Let me start by saying that George isn’t a bad boy. He can just be challenging sometimes, like a teenager going through a rebellious, not quite “I-hate-you” but “I’ll-show-you!” stage.

He’s a real smarty pants, and a real smarty. So smart that when Danny’s mom said she wanted to trim George’s eyebrows and pulled out a waste bin, George walked right up to it and stuck his head over the rim so he’d be ready for her to start snipping. So smart that he understand the concept of “other.” So smart that he has started eating tissues out of our trashcans when he’s bored or mad at us.

Oh, wait, that last one doesn’t sound so smart? No, it doesn’t. Especially when you consider that we’ve resorted to sprinkling dried cayenne pepper in our trashcans to keep him out. But he’s just pulled off the top layer of cayenne-laced tissues and chowed down on what’s underneath.

This is George, in all his scruffy, needs-a-bath-and-a-trim glory. (Note to self: Grooming appointment is tomorrow at 10:30; do not forget).
He’s not just “George,” though. As a byproduct of Danny’s sister’s college degree (French language and literature), and since he was an impulse buy (he melted her heart right through the pet shop window as she attempted to mind her own business), he came home with the much more distinguished name of Georges-Pierre Yang. As I always tell people, since he’s a (huge) miniature schnauzer, he is a German-French-Korean-American dog. And yes, he speaks a little Korean and a lot of English, but no French or German.

And he’s a little stinker who’s really been pushing the boundaries lately — running off  in neighbors’ yards when I let him out the other night, sneaking into rooms that he knows are off limits (and leaving behind evidence: Scratch marks in the carpet, where he “digs” to make his “bed” more “comfortable”). First I was just annoyed with him. He’s too smart to think these things are a good idea! He’s also the most kindhearted animal I’ve ever known: He gets upset and tries to comfort people when they cry, and spends an awful lot of time with his head resting on my leg. So where was this new boundaries-pushing coming from?

When I started thinking about all the reasons children act out, I realized George wasn’t any different, really, from a needy toddler. So I gave myself an epic “F” for actually addressing the source of George’s problem. I knew he was bored, what with me spending long days at the computer and him looking longingly out the front door as other, luckier dogs took mid-day walks with their families. And George’s personality is sanguine through and through — he needs company, he needs affirmation, he needs to be a social butterfly. So George and I have a new morning plan now, and it looks a little something like this:
See that toy, which George is not holding in his mouth? It’s his favorite. He’s not holding it because we just played with it until he was too tired to fetch anymore, until he was too mentally worn out to play keep-away any longer, and until he didn’t even want any more belly rubs.

The new plan is dog first, work second: Give George more attention than he actually wants, then, when he’s ready to be left alone on the rug by the front door, I can get to work without listening to him whine, without worrying what mischief he’s up to, and without feeling guilty for making him feel alone when I’m only ten feet away. Then we’ll do it all over again later in the day.

And the truth is, I think I need these play date breaks with the dog as much as he does. Minus the belly rubs.

~ Laura