Winning! Journalist Beats Dog in Poll

As of yesterday, voting was still open on l taking the pulse of the SC about which one of us our readers would prefer to have write this column: Me (professional journalist) or Heidi (professional dog).

Earlier this week I had stopped checking because Heidi was always in the lead, the way she likes to be on leash—but on Friday I checked in to see whether I had lost my job to a dog, and wonder of wonders, I had pulled ahead of the animal! 

The stats: Out of 61 votes, I had 35 (57%) and Shepherd Girl had 26 (42%).  So unless a large and unruly band of Cockapoos staged an 11th hour write-in campaign for one of their own on Friday night, I’m still top dog.

Game on, Puppycakes.

Still, Heidi has been winning in another area this week: the battle for who gets to be the Alpha Dog while my husband .  He is on a business trip to Namibia and Tanzania for his travel company, .  While Alan is hanging out with cheetahs at , I am keeping company with an overbearing dog who has decided she is large and in charge despite her poor showing at the voting booth.

Heidi’s first trainer, Ron Hutchison, trained our family pack this way: Alan, who was supposed to be the one most responsible for taking care of the dog (wish I had that on tape) would be the Alpha, and I would be the Beta.  Heidi would rank a distant third.  Being a wily shepherd, it has been a constant battle to get her to respect our authority.  

However, when Alan is out of town, the girl is completely out of control.

It started the Sunday morning after Alan left. On weekdays, Heidi is in charge of going out the front door to fetch either The New York Times or the Los Angeles Times, her choice.  Usually she picks the LA Times – not sure if she prefers the scent, or the easier crossword puzzle. I carry in the other one.  On Sunday, however, I usually bring in both papers, since both are big and slippery due to all the advertising supplements.  On this Sunday, however, Heidi wrestled the New York Times out of my hands and dragged all those ads for Christmas sales at Bergdorf’s into the house herself.

From there, we immediately launched into Unruly Leash Behavior.   Oooh, what’s over here?  If you want to go this way, I’ll go that way, it’ll be like playing tug of war!  Let’s see if there’s a mouse under this ivy, scuffle in these leaves and splash through that nasty, greasy puddle, la-la la.   Hey, maybe I could upset owners of small dogs by lunging and barking while bouncing up and down my leash. Sniffing poop is fun. And how about dragging Diane into the middle of a group of pigeons to make them all fly away? Hours of fun for the whole family!

Like many species of animals, the dog is taking advantage of the wounded member of the pack: due to an ankle injury (partial tear of the left posterior tibial tendon, very fancy), I am walking the dog wearing a sneaker on one foot and a soft cast up to the knee in on the other.  Any false move and I’ll tip right over. Heidi knows she has the advantage; I’ll go where she wants rather than risk slipping on all the palm fronds and seedpods littering the streets since the windstorm.  Gee, look at all those fabulous post-Thanksgiving sales going on right now; if Alan were here to walk the dog, I could be out shopping for shoes.   I mean, shoe.

The rest of it is just Heidi being Heidi, only more so.  The timing of the plaintive brown eyes and chin on my knee at 4 p.m., hoping for a work break to go to the park, has apparently been moved up to 2 p.m. until Daylight Savings Time is reinstated. She parks herself in front of the door to the garage so I can’t slip out without our discussing the advantages of taking her along for the ride.

 And even though the dog has the option of having an entire side of a king-sized bed to herself for the duration of Alan’s trip, why do I wake up clinging to the edge with a blissful Heidi stretched out crosswise on her back, snoring in my ear, and two very large paws in my face?

Anyway, as soon as Alan gets home, we are putting a stop to this Alpha behavior. No more theatrical whining and sulking when I’m busy writing, which she was doing up until a few minutes ago when she decided to lie on her back with her feet in the air to get my attention, which actually is pretty cute.

In fact, if she starts behaving herself, maybe I’ll even let her write the column again once in awhile—although, in case I forgot to mention it, I happen to beating her fluffy tail off in the popularity poll.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: Just in case you didn't get your paws on it, we left the door open . . . )