If a person's lucky, at least once in their life he or she will own a dog that melds into your life in such a way that you can't imagine a life before the dog. A dog that will gambol ahead on long walks, but come back to check in periodically - nudging your hand with a wet nose as if to say "Hey, it's fun chasing squirrels; I wish you could join in".
When you find a dog like that, you willingly walk through the snow so that he can potty in his favorite spot. You envision buying a farm so that he can enjoy his old age lying in an apple orchard by a creek. You wake up every morning to him curled up at your feet, and you go to bed each night hearing the soft thump of his tail.
Barksdale's not that dog.
Barksdale's the dog that it took me 2 months to teach how to shake hands, but after 30 seconds, has the game "get the broom" seared into his head, turning every (rare) house-cleaning session into a battle of wills.
Barksdale's the dog that has cost us nearly $3000 in vets bills and broken leashes in the 7 months that we've owned him. He has eaten shoes. Books (his favorites are dog-training manuals). Sheets and towels. Disposable razor blades. Dog dishes. A cactus. The prickly kind.
Because we rescued him from Baltimore, and because I'm the kind of dork who will name a dog after an obscure cultural reference, we named him after a drug dealer on "The Wire", and he has lived up to that name in more ways than I can imagine. He uses his varied skills for evil, not good and his mere presence can clear the dog park of the neighborhood's more upstanding owners.
I live in constant fear that he will ultimately go down in a blaze of gunfire after charging one of the many cops patrolling the streets around our house.
Right now, we're working with a dog trainer, who is on the verge of referring us to a dog behaviorist. Who will no doubt in turn refer us to a hypnotist. Who will then probably gently suggest we buy an apple farm - with a creek - away from people, cars, and other distractions.
Believe it or not, he has come a long way in the 8 months that we've owned him. He no longer barks at plug-in air fresheners, nor does he freak out if someone walks by under an umbrella, ella, ella. He hasn't chased the homeless guy in our neighborhood in nearly 3 months, and he now sits, stays, shakes, "gets the hat", lies down, and comes - sometimes - when you call him.
Our training sessions are equal parts street theater and Dog Whisperer. He's afraid of loud noises, so I'll careen around the field by our house pushing an abandoned Home Depot shopping cart, laughing so that he thinks it's a game. He loves to feel as if he's pleased us, so I'll often fall to my knees in rapture if he performs the slightest task correctly. It's truly embarrassing.
Last night, Barks and I had one of our epic "who's the boss" moments, er.. 45 minutes. It ended with him DRAGGING me across the living room floor by the hoodie on my sweatshirt while I fought to keep the zipper from decapitating me.
And somehow I still think I won that one.
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