The It Girl, Next Door

It's a girl.  

Chewie -- or Chewy -- or Chewi -- or Chuey -- or Chui... (I'll sponsor a Spell Phil's Dog's Name contest, later...)

I am sitting in my hotel 'suite'... with a panting, beautiful chocolate brown labradoodle at my feet.  She's the youngest pup in our class of a dozen -- youngest, funniest, wildest, sweetest -- like a standup comedian, hard charging mommy with career, and Olympic hopeful rolled into one.  She's trained -- they all are -- but a little ... how do you say... rambunctious, maybe rough around the edges -- the Poodle intellect is apparent, but not as much as the happy go lucky lab-ness.  

She is beautiful, and sweet, and I'm pretty much in love with her.  (It's something in the air...)

This morning, our first full day, we had first aid class and some other do's and don't basics.  I was exhausted -- up late, up early -- and sat with caffeine in hand for the full three hours.  Walked to walgreens on our 90 minute lunch break... this is ruralamerica, wal-martville -- not a walkey place, but i managed, sweating all the while, walking on grass medians, since sidewalks aren't to be found.  

It was my last hour of freedom before we met our dogs.

The conference room of the hotel is small, usually configured like a classroom, with four rows of about eight chairs, snacks along the counter in back, and a dvd player and TV on a cart up front.  But we moved all of the chairs into a circle, and formed the most communal of shapes. Headmaster Michele (and the trainers -- which include two of her teen daughters) was speaking softly, talking in soothing tones, as the trainers started to bring the dogs into the room, one by one.  Kids' dogs first, adults' dogs last, each at a time.

The trainer would walk the dog to the center of the circle (which was small -- say, 25 feet across)... and introduce the kid, to the dog -- kids wide-eyed next to mom and dad, parents snapping pics, everyone aglow, dogs In Vest, On Leash, quiet, sweet, submissive in the trainers' hands -- and then, in those of the kids.  

Josh, Michele would say... This is Fido.  He's a 2 year old lab, he's pretty laid back as you can see, but he's ahead of most of the dogs when it comes to alerting, and is very quiet, waiting for commands.

Denise, meet Toto.  She's 2 1/2, a shepherd mix, who's not the smartest of the dogs in your class but may in fact be the most loyal.  She's a pack leader, kind of like you.  I know you ride horses, and she likes horses too.  She also likes mud.

On and on it went.  Cameras were passed back and forth to get shots at different angles... everyone amazed, two dogs in the room, then four or five, kids finished, and the adults' dogs started to get walked in -- six dogs, eight, ten: once the introduction was made, the dog was put in a Down, Stay at the feet of the new owner (or new owner's mommy or daddy).  They allo seemed tired, nervous -- like all of us.

The 20- and 30-somethings congregate, as ever, in one corner, and I offered to take a shot of Gwen, a gorgeous brown lab, said to be quiet, but alpha, who's placed with a 20ish woman from Denver who's never owned a dog before.  Gwen was not posing well for my photograph -- she was staring at her new mom, and looking about; finally she gazed my way, I snapped and put the camera down, and felt something on my leg.

It was a furry face, soothing brown, deep and rich... with a little bit of light copper in the whiskers.   Brown pupiled eyes, sweet as a koala's, wanting, waiting -- saucer huge even if squinty, but wide open.  Soft wavy hair.  Slowly wagging tail.  

'Phil,' they said, 'This is Chewie.  She's a chocolate labradoodle, just a year old -- she's the youngest dog in the class, y'all, by a long shot.  She's a puppy, but she's bright, and thinks everything's a game.  She's extremely affectionate -- you're gonna have to watch that, so she focuses on alerting you -- but it'll be fun.  She plays games.  And she loves rocks and sticks."

The rock and stick lover was looking at me.  I patted her head.  I wished I had a stick in my pocket.  I scanned the edge of the room (really) for a piece of quartz or granite. 

None to be found.  So:  "Chewie," I said.  "Chewie!  Hello.  You're very pretty.  A very pretty lady."  

She sat and opened her mouth, and scrunched and rescrucnhed and re arranged and re re re arranged her snout on my leg, her nose in my belly, her eyes on mine. 

"Put her in a down stay!" said a trainer.

"Down," I whispered.  "Down, Chewie!"  And I moved my hand down, like a magician might at a kids show, waist to floor.  

She went down.  "Good girl!  Stay!"

I petted, and petted, for the next hour.  Chewbacita wriggled a bit.  (She's named after the Star Wars character; when her hair's shaggy, the kids think she looks like Harrison Ford's best bud from '77).  I patted.  She licked and looked, wriggled and seemed to be smiling a bit.

Michele talked to us, pooch stuff, as a dozen dogs lay at our feet, being petted, some scoochin around, an occasional position shift, but most of them good, sweet, clearly trained, unproblematic.  Two alpha girls growled once.  A trainer shouted.  They shut up.  

Over time, Chewy (Chuey?  Chui?  Chewey?) was indeed a bit exciteable -- she looked at each dog, looked at everyone, and got in trouble for some butt sniffin' (when the dogs are In Vest, they aren't supposed to butt sniff).... but she also was utterly cuddly, affectionate, wanting to be petted, putting her head almost into my hands.  She kept trying to scuttle another inch closer to me on this hotel conference room carpeted floor, closer, closer, scooch, scooch, over and over again.  She was sweet as all getup, and kind of looked like two dogs I well know: my parents Portuguese Water Dog, and my dear friends part porty part.. something else.  Each of them girls, sweet eyed, snuggly, but with a rambunctious streak.  

Chewie looks a bit like Laney and Rose.

I kept saying hello.  Using the word, "hello."  And roughling her head, like Santa does a 5 year old's.

Eventually, we all had to parade the dogs around in a circle, in front of the class -- heel, sit, stay, break.  My dog -- the puppiest of them all, though the prettiest girl, the It girl of this class, if only because as I very timidly -- for me -- walked, with apparent shyness (or nerves), in this everwatched circle, Chewie looked like she was in a Revlon commercial from 1976: she pranced, head high, tongue wagging, flipping what would be the dog equivalent of Charlie's Angels hair hither and fro, knowing she was seen, playing the part of the pooch class girl next door.

But: 

"Rough around the edges, arentya Chewie?" shouted the head trainer.  Chewie stopped and looked at her, then at me.  

"Heel," I said, and she just leaned.  "Come on!" I said, and she came on.

"You're gonna have some work to do Phil.  She's like one of those smart, flirty 5 year olds, who shimmies her shoulders like she's 15...."

I have some work to do.

She's at my feet now, after a hard outside, Off Vest, Off Leash romp, and a good hour of fetch. Girl Next Door is in my room.  Again.

I mean, Finally.