The Anarchist

She follows me around the house, sleeps at my feet, and drapes her front legs over my back when she wants to play. If I get up and walk from one room to another, I may find someone walking so close behind me that her nose bumps the back of my leg.

Half the time when I let her out to do her doggie business and close the door behind her, she turns and waits for me to reopen the door and come with her, as if I’m supposed to stand guard.

But we can’t let her out of the house without a leash dragging behind her so that we can catch her when it’s time to come in. When we say, “Come, Summer, come in the house now,” she suddenly acts as if she’s deaf.

I have never known a dog who so adamantly refuses to learn the command “Come.” Even when I have the leash in my hand, she resists coming into the house. If she starts sniffing something foul on the ground and I say, “No, leave it,” she will pretend to obey and go sniff elsewhere, but eventually she’ll circle back to the original foul thing, or else she’ll ignore me altogether.

Summer is not a stupid dog; she just has no respect for authority. She is happy to be by my side, but she’s not going to obey arbitrary orders like “It’s time to come into the house.” Her movements have to be on her own terms. No one else is going to be her boss. It’s her life and she will live it as she pleases.

The word anarchist, of course, has its roots in the Greek word anarkhia, meaning “without a ruler,” and the word fits this beast. She is unruled and unruly. If someone tries telling her to do something, if she wants to do it she will, and if she doesn’t she will not. She is the sole boss of her. Anarchist is a perfect word to describe her.

I’m starting to think I really love this dog.

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