Well, Hank celebrated a birthday this week and it seems the terrible two’s have come to the Knapp house.
I should have known this was coming from the little act of rebellion Hank pulled last week. We were coming back from dropping Ryan’s forgotten lunch off at the mill. In my haste and pajamas, I had not put Hank on his leash for the ride thinking that we wouldn’t need it. Oh how wrong I was. The trunk was only open for a second when he bolted out of the back and headed down the street. In my firmest voice, which I have been told by two friends is not as scary as I once thought, I started yelling for Hank to “get back here!” In doggie language, “get back here” must be short for “go right ahead and do whatever you want. I’m sure that if you walk up to enough front doors someone will let you in.” At this point I am half walking, half jogging down the gravel road in my pajamas in the rain with a giggling Abigail bouncing along on my hip. In the scariest voice I could find (which probably was more like a panicky voice) I yell once more, “HANK. GET OVER HERE. NOW!” He bounded towards me but just as I reached out to grab his collar he bolted to the left and onto the golf course. Awesome. Well, as you can imagine, I continued yelling and Hank continued frolicking on the greens. At this point the rain was coming down harder and I was beyond irritated. I started heading back down the street for home. I turned around once more just in time to witness him squatting to take what would become the biggest poop of his life. Right in the middle of the fairway leading to the 4th hole. When his royal highness was finished he came running to me at top speed with the proud look of a dog whose life long dream had been fulfilled.
Hank’s good behavior doesn’t just stop outside, he brings it inside, too. Like when the mailman rang our doorbell to give us a package. Hank used his head like a crowbar to get out of the door to say hello and then tried to climb into the mail truck. Or maybe I should tell you about his neurotic tendency to greet visitors with a shoe in his mouth that has now translated into our daughter crawling around with a baby shoe in her mouth.
But the most frequent act of terrible-ness is his ability to make food vanish from Abigail’s high chair tray. And that is gross and sad and just wrong. I mean…stealing from a baby….who does that? So I’m trying as hard as I can to issue out some tough love in our house starting with table manners. He had been doing really well, standing away from the table and even laying down on the floor while Abigail was eating. I was really proud of him. So I didn’t think anything of handing Abigail a couple of crackers in her pack-n-play while I did a quick vacuum. I was coming around a corner when I saw it. A little hand dangling a cracker in front of a Newfoundland resting peacefully on the floor. I continued to watch as that little hand reached out further, stretching down as far as it could go, even enlisting tiptoes as a method to get even closer. I mean, what’s a Newf to do? The temptation was just too much, and he took the cracker with a swift but gentle chomp as Abigail laughed and clapped and pushed another cracker up to his nose.
Yes, the terrible two’s have come to the Knapp house. They’re terrible alright. And there’s two of them.