The Engineer believes in letting a dog be a dog, but because I wanted to occasionally take Phoebe outside the house, I (strongly) suggested we take her to doggie school. The first week of an 8-week class, the teacher said she’d always wanted a Corgi, and by the second week of class, she had one named Callie. Callie and Phoebe became fast, dear friends at first meeting. We’d walk in the front door, Phoebe would spot Callie, Callie would spot Phoebe, and the two would run towards each other with great, huge excitement. They’d begin to enthusiastically wrestle play in the center of the classroom, occasionally sitting back to catch their breath, and they didn’t stop until class was over. The Engineer and I just watched the other dogs perform their homework and learn next week’s lesson.
Long about week five, we entered the building and, as usual, Phoebe and Callie raced towards each other and began playing in the center of the circle. When they sat back to take a breathing break, Phoebe looked around at her other classmates, saw them sitting with their nose about seven inches from a treat (It was “wait for it” week.), and thought to herself, “Well, if you don’t want it, I do” then ran around the circle snatching every single treat from every single dog.
It took a whole lot of apples to get her socially promoted.