Deviously Deceptive Dogs

When I was a teenager, my dream job wasn’t to be an astronaut and explore far away galaxies, to become the president of my country, or even to be a multi millionaire. My dream was to become a dog trainer. I would get starry eyed over the talented canine actors in shows like White Fang or the Airbud movie series. I wanted to be the person that trained the next great furry star on television. And so, I did what every young person aspiring for a dream job must do, I threw my heart and soul into learning as much as I could and practicing my craft.

My test subjects were a brother and sister pair of Golden Retrievers. They were rescues, found roaming the streets of Miami Florida at merely three months old. My family decided to adopt one dog, I talked them into fostering the second, and the rest is history. At the ripe young age of thirteen, I had two excitable, energetic puppies as eager to learn as I was to teach, and together we were a match made in heaven.

Bailey, the girl dog, was a food-obsessed trick addict. She craved learning and would bother me every afternoon until I conducted the daily training session. Bailey devoured the knowledge as quickly as she devoured the training rewards. She learned to sit, stay, shake a paw, bark on command, balance on her hind legs, and play dead. She also knew how to indicate items with her paw when I prompted her with a cue word, and knew the name of each and every toy in her possession. She could jump over makeshift obstacles, jump through hoops, and even weave around mini traffic cones. Each and every day, she focused on her training sessions like the classic teacher’s pet.

On the other hand, Bailey’s brother, Bodie, was an expert at playing dumb for the entire training session and then impersinnating Baily at the very last moment to receive the same treat reward. Like my own brother, he was an expert at doing things the lazy way and putting the bare minimum effort forward to achieve results. He was a “C’s get degrees” kind of dog, but you had to love him for it. His goofy lopsided grin with his tongue halfway out of his mouth made it impossible to do anything but love him. Besies, despite his carefree attitude and lack of effort, he still knew just about every trick that his sister knew, even if he didn’t always show it.

Still, there were some tricks that I just couldn’t figure out how to teach. One particular challenge was the limping trick. In action movies, there’s that classic scene where a dog breaks through a window or tackles a bad guy and then is seen limping afterwards. The limping trick involves considerable balance on the dog’s part, as they have to do a three-legged hop while keeping one paw suspended. To teach it, you first have to teach the dog how to stand with one paw in the air- not too challenging if the dog already knows the “shake” command. The challenging part, however, involves teaching the dog to walk with the paw still suspended. I tried for weeks, but the most I could do was get Bailey to take a single step forward with her paw in the air before she set it down again. Bodie would seldom even attempt the trick.

I had just about given up the trick when Bodie and Bailey were roughhousing together one day and Bodie sprained his paw. Taking advantage of the bad situation, every time Bodie walked with his hurt paw in the air, I marked the movement with the phrase “limp” to train the word association. Of course, I didn’t make the poor pup walk on his hurt paw much. I tried to restrict him and keep him inside more often so he wouldn’t further stress the injury. I checked his leg daily, rubbing my fingers up and down the leg to gauge his reaction and make sure the pain wasn’t too bad. I brought him things, like his toys and bones, as often as I could to keep him from having to get up and put weight on his paw. But despite all the tender love and care, Bodie’s paw didn’t seem to get any better.

A full week passed, and finally, my family started talking about taking Bodie in for an X-Ray. We worried that he might have broken a bone, or tore a ligament, or something. He limped constantly around the house, never putting any weight on his bad paw. Even when he was outside playing with Bailey, he’d only wander through the grass, holding up his paw in one air the entire time. It was heartbreaking to watch.

Just before our phone call to schedule the vet appointment, I had the dogs outside in the backyard. I watched them carefully as Bailey ran after her ball and Bodie limped along after her, tail wagging but paw still raised high in the air. He wasn’t putting any weight at all on his paw, so I knew it must be really hurting him. I was just thankful he wasn’t trying to walk on his bad leg and making the problem worse. After some time outside, I told the dogs to stay and I stepped into the house really fast for a fresh glass of water. When I stepped back outside, the dogs didn’t hear me. They were way off at the edge of the yard, playing to their heart's content.

To my surprise, I saw Bodie run full speed after his sister and tackle her to the ground. He wasn’t limping even to the slightest degree. Rather, it seemed like his leg was perfectly functional. I couldn’t believe my eyes. A whole flurry of emotions swelled up inside of me at once. At first, there was worry. I was terrified my precious boy had overexerted himself and got caught up in the moment and would reinjure his paw. Then, there was doubt. I began to wonder if perhaps I had misinterpreted the extent of his injury this whole time.

I shouted his name. He skidded to a stop when he saw me. His big brown eyes caught my gaze, then raised his front paw and started limping across the yard towards me. That was when my surprise and worry were replaced with furry. He was limping on the wrong paw!

“Bodacious!” I shouted at him, using his full name as all angry mothers do when addressing bad children. “You’re a rotten liar!” His tongue fell out of the left of his mouth in that irresistibly cute manner of his. I wasn’t having it. I turned and stormed back into the house, still fuming with the knowledge that I, the aspiring dog trainer, had been completely and utterly tricked by my own pooch. Lesson learned: when you spend too long training your dogs, eventually, they’ll start training you right back.