The juniper bends

Yesterday's behaviour explained:
A now empty bag of what was once a considerable amount of marshmallows (left conspicuously on the counter by the alternately "one and only" and "dime a dozen" Julia) was found in her crate this morning. That kind of sugar rush will compel you to eat pretty much anything, I'm sure.

I am making an Eska play-list of songs that we sing on our walks together. So far, I have only four tracks:
1) "Cinder and Smoke" by Iron and Wine; the street "Juniper" bends up from Calvert.
2) "This Little Bird" by Marianne Faithfull, tastefully covered by Jewel (and her mom); I am trying to get Eska to *like* (read: stop chasing) birds.
3) "La casetta in Canada" by Gino Latilla ; sung exclusively when walking down Abell and surrounded, on either side, by row upon row of brightly coloured, happily decorated houses, fully equipped with requisite lawn furniture and patio acoutrements.
4) The Eska Song - Symphony for Sled Dogs: original composition and Viennese waltz. I'll whistle it for you upon request.

Brian sings The Ting Tings' "That's not my name" to Eska every time I call her Sarah Jones or anything else that is no near-derivative of her name. I might add it to the list for good measure.

I have been searching for a song about squirrels that might help me snap her habit of chasing them, too, but so far, have turned up nothing adequate.

Eska usually walks nicely, but every few days or so, she feels the burning need to disobey me at every opportunity. It's not her fault, really. The problem with Eska is not actually a problem with Eska; she and I were simply both bred (or are genetically wired) to lead the pack. She walks in front of me, as if to pull me on a sleigh. I correct her, and she stands indifferent. She lets me have my way for a stretch no longer than ten minutes, then attempts to take the helm again.

Short memory? Absolutely not.

It takes one to know one.

If she were not so beautiful in her defiance, it might be much easier for me to discipline her.

My singing makes an ever-so-slight difference (on most days), but a difference nonetheless.

Instalment A(SPCA)

Eska is a 1.5 year old Husky/ Border Collie/ German Shepherd with separation anxiety and a weak stomach. Fun times all around. I've had her for three weeks, and every day, she has taught me something new about her digestive system, my neighbour's lawn, the ethics of socialising people and animals, or how to get urine out of carpets. I have decided to share these experiences with other dog owners, that they might take courage from my failures in the world of disciplinary-dog action, and that they might always remember that It Could Be Worse.

Today:
Eska got into a tube of Cortaid (hydrocortisone cream). I called the ASPCA pet poison control line, who charged me 60$ to tell me that she would likely suffer from oily diarrhea and excessive thirst and urine for the next few days.

Fucking bitch.

She's lucky it's nothing more serious.