“Do you trust me?”
“I trust you.”
Sorry folks, this is not Titanic and I am not planning on recreating that famous flying scene with my chihuahua, Smidge.
I’m doing something much worse. I’m waffling about teaching Smidge, a rescue dog and a known combatant to other creatures, to go outside in our backyard without a leash on.
This seems… simple. A no-brainer, if you will. I mean, I have my own backyard.
But there are two caveats that make this task exciting, in addition to Smidge herself. The first is that I share a backyard. I live in a house that neatly nestles the next one, and while many houses have these tiny, rectangle yards, the neighbor to my left and I split a huge backyard instead. We both have dogs, so why build some mega fence down the middle and cut the real estate in half? I opted to keep it open. From that decision, Smidge eventually made a new friend with the neighbor’s doggo.
The second part is that we have yard services that need entry to mow the grass and tend to shrubs and things. So they come in through a side entryway that is… unfenced. Yes, the downside of my big ol’ yard is that it’s only ¾ of the way fenced.
I have dutifully leashed Smidge every time we go out to ensure my little scamp doesn’t decide to walk herself. She routinely checks out the unfenced area, sniffing the local flora, attempting to pee on the nearest HVAC unit, and eventually she checks the mail all the way out front… at our neighbor’s mailbox.
Ideally, we’d just fence that unfenced portion and bam, big backyard AND a fully fenced yard. But since that part isn’t on my property, I can’t just chuck a fence up there.
And then there’s Smidge herself. If Smidgey was a normal furbaby who liked other dogs and people immediately and did not need a lengthy application and multi-day waiting period to make her acquaintances, this fence thing would be, in fact, nothing.
But at the risk of her chasing something, or wandering too far and then chasing something, I’ll only take her out when it’s all clear and broad daylight, with her leash in one hand and a squeaky toy in the other, and we stroll through the yard with me glued to her tail.
I give commands, she follows them; I redirect her with a simple *squeak squeak* from the toy; rewards are abundant when she comes back inside. She’s actually pretty okay at this so far.
But since I would be devasted if she ran off, or if something unusual and catastrophic happened, maybe I’ll just keep being a helicopter dog mom.
But unlike Rose, I will probably never really let Smidge go.
