Friend of All Fleecies

Rowdy loves his Squeaker Bone. Though what golden retriever wouldn’t love a 24-inch fleecy femur filled with a 20-inch plastic noisemaker?

Be it a testament to his generally gentle nature or a demonstration of devotion to this particular toy he’s loved it for months, with no implementation of the search and destroy mission targeting the hidden squeaker that would be standard operating procedure for the Four Sticks Farm canines who came before.

He does enjoy the occasional display of dominance, in which he grabs the bone on one end and shakes it with great vigor until he knocks himself into the closest piece of furniture. But mostly he likes to carry it around the house, applying periodic pressure to confirm that the squeaker is still in proper working condition.

I bought the extra-large plaything as a training aid, to keep Rowdy and his teeth to themselves when company came in. For as many dogs as I’ve owned, loved and educated, I’ve never managed to convince any of them that a knock on the door does not, in fact, translate to “rush to the door leaping and barking ‘cuz obedience is for idiots”. But since Rowdy’s interpretation also included guiding the visitor into the house with a gentle grasp of the hand, I had to address the situation pronto.

The obvious “Stay” options, Sit/Stay, Down/Stay, OnYourBed/Stay, DeathGripOnTheCollar/Stay – proved ineffective, likely victims of handler error, handler frustration and handler fatigue. So, I channeled my mostly dormant inner dog trainer and came up with a strategy that plays to one of Rowdy’s greatest pleasures – carrying something in his mouth. If his mouth is otherwise occupied, he can neither bark nor grab, and when I saw the super-sized snuggle toy in the catalog, I decided to dive deep and spend ridiculously big dollars on a ridiculously big pet toy.

Money well spent. As a behavior modification, the big bone fills the bill. He still rushes to the entry at the slightest sign of People Entering but is now slowed by

1. the need to grab his greeting support object and
2. the balancing act involved in getting through doorways with the extra-wide load.

Upon arrival he happily presents his pride and joy to the incoming, but is not likely to drop it, lest he lose it – sharing is not a core value in Rowdy’s realm.

The Squeaker Bone became a constant companion. So much so that I ordered the smaller, more portable “Squeaker Man” as a travel companion because jumping into the truck while balancing and centering 24 inches of floppy fabric presents a logistical challenge more easily conquered with the 10-inch alternative.

He managed to silence the Squeaker Man without breaking its’ fleecy skin but even on permanent mute he loves it as much as the day the man in the big brown truck dropped it at our door.

The Squeaker Squad has now expanded to include the Squeaker Squirrel, a diminutive wooly rodent just about mouthful-size, and the Squeaker Monkey, a perfectly proportioned primate with appendages perfect for tossing. These most recent additions sport a color that doesn’t display the dirt collected during days of being soaked in dog saliva and dragged across the wood floors, a sizable selling point to the shepherd responsible for tending the flock and their living quarters.

Rowdy rarely enters a room without a fuzzy friend in tow, offering an up close and personal introduction to anyone else in the area, confident that everyone shares his affection for his beloved buddies. What’s not to like about a slobbered-up hunk of synthetic wool mashed into one’s lap?

He embraces every member of his fleecy fold with affectionate enthusiasm, and each has its own place in Rowdy’s world, no matter their individual idiosyncrasies. He chooses one to shake, squeeze, toss, tote or travel with no discrimination toward size, sound, shape or color.

But mostly he just hangs with them. He sets them on one of his many dog beds and lies behind them, ready to pick them up when the time is right, willing to wait quietly until then. A silent supportive friend, present but not pushing, in-touch but not intrusive.

Until someone knocks on the door.