Drake is the most changeable dog I've ever known. It's kind of exhausting, actually. I can't always tell what the day is going to be like. No, scratch that. From day to day, or hour to hour, I definitely can't tell. I can tell what's likely to be the case, but there are these wild cards.
Take this morning as an example. He was sleepy when I got him out of the crate, so we sat for a while. I took notes on a book; he snuggled. It was this idealistic picture.
After a while, I needed to work on the computer, so I did. I slowly got up and left him curled on the down comforter that's on the office floor for him. I typed for a while, and then he started making little hrmm sounds, his "I want to go out" noise.
So I decided to take him out for a nice long walk.
He didn't want to go. He stopped every few feet. He wasn't smelling—that I understand. He was standing in the middle of the road, legs locked, stubborn. But about what? I tried turning around. He was just as resistant to going another way, and to going home. He didn't want to walk and he didn't want to go home. I ended up pulling him home a step at a time and very mad at him.
We played for a while once we were home—I threw the ball for him in the back yard—and then he got tired of that. I threw one tennis ball. He watched it sail by. I threw another. He stood still. I threw a third. He looked bored. So I went inside—and he chased after me, seemingly upset that I was leaving him.
He didn't want to walk. He didn't want to play. What the heck did he want? No clue. After a while of near barking (little yips, growls, etc.), he went back to sleep.
Later, we went for a long walk. He was still stopping and resisting some of the time, but less so.
After that, he was a love muffin, snuggling and licking me, sitting on my lap, coming when called.
I haven't got a clue.
Greg
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