Ever since Aisha joined our family, Paul and I have used her crate as a place to confine her when she misbehaves. The moment the crate door locks, however, she lets out a piercing scream to alert every neighbor within a three mile radius that, (A) we have dogs in our apartment for which we have not paid deposits, and (B) we are cruel and evil parents that lock up their child. While her screaming is always obnoxious, it is especially irksome when she cries during a time-out, because it tells me that she does not understand that she has been naughty, and instead believes that she is entitled to be out running around the apartment.
Tonight, however, she learned her lesson.
I was relaxing in the kitchen this evening when I suddenly heard ripping sounds. When you have a puppy, the only sound worse than the shrieking of a baby who believes they are unjustly confined is a lengthy silence followed by ripping/shredding/tearing noises. It can only mean one thing:
When I located the source of the noise, I became absolutely enraged. I chased her down (the guilty always flee), dragged her out from under the couch by her hind legs, screamed at her, and tossed her in the crate.
And for once, there was golden, uninterrupted, blissful silence.
When I realized that she had not made a single noise since my outburst, I returned to the crate to make certain that she had not expired from misery or terror. She hadn’t, but was cowering in the back corner on her little pillow.
So what did I do? Well, naturally, having finally instilled in her a sense of my mighty authority, I scooped her up, fed her cookies, and smothered her in kisses, thereby completely undoing the lesson of my punishment.
I can’t win. Then again, I guess I’m not really cut out for trying.