The Supreme Ruler of Dogdom

Something happened to my dog.
And it is good.

The Viking, as it turns out, is like some kind of Dog Whisperer. He concentrates really super hard, mind-melds with the dog, and then goes on to hypnotize the animal from inside the animal's own brain.
Once the dog is mesmerized with instructions to listen to its owner, aka me, the Viking resumes his human brain form and leaves the dog with a sense of peaceful rest and tranquility.

And the uncanny ability to listen to its owner.

What the hell, right?

She's not a bad dog, but she's still a puppy at nine months old. She's robo-smart. You know... she can jimmy the closet door anytime she wants to and chew up a shoe; she can also drive herself to the dog park but usually, I drive for her because I don't think my insurance policy covers doglets.

But there are a couple of things Rosie can't do.
Like sit still while I put on her leash.
Like not lose her mind while I am putting on my shoes.
And under no circumstances is she allowed to make out with my boyfriend. This sad fact makes her angry and bitter and to express those emotions, Rosie will get on my bed and vigorously dig into the blankets with all four feet.
She'll jump all over anyone who walks in the house, just to make sure that I'm not going to be making out with the new person at the door because - dude?
That happened one time?
And now?
Sarah doesn't pay as much attention to me.
And I'm the D-O-Double-G.

Yes Rosie, you do rule. You rule everything. You rule me, you rule the cats, and you rule the clouds in the sky and the bugs that sadly land in Maggie's Jaws of Death. You rule gas prices, tennis balls, and Interest Rates.

Sarah? HEY! Princess! Snap out of it. She's a DOG and I hereby am taking the initiative to show you about how to make sure she knows she's not only a dog, but the Beta, or SECOND in command, to your Alpha.
And here's how.

Actually, I don't know how he did it. One minute, I'm blow-drying my hair and the next minute, Rosie is patiently waiting for a command from On Viking High, like she's joined a freaking cult and her leader is a gonzo film-maker type who will someday tell her that it's okay to drink the Kool-Aid.
Or eggnog, which is a completely different story.

So I look over and my dog is literally sitting in front of the Viking, CONCENTRATING, and following every command that he gives to her. Without the usual jumping around between commands that I formerly attributed to “being a puppy” but that I now realize may have been attributable to “Sarah’s a big fat sucker.” He pointed to the left side, “Rosie over here.” She’d move over and sit down.
To the right, “Rosie over here.”
“Pant-pant,Iloveyou,what’snext,whatdoIdonext,OhMasterofmine! WHAT'SNEXT???????”
Viking? What did you do to my dog while I was in the shower? Not that I’m complaining, but what the hell is wrong with Rosie? Why is she acting all good and stuff? Where's the anixiety that I know and love in her, that I relate to so well? What have you done?

Well, it turns out that when I melded with her brain, she made it clear that on this Earthplane and in this planetary listing of experience, she doesn’t currently feel as though she’s part of the pack. She feels that she is a person and doesn’t realize her dogginess, except for when she’s chewing on a hoof.” (Side note: Hooves are GREAT at first, for chewing. They REEK in a few short days. Do not allow hooves into the house, and just trust me here.) She just needed to feel like she was part of the pack, not as a person, but as an actual dog. I’ve taken the control, therefore responsibility away from her, and she’s happier than I’ve ever seen her.”

I looked over at my doglet. She was staring off into a space, a little whisp of a smile just barely touching her doggy lips and a soft relaxing around her ears. She looked like she might just sink to the ground and daze off into a happy dogger dreamland. Her tail dreamily wiped the floor, swish-swish, slowly expressing her utter delight with 20 minutes of Viking rules.

“Now you have to keep your role as the Alpha.”

Well I yell at her a lot. Isn't it Alpha if you're louder than the dog? And bigger? I am TOTALLY bigger than she is. Clearly she would know I'm the Alpha. Right?

“How’s that assumption workin' out for you, Princess? You need to begin talking to yourself about being a leader –

Admittedly, I tuned out a little… BEGIN talking to myself? That’s funny. Who the hell does Viking Dog Dude Dork over there think he’s dealing with? Like I don’t already talk to myself.
In four languages.

“- and telling her that you are going to go first and check things out so that she doesn’t have to. You need to be telling her that you need her to be at your side, not on you so that you can jump into action efficiently, like a warrior priestess. You should be licking each piece of kibble that you put in her bowl and sending energy that says: I’m in charge. I provide. I am your Master.”
And then she’ll look at me like that? Like I am Sarah, the Supreme Ruler of Dogdom?
Rosie was so patiently waiting and staring at the Viking, still like he was the Mothership and his word was made of solid beef.
“No doubt about it.”

So, I’ve been talking to the dogger, in English, and sending energy down the leash and you know what?
She’s a different animal. All that puppy nervousness is gone goose. She’s happy to sit by my side, and never tries to sit on me. She doesn’t pull on her leash anymore. She looks at me for a command whenever something changes, like when I get home, or when I pick up my bag to leave.
She’s a good dog and she's so.... happy to have her place in life. Number Two.
All I have to do now is keep talking to her like she’s one of my Faithful, and we should be all good for a long time! Oh! And not EVER tell her that the cats will always be Numero Uno.

arizonasarah at 9:53 a.m.

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