I have a dog. Let me restate that. My girlfriend, Millie has a dog. I provide for it. Suki, a female Shiba Inu (the most popular canine in Japan) is a wonderful apartment dog. She looks like a fox and will never weigh more than about 17 pounds. She exercises herself by running these incredibly intricate circuits around my 2-bedroom Manhattan apartment. When not exhibiting these highly entertaining antics, she has a zen-like mellowness. She interacts with my three cats in a semi non-threatening manner; they have learned to tolerate her. She has her quirks. They say ownership of a Shiba is not for the feint of heart. They think they’re royalty. They are drama queens (as in you’ll think she’s dying because she incurred a minor injury). But a more loving, sweet little dog, you simply could not find.
But take her out on a walk and she becomes a wild banshee. No problems socializing. She loves and licks everything and everyone. Some passersby on the street find this cute. Others react like they are about to be eaten alive by a wild, albeit, petite demon.
We have investigated boarding/training. She disappears for two weeks and comes back an obedient trick performer. But it’s a little bit too pricey. And so I am about to undertake a mission: read all there is to know about training Shiba’s and hope to God it takes.
We’ll keep you posted.