Looking Down the Road

On Wednesday, Parker will be 11 weeks old. When things are really tough (and those times are getting fewer and fewer...except for the damn biting), I keep thinking that in a week or so, he'll be 12 weeks. Somehow, that is a magic number.

We got Ripken at 12 weeks, and, as often happens with the passage of time, Ripken's training and general upbringing was an idyll of human-dog interaction. The reality is most likely far from idyllic, but that is how it is reminisced about. Even with a puppy journal that proves to me that even after a month of training, he was still destroying pillows and chewing an occasional hat, I still turn a blind eye to the truth and imagine that once Parker gets through this week and half of the next, he will somehow reach a point of puppy maturity that will make him easily led and instantly certain of his role in any training exercise.

This will happen, right? When we are done doing our outside business at 5 am and the rain is pouring down, he will instantaneously follow me back into the house instead of plopping down in the wet grass to chew on a mouthful of maple tree helicopters. When we have just had a refreshing drink of water, we won't immediately jump into Ripken's face to bite him, begin wrestling with him, and, within seconds, vomit up all of our water on the dining room floor. When we are out walking, we won't stop to pick up every stick, leaf, acorn shell, piece of trash, grass stem, food wrapper, soda bottle, bird dropping, etc. When it's time to nap, we won't jump up behind me while I make dinner and try to bite the back of my knees. These are simply the small miracles that I expect to happen in less than ten days.

I also know, in a year or two, I will look back longingly on these days, and remember how easy it was to train our brilliant little Parker. Ah, time--the healer.