As the proud parents of two Welsh Corgi puppies, my husband and I have been struggling recently on how to handle the older one, Rascal. Over the past few weeks, we both have been trying extremely hard to let Rascal know that he is not the Alpha in our household. We thought that we were making headway.
Rascal will sit and wait until we say “OK” for him to eat his food now. He sits and allows me to enter a room first (most of the time), and he no longer gets into the bathroom trash. (OK, so we bought a new trash can with a foot pedal, so it’s impossible for him to be able to open up the trash can now). Seriously though, he has been behaving better. Until this morning…
My husband has perfected making homemade flour tortillas. (We both love them, and the store-bought ones in Ohio are no comparison to the homemade ones we’ve had in Texas). It’s our Sunday routine that after I come home from a class in the morning, my husband makes us “Breakfast Biscuits” for lunch. They usually comprise of leftover challah rolls from Shabbat, eggs, cheese and seasoning. Sometimes he mixes up the flavors by adding salsa or syrup, but the important thing to note is that they are always delicious and filling.
Going back to the homemade tortillas, my husband wanted to make the “Breakfast Biscuit” by using his homemade tortillas today. After cooking them, he let the dogs (Rascal and Bandit) out and went to sit down in the TV room and wait for me to come home.
After a couple of minutes, he got up and went to the bathroom. Then it happened. He told me, he heard a noise that sounded like a puppy’s feet jumping back down onto the floor, and some greedy gulping. He finished his business, and by the time my husband went back into the kitchen the flour tortillas were no longer on the counter…They were hanging out of Rascal’s mouth.
“Bad dog!” Immediately, Rascal started growling, and off to his crate he went.
I was brought up to speed as I walked into the house this morning. I walked in smelling the homemade tortillas from outside. “OK, I’m ready for my breakfast biscuit,” I said to my husband.
“Go ask your dog about the breakfast biscuits.” He said. (Which on a side note, I would just like to point out that Rascal is “my dog” whenever he does something bad.)
I sighed. Just when I thought I was getting through to Rascal, and he goes and does this. Am I forever doomed to have the problem puppy? How am I ever going to raise a child properly if I can’t even get my dog to behave? Suggestions??
