May You Get What You Wish For

And other curses.

I spent two years trying to tame the wildness out of Emma, or at least turn down the volume so we could move through a day without steamrolling toddlers, knocking off stranger’s glasses, and inciting wild dog riots at the beach.

I cried, I raged, I threatened to send her back to the 60 acre ranch in Utah from whence she came. But I’m stubborn and I have a hard time accepting the sunk cost fallacy. And so we kept her and I kept working on molding her to be the dog
I wanted, every day, all day.

For training treats, Emma got fresh Atlantic salmon fillets, steak tips, soft scrambled eggs, aged cheddar, french yogurt and rotisserie chicken. She ate much better than any of the humans in the family, and still, those delicacies only worked about 70% of the time. And they didn’t work at all at the dog beach. Emma would run in the other direction while a circle of other people’s dogs sat hopefully at our feet, showing us their best “sit.”

When we had her annual check up at the vet, they told us that she was getting too chunky. Come to think of it, she was starting to resemble a bread loaf with legs. She had lost her sleek, streamlined build. They suggested we switch out food for toys.

Emma didn’t like toys, so I spent a small fortune on imported dog toys made by Swedish dog trainers specializing in reactive dogs. Emma now has a collection of tugs made from organic sheepskin, Canadian raccoon tails, a beaver fur crinkle toy and a chaser made from wild Swedish badger, among others.

Then there were the weekly two hour round trips to agility classes in the mountains with a world-champion instructor and virtual classes with a certified dog trainer in Maine.

Somewhere in the middle of this never-ending slog of training, Emma calmed down. I woke up one morning, shortly after she turned two, and realized that I had a biddable, obedient and almost sedate adult dog. I was devastated.

“I think I broke her spirit,” I told my husband, sadly watching her ignore the overtures of a shaggy Great Pyrenees puppy at the beach. In the past, she would have started a game of tag or a wrestling match in the sand. Now, she just wandered over to sit at my side.

My long suffering spouse, who has watched the disposable family income slowly get spent down on fox fur bungee tugs and training classes, did not see the problem.

“She just grew up,” he said. “Well, that and all your training,” he hastened to add. “I thought that was what you wanted?”

Yes and no. The curse of getting what you want is a sneaky curse indeed. I missed what we had.

We have a new puppy now. She is much calmer than Emma ever was and laughably easy to train. She will do anything for a piece of kibble. And sometimes, if the mood strikes her, we get a glimpse of the old Emma as she chases the puppy in a wild game of tag, crashing into furniture and bouncing off the walls.