling off my gloves or mittens and then forgetting where I left them. So I taught Ti, a particularly savvy brown girl, to find them and bring them to me in return for a reward. It wasn’t long before the mittens were disappearing even when I knew where I had left them. Ti was stashing them away and holding them for ransom until I came up with her treat.
Bounce, another of the Beardie brainiacs, fancied herself as the grand dame of the household. But one day I exiled her to a pen outdoors. She was not a happy camper. When she started vocal complaints, I checked and noticed blood in the pen. Clawing at the chain link in protest, she had managed to rip out a toenail. So naturally she came back in the house where she limped while putting on a pitiful expression. The limp (plus the sad expression) went on for days and then weeks, even though the paw had healed nicely. One day, I let her out with the gang. Glancing out a window, I saw her running around at warp speed, merrily bouncing with the others. No limp. I opened the door and she skidded to a stop, replaced the happy grin with the familiar pitiful look and started limping toward me. “You fraud” I shouted at her. “You’re limping on the wrong paw!” She had the decency to look embarrassed before changing the limp to the right paw before creeping into the house in disgrace.
Some folks claim show dogs don’t know or care if they win or lose. Brit did. While he took his victories in stride, his reaction to defeat was something to behold. As soon as he exited the ring gate, he’d fling himself down on the ground, cover his eyes with his paws and roll over on his back, looking positively miserable. I half expected him to break into tears. The other half of my thoughts tossed around the idea that spectators would think I beat him if he lost. No way! Fortunately, he won most of the time, saving me from embarrassment.
I could go on and on. After more than 50+ years with Beardies, the stories are endless. But you get the idea. So if your dog does something unbelievable or even diabolical, don’t get mad or frustrated. Just tuck the incident away in your memory, or write it down if your memory is as fickle as mine. That way you can haul it out the next time your friends start recounting their dogs’ antics. Then you too can say, “Wait till I tell you what MY dog did!.”
— Alice Bixler, Bearded Collie Club of America, alice@bedlamkennels.com.
