Vodka and Ritalin Nights

Sometimes, I wish Rubi was human. Then she would understand me when I say, "Dammit, dog, if you don't sit down and shut-up, I'm never going to let you see the light of day again!" Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how badly I want her to understand something), Rubi's grasp of the English language is right up there with slugs and doctors. Instead, I end up muttering to myself about how liberal amounts of vodka and Ritalin would solve all our problems while our classmates stare at us and inch away.

Class last night went less than smoothly. In fact, it down right sucked. The worse point was when she had a full, loud, and vigorous tantrum in the middle of class. I pretty much could have killed her right there and not felt the slightest hint of remorse for at least a week. I mean, come on, dog! She hasn't done that in months! Tantrum aside, the whole night was peppered with examples of snot-headness and ADD. She heeled the way moons rotate around planets – only faster. She can heel. I've seen her do it - I even have video!

There are not words for how aggravating it is when your dog won't perform an exercise you know they can do. Rubi couldn't sit still for more than four seconds without pawing at me, nosing me, or flipping out at the other dogs. And don't even get me started on the right finishes. Nights like this I wish with my whole brain cell (because if there was more than one of them, I would have been smart enough to ditch this dog when I had the chance) that Rubi was a normal, problem-free dog. For just five seconds. Please.

See? It happens to me, too. I have days when I'd like to kill my dog. Our dogs are not perfect all the time, and neither are we. If I were perfect, I would not feel the need to throw a tantrum right alongside my dog because she won't behave. Once again, Rubi and I have hit a wall. It's frustrating, and it probably won't be the last time.

I am not some miracle dog trainer. Dogs do not magically listen to me; I have no fantastic talent that the rest of the population lacks. What sets me apart is only experience. We've been here before. Remember lobby dog? Rubi, for the most part, has really nice lobby manners now. We can walk past other dogs to get to the desk, I can take my focus off her for long enough to sign in, and we can chill in the lobby until class starts – all without looking too out of control. Well, except for when the one guy let his pit bull jump on Rubi's face last night. (People should have to pass an IQ test before being allowed to own pit bulls dogs children anything.) It really was a bad night.

But I know that this, too, shall pass. We made it through Changing Attitudes, we conquered lobby dog, and we'll climb this wall.

Pity party over. Back to work.