There are so many things that Rosie doesn't know

It's astounding, really, the stuff that Rosie doesn't know. She doesn't know that she can't pick up a rock the way she can pick up a leaf. She doesn't know that she shouldn't eat blankets. She doesn't know that she can't trust all other dogs. She doesn't know what "sit" means, and so when I tried to get her to sit (by pushing her down with one hand) while setting her food down with another, she didn't know not to leap up, hook a paw over the edge of her dish, and send the kibble flying.

She doesn't know anything, this little girl.

It's been a week already since she came home with us, and oh my gosh it feels like she's always lived here. Riley is getting better, though he is not thrilled with the turn his life has taken. Tonight he went into the play bow with her twice in the back yard, which is enormous progress. Inside the house, he is less patient, and growls.

I am trying to figure out their relationship--what is he thinking? Tonight I put his food down by the back door, and I put her food on the other side of the kitchen, where Boscoe used to eat. They've been eating that way for days now with no trouble, but tonight she abandoned her dish and made a beeline for his.

I thought Riley would growl at her, but he didn't--he backed off. Is he afraid of her? Intimidated?  (I picked her up and put her in her crate so that he could eat in peace.)

We're working hard on our puppy homework, and she is meeting people all over the neighborhood. At home, I put her in the soothing hold, but she continues to hate it.  After reading a comment from Sandy on the last post, I tried flipping her on her back and holding her down with her belly exposed---it only took a few seconds for her to quit thrashing. She is high-spirited, but not overly willful.

We play tug-of-war a lot; the dog trainer said it's a myth that that's a bad thing to do with a dog. Not true, she said. It's a good thing to do because it's fun. It also wears them out. Last night, after chasing Riley around the back yard, going on a walk around the block, playing tug-of-war, and then digging a hole (unauthorized) in the spot where I usually plant impatiens, she was exhausted.

I put her in her crate at 8:45 p.m. and then decided at 9 to take her out for one last pee.

I opened the crate door, and she didn't move. "Come on out," I said, but she only looked at me. I hauled her out and she was limp, like a beanbag. I carried her outside and set her in the grass, and she immediately curled up in a ball.  No way was I getting any pee out of that girl. She wanted to sleep.

So I tucked her back in her crate and she slept soundly -- until 1:40 a.m.

That's another thing Rosie doesn't know: that 1:40 a.m. is sleep time, not play time.