JUST kriskibbee FRENCHIES

TULLYS BULLY TAILS

As of late its come to my attention that Tully and I disagree upon what qualifies as acceptable behavior. And by no means is this a minor discord in opinion; its a substantial difference in principle . . . like the morals of a serial killer versus that of a monk. The first of January seemed like an appropriate date so I sat Tully down for the talk. I explained that due to his egregious behaviors wed be instituting a new method of discipline. Pay no mind to the fact that I found this idea on Facebook. Dog shaming was the name of the game and under its tutelage every time Tully misbehaved hed wear a sign detailing his misgivings and have it posted online for all to see. I held a fat sharpie and a white board in front of his newly doe eyes and in this way it began.

THE SHAME GAME

Wednesday
It was a pleasant surprise to find that one of Tullys Christmas presents had been overlooked during our celebrations. While disposing of this years tree a small, brightly colored package peeked from beneath its skirt and Tully raced over as if he knew his name was on the tag. Looks like this ones from Santa Paws, I explained, handing him the gift. Now remember, dont rip it up or youre gonna get shamed again. Were eyes ever so wild? The poor thing didnt stand a chance. In seconds Tully had dismembered the stuffed raccoon on the other side of his wrapping paper. Tag still hanging from its ear, the mangled mammal had one eye, no nose and half a mouth. Great job Tully. Third sign, comin right up. I demolished my stuffed raccoon before Mom could even get the tag off.

Thursday
By Thursday my enthusiasm for this new-fangled way of training was waning. But Id committed to a full week and being nearly as stubborn as my wee fawn son, I soldiered on. With hubby out of town wed be alone at home all day. What kind of mischief could Tully really get into? You guessed it . . . plenty. When my husband is away it would seem that Tully charges himself with protecting the homestead. We live on a good plot of acreage and much as Ive told him there are not, Tully has convinced himself that all manner of creature are waiting outside in the wood, readying an attack. As such, Thursdays big protector spent the entirety of the day howling and barking out the windows, just in case anyone dared approach his territory. Hed more than earned his sign by the time dusk arrived. I bark at stuff that isnt really there. And when my Mom tells me the story of the boy who cried wolf, I howl at her.

Kris Kibbee (Castle Rock, WA) is a Pacic Northwest native with a love of language and dogs. While attending Washington State University she studied in the Professional Writing program and was a contributing writer to The Vancougar. An avid animal welfare advocate and experienced dog trainer, Kris has a contagious affection for French bulldogs and shares her home with two of the mischievous mongrels. She will be writing about the Tails of Tully!

Monday
By 8 a.m. Tully had already chosen his sign for the day. After a rousing walk along the local riverbank he loped to me with a wide smile and lots of good, sloppy kisses. It wasnt until hed finished his full tongue bath that the odious stench of poo drifted in. And of course it was much amplified now that I, and every inch of my face, had shared in it. The sun was barely up and yet I found myself plucking the sharpie and sign from the spot Id laid it in the night before. Was it still warm? Was that smugness shining in Tullys eyes as he posed for his photo, modeling his premiere violation? I ate rabbit poo and then wiped it all over my Moms face.

Tuesday
With such an active day Monday, Tuesday found Tully rousing a bit late so it took him until the late hour of 9 a.m. to decide on his shame-o-the-day. While we have repeatedly had the no eating kitties talk Tully continues to pursue them. As he stares longingly at each passing feline Ive often heard phrases like Oh, he just wants a kitty to which I find myself replying Yes, he does. ON TOAST! Tuesday was no exception. Despite the retribution he must surely have known awaited him, the feisty orange tabby at the corner of 12th and Maple was simply too alluring to pass up. Walking past on a tightly drawn leash, Tully leapt at the cat with puffed chest and ferocious frog croaks. Enter sign number two. I think cat is the other white meat.

Kris Kibbee twofrenchies@hotmail.com

JUST kriskibbee FRENCHIES

THE SHAME GAME

pastries, congratulated myself on what a creative and dedicated dog mom I was. But where was Tully? Elbow-deep in wheat flour and powdered milk, Id lost track of him. A faint rustling called from the office. Like a trail of bread crumbs, I followed it to investigate. And it was there that I found Tully, sharpie cap split in two and sign boards spread all across the floor. Hed chewed each sign into neat little triangles. Dented with teeth marks, they piled together like a dazzling collection of stars. Gazing up from the constellation that lay at his feet, Tully looked anything but ashamed.

Friday
Friday was to be the culmination of Tullys training and my celebration of success. And the day went on quietly enough that for a few feeling moments, I actually thought Tully may have learned the lesson Id been imparting all week. Perhaps dog shaming did work. Perhaps it just took longer for one particularly stubborn Frenchie to catch on? I baked up a batch of homemade doggie doughnuts in preparation for our victory party. I even dotted them with little carob chips and gazing at the pretty little