Joel, Shmoggleberry, & Fluffy

Apparently, dogs are only comfortable when they know their place in the pack hierarchy. Apparently this was why we had so much trouble with Fluffy when we first got her, me in particular. The reason being is that I've always been a cat person. Sure, I like dogs, but I've always been around cats and have learnt to give them the respect (and adoration) they demand. When Fluffy turned up, I treated her like a cat, which apparently in dog terms, means I was treating her like the "top dog". No wonder she was impossible.

As much as we found it difficult, us humans had to re-establish the pecking order around Fluffy. I was quite prepared to let Joel be the "big dog" as although logically I can see *why* I need to dominate the Fluffbucket, I'm still finding all that kitty brainwashing and training difficult to break out of. Joel hasn't been around Shmogg for so long so the kitty-conditioning didn't have such a toe-hold.

Ok, so we've gone through the basics of doggy domination. Fluffy is never allowed to be higher up than us, Fluffy must wait until we've "eaten our share" of her food, she gets yelled at if she's out of line and occasionally if she's getting over excited, Joel will actually pin her down and nip her on the neck. As far as we knew, we had got the pecking order right: Joel as Top Dog, me as 2nd-In-Charge, and Fluffy as bottom dog. Shmogg was left out of the pecking order as because as we all know, cats are far above all this domination and pack dynamic malarkey. Once the order was established, Fluffy settled down a lot, and has even started learning basic voice commands.

But things were not to go according to plan. We had forgotten Shmogg. Never forget or ignore a cat, you'll regret it, especially one with as much chutzpah as Shmogg. If I was wondering what that evil gleam in Shmogg's eyes were, I have now found out.

After I came out of the shower this morning, I found Fluffy gnawing on a raw potato that she had pilfered from the pantry. In her own way, she was reminding me that the last rawhide chew toy had been digested and that I'd better find something that I'd deem acceptable for her to chew on before another part of the house became victim to her ever-gaping maw. The only thing left was a huge rawhide bone that her grandmother (my mother)had given her for Christmas. After I gave it to her, she ran right out of the backdoor to bury it.

I object to her burying such expensive items, particularly when she tends to bring them back in the house three months later all muddy and decaying. No, the bone was staying in the house to serve as sacrificial protection for the furniture. She could find something else to chew outside. I tempted her back inside with a cheery call of "Fluffy!"

About half an hour later, we had to leave, so Fluffy needed to go outside. She still had the bone and was destroying it with relish. Bone stays inside, Fluffy goes outside. Simple really, but Fluffy liked her bone. She liked it *a lot*. I spent a while chasing her, grabbing on to the bone, and telling her to "let go!" in the most commanding voice I could muster. Its not easy trying to catch a dodging and swerving animated clump of determination, but I tried. After no success, the Big Dog (Joel) tried. He the rank (or so we thought) as Top Dog to demand the bone, and he also has the strength to crash-tackle Fluffy and pin her down if necessary . But by this time she had figured out that the Leader of The Pack wanted the bone, and was doing her darndest to stop either of us taking it away from her.

To the Leader of The Pack the bone was delivered, dropped gently in front of Shmoggleberry, while Fluffy waited impatiently, tail wagging nineteen to the dozen for His Majesty's approval. Shmogg, in typical kitty fashion, took one look at the slobbery bit of rawhide, and proceeded to wash his unmentionables without a second thought. You could see the disappointed look on Fluffy's face when The Master ignored her once again, and she came back to the 2nd-In-Charge and 2nd-from-bottom (me) for approval instead.

What we had done, in doggy terms at least, was to make Shmogg boss. Shmogg is allowed on top of the chairs - higher than either of us; Fluff isn't. Shmogg demands food, and gets it, while Fluffy has to wait quietly for hers. Shmogg does whatever he wants without reprimand, Fluffy gets yelled at for being naughty. Shmogg, in Fluffy's eyes, goes to the toilet inside on the floor, while we don't leave a urine scent in the house. Shmogg even bites us if *we* misbehave (Ask David S!). Dammit, although I am joking when I refer to Shmogg as "He Who Must Be Obeyed" and "His Highness", Fluffy has watched Joel and I's behaviour long enough to work out who *really* runs the house. While I've been calling her stupid and slow, she's made a very insightful observation and has acted according to her own doggy logic.

[sigh]

How on earth am I going to convince Fluffy that she should think Joel and I are the top bananas, and more to the point, who is going to break the news to Shmogg? We've been outdone again, and we set the trap up for ourselves. Bastard cat. [Sorry, sir]. His Royal Highness, Bastard Cat.

Copyright © Vicky Chapman
January 29, 2000