This is a guest post! Written by Nick, it is the tale of Frankie's January transformation via domination and is from my point of view.
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So I was having a lot of trouble with this tiny dog after we moved to our most recent apartment, but then after a month of working on him, he seemed to get used to our new home and decided that he didn't need to protect me from raccoons creeping out of storm grates or sneaky shadows that he himself cast. IT WAS SUCH A RELIEF!!! We were running every day together and snuggling before sleep every night and the world was truly wonderful.
Then we went on vacation.
The vacation itself was great and even though we had to fly to get there, Frankie didn't mind all that much, especially when he met his new best small dog friend Riley.
He was very well behaved and was nice to (most of) the new people he met. But for this poor dog, 2 weeks of vacation is a significant portion of his life thus far, and he really had no idea that we were going back to Boulder.
I've always admired a dog's ability to just accept life in such a zen-like way, neither preparing for the future nor dwelling on the past, but as soon as we returned to our apartment in Boulder, Frankie said "fuck that zen bullshit!" and proceeded to transform into dog-Satan. He forgot completely that he had lived in this very apartment just 2 weeks prior, and that all the territory that he'd so tirelessly staked out with the help of his tiny dog kidneys— he forgot that it was once his kingdom. The infamous bridge that I'd so patiently let him warm up to again became a treacherous plank of doom and once when I let him off his leash to run with me, he sprinted directly back to our home despite my repeated wails of frustration. When I finally caught up to him back at our place, he looked up at me and immediately realized his mistake, promptly laying down on his belly, his eyes huge and looking pitifully into mine. I know this tactic well and I was still almost tricked by him, but my rage gave me the edge and I forced him to go on that goddamn walk!
He also got suddenly and inexplicably protective of me, barking menacingly at other walkers and even biting one woman on the ankle. He definitely thought he was doing me a solid, being my guardian and all, but it became clear that despite my ability to lift him up with one hand and carry him like a football, it never occurred to him that he might be tiny. This regression made me realize that Frankie had some real psychological damage and I just didn't know if I could deal with him and stay sane myself!
My partner, as an afterthought at the end of one of my rants about my 10 pound demon, suggested I talk to his aunt the dog-trainer. Maybe she'd have some advice. She did. In one 15 minute phone call she changed my life from domination by Frankie to something completely different. Instead of letting him call the shots and allowing him to take his time getting used to the bridge, she said, just try dominating him. If he misbehaves, just jerk the leash, let him know who's boss.
It totally worked! Turns out that Frankie was just waiting for me to start dominating him. A switch flipped and I became his protector and every scrap of fear and misplaced protection-duty that he'd harbored disappeared immediately. He became the happiest tiny dog to roam the earth! He is now completely confident to strut about his kingdom once again, his pee dribbling on trees and toddlers' toys alike. I think this only goes to prove that, as my partner says, every relationship needs a dominant woman in charge.
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So I was having a lot of trouble with this tiny dog after we moved to our most recent apartment, but then after a month of working on him, he seemed to get used to our new home and decided that he didn't need to protect me from raccoons creeping out of storm grates or sneaky shadows that he himself cast. IT WAS SUCH A RELIEF!!! We were running every day together and snuggling before sleep every night and the world was truly wonderful.
Then we went on vacation.
The vacation itself was great and even though we had to fly to get there, Frankie didn't mind all that much, especially when he met his new best small dog friend Riley.
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| Frankie & Riley sleeping next to Nick. |
He was very well behaved and was nice to (most of) the new people he met. But for this poor dog, 2 weeks of vacation is a significant portion of his life thus far, and he really had no idea that we were going back to Boulder.
I've always admired a dog's ability to just accept life in such a zen-like way, neither preparing for the future nor dwelling on the past, but as soon as we returned to our apartment in Boulder, Frankie said "fuck that zen bullshit!" and proceeded to transform into dog-Satan. He forgot completely that he had lived in this very apartment just 2 weeks prior, and that all the territory that he'd so tirelessly staked out with the help of his tiny dog kidneys— he forgot that it was once his kingdom. The infamous bridge that I'd so patiently let him warm up to again became a treacherous plank of doom and once when I let him off his leash to run with me, he sprinted directly back to our home despite my repeated wails of frustration. When I finally caught up to him back at our place, he looked up at me and immediately realized his mistake, promptly laying down on his belly, his eyes huge and looking pitifully into mine. I know this tactic well and I was still almost tricked by him, but my rage gave me the edge and I forced him to go on that goddamn walk!
He also got suddenly and inexplicably protective of me, barking menacingly at other walkers and even biting one woman on the ankle. He definitely thought he was doing me a solid, being my guardian and all, but it became clear that despite my ability to lift him up with one hand and carry him like a football, it never occurred to him that he might be tiny. This regression made me realize that Frankie had some real psychological damage and I just didn't know if I could deal with him and stay sane myself!
My partner, as an afterthought at the end of one of my rants about my 10 pound demon, suggested I talk to his aunt the dog-trainer. Maybe she'd have some advice. She did. In one 15 minute phone call she changed my life from domination by Frankie to something completely different. Instead of letting him call the shots and allowing him to take his time getting used to the bridge, she said, just try dominating him. If he misbehaves, just jerk the leash, let him know who's boss.
It totally worked! Turns out that Frankie was just waiting for me to start dominating him. A switch flipped and I became his protector and every scrap of fear and misplaced protection-duty that he'd harbored disappeared immediately. He became the happiest tiny dog to roam the earth! He is now completely confident to strut about his kingdom once again, his pee dribbling on trees and toddlers' toys alike. I think this only goes to prove that, as my partner says, every relationship needs a dominant woman in charge.
