Читать книгу Parisian Tails - Stephen Hayes - Страница 9

I had another brief training session on Easter Saturday, but it was a much shorter walk this time. Paris and I were then left to our devices until Tuesday, when the two of us would go into the SEDA house for seven days. Before we were left alone, though, Hadrian brought me up on a couple of things I'd been doing wrong regarding Paris the previous evening. Firstly, as I'd been nervous that Paris wouldn't come to me when I called her, I had left her lead attached so that it would be easier to catch her if I had to. There were two things wrong with this: Paris might chew on it, and she might get tangled up in it, fortunately neither of which happened that night. It turned out not to be a problem, though, because Paris usually did come when I called her; and if she didn't, it usually wouldn't be too difficult to go and get her.

Secondly, as a seeing-eye dog, Paris couldn't think that she could be allowed on the furniture, because it might make her think she could get on anyone's furniture. I had let Paris curl up and sleep in one of the armchairs in our family room prior to dinner on the Friday night without realising it was against the rules, just happy that she was comfortable and behaving herself. The funny thing about that was according to Hadrian, who had trained Paris herself, Paris knew the rules, but was happy to try to bend them wherever she could.

That was one other thing Hadrian did before leaving me and Paris to our own devices: She filled me in on what she knew about Paris's personality. For instance, Paris would always try to please me and to make me proud of her when we were working. I noticed that because whenever she did something right while we were walking together, and I let her know that she had done well, I would feel her tail brushing my arm as she wagged it higher into the air. Another part of her personality I was told of, was her cheekiness; she was a very smart dog, but she would still try to break the rules if she thought she could get away with it. Her continually testing the boundaries would be a regular theme throughout her life, especially when it came to food.

Another thing Paris loved to do, from the day we met to the day she died, was sleep under things, as if it were her own little cubbyhole. My desk and the kitchen table were regulars, but by far her favourite spot was under my dad's bed, which was just high enough for her to get in, but still so low that she would have bumped her head every time she raised it. To this day, I wish that she could have gotten under my bed, but the bed I had for the entire time I had Paris was too low to the floor for her to fit. When she could get away with it, she would occasionally try to sleep on my dad's bed, and would quickly jump down whenever she was caught as if to say, “Who, me? You didn't see what you think you just saw.” But the paw prints she left on the bed always gave her away.

The rest of that long weekend was spent bonding, not just between me and Paris but also my dad and Alysha as well, the latter of whom didn't immediately take to the new family member. She made a rule that Paris could never go into her bedroom, and made sure that she always closed her door when she wasn't in there, so that any dog smell wouldn't pervade her room. It didn't take too long for Paris to lick and wet-nose her way into Alysha's heart, though, just as she did with most people she met.

There was little to worry about, anyway, because Paris didn't really have much of a smell most of the time—at least in the early days. Granted, my bedroom, where Paris slept every night until 2014, would soon be defined by a canine smell that no air-freshener could defeat; but when she was clean, Paris didn't really have a dog smell at all. If anything, all her coat smelt like was just that: A fur coat. She would only get smelly if she had been recently licked by other dogs, or if she hadn't been bathed in a while. In the early days, she could go as much as a couple of months without a bath; then as time wore on, that interval decreased until in the last eighteen months or so, she would be a little smelly a week after having a bath.

There was one other thing that Hadrian showed (or told) me how to do before leaving—I can't remember if it was demonstrated or if I figured it out myself. That was Paris's feeding regimen, which was specifically strict so that Paris, being a Labrador, would be kept in line, both in terms of her weight and her discipline while out working. It involved filling a cup of her food, of which SEDA had provided the first bag; tipping it into a bowl, which SEDA had also provided; and then blowing a whistle to tell Paris to eat, after making sure that she was dutifully sitting before the bowl and obediently not eating it.

This process had to be done twice a day, and my routine quickly revolved around it. I would get up in the morning (around six o'clock, as that was the time Paris came to expect), let Paris out to go to the toilet, and then ready her breakfast. Then in the evening, I would give her her dinner as soon as I had finished my own, assuming we were at home and it were possible to do so. If we weren't, I would usually feed Paris as soon as we got home, even though SEDA told me I wasn't supposed to do that (in case she came to expect food every time we got home, no matter the time of day). This was one of the few rules I broke, mostly because it was just easier for me, and Paris was quite happy to go along.

2012: Paris getting annoyed by master Stephen’s affections.