Heather Anne

All we were lacking was a little, red wagon and a sign that read "Free Puppy!" as Amy and I dragged our interloping Beagle all over the county looking for its home yesterday. We put signs on mailboxes and in nearby gas stations. After dinner, we went door-to-door. Outside of Pet Smart, Amy turned into a full-on Beagle Evangelist, first asking if anyone was missing a dog, then asking if anyone wanted a dog, and finally threatening one customer with the eternal flames of hell if he didn't accept The Beagle into his heart and home.

This morning—with quiet reluctance—we loaded up the Beagle to take her to the Humane Society. I am leaving in a few short days for Europe. Amy teaches Kindergarten all day and is working on her Specialist Degree in the evenings. Margaret doesn't like sharing our attention with other people, and she sure as Snoopy doesn't like splitting it with another dog. And even Nala, who is usually hilariously detached from all stressors (including tornadoes), had had enough of that unyielding puppy energy by this morning. I carried the Beagle into the Humane Society door labeled "Drop Offs" and explained to the woman inside that despite our best efforts we could not find this lost puppy's home, and that I would like them to place her with a loving family. I told her that I would happily pay the $75 up front if they promised to call me if the Beagle could not be placed. I would come back for her, I told the woman. "I will come back for you," I told the Beagle.

The receptionist never looked up from her computer. "We can call you after 72 hours if his owners don't come in, but there's nothing we can do after that."

I sat down with the little Beagle in my lap while Amy started to fill out the paperwork. Her eyes said, "Let's bolt and take the puppy with us." But her posture said, "This is the best decision for everyone in our home." I, too, was resolute—until the puppy started shaking. The new place and the incessant barking and the smell, it caused even her ears to violently shiver. It started with her head, and before it reached her tail, tears were streaming down my face. "Amy," I squeaked. "I can't..."

She looked over at me and said, "Oh, thank God." Then to the disinterested receptionist: "Yeah, no. We're keeping it."

150 bucks and one trip to Pet Smart later, we returned home to start Scout's training. When Margaret came to us, Amy taught her to walk on a leash, sit, stay, roll over, and fetch in about two hours. Margaret is a mix of a lot of dogs, but all of them are the devout people-pleasing variety. Margaret's ancestors saved people from avalanches, sought out illegal drugs at shipping ports, and led blind people across busy streets. Beagles, they say, are a bit more stubborn and... dumb than that. Scout's ancestors followed their noses to dead animal carcases, and rolled around in garbage for fun. We figured it would take Amy—probably—four hours with this one.

The method Amy uses is a combination of positive reinforcement and classical conditioning. It's praise, praise, praise! And a clicker. With Margaret it worked like this:

First half hour: CLICK! Food. CLICK! Food. CLICK! Food.

Second half hour: CLICK! Your name is Margaret. CLICK! Your name is Margaret. CLICK! Your name is Margaret.

Third half hour: CLICK! Sit. CLICK! Down. CLICK! Roll Over.

Fourth half hour: CLICK! Conjugate these Spanish verbs. CLICK! Do this long division. CLICK! Negotiate peace between Pakistan and India.

This afternoon, with Scout the Beagle, it went like this:

First two minutes: CLICK! Food. CLICK! Food. CLICK! OMG! DANDELIONS!

Second two minutes: CLICK! Food. CLICK! Food. CLICK! WHY IS THAT BLADE OF GRASS TALLER THAN THE OTHERS! WHY! WHY! WHY!

Third two minutes: CLICK! Food. CLI— HEY, IT'S THE WIIIIIIIND!

Fourth two minutes: Sleep.

When we showed up with Scout after we promised to return without her, Margaret was all, "You have GOT to be kidding me." And Nala was all, "Eff."

Tonight it seems everyone is adjusting, tiredly.