Dixie has been increasingly reluctant to come in the house. Ever since we moved in two weeks ago she has been happy as a clam out in her big back yard. We can tell she's happy, although to look at her you wouldn't think, "That dog is happy," you'd think, "That dog is asleep, or possibly an inert gas, because she doesn't even flick an ear when her name is called." She's not as inert as all that, though, because she moves around the yard throughout the day and evening. In the shade, out in the sun, against a wall, smack dab in the center of the grass, constantly rotating in an incomprehensible doggy system. But boy is she inert when it's time to come in.
She hates coming into the house. Hates it. Won't come when she's called, won't stay once she's in, hangs back at the bottom of the steps, and balks at actually stepping over the threshhold. She's always gone through phases like this, though never quite so extreme in my recollection. She normally spent all day and most nights asleep in the back yard during the summers in Palo Alto. She used to come in at night when we lived in Nashville because it was always too hot and humid or too bitterly cold for her taste. But she doesn't want to leave her yard ever, now, and it's bothering me a lot.
Walks are still her favorite thing after chasing dog biscuits, but she refuses to come into the house to be leashed up. If we go out back and bring the leash with us we can take her onto the street through the side gate, and this is her preferred method of leaving and entering. If we make her stay in at night, she mopes. She sits near one of us and turns her back to us to let us know she's ignoring us. If we stand up, heck, if we just pick up the newspaper, she leaps to her feet and heads towards the back door. I'm so bummed out. My companion of ten years suddenly can't stand to be in the house with me. My ownerly love is nothing compared to the bliss of her very own yard.
So, after a few nights of wondering if she's having trouble managing the admittedly steep stairs (she is on pain medication for a mysterious soreness of the front legs), or if she doesn't like the way the house smells, or if it's some bizarre aversion to something we can't detect, we've decided she turned herself into an outdoor dog. She's simply no longer interested in living inside at all. She wants the ruggd outdoor life. Granted, she also wants dog biscuits, but she'll do without them rather than give up the freedom of her yard.
So be it. John built her a big open-sided doghouse last week to provide some shelter from wind and rain, and she already uses it. We're going to enclose the end and part of one side to make it even more weather resistant, and we'll create some kind of raised platform for when it rains. And she can live outdoors. There's no sense fighting a 70 pound dog who's decided she doesn't want to come in. We can use the side gate. We can toss biscuits into the grass just as easily as onto the carpet for her to chase and devour.
Dixie is now an outdoor dog. And I think I have Empty Nest syndrome.
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