What’s black and white and everywhere all over the place? It’s Yogi, the Canine of Chaos!
A lot of dogs bark—at other dogs, at people going by outside—but Yogi only barks when you quit paying attention to him. It sometimes takes my parents nearly three hours to watch a movie due to all the pauses to get the pooch calmed down. (The only exception is IU basketball; Mom tells Yogi he can bark all he wants, but she’s not taking him out until halftime.)
Yogi has severe separation anxiety and has to be held back when someone is leaving because he always wants to go with them. Mom has been known to lock the door to the garage, sneak out the porch, and go around to the front in order to escape to run errands. It’s weird because he’s two, which means about age 14 in people years, so you’d think he’d be at the stage of wanting to separate from his parents.
He scratches at closed doors when his people are on the other side, which means no peace in the bathroom for my parents. The best stories come from when Mom has been in the garage—in a desperate attempt to open the door by flailing at it, Yogi has flipped the deadbolt, locking Mom out. Not sure a dog can understand the irony of this situation. (Current score is Yogi four; Mom, zero.)
Since Yogi is such a social dog, they try to take him out in public to get him more socialized, with the hopes that this will make him less needy at home. That, or he needs to learn the command “Stop being a maniac.” So if you see any of us wrestling with a black and white goldendoodle at the farmer’s market, come over and say Hello.
Yogi might not be able to entertain himself but he does play well with others. He is a favorite at doggie day care, as well as with the neighborhood children and pets. His best friend is Lilly, who is about ten. (Dad likes to point out that Yogi must be into older women.)
I had the idea of trying to hook up some kind of generator to the perpetual motion machine that is Yogi’s tail. Then they could use that to power the water heater or something. Or, give him a canine-sized hamster wheel which might help to wear him out so he doesn’t have as much energy left to get into mischief.
It’s hilarious to listen to Mom try to reason with Yogi. I try to point out that it didn’t work with us kids, and our communication skills were more developed. I think a tap on the nose with a flyswatter would get his attention, but the most aggressive Mom will get is to smack him on the butt. Then he thinks she’s playing with him, so you can see how the stage is set for miscommunication.
But there is some structure in Yogi’s life—his bedtime ritual. He has this weird green thing that looks like an alien tadpole which Mom can stuff with treats, then seal it up with peanut butter. (Interesting to note that Yogi gets all natural peanut butter that has to be refrigerated yet Dad gets generic stuff that can sit on the shelf.)
Accordingly, Yogi looks forward to going into his cage at night, especially since Dad got him a huge new one that isn’t really that much smaller than my last apartment in Bloomington. It reminds me of a canine condo. I think Yogi is transforming into a Yuppie Puppy.
