When Oscar is laying, spread-eagle, on the couch I feel compelled to take his picture.  It’s one of the few times he’s not barking at me, stealing pillows, or counter surfing and I feel like a proud papa watching peace in action.  He appears so innocent.

It’s been 2 years now since I adopted him from Tender Care in Vancouver, WA and brought him to his forever home here in Portland.  I thought he was the most handsome dog I ever saw.  It’s a good thing because he’d be long gone otherwise.  One minute he’s sleeping peacefully on his back and the next he’s climbing into your lap trying to bite your knuckles off like your some great, big, hairless chew toy.  He flat out can drive you crazy.

We’ve taken him to not one but two rounds of training and both times he graduated with flying colors.  Becky, the trainer, said superlative things about him, like how lucky we were to find him, and that she wished she could take him home with her.  What she missed is the terrorizing of Grandma when the two of them were left alone and which left Grandma in tears and a tattered sweatshirt.  Which prompted a swift and definite relocation from home to doggie daycare.  So much for training.  What good is “sit” when he’s gnawing on your mother in-laws arm like it’s a rawhide?

At first, he seemingly thrived in daycare coming home at night with fur wet with dog slobber and completely worn out.  This was the perfect solution while Bon and I were at work.  At night, when his pack was all together again, he’d eat his dinner and sleep so soundly he’d whimper in his dreams until it was time for all of us to go to bed.  Only after about a year he seemed to get less and less interested in other dogs and preferred the companionship of the workers.  We decided to kennel him for a long weekend we spent with friends and we discovered he spent Saturday and Sunday snapping and growling and barking and scaring the hell out of some teenager newbie daycare worker so badly she probably is now thinking twice about going to Veterinary school.  Time to bring him home and to stay with Grandma during the work day.  We hoped the second time would work out.  It had to.

Oh, don’t get me wrong.  We all love Oscar.  He’s just the perfect companion, when he wants to be, and the Tasmanian Devil when he doesn’t.  We’ve gone through 4 leashes, 2 collars, countless stuffed animals and most of the furniture and all of the throw pillows bears his canine toothmarks.  As crazy as he can make us, this second time staying at home during the workday is working out OK.  At least, that’s what Grandma is saying.  If he’s still terrorizing her, she’s not saying anything except to admit Oscar is good company.  Generally, he is when he’s not bugging the shit out of you.

He is tall and skinny, so unlike our other labs Mabel and Hazel who were short, powerfully built females who loved to swim, Oscar is built like a runner.  Whenever we’ve had him off leash, he runs, and barks and is impossible to come back to you without high interest treats.  His sense of smell is beyond compare and his stare after birds in flight – even airplanes – tells me his real instincts are to chase flying objects.  The female dogs were more compassionate and independent than this boy.  They seldom looked interested in anything but getting in their naps on the couch. Not Oscar.  He is demanding activity 24 x 7.  His leap into your lap is a striking reminder to walk him or risk chasing him around the house until he finally drops your shoes, socks, sports bra, lunch, garlic bread, dish towel, insert item here.

In another year or so, he will like the others become the perfect dog.  I have no doubts.  It just takes an awful long time to get there.  It feels like dog years.  In the end, I know it will be all worth it.  There are just times you just want to scream or howl at the moon.

C’mon boy, I know you can do it.  Leave it!  Drop it!  Come!