thoughtswhiledogparking

[thoughtswhiledogparking]

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[thoughtswhiledogparking]

Digging, in moderation

"It's like digging,” I say. My boyfriend and I are having one of our conversations on dog rearing. We have these conversations often.

“I say, let dogs dig for a minute and then redirect them and cover up the hole." It's my controlled destruction theory. I employed it while Raven was a puppy. Puppies are little angels that bring love and joy and happiness. Puppies are also destructo-monsters out for carnage and ruination. I learned this quickly, and started to set out things for Raven to tear up. A box of recycling. Old hangers. Torn up clothes that needed to be trashed. One day, she helped me shred a stack of old bank statements. It was satisfying for both of us.

My boyfriend shakes his head. "I think digging begets more digging."

I frown. When we picked up six week old Raven at the Chevron station off exit 85, I was unaware of how many joint decisions we’d be making over the next few years. Crate, or no crate? Positive reenforcement or choke chain? Raw food, or dry? Holistic vet or western?

”Not in my experience," I say. "Digging's natural for dogs. They need to dig.”

"They don't NEED to dig," he says.

We're talking about digging, but we're also talking about us, and our different approaches to life. I operate under the belief that my wants and needs are good, and that accommodating them is always the best, healthiest route. He, in many ways, is the opposite. Wants and needs should be questioned, and evaluated against your predetermined goals.

"You have to stop the digging before it starts," he says. "You can't let them get a taste of digging. They dig once, they're diggers for life."

He's half kidding, but I wonder, is he right? Raven is a responsible digger. Sure, she has dug her inappropriate hole or two. But mostly, she just digs reasonably sized holes for her bones. She drops them in, and covers them back up, one nose sweep of dirt at a time. One night, she got a tupperware of black beans from the counter and buried that whole. We figured we lost it somewhere, deep in the refrigerator. But, no. She unearthed it a week later, ears flat, wagging her tail.

I find those kinds of things charming, and in actuality, my boyfriend does too. I saved the dusty tupperware of beans to show him when he came home that night. He laughed. He didn’t always laugh at these kinds of things. It’s a new thing, me making him laugh.

So, I don’t forbid digging, and Raven keeps her digging responsible. Sometimes things go missing, but they usually come back around. Sometimes I cover her holes. Sometimes, my boyfriend laughs.