After thinking of my sweet pooch's ways of training me, I must report that Gunther Dog continues to prevail. I am a reasonably intelligent Soul and thought, perhaps -- just perhaps, I could get him to compromise on his need to be petted right at the top of the stairs. I was like a wrestler whose name is lost to me ... He would in the midst of a contest point to his brain and say something like "Smart ... I'm smart."
My plan was direct. The stairs begin 5 meters from the bedroom door. Open the door and invite Gunther Dog out for his AM pee. Stop after closing the door and scratch his head for a good bit. Then proceed to the stairs and just keep walking.
Best laid plans of mice and men, aye? I implemented my plan ... closed the door. Scratched Gunther Dog's head for twice as long as I normally would and then proceeded to the stairs. Gunther dutifully followed and sat at top of stairs while I walked downstairs quite alone and feeling defeated.
You win, Gunther.
Reminded me of trying to teach a school full of disturbed urban inner-city high school kids how to read and do Math. But this was 40 years ago and I was younger. I figured, then, that hiring an ex-priest to teach them how to read Latin and having the math teacher slowly go over all the Fisher-Spassky Chess games of the 1972 Reijkavic world championship was better than confronting their resistances. (they never learned how not to read Latin or how not to play Chess.) Damn! It worked like magic, ... then. The big rule in this school that I instituted was: NEVER CONFRONT THE RESISTANCE. OK, Gunther Dog, the Rubicon is not yet crossed. Alia non jacta est!
But, I suppose, another way of saying this is: Lose with grace, Kid! Lose with grace.
OK, Gunther, you win ... at least for the moment.
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