Whether she knows it or not, my dog Bailey has a self-deprecating sense of humor.
At almost 8 months old, she’s a funny little mutt, a Vizsla-Australian shepherd mix found at the pound and sometimes described to inquisitive neighbors as a giant wiener dog. That’s mostly because of a tendency to grow in spurts that begin with the length of her spine and end with the apparent shrinking of her diminutive head.
It’s a ruff life.
At about 2 feet tall and 40 pounds after supper, the bird- dog-in-training is also variously described as a “Mighty Dog,” after the eponymous brand of food for small dogs, and as an LBD — not short for Labrador, but for the “Little Brown Dog” that she is.
We’re comfortable with that, Bailey and I, especially since so many of those inquisitive neighbors have never heard of a Vizsla. For the record, they are Hungarian-bred pointers, which makes Bailey some sort of Euro-Oceanic hybrid that’s part birder and part herder. Giant wiener dog saves the explaining.
It also grants hope without expectation, a training environment we’re also comfortable with. I was recently offered a pedigreed champion retriever whose frustrated owner spent big money to train, only to discover it was allergic to everything, including bird feathers.
Bailey, on the other hand, has proven somewhat trainable, with an instinctive point on just about anything fuzzy and round that smells like a tennis ball.
That’s a good thing, given that she appears to have only two speeds: on and off. The upside is that “on” only occurs whenever she’s awake, and whenever she falls asleep long enough to chase down ethereal tennis balls, twitching and yelping like Venus and Serena playing doubles at the U.S. Open.
“On” has shown a disturbing tendency to begin increasingly early, say, when the sun rises or the birds outside the window awaken, although I have yet to discern which occurs first. The important thing to remember is that it can last all day, and often does in the absence of rigorous exercise that can only be attained through a combination of tedious rounds of fetch, bird chasing, mountain climbs, puppy sparring and swimming lessons at the local park. Mighty Dog is growing into quite an endurance athlete.
She’s got most of it down, except the doggy paddle. At the moment it looks a bit more like the doggy butterfly, or maybe she’s trying to slap the pond a two-pawed high-five.
We try to mix up the activities for positive reinforcement and to accommodate her puppy attention span. And it’s evident that Bailey enjoys a task and aims to please, even if she isn’t always clear about the objective.
With the basic commands down now, she’s most fascinated by the pheasant-scented training dummies. After a few minutes, she’ll collapse at my feet (the rare “off” position).
It turns out she’s a pretty good camper. She doesn’t mind standing watch all night to protect us from hostile deer and small-bladdered friends who drink too much water before bedding down.
LBDs can’t offer much protection beyond a bark, and Mighty Dog doesn’t even do much of that. Mostly Bailey plays well with others.
Because of her high hops, I considered entering her in the dock dog jumping contest at this weekend’s Teva Mountain Games, and probably would if she knew how to swim. But behind that peanut head there’s a big heart plenty full of potential that’s slowly rising to the surface. It’s going to take more time and dedication, but I reckon the ruff life isn’t so bad after all.
Scott Willoughby: 303-954-1993 or swilloughby@denverpost.com
