Falling in Love with Stein Eriksen. The Dog.

 

“I didn’t want another dog.” This was my theme song for the first several months after bringing home Stein Eriksen, the dog.

First of all, yes. His name is Stein Eriksen. First name: Stein. Last name: Eriksen. He is named after Stein Eriksen the human, a Norwegian Olympic skier known for winning gold and silver at the 1952 Oslo Olympics. Because of his innovative and graceful skiing techniques, he is known as the “father of freestyle skiing,” and his influence extended into his career as a sought-after ski instructor. He worked at various U.S. ski resorts, including Michigan’s Boyne Mountain—one of our favorite places on planet Earth. So this was what inspired us to name our Bernese Mountain Dog puppy after Eriksen, adding a personal touch to Stein’s name that ties back to our years of vacations at Boyne Mountain.

But, you see, I did not want another dog. Riley (just a first name but he did have a middle name: Joseph) was an Australian Shepherd and he was, is, and always will be my “first dog.” When Bob and I got together we had “his” dogs, Huskies, and I loved them all. But Riley was the first one that was pretty much my dog to raise. So for fifteen years of my life, through thick and thin, including cancer and cancer treatment, Riley was at my side. So when we had to make the gut-wrenching decision to put Riley down in January, I said, “I never want to do that again.” And I really, really meant it.

But, life happens.

When Bob and I got together he told me that we would “always” have dogs, and he meant, quite literally large furry dogs. He was devastated at Riley’s passing, too, so he did give me some time before starting to bring up the subject of another dog. Every time I just said, “I don’t want another dog.” And I really, really meant it.

Until slowly I started having “the debate” with myself. It went something like this:

I don’t want to do puppy training ever again. BUT, I work from home now so that would be an advantage. I don’t want to deal with dog hair and the mess. BUT, we’re in a position now where we can have a dog groomed regularly. I don’t want to have to worry about a dog when we’re gone. BUT, we really aren’t gone as much as we used to be since we both basically work from home now.

The big one for me that was a sticking point was that I could just walk out the door. I could just pick up my purse and walk out. No leaving rituals, no making a Kong, no wondering if he’s okay the whole time I’m gone. Just walk out.

Anyway, while the temporal obstacles to having another dog were starting to come down a bit, somewhere a Bernese Mountain Dog was having puppies. Six puppies. Five males and one female. Her first litter. And there he was.

We brought him home when he was just 8 weeks old. Eight weeks to the day of his birth on February 9. It was strange and cute and terrifying. For about sixty full seconds when we got him in the car, he screamed his little puppy face off. Then, he relaxed in my arms and was quiet and cute for the hour-and-a-half drive home.

I still didn’t want another dog. But damn. This one is cute.

When we took him for his first puppy checkup one of the techs said, “I feel like he’s unnaturally cute. Like really, really cute.” They squealed at his little brown butt. We agreed with them: it’s not subjective. He’s one of the cutest dogs any of us have ever seen.

Later, deep in puppy training hell, I said (screamed?) something like “Say CUTE one more time!” I was all prepared to have an easy time of it. I felt like I was prepared, I had watched a bo billion videos, and I knew what I was doing. Except that the videos were all lies and nothing was working and this puppy was impossible. And the more people told me how cute he was the more I fumed. You try dealing with him!

I spent many days and nights in tears. I thought I would have Stein potty trained in a day. Nope. I thought he would be food-motivated, making training easier. Nope. I tried all the tips and tricks and nothing was working. The one thing he did great from day one, thankfully, was sleep peacefully in his crate at night. The rest was pure torture for me.

I felt like there were times that the one thing keeping him alive was the fact that he was so damn cute.

But every week that went by, things started falling into place. I was told that it takes time for a new puppy to learn how things are supposed to work, and even though it seemed to take forever for Stein, they were right. He stopped peeing in the house. He started listening to us more. He was doing better on the leash. It was beginning to work. Sure, he was still having “moments” but by then I was able to say, “he’s only 6 months old” or 7 months or 8 months. He was still a puppy despite his hugeness. (Oh, did I forget to mention that all along Stein Eriksen was growing at some kind of crazy rapid pace that had me wondering if we were near any nuclear power facilities? Yeah, he got big.)

It took me a while to be able to think, let alone say, that there are things about Stein Eriksen that I like better. He has always been good with children. Riley was not at all good with kids. Stein is fairly non-reactive. Riley went ballistic at every knock on the door. Stein loves doggy daycare; they call him a “big bundle of joy.” Riley preferred to be with me or at the very least with the humans, not other dogs. Stein is very (extremely) easily contained—a couple of chairs blocking off a room is like a force field to him. Riley would have gone under or over in a heartbeat with a laugh. They are very different. Stein has some good qualities.

Not too long ago I was taking Stein for a walk in our neighborhood. It’s our usual loop. And I realized that we were both calm. The leash was loose. There was no fussin’. There was no pulling. He was calm, I was calm. I didn’t know whether to shout or weep for joy. This was on my list of puppy goals. We had made it.

Now this is a regular thing for us. With the one exception that if he sees one of the neighbor’s kids outside he will drag me along so that he can get—and give—love, which is really all this particular dog wants. (We are still working on him not jumping up, which is important because he is a beast. But we’ll get there.)

I guess the worst thing I can say about Stein Eriksen now, is that I love him.

I blame Bob, or I have him to thank. Whichever way you decide to frame it. I guess even when I am really, really sure that I have shut a door forever, and nailed it shut, somebody can still come along and hand me a crowbar.