Read Finally Home-Lessons on Life from a Free-Spirited Dog for Free Online

ho se times were definitely trying. Not really a firm believer in hitting our dogs, our methods of punishment were to give him a “time-out” session in his crate. He grew to recognize the irate tone in our voices so well that if he thought he was in trouble, he would just take the liberty of punishing himself.
    He would walk into his crate, glare back at us as if we had some nerve , and occasionally growl at us in what he thought was a threatening way. The amusing thing was that his growl only made us laugh because we knew he was completely incapable of hurting a fly. He had tried to appear mean and vicious by displaying all of his pearly whites as he peeled back his jowls, but we knew better. He wasn’t hurting anyone.
    W hen he growled , we would kiss his nose or stick our hands in his mouth just to show him he wasn’t fooling anyone though I don’t recommend doing this to any dog. He knew we weren’t afraid of him one bit. And we knew he was not afraid of us at all. The latter did not exactly work in our favor.
    Yelling at him did not faze him . He was never scared of us. In his ongoing quest to steal, he would systematically search for whatever item would get him the most attention. He grabbed whatever he could and instead of hiding the fact that he stole something, he would come find us with his tail wagging out of control and recite what became his trademark stealing bark.
    Each time he stole something, he sounded this musical bark alerting us that it was playtime. The more you chased him, the more he would bark , and the faster his tail would wag. It was very difficult to become angry with him while he was clearly having so much fun.
    There were times, though, when we grew tired of his actions— for instance wh en he steal reports for work that we ha d been diligently working on for hours. He felt that it was good to at least drool on them, or if he was really devoted to giving us a good time, rip them to shreds.
    His thievery became such a common routine that we would wait to hear him lugging something up the stairs every morning without fail. One day, it would be a sneaker, another day a shoebox; the next day it would be the sound of him dropping heavy work boots down the stairs, running down to grab it , and try ing once more to carry it up. If he finally made it up the stairs, he would jump into bed with us and greet us by dropping the dirty boot on our heads. Getting knocked in the head with a heavy boot was not really a great way to wake up .
    He was always up to something and kept us on our toes. One of the funniest memories I have of his puppyhood took place o ne morning . I awoke to Buddy standing on the floor by the base of the bed with his tail wagging at one hundred m iles per hour. As soon as he realized I was awake, his tail moved even faster , like wiper blades on full blast . I could only imagine what this dog had in his possession t hat would make him this happy. I was a little worried.
    As I rose from my peaceful sleep, I patiently awaited the harmonious bark. I could immediately tell if whatever he had was a treasured item from the speed of his tail and the intensity of his bark. This particular bark was about as loud as it gets and his tail could not wag any faster.
    As I braced my self for what I was about to discover , t here at the base of the bed was Buddy. And there in his mouth was my brand new bra. The straps were stuck between his two front paws as if he was trying to wear it, and apparently, he could not figure out a way to get it off.
    If anyone has ever doubted that a dog laughs, trust me. Without a shadow of a doubt, I am positive that they do. I can guarantee this dog found this entire episode to be the funniest thing he had ever experienced up to that point. I chose not to help him since he was so amused ; he was loving life and his tail was still wagging away.
    I sat and watched for a while, enjoying his determination, but a fter a few minutes, I had to get up and wrestle with