Gettinginthecar-aphobia (But we are getting there.)

Haley

It’s not that our new dog, Haley, dislikes riding in cars, she just dislikes the whole “getting in and out of the car” thing. And I mean “dislike” the way you would dislike the thought of a colonoscopy at a teaching hospital the day after the staff Christmas party.

Haley is sixty-two pounds of puppy muscle and excitement, so when she decides she doesn’t want to do something; she reacts by pulling on her leash. Forcefully. This must have been how the Secret Service felt when trying to keep Clinton reigned on Presidential visits to South Beach. This was the situation I found myself in last night while I was trying to get her in the car to go to the dog park. I tried everything; tossed her tennis ball in the car, tried to lead her to it with treats – hell, I would have strapped on Lady Gaga’s meat suit if it would have helped. I was determined to take her, so I figured I would just have to pick her up. Dogs have an uncanny ability to add significant weight when you try to lift them. I am figuring Haley imbued about three hundred pounds right there on the garage floor.

We can deal with the neurosis. Haley is about a year old. She was one of nine abandoned dogs found living in a house with no owner. God only knows what went on before she was rescued. Her journey to us started at the Orphans of the Storm shelter in February. In June she was transferred to Animal Friends and on July 5 she came home with us. So, in a year’s time, she has lived in four different places. I would imagine that in the past, every car ride meant a new and scary place.

But we think Haley is going to be just fine. She is perpetually friendly though a bit timid at times. She is getting the concept that playing fetch is a two-fold process that includes returning the ball.

Best of all, she is genuinely happy when I come home. Normally, all I am greeted with from the boys is, "what's for dinner can I have money it's not my turn to take the garbage out," then silence.  Haley bounds down the stairs with the enthusiasm of a weightlifter at a Mexican pharmacy.

Maybe she is neurotic about getting in cars – or maybe she just wants to drive. That would be fine by me; I have no problem riding in the back.