At a dinner party the other night one of the family dogs, Lucy, got scared from the flames of a fire that was made to toast marshmallows in and we were all amazed to see the other family dog, Bubbles, grab a hold of Lucy’s neck with her teeth to calm her down. The concept stuck and Gretchen could not help but bite my neck all evening. “Could ya stop doing that?” I asked after her fourth attempt.

The Mukester is still with us and even though I am astonished to find that I am the next Dr. friggin’ Doolittle with neighborhood animals coming out of the woodwork to talk to me I still refuse to stop and chat with dog owners just because our dogs are sniffing butts.

Mornings are not my own anymore with Muki at my feet chewing incessantly on anything she can find. My office looks like a doggy playground with bones and unstuffed animals strewn about. The carpet that was two months ago a beautiful soft gray is now brown from Muki’s paws and my desk is covered with shoes and other items that I have torn out of Muki’s jaws before they are completely destroyed.

When Wade comes into my office to kiss me good morning he is met with my guard dog. “Good morning Muki,” he says sweetly as she backs away and growls at him. “Muki, Muki, come here Muki…..ya bitch,” he says retreating.

When he comes home from work Muki runs under the dining table and her ears flatten. “Muki, I’m home,” he calls attune to Jack Nicholson in The Shining. He goes through phases with her, trying really hard and then speaking in his Shining voice or giving her treats and then smacking her on the behind with a newspaper when she poops on his side of the floor of our bedroom. “You’re reeling her in and then pushing her away,” I warn him. “I don’t think Cesar would commend that.” “F Cesar,” he replies.

But Cesar Millan, The Dog Whisperer, has become an integral part of our training. At first Cesar’s entire first episode from Netflix sat unopened for three weeks with Wade and the boys refusing to watch it but as the weeks continued with Muki resisting Wade’s charms we finally all sat down to discover Cesar’s secrets. When it was over Wade stood in the doorway, legs apart and hands on his imaginary holster, Wa, Wa (that’s Wade’s cowboy noise he makes when he means business), “Muki, it’s time you and I went for a walk,” he said hitching her to a leash and leading her out the door. She still hates him.

We now watch Cesar every night and Wade still perseveres vacillating between loving and hating Muki. Also, the boys and I trudge all the way to Glenwood Springs once a week to learn from Mark who trains out of Petco. As Mark tells me that I have to make sure that Muki and I “look” into each other’s eyes so that she learns to look at me for commands I am distracted by the boys who have crawled up onto the shelves and are splayed out on top of the sacks of dog food. “Come,” I sternly whisper to them and I look at Mark apologetically. But Mark has a way with animals and I guess I am one of them so he looks at me and quietly smiles, the words are not necessary.

To be continued…..

Click on link to see Muki with the boys: muki and the boys

Me and Elle back in 2005

Muki is the first girl who has not melted from Wade’s charm and good looks and believe me he is pouring it on with her, doing what he can to win her over. Perhaps we should have named her Jennifer the name for many of his past admirers.

How fascinating it is to bring an animal into our lives and rediscover the world of instincts. What I also find strangely fascinating is dog people. You see, I have never been much of a dog lover. Occasionally, an independent Malamute or long haired German Shepard has reached his way into my heart but in general I find dogs to be annoying. So in all of my past interactions with “dog people” I have had to feign interest in our dog conversation where they liken their “children” to my boys.

I have tried to relate by telling them that my oldest son is a dog but they usually look at me like I am the one who is crazy. Just the other day Wade got upset when Brevitt got into Muki’s crate, “That’s Muki’s place of privacy,” he said commanding Brevitt out. “Really?” I wanted to say, mimicking Brevitt’s reaction to anything ridiculous.

What would get to me the most was when I had babies and “dog people” would pass right by my incredibly adorable, chubby and cooing babies to comment on some mutt sitting nearby.

I had a business meeting with a super cool website designer and when he arrived, Muki was sitting on my lap, afraid of the other dogs around us. “What’s up with the dog?” he asked me concerned. Lest I appear like a helicopter “doggy” parent I put Muki down.

Muki and I have been hiking up Smuggler Mountain during rush hour dog traffic to get her better socialized and to nip that protective instinct in the bud. We have become very well known over there and people are marking our progress with great encouragement. “You did it,” they exclaim after they walk by Muki who is no longer snarling threatenly to their sweet, innocent dogs.

We were enjoying the view on the platform of Smuggler when a big, black, wolf-like dog approached and Muki began her growl. I was doing my dog whispering thing when Elle Macpherson showed up.

Last time I ran into Elle I was trying to tame my flyaways in the bathroom at the Sundeck when this tall, olive skinned women with very long, gorgeous straight thick hair walked in, dressed in a white ski suit with red racing stripes. My friend and I tried not to stand their with our mouths agape. When I turned to leave she said hello to me very enthusiastically.

I said hi back stunned that she remembered me. “It was great to chat with you the other night at that dinner party in Aspen,” she said and I corrected her and told her that she must have me mistaken for somebody else and that I actually knew her from a Victoria’s Secret Catalogue shoot I worked on with her in Aspen. “Oh, sorry” she said losing immediate interest and walking out.

This time I didn’t bother to bring up the fact that we knew each other. I explained that I was trying to socialize Muki. “Just love her. Without the treats,” she said with her bandana wrapped around her head and long braids that must have been her Colorado look.  I wanted to say, “It’s all about the love baby. Peace out,” but I kept quiet.

Of course I know that Elle couldn’t be more right. Muki needs love and we are pouring it on. When Tucker and I put her into her crate the other night he looked at me with his big sea green eyes and soft cheeks and said, “Mommy, shall we sing her a lullabye?” and my heart melted as he sang her to sleep in a soft, high tone, “We love you Muki. Go to sleep little Muki.”

Doing 24/7 research on dogs is helping me to become more dog minded but I think it will take me a long time before I relish a dog lick as much as a kiss from my boys. In the meantime, Muki and I will continue to work with our support group on Smuggler and slowly I might transform into a “dog person,” but the truth is that I don’t think I have it in me.

On location with Elle

Last night I dreamed that I was taking Muki for a walk to get her out and try to socialize her with other dogs. We were on a sunny country road with abounding fields of green, similar to a road that Wade and I had biked on up at Lincoln Creek last summer.

Muki would run far ahead of me and come running back to check on me with her ears flopping behind her in the wind.

Suddenly she disappeared and I began to worry that I had stupidly given her too much freedom and should have had her on a leash. What would the kids say if I lost her? Suddenly my feet began to slip and slide. I looked down and the road had turned to sheer mud mixed with wet cow paddies. Knowing I was going down I looked embarrassingly at the other walkers out in the fields. How could I have gotten into this mess?

I fell belly down into the mucky depths and began to sink. Where was Muki? I realized that this could be it for me and my boys would never know that their mother had gotten swallowed by a mud puddle.

As my head began to go under, Muki appeared in front of me. I grabbed hold of her collar and she pulled me out with her puppy strength.

When we dried off and headed back for home I saw that all the other walkers had taken a well-trodden path through the muck that I had not noticed before. I laughed at how I could have missed such an obvious trail that would have saved me from nearly dying.

Today, we get Muki a choke collar and teach her to not growl and lunge after other dogs. If we can train Muki to not be so afraid than she will be a wonderful addition to our lives.

I am afraid to think of what we will be raising if we fail.