If you don’t know the back story, read this to catch up on how my dog has gone crazy for a lovely yet overpriced baby teething toy. I’ll wait…ok are you back? Good. Moving on.
Things have not improved on the Sophie front. I marked baby’s Sophie with her initial on the bottom of one of the hooves. I washed both Sophies thoroughly, thinking somehow this would obscure whatever lust-worthy scent the new Sophie was giving off that intoxicated him so much. Doing this didn’t fool him. Not at all. I held them both behind my back, mixed them up (in case he knows right from left?) and then presented them to him. He went straight to new Sophie. Seriously. Maybe he can hear them talking in a Toy Story kind of way? I don’t know. I can’t explain it.
But he has to learn. I know he can, it only takes conditioning, right? Pavlov had a dog that was good at that. But Falcor is a special kind of dog, and I have a feeling had Pavlov had Falcor as his subject we wouldn’t even know the name of that particular scientist. This boy is determined. Really serious about new Sophie. Really not responding to positive reinforcement. Really annoying.
Example: I put the baby in her bouncy chair in the bathroom so I could shower. She gnawed happily on Sophie while I did the mom-version of a shower (which includes skipping the soaping of non-essential body parts and singing aloud every thing you are doing ♫ Mom is wa-wa-washing her hair, working up a lathery-loo, making it clean clean cleany, rinsing it out, give me two more minutes so I can shave my legs up to my kneeeeeeeeees ♫) and I pulled back the shower door in a peek-a-boo fashion every so often to smile at her and assess her meltdown status. When I finished the shower and opened the door for the last time, there sat baby in her bouncy chair, Sophie nowhere to be seen. The dog, the thief, had taken it right from her hands (completely literally) and she hadn’t made a peep, bless her heart.
I stormed into the bedroom calling his name. Nothing. Looked under the bed, his go-to hiding spot when feeling guilty. Not there. I turned around and saw him in the closet. No Sophie. “Falcor, where is Sophie?” I asked, on some level truly expecting him to answer. I called him over to me, and when he stood up it was revealed that he had been sitting on her. Hiding her. Or incubating her. Either way, really weird.
You might wonder, and Dave suggested, why I don’t just wash old Sophie thoroughly, give Falcor new Sophie, and present the unsuspecting and very easily pleased baby with the giraffe that is undesirable to the dog. At first I decided against that on PRINCIPLE. You dog. Me master. All that dominance stuff. But you and I both know that’s not the kind of show that’s being run here, so eventually I gave in and washed the old Sophie, gave her to baby and handed new Sophie over to my first
Predictably, he was happy with that for a short time before simply wanting the Sophie that was off limits. A forbidden fruit kind of thing, I’m sure.
The good news is that we are at a bit of a stalemate. He wants the Sophie, both of her. If he has one and baby has one, he sits with his under him and stares at hers. Baby LOVES the Sophie and finds it entertaining that Falcor sits at her feet, sometimes even licking her toes, while she chomps on Sohpies head. And when she loses interest he is there to sweep her away. And we wash whichever poor Sophie was discarded and hand it to baby, ensuring that she will always have the cleanest Sohpie of any child in town. And round and round we go.