What my brother's dog taught me

My brother Michael asked me to look after his two year old Staffordshire Terrier, Rosie, while he and his family were away for a few days.

He was desperate. I knew it. And no doubt Rosie knew it too.

Clearly every other person he knew was 'busy'.

Unfortunately, not all of us have the Steve Irwin way with animals.

My brother had considered taking Rosie on the trip but they had mixed results with her training. The last I heard, my 12 year old niece was curled up in the dog cage trying to show Rosie how it's done. Rosie was standing outside the cage with a big grin on her face.

Rosie, you see, is one of those special dogs. The ones who come with a hefty price tag, a family tree which would rival any European royal and expectations of a certain way of life.

When I arrived, Rosie was beyond thrilled. Click on image to enlarge.

Not unsurprisingly she bounced back to her usual sparkling self just as my brother reversed out of the driveway. His parting words were, "If she starts playing up, just use a deep voice that sounds like me and say, No, Rosie." Easy. If you're him with a deep voice, that is.

Maybe she read my mind and didn't like my train of thought. I was picturing her in something a little more feminine, possibly a pink or white collar to break up that all black look. Maybe even a strategic frill placed somewhere or other.
By the end of the first night, she was showing me who was top dog. And it wasn't me. She had me cornered and was baring her teeth in a menacing way and barking loudly. I ended up standing on a lounge chair with a cushion in one hand (oh, get over yourself you Dog Whisperers, I was under the threat of attack) and a big bag of treats in the other. Telling her "No, No, No", in my high pitched, squeakiest voice.

All those meticulous Rosie Rules my sister in law had typed out and put on the fridge were totally forgotten. She ate what she wanted when she wanted, slept when she wanted, had her mates over at all hours of the day and night and wandered round the house in all the Rosie free zones.

By the end of the week, Rosie had chewed my favourite pair of shoes, eaten two weeks of treats, destroyed most of the new vegetable garden, tastefully decorated the backyard in chewed up newspaper and toilet tissue, trashed her kennel and looked exhausted. I, on the other hand, had methodically worked my way through my brother's bar and was wearing ear muffs.

We managed to clean ourselves up just in time to greet the happy family on their return.

"How did it go?" my brother asked as he hugged Rosie.

I looked at Rosie, she looked at me. Her stare said it all. Spill your guts and I'll tell them you drank your way through most of their wine collection.
"We had a fabulous time, didn't we Rosie?" I cooed. "She's such a good girl".

My brother remarked on Rosie's expanded waistline.

"Well", I said slowly, "Do you remember years ago when you were on a university break and I asked you to look after your niece (she was 2 as well) because her babysitter was ill and I was desperate? Do you also remember how you fed her lots of ice cream to keep her happy (despite my rules about no animal products) and by the end of the fortnight she was morphing into a baby sumo wrestler?"

"Yes", he laughed, "I needed to keep her happy because I was using her to pick up girls on the beach. Girls would come up and tell me how cute she was and....."

"Great", I said. "Why didn't I think of that? Well Rosie, I'll see you later. The pleasure's been all yours. If we ever get to do it again, I am taking you for walks down Millionaires Row....perhaps someone interesting will think you're cute too."

Rosie taught me that I need to practice saying No more often and meaning it. If my brother asks me to dogsit Rosie again, I will say NO, Michael, in a deep voice, just like him. Better still, I will send him this post and let him see what we really got up to. I am sure he won't ask me again. It's a good job he has a sense of humor as well as a fancy dog.