My mother used to tell me about the Yeshiva boys the family would take for the Sabbath. Every week a different boy, every week different behavior. One week a boy sat there as the rest of the family ate their soup. “Why aren’t you eating?” my grandmother asked. “I can’t put it in my mouth,” he responded. My grandmother was shocked, sure that her cooking was inedible to him. The whole family stared. It took a minute before they realized he didn’t have a spoon.
Here’s my version.Yesterday morning we passed the grocer and there was a puppy tied up near the door. We passed later and he was still there – The grocer said the owner had to go to the hospital and didn’t know if and when she’d be back. When we came back, the grocery was closing down for the Sabbath, and the dog was still there. We took him home for the weekend.Our dog Shusha is old and has been a nervous wreck since she was an infant when we found her at the grocers almost 14 years ago. Way back then we took her home with the intention of giving her away to a good family, but she kept getting returned to us because she would immediately pee on the carpet. So the decision of bringing a guest for the weekend was fraught with implications. And it did not take long to realize that Shusha would not do well with a hyperactive untrained whippersnapper. Our entire Shabbat has been punctuated by murderous barks and snarls, Shusha threatening, Kutya (yes, we have named him) teasing, testing and begging for attention.Oh and incidentally – there have apparently been no previous attempts at
toilet training.
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