Tucker Wescott: Interior Designer

When Tucker first moved in with me, I had to crate him when I left him home alone because he ate inappropriate things.

To recap: there was the wooden spoon he extracted from the dish-drying pan:

The box he pulled off the dining room table:

And of course, my beloved favorite hat—of which the brim was given back to me in a pile of vomit at 5am the following morning.

Since those first few months, Tucker has grown up and his mutilation and destruction of objects has been limited to his own personal belongings. He still has his crate which he lounges in, but the only time I close it is when the cable repair in the house and I don't want Tucker trying to help him.

We’ve taken a ton of training classes in obedience and agility and tricks as I urge Tucker to use his brains over his brawn in all situations. For the most part he does so, and he loves learning so much I feel terrible when I don’t have something new for us to work on.

His most currently acquired skill is closing doors and drawers. However, with this mastered, he’s trying to learn to open doors on his own. I'm not too sure I support him having this knowledge, so I haven't encouraged his extra-curricular studying. He’s getting the skateboarding down, but still hasn’t figured out that it’s not just a “trick” but something fun to do—that he can move of his volition and take charge of where he goes.

Some people believe that dogs can’t generalize and that they simply “react.” But what I saw today proves that dogs don’t just respond with their given skill set, but problem-solve using the ability to foresee consequences and make a plan.

It also suggests that perhaps Tucker is interested in taking some Interior Design classes.

It’s been a rough two weeks at work, spending 14-16 hours a day at the office six days a week. Today, our first day off in a while, we spent the morning together at the Atlanta Dog Jog. We napped on the couch afterwards, and by 3pm, I felt I should be productive. I packed up some boxes, and headed out to the post office and grocery store.

Due to my work schedule,  I don’t have much of a social life these days so Tucker isn’t alone all too often. However, when I do leave for a few hours every weekend to run errands, I return to the house looking perfectly fine and Tucker generally not even caring that I’m back. So after two hours of being away, I was surprised to pull up to the house and see Tucker’s mug at the front window, tongue-out panting.

Let me start by showing you how the front room is normally arranged—including when I left for the post office:

Tucker met me at the kitchen door, tongue back inside his mouth, and although happy to see me, didn’t appear terribly upset or relieved that I had returned.

I walked by the doorway to the front room, and discovered that the room was now arranged in this configuration:

At times I have come home to find the pillow down from the chaise lounge and perhaps the lamp knocked over. I assumed he had been trying to look out the window via the couch. I always found this odd because he has a perfect view out the front window if he just sits his butt down on the floor since the window is so low to the ground. 

Today marks the first day that Tucker has actually rearranged furniture—this time utilizing both brains and brawn to move the chair to the window and get comfy to await my return.

I’m hoping he’s not developing separation anxiety. I’m hoping it was, as a friend of mine pointed out, Tucker’s unyielding “determination to get comfortable.”

I couldn’t yell at him. How could I admonish him for using his intelligence to solve a problem? Granted he’s not allowed to sit in that particular chair (or the chaise lounge for that matter), but I certainly can’t begrudge him for using his brain. Instead, I celebrate it.

Perhaps by the time we return to California, he'll learn to order furniture online and he can fully re-decorate my living room while I’m out getting an oil change.