One Dog’s Crimes Against Humanity

Our new dog, Lili, has driven us to the edge of insanity.

She is incorrigible. She picks up any loose article in the house and trots about with it clenched in her jaws. She defies us to get it away from her. She prances, tossing her head; she runs up close to my wife, then darts away when my wife makes a grab for her.

When she leaves the carpet and runs over the hardwood floor, she tends to skid, sometimes crashing into the wall. But these accidents do not dislodge the contraband items.

My wife is not given to profanity. Her grammar is perfect. But when Lili trots into the living room with a new object, she will scream “Goddammit, Lili!” and begin a futile chase.

There is something uncanny about Lili’s choice of objects. She started out with shoes, slippers, socks and undergarments. Whatever she picks up she soon chews to pieces. The other day she got my robe. Nothing is sacred.

Then she discovered my library. She chews up books. Most recently she chewed up a paperback called “There Are No Bad Dogs.” My wife had bought it at the supermarket, evidently hoping to learn something about canine behavior.

Next Lili selected a hardcover book called “The Greatest Man Who Ever Lived.” It was a life of Jesus Christ, evidently given to me by someone who hoped it would lead me on the path of righteousness. I didn’t mind its loss as much as I did that of Theodore Bernstein’s book on obsolete grammar rules, “Miss Thistlebottom’s Hobgoblins.”

Lili’s worst crime, however, was getting hold of the remote control of our living room television set. My wife’s cry of “Goddammit, Lily” came too late. She destroyed the object. We could operate the TV only by tedious hand controls. The guys at the Good Guys! told us we probably couldn’t replace our old remote. It was obsolete. So as a result of that depredation, we had to buy a new TV, which cost more than $900.

Realizing we had to take some positive action, my wife engaged the services of a young woman who had been recommended to her as a dog trainer. She would make a preliminary appraisal of our dog’s behavior and give us a lesson in controlling her. Her fee was $150.

The woman arrived with a six-foot leash, which she immediately attached to Lili’s collar. Then she walked her about, keeping her on the leash. From time to time the woman would give the dog a tidbit from a paper sack. She said it was sausage.

The woman said not to say “no” to the dog, but “uh-uh.” I couldn’t see why “uh-uh” would be better than “No!” but we tried it. The trainer has a Western European accent--I didn’t know whether it was German, Dutch or Scandinavian. In any case, I couldn’t duplicate it, which is probably the reason I still can’t get Lili to drop anything she is chewing.

The trainer put a slice of ham on the kitchen floor and paraded the leashed dog past it. When Lili made a move toward the ham, she said, “uh-uh,” and yanked on the leash. After a while, Lili didn’t make any more passes at the ham.

This has never worked for me. I don’t know whether it’s because I can’t say uh-uh with the proper accent or because I lack some other skill. The trainer told my wife to buy some objects that the dog could chew with impunity. She came home from the pet store with what looked like the head of a mop and a plastic ball with a hole that could be stuffed with food.

Lili went for the mop head at once. In her usual style, she came trotting into the living room with it clenched in her teeth, and as usual shook it at my wife, daring her to snatch it. My wife ignored her and finally the dog dropped the object and went in search of something more provocative.

A few minutes later my wife screamed “Goddammit, Lili!” and I heard her pounding after the dog over the hardwood hallway, both of them skidding. This time the dog had a book named “Walking in L.A.,” a book I’d forgotten I had.

The trainer left the leash with us, and now my wife uses it to lead the dog around the house, taking care to jerk her away from desirable objects.

Meanwhile Lili is teaching our old dog, Susie, her bad habits.

The two of them team up to dig in the yard, making piles of dirt and destroying my wife’s gardens.

I don’t know what to say to her but “Goddammit, Lili!”

* Jack Smith’s column is published Mondays.