When I get ready to take out the trash or recycling, he comes running to the door, bouncing frantically to go outside. I just have to ask him, “Are you a Good Dog?” and he will sit right down at my feet and give me plaintive dog eyes until I open the door. Then he’ll stay close and not run off, even without a leash.
Dang, that puppy loves squirrels. Bones can spot a squirrel in the road a block away (and, if he’s on a leash, he’ll practically pull my arm off to chase after it). If he sees one when he’s trying to be a Good Dog, all bets are off. He takes off like a bullet and has to be called approximately ten thousand times before he accepts the fact that he can’t follow the squirrel up the tree and finally gives up.
Then he is a Good Dog again and follows me into the house happily, leaping over Jinx as he comes in. (The cats still attempt to escape every time the door opens.) He’ll stick with me until I settle down somewhere, and then he sinks down and cuddles up once again.
Yep, he’s a good one. I can tell.